Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

3:22 AM

Ryūken was exhausted as he exited the train. He swore he could feel his teeth still vibrating from the long time he’d spent riding. The switches had been opportunities to stretch his legs, but the polite pre-recorded voices coming over the P.A. system and directional sounds were grating on him.

It didn’t help that he’d been alone with his thoughts for over five hours, which meant he kept agonizing over the Fujis and Haradas. They'd been next to no help for the investigation, but they certainly put that dark time into perspective.

His teeth clenched.

One neglected portrait and praise for life insurance.

And… who knew if Sai Harada even had a portrait at his parents’ home.

“I choose to be grateful…”

Grateful… grateful? For the death of a child? His lip curled.

“He needs another unit.”

“On it.”

His staff was working tirelessly to prevent shock… great care was undertaken in the debridement of the injury—fibers from Uryū’s school uniform that had been dragged into the incised wound.

So still… so pale…under the surgical drapes.

He called to have more units waiting. 

He was doing everything in his power not to think of Kanae and failing.

Another family member was on the operating table under his scalpel.

There was a finger twitch that was simultaneously reassuring, because it was proof Uryū was alive, and concerning because it meant the light anesthesia (Ryūken was hesitant to order more and lower his son’s blood pressure and heart rate too much, given the blood loss and his hypotension) was wearing off. 

The anesthesiologist commented on the monitor.

Shit.

There was a real possibility of anesthesia awareness…

The other man wanted to increase the dosage, but he was waiting for approval.

There were risks.

Uryū’s heart rate dropping even more could kill him.

The soft whimper of his patient decided it.

If Uryū woke up, he could seize or react in a way that hurt himself or the staff. There really was no telling what his powers could end up doing in a semi-lucid state.

Ryūken let them sedate the boy more fully, ignoring the weight in his heart—the dread.

The certainty that this could go wrong. And his only solace would be that he continued working—personally trying to force the odds back into Uryū’s favor until the very end.

Gradually, the tables turned. He got his son stabilized and on the path to recovery.

But if the monitors had flatlined, how many times would he have tried to resuscitate him before his staff realized he had lost his mind?

What kind of psychiatric holding center would Isshin and Urahara have had to manhandle him into—his human staff wouldn’t have had the strength—

Would he have begged for a gigai to house Uryū if his spirit had lingered?

“Whether he lives or dies…”

“The kindest thing he could do for us—”

Never.

He’d never feel grateful. He was resigned. It was different. If his child was determined to risk himself for idiotic Quincy pride, he’d have to suffer his child’s choices. There wasn’t anything he could do to convince him.

Except that wasn’t true. Or at least he’d thought it was true until this year. 

When he dropped all pretenses and spoke plainly about his feelings, no matter how ineloquently, and Uryū…responded… favorably…

On learning he’d never be barred from returning home, he’d dropped his bow to embrace his father.

On finally accepting his father was sincere about wanting to hear his inner thoughts, he admitted how torn he felt, trying to honor his father’s and grandfather’s diverging legacies.

On Ryūken proving himself a worthy confidant, Uryū allowed himself to be more vulnerable and discuss his fears, his grief, and… they were beginning to broach his sadness.

The depth of which made Ryūken afraid for him.

He was so young…

The delusional hope in the morgue when he hallucinated his mother…

The reality that his twelve-year-old had witnessed the Fujis and Haradas abusing their children.

Psychometry enhanced what he saw, what he sensed. And his perception of Ryūken, already distorted from Kanae’s autopsy, warped further. 

His father was grieving… damaged… absent… cold…

Uryū came to interpret it as hate, or at least that Ryūken was “hateful,” to try and make sense of it.

That gave him pause.

Ryūken was hateful. It was just that said hatred was never directed at Uryū. It was never his fault.

But he sensed it all the same and reacted defensively.

He tried to fight it off by holding fast to Sōken’s teachings… and to his mother. 

His mother…

Ryūken thought of the pictures he kept on his desk at work and home.

The picture on Uryū’s bedside table. The same one his son had rambled to in his apartment, during his nervous breakdown.

Unwell.

Yhwach liked his Sternritters to be unwell.

Uryū, who held himself to impossible standards. Uryū, whose beloved mother and grandfather were dead. They couldn’t persuade him to be more gentle with himself and realistic with his limits. Uryū, who thought his father hated him and went scouring for acceptance and approval elsewhere—in academics, in arts, in Quincy traditions. 

And even after Ryūken cleared up that grievous misunderstanding, there continued to be… 

To be a sense of distance? Doubt?  

Uryū was trying to do his part to improve their household by respecting his father’s wishes when possible…but…

There was a weight, a crushing sadness… Ryūken sensed it in that blank look Uryū would get sometimes. 

Ryūken would speak of something he thought of as a universal truth and receive no resonance of understanding because the lesson hadn’t been learned. He’d failed his child by never implementing it, by assuming somehow his child would get it elsewhere from other instructors or figure it out intuitively because he was bright. And now they were playing catch up.

Yhwach’s words from the video file burned: “A loving father sees what his child needs and provides… Sometimes, it’s what’s missing. It’s realizing a child wasn’t equipped with what he needed because you weren’t there to give it to him. It’s providing what wasn’t there to begin with…

Have all of my support. Take all of my encouragement. Make my strength your strength. I grant you my endless mercy and my good humor and my full protection. You have my approval, Son. You’re not alone anymore. You have me. I am your father. I am your provider. You are in my care now.”

Perhaps Ryūken could accept that, despite all of his hopes when he first forayed into fatherhood, he was a bad father?

Perhaps, it was done? He’d failed too often and too awfully to redeem himself?

And yet, he couldn’t relinquish that title: “a loving father.”

Yes. For all his faults, he was a loving father. 

He didn’t match Yhwach’s definition.

No. He was proof you could be useless and broken and lost but still love your child more than anything. You could be a failure. You could fail your son repeatedly. You could have nothing to offer. Nothing that he actually needed and you’d still give anything you had to make life a little easier for him. 

He could spit on you and you wouldn’t care. Because you weren’t a stranger to it, you’d burped and changed him as a newborn.

He could fuss and tantrum because you’d seen it all before.

He could rage and break rules and be a disobedient ingrate because he was yours and you could forgive him anything.

No matter how foolish and reckless and dramatic he was being.

No matter how unworthy of joy you were, it sparked every time you saw him. 

Perhaps that joy was Adyneus’s mercy?

Yhwach said what he did because he didn’t understand love, let alone what a loving father actually was.

True paternal love was… unconditional. Unbreakable. Unending—

“We have no son.”

His stomach flopped.

Except when it wasn’t.

While in many ways fruitless, the trip to the other families gave him insight into what Uryū had experienced.

He remembered his tween curling up underwing and nodding off.

He’d let the first hour go by but in the second hour, he’d put his medical book aside to tell Uryū to go to bed. Uryū was behind the curve and needed good sleep to grow.

“Please, Dad? Can’t I stay a little longer? I’m tired and I feel cold.”

I’ve seen bad things, Dad. Things that make me feel sick inside. My soul has a cold, Dad.

Symptoms he ignored.

And Ryūken would insist he go to bed. He’d turn on the electric blanket. He’d adjust the thermostat. 

And he missed the point, even when his tween would still sometimes sneak into his room.

I’ve seen things that make me feel scared, Dad. Things worse than Hollows. You’re a doctor. Make me feel better. Promise me you’ll never be like them. Help me feel safe again.

“Can’t I stay a little longer?”

Here with you where it’s warm and I’m not alone? 

And when Ryūken refused…Uryū turned to— 

“Mom?” 

Who had no warmth left even if her love would never fade—

And Uryū immersed himself in death and the afterlife to feel closer to her and to Sōken.

Ryūken wanted to be home. He was so close. He just needed to call a taxi. 

First, he’d check on Uryū’s energy.

He concentrated and immediately became aware of a nearby torrent of reiatsu and a smattering of arachnid Hollows.

He frowned.

So that one that got away was already multiplying and Ichigo and the other teens were fighting them.

Damn it.

Wait a minute. If Ichigo was over here…

Who was staying with Uryū?!

He concentrated.

Kilometers away in Ishida Estate, his son was all alone and his spiritual energy was fluctuating in distress.

Damn it! Was he in danger from Yhwach?!

Was that beast using this moment of distraction to try and take him?! The Ginto bottles and spells weren’t enough?

He immediately pulled out his cellphone to dial his son and figure out what was happening.

No use. The battery was dead.

Damn it!

At least he didn’t have any luggage to abandon as he employed Hirenkyaku to get back home.

Traveling this way through Karakura always brought back tense memories.

Hurrying to Kanae and Uryū whenever either of them were in danger…

Getting his wife to the hospital when she went into labor after stubbornly ignoring his wishes and dragging them off to Sunflower Threads…

Masaki…with a Hollow hole forming…

His house was dark, quiet. Only the family wing was lit up.

Idiot. Just broadcast your location for a prowler, he thought darkly.

He landed on the master bedroom’s balcony and used his key to unlock it.

His eyes narrowed as the home alarm system didn’t go off. 

His irritation grew. Uryū had probably turned it off so his cousin could return later without activating it.

It still meant Uryū was left unprotected in multiple ways.

He closed the door and locked it. He punched the buttons on the alarm so it would re-engage.

“Principal Satō?” Uryū repeated aloud, stunned.

He stared down at the makeshift Ouija board, trying to get ahold of his racing thoughts.

His soul fragment moved the thimble to the Yes corner of the paper.

“Satō…” 

Because… yeah… the man had covered it all up. He hadn’t opened any investigations. He kept evidence in storage instead of contacting the authorities and handing it over.

And yet… Uryū couldn’t fully accept it.

“But I mean, he didn’t hurt us. Me. You. He’s just… a bureaucrat. A career academic. He didn’t want bad publicity,” he reasoned.

It was greedy, selfish, and cowardly but he could somewhat understand the principal's reluctance to come forward.

Karakura Academy depended on the patronage of the elites. If their children were revealed publicly as the vicious bullies they were, they’d lose face. They’d blame the school. If the school fell into disgrace, the rich would stop sending their children there.

The school would lose prestige.

By association, Satō would have a lot to lose as well since he was the one in charge. So he… looked the other way?

B-A-D

“Well, yeah, obviously. But…” The world wasn’t as black and white for him now as it had been as a middle schooler.

“Look, you didn’t answer. Do you know for a fact that he did something wrong besides not advocating for those being bullied?” He asked.

It spun the thimble.

There was an immediate sense of relief. “See? You don’t know. You’re just angry he didn’t take action. For Fuji and the others. Me too. Disappointed. We’re disappointed in him.” 

He abruptly remembered screaming that disappointment at him at Aso’s memorial. And he still helped Uryū afterwards.

B-A-D

“Why? I mean, he’s never let us down. Look, you don’t know this. Cuz it was after the whole soul injury thing that separated you...from me. So, I’ll tell you. He’s the reason we were able to go to Karakura High School. He handled it. I’m not exactly sure how he pulled it off, but I suspect he pretended to be Grandpa and got us signed up. What does that tell you?” He’d always been willing to do a lot for him.

He never gave up on Uryū being able to redeem himself and restore his reputation. 

H-E-L-I-E-S

He felt his face heat up. Because technically, yeah. It did mean Satō lied, but when he did it was on his behalf.

He remembered how aghast Dad had been, learning of his trips off campus to participate in contests and events. 

But the program Satō enrolled him in for Juveniles at Risk for Expulsion had changed everything for him.

So he did it without Dad’s express permission, but—

“It was for us. Every rule he bent served us. You really think Dad was gonna let me, you, er, us? Choose what high school we went to?”

Yes.

“Why?”

D-A-D-L-O-V-

There was a sound of a door on this floor opening. But no alarm sounded.

Damn it. He hadn’t reset it after letting Ichigo go off into the night to help the others fight the arachnid Hollows.

His eyes narrowed and he concentrated on his cousin’s power signature. Ichigo was on the other side of town. 

Another door opened.

Shit, was this it? The sound that got him to go and investigate like a cheesy horror flick?

Ichigo’s body would be vulnerable if he left the room, so it was better to stay and lay in wait.

He summoned his spirit bow and tried to remember what Ryūken and Yhwach had both stressed: intention.

That one’s intention directly related to the success of their attack.

He had to be willing to follow through—

“Uryū?”

“Dad?!” He called back hesitantly. This couldn’t be a trick, could it? Luring him out into the dark?

It… he searched for his father’s spirit ribbon. Mere spans away. That couldn’t be faked, right?

“It is half-past three in the morning on a school night! Put your bow away this instant!”

Nope. He released his spirit weapon and let it dissipate. “H-hey, Dad.”

His father looked incredibly displeased and disheveled as he stormed into the room. “Why didn’t you set the alarm? It’s dangerous to leave it off.”

He was back so early. Or… well, he glanced at the clock, it was Monday.

“Why are you alone?” He demanded. “We discussed this. You said you underst—”

“Well, technically, I’m not alone.” He gestured at Ichigo’s body which was slumped slightly in a nearby chair.

His dad frowned at Ichigo and then at him. “Are you joking? I am in no mood for—”

“Can you please not be mad for at least 12 hours? I don’t think I can handle having what’s left of my entire family angry at me at the same time.”

His father’s eyes narrowed and his voice lowered. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Uryū reluctantly relayed the gist of the blow up—from the twins giving him the cold shoulder to Ichigo losing his temper. “They think I’m a pushover for following your rules.”

“So your great act of rebellion, to prove to yourself this wasn’t so, was refusing to set the alarm system and barging into my room to take that?” He pointed to the valet box.

Uryū felt his face get very hot. “Uhhh, yeah, kinda. I didn’t want to lock Ichigo out if he came back after I fell asleep. And… I wanted to try talking to the soul fragment myself.” Which seemed desperate for attention now.

The thimble kept moving across the makeshift Ouija board.

Dad moved closer to peer down at what the thimble was spelling.

D-A-D

Then the thimble sped to the word “Hello.”

D-A-D

Hello.

The elder Ishida’s expression softened. “Yes, yes, hello, I see you,” Dad murmured gently as he knelt down beside the table. “Are you being good?”

Yes.

“Ah. Dare I believe it?” He teased.

Yes.

“What have you talked about?”

M-O-N-S-

“Monsters,” Dad guessed.

Yes.

“And there were lots. You warned me about that last time. You were right.”

Yes.

Uryū blinked as he observed this back and forth. So, had the fragment already told Dad about Satō?

“Anything else of import? That I should know?” Dad asked.

F-R-E-U-N-D-I-S-B-A-D

Dad paused and turned to him. “You told him that?”

“Yes. He wasn’t sure how to feel about him.”

His father frowned. “What did you say?”

He shifted. “Enough to—”

The thimble moved. H-E-H-A-T-E-S-

“Well, don’t just blurt it out!” Uryū snapped.

“No, you tell Dad. That’s the right thing to do.”

Y-O-U-D-A-D

Dad blinked. “That’s what you told him?”

He fidgeted. “He wanted to know why we couldn’t trust him.”

W-A-N-T-S-T-O-H-U-R-T-D-A-D

The elder Ishida nodded. “So he does mean me harm? And knowing that made him less credible to you?”

“…Yeah, he hates you. Sorry. But, like I told him, I don’t think he’ll kill you.”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so certain?”

“Um…just…I…” He looked to the side and spluttered as the soul fragment spelled out:

W-O-U-L-D-N-EV-E-R-F-O-R-G-I-V-E-H-I-M

“Ah. Leverage for your cooperation?” 

Uryū was flustered and growled at the board. “You don’t have to tell Dad everything verbatim-”

“No.” Dad set a hand on his shoulder. “A smart boy will realize that I can’t know what isn’t shared with me. I’m listening, Ryū.” The corner of his mouth went up in amusement and he shared a significant look at Uryū.

Uryū was very tempted to throw that back at him, considering how many times he’d been iced out over the years when it came to sharing information.

He sighed and crossed his arms. “Look, I needed a shorthand way to convince a middle schooler. Otherwise, we’d be here all day.”

“And you used me.”

“Uhhh…” What was that supposed to mean? Before he could evaluate that statement—

His father nodded smugly. “Yes. That was the right decision. A child instinctively mistrusts someone who would hurt their parent and guardian.” He glanced down at the board. 

A-N-D-T-A-K-E-M-E-A-W-A-Y

His father tensed. “Freund wanted to take you away?”

Yes.

Light blue eyes slitted in fury. “Anyone who would steal a child from the arms of his father and from the safety and comfort of his home is a monster of the highest order. Do you understand?”

Uryū blinked, surprised at the fierce delivery and that it wasn’t finished with ‘and subject him to a life of tyranny and bloodshed.’

Apparently, the first part was enough?

Y-E-S-S-I-R

“Good boy.”

I-M-I-S-S-Y-O-U-D-A-D

Goodbye.

“Bye for now.” He sighed. He looked up and then over at Uryū. “We need to find a way to mend your soul injury and reattach the fragment to you. I feel like your health will improve with his return.” 

“Do you think my powers would increase?”

Dad gave him a sharp look. “I think your vitality will improve which is far more important.” 

It wasn’t. Not when Yhwach was an enemy.

Dad’s eyebrows furrowed solemnly. “It’s possible the absence of this piece is contributing to your… current… challenges.”

His depression? He doubted slotting it back in like a puzzle piece was going to fix everything. Dad didn’t seem to realize that the crushing sadness started with Mom’s coma and not with the fragment breaking off.

Still, under that new brief definition of monster-hood, did Satō qualify?

His actions didn’t steal him away per se, but they allowed him and his father to remain separate and at odds. Otherwise, his fifteen-year-old self would have had to return home to figure out his high school situation.

He wasn’t as sure as Ryūken seemed to be that everything would’ve worked out if they’d stayed in close quarters.

He decided not to bring up Satō. Not until he had a better idea about the extent of his guilt.

Dad’s vengeance was pretty potent and he wasn’t sure if his former principal deserved the full blast.

Dad’s eyes moved to the valet box. His eyes lingered on the clay token and then at him.

Uryū immediately flushed and felt his cheeks growing unbearably hot.

“Hn. I wasn’t hiding that from you,” Dad said.

His face got even hotter.

“Believe me. If I’d known how insecure you felt about our relationship, I’d have pinned it on you.”

“…”

“That way each time you had an existential crisis that spurred you into danger, you could read it and ponder over what your brash recklessness would mean to your poor father—”

“Welcome home, I guess!” He spat. “Though it doesn’t sound like you’re all too happy to see me because I’m such a reckless idiot y-you have to endure—” 

He was crushed against his father’s chest.

“You say the most foolish things” was hissed into his ear, but the hand cradling the back of his head was gentle.

His spirit ribbon was full of pain.

“…You met the Haradas,” Uryū said knowingly.

It felt like his lungs were squeezed flat by how tightly his father embraced him in response.

He hesitantly patted his father’s back consolingly.

“It’s,” he rasped, not having enough air to continue.

His father immediately loosened his hold.

Uryū sucked in a deeper breath on instinct and stumbled forward a little.

His father made a soft sound of distress he’d never heard before as he caught him. He then began fervently checking him over.

It was strange to sense then that his Echt father had likely always harbored an intense fear of accidentally hurting his Gemischt son.

When he did hurt him, with sharp words and cold silence, was it measured?

When he trained him, he was harsh but he never laid a physical hand on him?

He equated physical blows as the pinnacle of malicious harm? 

Ha. His father was an idiot. Words could linger long after bruises faded.

He was ushered to the couch and fussed over.

“You lost weight” was snapped at him. “I told you to be careful. If your cousins’ meals are mediocre, have Juri come and cook for you. I can pay him overtime.”

He remembered Ichigo’s earlier disdain.

“…Am I a spoiled brat?”

“What?!”

“Is that why my cousins are mad at me?”

“No—”

“Am I extravagant? Was I showing off? Should I have done less? Showed I had less? They wanted to see my room—”

“Of course not!”

“I feel bad and I don’t know what I did wrong—”

“Nothing! You are mine! You deserve everything I can give you.”

“…Why do I feel guilty?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t like it.”

He chuckled tiredly and leaned against him. “It makes me feel tired.”

“Do not exhaust yourself trying to please others. That’s setting yourself up for a black hole of disappointment.”

That reminded him. 

“…Mr. Harada… I… always thought of him like a pit. A bottomless pit. And nothing Sai did or said was ever going to land right. I used to blame Mr. Harada completely for being such a jerk. But… Mrs. Harada might be worse. She just stood there and never intervened.”

“You said you met them twice. Tell me.”

He sighed and nodded against his father’s shoulder. “The first time was at the movie theater, I skipped cram school to meet up with everyone...”

It was 4:47 am when Ichigo Kurosaki approached the gate of the Ishida Estate and Ryūken pressed the remote to let him enter the grounds.

It seemed like neither boy was aware that if Ichigo had tried to trespass, Quincy spells would have activated.

All the keys and remotes had been spelled with exception bypasses. Only those of the Ishida Household had express permission to be here. Upon Masaki’s departure, her permission signatures were revoked by Mother. He’d never reinstated them.

As the teen drew near, Ryūken opened the door, letting it hide him from view.

“Thanks, man, I wasn’t sure if you were still pissy.”

Ryūken closed the door and locked it.

“Heh, did you just stand there and sulk this whole time or—U-uncle?!”

Light blue eyes narrowed. “Anything you’d like to tell me, Nephew?”

“Ugh, why bother? So he snitched. Did Urahara open a portal for you to get back here so quickly?”

“I told Uryū Monday. It’s Monday.”

“Ohhh.”

“Given the late hour, and to recognize your father’s assistance to me, I will allow you to spend the night here in spite of your gross negligence and disgraceful attitude.”

“Hey! I told him he could come.”

“I see. Uryū didn’t tell me that you actively tried to coerce him into breaking his word to me.”

“Errr…you…you!”

“Keep your voice down, Uryū is sleeping. Return to your body and meet me back here.” 

His nephew begrudgingly did as advised.

He came tromping down the stairs, looking stiff, cold, and irritable.

Apparently, Uryū not giving him a blanket to keep his body warm while his soul went out had been a subtle way of showing his displeasure.

His son was usually more courteous.

Ryūken led them to the kitchen. “Do you want tea? Or do you want coffee?”

The teenager fidgeted. “Uhhh.”

He sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Tea, if you want to sleep for a measly three hours. Coffee, if you just want to stay awake.”

“Coffee.”

“Fine.”

Ryūken made it how he liked it. Strong.

Ichigo got a little jittery after the fourth sip. “You can’t just cage him here, you know? Uryū?”

Like he imagined they could be talking about anyone else.

“Oh?” He took a sip.

“I can’t tell if you think of him like a pet or a prisoner.”

“Hn. A pet could be trained and a prisoner could be punished into obedience.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“A son is far more troublesome.”

“You! You! You’re so frustrating! No wonder Uryū is so weird!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Remember who you’re talking to. Don't insult my son.”

“He’s grown up never knowing what a family is supposed to be like! Yours makes mine look normal! What the f-”

“Watch your mouth.”

“I’m sick of him being grateful to you for the stupidest shit. You had his back in a phone call on Friday. Whoopdefreakingdoo. One phone call and you’d think you saved the freaking day. Damn it, it pisses me off!”

“His wellbeing is at the forefront of every decision I make.”

“Bullshit! You let him struggle out on his own for years—”

“His pride made him struggle-”

“And yours? Your pride kept you from—”

“I checked in on him regularly—”

“Wow, what a generous—”

“I never told him to leave. And I’ll remind you it was me that put him back together after Ginjō attacked while you were useless—”

“No! You’re a surgeon. He needed surgery. You don’t get a medal for doing your friggin’ job!”

“You’ve never had your hands covered with your child’s blood, so I’m going to be very gracious and allow you room for your youthful idiocy. Come back in thirty years and I’ll accept your apology then—”

“You don’t do anything for him! And now you're holding him hostage here. He has to be grateful to go out for ice cr—”

“What wouldn’t I do? How far would I go? To keep my child safe? Healthy? Content, if I can manage it? What will I give? Money? Time? Effort? Done. Whatever I have, he can take. Whatever we’re missing, I’ll get for him.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice speech. But really? You're going into overdrive now? Now?!”

“…”

“I mean, where were you when his grandpa died, huh?!”

“…You are being exceedingly rude to comment on—”

“I mean, even my dad was more involved when… Mom… making sure I could handle it.”

“…”

“And I just, I thought it was hard waking up to it… heavy… soaking through… not just… the rain…”

Once more Ryūken was pained at the thought of Masaki’s dead weight on top of her child.

Masaki… his proud, headstrong young cousin who he could never protect… because she was always rushing off into danger… dying in mud… 

Her blut didn’t activate because of Yhwach and she'd had to bodily shield her son from a Hollow.

He remembered reading the reports in a daze after getting Kanae hooked up to life support and Isshin confronting him and dragging him to come look in on a young, traumatized, blood-soaked Ichigo.

Vitals good. Just scared. Upset. About to turn nine years old in July.

Like Uryū would in November.

Because Uryū was alive. Uryū was alive. Uryū was STILL alive. It kept him sane.

“-I couldn’t imagine having to watch her be torn apart.”

“What?” His memories screeched to a halt and he was unceremoniously dropped back into the present.

“…” Ichigo stared, jaw dropping.

“What did you say?” 

“…” Ichigo went very pale.

“You couldn’t imagine having to…” He set his mug down. 

He abruptly remembered his nine-year-old wailing hysterically with grief at his grandfather’s funeral, at one point having to be removed from the room altogether.

“Watch her be…”

The upsurge of grief in the hotel…the way it felt like his son was going to fall to pieces.

“Why did Grandpa have to die like that? I couldn’t do anything.”

“Torn…”

The kneejerk defensiveness his son exuded whenever the slightest criticism was leveled at Sōken… because…

“I couldn’t do anything to help him.”

Because of the guilt…

“Apart?”

…The guilt of having witnessed Sōken’s death and being powerless to prevent it.

Chapter Text

Uryū’s door slammed open and he couldn’t help the startled yelp that escaped him as he woke.

He bolted upright in bed and hastily tried to summon his bow; only there was a gruff “sorry” as the lights were switched on.

“D-d-dad?” What the hell?!

Half-a-beat later Ichigo appeared, panting, “I’m sorry! I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have said anything. I thought everybody knew! Like me and my mom—”

“OUT!” His father thundered, pushing the orange haired teenager from the room and shutting the door.

Ryūken locked it.

More as a sign to the Kurosaki beyond it to respect the barrier than because a door could actually stop him.

Ryūken was breathing heavily. He turned to look at Uryū.

“W-what’s going on, Dad?” He tried to grab his glasses from his bedside table and knocked them to the floor instead. “Oops.”

His father held a hand up, signaling him to stay where he was. He knelt to pick up the glasses. He wiped them with a cloth from his pocket. Then he very gently set them on Uryū’s face, like he was still a little kid.

Very gently. 

He could almost hear the “That’s better, isn’t it? Now, hold my hand and stay under the umbrella. Your glasses won’t get so dirty, my little Ryū.”

“Rain dragons shouldn’t need glasses. ‘Specially if they just-just get blurry.”

“Especially.”

“Especially,” he parroted back the correction.

“That’s a big word.”

“I’m a smart boy.”

Dad smiled lightly. “You certainly are.”

It should’ve angered him, such sudden tenderness out of nowhere. Maybe Ichigo had a point and he was acting pathetic? And all because he was being treated kindly? But Ichigo had tons of people who treated him well, but… but…his heart twisted… couldn’t Uryū have one person? He’d lost so many.

His father sat down heavily beside him.

“Dad?”

“You… you saw…” Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. Then his hand fell down to cover his mouth for a moment as he stared up at the ceiling. “You saw him go down.”

It wasn’t a question.

“…”

His eyes slid to glance at him. There was something like horror and pain and shock in them. His hand dropped.

“You saw Grandpa die.”

“…” It was the last thing Uryū wanted to talk about tonight. This morning. Whenever the hell this was.

“Uryū?”

“…” His mouth went dry.

“Uryū?”

He broke into a cold sweat. He couldn’t do this. He also couldn’t afford to run. He wasn’t absolutely certain his hirenkyaku was faster. There was also a likely chance that if he used blut arterie to break down the door to leave and somehow evaded Ryūken, he’d just have to contend with Ichigo next.

He had to play it down. “I…I can’t… do this right now. I-I have… I have s-school and I need t-to sleep so I can d-do my best.”

He squinted at the clock. He needed three more hours of rest if he was going to be of any use.

“No, we are going to see Tessai as soon as he allows us there. Then we’ll meet with Dr. Jibiki.”

“…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“…”

“Uryū?”

His throat grew tight. “…I-I’m sorry... I didn’t save him.”

“Of course you couldn’t save him. You were a child.”

He nodded. “I know-knew-the smart thing to do was to wait it out. S-so I waited it out.”

“Smart boy.”

“B-but Dad, I-I didn’t… even try to save him. I’m sorry.”

“No. He was a grown man. That was the fate he chose—”

“He chose not to use hirenkyaku when he realized he was going to lose. B-because it would leave me—”

“To the Hollows.”

“I’m sorr-”

“No! No, he brought you there. He put you in that danger. If you’d died there, if he’d abandoned you, I would-I would, Uryū, I would-” His hands clenched violently. “NEVER forgive him. I could never—”

“That’s your father.”

“You’re my son.”

Uryū took an unsteady breath and talked about the Shinigami involved.

“They delayed… on purpose, Dad. They were aware of his shepherding tactic. Dad, there’s… there’s this Captain… The eleventh squad. He… he experiments on Quincy souls.”

At 7:15 am, there was a single knock on Uryū’s door: Ichigo.

“What is it?” Ryūken answered softly. He hadn’t slept at all since the revelation that Sōken’s soul had literally been tortured after death to… whatever came after that.

His son’s semi-hysterical questions of if a ‘Quincy’s soul dies, is that the same as Soul Suicide?’ kept circling in his head.

And he had no answers and no real comfort to give besides patting his son’s back and smoothing his hair which was messy from sleep.

Uryū was understandably worried about Sōken and Kanae and the others of their household being subjected to that fate.

Kanae…

Father…

Mother…

It was devastating to contemplate that there may be no post-death reunion for their entire family in a separate division of the heavens. 

He wondered abruptly if Isshin was quietly aghast at the prospect of his children being separated from him upon death—possibly being routed to stand with the Quincies and not the Soul Reapers, leaving him to potentially mourn their absences for centuries. Which was why he made himself ridiculously affectionate… because the time they had together might be short.

Life was short. 

Ryūken had always hoped he and his wife would be reunited…

That together they’d get to wait for their son to join them after he led a long, fulfilling life.

The doom of being a Quincy continued to reverberate. 

“I’m heading to school,” Ichigo said. “Is Uryū coming?”

“No,” he replied.

“Why?”

“He’s resting.” From the looks of his son’s fluttering eyelids, he was in the REM phase of sleep.

“Is he… coming to school today?”

Ryūken’s eyebrow twitched. “No, he’s resting.”

Uryū was volatile on a good day. 

This was going to be a trying day.

The last thing he wanted to do was send his emotionally fragile son to the adolescent cesspit of mercurial energies that was high school. 

He’d go off like pure nitroglycerin at the slightest jostle. If his feelings veered into sorrow, he might have an upsurge of grief in public. If he entered a fury, he might confront Sasahara.  

Because Uryū flip flopped between those responses, he did not deserve the possibility of others bullying him for a lack of composure.

Not about this.

And these dramatic responses were making more sense to him all the time.

The sorrow was probably a more genuine manifestation of what Uryū was experiencing.

The rage was a defense mechanism. He needed to talk more to Uryū’s doctors about depression presenting as anger.

“…Will I be able to leave or will I need to jump the gate?” Ichigo asked.

“If you could sense others more adeptly, you’d know that Juri and Hikari are here. They’ll help you,” Ryūken replied tersely. “They have access codes and cards.”

“Fine.” His nephew walked away.

He sighed. His nephew probably didn’t deserve that parting jibe but… he was so exhausted.

And they were very lucky Yhwach hadn’t seized the opportunity.

He glanced down. His son, while unconscious, had him in a tight hug. 

His grief and desperation was palpable. He did not want to lose his last family member. On that, at least, they agreed.

And for that reason, Uryū had to come first. Even if that meant Ryūken came off badly to Ichigo and that was unfortunate because it felt like a disservice to Masaki.

He sighed and smoothed the blankets around him.

Urahara had made some allusions to the Gotei 13’s experiments involving Quincies.

He’d even made mention of Uryū using Letzt Stil against a captain.

He didn’t explain the relevance, how Sōken tied into it.

Tortured. His father’s soul was tortured. And while being tortured, he revealed a student.

Only the cruelest methods could have extracted that kind of information from him—Sōken wouldn’t have voluntarily exposed his grandson. Though, Mayuri might’ve already researched the man in his efforts to trap him. After all, he’d set Sōken up to die by purposely delaying Soul Reapers from arriving in time. So, they’d known about his proclivity to shepherd Hollows, rather than eliminate them.

And they used that information, his misguided mercy, and still killed him—proving that Shinigami were apathetic at best and generally as horrible as Uryū believed. 

No. Up until that moment, Uryu had entertained Sōken’s ideals about working together. 

He witnessed this cruelty and decided for himself that…

He wasn’t just blaming them for failing to save Sōken. He hated them for setting him up.

Though in time, he came to judge them on a case by case basis.

Uryū had killed Shutara of Squad Zero.

For the Quincies.

That… hadn’t just been him following Yhwach’s orders.

His thoughts swam.

Sōken had revealed having a student…

Perhaps Mayuri mentioning Ryūken wasn’t as psychologically painful as taunting that he was going to capture Uryū next?

His teeth gnashed together.

Carrying a photo of the soul he considered a specimen?!

Too damn convenient. Mayuri had already guessed their relation.

Ryūken had demanded a description of it, because he deserved to know as Sōken’s son. It took a lot from Uryū to relay it to him.

And his son hadn’t ended the bastard, just defeated him and lost his powers in the process. Goddamned Pyrrhic victory.

Still. He survived. Not killing him was probably why he was released from the Sereitei.

He exhaled a harsh breath.

The Gotei 13 had likely still sanctioned the murder and torture of Quincies for science. Great.

A Quincy soul could be captured before passing on.

Why had Sōken lingered? Had there been a choice? From what he understood, their kind could usually pass on unassisted. Except this Mayuri had captured countless Quincies.

Was it a complication of Auswählen? Yhwach stealing so much energy made them unable to cross over instinctively? 

No.

He wasn’t targeted.

Wait.

Echts who died were fully drained by the Emperor at the moment of death?

Why? Why was he unable to pass? Weighed down? Was it a choice? Did he delay because Uryū was still there? Was he hoping to guard him until Ryūken could make it to the park?

Damn it.

None of the Quincies had shown formidable powers to Mayuri. Did Quincy powers remain with a soul or return to Yhwach upon death?

He didn’t know. When a fragment returned, was it all power? Or a piece? He’d already guessed some extent of memory was passed along, too. That’s how Yhwach learned about Uryū. 

Everything Uryū told him about the captain was awful.

His softhearted child had been horrified. This was the same leader who’d killed his own subordinates to set a trap (by implanting explosives inside of them and detonating them when they were within a close enough range). 

It sounded like Mayuri got off on sadism and gloating. 

Apparently, he’d delighted in sharing how he’d devised sickening scenarios where he had compelled parents to burn their own children.

And Ryūken could believe it:

Parents wanting to spare their children from further suffering would do it. 

The surgeries he’d performed on his own child was adjacent to that thought process—dying under loving hands was better than the alternative. 

Even as he acknowledged that, he shuddered at the idea, fundamentally repulsed… and condemned.

Because…

“I would do… anything… for you…”

His sight blurred for a moment as he swore his soul was damned.

Uryū burrowed into his chest and shuddered.

Ryūken took a shaky breath and forced himself to offer a calming “Shhh. Shhhhh.”

Perhaps it was for both of them?

Fatherhood really was a selfish pursuit.

Kanae’s solemn words haunted him: “…I will have brought him into this world and abandoned him…” 

Logic said he should regret bringing Uryū into this mess when he’d known exactly how difficult being a Quincy was.

He was just too selfish. Too arrogant. 

That photo on his desk…

His wife. Their child. His beautiful family.

He’d been so happy as he took it.

He was already plotting what he’d need to do to make their afterlife safer.

Perhaps he could set up some kind of spell trap?

Uryū shuddered again.

“It will be alright.”

Death was not salvation. Not for Quincies.

Life was perilous, too.

“It will be alright.”

He had to try and keep them both alive for as long as possible until he could figure something out.

It should’ve made him despair but… the same determination that made him pit himself against a mad demigod began to flare once more.

“It will be alright. I will make it so.”

Uryū slowly came to as a slant of warm morning light fell over his face.

He felt almost oddly rested for just… what? Two or three hours of sleep? Maybe it had been cathartic to finally tell Dad about… Sens…Grandpa?

Speaking of him, Dad was snoring lightly beside him.

He was surprised Dad had stayed. He looked rough from traveling. 

Uryū considered the timeframe: He must’ve met the Haradas and then immediately left for home.

Yeah. The Haradas could have that effect on people.

His father’s business suit was all rumpled. The collar was unbuttoned and his tie was loose. His glasses were askew, he’d forgotten to take them off.

Uryū should just get up, get ready for school, and ask Hikari to drive him and Ichigo. Or maybe just him if Ichigo was still being annoying.

He glanced at his clock. He blinked, squinted, leaned in and read: 11:02 AM.

He gasped and jolted upright.

“Wha’s wrong? What is it?” Dad slurred. “Are you alright?” His hands clumsily checked Uryū over for injuries. “Are you hur-?”

“Dad! I’m super late for school! Can you write me a note?”

His dad made a derisive sound and flopped backwards back onto the bed. “School? No. We’re going to Urahara’s. You can talk to Tessai about Grandpa. Afterwards, I have an appointment with Dr. Jibiki. I’ll ask if you can join.”

Wait a minute.

“You have a solo meeting scheduled?!” He gasped, jaw dropping.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked.”

“I just… figured… I was the only one who needed—” 

“Guidance? I’m not so arrogant that I can't take good advice when I need it.”

“…Yeah?” His track record sort of said otherwise.

“…I can’t ask my parents for their insights. If only to disagree with them and chart my course that way.” 

Dad was trying to be relatable. That felt… weird.

“…”

“I trust Dr. Jibiki.”

Truth.

“He’ll help us through… this. Though, we need to come to an agreement on how we frame the… situation.”

Uryū frowned. “What do you mean?”

“His injuries.”

“…”

“I had it listed as an animal attack.”

“O-oh.”

“I-I can’t remember if I told you that. I meant to. I… I was worried you might mention it by accident. If it was animals and you referred to the attack like it was committed by monsters, anyone who overheard would understand. You were young.”

“…Oh.” That made sense.

“Hollows are beasts. It’s not much of a stretch,” he muttered bitterly.

“Right.” It made sense only…

“What’s wrong?”

“I just sound like an even bigger coward in that scenario. If it was just wild dogs that hurt Sens—” 

“Feral dogs are incredibly dangerous!” Ryūken argued, sitting up. “The elderly and the young are very vulnerable. A bad bite that causes hemorrhaging can be fatal. And for those that survive the initial encounter, there’s rabies and sepsis-”

“Okay, okay. Good to know if it had been something as mundane as that, you still wouldn’t have been angry at me-”

“Of course not!”

He blinked.

His father’s expression was severe. “You were very small. A large dog could have injured you terribly. Damn it. A large dog could hurt you now. It’s not just Hollows and humans that are dangerous. You have to stay vigilant about your surroundings. Your environment can house multiple dangers, not all of which are flashy. I still can’t believe you went to that sketchy park to hide comic books at thirteen. Creeks have all kinds of wildlife and harmful bacteria. Birds can carry multiple diseases—”

Uryū indulged the tangent for three full minutes, but when Dad started going off about drug dealers and needles, he said, “Okay, Dad. Glad my primary physician can be called on even for the most boring life stuff.”

“That’s literally the point. That’s why checkups or even check-ins are important. They build a rapport so whenever there is a situation of concern, you can feel comfortable sharing it—”

“My neck has been sore since I slept over at the Kurosakis,” he confided.

Dad immediately went into doctor mode, checking and double-checking his lymph nodes, his neck, and even his jaw and temples. As well as asking him questions about his range of motion and when he first noticed it.

“It’s tension,” he diagnosed. “You’ve been stressed.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think it was meningococcal,” he joked.

“…”

“Dad?”

“That’s a very real danger, even if the incidence of it here is very low,” he said tightly. “Do not make light of it. Your European heritage could make you more susceptible. It depends on genetic factors. There’s viral and bacterial strains. Just… don’t share drinks with your friends or cousins. And know that if you do want to travel abroad to celebrate your graduation, I am mandating that you will get all the necessary vaccines first. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long did you plan to keep this knowledge to yourself?” Ryūken demanded in a low voice, arms crossed.

Urahara shrugged somewhat apologetically. “Look, we kind of overheard it in the park. Didn’t have the relationship to discuss it with young Ishida back then.”

“With me? You couldn’t discuss it with me?!”

“It was kind of a toss up over whether you knew. Guess I lost the bet.” Urahara sighed. “Anyways, I doubt you’re here just to scold me. What are you really after?”

True.

“Is… is that day… in his files?” He needed to confirm just how long Yhwach had been fixated on his child.

“…Let's take a look.”

An hour passed.

Uryū checked in once, glancing at the screen and, somehow instinctively knowing those data files—

“From Yhwach?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Urahara answered nonchalantly. 

His frowned. “Hm. What kinds of files?”

“All kinds.”

“Video?”

“Yeah.” 

Uryū blinked, looked away, and then back at the shopkeeper. “Have you… had to sit through one of his speeches yet?”

Urahara snickered. “Maybe a few?”

Uryū was quiet for a beat and then went, “‘My children! My heart bleeds for your suffering. It is time to avenge ourselves. It is time to stand and act. Let us seize back what was stolen from us. Too long we have waited in the shadows, it is our time now to stride forth to reclaim our place in the light! Restore our world! Renew our sacred vows to the arcane! The dawn of a new day rises and with it our new realm!’”

Uryū broke off and grinned. He meant it in jest, but it was too eerie.

Urahara continued smiling but he was pale.

Ryūken struggled to think.

Tessai clapped his hands on Uryū’s shoulders. “What an impression?” He then suggested touring the candy aisle for Karakura High School’s Winter Festival. “It’ll give our business a reason to attend which could be important.”

“Oh! That’s a good idea. By the way, did Yoruichi find out more?” Uryū asked urgently. “We missed her the other night. Does she like ice cream? I mean, cats like cream, right? And she’s sort of… but I’ve never actually had a cat so I’m not sure if that’s just a cliché—”

“Yes, she does. And yes, Sasahara has been spending more time in the greenhouse at her home as well. It’s very suspicious.”

“Does it match up with any of her assignments or extracurriculars? Horticulture doesn’t seem like a hobby that lines up well with acrylic nails.”

The two approached the ladder leading back up to the shop.

Seeing Uryū about to use a reishi board and having shaken himself free of the paralyzing shock of hearing a tyrant’s tirade using his son as a mouthpiece mere minutes earlier, Ryūken ordered, “Climb the ladder, Uryū! We need to start an exercise regiment for you.”

Uryū swiveled so abruptly, he half-tripped. “Huh?!”

“If you are ever attacked by humans again, I want you to be ready. With or without powers.”

“Oh… Uhhh, okay.”

He wasn’t very fast up the ladder. 

And he abruptly remembered watching Uryū struggle in the Dangai after being warned not to get caught in the current or to use his powers.

They could work on that. 

It was odd because in the videos of his thirteen-year-old, he was very athletic—

Then again, he had been in an intense accident and, while he healed up, he was never quite as coordinated as he had been which Ryūken had initially dismissed as a symptom of puberty and rapidly gaining height.

But then, Yhwach had addressed it with chiropractic and reishi-based readjustments.

But Uryū still… lacked some of the endurance? That he’d had before?

It had taken him a while to tire Uryū out to restore his powers but… that had been intense adrenaline and anger fueling him.

This was about average endurance on a regular day. 

They could definitely work on that.

When they were alone, Urahara gave him a sidelong glance. “That was probably your best chance to come clean.”

It probably was.

“I’m just… not ready. Not with… this one. I… I don’t want him to have to… relive it by watching.” Maybe someday soon but not now. 

“Hm. That speech was creepy. Think he heard it? Or made it up on the spot?” Urahara’s eyes were serious.

“…”

“He was good at emulating you and your father.”

And now he could emulate Yhwach.

He didn’t like thinking a part of Uryū’s subconscious could now speak under a guise like that.

It was strange to suddenly wish it was just Ryūken and Sōken competing to shape that psyche again.

When the file was located and played, it was every bit as awful as he imagined.

It should have been a normal summer day.

His nine-year-old was sitting, peering out from beside a tree, staring vacantly, almost unblinkingly. All the color had drained from his face.

The elementary schooler slowly reached over for his backpack and pulled it over. He slung it across his back before standing up from his hiding place in the bushes.

It was so fortunate that there’d been some cover and he’d had the sensibility to hide. His survival instincts had likely helped him conceal his energy to an extent, which was why Ryūken hadn’t sensed him there.

If he’d been slain alongside his grandfather…

Ryūken’s hands clenched. His ears rang. 

If there had been two body bags brought to the morgue…

The modern backpack clashed with the archaic style of Quincy uniform that Sōken had championed after his departure and complete rejection of the Wandenreich.

It was the little details that hurt: the cat charm clip holding the bag for his son’s lunch and snacks, the way his shoes were double-knotted and the blue crosses on them were slightly crooked, the unsteadiness of his footsteps across uneven plant roots because Ryūken didn’t like letting him wander through uncultivated stretches of greenery.

It was all proof of how young and sheltered he was. As it was supposed to be. There was plenty of time to grow up and be jaded. His childhood should’ve been safeguarded by his remaining family members, but Sōken had never… never…

And then…

Uryū’s eyebrows were furrowed together. His mouth was pressed in a grim line. It was a very serious expression for someone his age.

He moved carefully forward, edging around the foliage and moving out into the clearing until he was standing beside… the body of Sōken Ishida.

Uryū stared down. 

Blood darkened the grass.

Flies were buzzing. 

He moved the brown cloak that Sōken so often wore to cover him, careful not to touch the damp spots where blood—

Ryūken couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath and shook his head. 

Uryū had alluded to this in the parking lot outside of Yutani’s office:

“Dirt. Grass. Crunch. Crack. Snap. Blood.”

“Hot. Muggy.”

“Damn it.” 

Uryū’s hands tightened around the straps of his backpack until it looked painful. His voice wavered, “…I… I’m… sorry, Sensei… I… I have to… go to cram school now.”

He bowed deeply and left.

He left the park. He continued on, following the sidewalk in a dejected state repeating to himself: “Why did you have… to die like that?”

In the hotel in Kyoto, he’d said: “Why did Grandpa have to die like that? I couldn’t do anything.”

When he approached a store, he entered and went to the clerk.

“E-excuse me, sir… I-I have to… report…” His voice was even more fragile.

The man, a youth in his twenties, took one look at the child and immediately scanned around for a threat.

The clerk walked around the counter and knelt down. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Uryū’s mouth quivered. “There’s… a dead man in the p-park.”

“What?!”

“C-can we r-report it with your phone, please? B-before all the bugs…” He gagged slightly and then recovered. “He deserves… better…”

The man called it in. “N-no, a customer came in to report it.” He looked across the counter at Uryū who was trembling. “Nah, he… he’s already gone.” He discreetly shooed Uryū away—implying he’d take care of it. “Yeah, I’m about to check it out myself. Gotta close up the shop first though.”

Uryū left the store and continued to cram school. He went to the boy’s restroom and exited in his school uniform once more, though he forgot to change his shoes.

His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

When he entered the classroom, the instructor immediately scolded him in front of the class, “You’re very late, Ishida. That’s disrespectful to me.”

He nodded, bowed, and apologized to him.

It wasn’t enough: “You’ve disrespected your peers. How are they supposed to learn in an environment where basic expectation of timeliness and courted are disregarded?”

Uryū took a deep breath and apologized to the class in a quaking voice for being disruptive, and tried to take a discreet seat in the corner.

“Oh no, you don’t. You come up here,” the instructor ordered.

“…” The child moved forward. 

The man glowered down at him. “Don’t think just because your father is a respected member of this community that you are exempt from following rules.”

“Y-yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Is there a test I c-can do to catch up?”

His lips thinned. “Just because you’re a strong test taker, that doesn’t excuse you from having to participate in the full course we offer here.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“What’s your excuse for your tardiness?”

“I… just d-don’t feel good.”

“Do you have a cold? I can offer you a mask.”

“No.” He looked away. “My tummy just…feels… bad…” 

“You probably filled up on snacks instead of coming here on time.”

“No-”

“Don’t contradict me, young man.”

“I just feel nause—”

The man was abrading him again, this time for insolence, when Uryū vomited across the man’s shoes.

There were some gasps and snickers from his peers.

“S-sorry, sir.”

He was escorted by another peer to the organization’s nurse’s office.

“And then Ishida threw up all over him!” The other little boy told the nurse excitedly.

It was no wonder why Uryū hated cram school now.

The woman winced. “I’m sorry to hear that. You were probably in the restroom before you went to class, hoping to feel better. Hm? Ishida?”

He wrapped his arms around himself. “…Yeah.”

“Here.” She opened a binder of student records. “We can call your Dad to pick you up-”

“No! Please! Don’t tell him. I just… wasn’t feeling good. I’ll finish my work. I just need today’s packet. I can do it here, can’t I? Please don’t—he’ll be mad. He gets mad at me for everything lately. This-this-I can’t—not today—I-Please!”

Ryūken stared hard at the screen.

His heart sank. He should’ve been the first to be called in that convenience store. The idea of his father arriving in a moment of crisis should’ve brought instant reassurance: when did it happen?

“Your father’s a doctor. All the more reason for him to-”

“Please! No-” He started to throw up again.

When had his child stopped believing in him?

The nurse immediately handed him a bin while dismissing the other student to return to class, who was overly interested in the drama.

“Well, there’s only two hours left anyway, so I don’t see why you can’t just finish them here,” she reasoned.

“T-thank you.”

A half hour after the session ended, a harried looking Juri arrived to pick up Uryū.

“There you are. I’m so sorry. There was a-a situation.” He looked distractedly at the nurse. “I just learned that he needed to be brought home and I-”

“Young Ishida was ill earlier.”

“He was? Sometimes children just know,” he muttered.

“What?” The woman frowned.

He shook his head and moved forward. “Hello there, Young Master. I’m so sorry you had to wait and that you’re not feeling well. I’ll drive you home now and I’ll get you something soothing to eat. Thank you for being patient.”

Uryū stared. “…”

“I’m sure your father will be home as soon as possible.”

“He’s… not at home?” He sounded hopeful.

“Not yet.”

“…Oh.” His shoulders sagged in relief.

“Unless, would you like to call him?”

“No. No, it’s okay.”

He’d thought it was thirteen. Maybe after the accident? 

Or after Sōken died?

But maybe it was the autopsy? Or letting Kanae die in the first place?

Was that when he’d fallen from grace in his son’s eyes?

The following video started midway through Sōken’s wake.

Uryū was on the floor bawling, making an absolute scene with his sorrow.

“It just hits sometimes. The grief.

He remembered this. He’d had to remove him from the situation, taking him to a quiet room to recover his wits.

He picked his son up and tucked him against his shoulder more to smother the noise than out of affection.

He still felt shame over that. Though the sound was starting to give him a headache even now, years later—a reaction to the helplessness he felt when he knew there was nothing he could do to soothe his child. Again.

He carried him to an empty room and set him down hard on his feet.

Uryū stumbled and Ryūken caught him by the upper arms.

“Being so noisy. What’s wrong with you?!” He hissed. “You know by now how these are supposed to go.”

Uryū wailed harder. He reached and twisted his fingers into the fabric of his father’s sleeves.

“You stop it. You stop it. Right. Now.”

What was happening?

Who was that? That couldn’t be him. Yes, he remembered being stressed beyond all reason to his final nerve but he didn’t remember this?! No. He remembered expressing some frustration and disappointment but… was that really what he’d said? 

Uryū continued to cry hysterically.

“I said stop it.” He gave him one hard shake.

The boy’s mouth snapped shut and he stopped crying.

“Better.”

His jaw dropped. What the hell was he doing?! He’d reported parents at the hospital for behavior like that.

“…” Uryū stared up at him. Unblinkingly. Totally silent. Totally still.

It was the look he’d had as Dr. Yutani yelled at him in the waiting room. It was the look he’d made moments ago in the previous video as he stared down at Sōken’s body.

And he was making it now in the face of his father’s emotional instability.

He wasn’t even breathing. He was holding his breath out of fear.

Freeze response.

It had kept him alive the other day as the Hollows attacked and was now part of his repertoire for responses.

“You compose yourself,” Ryūken hissed… to his little nine-year-old who had lost his mother the previous year along with almost everyone he’d ever known. And now his grandfather was gone and he was acting out because his world was even more upside down.

Ryūken’s pager went off.

He cursed and turned, abruptly releasing his son and inadvertently letting him stumble into the wall because he was off balance.

Ryūken checked the pager and left the room. No backward glances.

Uryū made no sound as he slowly slid against the wall and to the floor.

He then continued his descent and sprawled out gently against the floor. 

He rolled over to stare up at the ceiling.

It was the same expression he’d worn in Yhwach’s library: Defeated.

He breathed softly. In. Out. In. Out. It hitched at times, but he didn’t cry.

He was trying to do as asked and compose himself.

His father returned. “The floor? You decided to lie on the floor? Great. You’re probably filthy now.”

Uryū held his breath again, like he was an animal trying to play dead to escape a predator.

It was never supposed to be like that between them, they were—he abruptly remembered the training session necessary to restore his powers—the cat and mouse dynamic that had been at play. Yes, Uryū had been afraid of him then but—

“Get up.”

The child tried, but he was lightheaded and wobbly.

Had he even eaten that day? That whole week was such a blur. He’d left so much to Juri—

Ryūken hefted him up under the arms, set him on his feet, grabbed him by one hand, and pulled him from the room.

He was moving too fast for his child. “Stop dragging your feet! We’re running late because of you.” 

Lies.

He’d just answered a call for work. That was the real reason they were behind schedule—

Ryūken gasped as his younger self very nearly pulled Uryū off the steps separating a floor division of the room.

Could’ve sprained his ankles. Only luck helped Uryū keep his balance. 

Uryū gave him a hollow look of shock. He’d never been handled so roughly in his life, certainly never by his parents who’d always adored him.

When they were near the door, Ryūken snatched the smaller of two umbrellas and shoved it into Uryū’s hold. He began angrily instructing Uryū not to embarrass him again as he wrapped up the event.

He took the larger umbrella for himself and heaved open the door so they could walk the short way between this building and where the reception was.

The first hard gust wrenched the child-sized umbrella from Uryū and blew it away and into the dark.

“Why are you doing this to me today?! Can’t you do this simple thing?”

Damn it. He sounded like his mother in one of her fits.

He gave Uryū his umbrella.

Uryū held it with both hands like his life depended on it. 

Which also conveniently meant he didn’t have to hold his father’s hand this time.

“Don’t you dare fall behind.”

He didn’t.

He was “composed” through the farewells of the event and handed off to Juri while Ryūken went to handle Sōken’s cremation.

Another video started.

It was after Sōken’s remains had just been interred in the family plot.

A quieter ceremony with just Ryūken, Uryū, and the cemetery’s staff.

Once it was just the two remaining Ishidas there, Uryū began to cry at Sōken’s grave.

It started soft but grew into loud, unabashed grief that was too reminiscent of Kanae’s funeral.

He saw his younger self pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation at the migraine it was triggering.

“I need to take a call,” He lied and went off to gather his sanity.

Uryū had ended up wandering away while his father was taking a smoke break.

Ryūken remembered the cold flash of panic he’d felt back then.

When Uryū was sure he was alone, he choked out, “I miss you, Sensei. I’m trying to be good like you’d want and become a proud Quincy like we talked about but… it’s hard. Everything’s hard. Even harder now. Without Mom. Without you. I’m sorry I didn’t do m-more.” He rubbed his runny nose on his sleeve. “I should’ve been braver. Maybe…it wouldn’t have changed things… but… at least… you wouldn’t have been alone.”

Ryūken felt a chill. That was an incredibly dark and uncomfortably mature line of reasoning for a child.

And he missed it and it got to fester.

“Why did you have to die like that?” His young voice cracked.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” a young woman’s voice announced.

Urahara swore. “That’s Meninas.”

“Who?” He asked distractedly, far more concerned with his child than the stranger on the screen. 

Or at least until Urahara said, “She’s a Sternritter.”

Chapter Text

“Meninas McAllon. One of the Bambies,” Urahara stated matter-of-factly.

“…”

“It was a Quincy Clique in the Wandenreich. Remember that, eh heh, voluptuous, green-haired one?”

“…” He blinked and crossed his arms, impatiently waiting for something relevant to be revealed.

“Right. Okay then,” Urahara pressed ‘Play’ and the video resumed.

Uryū rubbed his eyes. “T-thank you, Miss.”

She was very tall and athletic looking, dressed in a long, white rain coat that didn’t quite soften her musculature. 

“She’s strong, isn’t she?” Ryūken asked.

“Purportedly.”

“Have…have you?” The child looked around. “Someone here that you’re visiting?”

“Oh, I’ve lost lots of people,” she deflected.

“I’m sorry.”

And maybe because it was said so sincerely there was a flash of what almost seemed like guilt on her face before she smiled. “That’s very kind. Want to know a secret?”

“…”

“What helped me with my grief is the Wishing Tunnel.”

“What’s that? Is it a kind of mental exercise?” He pushed up his glasses.

She giggled. “No, silly, it’s a place. Here, I’ll take you.” She offered a hand to help Uryū to his feet.

He bit his lip. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere without permission, my dad will be… worried about me.”

The pause hurt. It was clear in the child’s expression that he struggled to name what his father would feel. Worried? Or angry?

“It’s close by,” she assured. “And it’ll be so quick. He won’t even notice until it’s over.”

That his child was gone. Stolen.

“Okay….if it’s close by.” He took her hand and she pulled him to his feet.

Ryūken’s stomach tangled in knots as he watched his little child be led out of the graveyard altogether by a stranger to a nearby abandoned piece of railway. 

“Here it is!” She beamed, sweeping a hand to the grim tunnel.

“Why’s there no light at the end?” Uryū asked softly.

The hair at the back of Ryūken’s neck stood on end.

It was a straight tunnel. No curve. Not excessively long. It was an overcast day, but even so, light should have been visible from the other end.

“See? You can already tell it’s special. You must be very smart,” she praised.

He blushed a little and leaned against her bashfully. 

His heart twisted. That was something he’d do with Kanae.

“I-I’m the top of my class.” He smiled up at her.

“Good job. I’m sure that means you’ll be a quick study. See? You make a wish—”

“I wish my fam-”

Ryūken tried to brace himself. It didn’t work.

“Oh no, not yet. You think it up and you concentrate on it. And you walk through the tunnel. At the other side of it, you’ll make your wish and have it granted.” 

He’d wind up in Schatten Bereich.

Uryū grimaced. “It’s very dark. Do I have to go alone? Dad can’t come with me?”

She nodded solemnly as she let go of his hand to kneel next to him. “Only the bravest have their wishes granted.”

He took a deep breath and nodded determinedly like this made sense to him. 

A breeze ruffled their clothes and on it came a call.

“-yū?!”

The child blanched. “Oh no. That’s my dad. He’s worried.”

Worried? For a split second, he’d been terrified. Then he’d used his powers to search for his energy. It had been infuriating to realize his son had purposefully disobeyed him and left the cemetery.

“You need to be quick,” the young woman told him.

“Will my dad get to have a wish, too?”

“…Maybe. But only if you make yours first. Do it now or you’ll miss it.”

“How do you know?” The child asked.

“-ryū?!”

Her smile got more strained. “Places like this can’t do these things all the time. Or everyone would know. Right now is special. You need to go now.”

Uryū faced the tunnel again and stretched a hand towards it. “It’s so cold there.” He took another deep breath. “Do my eyes have to be open? Or can I close them and it still counts?”

“Uryū?!”

“Quickly-”

He moved precisely one step before his father’s hand seized him around the bicep.

Ryūken remembered this part. He’d lost patience and had used hirenkyaku and that had made him even angrier: Uryū had a way of making him break all of his vows to abandon his skills when it meant leaving him in danger a second longer than was necessary.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You answer when I’m calling you, young man.”

Uryū glanced up in surprise at the bad word “hell” and then back to the tunnel where there was light at the end. He gasped and then whined, “You made me miss it!”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was magic! The lady said—”

“There was a woman here?!” He immediately scanned around for a suspicious adult. “There’s no one here.”

He hadn’t sensed anyone. Meninas had kept her energy concealed.

In the video, she’d slipped into a shadow the moment before Ryūken came into view. Straight down into the abyss of Schatten Bereich.

“She said that tunnels like these can grant wishes, Dad.”

Ryūken relaxed. “I see we’ll need to curb the amount of television you watch, if you can watch a program and delude yourself-”

“I don’t know why I bother talking to you when you don’t listen to a thing I tell you! You’re probably the reason the magic stopped working,” he grumbled. 

He was completely right. Ryūken had miraculously managed to foil the kidnapping attempt by showing up.

They’d been after his child from the moment they learned he survived.

“We’re going home.” He took Uryū by the wrist and began pulling him along back towards the graveyard where the car was parked in the parking lot.

Uryū made a point of venting his frustration by stepping on the heels of his father’s shoes until—

“You knock that off,” his father growled.

“You’re bad luck! You ruin everything! I don’t know why I even wanted you to get a wish, too!”

“You’re nine years old. Old enough not to wander off let alone throw a tantrum because I interrupted you playing pretend. Pitiful.”

“You’re mean and you smell bad and you lie! All you ever want to do is smoke! I hate it!”

If he was a wiser man then, he’d have taken that comment as the warning shot it was. All of those complaints were valid. 

And it was “I hate it” and not the “I hate you” it would devolve into.

But he was an idiot.

“I’m all you have left so you could be a little more grateful,” Ryūken sneered. “You know? For the roof I keep over your head and the clothes you wear and the meals that feed you and fuel that insolence?”

So painfully immature, it was mortifying to behold. Damn it. He was supposed to be the adult there.

Later, when they were parked at home and the engine was off, Ryūken unfastened his seatbelt and got out, leaving the garage without waiting for his son, who pouted in the car as all the lights timed out.

Damn it. He was such an idiot.

“It’s a bad deal,” Uryū mumbled in the growing darkness. “All the stuff you said is stuff you have to do or you’ll go to jail or pay fines like the bad moms and dads in the newspaper. I’m nice and I care about important things like Mom and Sensei taught me. I’m a good person. I was going to wish them back for us. But you went and ruined it.” He heaved a sigh. “Should’ve just gone, but I got worried about you and I hesitated: I just have to get braver. For next time. Next time…”

He thought this over very seriously.

The door to the house opened and Ryūken peered back out.

“I can’t keep worrying about you, Dad,” Uryū decided. “Not when you just get in the way of what’s best for us.”

He saw his younger self waiting.

Uryū crossed his arms and hunkered down in his seat.

Ryūken sighed and went to the car himself, opened the passenger door, and unfastened the child’s seatbelt. Even though he was bit too old for such blatant coddling, he carried his small, sulking child out.

“You disobeyed me. It’s dangerous to wander off. Someone could hurt you or take you away. That would be terrible. You know that.”

“…” Uryū frowned hard, still upset.

“It’s also dangerous to stay in the car like that-” The child’s curiosity made him focus on the impromptu lesson about carbon monoxide poisoning, especially since he still connected it to the Auswählen deaths. 

“I want you to be safe and healthy. Always. My dragon.”

Those were the right words in the right tone. The gentle handling he’d grown up with and had come to expect.

“Yes, Dad.” Small arms wrapped around Ryūken’s neck and the child rested his head against him, content with a scrap of affection.

It hurt to see how quickly he was forgiven.

Ryūken tried to keep his breathing steady. He couldn’t believe his memory had glossed over all of that.

He’d always prided himself on being gentle.

“Ryūken?”

“How can I not… remember it all happening that way?”

“High emotions have a way of doing that.”

“You got so angry at his funeral. Any time I mentioned him, you got angry. I couldn’t tell you anything. I was always crying, remember? Noisy, you said. If I was going to be noisy then I needed to leave your office, you were taking an important call. All of your calls are important. All of your calls are life and death. Or you were tired and trying to sleep and I needed to be quiet. So I learned to be quiet.”

Another video, years later, promptly loaded:

Seventeen-year-old Uryū was furious. 

“I think your Sternritters are weak!” He spat, hands flat on the desk, leaning forward aggressively.

Yhwach wasn’t the slightest bit intimidated. He arched an eyebrow. “That’s quite an accusation, Son.”

“With so much access to knowledge and power and time, they should be nigh-invincible.”

“I’m sorry they fall short of your high expectations, my Prinz Von Licht.”

Uryū’s lip curled with a snarl. “Many of them are as shallow as they are stupid! They don’t even know how to bleed for a cause. They’re selfish and fearful and—”

“Not everyone is like you, Uryū,” Yhwach said simply as he stood up. “Driven.”

He moved around his desk to approach him.

“…Cowards. Complete cowards. Even when they have so much… so much… and they can’t even… more than I ever-”

“No. Never more than you. You’re simply very special.”

“Ha.”

“You doubt me? Why? Why will you not consider that?” Yhwach offered gently as he set his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

Uryū ran a hand roughly through his hair while shaking his head. “No. No, I’m… I’ve… never been… very talented at… this.”

“At what?”

“…”

“If you’re basing your perspective off things Ryūken has told you, it might help to know he's the worst qualified person to judge you.”

He startled a little guiltily. “…”

“He knows what he knows because he was extensively instructed. A necessity because, truthfully,” he snickered, “I don’t consider him particularly bright when it comes to matters of critical thought. Thus, they would need to train his reflexes because he’s not capable of deep reflection and creativity.”

“…” Uryū looked stricken at this appraisal.

Somehow, despite all the animosity, it still hurt him to hear his father insulted by someone else.

“No sense of innovation, like you do. Let alone a capacity for philosophy. I suppose we should pity him. The cage he lives in is small by design. It’s why you could never fit in his life, Uryū. There was never room enough for you. That’s why you belong here. With me. Where you can spread your wings. I’m certain your Volstandig will be glorious.”

Uryū and his father had talked about Sōken’s death with Dr. Jibiki for almost an hour before Dad requested the remaining half to be a closed session, which was fine until he realized his phone had slipped out of his pocket.

Sitting in the waiting room was boring. He had planned to text his friends to make sure last night’s patrol had been successful. He could then ask his fellow student council members for updates about the festival or if they needed to email him anything to pass on to approve with the school administration.

It was simple. All he had to do was return to Jibiki’s office, knock, pop in and retrieve his phone.

His hand had been poised to rap against the door when he heard his father’s voice crack as he talked with the other doctor about how difficult Sōken’s funeral had been for him and that he was disgusted with himself for how he’d treated Uryū during it.

Disgusted… with himself…

He scurried back to the waiting room and sat in a weird stupor until it was time to go.

That whole period of time was a sort of...haphazard collage of memories for him. His grandfather’s death was crystal clear and on a constant repeat. Everything before and after was sort of hazy. He and Sensei had done some laundry earlier. They sensed the Hollows appear. Grandpa died. Horribly. Uryū reported it to a shop clerk, he went to cram school, came home, Dad explained that the worst had finally happened—Sensei was dead. He’d said it in that calm, cold, clipped tone that he used whenever something “inevitable” happened. Like he always expected Sōken to die that way.

A fog of shock and grief at the finality of it and the role his inaction played had made it a painfully private sort of misery. When he learned more about outer space and black holes and that something being sucked into one was being stretched for an infinity of time and the class naturally asked what dying in a black hole would be like—

Uryū knew it was like watching his grandfather die.

With Mom, there’d been nothing he could do. He was too little and stupid to contribute to her care in any way that was meaningful. With Grandpa, he’d chosen to stay hidden.

He’d been so scared of Dad being angry at him for not doing more. For being there in the first place when Dad hated Quincy business. For not even doing a good job at something that he was willing to incur his father’s disapproval over.

He didn’t think he could survive the shame of being sneered at for his cowardice. The guilt had been… soul crushing.

Now he felt guilty for different reasons, like, not trusting his dad to… be normal about it?

Because being nine was, apparently, a valid enough excuse for him to abstain from saving Sōken from danger. Dad didn’t even chastise him for not trying to talk Grandpa out of going in the first place.

He felt even worse as he was treated to manju following the session and poked at the treat. He didn’t feel like he deserved it.

His father, seated across from him in the cafe, frowned. “I thought you wanted this, did you change your mind? You’re not coming down with something, are you? When you went out with your cousins, you didn’t dress warmly enough, did you?”

He ended up blurting it out: “I left my cellphone in the room.”

“I know.” He returned it to him afterwards. “Simple mistake. Just be more careful. Maybe keep it in another pocket?”

He squirmed. “I-I kinda overheard a tiny bit of your conversation. I didn’t mean to. Just that you felt bad about the funeral. And you don’t have to feel bad. I-I know I lost it there and that had to be really annoying on top of everything—”

A warm hand rested on his head. “That was your beloved grandfather. Of course you were going to have a s-strong reaction.”

“Yeah. But I… I… wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“I know-”

“I just… I… realized why he hadn’t left when he knew hirenkyaku. Because it… would’ve left me… alone-”

Light blue eyes widened and his hand retracted. “You realized it right then?”

“Yeah.”

Ryūken closed his eyes. He folded his arms.

“In typical fashion for me, I-I didn’t take it well, heh,” Uryū chuckled weakly.  

His father’s eyes snapped open. “You were a child.”

He shrugged. Yeah, but he was precocious. He should’ve controlled himself better. Maybe if he’d made more effort back then, he’d be better at dealing with emotions now?

“Uryū? A funeral IS a place where strong emotion is expected. I was being completely unfair to you.”

He vaguely remembered everyone in the room staring at him.

“…”

“I-I should’ve been far more gentle in handling—”

“You were frustrated. I kept messing up… at everything. I don’t know why.” It had been terrible, failing at everything he tried that day. He chuckled weakly. “That day I just… couldn’t seem to do anything right. I even lost my umbrella,” he recalled vaguely. “I-” 

“No, no, no, Uryū. No, you were in a fragile state of mind and I-”

“I’m not a weakling—” 

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Well, you’re talking like I’m—” 

“What do you actually remember of the funeral? You were very young.”

“…I was really upset. You got annoyed at me because I couldn’t get a grip and shut up. I needed time alone. I laid down and that helped me feel less sick and dizzy. And then I was able to keep it together until Juri could drive me home.”

“…” His father’s eyebrows drew together severely. “That’s what you remember?”

“Yeah.”

“And when we had him buried, when we went to see him in the cemetery? Do-do you remember that visit?”

Of course he remembered that visit. That was when he learned about the Wishing Tunnel.

He looked away and shrugged.

“Uryū? It’s important. I-I remember that you wandered away. I found you. Why did you go?”

“You went to go smoke,” he muttered resentfully.

“That’s irrelevant, that’s not permission to disobey me. I was an adult. You were a child. And you knew the rules. You weren’t supposed to wander—”

“Why? You wandered away first.”

“I didn’t ‘wander away.’ I went to the smoking section.”

“...”

“Why aren’t you answering me?”

“Doesn’t feel relevant.”

“...You said a lady told you the tunnel was magic.”

“You told me I watched too much T.V.”

“Was this the same tunnel where you negotiated with Yhwach for three days to set your affairs in order last June?”

Damn it.

“...Yeah.”

“Was there a lady that led you there as a child?”

“Yeah.”

“That woman must’ve been a Sternritter.”

“Probably.”

“You don’t think that’s relevant?” He scoffed.

“I didn’t know who it was. I can’t remember much about her. She was just some tall lady who was nice to me.”

“You… You went with her because she was 'nice' to you?!”

“...” 

Ryūken had been mean. Hard. Cold. Day in. Day out. Ever since Mom died.

It wore on Uryū. Even if the tunnel hadn’t been magic he’d appreciated sensing someone who sincerely wanted to help him.

He’d half-expected a cheap magic trick or a game of pretend.

Dad ran his hand through his hair. “Ryū, we talked about that. We talked about that over and over—Me, You, and Mom. We read stories and news pieces. An officer talked at your school. Not to talk to strangers. Never to go with strangers—”

“She wasn’t offering candy and puppies. It was a wishing tunnel. And the tunnel really was magic. Or rather the darkness in it was. We didn’t cover that stuff, Dad.”

Dad’s eyebrow twitched. He steepled his hands in front of him with a forced air of calmness. “Fine. Let’s cover it now. Do not go with bad characters who offer you things too good to be true.”

“Hn.” 

“Uryū?!”

“I’m not a little kid,” he grumbled.

“No, you’re my teenager who ran away from home, got himself mixed up in all kinds of danger repeatedly, was recruited by a madman, and nearly died multiple times because of his uncompromising principles and large ego. Give me some scrap of hope that you’ve learned your lesson.” 

“…Don’t go with bad characters who promise things that are too good to be true. It makes Dad worry.”

“It makes Dad terrified.”

“…” His eyes widened. Dad was very particular about the words he used.

“Repeat it so it sinks in.”

“…” He raised an eyebrow. 

Dad stared him down. “It’s not worry. Worry is me hoping you take your supplements as I tell you to and that you’re wearing warm enough clothes to stave off illness. Terror is not knowing where your child is or if he’s alive and safe. Him interacting with bad people who have no regard for his life?”

“Makes Dad terrified,” he mumbled.

“Good. Though, I see we need remedial lessons in this area. That’s fine. I’m up for the task. Are you?”

Uryū took a bite of his manju and fought not to roll his eyes.

When they got home, Dad washed up and put his pajamas on despite it only being four in the afternoon.

But he was probably really tired and would go off to rest.

He’d see if he could call the school and schedule—

Dad was blunt, “Get comfortable, we’re not going out again.”  

“What about homework?” 

“We can get it tomorrow.”

“We?”

“I’m still off tomorrow. We’ll have a quiet day at home. I’ll call the school. They can fax us, or we can stop by.”

Uryū stared. “The winter festival is next week. I already missed today.”

“If you need Chiyo and the others to drop in tomorrow for a visit, that's fine. But you and I are spending the rest of today and tomorrow together.”

He fidgeted. “I… I’m okay. Really. I’m sorry if you felt like you had to rush back because I couldn’t get along with my cousins and now you—”

“Uryū. I just learned you saw him die.”

“…”

“I had to identify his body, Uryū. Next of kin. I saw him, too. I deeply regret that you witnessed it. I said things out of my anger at seeing him like that, not realizing you knew exactly…”

“If you’re sorry, why do you feel so angry at him?”

He tensed. “Because he put you there! Damn it. You were supposed to be at cram school practicing equations and having your afternoon snack. Not watching him get disembow—” His father clapped a hand over his mouth and blinked hard. “I… I didn’t want you to see her like that either. It’s awful. You saw them both…in such a state of…”

Messy death.

Yeah.

It was. 

Still…

He let that cold numbing stillness of accepting what he couldn’t change settle over him so he could stay in control of himself, otherwise the grief would spiral him.

Uryū raised an eyebrow. “But what will tomorrow do? I mean, I’m feeling better-ish. Getting to tell you last night…  helped me.”

“Who else have you told?”

“About? Oh! I mean, I told Ichigo about Grandpa. Duh. You know that already.”

“So he knows about Mayuri?”

“Oh… no. Just Grandpa’s death in the park and why I hated Shinigami. Soapbox speech. Urahara and Tessai probably heard some of it, but you’re the only one I’ve told about… Mayuri.”

“What did you discuss with Tessai earlier then?” 

“That you knew about the Fujis and the Haradas now. And I feel kinda guilty about it.”

His father frowned heavily. “Uryū…”

He shrugged. “Talking about Mayuri wasn’t going to help anything. Ichigo and the others have long decided they care about the Sereitei and the reapers there. A few bad apples aren’t going to dissuade them. And it’s the same here with you, I’m still not sure exactly what you hoped to accomplish by meeting with those people when I told you outright they were bad.”

“I never want you to think you have to hide these things from me. Or that I would be indifferent to your pain. I went because I wanted more context for your situation back then. I know far more now.”

“…”

“It must’ve felt overwhelming.”

“It caught me off guard because I didn’t want to accept it. You stop being surprised when you accept it.”

“…Did you… did you come to think… that I was… like them?”

Uryū blinked, unprepared for that one. “No.”

Not exactly.

His father sagged in relief.

Uryū grimaced.

Honestly, he thought he was more frustrating because he could sense certain traits and witness certain actions that he still admired. It was the new, callous behavior that ticked him off… or hurt his spirit.

There came a certain point when you became tired and fed up with the person you’d admired most, failing you so completely. Over and over. Rinse and repeat.

When it felt like all of the care in the relationship, all the maintenance, all the weight, fell to you as a kid, it was overwhelmingly discouraging.

You shouldn’t have to fight to make your father care about you.

You shouldn’t have to yell to be heard. 

Or perform at a top level ALL. THE. TIME. To just get a single nod of approval or a scoff of “Perfect scores? Clearly, it wasn’t challenging enough for you.”

Accolades from everywhere but home.

There had been a growing sense of artificiality in every interaction with his father.

Their house was a stage and they were performing the same scenes, more soullessly each day.

They became two strangers faking the “family” thing.

It was annoying because in public Ryūken was better at it.

He was older. He’d had more practice.

Uryū only had eight years officially. Nine, if he included his time with Grandpa.

He was smart and well read so he could dole out advice and encouragement to his peers, and say the right things to adults so they wouldn’t pry. But it was there in the back of his mind, the whisper that he was such a fake, promoting things he didn’t know firsthand.

How could he talk so confidently about improving others’ lives when he couldn’t even fix his own?

“-ryū?”

“Yes?” 

“I lost you for a moment.”

“Uhh… sorry.”

“They were awful to you. I wish I could’ve shielded you from them.”

Dad kept falling asleep. Understandable. He was tired.

Uryū ended up putting on some more home videos.

They really did seem happy back then.

He watched his dad praising him for stacking blocks or answering correctly about colors and numbers. All in that serious, level tone that made it difficult to gauge whether he was ever really excited about anything.

He skipped forward a few years with another video to where he was seven.

His mother was asking him about school.

“We had a special report today! We presented what we’re going to do when we grow up,” young Uryū announced.

“What did you say?” His mother prompted indulgently.

He gestured to his costume. “I’m going to be a doctor! Just like Daddy and help people! I might even save somebody.” 

“What kind of doctor are you going to be?” Mom asked.

“A good one!” He beamed, oblivious that she’d been asking about what specialty he wanted to be in.

His father chuckled. “Ah. The best kind.”

“Husband…” She didn’t want him to tease their child.

“Uryū is right. Being a good doctor is what each should strive for.”

“Like you!” Uryū rushed over to him.

“I try. It’s important to try.” He smoothed Uryū’s hair. “You have to try for each patient. It can be challenging. Patients are not interchangeable. What works for one might not for another.”

“Do you remember that?”

Uryū startled a little.

Dad was awake again. “You wore that coat nonstop. Sometimes even to bed.”

“…Yeah.”

They watched as Ryūken asked questions and a little Uryū answered.

“Do you… see me like that still?” Uryū asked.

Dad pushed his glasses up a little defensively. “I know you’re eighteen.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“It’s a simultaneous thing. I see you and every age you’ve been. Can we rewind this?” He gestured at the screen. “I like this one.”

“Uh, sure.”

As they watched, he cringed a bit as his younger self listed some “facts” and gave some guesses which Ryūken gently corrected.

“But I’m mostly right, right?” Uryū wheedled.

“You will be a fine doctor someday,” he assured.

Uryū grinned up at him.

It was embarrassing. Almost painfully so. That blatant hero worship… 

Dad adjusted his glasses. “I saw your study materials a while ago… the ones from the library. You’re planning to take the science courses for the university exams, yes?”

“Y-yeah.” He already knew where this was going.

Dad continued watching the home movie. “Are you… interested in applying to med school?”

Uryū immediately felt cornered. “Don’t look into this too deeply. I’m just fulfilling a promise to my younger self that-that I’d take the tests. Because I used to be really into all that stuff and all these sessions keep saying that I need to embrace the past. So I’m embracing the past. Maybe it’ll help the soul fragment… I dunno?”

“I can help you study.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a challenging test.” He watched the screen where little Uryū was playing doctor with an old medical bag Ryūken had gifted him. 

He pulled out a plastic stethoscope and performed a checkup first on a stuffed animal and then on his father. 

“How am I doing, young Dr. Ishida?” Ryūken inquired gently.

Uryū tilted his head and scrutinized him. “You’re tired but happy… but tired.” He promptly prescribed ice cream as the needed remedy. 

Uryū shook his head in embarrassment and scoffed, “Ridiculous.”

To his surprise, Dad turned to face him and his light blue eyes were narrowed almost reproachfully. “If you are going to honor him? You’ll need to work much harder. Otherwise, it’s just an empty gesture.” 

Uryū was sewing the sleeves of the mockup suit’s jacket when he registered Ichigo’s energy outside the estate.

It moved closer. 

Riiight. The staff were expecting his cousins to be coming in and out through Wednesday of this week.

It still felt weird when Yuna led him into the family wing. “Your cousin, Young Master.”

“Thank you, Yuna.”

She bowed and left.

There was a really awkward silence until Ichigo dug into his bag and pulled out a folder and dropped it on the table. “Homework.”

“Thanks.”

It was a peace offering.

Ichigo glanced over at the right end of the sofa where Ryūken was sleeping. He’d taken some melatonin earlier. Surprisingly, he’d wanted to stay nearby instead of retreating to his room like usual.

Ichigo frowned at the garment in Uryū’s hands.

“Oh, come on. You couldn’t do that while we were playing videogames?”

“That” was quiet handsewing.

“No. They’re called ‘steps’ and they’re really important in sewing.”

“Smart ass.”

He chuckled a little and then sobered. “Are Chad and Orihime okay?”

Ichigo nodded. “Yeah, we still had one straggler get away though.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. You’d have gotten it.”

He fought against the kneejerk feeling of guilt. “Yeah, well, Dad would’ve freaked if I wasn’t here.”

“Did you know he was getting back this soon?”

“No,” he answered honestly. “He just said Monday. Not the time.”

Ichigo fidgeted. “…Oh.”

“…”

“Damn it, Uryū, I didn't mean to tell him your business—I-I thought he knew.”

He nodded.

“I just… I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah, you should be. Scared the hell out of me. Him waking me up like that and it sucked having to go through the details.”

“I bet.”

“It’s weird because it was always this-this-” Wall? Chasm? Impossible obstacle? “Thing between us. And now, well, it’s sort of working out, I guess. I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s not… mad at me for failing Sensei.” He relayed the feral dog cover story. “He acts like, even if that were the real story he wouldn’t have been angry.” 

Ichigo’s brows furrowed severely. “Why would he be angry at you? I mean, I get why you feel guilty, but I thought your Dad had a major beef with him?”

“Doesn’t mean he wanted him dead!”

“But why would he be angry at you? Weren’t you just a little kid?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be there, and if I hadn’t been, Sensei might’ve used hirenkyaku and escaped.”

“…Was he using the thingy you do? Ranso-ransomtingy?

“Ransōtengai.”

“That.” 

“I dunno.”

“What about blut?”

“Uhhh…umm…I don’t know. I don’t remember him using that—”

“Odd. Why wouldn’t he use it?”

“Huh? Oh… I-I dunno.”

Ichigo went quiet and then asked very hesitantly, “Uryū… he was old, right? But how old?”

“I-I dunno.” What was with all the questions? He didn’t pester him about Aunt Masaki! “Old. It wasn’t polite to ask about his past—”

“But he knew tons of stuff, yet, didn’t use any of it in that fight?” His tone was suspicious.

Uryū frowned. “W-what are you getting at?”

“I mean, the Hollows definitely killed him but… maybe…he was… already…”

“What?”

Ichigo gave him a sudden, sympathetic look. “Do you… think he could’ve been having a separate medical emergency on top of the battle?”

“…What?”

“Cuz he was old. And sometimes that stuff just happens. Stuff… it happens in our clinic, Uryū. Someone comes in and they take a turn really fast and we call an ambulance and it still isn’t—”

“NO! Grandpa was a powerful Quincy and he wasn’t sick. He took all of his medication and vitamins a-and everything. The Hollows were very strong. There were five of them. There usually weren’t that many when we—”

“Uryū, you’ve taken on way more than that.”

“I eliminate them. He sheparded—it was different. Distracting them and protecting the humans and spirits until the Shinigami appeared.”

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. “Did… did you only watch on these outings?”

“I told you that! That’s why I feel bad!”

“Dude, you only ever observed?!” Ichigo squawked. “Shit, I thought you had actual combat training from him. Cuz you talk like he actually—”

“Because we discussed techniques and strategies thoroughly—”

“So, it was mainly talking cuz you were little and he was old—”

“We’re supposed to wait until we’re ten years old to start patrolling! Sensei said so! He said—”

“Then why the hell would you even think about jumping in? You were following his rules for engagement—”

“Cuz I’m a quick study! I can learn things just by watching once. I’d watched more than enough. I should’ve acted—”

“Had you killed a Hollow before under his supervision?” Ichigo asked.

“W-well, no, he wanted to model good behavior and shepherd Hollows. But I manifested my bow and shot arrows at our training spot and my aim was pretty okay—”

“But if you two were really in trouble, why didn’t he eliminate the danger?”

“Probably because it would end a soul—”

“Nah. Something happened. Something went wrong. No way he’d leave you in the lurch like that. He left you the Sanrei Glove, right? He wasn’t the ‘perfect pacifist philosopher guy’ by a long shot.”

“…”

“Uryū—”

“He took his medicine. I saw him. He was moving a little slower but it was summer. The heat bothered him sometimes. We had that in common.” 

“Uryū, it wasn’t your fault, man.”

“I…”

“Uryū, I think you… need to forgive yourself for this one.”

“Coming from you?!” He spat, incredulous.

“Yeah, coming from me!” Ichigo argued. “Did you run up to the Hollows?! Like an idiot?”

“…No.”

“Then I think you have more leeway and you need to let it go—”

“Damn it! You sound like Yhwach! That I need to ‘let go.’ That I can’t come into my true power while I’m dragging the past behind me!” The room blurred and started to slowly spin. He was breathing hard. “I don’t want to move past it! If I move past it, I’m leaving them behind! I-” He choked. Sensei…Mom…

Arms wrapped around him and he was gently pulled back. 

A voice near his ear said, “Thank you for delivering his homework, Nephew. I think your father should return home tomorrow. Give my best to your sisters.”

Ichigo stubbornly sat down on a nearby chair. “No way. I’m not leaving him like this.”

The embrace that Uryū was in, tightened. 

“You left him last night,” Dad growled.

“Oi, not like this,” Ichigo refuted. “If he was like this, it would have been completely different.” 

Uryū’s breath kept hitching and he didn’t trust his voice not to crack during a rebuttal. He rubbed roughly at his eyes.

Ichigo leaned forward. “Look, I’ll be blunt—”

“Can’t imagine you any other way,” Ryūken returned coldly.

“Would Sōken have blamed him?” Ichigo asked.

His father jerked back, inadvertently taking Uryū with him. “Of course not.”

He sounded offended

“And you don’t blame Uryū?”

“Never.”

Truth.

“Sounds like you’re off the hook, Uryū. Those were two guys who didn’t see eye-to-eye on tons of stuff and they’d agree on this.” 

Uryū shook his head. “S-shut up. It’s not just that.”

“You will never lose them,” Dad assured him. “They will always be with you. Mom. Grandpa. Moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting them—you, living your life honors them. It’s what they want.”

He kept saying these kinds of things but…

“…”

“It’s what I want, too. Believe me,” Dad told him.

Uryū nodded tightly.

It got quiet… and even more awkward.

Ichigo fidgeted and slouched down in his seat.

Dad snapped, “If you’re staying, you will be supportive.”

“I AM being supportive!”

“And you should at least sit up straight while being an uninvited guest. Have you no manners at all?” The Ishida patriarch sneered.

It was so weird to see them acting out the dynamic he’d lived for years. Ichigo being angry. Dad being condescending.

Ichigo crossed his arms. “Ugh. Whatever.”

“Roll your eyes again, I dare you,” Dad warned.

Aaand Uryū got to be in the middle of whatever this was.

Great.

Chapter Text

Ryūken rolled the dice and moved his game piece three squares and waited.

Ichigo selected a science trivia card for him and read it out. “What is the chemical name for water?”

“Dihydrogen monoxide,” Ryūken answered.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess that one’s easy for a doctor. So, um, Uryū said you might have some photos of my mom in your archive?” 

He nodded. “I can compile a folder for you and your sisters.”

“…Cool. Thanks.”

They were playing Trivial Pursuit.

Ryūken was currently in the lead and only needed one more wedge piece before he could try for the final round, but Uryū was giving him a run for his money.

Ryūken's turn ended with a question about a fashion magazine. His son looked smug when he answered incorrectly.

Uryū rolled the dice next and moved his game piece.

Ryūken read out the next question asking which archaeologist discovered King Tut’s tomb.

He was pleased when his child answered correctly with “Howard Carter” and added another wedge.

His son’s eyes shone triumphantly. But before he could reach for the dice again, Ichigo took it.

“Hey,” he whined, “it’s still my turn.” 

“Why are so many of your boardgames in different languages?” Ichigo asked.

“Our household values multilingualism as a result of our heritage,” Ryūken answered.

“With games?”

“I wanted Uryū to be comfortable with other languages. That requires casual communication outside the classroom. If you’re serious about working as a translator, I recommend that you seek out materials besides books.”

“How many rounds of this are we doing?” Ichigo complained; he was a distant third. He did very well in literature, was fairly knowledgeable in the other categories, but struggled with science (particularly when complicated names were involved) and was losing his sense of good sportsmanship.

Ryūken and Uryū were simply very good at accumulating and retaining information. Father and son’s mutual weak spots were sports and entertainment, Ryūken had a slight edge over his son because conversations with his patients sometimes went off tangent and there were televisions on in the waiting rooms.

Uryū smirked. “Perhaps we should play something more your speed, Ichigo? Like, Crocodile Dentist?

Ryūken stifled a snort and scolded, “A proper host doesn’t provoke his guest.” 

Uryū sighed.

Ichigo rallied, “See? It’s not just me, Uncle. He starts stuff. It's annoying—” 

It was going to be a relief when his nephew left and he was back to minding only one semi-insolent child in his home.

Uryū shrugged and gave a careless “Sorry.” Like he bumped into Ichigo by accident on the street.

“Oh, that was not genuine!” Ichigo spat.

No wonder Isshin was hands off. Ryūken pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t imagine having to referee every interaction under his roof because of multiple minors. Medical students wandering around his hospital and being underfoot was trying enough.

“You’re a poor sport,” Uryū complained. 

“I don’t like being set up for a game I’m gonna lose.” He tossed the dice vindictively at Uryū.

Ryūken caught it and hissed, “Do not throw things—” 

“You invited me to game-a-thons with the guys where I was the only person who had never played the game!” Uryū yelled.

“You’re quick though.”

“It was still scored.”

“Oh come on, you like the bragging rights that come with making meteoric comebacks-”

“I’m understanding why this arrangement doesn’t work,” Ryūken muttered, setting the dice down firmly in front of Uryū.

They were too close in age. It made them clash. They were both poor sports, used to doing things their way.

Ichigo was older and expected himself to be naturally better at tasks than someone younger, so he rarely put in full effort at a game, especially if it was supposed to be for “fun.” Younger relatives were supposed to struggle and defer to him. He could then humor them. And if they got the upper hand once in a while, he could bear it without feeling threatened.

Uryū was smarter than his older cousin and more driven but less mature. He played games to win, no matter the stakes, and was consistently a solid competitor. And when he lost, he made a point to study up to strengthen his weak points. 

Every game and challenge got Uryū psyched to do his best, which could be exasperating for his peers who just played for amusement.

They weren’t going to be like Ryūken and find it hilariously endearing. Because there was just something about being challenged to Janken like they were two Samurai meeting in battle that was always going to make him ready to play.

He’d ask Tessai to watch over Uryū next time he was out of town.

“Do you hear yourself, Ichigo? Inviting me to things where people are going to dunk on me?”

“If I hadn’t invited you to start sitting with us for lunch in the first place, you’d still be a total loner—”

“Don’t pat yourself on the back too hard—”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffi—” 

“Thanks for the road trips through Soul Society and Hueco Mundo. Let’s scrapbook those scarring memories! Hey, remember when my arm got ripped off because you picked a fight, lost, and left it to me—”

“Orihime helped you-”

“Because Ichigo doesn’t need a plan. His two attack combos will always be enough—”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Play date over,” Ryūken ruled and began putting the boardgame away.

“Huh?”

“Wha?”

“Ichigo, go home. You’re loud and you’re giving me a migraine,” Ryūken told him.

“Oh.”

“Uryū? You’re being equally obnoxious.”

“…Sorry.”

Light blue eyes narrowed at the tone. “Are you tired?”

His son’s face betrayed him. He was. That was why he was getting agitated and unruly.

“Aww, Uryū needs a nap?” Ichigo teased. “Sorry we didn’t schedule those into our roadtrips—”

Uryū flinched.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Ryūken said with mock surprise. “Let me be blunt this time. Goodbye, Ichigo.”

“Er.”

“Why nephew, have you already forgotten where the door is since last night?” His glasses shone. “Here, let Uncle guide you.”

“I’ll do it!” Uryū volunteered. “Ichigo, come on.”

“Right.”

The two sped from the room. 

Teenagers, they always united against a common foe: parents.

He crossed his arms; it was still annoying.

He sighed as he noticed a flash of silver where Ichigo had been sitting.

A cellphone. 

Eighteen-year-olds were so careless.

He got up to return it.

As they approached the door, Ichigo looked uncomfortable. 

“Geez. What’s your problem now?” Uryū asked, irritated because he was at his limit for his cousin’s mercurial moods.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”

Lie.

“Ichigo?”

“I just don’t get why you’re playing nicey-nice with him. Come on, baby boardgames—”

“That you were losing at. Look, we’ve been doing counseling.”

Ichigo’s mouth opened and he looked like a fish as he squawked, “What? Since when?”

“A couple weeks now. And he’s made changes. So have I. In how we… deal with each other. It’s been better. Much better than it’s been in years.”

“…Right.”

“He’s taken the lead on this case with Karakura Academy, and those muggers that ambushed me, he’s calling out Sasahara’s bullshit, and he’s helping me get healthier. He realized I… needed more help and he’s gotten it for me.”

“…Yeah.”

“Plus I…” He fidgeted, unsure if he should keep talking. “I think he… missed me.”

Which was an uplifting feeling. The idea of being missed.  

He was kind of used to being taken for granted.

“I mean, I know he’s worried about me. That’s why he went on the trip in the first place and he was worried about last Friday, but-but he rushed back home. I think… he actually missed me.”

Ichigo got a weird look.

“Look, I get that it’s not a big thing to you.” He had always had his family in some capacity, ready to support him. Even his childhood friends were still alive. “Everyone here at the estate died during Auswählen. I believed the cover story, carbon monoxide poisoning. So everyone I knew was just suddenly gone, Ichigo. People that knew and liked me. The servants’ children I played with were just… gone.” His cousin’s life had been more normal than not, at least compared to him. “And no one at school could relate to loss on that scale. And it was hard to connect. I tried, but I couldn’t talk about Quincy stuff with anyone outside the household besides Sensei and then he was gone, too. You… you were normal until high school. And you had normal friends who got you. 

It’s just, what I’m trying to say is, it’s been a long time since anyone’s wanted to see me. You know? Not because I can save their grade or their ass in a fight. I know, I know. Mostly my own fault for being standoffish. It’s just, you get to a certain point where you’re just tired. And you know it’ll just be easier to not maintain any relationships because a Hollow can take you out at any point and you don’t want to be responsible for the collateral. It’s more courteous that way.”

Ichigo tensed. “I don’t like hearing you talk like that. Like we wouldn’t notice you were gone. We’re your friends! Do you think you did us a favor running—?” 

“You didn’t even know I was running for class president! And yes, I did do you a favor. Haven’t you noticed the teachers have eased up on a lot of things, like your hair?”

Ichigo blinked like Uryū had said something odd but recovered and said, “You didn’t check in on me either after I was depowered!”

“You always acted like you were just a normal guy thrown into everything against your will and that you wanted things to go back to normal. That you were normal and you wanted a normal life!”

“The hell does that have to do with anything?! And what’s up with you repeating the word ‘normal’ at me?!”

“Because I’m like the most abnormal person in the group! I was never ‘normal.’ I was always aware of Hollows and seeing dead people and sensing creepy, paranormal shit!”

“You’re our team spaz. Lunch was way too quiet without you.”

“Y-you! Shut up!” He then snickered.

“Did you really go out of your way to ignore me because of that?” Ichigo looked annoyed.

“…You were lying. You were upset to lose your powers. You pulled away first, and I respected it, and I didn’t want you to think I was flaunting mine.”

“You’re… stupid. You’re the stupidest smart person I know. You are a weirdo… and don’t blame your powers for that. Geez, like I’d shun you for...” 

“…”

“Damn it. Did your apartment’s water really go on the fritz during that time?”

“Chad and Orihime helped me out and there are showers at school and the gym I visit.”

“Yeah but you could’ve come to me and-”

“Really? After this weekend fiasco, you’re going to go and say-”

“You’re so frustrating. You never just come out and tell me what the situation really is. I have to drag it out of you.”

“For someone who professes to like Shakespeare, you sure can’t read between the lines: I was embarrassed. I didn’t invite you over to my apartment because I knew your savior complex would activate—”

“My savior complex? Mr. I-hate-Shinigami but you were somehow there in the middle of the night to help Rukia-”

“She was a classmate at that point and a girl without powers, so-so-so that overrides my default stance about-”

“You’re full of sh-”

“You said you couldn’t punch me during the Menos debacle because I looked miserable, right? We weren’t even friends then. What was going to happen if you came over and saw me… living there? Miserably. Next to my creepy, addict neighbor who sometimes lurks and rattles my door’s handle at 2 AM.”

Ichigo’s face twitched. “Well, you wouldn’t have been living there anymore-”

“Where the hell was I going to go? I wasn’t gonna fit in your closet, too, Ichigo!”

“We’d have figured something out!” His voice rose. “Damn it, does Chad know you had a lurker?”

“No. But he made a habit on patrol nights to make sure I got in and secured the door. That was embarrassing, by the way. Like, us doing that for Orihime made sense. Chad then doing that for me? Super embarrassing.”

“No one messes with Chad. He drops me off. I don’t get bent about it.”

“Yeah, well, I had a reputation in the complex as a tough guy.”

There was a beat. 

“You’re shitting me.”

“Am NOT! I’ll have you know that up until I joined the group, I was known as a hard hitting, tough as nails, lone wolf type!”

“…Sure.”

He sighed and pushed up his glasses. “Now everyone thinks I’ve gone soft.” He rolled his eyes.

“Uh huh.”

“You were going to judge me. You were going to see where I lived and you weren’t gonna respect me the same way.”

“Okay. Okay, no, but I can see why you’d think that. Cuz you overthink everything. And, um, I might even get why he’s hovering so much.” He pointed to where Dad was standing midway on the steps.

Uryū looked over his shoulder.

“Ack, Daaad,” he complained. Damn it. Eavesdropping!

Dad was standing on the stairs, staring point blank at him.

“Yes,” Dad said simply.

“Huh?”

“I missed you.”

Truth.

“…Right.” Uryū’s face heated up.

“I will always want to see you.”

Truth.

“Kay.” Damn it. This was embarrassing. And it was happening right in front of—

“You are my Ryū.”

Truth.

“…Yep.” Life over. He was going to die of humiliation. Here. In front of Ichigo. Perfect.

“Do you still feel tired like that, Uryū?” His father asked seriously. “Like maintaining relationships is an exhausting task?”

He did not want to discuss this right now.

“N-not like before. Just… a little bit. Sometimes. I was just… trying to explain to this guy why… why-”

“Why you destroyed your social network? And why you’re struggling to rebuild it?” Dad asked softly.

“I…” It sounded weird and crazy when he said it like that. “I… was…”

Unwell.

He slowly glanced back at Ichigo who continued to look upset.

He changed the subject. “Anyways, I-it was nice of Ichigo to bring my homework. Thanks, Ichigo.”

“Yeah.”

“Very nice. Thank you, Ichigo.” Ryūken didn’t look at his nephew. “Uryū won’t be going to school tomorrow either. We’re going to have a quiet day at home.”

“Right,” Ichigo murmured.

Uryū blinked, gobsmacked that this didn’t spark another huge argument. 

In fact, the lack of reaction made him angry.

“How come you’re okay with things now?” He demanded of Ichigo. “I thought you didn’t like him butting in?”

“I don’t! I’m not okay with it. It's just… you’re…not-” 

“We’d appreciate it if you brought his homework tomorrow, too,” Ryūken cut in.

His cousin and his dad shared a strange commiserative look. 

“What? What is it?” Uryū looked between the two. “Why are you both being—?”

“The cold is getting in,” Ryūken observed.

Uryū seemed to register the wintry draft from the open door only then and shivered.

“Uncle?”

“Hm?”

“I…I still don’t agree with everything but… I am sorry I broke my word.”

Ryūken nodded briskly as he came down the stairs towards the door. “Thank you. Here’s your phone.”

“Oh.”

“You left it upstairs. Walk home safely.”

Ichigo’s nose wrinkled and he scoffed while he pocketed the phone, “Whatever, I’m not the one under house arrest. It’s early. I’m gonna hang out with Chad and the others.”

“Hn.” Dad surprised them both by meeting that impoliteness head on. He gave a “shoo” motion with his hand and, without further ado, closed the door.

There was a loud, irritated “HEY!” from the other side that Dad ignored. He called Aota to open the gate for his nephew. Then, he turned back to Uryū, like it was all water under the bridge now.

“I picked up a crafting magazine for us at the train station,” Dad told him. “There was a section on building miniatures which could help with that castle model we started.”

“Oh, okay.” He had a strong feeling that Dad was using kiddie gloves with him. 

But why? What part of what he’d said had triggered this reaction?

Ryūken carefully glued fake moss to the board under the model castle they were building.

“There are some good tips in this,” Uryū muttered as he flipped through the pages of the small magazine Ryūken had bought on a whim. “Yeah. We probably should’ve painted the roof tiles before assembling it. Oh well. That would’ve added time though, waiting for the paint to dry. Plus, it’s winter and that takes forever and it could still smudge from handling it too much. Tradeoffs.” 

“Hmm.”

Ryūken was still feeling taken aback. He and his nephew had gotten to hear it: Uryū’s depression. Largely unfiltered.

It was usually this silent force on the sidelines undermining everything.

Coming out of the woodwork like that earlier, that was new.

Its only real signs thus far had been in moments of dark humor, bleak judgments, and poor decision-making.

Obviously, this was some kind of progress. 

They’d either dislodged it or threatened it enough for it to surface.

It had an overinflated sense of accountability yet there were clashing tones of nihilism.

Uryū alternated between caring too much and then not at all.

His instinct was to care. The apathy was new. Invasive. It was introduced into the system.

This was uncomfortable for Ryūken. He felt misunderstood. It was like his message to stop caring about their Quincy heritage and saving the dead had boiled down to “stop caring” which left a deep void.

It was frustrating because he'd given him a safer, better alternative: to care about saving the living. Maybe it was naive to expect his son to understand and accept the substitution of thought but…

It was also possible he was being egocentric. As a father, his impulse was to feel personally responsible for his son’s development—good and bad. It was equally likely that his child had seen and endured enough to have his core principles shaken and to glimpse stark possibilities beyond them. 

If Uryū’s instincts came from a proverbial place of light, then this was the shadow that resulted.

Becoming an adult would require grappling with this internalized darkness.

It was going to be difficult. Painful. Different from the trial of self Ryūken had undergone where he’d had to discover his values for himself and fight for his happiness—breaking away from a dogmatic system.

Uryū already thought for himself and had very high standards and ideals. He could go against the grain quite easily to do what was “right.”

The problem was his thoughts had been tainted by a particularly insidious strain of self-sabotage.

“Look, I get that it’s not a big thing to you, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s wanted to see me.”

Lies. Ryūken was always glad to see him.

“You know? Not because I can save their grade or their ass in a fight.”

He was more than his talents. He was a good person.

“I know, I know. Mostly my own fault for being standoffish.”

His self-esteem was scraping so low he had trouble imagining anyone really enjoyed his company.

“It’s just, you get to a certain point where you’re just tired.”

That was when it really started talking.

“And you know it’ll just be easier to not maintain any relationships because a Hollow can take you out at any point and you don’t want to be responsible for the collateral.”

Ryūken was so used to Uryū being determined and stubborn and battering himself against obstacles that dared to stand in his way, that it hurt to hear him give up. 

Just give up on… everything that would make a human life worth living.

It was a brutal admission that he was very aware of death, how his adherence to his Quincy heritage practically guaranteed it, and he was bracing himself for a sudden, violent one.

Which was unacceptable.

“It’s more courteous that way.”

Using his own sense of chivalry against himself…

Such soft spoken cruelty…

Ryūken could now make educated guesses of how the depression talked to Uryū:

Why would anyone care about you?  

You’re unlikable. You’re too much trouble. Your talents are the only reason others endure you.

You’re selfish to want more. To want others to care about you. What if something happens to you? Why would you want to cause others pain? Especially when it can be avoided?

If you’re going to take the risks you do, the least you can do is be smart about it and minimize the effect it has on others.

You should be alone. It’ll be better that way. 

And the bursts of irritability and desire to prove that inner voice wrong made sense. His middle schooler had been valiantly fighting that off.

His high schooler was in its grip. 

Ryūken had hoped it was dysthymia. Now, he wasn’t sure if it was MDD or DMDD.

He recalled Tessai’s exercise, which now felt like a lifetime ago. He needed to verbally identify his son's genuine strengths… because they were no longer obvious to him.

Ryūken picked up a bag of fake gravel. “I think you’re creative.”

“Hm? How?” He replied flatly as he pulled his hair back with a rubber band. 

Ryūken needed to schedule him another haircut before the hospital’s Christmas party. Maybe tomorrow tonight? His barber might be willing to accept a last-minute appointment.

Uryū raised an eyebrow. “I’m just following the suggestions-”

“Funny, kind, steadfast.” 

Uryū nearly dropped the magazine and spluttered, “What’s going on? Why are you talking like this?” 

“You can be thoughtful and, because you have such a strong sense of curiosity, it makes you good at conversation.” 

“Stopstopstop.” He was very red and shook his head fiercely. An errant lock of hair escaped and framed his face. His mother’s hair would do that—she’d have to tie it up very tightly in a bun when she was working to keep it out of her way.

“Anyone would be fortunate to call you-”

“You’re just gonna continue?”

“-Their friend.”

“…Thanks, I guess.” He put the magazine down and began gluing small pavers in careful patterns. 

They continued working for another hour.

When they decided to stop for the day, Ryūken continued where he’d left off. He’d had time to think over what he wanted to say (though it might’ve come at the price of singeing a few fingers with the hot glue gun and Uryū asking why he didn’t use Blut more often; obviously, he didn’t want ordinary humans taking notice of his peculiarities so he learned to suppress the instinct when participating in mundane tasks).

“I enjoy the time we spend together. This?” He indicated their project. “Good diversion. Different from how I usually spend my leisure time. It’s important to challenge ourselves. I’m not a natural crafter. I’m also not a very social person. Your mother… and you… are the ones I enjoy being around. Your company means… a lot to me.”

“Daaad!” He flushed as he unplugged the glue gun. “You don’t have to say this stuff to me just because of earlier—”

“I do not endure your presence. I enjoy it. I always have. If I didn’t, why would I keep seeking you out? Why would I try to guide you? Why would I… suggest an occupation that would lead you to work with me? If I couldn’t handle it?”

Uryū began collecting paintbrushes and setting them to soak in a jar. “…Because you can enjoy authority over someone while resenting them and setting them up.” 

That was offensive.

“Setting you up for what? A respectable, fulfilling career and retirement options?” Ryūken placed excess materials in small plastic bags according to type.

“I’d be strong armed into an environment where everyone defers to you.”

“The horror.”

“See?” Uryū snapped. “You don’t get it. I-I just got out of that. It messes with your brain. It’s dystopian.”

He felt an even sharper prick of insult. “Are you assuming I don’t deserve to command respect? Or that I’m so draconian that I can’t be questioned?”

Uryū looked conflicted. “I…I don’t know.” He sounded young. He shrugged his shoulders. “I liked being a tailor. I could make my own hours. I didn’t have to answer to anyone. It was quiet. It was safe. There were no big mistakes that couldn’t be repaired by extending a deadline or buying a new bolt of fabric.”

Past tense. Liked.

Interesting. 

He was legitimately open to moving toward a new career.

“Easy? Low stakes?” Ryūken asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I would set you up for difficult situations?”

“To prove a point? Yeah. You know how you are.”

“Perhaps… to teach you something,” he conceded. “I would never intentionally humiliate you.”

Uryū set a plastic caliper down hard. “The hell did you think you were doing when you called everyone in after my surgery?”

“How was it humiliating?”

“Tubes in me. Pestering me. Hurt and everyone could see. And you were so rude.”

“You were being ridiculous.”

“I just got out of surgery! And you’re all, ‘Well, his mouth is still working.’”

Ryūken’s lips twitched. “I wanted you to use that opportunity to collaborate with all of us. Why do you think I stayed in the room? I was showing you a room full of people you could trust.”

“Telling me my wounds were fine while my shoulder felt like it was on fire!”

“Damn it, you need to tell me when the pain meds wear off. You must metabolize it quickly. I gave you as a strong dose.”

“And let you mock me for having a low pain tolerance?”

“The way you describe me sounds like a cartoon villain.”

“You didn’t run it past me. You just did it. You do that a lot.”

“…”

“And when I do it. When I just act, without consulting you, I get scolded.”

“You’re a teenager. I’m an adult.”

“I hate reasoning like that.”

“Why?”

“Grownups always justify crappy behavior or decisions by virtue of age.”

“You are very nearly in the ranks of grownups,” he warned. “Beware.”

He sighed. “I know….”

“Why are you convinced I’m a bad boss?”

“I didn’t say that… exactly.”

“I don’t play mind games. I don’t create situations where my staff will struggle to perform. Patients are dramatic all on their own. I don’t need to contribute to our daily challenges. Do you really think I would give you access to things that could jeopardize me, my staff, and my patients, if I didn’t trust you?”

“You’d be relying on my principles to circumvent me from acting out of pettiness or anger no matter what you did.”

“What are you expecting me to do?”

“I dunno.”

He could feel himself getting exasperated. “And for what purpose? What would I get out of tormenting you? I hate seeing you in pain.”

“I-I dunno. Some kind of satisfaction.”

“Like what?”

“…I dunno!”

“Did Yhwach do that to you?

“…Yeah. He-he liked pushing me to my limits or past them. Apparently, I was a tough case because I…I’m not…naturally vicious.”

Indeed.

“Hmm. I don’t like being compared to him, Uryū.”

“S-sorry. But… seriously, why would you even want me to work with you? Given how complicated our past is? Wouldn’t it be less stressful for you, the less you have to see me?”

And there it was again.

“On the contrary, I worry extensively when I don’t see you regularly. Having you work in the same facility would make it a lot easier for me to protect you. That would give me incredible peace of mind.”

“…”

“Why do you think you perceive the concept of working for me so negatively? Because I worked so much during your childhood? We’ve gone over this. I was making sure you were provided for. Yes, I should’ve done more. I should have been checking in with you. Every day. Yes, I was too harsh. Yes, I made lots of mistakes. I made lots of assumptions that you’d see all the things I did for you and feel cared for. You needed words. I’m trying to give you the words now. 

You alluded earlier that no one ‘wants to see you.’ That just isn’t true. I’m right here. You said you pulled back on your relationships because you didn’t want the ‘responsibility of collateral.’ No. Denied. I am your father. You are my son. I will always be the collateral of your risky decisions. You can’t begin to fathom the depth of my care for you, let alone what my grief would be to lose you. Because I won't stop being your father. Ever. Death can’t break that bond.”

“Dad, please don’t stress over what I said. I’m not having a crisis—”

“I’m not saying that there won’t be times where you have to do the right thing and it will be dangerous. You know that already. Yes, your actions and what you stand for will determine what kind of man you are, but don’t die needlessly. Don’t disregard what’s at stake. Trouble will come, you don’t have to go looking for it. There is so much good you can do that isn’t flashy life-or-death but highly important all the same-”

“I get that but I can’t just keep my head down if something bad is happening right in front of me either.”

“Is that what you think we’re doing right now?”

Uryū stared at him.

“Uryū, we’re battling injustice for Fuji, Kawano, and Harada. We’re helping the Sasakis. We’re taking a stand against the Sasaharas. We’re going to get to the bottom of what happened to Inukai.”

“…”

“And we’re going to let the community know exactly how terrible Aso was. We’re not letting Karakura Academy get away with the havoc it wreaked on children.”

“…”

“And we’re going to accomplish all of this while balancing our responsibilities at work and school and home. We are NOT keeping our heads down. Not all problems are resolved by using our spirit bows and kicking down doors. It’s important for us to serve as models for others. We are Ishidas, pillars of our community.”

A hearty gaisburger marsch was served for dinner.

Ryūken was pleased to see Uryū take a second helping; the teen couldn’t afford to lose weight, especially during flu season. 

He was probably already stressed from Sasahara and the school festival. His cousins’ poor behavior tipped the scale and his appetite suffered. 

He was glad he’d followed his fatherly intuition and returned straight home. Too often he’d disregarded it in the past when he was on business trips and sitting in conferences—telling himself he was going soft, telling himself Uryū needed to toughen up, that he’d be fine.

He wasn’t.

And maybe if he was honest with himself, the experience of meeting those other…he was loath to even call them ‘parents,’ as they didn’t merit the title, had been unsettling enough for him to feel sick.

When they retired to the family wing, Ryūken presented the sudoku and puzzle book from the train station. 

“Another souvenir? Ha, I really was not expecting anything. Thanks, Dad.”

He frowned. “I… tried to make a habit when you were young and I had to leave for trips.” 

“I remember. I mean, I just didn’t… expect… because I’m older now.”

“I think about you often throughout the day. It’s difficult when I can’t sense your energy.”

“What does my energy feel like to you?”

“You’re a mixture of your mother and I.”

“You answer that for everything,” he muttered. 

“It’s true and it’s a good thing. I like to reflect on it.”

When he married the woman he loved and got to see a piece of her and a piece of him woven seamlessly together in their child, there was a strong feeling of contentment, like the world made sense and was right. Finally.

After her death, Uryū was the part of her that lived on. Ryūken felt solace and gratitude thanks to her. That she’d gifted him with a reason, beyond vengeance, to exist.

Uryū flipped through the pages of sudoku and puzzles. “Are you alright? Did meeting the Fujis and Haradas bother you that much?”

“I don’t like that you were exposed to people like that. Sai, Sumiko… were they… afraid of their parents?”

“Sai definitely was. Sumi was just sad and frustrated.”

“Were you afraid…?” Of me? 

He still couldn’t believe he’d handled him that roughly at Sōken’s wake.

“Yeah. I mean, I never saw parents act as badly as they did before. It messed with me at the start. Still, it made me better prepared for helping Towa and Suna and the others.”

The silver lining of traumatic experiences—he was more empathetic to others’ situations.

“Talk to me about those meetings.”

“I already did. Only met the Haradas twice.”

“At the movie theater and at a school fair,” he recited back.

“Yeah.” 

“What did they say to you?”

“We didn’t speak.”

“What did you hear them say?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“They told us…no, they didn’t address us. They told Sahashi… ‘We have no son.’”

Uryū closed his eyes for a beat as he grimaced. “Ah.”

Ryūken reluctantly shared more about the trip.

Uryū sighed and stared down at a crossword, tapping the tip of his pen near one of the clues. “Poor Sai. He did have it the worst. Honestly, he was such a jerk, I didn’t like him at all, but he didn’t deserve… Do… do you see a lot of stuff like that at the hospital?”

“We have to make reports when we do.”

“Does it help? Those reports?”

“Sometimes.”

He swallowed. “Were you ever nervous that my injuries from exterminating Hollows would get you investigated?”

“At times. Though I was more worried about what you would say. If you mentioned Hollows, we’d get people who’d think you were suffering visual hallucinations.”

Uryū laughed and nodded.

Ryūken didn’t think it was funny. Depending on the circumstances, Uryū could’ve wound up heavily medicated by professionals trying to “cure” him. Ryūken would’ve needed to enlist Urahara’s skills to tamper with memories had that occurred.

He reached over to check Uryū’s shoulders. “You’re still tense. Turn to the far left. Look down. Tilt head down.” He counted to thirty. “Switch. One, two, three…”

He set a pillow on his lap. “Lay down. Side.” He felt for the levator scapulae muscle. He followed it with his thumbs slowly down and applied pressure.

There was a sigh of relief. 

“Can you name this muscle?” He asked.

“Levator scapulae.”

“Good. What does the Latin mean?”

“Raising the shoulder.”

“Good. Lift your arm. Set down. Lift. Good.”

They did several repetitions before having him switch sides.

“Dad? Why do you think meeting them bothered you so much? I warned you repeatedly to try and prepare you.” 

“Some things are supposed to be sacred. 

Uryū tilted his head back to look up at him.

“The bond between a parent and a child… its… it’s very…”

“Complicated?”

“Ha, no.” He ruffled the dark hair. “The relationship can become complicated. The bond itself is… well, to me, it’s very simple. You’re mine.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Yes. It’s how I feel. I look at you. I hear you. I sense you and I know that you’re mine. And I feel content. ”

“…”

“When I can’t look upon you, when I-I don’t hear you. When I can’t sense you, the world is wrong. Nothing is right. Nothing can be right without you.”

“But you had a whole life before me. Weren’t you content then?”

“No. I was unhappy until I married your mother. And even while we were very happy together, we could feel that you were missing. Once we had you, our happiness was complete.”

“…You told me that before when I was little.”

“Yes. I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. Until you don’t need to hear it because you’ll know it.”

“…All of us heard variations of the usual pushback of parental disapproval. We were dramatic, reckless, sensitive, confrontational, self-absorbed, and immature.”

“It’s natural for a child to test boundaries as they learn to live under their own power. I struggled with your disobedience but… I knew you had to learn independence.”

“I don’t feel very independent now. Ichigo doesn’t like seeing me like this. I can’t blame him. I’m not… acting like I used to.”

“There are times for independence and there are times for interdependence. There’s nothing wrong with needing your family.”

“But Ichigo-”

“Has his family’s support. And you have mine.”

“I kinda feel like I’m letting him down. I’m not the same as when we first met.”

“Hmm.”

“I get that you feel differently.”

“Ha. Yes. I have no desire to see you return to your one-sided feud against me.”

“Hmph. Didn’t feel one-sided.”

“I thought you were just being rebellious and needed me to play villain for you. How dare I not want you to die in battle?”

“Anyways, I’m sure this has been weird for him to see.”

“Hn.”

“I don’t really unload stuff on them, so, just having them know about Aso harassing me has felt like a lot.”

“Hm.”

“Did you guys fight last night?”

“We had a disagreement. It’s our business, we’ll handle it.”

“About me?”

“…He feels that some of your recent behavior in regards to me is unearned.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to discuss it further.”

“Why not?”

“It puts you in the middle.”

“I am already in the middle.”

“He doesn’t feel I’ve done enough to warrant your obedience.”

“…He thinks I’m a sellout. That I’ve traded in my freedom and responsibilities for the luxury your money can provide me.”

Ryūken laughed. “Oh, I wish you were that easy to incentivize.”

Uryū made a face. “Yeah, but… I guess I can see why he thinks so. It’s just, I was trying to do the right thing and minimize the drama. There’s enough going on with Sasahara and Aso that I didn’t want to pile on more. I dunno anymore.” He sighed. “What do you think? Should I tell him and the others about Sumi and Seiji and the rest?”

Ryūken’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “You… you haven’t told them?”

He blinked. “Nope.”

“Uryū Ishida?!”

Chapter Text

Early morning exercise always reminded Ryūken of his youth. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel bitter. In fact, the corner of his mouth kept lifting which forced him to have to actively school his expression to one of neutrality.

“You have to get lower than that, Ryū,” he chided.

“Why? I do this in P.E. and it’s fine,” Uryū replied. His hair was slipping free of his tie. 

“Ha. Your instructor is humoring you.”

“Excuse you? I have top marks in all of my classes, even P.E.” His tone was quite haughty even as he blew hair out of his face.

Ryūken’s lips curved. “They must be very fond of you.” So they went easy on him.

His teenager got flustered. “What’s that supposed to mean?! I’m doing it right. I have to be doing it right… they’d have told me…if I was… why do you think I’m doing it wrong?”

Ryūken adjusted his glasses. “Ah. As I expected, you need me to demonstrate. That’s fine.”

It was understandable that Sōken, at his age, had been unable to teach proper technique for certain aerobic exercises and hadn’t bothered to try and correct a faux pas when he witnessed it.

Meanwhile, Uryū’s teachers at school simply appreciated that he put effort into his physical education, unlike some academically gifted students who requested extensively modified regimes or sat out entire courses with doctor’s notes.

He’d always been proud of his son for wanting to participate. Though, he never wanted him to exhaust himself and trigger his hypotension. 

There was a balance.

Training together, under far less stressful circumstances than last time, would let him see for himself where Uryū’s limits were. He was a little frustrated with himself for not realizing that sooner.

Also, the underground training facility on the Ishida Estate would be a good alternative to Uryū going to Urahara’s shop for training. The weather was getting rougher for Hikari to chauffeur him there. And maybe it was Ryūken’s bias, but home always felt safer.

There was no reason his son’s friends couldn’t practice here. Plus, he was interested to see if Fullbringer-esque powers tripped any alarms in the underground facility. Or did the Soul King’s favor negate the Hollow energy Fullbringers possessed when it came to Quincy security measures? Or, because the Hogyoku had been involved in their powers developing, were their powers… less Hollow-related?

“Now, pushups that use a flat hand-style like this,” he explained as he got very low to the mat (less than a handspan), “will focus on the pectoral muscles and will strengthen your core.” He did ten reps. “Now, push-ups that use a fist-technique like this.” He changed position to rest his weight on his knuckles and began demonstrating. “This strengthens your forearms and hands for combat.” After ten reps, he explained as he changed position, “Eventually, you may be able to advance to a two-finger technique like this. But it’ll take time and dedication.”

“As if you weren’t showing off enough before,” Uryū grumbled.

Ryūken smirked and sat on the mat across from him after he finished. “Well, at least you appreciate the difference in our skill levels.”

“HEY! We trained for different things!” Uryū complained while gesticulating wildly.

“Hn.” 

Uryū had not trained for strength. Obviously.

“You! Because-because, you know what?” Uryū climbed to his feet and then did a backward roll into a handstand. From that ridiculous position, he demanded, “How about that? Can you do that, Dad?” He did a somersault into a standing position once more and then a backflip. Then he ran and did a handspring. “Well?”

His blue eyes were bright. The movements had brought color into his cheeks.

Ryūken chuckled, genuinely amused. “Very impressive, Son.” In a silly, entertaining way.

Blue eyes narrowed. “…You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“No,” he assured, though his mouth kept pulling into a smile. “I’m simply unsure what those showy moves prove?”

Uryū blinked and his head tilted to the side. “It’s… it’s for recovering.”

Ryūken raised an eyebrow. “Recovering?”

“Yeah. If you get thrown by a Hollow, you need to be able to tumble and get back to a position where you can evade an attack or fire.”

Ryūken stared.

“My Uryū could grapple with Hollows if he so wanted.”

“Uryū.” He frowned gravely. “You should never be close enough for a Hollow to grab you. Let alone in its grasp long enough for it to throw you. It could raise you to his maw and eat—”

That morbid little comic of Uryū at the dining table being eaten by a Menos was suddenly worse.  

“—You.”

They’d lost Gemischt guards who were caught like that.

Uryū had only learned blut vene this year. He suppressed a shudder of horror at the recklessness this hinted.

Uryū shrugged. “Well, that’s why it’s helpful to practice archery upside down.”

“…” What?!

“Do you do that?!” Uryū demanded.

“I can’t say that I have.” He wanted to see it now.

Uryū grinned triumphantly. “Well you should! Cuz if you shoot the Hollow, then it drops you and-and then somersaults and flips are helpful. So you don’t just… land on your face and break your glasses.”

Ryūken sweatdropped at the image that conjured. And he suddenly understood why he’d had to pay for so many replacement glasses during his son’s middle school years. 

So many near-misses.

Uryū was lucky he hadn’t broken his neck and had his soul eaten.

“Uryū, you are very fortunate you survived those encounters. Hollows are highly toxic to us. Maintaining proper distance is essential in—”

“To you. To most Quincies. But I’m not like most Quincies. Yhwach said so. He wasn’t lying. That’s why I survived my mission through Hueco Mundo. But I’m serious, knowing how to take a throw or a fall could help you, too. There are also stage falls that I learned in middle school theater that-”

“Uryū, I’m familiar with grappling. I know how to endure a fall and perform a takedown.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’ve ever had to play dead.”

He blinked. “…No.”

Uryū smirked. “There are ways of falling that can trick an enemy into thinking you’re done for and lulling them into a false sense of security. Then, they open themselves up for an attack!”

It was a completely different style of fighting. 

He was reminded of the difference between martial artists and street fighters.

While the martial artist had more technique, strategy, and discipline, the street fighter was used to the chaos of reality and had a fierce survival mentality.

“So you prioritized agility, flexibility, and reactive strategies over strength and technique. I’m not opposed to learning the former if you let me… help you with the latter?”

“…Fine.”

After a surprisingly enjoyable lesson about stage falls that included Uryū showing off his acting prowess, their training session led them to the weight bench.

Ryūken explained the basic safety measures and then instructed his son to take a seat. “Bench presses and dumbbells will also help with body symmetry. When you’re a little more practiced, we can add more weight to your non-dominant side. That’ll help.”

“Shouldn’t I have more weight to start with?” Uryū asked, tone sounding a little flat as he lifted the bar.

“No. You’re going to focus on technique first. And you will…?” He prompted.

“Always have a spotter,” he repeated back with no enthusiasm.

“Correct. We get too many athletes in the Emergency Room who get cocky and injure themselves because they worked out alone. Crushing injuries. Those are difficult to treat and infuriatingly preventable. Hold. Don’t let your arms hyperextend. Good. And down.”

“Even though you work out alone.”

“…I sometimes ask Isshin to spot me, if I’m going to be using a significant amount of weight. Up.”

“So this is confirmation that you’ve known each other forever?”

“If ‘forever’ is longer than you’ve been alive? Then, I’ve known a lot of people for forever. Down.”

“…When do you even find time to exercise with your hectic work schedule?”

“I fit it in when I can. Up. Usually three or four times a week. It’s important to stay in shape. Once you leave school, it requires discipline and diligence to keep up with a training regiment. I can help you adhere to one.”

“…Okay.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” He took the bar and set it back onto the rack. “Now, I demonstrated proper pushups earlier. Let’s see if you can do five good ones in a flat hand style and then a fist style.” 

“Five?” Uryū scoffed.

“You’re right. That might be too much for a novice like you. Let’s see if you can manage three of each.”

“You! You! You are so infuriating,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “Missed me? Yeah right. Rushed back here just to tell me, I swear… maybe it was your personality that kept you out of Shinigami-Quincy drama? Nobody wanted to deal with this.” He gestured at his father.

“Ha.” He was so easy to tease.

Uryū glowered as he pulled the rubberband from his hair to re-tie it.

“And your hair is too long. I begged my barber and he took pity on us and set an evening appointment tonight."

“…What?!”

“It’s too long. You know it is.”

“I mean, yeah, I’m adjusting but…I look… cooler with long hair.”

“Ha! You look sloppy with long hair.”

He glared. “Lots of people had longer hair in Schatten Bereich.”

“Lots of Quincies displaced from their natural eras sported eclectic tastes?”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward, intrigued. “How did you know he was collecting them from different times? Did Grandpa discuss that with y-”

“This is the twenty-first century. Style your hair accordingly.”

Uryū’s expression went flat and he crossed his arms. “I think I should have some fun and scandalize everyone at the Christmas Party. Think of what they’ll say?”

“Director Ishida lets his son roam the wilderness, hiding things in the creek-”

Uryū snorted. “That makes me sound like a drug addict.”

“Hn. Let’s not give them any fuel for such baseless rumors.”

“All because my hair is long?” He scoffed. 

“I don’t decide what society deems proper-"

“But you uphold it?”

“My hair is a respectable length. Long enough to style, still professional. Follow my lead. Be employable.”

“You know? I think my hair is almost long enough to-Yes! I know just how to wear it for the party!” He pulled his hair free and started to gather the top half up into a bun.

Ryūken swatted his son’s hands. “You’re trying to annoy me.”

“And it’s working.” Uryū grinned. 

After exercising, cooling down, hydrating, and then washing up to refresh themselves, they practiced music for the hospital’s holiday party.

Ryūken was still rusty at the piano, but they easily had five songs with four-hand music that were solid now.

As he assured, they weren’t hosting a concert. Five options was plenty.

“Do you like playing?” Uryū asked him in that soft, sudden, open manner that made the years fall away.

He could easily see his preschool aged son in his highschooler, who could be struck with intense, innocent curiosity.

“I don’t mind,” he replied.

His son’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked like his mother. “…If you… don’t want to perform, I understand.”

He smirked. “Is my playing so poor you feel the sudden urge to go solo?”

“No! I just, if you don’t enjoy it, there’s no point forcing you to do it.”

Such a simple statement that flew in the face of countless generations of Ishidas who’d been forcefully coerced into all manners of actions—from futile wars to loveless marriages.

To not see the point…

It was proof that Uryū had almost effortlessly broken free of the mentality that plagued his forebears to suffer.

He found different miseries instead; It was sobering to realize that. Kanae and then Uryū had helped Ryūken break free from his limitations, but he hadn’t been able to help them in return.

“Ah. That’s very considerate. Thank you, Uryū. But I assure you, I enjoy music best with you.”

It was true. He’d long enjoyed arias and classical pieces. But there was something special in watching Uryū’s face light up as he listened to music. The look of contentment as he played.

The “Ken” in his name, in his father’s name, in his grandfather’s name was a reference to bowstrings. And yet, as Uryū played the piano, he couldn’t help but wonder if their family could have been different, the strings might’ve referenced music as well.

After all, Ryūken was very gifted at the “clavier” attack.

But even then, he wouldn’t have used that kanji for his son: He was a rain dragon. Ryūken could feel it in his heart of hearts. He’d selected the best, most fitting name for his child.

He helped put away the music sheets into a folder.

There was something simultaneously calming yet bittersweet for him about getting to spend the day like this. He’d made a point to do so when Uryū was much younger. He had given fierce “No’s” when senior staff floated additional shifts at him and was warned about his attitude more than once. He was not going to miss his son’s childhood. He wasn’t going to be like his own father.

Liar. Hypocrite. His father’s son.

Lunch was calm. The atmosphere between them was peaceful. His child was talking about the winter festival with pride and excitement.

Normal. This was what normal was supposed to be like… for them.

It made him feel more human than usual, which complicated things; Kanae’s absence hurt more. He didn’t look at her empty seat but he felt it, viscerally. Still, he also felt more connected to Uryū than he had in years. He had more answers now. He better understood why they had clashed so terribly and now he was in a better position to reach out across the rift in their relationship.

Father…

Father had been brutally slaughtered while upholding his ideals… and something worse than death awaited him.

“I would never want your grandfather to suffer like that,” Ryūken assured.

It was one of the easiest truths to give. He glanced down at his son’s tear stained face and was pained at seeing the obvious relief on his child’s face after years of arguing about the old man.

He nearly asked, ‘What kind of monster did you take me for? Sitting at the table with you?’

Because Uryū’s psyche could not bear the statement that Sōken deserved what he got.

He didn’t. Death by Hollows was, perhaps, unavoidable because of his lifestyle but…

He was set up. All that intelligence and he couldn’t sense when something was wrong.

Damn it. Father…

Why did he have to die like that?

It was tempting to write it off as a choice, that he’d always intended to go out as some kind of martyr?

Or maybe Ichigo was right and he’d had an additional medical emergency?

But if Sōken had… loved Uryū… and it was… beginning to look like he did. The tenderness and patience Uryū associated with him that Ryūken never experienced…

It was… an apology. His old man was too prideful to apologize for the strict, oppressive childhood Ryūken had endured—he believed it prepared him for a war that was coming.

Maybe, originally, Sōken had expected Uryū to die in Auswählen, so there was no point in being cold to a Gemischt descendant. It wouldn’t prepare Uryū for anything and he… wanted to be remembered in a better light by an innocent—that he wasn’t all Quincy discipline and military techniques. Or, if Ryūken was more generous with him, Sōken wanted every moment of Uryū’s, presumably short, life to be full of love and comfort. He was determinedly kind as he braced himself for the tragedy, knowing his own son would fall to pieces from the loss. And this would be his solace as he tried to convince Ryūken to step back from the edge of what would have been complete grief and a desire for death, upon losing his wife and their child—that Uryū had been deeply loved his whole life.

Maybe he also wanted to prove to himself that he could be a loving grandfather, even if he had been a failure of a father?

Uryū survived.

But by then, relations between father and son were so strained that…

He could love Uryū. And through Uryū who was repeatedly told to think kindly of Ryūken, he could love Ryūken… by trying to salvage their bond.

His father had failed on that front, too.

His eyes stung and it was hard to swallow.

But he had tried. 

From the information he was gleaning from Uryū, Sōken never disparaged Ryūken for making the choices he had, always encouraged Uryū to think well of his father, and challenged him to be open philosophically because…

He believed in Uryū’s ability to bring their family back together.

Because Sōken knew Ryūken loved Uryū. 

Completely.

Enough to turn his back on his entire heritage to try and shield him from Yhwach… not that it worked.

Yhwach had his sights set on the child the moment he learned of his survival.

And he’d watched the aftermath of said survival with wicked interest.

The loss of Kanae and the subsequent autopsy had been traumatic for Uryū.

But the circumstances of his grandfather’s death continued to re-traumatize him over the years. 

The rage and the pain… the guilt and shame… the obsessiveness with Quincy culture so his grandfather’s death wouldn’t be in vain. And then there was the pressure of being the supposed “Last Quincy.” 

And Yhwach could sweep in then with grand speeches of being a savior—

“Dad, are you alright?”

“No, I’m thinking about your grandfather.”

“Oh? Why? Did something remind you of him?”

Ryūken stared. “It’s…it’s going to take me some time to come to terms with… what happened to him.”

“Right.”

“He was my father.”

“Right.” Such a blank expression.

“… I do have feelings, Uryū,” he muttered dryly.

“I-I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“In the past you did. You’d yell that I was cold. Unfeeling. Useless.”

Uryū’s head tilted. “…Are you fishing for an apology?”

And just like that the sense of connection they’d been nurturing all day pulled taut and was strained.

“No. I… we had different perceptions, different contexts… I…”

Uryū waited. Kanae would wear that expression, seemingly passive and indifferent but alert.

Ryūken needed to word this well. “I imagine you… felt rushed.”

“How so?”

“To deal with your grief. I think we expect too much from children. We hope for them to ‘get over’ tragedy and return us to a sense of normalcy. And they try because there’s safety in routine. But that just papers over the wound instead of treating it.”

“…”

“There were classes and school assignments and deadlines and milestones. Dinners, bento boxes and flu shots to schedule. New shoes and new coats to purchase—”

“Yes, life carries on that way,” Uryū agreed. “The gears stay in motion. It doesn’t stop for the living, the way it does for the dead. You’re pushed onward or you fall behind and get crushed by the machinery.”

Ryūken had seen injuries sustained from assembly lines, from automobile accidents, from heavy construction equipment. 

It was tempting to say Uryū didn’t know what he was talking about because the words were cruelly flippant.

Except he did. 

He’s seen his grandfather torn apart, his mother dissected, wandered the morgue fighting Hollows, had spoken to and possibly witnessed the deaths of others as he communed with the spirits of the departed. And then he met up and joined Kurosaki’s ragtag group and faced down more enemies and dire situations.

And then he’d gone to Yhwach and saw firsthand how he ruled their people.

“…I… don’t like hearing that… that way.”

A dark eyebrow rose quizzically. “Why? I didn’t think you were sentimental.”

“…” Weak. Soft. Pathetic.

He could hear his parents’ scorn in the tone and saw their hardness in his son’s face.

Congratulations, Ryūken. You made it your mission to erode your son’s sense of sympathy for others. It’s working.

“I’m a hypocrite,” he admitted softly. “I suppose… I’m very sentimental.”

A hard silence followed this and he missed Kanae with every fiber of his being. 

She would’ve rushed to console him with a look or a smile or a word of reassurance.

Uryū stared him down coldly, evaluating the words and the man before him.

“I think…”

He braced himself for ridicule or maybe contempt after years of hammering lectures on—

“There are worse things.”

“…”

“Fear is… understandable. Where there’s softness, there’s a chance for exploitation and destruction. That which is soft, weak, gentle does have greater potential to be easily destroyed by virtue of its nature.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Still…”

Ah. Here it came.

“Destroying something first so someone worse can’t, hardly seems like a virtue. Even if one could argue it’s a type of kindness.”

“…What would you suggest?”

“Ah, my turn to be a hypocrite.” He smiled painfully. “Honesty, perhaps? So there could be a sense of choice and… maybe resignation? That if you choose a certain path, and you don’t have the strength to guard it, you may well die upon it.”

“…”

“Even so, to stand by and do nothing while knowing better, to me, still feels worse.”

“You couldn’t have saved him. Or her.”

“That doesn’t make the feeling go away.”

“I couldn’t save them either.”

“…”

“I want to save you.”

Blue eyes widened and then looked down and away. “I know.”

After lunch, Uryū had him try on the mock suit.

It was very unpolished at this stage. He didn’t want to be overly critical, but there was little to compliment. Silence seemed the smartest option.

“Well?” Uryū asked.

“Mhmm?”

“Look, you can critique it,” Uryū replied as he set pins into his—

“Don’t do that! Don’t put pins in your mouth.” He immediately set his hand out.

Uryū gave him a look.

He gave one back.

Uryū heaved a sigh but obediently set them on his palm. 

He frowned, there were at least five pins!

There was a beat. “Those probably have spit on them.”

“Yes,” Ryūken acknowledged tightly.

“I probably should have wiped them off first. Sorry.”

“Uryū, I’m a surgeon. Sialorrhea is an occasional reality.”

The corner of Uryū’s mouth went up, and he started laugh. “…I had… I had a teacher demand gum from me like this, once. In seventh grade.”

“…Did you…?”

“Yeah.”

“He…demanded?”

“Yeah.”

“Hn. Then you were following his orders.”

“Hey Dad?” His eyebrows furrowed. “If I’ve been exposed to Hollows a lot, is my saliva and blood dangerous to you?”

The tangent was, oddly enough, proof that his son was becoming more comfortable with him.

He’d used to field all kinds of medical hypotheticals from his child.

“Unlikely, but I’d still hesitate to accept a blood transfusion from you.”

“But is it like a bacterial thing? Or an energy thing? Or… like, what if you needed a kidney?”

“I would be in a rough position.” An organ from an ordinary human donor could potentially kill him by introducing Hollow-tainted energy into him.

“So, we’d have to ask Orihime or Urahara for help. Is that why Echts had to stay out of fights? A sort of medical fragility?”

It was strangely infuriating to hear that. “I don’t want to discuss this.”

“I mean, we use the same utensils. So it’s not like those are contaminated. And you don’t seem worried that I’m too close—”

“You’re overthinking this.”

“I just wonder sometimes if I could share my immunity with you. Or if I… did… have a kid someday. Theoretically!”

“Of course.” Ryūken still perked up at this possible hint that his son was thinking about the future less fatalistically.

“Would it be passed down? Or would I still be a genetic outlier? That could be nerve-wracking, trying to…”

“Safeguard your offspring? Yes, let’s talk about this, Uryū.”

To his credit, Uryū went very red. Unfortunately, he changed the subject by loudly asking his opinion on the suit's pockets.

“Could be wider.”

“Okay. What else?”

He shrugged.

“Talk to me. I know you usually select classic fits, single-breasted. But your Quincy uniform was double-breasted, I left enough fabric because we didn’t decide last time-”

“I prefer single-breasted suits.”

“Okay then. Three buttons?”

“Yes.”

“Kay. Higher, shorter lapels. I’m doing a full canvas because that’s just… better. I think this is going to end up more formal than not. But not ultra formal! Is that okay? Does that make sense?”

“I regularly attend work functions where that’s expected. Formal is fine.”

“Kaaay. Um, if you wanted a modern fit or a slim fit, now is the time to tell me. I’ll still be tailoring it to your tastes, but your preferences will be deciding the silhouette.”

“What do you need it to be?”

“You are the client.”

“No, this is your competition.” 

His son made a face and whined, “I don’t want the final product to be a suit you wear one time. That defeats the point—”

“I want you to win. If you were the model, what would you make?”

“Whoaa! Nonono, I’m too experimental. I tend to do slim fits and asymmetrical designs because I want to look taller and edgy.”

Ryūken bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing outright. “Ah.”

“I think we should go for the double vent unless you really want a dinner jacket. But then we’d need a shawl lapel. Welted pocket regardless because I have standards.”

“Does the category for the contest give guidance for the design?”

“Elegant and functional. And tangible—it can’t be concept art or, like, a fabric draping.”

“I see.” He didn’t.

Uryū smirked, correctly guessing that he had no idea. He explained, “The material can’t just be pinned to a mannequin. The piece can’t be glued together. It’s a sewing category. There’s talk of having a no-sew division but…”

“The piece has to function.”

“Yeah. I have the full rules, if you want to read it.”

“Yes.”

“R-really? It’s kind of long.”

“I’ll be better able to help if I understand the full objective.”

It was the right answer because his son’s expression brightened and softened.

And considering how rough the last 48 hours had been, it was like Ryūken could finally take a deep breath.

Uryū was embroidering flowers for his tapestry project. He’d decided that some elements would look neat if they were mounted to the fabric in a way that suggested some extent of three-dimensional depth.

He set his hoop on his lap and scrutinized it. He wanted it to look like a true nature scene, but it was hard to resist making “perfect” flowers.

“These are nice,” Dad commented as he looked over the sketches and watercolor studies Uryū had made over the weekend. 

“I thought a lot about it since we first started brainstorming at the hospital. I dunno if you remember—”

“Yes, tranquil scene rather than flashy—”

“But still show off what I’m good at, which is flowers. But… if it’s nature, they’re not going to be…” He offered his embroidery hoop to him to better articulate his point. “They’re not perfect.”

His father held the hoop carefully. “They look real.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda risky. I mean, should it be more idealized?”

“No. Uryū, they look… real.”

“…Good?” He tested.

“Very good.”

“Oh…”

“This is very good. Is it very strenuous? Do you intend to do the whole project like this?”

“I’m starting with plenty of time so-”

“Does it hurt your hands?”

“If I take breaks, I’m fine.”

“How often?”

“It’s supposed to be every 20 to 30 minutes.”

“So you’re done for today. Okay.” He took the embroidery hoop with him to his office.

“Wha? Heyyyyy!” He rushed after him.

“You’ve been working for two hours straight.”

“I have youth on my side right now,” he muttered.

Ryūken blinked as if realizing, “There’s ergonomic equipment for this hobby, isn’t there?”

He crossed his arms in front of him. “NO! Dad! Nononono! That’s for old people—”

“Preventative care is useful—” 

“Compression gloves and a hoop stand are for crafters with arthritis—”

Something shone in his dad’s blue eyes and Uryū knew he’d have those two items before the week ended.

When they returned to the family room, Dad looked at the concept art some more.

“Rain Dragon is a good choice. It gives a sense of continuity, especially if others have been following your art.”

“Uh…Thanks.” He really didn’t think he had enough clout in the art world to claim such a thing, but… this was what a supportive parent was supposed to say, wasn’t it?

And nothing in Ryūken’s energy suggested even the slightest hint of deception.

He… really thought Uryū was a good artist.

“Have you decided on a title yet?”

“No,” he lied. 

Dad nodded. “Understandable. Your creation is still in an early phase. I’m sure it’ll come to you in time.”

The working title in his head was entirely too sentimental. Hopefully, something better would come.

Only, considering their conversation earlier, perhaps sentimentality was fine? The tapestry was going to be a gift after all. 

Dad adjusted his glasses. “We’ll hold the meeting with your friends in the library.”

He sighed. Dad had pretty much ordered him to invite his friends over to get them up to speed. He had texted them and they’d be coming by in the afternoon.

He honestly hadn’t expected the heavy lecture from Dad about intel and teamwork yesterday, since it smacked so hard of hypocrisy but that totally flew over the man’s head.

“These are your trusted friends! How are they supposed to understand the gravity of the situation without context?!” Ryūken demanded.

“…”

“Your cousin thought I was overreacting.”

Because you are, he thought sourly.

“I suspect you also haven’t been sharing the progress we’ve been making.”

He did feel a flash of shame. “N-not as completely… as I could.” 

“Why?”

“…”

“Are you embarrassed?”

He fidgeted.

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.” 

“Then we should definitely discuss it.”

“I… it’s not just embarrassment connected to you. I really just didn’t talk about you. Even before.”

“Good to know,” he quipped dryly.

“I kinda… drummed myself up as this independent, self-sufficient type.”

“Yes, you lied.”

“I did not lie.”

“You struggled the whole time. And it was probably very lonely.”

Yeah…

“…Anyways, now I’m going to have to walk that stuff back. I mean, when they ask about my weekend or, even today, am I supposed to say we hung out? I mean, I usually edit it. Even before now because other people don’t think embroidering things while listening to a book on CD is very cool. ‘Dad played the piano with me. Dad helped me with my projects for the Handicrafts competition. Dad let me have his dessert at lunch today.’ No wonder Ichigo freaked out at me. Do you hear how that sounds?”

“Like you have a very indulgent father.”

His face heated up. “Retroactively, it makes me look like this ungrateful, crazy person-” 

“I wonder who you have to blame for that?”

“You weren’t being like this. Back then.”

“…I know.” 

His soul ribbon felt very sad which made him feel guilty.

“You like making me look crazy,” he grumbled.

“No.”

Lie.

“Bet when you’re at work, you have fun complaining about me.”

“I don’t complain about you.”

Truth.

He faltered. “Then you don’t talk about me?”

“Only if it’s pertinent. When you lived apart from me, I didn’t want anyone getting overly interested in you and causing you trouble. Some patients can fixate… it’s troublesome.” 

Protecting him.

“When it was pertinent?”

“Cautionary tale.”

His mood dipped. Of course.

“It’s important to take breaks. Make calls. Send texts. Use your vacation time. Take the longer lunch, attend the school pageant.” 

Or you’d up like him. Alone.

He felt a rush of pity and frustration. 

Without the usual cold anger acting as a buffer for his empathy he felt how sad and resigned his father was to-to being miserable?

He hadn’t planned on telling him but one of the big activities he and Chiyo were determined to promote at the school’s winter festival was a large origami effort to make cranes that they could dedicate to the hospital’s children’s ward so the young patients could make wishes.

He hadn’t planned to tell his dad how involved he was in it because he’d probably take it as another sign that Uryū wanted to work with him at Karakura Gen.

It seemed like any positive reaction to the hospital was magnified in his dad’s mind.

Yeah, Uryū was feeling more comfortable there again. But that was just because the staff was being nice to him. 

It was a Pavlovian response.

His father was interested. “That’s very thoughtful. Have you contacted anyone at the hospital yet to prepare?”

“Not yet. We’ve read the guidelines for gifts.”

“The event is open to the public?”

“Yes.”

“There will need to be a period of quarantine for the cranes before we can decorate the area with them.”

“It’s just…it’s not the most riveting activity. And we’re setting it next to the toy donation bin for the underprivileged and the food drive. So, there might be some sympathy burnout. Compassion fatigue? You know? Asking too much.”

“…”

“If we can’t hit a thousand, the council will just continue working on it until New Year’s and then we’ll reach out.”

“No.” The elder Ishida’s glasses flashed. “I’ll promote it. Let me make a call.”

Chapter Text

Explaining his middle school drama to his friends ended up requiring a chalkboard that Dad had pulled out from who knows where and creating an array of stick figures so Ichigo could keep track of all the people’s names and basic facts bulleted under them. 

He remembered seeing the extra large, double-sided chalkboard in the family library and going, “How long have we had that one?”

Dad unwrapped a hard candy for himself and then offered him one. “At least a decade before you were born.”

And he’d never seen it before. Though, he’d also only been allowed to see a tiny portion of the training area beneath the estate. Supposedly, him being allowed in there at all was some kind of huge concession on his dad’s part. He was not given any of the passcodes to access it on his own.

Dad also hadn’t given any kind of date as to when he’d let Uryū and his cousins visit the archives to learn more about Masaki Kurosaki or when he’d make that file of pictures for her children.

Ichigo nodded, hand under his chin, as he scrutinized the board. “Okaaay. So you did have some friends before the nerd squad.”

That was what he took away from this?

“I guess Rukia was on to something with her preschool teaching strategies for you,” Uryū grumbled. 

“It’s not me! You’re just bad at describing people so the names are meaningless and we have to go this route,” Ichigo argued. 

“I don’t know how you can claim to appreciate Shakespeare with that short attention span and your inability to remember names.” Seriously, it made him wonder if Ichigo just said he liked the playwright to sound cool.

“That is completely different!”

“Uh huh.” As a visual cue, Uryū had made Aso’s stick figure taller than the rest to signify that he was an adult.

“Hm, something’s off. Wait, I know! Make yours shorter,” Ichigo ordered.

“Excuse me?”

“We all saw you in Junya’s videos, shorty!”

Uryū’s eyebrow twitched. “You are being an ass-”

“Shorter!”

“Fine!” He screeched. He erased and redrew his stick figure smaller.

“Give him glasses!”

“You are such a child.” He still fulfilled the rude request and gave his avatar a pair of spectacles.

“Your glasses were still round for the first part of that year,” Ryūken commented from a seat nearby.

“Really? We’re gonna bother with trivial details like that?” He whined.

“Accuracy matter, Uryū.” He pushed his glasses up authoritatively. 

“Gimme a break.” He still erased and re-drew the “right” glasses. 

He was still surprised his dad was attending the meeting. 

When he’d pulled him aside earlier to assure that he and Ichigo weren’t going to fight so he didn’t need to linger and monitor them, Dad said, “Your cousin has made it quite clear that he struggles with the idea of us reconciling in a meaningful way and enjoys throwing a tantrum to coerce you into capitulating to his whims.”

“And your preferred method of dealing with that is…?”

His glasses flashed. “I don't negotiate with sullen teenagers. And will never be forced out of a room in my own house.”

Uryū sweatdropped. “…At least you’re consistent, I guess.”

Damn, it really was weird to see Ichigo take up his prior spot in the dynamic of hostility—Headstrong, Righteous Teenager vs. Coldly Practical Dr. Snowman. 

“Besides,” his father continued, “you may have forgiven him already, but I remember your phone calls and I’m still displeased with how he treated you during my absence.”

“Daad, no, he thinks he’s looking out for me.”

“You’re being naïve.”

Uryū frowned.

His father sighed. “It’s possible even Ichigo doesn’t realize why he’s feeling threatened.”

“Threatened? Oh… social class?” He still wasn’t sure how to address that part with his cousins. Only Uncle Isshin seemed impervious to it. 

Uryū had sort of assumed that living on his own on the brink of poverty had cured him of snobbishness but maybe there were certain things he still did that offended—

His father gave a sharp laugh. “I swear, you’re too innocent. This is why I worry about you.”

Uryū scowled and was caught off guard when his hair was ruffled fondly.

“He and I are fighting over your loyalty.”

He gave a soft, flat, “What?”

Ryūken crossed his arms and leaned against the endcap of a bookcase. “Your cousin has grown too used to you making yourself available for all of his quests and various misadventures. You have regularly come to his aid and given him support.”

“I didn’t go with him to Hueco Mundo last June.”

“Did he ask?”

“Er, he said he informed me out of courtesy but didn’t expect me to go.”

“Then it wasn’t a true refusal. The other night was a new experience for him. You refused. You showed obedience and loyalty to me.”

He squirmed a little at this being laid out so bluntly at least until—

His father offered a quiet, sincere, “Thank you.”

That made his face heat up.

“I know it wasn’t easy. You and your cousin have had a fairly positive rapport, all things considered. You share a lot of the same values. Whereas I… I have much to make up for. But… we… both acknowledge that our relationship is longer and has great depth despite the strains and mistakes we’ve endured. Ichigo has known you for a little over three years. I’ve known you since the beginning… maybe longer.”

“Longer? What do you mean?” Did he have visions? Was it a latent schrift power inherent to his dad that was slowly awakening?

“When your mother turned nineteen and was being seriously considered for marriage interviews by the household and expressed an appreciation of the kanji Ryū… a name… so similar… so connected to mine… well, it wasn’t hard to envision her as a wife and a mother. The only painful part of such a fantasy was imagining anyone, besides me, with her.”

Truth.

Uryū’s eyes bulged as this was relayed to him so shamelessly.

The elder Ishida shrugged. “We were always together. The idea of separation was excruciating. It wasn’t a great leap in logic to realize and accept that I wanted to be her husband and your father even while you were just a concept. Fortunately, our feelings were mutual. And I knew…” His lips curved. “I told her that you were going to be dark haired. That you were going to look like her. I told her that from the start.” 

Truth.

Dad was a romantic. He’d actively fantasized about Mom and achieving domestic bliss with her since he was a teenager. Talk about life pitching curve balls.

Still, it did continue to lessen the feeling of… illegitimacy? Sure, he’d heard rude things before as a kid because of his mother’s occupation as a maid before marrying his father, but he’d been secure in the fact that his parents loved each other. It had seemed so obvious to him as a child.

But time passed and doubt grew and his perspective clouded over, and hearing statements of ‘you’re just like her’ stopped feeling like compliments.

Suddenly learning that blood purity was central to Quincy culture and that his father had intended to marry Masaki Kurosaki and that Mom was an inferior choice to the Ishida Household had sent him reeling.

To feel like a mistake borne of poor circumstances and lowering standards made every scoff and snub his father directed his way feel more dehumanizing.

Honestly, he was still working through it.

There was just something about seemingly finding the answer to why his father hated him and having it be completely beyond his ability to address…

It absolved him of all responsibility while simultaneously plunging him into despair.

It clicked so well. A cruel sort of validation that there was an immovable prejudice that had doomed their relationship from the start.

Pathetic. Genetically. He, physically and spiritually, would always be a lesser Quincy.

Except, by Yhwach’s own words, Uryū was exceptional.

Yhwach believed in him… when his own father didn’t.

Yep. That definitely messed with him.

Only, Dad’s words about himself as a teenager were hardly glowing recommendations despite his academic achievements, extracurricular trophies, and, of course, his Quincy prowesses.

He had also never argued with Uryū when the latter called him a coward.

By his own admission, he’d stood by as a lot of prejudiced decisions were carried out against the Gemischts of his household.

And he would not call Uryū a Gemischt. He was always “Son” even when they were at complete odds.

Uryū had confirmed with his grandfather’s journal and then in the Wandenreich’s library, that a Quincy needed to be driven to the edge, mentally and physically, before firing a spirit arrow near the heart to restore powers lost from Letzt Stil.

He was called a fool, a coward, an untalented, overly dramatic idiot. He was told things that would stress him. Insults Ryūken felt were true and it had stung.

Strategic phrases that would push Uryū to his limits.

But he didn’t commit the way Yhwach would have.

Dad let the exercise drag out. 

He criticized Uryū for using the wrong attack at the end, and yet never went for the jugular himself.

He never said the words that could have sped up the training to a brutal clash that might’ve lasted mere hours instead of days… and ended everything between them for the virtue of speed and precision.

I never loved your mother. 

I never wanted you. 

Filthy, pathetic Gemischts, both of you.

He shivered hard.

No. 

He was never told that because it wouldn’t have been true. And he’d have sensed that in the first place, so it wouldn’t have been effective. Only, Dad wouldn’t have known that. It would have been a smarter strategy to employ but even he had lines he wouldn’t cross—

“Uryū, sit down,” Dad told him, “I think you’re locking your legs-” 

“In a m-minute.” He finished writing out Fuji’s, Sai’s, and the others’ approximate ages at the time they met with a dash that spanned until… death.

“Don’t set an end age for Seiji. He could still be alive,” Dad insisted as he pulled a chair over for Uryū to use.

“No, in a minute.”

“Not in a minute. Now. You’re shaking.”

Damn it. He was right. He sat down. 

Dad brought him a glass of water and asked for the chalk from him. “What else do you want written up there?”

He had Dad list the months on a timeline.

Uryū really doubted Sasaki was okay. It was worse knowing the adults kept pinning their hopes on him to solve the case somehow.

“Whoa whoa whoa! They’re all dead? Those end dates signify death?!” Ichigo squawked.

“Seiji Sasaki is missing,” Dad explained. “His parents are hopeful that he may yet be recovered.” 

“Apparently, I was one of the last people to see him,” Uryū said. 

His father pulled out a folder that had a set of photos from that time. “I developed the film that was in the camera and its travel case.”

Damn. Talk about being sloppy. Uryū had forgotten all about these pictures. 

He did look short.

Ichigo said,“We should just be using these photos instead of your sucky stick figures.”

Dad set the photos on the chalkboard with magnets.

Uryū reluctantly explained more about Aso’s modus operandi. How he “looked” for students with foreign features and doted on them with gifts to win them over.

“So he was majorly creepy,” Ichigo growled. “Several levels up from where we’d clocked him initially.” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” he mumbled. “And he was…he was… romantically involved with Sumi.”

Chad frowned.

Orihime gave a soft gasp.

“The Hell?!” Ichigo slammed his hands on the study table.

“Don’t break our furniture,” Dad warned.

Uryū sighed. “Yeah, your sisters are the same age Sumi was when I met her and learned Aso was taking advantage of her. So, their relationship might’ve started when she was even younger.”

His friends, especially his cousin, looked repulsed at this. 

He talked about some of the “nice” things Aso would do to endear himself to them, especially Sumi.

“He was inappropriate with you, too,” Dad reminded him.

“Well, yeah, but, I mean, not like that. It was just… overly affectionate. Like when I got cherry blossoms in my hair on picture day…” He explained that one and a few other scenarios. “And yeah, getting a haircut from him was really unsettling because…” 

His friends looked really concerned the more he talked and he was fighting a rising wave of self-consciousness.

Dad seemed to recognize that because he proceeded to stand closer and closer to him.

He was just getting into how Aso had physically dragged him into Sumi’s memorial service when—

“Duuuuude?” Ichigo’s voice was surprisingly high, which sometimes happened when he was super stressed or incredulous. “Boiling frog! He was massively creepy. No wonder you came out of middle school ready to tear everyone’s heads off.”

He never quite thought of it like that.

“W-well, yes, but it… wasn’t as bad at the start. For me. It got worse, of course, but I think it’s….he had a hair fetish. And my hair is so dark it’s blue and that’s always been a thing to hair dressers. And, like I said, he was… a hair dresser before being a teacher. And I-I remember him saying I could’ve been a relative. There was this picture of his wife. Her eyes, and mine, and Mom’s are—were—similar.”

Dad stood a lot straighter and looked alarmed.

“Damn, it just keeps getting worse,” Ichigo muttered.

“It was like he wanted to slip into this familial slot, like an uncle or something.”

His dad scowled heavily in disagreement.

“I reported him to Principal Satō and Sumi was angry at me for that and then the rest of our friends were angry because she was angry and they turned their backs on me, but she didn’t want things to stay like that. She told me she understood I was trying to help but that I was just wrong because it was true love… except it wasn’t. Anyways, she always got sweets from Aso and so she shared some pizzelles with me.”

“Oh! Those are delicious!” Orihime interrupted.

“Heh…yeah… And she started planning things for us to do. She wanted me to try some cartocci. She’d have those that Friday? The pizzelles made me ill and I had to go home early. I learned the next day that-that-” He suddenly felt twelve years old again, arriving at school and Hana shrieking that it was all his fault! “That-that-that-”

“That she had jumped from the roof,” Dad finished for him.

Chad frowned. “They blamed you for her death?”

“Y-yeah, they all, well… actually, no. Not all. S-sai wasn’t there. See, in May he’d tried to hurt himself with box cutters in the school lab. But I didn’t know that when it happened. I thought it was an accident. It was almost a month later that I learned about that. Then Hana overdosed on pills a while after Sumi...”

“Wha…?” Ichigo started to make a timeout sign.

It would be easier to just get it all out.

He kept talking, “Honestly, as time passed, Seiji didn’t really seem to hold it against me, so I invited him to come see the play. He-he congratulated me for getting the lead, so-so I invited him. But he didn’t end up coming. He ran off. No one’s heard from him since. But Dad wants us, Dad and me, to help the Sasakis.”

“This is a lot,” Chad commented. “You had these friends. Older than you. Bad things happened. Those friendships ended and you made new friends. They don’t know about Sumi and the rest, do they?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Ichigo was getting frustrated. “Damn it, how are we supposed to help when no one’s on the same page?”

“They didn’t have foreign features. They were safe. From that kind of bullying at least.”

Orihime nodded vigorously, like she was getting why he’d separated things. Stratified. Kept them safe.

Ichigo was less composed.

“You just sat on ALL of this information?! The whole time? What the hell, Uryū? Geez. No wonder this weirdo-” Ichigo jabbed a thumb in Ryūken’s direction. “Has been Defcon 1 over there. Did you tell him? No-you, he dragged it out, huh? Clue by clue?”

“…Yeah.”

“Any other skeletons knocking around?”

He was tempted to bring up Mayuri but didn’t.

“Anyways,” Uryū changed the subject to the Ouija board and his session with his soul fragment.

Ichigo stood up and walked over to him. “You mean to tell me that you waited until we all left and then you did the interesting thing?”

“I didn’t know my traumatic childhood was supposed to double as easy entertainment for you,” he growled.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Don’t be like that.”

“I wanted to see if he, the fragment, remembered more. Because there are some blank spaces in my mental timeline.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “Does he remember more?”

“Hard to say,” he replied evasively

A book dropped from one of their library shelves.

That was unsettling.

It was too similar to what Freund had done in the past.

Was it Yhwach? Was he trying to interfere?

He stretched his senses.

Damn it. It was here. The soul fragment and it didn’t like his response. It seemed annoyed.

“That him? The poltergeist?” Ichigo asked.

“Er, yeah.”

Ichigo grinned. “Good. There’s stuff I want to ask him. Break out the board!”

Chad and Orihime agreed.

And so began his second Ouija board session with the fragment.

Ryūken carefully picked up the book that had fallen.

His eyes widened. 

Fairytales.

He opened it. There was a childish rocket ship bookmark marking the passage for “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” another with a tiger for a collection of Baba Yaga tales, and a baseball one for “Banchō Sarayashiki.”

Uneasiness filled him. He vaguely recalled them all being rather dark stories. He usually discouraged his son from engaging with materials that gave him bad dreams. 

“Freund told you to read this?” He asked softly, hoping the soul fragment would react. “I can’t say I approve of your reading selections, Son.”

There was a sudden warmth, like he’d been caught through the door by his young child. He missed that exuberant “Welcome home, Dad!”

Another book fell. He moved to collect it. More fairytales. 

The bookmarks in the second book had notes from Kanae—Sweet messages from mother to son that had been painstakingly collected and used in daily tasks to keep her close.

There was a photo of a young Uryū embracing both of his parents.

The back of the photo had the message: Happy Valentines Day, My Uryū! You are the most precious star in our sky. Every year you grow and shine more brilliantly. We’re so proud of you. Love, Mom and Dad

There was a large smiley face.

He swallowed hard. That was right.

She’d give their child chocolates on the holiday to make sure he was never left out. Though, he usually came home with a fair assortment of sweets from his classmates.

He glanced at the story it was marking: “Auschtenputtel.”

He felt annoyed that Uryū would equate his mother to the titular character. As he flipped through the pages, he felt another spark of irritation as he noticed the pages had been marked with pencil.

Only, the underlined sentences were usually depicting how beautiful and kind and goodhearted the main character was.

He swallowed hard.

Uryū was completely fascinated with how Aschtenputtel and her deceased mother communicated through the tree.

He closed his eyes for a moment. This. This was probably the root of Uryū’s fascination with divination and ultimately, the Ouija Board. He’d wanted a way to communicate with Kanae… and then Sōken.

He got Freund instead.

He continued flipping through the book. There were more photos and notes and stories, like “The Valiant Little Tailor” and “Issun-bōshi.”

Realization struck. 

The soul fragment was reacting to what he’d said.

This second book was a young Uryū’s preferred reading material.

The first book was what Freund recommended.

Yhwach promoted stories about wrongfully murdered maids, treacherous households, and wishes granted in dark ways.

He carried over certain themes that he knew appealed to Uryū though: sewing, cleverness, goodheartedness, bravery, adventures… servitude…

That rankled Ryūken more than he expected; when he was a child, he’d gravitated more to protagonists with aristocratic backgrounds. He’d expected Uryū to recognize himself as the heir of his household. An aristocrat. A prince. A beloved child.

He didn’t. 

He chose orphans, peasants, and outcasts.

That hurt.

He found another photo marking Hagoromo, Kanae and Uryū were in costumes for a festival, dressed as tennin.

A younger Ryūken was at the edge of the photo, frowning. 

When they were young, Kanae’s fascination with that legend had been amusing, impractical, somewhat endearing, frustrating, and sad. She had seen herself as something apart, adrift, and mystical, which was very understandable for a maiden orphaned at a tender age. His, less than subtle, attempts to assure her that she belonged to the Ishida Household never seemed to put her at ease the way he wanted it to. 

They’d still been children when the teasing compliments began about the beautiful Katagiri finally finding her hagoromo and how wonderful and terrible it was that that night they should see her in her splendor but, alas, it would be the last time they ever saw her.

Beautiful… and Katagiri… in the same sentence…

People weren’t usually so blunt.

Katagiri was usually praised for her gracefulness, intellect, and precision.

A powerful Quincy despite being a Gemischt.

A huntress.

An onna musha.

It almost seemed vulgar to comment on her beauty. 

Through the years, the reasons for his discomfort changed.

As a child, he’d been angered at the idea of Katagiri disappearing. Why wouldn’t she appreciate being at their estate?! If she was upset or lacking something, he’d get it for her. She was his only real friend.

As a pining nineteen-year-old, he’d felt ashamed at understanding why the fisherman in that story hid the raiment.

As a suitor, he’d consoled himself that a dragon god of the bowstring naturally belonged with a celestial maiden.

Years later, being the husband of a “celestial-maiden-turned-wife,” he’d been resigned to seeing her in that costume, knowing she felt very confident in it. 

It was silly. She was always beautiful and elegant.

It had made sense to him that Kanae and a few others from their household were chosen to ride on the hospital’s parade float for the New Year’s festival; Mother liked to fund such extravagant displays to remind the city of their family’s importance.

Uryū was not supposed to be up there, but Ryūken’s work shift had gone late and he’d had to meet up with them at the New Year’s festival. 

He’d arrived to see Sōken in the crowd with a camera. Mother and her guards were over by the high stands.

“Where is Uryū?!” He demanded, momentarily terrified and aghast that his toddler might be wandering around the festival unsupervised.

Sōken gave him a look. “You were late. He wanted Kanae.”

“You let him wander off?!”

“What? Ryuu, use your powers if you won’t use your eyes. He’s right up there with her.”

She’d dressed their child in the same vibrant, showy colors and feathery raimants that she was decked in though in a more masculine cut.

Stupid folklore or not, the subtext was blatant and threatening: they could both leave him. His celestial maiden and their child. Not even the fisherman had suffered that. 

When Ryūken was able to reunite with them at the end of the parade, he tried to keep his tone level so he wouldn’t upset his preschooler as he sidled up beside them:

“This isn’t the costume we agreed on for Uryū.” 

He was supposed to be in a wool set of matching hakama, kimono, and tonbi.  

“Daddy!” Uryū shifted in his mother’s hold and reached for him.

Ryūken immediately took him into his arms, simultaneously mollified by his young son’s affectionate attention and agitated that his wife had gone off plan so blatantly.

Where was Uryū’s earband and gloves?

“Uryū saw my costume and wanted one. I had plenty of supplies. Tennin can be male, too.”

His eye twitched. “I know that… but you didn’t discuss this with me. And this isn’t nearly warm enough.”

His baby was cold. His breaths were leaving in clouds of condensation and his nose was red. Ryūken immediately removed his coat to bundle Uryū with it.

“Ryūken, you will crush the feathers.”

“Our little Ryū is cold, Wife.”

She gave him a flat “Husband” that meant she wasn’t going to be cowed. She was proud of her handiwork. As she should be. But this wasn’t about that.

“My wife, my beloved celestial maiden.” He meant every word. “…Stay with me yet?” He asked.

Her flush was noticeable even beneath the pale makeup.

She recovered.

“Even if you were a mere fisherman, my,” she paused to deepen her sweet voice with a playful purr, “Dragon God of the Bowstring.”

His ears and neck heated up immediately at the pleasure that stirred. Uryū was sufficiently distracted by the lanterns and general splendor of the festival. He pulled his wife close and stole a kiss and then another and then a third, deeper one. 

Father cleared his throat and announced that he wanted a picture of the two Tennin, before Ryūken ruined her makeup and destroyed Uryū’s raiment.

Despite the years, Ryūken still felt annoyed. At Kanae for dressing their child that way. At Father for not minding the child and then interrupting his son and daughter-in-law’s private moment.

“Hey Dad, can you bring the fragment’s disc?”

He snapped the book closed. “Of course.”

He fetched the valet box and left the books on his desk to peruse later. If the soul fragment wanted him to know about these, then they were important. 

“I’ll read these, I promise.”

When everything was set up at the table and everyone was seated, Ichigo commented, “I thought you were an artist. Why does this board suck so bad?”

The thimble went to Yes. Then it spelled out: W-H-Y

Ichigo laughed. “See, even he agrees with me.”

Uryū frowned. “It’s just a quick version, it wasn’t meant to be—”

“As I said before, I’m Ichigo Kurosaki and I’m your older cousin. And I want to help you. There’s Orihime and Chad.”

Yes.

I-K-N-O-W 

“Good. Then you know I’m here to help you, squirt.

D-O-NOT-D-I-S-P-A-R-A-G-E-ME-

“Wait, what is he even? He’s spelling too fast.” 

Ryūken’s lips twitched in amusement and he relayed, “‘Do not disparage me with unearned diminutives.’” 

“Say what? Oi, it’s not my fault you’re a short stack.”

The thimble moved again. It wasn’t too fast for him.

“‘Game on, Garfield,’” Ryūken read out.

“Garfield? Who the hell is that?” Ichigo muttered.

Uryū was shaking his head in dismay and embarrassment.

“A cartoon character,” Ryūken answered. “There were books in the children’s section of the library that contained comic strips from around the world.”

“Yeah? And Garfield was…?”

Ryūken smirked. “A loud mouthed cat that’s bright orange.”

Ichigo reacted in outrage. “Hey wise guy! I’m the protector and you need to—”

The thimble started moving quickly. 

Ryūken spoke on its behalf: “‘Wow, I feel safe now.’”

“Some respect!”

Ryūken started to chuckle.

“Uncle, you’re not helping.”

He briefly touched the thimble. “Ryū, these… people are acting in good faith and trying to help us. No matter how foolish and ineffectual as they might seem at first glance. We owe them some courtesy.”

“No wonder your social skills suck,” Ichigo told Uryū. 

Ryūken raised an eyebrow. “If we could pause for a moment? I have an idea seeing as how some of our guests aren’t as proficient with English as they claimed.”

He went to the family room to fetch the Scrabble board game. When he returned, he set the tiles on top of the makeshift Ouija Board.

“What can you tell us about your old friends?” Chad asked the soul fragment.

The Scrabble tiles moved. 

FUJI 

WAS

NICE

“Did you tell them about Fuji and Aso?”

The thimble moved to Yes.

“How did they take that news?”

BAD

“Bad?” Chad prompted.

NONE

OF

MY

BUSINESS

“You reported it and it ruined your friendships,” Ichigo said.

Yes.

“You reacted correctly. Their response is just a reflection of adolescent immaturity,” Ryūken assured him.

BLAMED

ME

“For Fuji’s death?”

Yes.

“I hope you know how absurd that is. It’s not true,” Ryūken said. “That’s just erroneous guilt. You had no power or way of knowing that would happen. Remember? You were sick, I had to come pick you up from school. You were doing so poorly I couldn’t return to work. I was too worried. I should’ve taken you in and had your stomach pumped. Then we would’ve had data on what chemical was in that food.”

“You think he was poisoned?” Ichigo asked him.

“Back then I… I thought it was a food intolerance, but Uryū is certain that there was something nefarious in the pastry. I believe him. He was dizzy, nauseous, and his pallor was concerning.”

Abruptly, he remembered his tween being curious about his prescription sleep aid.

It had been following a double shift and all he’d wanted to do was sleep.

Melatonin hadn’t been working as well as it had in the past, so he’d been prescribed sleeping pills.

He had set the pills out and left to get water. A call from a nervous resident wanting a second opinion on a diabetic patient that kept sneaking snacks had sidetracked him.

He came back to find his twelve-year-old holding the bottle and studying it intensely.

Instinctive fear made him snap, “You leave that alone!” 

His child jumped a little and then gave a sullen, “I’m just looking.” He tested out one of the words: “Ashwagandha?”

Ryūken took the bottle from him. “You don’t ever handle medication that isn’t yours.”

“I know that!” He argued. “I didn’t open it. It’s for sleep, right? Ashwagandha,” he struggled with the word again and mentioned that the plant was from the Solanaceae family. “Right?”

He wanted praise.

Instead, Ryūken shook the bottle aggressively. “This? It could wreak havoc on your hypotension. You stay away from it—”

“Sleeping pills.” He was certain of it. “The pastries were laced with sleeping pills,” Ryūken stated firmly.

It was not an overdose of thyroid medication or anxiety meds. 

She wouldn’t have shared those with an underclassmen she took underwing no matter how frustrated she was with him.

“Sumi knew I had low blood pressure and what things could hurt me. She wouldn’t have tricked me.”

Orihime asked, “What time did she give you the pastry?”

“Morning break. 9-ish.”

“And you went home?”

“Um…”

“I picked him up at 11:00 am. I had to cancel a consultation.”

"Lunch period was at what time?"

"Our lunch period was staggered. But ours started at 12:30pm."

"How long do sleeping pills take to be effective?" Orihime asked Ryūken, expression grim.

"Thirty minutes to an hour. Typically. And this was probably more than a standard dose."

"Sooo…how likely is it that it took three hours to take effect?"

"Unlikely.”

“Sleeping pills just make me groggy,” Chad said.

“Well, this is a fourteen-year-old girl and not a skyscraper like you,” Ichigo scoffed.

“Hm. Yeah.” 

“Was it easy to access the roof?” Ichigo asked Uryū.

He shrugged. “Umm… I dunno.”

“You guys didn’t eat lunch up there?” Ichigo asked, surprised.

“Uh, no. Sumi was scared of heights. We hung out on the bleachers. She stayed near the bottom.”

“Uryū, you only ate one of the bad pastries?” Orihime confirmed.

“Yeah.”

“He was ill for the next eight hours. I thought it was a food intolerance and I ended up using a Quincy health spell to speed up the cleansing process,” Ryūken explained.

Uryū stared at him in surprise.

They’d gotten lucky again.

If it had been a poison, his actions would’ve sped up the process of spreading it. He repressed a shudder at the thought of trying to help his child and inadvertently removing the time needed to save him.

It would’ve turned up on the toxicology report in his autopsy.

Reading the data on a clipboard and knowing he was responsible for choosing the wrong treatment for his child would’ve been a cruel irony.

Light blue eyes narrowed. “Even accounting for her weight, if the pastries were contaminated and she ate most of them, it’s difficult to judge how easily Fuji could’ve navigated to the roof. Even without sensitivities like Uryū has, an overdose would have symptoms like-like-”

He remembered Uryū being violently ill.

“Vomiting, dizziness, fever, seizures—”

“Meaning it is unlikely she got to the roof by herself,” Orihime theorized. “But she might’ve still been conscious.”

It was looking more and more like a murder.

“Aso was always gifting us things,” Uryū murmured, voice pained. “She trusted him. Damn it. Damn it, I hate him. Why couldn’t he just leave us all alone?”

Ryūken rested a hand on his shoulder.

“It just isn’t fair,” his son hissed between clenched teeth.

“No… it’s not.” He pulled him in for an embrace. 

“I hate him so much.” His voice shook.

“As do I. I think it’s a very reasonable reaction,” he offered.

Uryū looked up at him and laughed a little bitterly.

He smoothed the dark hair.

He lowered his voice, “Are you going to tell them about Aso’s corruption into a Hollow and your confrontation with him?”

“I don’t think everyone is going to take that as well as you did, Dad.”

“Your friends may yet surprise you.”

Chapter Text

“I…I’m just not ready to tell them that part yet,” Uryū confessed softly.

His father sighed but nodded. “Next time?”

There was immediate relief in hearing this. And not just as a condition but…he was… asking… not demanding.

“Yes.” They could cover Aso’s transformation next time. 

“Alright.”

Because talking about the morgue would break him right now.

Uryū rested against his father. The smell of a well-pressed suit, aftershave, and a lingering trace of hospital antiseptic made his childhood feel close.

The better parts… the before part that was always just out of reach no matter what he did, but sometimes felt so close—

His breath hitched.

The embrace tightened. 

He could almost imagine if things had gone differently back then. That his middle school self could’ve gone to Dad at any point and maybe… 

He thought of the kids in those photos.

It hurt to believe they could have been saved if he’d just made different choices.

He consoled himself with the reality that he had tried multiple times. With Dad. With the school. It was very likely that everyone in his friend group back then, including himself, had given worrying signs of being in crisis. There were no gallant adults eager to help them.

He breathed a little easier.

It took a couple more beats before he realized that at some point he’d closed his eyes. When he opened them, his friends were looking at him in concern.

Of course they were. He was wallowing in his parent’s attention like a toddler after a nightmare.

“Um.” His face burned. He cleared his throat. “I-I think I need some fresh air.”

His father nodded, released him, and stepped back. There was an awkward moment before the elder Ishida walked over to the board, thanked the fragment for its help, and ended the session.

Uryū knew without looking what the tiles spelled:

I

MISS

YOU 

DAD

Goodbye.

“Goodbye,” Dad murmured softly.

Sadly.

Too sadly. Dad felt an enormous amount of guilt. Self-loathing. Discouragement. Love.

This fragment dragged it out: Irrefutable proof that Dad had failed.

He couldn’t pivot or sneer. 

He couldn’t shrug.

Not when it was so blatant the fragment he’d failed, the younger Uryū that had been… once, cared about him in that stupidly obvious way that little kids loved their parents.

No matter how little they deserved it.

It undermined all the shouting matches and nasty comments his middle school self had made. Stripped it away to what he’d felt under all the anger: hurt, distress, sadness, grief, fear, longing.

Middle school Uryū had wanted to feel safe. Because he didn’t. Because he wasn’t. 

He had wanted Dad to fix it. Save him. Return to being the hero he’d idolized for eight years.

Dad failed him.

Where a high school Uryū had blamed him and raged, the fragment had let go. 

The fragment had absolved Dad of that responsibility. It would settle for scraps of attention and expressing its own feelings, regardless if they were reciprocated.

Yet…Dad couldn’t accept that.

The man very carefully moved the disc back into its soft cloth and then into the valet box. He even added a piece of hard candy as an offering.

An offering.

Tokens.

From the moment Uryū had come home, there’d been tokens of affection—

No. Before.

Restoring his powers. Groceries. Check ups. 

Before.

Crafts. Clothes. Checking his homework. Lollipops from work. Hiring a chef that made food Uryū liked.

Clumsy attempts to show him how much he cared—

"I’m your father and I see I have been entirely too lax with you if you think that I and the world at large is yours to command. There is no ‘yours.’ Everything you have is because I permit it! It’s been purchased or bestowed by others. You’ve never earned anything in your life. You’ve never made anything. You’ve never done anything and yet you somehow think you get to issue orders or have a say. You don’t! This isn’t a dreamworld you can sleepwalk through!

All the people who had to work tirelessly on you to save you because you chose to be stupid! And you proudly promise to do more of the same idiotic behavior. You think anyone is impressed? You think you’ve accomplished something? Do you? You wasted the time, energy, and resources of others. I had to reschedule others’ surgeries because of you and your selfishness.

You do NOT interrupt me.” He gripped the frame of the car door and hissed down at him. “I have had enough of you and your arrogance, you ungrateful thing! Can you even appreciate what an entitled little nuisance you are?! I don’t want to hear anything more about Quincies ever again. You live under my roof and will abide by my rules. And you will be better off for it. Is that understood?”

That Ryūken went and undermined completely because he was terrible at communicating… and had the gall to be horrified when Uryū didn’t believe in him and the “depth” of his feelings him... for any of them.

For Uryū. For Sensei. And in his bleakest moments... even for Mom.

His father held so much resentment for Sensei it was hard to believe he cared about him at all. He insisted he did. He wasn’t lying as far as Uryū could tell. 

It still made him feel sick.

He really did need fresh air or something.

Uryū moved towards the room’s windows and the world spun.

Walking was a bad idea, his pride still told him to try; he lurched left but didn’t bump into the table. There was a strong hand on his elbow, supporting him.

“New plan: Sit,” Dad ordered.

“No.”

“Sit.” The tone deepened warningly, commandingly, yet it was spiked through with fear.

He sat.

Dad nodded. Relief. “I think you need food. You didn’t eat enough at lunch.” Which was probably why he’d donated his dessert to Uryū after watching him pick at his plate. “Your blood sugar is probably low.”

Uryū looked up expecting to see a stern frown but his vision was too blurry.

Guess Dad was right.

He conceded. “May I have some Noriten, please?”

“Of course. I’ll ask Juri. I think that’s one of the platters he’s working on.”

It was kind of embarrassing. How Dad commed Juri and discussed his low blood sugar, how the staff rushed the food up like it was an emergency, how Dad personally brought him over a plate of the requested noriten along with smoked salmon hummus from the cart.

How it all happened with his friends as witnesses.

Ryūken Ishida was a hospital director. He was someone born and raised with a silver spoon. Old money. Echt. He was supposed to be too proud and snobbish to wait on him hand and foot, let alone with others watching.

“How is it?” Was asked with utmost seriousness, like the dish would be thrown from the window if it wasn’t up to standard.

“Very good. Thank you. Juri makes it just right.”

“Mhm.”

It was an old staple—a study snack he’d enjoyed ever since Juri introduced him to it.

He’d tried to recreate it when he was out on his own but cheap tinned salmon just didn’t cut it.

Damn it. Everything Juri prepared tasted good. He still couldn’t believe Ichigo and his sisters had failed to appreciate him.

Dad took over hosting the meeting for him while he recharged. His father gestured to the food and encouraged the others to eat.

He shared about his meetings with the other kids’ parents.

Which was fine. That was technically another angle of the story to keep in mind.

He wasn’t sure why his father’s sad tone while discussing the Sasakis and Kawanos bothered him so much.

Maybe it was the additional details that were coming out in this retelling?

But trust Orihime to notice.

“Does it hurt to talk about them?” She asked him gently.

And just like that, everyone’s attention returned to him. “…It’s complicated… Hana was… mad at me by the end, but apparently kept a photo of us together?”

His father confirmed it with a nod.

“And I wasn’t scratched out?”

White eyebrows furrowed. “No, she didn’t deface your picture.”

“Maybe she wasn’t really angry? She was upset,” Orihime said.

That made it worse.

Damn it.

He shook his head. “And I didn’t bother to try and make amends with her. I just accepted she hated me.”

“It’s hard for children to apologize,” Ryūken commented softly.

Uryū frowned at him, expecting that to be a thinly veiled dig at him, but his father just looked melancholic.

“I hope you don’t interpret her actions as being in any way your fault,” Dad said.

Uryū gasped slightly and looked away.

“Because it wasn’t,” the elder Ishida continued, “That was her choice. It wasn’t a good one. But it had nothing to do with you.”

“R-right.”

“Were things any better with Sasaki?” Orihime asked.

Seiji… had given him a lot of advice, good and bad over the short time he’d known him. And… they’d almost… reconciled.

Seiji contemplated the ticket. 

“Yeah, I know, it’s last minute.” Uryū crossed his arms. “Come or don’t, I don’t care. I’m just giving that to you because it’s wasteful to throw it away.”

“I could just throw it away,” he pointed out with a slight smirk.

“Yeah, but at least it wasn’t me. This way when everybody harasses me with the whole ‘Ishida, did you give away your tickets?’ I can say ‘yes.’”

“Sure. 7 o’clock?” He studied the tickets’ details and then shoved it in his pocket.

“Yeah.” He moved away from the open window. 

“Oi Ishida?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

He smiled. “Break a leg or whatever.”

Uryū grinned. “See ya there!”

“…You’re such a dope…The concession stand better not suck!”

He very quietly shared that. He’d come back an hour later to ask if Seiji wanted to help paint a backdrop that had been ruined and needed to be replaced since he was an artist, but he’d been sleeping. He was a deep sleeper so he’d eventually given up.

His dad immediately began jotting this all down. “You couldn’t have shared this at the police station when they first asked?”

He sounded a little annoyed.

“I did. I mentioned that I wanted to ask him about helping with the backdrop but-”

“No! Inviting him to the play. He as good as told you that he’d be there.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t feel important. He didn’t show up.”

His father stilled and then nodded and noted that, too.

“Dad-”

“This is important I can feel it.”

“Dad-”

“It could change the whole investigation.” Lines appeared on his face as he frowned in contemplation but he didn’t elaborate on whatever thought crossed his mind.

Instead, Dad shared more about his recent trip.

“So, they suck?” Ichigo concluded about the Fujis and Haradas. “And we shouldn’t expect help on that front?”

His father’s mouth thinned. “I don’t think they’ll impede the investigation, but they won’t be assisting in any meaningful way.”

“Why did the Haradas reject their son?” Sado asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Uryū admitted as he set his plate aside. “But it was in effect the whole time I knew him. When I was a kid, it seemed like a somewhat reasonable response when I first heard about it. Sai was such a jerk to me. I… wasn’t very nice to him as a result.”

“Nah, not you,” Ichigo snickered.

Uryū fidgeted a little as he admitted, “When Sumi would tell me to be nice to him because his dad hated him. I was like, ‘Well, I hate him, too. Sounds like a smart guy.’”

His father frowned at him.

He winced a little at the disapproval. “She’d scold me. And then I saw it in action…” 

“Bad?” Ichigo asked.

He fidgeted. “…Yeah.”

“What kind of stuff would he say?”

“He, uh, he s-said…” He didn’t like remembering it. How big and threatening Mr. Harada seemed in the dimly lit theater as he leaned over Uryū’s chair to hiss at Sai, “‘To think of all the time and money I waste on a failure thinking it’ll change anything when you only live to disappoint me.’”

Ichigo swore. “How’d you handle it?”

“…” Uryū looked down at his shoes and shrugged. He didn’t.

“Oh…” Ichigo muttered. “Right. Yeah, you were just a little kid then.”

He nodded, unable to say anything.

“That wasn’t your job,” Dad declared sternly, suddenly right beside him again.

He’d kind of glossed over the actual words Harada’s father had used when he’d talked about him with Dad, summing him up as a rude authoritarian.

Dad pulled a chair over and sat down beside him. “Uryū, you were a child. It wasn’t your responsibility to protect other children.”

“…”

“Not at all.”

“…It didn’t even cross my mind to try.” That shamed him now.

“Of course not. He was older than you.”

“Yeah, but in that moment I could sense how much he-he hated him and h-how scared Sai was. And I didn’t help. I was… so relieved when they left.”

“You were twelve and you were relieved when a threatening male figure left your presence?” Dad asked flatly.

There was a note there… was he teasing?

He blinked rapidly. It was hard to think so he nodded along. “Uh huh.” 

“Sounds very sensible to me.” Dad reached over and began performing a modified checkup on Uryū.

Dad continued talking about the Fujis and a journal her younger brother gave Sahashi while he pressed the lymph nodes in Uryū’s neck and under his ears.

Dad interrupted his own monologue to abruptly ask Uryū to swallow so his thyroid gland could be checked.

Uryū sighed at his friends, who seemed caught off guard by what was unfolding in front of them, and said, “He does this. He just gives random checkups. We’ll be talking and it’s suddenly the perfect time to check my heart rate or use our home otoscope.”

His father scoffed, “How dramatic. I’m certain Ichigo is used to such things. Isshin probably keeps tabs on all of the children and their friends’ health.” He looked at Ichigo expectantly for confirmation. 

“Uhhhh, no. Dad doesn’t do that,” Ichigo gave Ryūken an odd look. “Why would he?”

“He gave me a checkup three years ago after I was attacked by a Hollow for protecting a little kid’s soul that was residing in a parakeet,” Chad offered.

Uryū blinked.

Dad blinked.

They shared a look. The hell?

The elder Ishida turned back to Chad. “Explain.”

He did. And the story made Uryū angry. That Hollow had been evil even before death. 

Like Aso.

Hearing about the double doors to Hell gave a strange prickling sense of satisfaction, that there was at least some measure of fairness.

Not all souls would be good. It was the pitfall of free will. They had to be dealt with, even Adyneus had conceded that. There couldn’t just be endless cycles of reincarnation for those undeserving of salvation. Hollows bound for Hell couldn’t be allowed to teem over. There had to be balance—

There was a strange sense of pressure in his chest where his soul injury was. Less pain and more loss? That there was a piece of him missing. No, it was that and more.

An emptiness that felt like losing his family and his home all over again. Or losing his powers and purpose for being.

“Uryū?”

“Huh?” He glanced up. His irises were red as they reflected off his father’s lenses.

Dad didn’t flinch. “It’s alright, Son.”

“…”

His father shook his head. No one else had noticed. Yet. 

He kept facing Ryūken’s way. He didn’t scare easy.

“Yeah, Chad, Rukia, and I handled it. We sent Yūichi to the Soul Society,” Ichigo said.

“I even got to see him during our mission to save Rukia,” Chad told him.

“That kid…” Uryū briefly recalled him.

“Yeah.”

Chad really was a good guy, helping out a soul that had been through so much. He was someone who worked hard to fulfil his promises.

“Uryū, fetch my medical bag from my office… please,” Dad requested.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t run. Let me know if you experience a dizzy spell at any point.”

Or maybe this was still a part of his checkup? Because he was still worried about Uryū losing his balance earlier.

“Yes, sir.” He glanced up again. His eyes were blue once more. He could see them in the lenses.

His father gave a nod. Yes, his eyes were back to normal. It was almost startling how well Dad was taking that bizarre ophthalmological phenomenon.

He knew exactly where the medical bag was. It was always kept in the same place on the off chance of a home emergency.

And… he’d used to enjoy retrieving it to learn various “lessons.” 

As he got older, there’d been significantly less enthusiasm on his part.

Now, he was in a weird spot. He already knew that Dad was essentially volunteering to do free checkups for his friends… because they were his friends, and that was nice.

But it was also kind of showing off that he could order Uryū around which was a jerk move considering how sensitive Ichigo was to it.

Or maybe he was overthinking it?

He hurried back before his father’s moment of charity could pass.

Dad accepted the bag from him and said, “Pull your hair back if you want to assist.”

Uryū barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He sighed and took a rubber band he had around his wrist and pulled the top half of his hair up and out of the way.

Dad used the sanitizer in the bag and handed it to Uryū who followed suit.

Dad pulled out a box of gloves and gloved up. He offered it to Uryū who did the same.

He pulled out a box of medical face masks. One for himself and then one for Uryū. 

Chad was checked over first; his fingernails suggested a zinc deficiency.  

Orihime was next; she likely needed more vitamin B nutrients to help her dry cracking lips and red, slightly swollen tongue. There was some additional redness around her nose and eyes.

“Note the loss of papillae on her tongue.That strongly suggests it’s a B2 deficiency. I’ll write her a prescription for riboflavin supplements,” Dad said.

Then it was Ichigo's turn. 

“Face slightly flushed,” Uryū noted.

“Uryū, use the tympanic thermometer.”

He did as requested and he read out the number once it beeped. “Temperature is higher than normal.”

“I just run hot. It’s how I am,” Ichigo muttered.

Dad carefully palpated Ichigo’s neck. “The lymph nodes in his neck are showing some signs of swelling. What does that tell you?”

“Immune response.”

“Correct. Nephew, say ‘Ah.’”

“I’m fine.”

“‘Ah.’”

“I don’t-”

“‘Ah.’”

“Ugh. Fine. Ahh.”

Ryūken flashed a light in his mouth. “What do you notice?”

Blue eyes narrowed as they scanned the structures. “Mmm. Slight inflammation at the back of the throat, a few white streaks on the tonsils. Possibly an early stage of strep?”

“Very good.”

“My throat’s not sore,” Ichigo protested.

“Bacterial case?” Uryū theorized and looked to his dad for support.

“Highly likely. Ichigo, you can close your mouth now.”

“I’m fine. I don’t feel sick.” 

“I want you to head home and ask your father for a throat swab so he can set you up with antibiotics. Rest. Your father or I can write you a note excusing you from class tomorrow.”

“Are you not listening? I feel fine.”

“Do not expose others to your illness.”

“…Pushy doctor.”

“Careless teenager. Wandering around late at night, in the cold, risking himself to disease and then spreading it because he’s asymptomatic in the early stages—”

“I was in soul form! How could I even catch—”

“Eating ice cream in winter instead of staying in and having warm broths and teas. Regularly staying outside in cold temperatures and straining your immune system. Poor sleep schedule combined with junk food and wearing, whatever that is—”

“Hey! This jacket is in. Super cool. It’s thick enough-”

“Thin insulation with faux fur trim? Is it even water resistant? Wool with a warm layer underneath is a far more practical choice-”

“I’m not a nerd like him.” He jerked his head over at Uryū. “So I’m not gonna dress like one.”

Rude. His aesthetic wasn’t nerdy. It was clean yet edgy. He didn’t want to look like a punk. 

He wanted to look trustworthy, so people would ask him for help if they needed it.

“You’re saying that you’re not sophisticated, so your fashion choices won’t be either. That’s true enough.” Ryūken smirked.

“…” Ichigo glowered.

“And you’re foolish. A doctor tells you that you’re ill and you decide to argue about it,” he scoffed.

“He’s not a doctor.” He pointed at Uryū.

“But I am. And I concur with his findings. You need a throat swab. I’m telling you, sincerely, it’s not a simple case of thrush. Hikari can drive you or you can insist on preserving your sense of independence and get yourself there. I’ll be calling your father regardless of your choice.”

“He’s not home yet,” Ichigo gritted out.

“He is. He reached your home thirty-six minutes ago.”

“…Oh.”

Dad removed his gloves and threw them away. He sanitized his hands again and pulled his cellphone out and dialed. He kept his mask on since Ichigo was probably contagious and held his phone to his ear as he waited. “Make your choice, Nephew. He will be expecting you.” A beat later he said, “Ah. Hello, Isshin.”

Mornings were cold.

A harsh wind was rattling the glass of the hallway’s windows. He ended up having to activate one of the hand warmers that Dad now insisted he pack with him as the temperature continued to drop.

Ichigo had texted them earlier. The throat swab had confirmed it: strep throat. Isshin was making him stay home so he wouldn’t spread any germs.

When he texted Dad about it, he already knew—proving that he and Isshin were in pretty regular communication.

After reminding him about his vitamins and supplements, Dad insisted that he eat his whole lunch, which was apparently stacked to strengthen his immune system since he’d been “exposed” to Ichigo.

He texted back about a citrus tea he usually made during flu season.

It was supposed to show that he wasn’t totally inept in employing preventive measures for himself.

Dad took it as an invitation on Uryū’s part to make the beverage and he would give it a try.

Which then necessitated Uryū texting Juri to see if they had the ingredients on hand and a plan to make the tea together when Uryū got home after school. He’d have about an hour or so before Hikari took him over to the hospital.

Dad seriously had a way of making everything revolve around himself. 

Or maybe… if he was more charitable…

He reread the text. 

Dad: It sounds refreshing. I look forward to trying it.

It didn’t technically mean he had to make it today. That was Uryū putting pressure on himself.

Still…would it hurt anything to just make the tea?

He thought back over the past few months as he entered the classroom and settled at his desk.

Dad… who liked to be answered on the first ring. 

Who wanted his carefully made bento boxes to be taken to school and eaten. 

Who preferred quiet evenings spent listening to opera and reading medical tomes but would watch Cazh Soul and play video games with him.

Who arranged to eat meals together whenever possible and tried to have his chef prepare things Uryū would enjoy when he couldn’t be there.

Who expected to be listened to and respected and obeyed…

But wanted to be admired… wanted to be… cared about…

He had painstakingly kept every single gift his son had given him over the years…in a drawer by his bed… within reach. A lifetime of embarrassingly sentimental words of open affection and admiration.

It had surprised him how deeply appreciative he was of the Father’s Day embroidery piece from start to finish. Or how much he enjoyed rifling through his son’s middle school doodles.

He kept the house and all of its locks and passwords the same. That was… dangerous and impractical. But…he didn’t want Uryū to be locked out. Ever.

He kept Uryū’s room the same. It had been exactly as he’d left it. No making it into an exercise room or a filing space. And there had been traces of his energy in there which had meant he sometimes… came in there to… to…

Miss him. Grieve his absence.

He’d said, multiple times now, that he’d missed Uryū. Why… was it so hard to believe that? Uryū struggled with the words, regardless of whether his father conceded them while drunk or sober.

Was it… because that soul fragment was gone? Displaced? And it took a chunk of trust with it?

“Thank you, Dad, for being there for me in all of my lowest moments.”

That was the harsh reality. Dad had been been absent to him. Not just physically but emotionally, mentally, and symbolically. What care he’d felt and demonstrated for his son had gone unnoticed.

His father had remarked before that he realized now his care had been too subtle. So he was showier.

He had artwork his son had made professionally matted, framed, and hung in his office. Devoted a shelf at work to display photos of him and then bought an embarrassingly large school portrait for home. 

He indulged him. He took him places and bought him things. Was trying to give him the words he needed to hear, even if his actions were years too late.

He introduced him to people without sounding ashamed. Never brought up their estrangement. He didn’t blame him for Sensei’s death.

And was trying to… to… be more like he used to? Or was he… taking the criticism? 

“Oh yes, I should come and tell my struggles to you. You’re so encouraging and nonjudgmental. I can trust you with anything. You’d never hurt or degrade me.”

He played patient in the hotel room in Okinawa…like they were reenacting parts of his childhood and no matter how bad an argument got he never said he’d be happier if Mom had lived instead of him.

He even let him pretend to be a medical student yesterday in the library with his friends, acting like he was along for a round on the floor. 

And he was still willing to participate in other crafting ventures—gentle interactions after years of being heavy handed.

He ran his hand through his hair. Shorter than what he liked. Stupid haircut because… because Dad… couldn’t stand him looking…unkempt… neglected.

There had always been replacement glasses for him in middle school. And… years later, there’d been a new pair waiting for him after his powers were restored. He never asked Uryū to compensate him for the cost.

And in his anger and disdain he didn’t question how his father had procured his prescription so easily—he was still on his father’s insurance. His details were known and shared.

He’d known the optometrist respected his father. Had chosen him as an emergency contact because he could pass on information to his father. But it was still disheartening to know all the exams and products he was purchasing were offset by his father paying the bulk of the cost.

He’d originally assumed there was some kind of student discount at work.

Idiot.

He should probably look into his memberships at the gym and ice rink. Had his father been quietly paying for him there, too? To… give him safe places to go since he wouldn’t come home?

He fidgeted. That made his father seem like a tragic figure, rather than an arrogant idiot making choices that didn’t pan out well.

“…It’s such an honor calling a good man, like you, my father. You always have my best interests at heart,” he sneered.

His father smiled weakly as he nodded. “Yes…yes, that’s right, my dragon.”

He’d known in that moment with complete certainty that he’d finally done it—he’d hurt him.

There’d been one moment of pure, vicious satisfaction (after years of being the one taking the brunt of their failing relationship) and then regret… because he was supposed to be better than that.

He’d hurt him again on the Kyoto trip by joking about death, implying that Dad would rejoice when his end came.

His father maintained the stance that he couldn’t keep Uryū from gallivanting off to a ‘foolish death,’ but Uryū was never allowed to make light of it.

Morbid jokes about dying weren’t tolerated. Dad insisted he’d be devastated if something happened to him.

He had been reluctantly resigned to Uryū battling Hollows and possibly dying as a result.

He was horrified that Uryū had been attacked by humans and been left for dead.

Dad really struggled with the idea that the greatest threat Uryū continually faced was other humans. Other humans had been cruel to him and other children. That he’d been callously singled out for bullying. That he’d been insulted and tormented by children and adults.

The strangest part was how Dad stayed horrified. About those things. Any time he reviewed Uryū’s case files, he got upset. 

Right now he was still upset about learning how Grandpa died and then how he suffered. The reveal had been several days ago. Yet, Dad seemed no closer to being “over” it. 

Uryū knew he’d never completely heal because he could have done more and chose not to. Dad’s reaction was odd because… he wasn’t supposed to care about Sōken. Not to that extent. Not like Mom. He wasn’t supposed to be sorry that Grandpa died the way he did. It was expected. Inevitable. But he was and, from the way he spoke, he was even sorrier that Uryū had witnessed it.

It almost felt like a trick. Except spirit ribbons were pretty straight forward. He wasn’t lying.

Uryū instinctively wrestled with that because… he knew from firsthand experience how mean Ryūken could be.

And he could be mean.

“Your dad was so… different from that time in the hospital,” Orihime remarked.

He startled a little; he hadn’t noticed when she and, he glanced over, Chad entered the room. “Yeah. He’s trying to make it up to the soul fragment for being a jerk. If you thought he was bad at the hospital, you should’ve seen him when I was in middle school and he thought I was under his thumb.” And he thought I couldn’t escape.

“Oh...” Her eyes looked sad.

“It’s weird. If he’d… been more like that…back then I don’t know how much things would’ve changed. In some ways, even though everything was terrible I… at least got to learn to be my own person.” As he flailed in the vacuum of having no living adult role models.

Chad nodded. “My abuelo taught me so much. I’ve worked hard to be someone he could be proud of. To grow into a man he could respect. But sometimes, I… feel confined by that.”

Uryū sat up straight. “I completely get that.”

It was hard to contemplate what Sōken would’ve thought of him at this point.

Chad stared out the window. “I feel like I’m still figuring out who I really am and how I can succeed. I don’t know if it makes sense to go to a university right out of school. There’s not a lot of money left for me from my family. I think I’ll need to work for a year or two before I can afford to get an education.”

Orihime nodded. “Once school ends, I can pick up more hours at the bakery. I should make enough to keep my apartment and I’ll get it officially signed over to just my name.”

She and Chad gave one another commiserating looks.

Uryū’s heart sank. Their school ranks were so high just to forgo advanced education altogether. 

“There are scholarships!” He threw out almost desperately. “I have a list if you’d like to.. to…”

Both looked away.

Damn it.

He felt the privilege of being well cared for. For a split second, he had the ludicrous wish to still be locked in a feud with his father and struggling to cover rent.

It was sickening because it exposed the juvenile desire to win an argument because he could’ve said, “Come on, I’m doing it! You guys can, too!”

A trump card…

To give away what he’d salvaged with his father….

To minimize the struggles of his friends…

To be ‘right’ and glorious…

He felt disappointed in himself. 

What would Sensei have thought?

The door to the classroom opened with a slam. “Guys! The ghost of Inukai left a message in Mr. Chou’s classroom!”

They all shared a look. 

“The ghost of Inukai?” Orihime repeated back softly.

Uryū frowned. His hands clenched. Pulling a prank like this was despicable.

“Please show me.” He stood up and, with a forced calmness, followed his classmate out. There were some hushed “Ooh, Class President Ishida is investigating it for himself.”

It turned out to be a chalkboard message rather than another note: 

Beware the Curse of Pressure! 

A Warning to the Others in the Top Ten. It got me and it’ll get you. 

The next will crack in 5 days.

-Rank 9 

He texted Junya to see if he was willing to record the evidence of a morbid joke so they could alert the Principal.

He agreed and hurried over. Upon filming it and citing the date and time, Junya muttered, “This is totally a hoax. It’s sick.”

“Yes. No one was in the room when it happened. That’s awfully convenient for a ‘haunting.’”

He fell back as Junya went to inquire about who noticed the message first.

“Can you sense anything?” Chad asked Uryū quietly. “It feels like the work of an ordinary human to me.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, teeth gnashing together. “It’s Sasahara.”

It was a new low.

His friends’ expressions darkened. 

The problem was proving it. There weren’t many cameras in the school. Only in the peripheral mainly to discourage ditching. (And why Uryū wouldn’t use a reishi board to leave from the roof… even though he really wanted to.)

If Sasahara was dating Obata, she’d probably have him give her an alibi.

“Excuse me, Student President,” an underclassman flagged him down.

He forced himself to adopt a lighter expression. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

The girl bit her lip nervously. He hoped this wasn’t a confession. He was so distracted, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings when he turned her down. He just had so much going on right now.

“Um.” She tightly clasped her hands in front of her. 

Deflection! He should deflect by redirecting attention to—

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the one responsible for this stunt will be caught and punished soon,” he assured her. “My council members and I will be reporting it. Officially.” 

“Oh,” her eyes flitted briefly to the board and then back to him, “That wasn’t why I…I, um, I just, I was hoping you were alright.”

“Hm?” He blinked. “Oh… yes, of course. My recent absence wasn’t because of illness. There were just some important matters I had to attend to. May I inquire as to your…” Morbid curiosity? “Concern?”

“It’s just, I heard you were seeing a psychiatrist.”

He froze. Instinct told him to deny it, but the truth would be easy to confirm. 

The truth… the truth…

He made a big deal about the importance of the truth…

Even as he lied constantly through blatant denials, omissions, and redirections.

The truth…

Wouldn’t it be good… to stop being a hypocrite? Maybe that… was what the soul fragment ultimately needed? For him to stop being so… at odds with himself and everything he supposedly stood for?

He was doing this, not just for himself and the importance of being sincere, but for the other students under his care. Who deserved compassion and solidarity.

This was going to open him up to ridicule.

But he thought of Inukai, Sumi, Seiji, Sai, Hana, and who knew how many other teens who’d needed support.

Peers he had probably passed in the corridors here at Karakura High.

And maybe, if he was honest with himself, it was help he’d needed a decade ago. And late was better than never.

He nodded and answered, “Yes, that’s true. Just like annual checkups and vaccinations, counseling sessions can help identify stressors and offer constructive ways to deal with challenges.”

Chapter Text

Sassahara grinned sharply as the group set their belongings down for a council meeting. 

Her energy was in a frenzy. Uryū couldn’t help likening it to a shark reacting to blood. Or maybe it was the sharp white teeth of her smile?

Uryū’s stomach churned a little. Here it was. He set his folders and lined up his pencils and braced himself.

She was going to make a move. She did.

“I’m sure everyone heard about earlier, Ishida. And for that reason-” She set a hand against where her heart was supposed to be. “-I gladly volunteer to step up to relieve the Student Council President during his time of need. Ishida should definitely prioritize his mental health. I wondered why he reacted so strongly to Inukai’s death and obsessed over suicide prevention. But if he’s been struggling with—”

“No, that’s called being decent,” Junya interrupted from where he was sitting, arms crossed.

“What did you say to me, Gomi?” She gave him an incredulous look.

“I said it’s called being ‘decent,’” Junya over-enunciated the word as if she was stupid and failing at an easy vocabulary test. “One would think with so many tutors you might’ve picked up on that word and its denotations if the connotations were out of reach. Guess not.”

Uryū’s jaw dropped. Of all the people to potentially defend him, he hadn’t bet on Junya. He felt a little ashamed of himself. He and Jun had never been enemies. Jun just…always saw him as a person and had never been overawed by anything he did. Had always trusted him to sort out his own affairs. Had been content to stand back.

Sassahara went pale and then red and did a fake laugh. “Well, I guess it’s fitting that someone with the last name ‘trash’ spews garbage.”

Uryū frowned and stood up. “Sassahara! This is a warning. Name-calling is not permitted-”

“Maybe my name qualifies me to recognize it when I see it!” Junya snapped back.

Wow, he’d come prepared. Where was the meek middle schooler he’d defended?

“I understand there’s concern and,” Uryū reluctantly continued, “and, if that is the case, we can have a vote-” 

“Good! Because I don’t think someone unstable, like you, should remain in a position of leadership!” She spat.

The outcry was immediate, loud, and angry.

It caught Uryū off guard. The rest of his council did not want him removed. He’d thought Sassahara had more followers?

“Counselor Seko, you heard that, correct?,” Chiyo addressed the adult. “Out of nowhere, Sassahara is accusing Ishida of being suicidal to try and start gossip that undermines his authority so she can usurp his position on the council.”

There was an angry buzz of agreement.

From the way Sassahara jumped, she hadn’t realized the counselor had arrived just in time to witness it all.

She tried to schmooze. “Counselor, I’m trying to be sympathetic to Ishida’s plight, given his background-”

Karumi interrupted, “I don’t think the Student President was out of line for expressing compassion for our fallen classmate, Inukai. Or his concern in connecting students with counseling services.”

Taro added, “If anything, he’s modeling a good approach for dealing with grief. Not that we actually know what he’s even being counseled for because it’s none of our business.”

“My bet is OCD!” Towa remarked, pointing to Uryū’s desk which was very neatly arranged.

Uryū flushed.

Towa shrugged. “Anyways, she’s making a huuuge leap assuming anything. Life coaches are helpful as high school ends and college approaches. I meet with one every couple months. Plus, Chiba and I have a family therapist who helps us and Dad tackle-”

Uryū was surprised by that. He also felt more than a little guilty. Some daimyo. He hadn’t been safeguarding them very well at all if he didn’t know this stuff. They’d grown up.

He’d known that. At the end of middle school he’d felt it: that they were growing out of needing him. They had. He was on the receiving end of their kindness now.

“I think it’s clear,” Chiyo’s voice was cold as she said, “that in light of Sassahara’s statements today, combined with previous aggressive altercations, which I’ve been collaborating with other members to log and send to the counselor and the principal over the last few months, that we’ve established a pattern of antagonistic behavior. I believe there are sufficient grounds to begin the impeachment process for Vice President Yuki Sassahara.”

Uryū pulled the visitor’s chair even closer to the desk and set his school bag on his lap, fiddling with the strap in his excitement. “They had my back. All of them!”

His dad was typing up a report on his computer. “Good.”

This was technically the third time Uryū was explaining it: once over the phone, once when he came crashing into his father’s office, and now.

“Yeah, they… they totally had my back.”

“As they should.”

“And Counselor Seko agreed!”

The corner of his dad’s mouth pulled up. “Adults being competent. I’m glad you witnessed it in real time.” 

“Yeah!” He winced at his own volume. “Sorry. I mean, yeah…I mean…it sounds a little sad out loud, doesn’t it? I’m still not sure I should have done that though. I just, I got to thinking.” He explained more in depth about what had run through his mind when he was pointblank confronted by that underclassman. The importance of people more vulnerable than himself seeing that it wasn't shameful.

“Son?”

“Yeah?” 

“That was very brave.”

“And foolish, right?”

“Hn. Noble actions often are.”

Uryū’s knee bounced a little. “Yeah. I could definitely face some serious repercussions… bullying for this, but… I want to believe that seeing me take this on could help others. I mean, sometimes, it seems like others don’t even know they can-can ask for help.”

Dad turned from his computer screen completely to tell him directly, “I’m proud of you.”

“...” He swore he almost had to scrape his jaw off the floor.

Dad continued with, “By facing this head on, you’ll get to set the tone. You won’t need to be on the defensive as others try to investigate and confirm it for themselves. Sassahara definitely found out and wanted to start rumors. And the way you’re handling it? Yes, you’ll be an excellent role model for your peers. Normalizing our sessions is good. It is simply healthcare.”

“…Are you… worried?” About what consequences he’d face as a result of his actions today?

A white eyebrow rose. “Let me disabuse you of the notion that there are times when I’m not worried about you. It’s a chronic condition. Possibly terminal. I’ve accepted my fate.”

“Ha ha, such wit.”

His father smiled. “Keep me abreast of the situation. I will do all I can to support you.”

“M’kay.” He pulled out the thermos of citrus tea he’d made.

Dad was pleasantly surprised as Uryū poured him a cup. “It’s good.”

“Surprising, right? I thought so the first time I had it, too. Oh! I also brought our music sheets as requested.” He set them out next.

The hospital had made a program for the holiday party tomorrow night.

“Good. We’re up first but we’re just going to do two songs,” Dad told him after he took another sip of tea.

“Oh, okay.” Maybe they’d had more acts flood in at the end? Dr. Matsuda’s daughters were doing a duet. Dr. Oguro was trying to bribe his son into playing his oboe.

Dad selected two of the songs from the folder. “I chose ‘Angels We Have Heard on High,’ and ‘O du fröhliche’ for us. You… you seemed to enjoy those ones.”

“Yes.” He did.

“I… I realize these aren’t the most technically difficult works, but I didn’t want to set too much expectation on you. On us. You have a full day of school. I have a full day of work. Then we have this. This way, it’s a brief performance. Not too much stress. I know it’s still a school night. We won’t be staying out too late. Maybe a dessert afterwards? At most. You have a quiz the next day. Chemistry. You should study before bed that night. Tonight as well. If you’ve made flashcards, I can help you.”

Uryū blinked.

Dad was applying what he’d learned in the car a while back regarding Uryū’s stress levels about the crafting competition to this event. And he was really paying close attention to their shared calendar.

“Thanks, Dad.” It was a surprisingly thoughtful gesture. “I… I appreciate how much thought you’ve put into this.” 

His father nodded hurriedly and pushed up his glasses. “Doing it this way ensures you’ll be able to enjoy the event. Aunt Bai is providing some of the appetizers along with other restaurants in the area.”

“Cool.”

“And there will be some games and prizes.”

“It should be fun.”

“Yes.”

It hurt a little to sense how tentatively hopeful his father was. He really wanted Uryū to enjoy the evening.

After Dad’s dinner hour, there was a quick dress rehearsal for the performers. Basically, they were making sure the speakers worked, the piano was tuned, and none of the performers had heart-palpitating stage fright.

Apparently, his dad participating like this was some huge deal which, oddly enough, took a lot of the pressure off him.

The staff was really eager to see Dad do something “unusual.”

There were students trying to catch a glimpse of their director, some were being indulged, others were snapped at to continue their rounds. 

Colleagues kept lurking and gesturing to him, sometimes speaking behind their clipboards.

He and Dad played both of their songs, got more applause than Uryū expected, and then got out of the way for the next set of performers as the coordinator read out their names.

Uryū was led over to some staff members he hadn’t met before.

An old woman with gray hair cut very short for practicality and what seemed like a thousand keys on her lanyard, smiled at him. “Aww, he looks just like you, Ryūken.”

Uryū startled a little in surprise. People didn’t usually—

“Yes,” His father sounded pleased. “As his features continue to mature, he’s beginning to favor me more.”

That was a source of pride?

Apparently, yes, if his spirit ribbon was to be trusted.

“He just turned eighteen last month.”

“Wanted to go to Okinawa,” she recalled.

“Yes.”

“Did you both enjoy it?”

His father nodded, but looked at him sharply.

Did he expect him to argue? Yeah, there were some rough parts, but…

“Yes, we went to the aquarium and rode the Ferris Wheel in the American Village. We got to see the beach, but Dad wouldn’t let me even think of swimming there. Even though the weather was fairly mild, considering the time of year.”

She laughed. “That sounds like him.”

“He was going to give himself hypothermia,” Dad grumbled.

“He says we can go back next year when it’s warmer.”

The older woman smiled. “Good. He has too much vacation stacked up. You make him take some trips.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Uryū grinned.

“I’m going to his school’s winter festival,” his dad said, almost defensively.

“Oh? Wait, right. The fliers in the breakrooms,” she replied.

He was suddenly certain his dad had personally made sure every floor in the hospital had one promoting his event.

He felt his face grow warm.

She smiled. “You wanted to have cranes made. I hope you’re ready. My grandchildren and their cousins are excited for that. They’re competitive.”

He laughed a little. “Good, we need that. There’s also a canned food drive. I wanted the stalls to be further apart but my vice president insisted-er-sorry, I shouldn’t be complaining—” She just felt very easy to talk to. Curse her friendly, grandparent vibes.

“What’s wrong with the stall location?” She asked, genuinely interested.

“Compassion fatigue,” he blurted out. “Some people may feel that we’re asking too much of them. But Sassahara—”

“That’s the one that was harassing him with the phone calls. And we’re pretty certain she’s behind the razors in his shoes,” Dad told her.

She frowned severely. “I see.”

So Dad didn’t complain about him… but he gossiped about him? That felt weird. Though it kind of explained why everyone kept acting so familiarly with him.

“It’s just having the canned food drive nearer to the front would’ve been more convenient for attendees so they wouldn’t be lugging cans that whole way,” Uryū explained.

“You can’t hire a small truck to post at the front?” She asked.

“We have, but they’re already helping us set up and take down for the event, instead of just transporting our supplies. So that was nice of them. Chiyo’s handiwork. She’s good at that. Budget’s blown. Again, Sassahara insisted we get professional banners for the event instead of letting our school’s clubs handle it. I just learned that today. Blew the money while I was out these last two days. So annoying. And we’ve asked so much from the local businesses, I’m almost embarrassed to ask for any of them to do one more favor.”

“Have you asked any grocery stores?” She asked.

He named the two that had agreed to help provide fresh fruit. “Plus, my friend Orihime works at a bakery and they’ve given us a large discount on baked goods.”

“What about Hara’s Supermarket?”

“They’re closer to Kakure-Dani High and I think they’re already helping them with their autumn events.”

“So?”

He sighed. “I don’t want to put them in the awkward spot of having to turn us down because they’re already reached their charity quota. And it’s so last minute, it would just seem rude. I don’t want to embarrass my peers and for our school to look bad.”

“Would you accept the help if it presented itself?”

He blinked. “W-well, of course. If it… presented itself. I mean… I guess I could just ask. Okay, yeah, you’re right. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give them a call and try to set up a meeting. The worst they can say is ‘no’ at the onset. Thanks.” 

She nodded, wrapped up the conversation with his dad, and dismissed herself.

He hoped he hadn’t offended her.

“Dad, I… I didn’t get a good look at her badge. Who… was that?”

“Surgical Assistant Aina Kobayashi,” he sounded amused.

“Oh. Has she… worked here a long time?”

His father smirked. “Over two decades longer than you’ve been alive.”

His jaw dropped. “And I’ve never met her?! How?” 

His father’s eyes shined with amusement. “Oh, you’ve ‘met’ her. Multiple times. It’s always been sporadic. The first few you were very, very young. Others… well, one of them was after your injury in the cemetery and the other was following Ginjō’s attack, so, it’s been while you were… distracted.”

“Is that code for heavily medicated?”

“It is.”

And who knew how weird he was under the influence of sedatives?

Uryū sighed. “…So, I haven’t made a very good impression on her. That’s embarrassing.”

His dad frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Why would you say that?”

He ran a hand through his hair. So much shorter now. “How could I? Spitty toddler becomes drooling patient-”

“You’re being dramatic. We’re all healthcare workers here. Besides, sedatives tend to give you a dry mouth. And then I have to administer a gel.” He bared his teeth and  gestured using a finger to pantomime applying it.

Uryū’s face heated up with even more shock and embarrassment. 

His father’s head tilted slightly in surprise. “I’m amazed how you never questioned why your hygiene was so impeccable whenever you were admitted and came back to your senses.”

“I don’t sweat a lot, I’m pretty sure my hair type is 1b straight, and I make a point to floss regularly, so I just sorta hoped-”

Dad laughed. 

That caught other people’s attention. Or maybe it was the fact that his dad reached over and ruffled his hair.

Here. In front of everyone.

He then rested an arm around his shoulders and steered him over to the sidelines as the event’s final performer approached the piano.

From what Uryū witnessed next, that guy was a blowhard who kept flirting with staff. He even blew one nurse a kiss as he played. 

Ugh. It was disrespectful to the venue and to Chopin. "Winter Wind" deserved better.

Uryū didn’t think the “professional” pianist was impressive enough to warrant that ego let alone the applause that followed.

He felt a little betrayed as Dad clapped and then nudged him to clap, too.

Maybe it was arrogance but Uryū was almost certain he could do better?

He very begrudgingly put his hands together.

“There was a message?” 

His dad was taking this really seriously.

“Yeah, there was one yesterday, too.”

“You didn’t mention that,” the tone grew terse.

“I didn’t? Oh, that’s right. I got sidetracked with the council drama.”

“…Uryū…”

“Hm? Oh, right. Threatening messages. Junya’s been documenting them.There’s a countdown in effect. Both of them have been messages from the ghost of Inukai, supposedly, ‘warning’ us in the top ten about the pressure to succeed academically.” He recited the first and now the second one:

“‘So many things to memorize, my skull feels like it’s cracking open. Maybe that would be a relief? A release from the pressure.’”

“…Awful.”

“Two messages in two different locations. The first one had been in Mr. Chou’s classroom at the start of the day. Math. Today’s message was at the end of the day in a geography classroom.”

“Hm.”

“The lingering energy at both has been Sassahara’s. Chad and Orihime have volunteered to tail Sassahara tomorrow.”

“…I see.”

“Obviously, Sassahara has something planned for the school festival. It’s in four days.”

“I’ll make sure I’m there,” his father promised.

That was strangely reassuring.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Mhm.”

But what he really wanted to talk about was the hospital’s party. “Do you think I should wear the blue suit tonight? Or that one light gray one? Blue has the obvious benefit of camouflaging stains if anyone bumps into me and spills something but…” Dad almost always wore lighter shades. How united were they supposed to look for this function?

“The blue one matches your eyes. Wear that.”

Or Dad could just decide they didn’t need a matching theme.

Ryūken’s ears burned. He was trying to keep up, but after two surgeries (one scheduled, the other resulting from a construction site mishap), his hands were very tired. He’d made it through “O du fröhliche” because it was a staple of his childhood. He was failing the second: "Angels We Have Heard on High."

His fingers were not moving across the keys at the correct tempo.

It had been difficult scrounging the energy to rush home and clean up.

He’d practiced apologies on the drive. That Uryū could still play if he wanted to or sit it out if he didn’t.

He gotten through the door to see Uryū on the steps, dressed and ready and eager. 

He’d even styled his hair for the occasion. He’d done a good job—far better than his first attempts in Kyoto.

“Very nice. I’ll be ready soon.” 

“Okay!”

Public speeches were draining but his role as director demanded it.

He was also trying very hard to be a good role model for his son and not to let him down.

He just couldn’t keep up.

And then Uryū accommodated him. He adjusted the tempo and threw in some flourishes that helped disguise his father’s lagging fingers.

Given the applause they received, the spectators were clueless to the challenges they'd faced.

When they moved aside to let the next performer take over, he apologized. “I was slow. I'm sorry you had to cover for me.”

His son gave a teasing smile that was very familiar. “I didn’t know we were getting scored on this. Maybe we won’t receive a perfect score, but I still think we passed.”

It hurt to receive kindness.

“Still.” A dark eyebrow rose. “If your hands hurt so much, why did you perform?”

“You know why.”

His son’s smile softened.

Ryūken winced; his right hand was visibly trying to cramp.

His son surprised him by taking it in both of his.

“Here you kept nagging me about the embroidery hoop and doing proper stretches. Well, what about you?” He set some pressure against the ligaments which helped a little. “I’ve been researching this stuff a bit.”

He probably needed more pressure for this to be effective, but the intent was kind. Uryū’s hands were just more delicate than his.

All of him was more delicate, like Kanae. They—

“I hate this body.”

He struggled against the immediate fear and grief that ignited.

“Mr. Ishida. Here is your son.” The newborn was set into his arms.

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

He desperately tried to focus. It was hard as the grisly photos from his son’s case files passed through his mind’s eye.

His face and body…

Which Ryūken had known from the moment grainy ultrasounds were available…

Bloody, bruised, broken…

Because he was delicate.

And there’d been something in those awful photos, his son’s expression and the cringing in his posture that had blared to his father as if with a megaphone that he’d felt ashamed to be hurt like that.

It was more than a matter of vanity and ego. He’d felt low. Dangerously low. And alone. And alone was still better than going home.

Delicate. Fragile. In need of protection. And he’d felt too ashamed to seek it out. To return to him.

Just months ago, after being jumped, he’d reacted similarly: ashamed of being hurt.

It was so frustrating—

Ryūken hissed as his hand spasmed painfully.

Uryū’s eyebrows drew together in worry.

“I’ll be alright,” he assured tightly. “I’m probably dehydrated. I’ll get some water.”

If this continued he’d have to ask Tessai if there was a healing Kido… or if this was age slowly creeping up on him.  

Uryū surprised him by rallying and manipulating Ryūken’s hand more firmly, making the fingers flex and massaging the ligaments with more pressure.

“S-sorry, I’m not better at this.”

Ryūken blinked. “I feel better already, young Dr. Ishida.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He looked down and away.

“Uryū?”

He glanced back up at him.

It was an impulse decision to show him a Quincy technique. Here. At this place. In public.

He took small amounts of reishi and applied them to the ligaments to accelerate healing. 

Uryū caught on immediately and helped. He was eerily precise.

Of course he was.

It required the same attention to detail that Ransōtengai did. It used patches of reishi rather than strings.

The pain ebbed to a more tolerable amount and his hand’s mobility improved.

There was no exchange of thanks. For teaching. For helping. From either side.

Instead, there was an awkward lull when the music ended. 

“I-I should speak with my colleagues,” Ryūken said.

His son nodded.

Ryūken moved away.

Uryū was a quick learner. He’d always known that. And he was meticulous.

Uryū had even told him that Yhwach was impressed with his mastery of Ransōtengai. 

Maybe it was because Ryūken had hated seeing Kanae perform it?

That it naturally followed that it would be just as awful to watch their child perform it.

His thirteen-year-old son had known the basics. 

Ryūken wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing.

It was… unfortunately necessary to provide his son alternate Quincy techniques to round out his skills so they weren’t all attacks. So he didn’t use Ransōtengai for everything.

His stomach churned at the sight of food. And he couldn’t bring himself to bother visiting the tables with games without his son present.

He devoted himself to business. He spoke with sponsors, tried to be positive with community members, and rallied his colleagues who were feeling the weight of a long day.

There was just another 28 minutes left and then they could all leave… or return to a shift.

Isshin found him. 

Ryūken stared. “Why are you here?”

“Nice to see you too. I said I’d be here.” He patted his camcorder. “I’ll give you a copy—” 

He spluttered, “Your son is sick with strep!”

“So? I wrote out instructions, we’ll see if he follows it.”

“…” He’d always hated leaving Uryū at home when the child was ill or injured. If he could rearrange his schedule, he did. Or he brought Uryū with him and let him rest in one of the private suites. He couldn’t imagine choosing to go somewhere out of mere boredom.

Isshin grinned. “You two definitely practiced, huh? It showed.”

“…Yes.”

“Aww, Father-Son bonding. You’re so lucky.”

That riled him. “You have the opportunity right now to nurture your-”

“Nah, he’s eighteen. It’s practically ‘game over’ at this point.”

“My son’s eighteen,” he contested through clenched teeth.

“Yeah but Uryū’s a young soul. Ichigo’s not. The nurturing phase is over for him. Plus, he’s an awful patient. Worse than you, if you can believe it.”

“Are you at least checking in on him with calls and texts?” No wonder his nephew acted like Ryūken’s involvement was a strange, alien concept.

“I don’t pester my kids-”

“And you dare to complain about feeling left out when they—” 

“I’m encouraging them to figure out their lives—”

“Lazy buffoon, you have to get in the trenches—”

“Pass.”

There was another lull in the program, longer than the earlier one because Mai’s daughters had bickered over who got to stand where. 

He frowned.

He checked his watch. There was supposed to be a finale by that professional musician, the pompous one. He glanced over the railing. The piano bench remained empty.

“What’s wrong, Ryuu?”

“There’s supposed to be one more act.”

He looked for the coordinator.

She noticed and hurried forward. “Director Ishida, the final performer, Mr. Chin, had to cancel. He was very sorry. Something came up.”

That explained it. Musicians. Oh well. Ryūken could just give the closing speech early. That might work out for the best—

“However, I believe your son has volunteered to play the final piece of our program.”

“What?!”

“Sir? Is that not alright?”

Chopin’s "Winter Wind" was no easy piece.

He looked back over the railing to see his son approaching the piano, no music sheets in hand.

What was he thinking?!

Maybe it was a mistake? And he was going to do Chopin’s "Fantaisie-Impromptu" instead? He was very good at that one and it would be a treat for the revelers to hear.

He made his way down the stairs.

Uryū noticed him and stood back up from his spot on the bench. He cleared his throat. “Since the final performer was unable to make it here,  I… I would like to play in his stead.” He looked to Ryūken for permission.

What else could he do? In front of so many?

“Of course. Thank you. Everyone, my son will be playing for us…?”

“'Winter Wind.'”

He was adamant on this course then. Very well.

“I’m sure we’re all appreciative of your willingness to step forward on such short notice.”

And anyone who didn’t appreciate it could leave. He’d help them.

There was a short round of applause.

Uryū sat down on the bench.

He began.

His movements were smooth. Polished. His fingers were gliding over the keys with precision and confidence.

His posture had become more refined from the lessons.

Too late to be a concert pianist? 

Ridiculous.

Hear that? Hear how talented he was? He could do anything. Be anything.

Play music that could silence a room with awe.

Make notes come alive with feeling.

No music sheets for reference!

These spectators didn’t even know his son wasn’t right-handed and how much more effort this song demanded of him. They were still captivated. The beauty and clarity was obvious.

But Ryūken knew now that if he’d needed to bow out of their duets completely, his son had been prepared to carry their segment. All on his own. 

He’d covered for him tonight. That was enough. He didn’t need to do more, to step up to close out their holiday concert.

And yet here he was. 

This was more than just helping his father save face at an event.

This was Uryū being generous. This was a gift.

A spontaneous response to his father’s earlier impulsive decision.

He was showing he understood that being a Quincy didn’t have to eclipse being a human.

Maybe this was his child communicating that he’d needed this? He’d needed Ryūken to show his Quincy heritage so Uryū didn’t feel he was shouldering it alone. 

That if Ryūken did that, it freed Uryū up to be more human.

More himself. And not his grandfather’s protege. His family’s final practitioner.

The music swelled to its finale.

He was so proud of him. Him. Being himself doing something only he could do. No storm cloud of a legacy could bog down his rain dragon. He could soar over it. He would.

No matter what obstacles life arranged, Uryū would persevere with elegance and strength. He would live up to his name. Easily.

Shame to all who’d dared say otherwise.

He touched his wedding ring.

Oh Kanae… Kanae, that’s our son. We made him. You and I. Eighteen years and I can still hardly believe it. It feels like only yesterday I first sensed him in you. Your energies were like music to me. More than a chord. A harmony between us three. Beautiful. My wife… my love… my soulmate… and, finally, mother of my child—

He noticed that Isshin had the camcorder fixed on him.

He stared in surprise and then glared in vexation. 

Why the hell was he filming him?! The idiot! He gestured for him to face back in Uryū’s direction again.

What was he thinking? Wasting film, er, memory space on him when his child was performing? Damn it, who knows how much of the performance had been missed?

Afterwards, he’d have to ask around to see if any of his colleagues had filmed it properly.

Chapter Text

Damn it. Being swarmed by attendees and their compliments about his child’s talent was surprisingly annoying.

Ryūken barely got to nod his approval to Uryū who’d glanced his way upon finishing before the event coordinator stepped in, blocking his son from view, to lead another round of applause and direct the audience to have their tickets ready as she called out the names of the raffle winners. He should’ve been given leave to speak.

Before he could rectify it, his son moved away and the crowd seemed to swallow him whole. He could sense his spiritual pressure, but he couldn’t see him anymore.

As per usual, it irritated him immediately; he liked having Uryū within his line of sight.

“What a talented young man-”

He nodded distractedly. “Thank you. He’s been practicing. I’m sure in time his performances will improve even-”

“That seemed like perfection to me, sir-”

“Too kind-”

“I never realized your son had musical abilities-”

Again, he nodded. “He’s mostly known for his academic work.”

“Not anymore. This is going to get out-”

He wanted to go to his son, but everyone kept getting in his way.

He was trying to be courteous, but the delays were agitating him and Takeru’s blunt “Why the hell wasn’t Uryū assigned the finale to begin with?” sent him over.

He frowned. “I-I didn’t know he could play that particular piece and I didn’t want to put too much pressure on him-”

“I’m supposed to buy that? That this isn’t some orchestrated gimmick to win over more sponsors by making you look good?” His colleague scoffed. “‘I’m Director Ishida and my talented son just happened to be here tonight to dazzle you during a difficult quarter for us.’”

Fury made him see red and triggered pulsatile tinnitus. 

“I would never use my son as a prop for my career,” he hissed before storming out on the terrace and scaring two lovebirds into ducking back into the building. Hopefully, the cold, crisp air would calm him down. 

Clouds made the night sky even darker. Only a handful of stars were visible as patches of clouds moved.

He’d spent his whole life being a component of his family’s Quincy legacy. Used. Born with a purpose. Bred to serve his family and preserve their heritage.

He would never use Uryū like that. Uryū’s fate was his own to decide. He’d done everything he could to try and ensure it.

Just as the air was starting to help, the door behind him opened and a new irritant presented itself.

“Hey Proud Papa,” Isshin greeted in a singsong voice. 

His neck and ears went hot. “G-get out of here, i-idiot.”

“Awww. Someone sounds a little choked up.” He guffawed. 

“Hn.”

“Uryū really stepped up there.” He patted the small shoulder bag holding his camcorder. 

He nodded stiffly. “He has a strong sense of responsibility. Sometimes erroneous-”

“Sounds like somebody else I know!” He crowed.

Ryūken glared.

Isshin chuckled. “Easy. I’m just saying, it’s gotta feel good knowing the proverbial apple didn’t fall too far—”

They both sensed Uryū approaching.

The door opened slightly. “Hey Dad?”

“I’m here.” Again, his chest swelled with pride on seeing him. He tried to sum up his thoughts and failed.

“Dad, I think they’re looking for you. The winners of the raffle drawings were announced. You… you have a closing speech?”

“Er, yes. Coming.”

“My fault kiddo,” Isshin grinned. “I thought there was a Hollow and was double checking with your old man.”

Uryū gave a flat, doubtful “Right.” The wind ruffled his hair and he shivered.

Ryūken moved to him. “Come along, Uryū. Let’s finish this. Then we can go out for dessert, celebrate our triumph, and return home. It’s still a school night.” 

And he didn’t want him outside in the cold any longer than was strictly necessary; he could get sick.

What a whirlwind evening? There had been an assortment of stations from semi-patronizing pamphlets listing ways to live healthier to silly coloring activities for kids to raffle tickets with prizes on display. 

More people had shown up than he expected… important people wearing expensive suits and gowns and dour expressions.

Introducing himself as Director Ishida’s son had given him a rough case of imposter syndrome. He wondered if it had been noticeable?

He’d spent the first eight years of his life feeling immensely proud of being his father’s son. The pride dwindled over the next four until contempt grew and overrode it completely.

Now he wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about their relationship. He respected his father’s career, the spot of authority he held in this hospital and the community of Karakura. 

He didn’t want people to look at him and think he was a detriment to his father’s legacy.

It was weird to step back into that sense of self-consciousness. When he was ten years old, he’d started to worry that he wasn’t living up to his family’s expectations.

When he was thirteen, he started making plans to escape and live his life his way. He had his own expectations for what he should try and achieve.

When he was fifteen, he was cherrypicking which expectations Sensei championed and that he wanted to value as well.

When he was seventeen, none of it mattered anymore. He’d lived longer than he expected.

He was eighteen now and wanted to be… somebody… which seemed sort of silly and selfish…

He wanted to be Uryū Ishida but wasn’t really sure who that was anymore.

And so he dressed well and tried to be polite and be… good? Behaved? Genuine?

He wasn’t sure, but he was trying.

And Dad seemed to notice and appreciate it.

It had really been something to be taught a Quincy technique when he least expected it. Dad’s uncertainty and fear… hit him in a way it hadn’t before. He felt… human. 

Usually, Ryūken seemed so sure and arrogant, it was hard to imagine he had vulnerabilities.

But… he really did fear their heritage.

It was strange. It was something that clearly made up a huge part of him and that he accepted to some extent. But he was hesitant for Uryū to see or learn any of it.

It was seeming less like rejection, disdain, or snobbery.

He really was afraid. Like it would reach out and hurt Uryū somehow even when it was ignorance that usually tripped him up worse.

Uryū had wanted to repay the kindness. The trust. 

When the moment presented itself, he took it.

Maybe it was too showy? This was Dad’s event and Uryū went and made it about himself.

Except that wasn’t what he was trying to do.

Dad just… seemed to really like it when he played piano. So he wanted to play for him.

Yet, when Uryū got into the car, he was feeling more than a little disappointed. Yes, his father had referred to this night at their shared triumph, but…

But it wasn’t outright praise. Geez. How old was he again? That he needed Dad to compliment him over every stupid—

“Seatbelt.”

“Er, right.”

His father waited until he heard the telltale click, then he nodded and put the vehicle into reverse.

“You have a chemistry quiz. Do you feel prepared? We can review the materials before you go to bed or during breakfast.”

He stared out the window at the glowing signs and street lamps. “Winter Wind” wasn’t an easy piece. There should’ve been some kind of acknowledgment.

“…Okay.”

“Did you eat enough?”

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry? We can stop somewhere for a meal and then a dessert.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“You’re indecisive. ‘Okay’ is not an answer that matches my questions. You must be hungry. Why didn’t you eat?”

“Huh? Oh.” He blinked. “I wanted to wait until after our performance. But by then Aunt Bai’s trays were already picked over. There were just cream cheese wontons.” He wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t want those. And then there were lots of desserts, but I wanted food, but not pinwheel sandwiches. And I didn’t want soup. It could slosh and make a mess.”

“Ah. We’ll make a stop.”

Dad chose a fancy restaurant. It had Western furnishings. Abstract oil paintings were on the walls. Good thing they were wearing suits. There was a strict dress code. He was surprised they got in without a reservation, or at least until an older gentleman came down from the upper floor and warmly welcomed his father. Apparently, he’d been alerted by the host that had seated them.

“Dr. Ishida, I was so sorry we couldn’t attend tonight’s gala. I deeply enjoy music.”

“Quite alright. Though, it was your loss. My son is an accomplished pianist.”

Uryū nearly fell out of his chair.

“I hope it was recorded. I don’t want to miss out more than I must.”

Dad nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Uryū's face was going to melt off in embarrassment.

“My grandson’s lacrosse match was tonight. We just got back. They’re celebrating.” He glanced up at a balcony area.

Dad smiled. “Ah, then he’s made a full recovery. Good news.”

“Yes. Though he was still on a light rotation.” 

“Probably for the best.”

The man studied Uryū curiously. 

Uryū did the same. 

He was an elderly, balding man with a thick white beard.

They knew each other from somewhere. But where? Not Sunflower Threads.

“My son’s name is Uryū.” 

“Ah yes, yes. Sorry. You’ve mentioned him before. Hello Uryū. I’m Mr. Nakano. The owner of this restaurant.” 

“Hello, sir. I’m pleased to meet you.” He bowed.

Dad ended up inviting the man to sit down with them.

He was very complimentary towards his father.

Thankfully, the appetizers were delicious and a convenient way to avoid talking, since Mr. Nakano expected him to agree with his stance that Ryūken was a wonderful human being.

It came out that last winter, the man’s grandson and his friends were riding on the subway, coming home from a concert. 

“I told them to take a taxi.”

Uryū did his best not to fidget as his heart sank.

He knew exactly why this man was so familiar now.

“They called me after calling for an ambulance. I rushed to get there.” 

His grandson had been stabbed by a gang member trying to make a name for himself.

“If it hadn’t been for your father’s skill… would’ve lost him…”

The man was still very upset over it. Which was understandable because it was only last year and stab wounds were messy.

His fingers dug into his trousers.

Dad put an arm around his chair.

Uryū stared at him. Dad’s brow furrowed. 

Damn it. He probably thought Uryū was thinking about those muggers that got the jump on him. Or Aso’s attack years earlier?

He cleared his throat a little. “My father is the best there is in the operating room.”

The elderly man agreed but then frowned. “I’m sorry, you seem… familiar, young man. Have we met before, Uryū?”

Crap. 

“I-I’ve done a lot of volunteering. River clean up. Flood clean up. Recycling. That kind of stuff. Maybe you’ve seen me around?”

“Oh. How nice.” He looked back to Ryūken. “He gives back to his community. That’s good.”

Dad shrugged and his hand found Uryū’s shoulder to give a squeeze. “Sometimes he’s too giving and I worry.”

The older man chuckled.

“Grandpa?!” An athletic looking youth in his early twenties called from a balcony. “Aren’t you coming back?!”

Mr. Nakano gave him a stern look.

He was abashed. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt-oh! Dr. Ishida! Hello!”

“Hello, Kenzo.”

Uryū tried not to look directly at anyone. 

The last thing he needed was to be recognized. Or for Dad to pick up how uncomfortable he was.

The young man came downstairs to offer a proper hello.

He grinned. “Dr. Ishida! It’s good to see you again. Better that it’s outside the hospital.”

“I’m sure.”

They talked a bit about school. He was in his second year of university.

Uryū tried not to feel threatened by how warmly Dad talked to these strangers.

It was allowed.

Or maybe he was envious and that was coloring his perceptions? Kenzo seemed so on track and put together. University student. He knew what field interested him. Business. Had friends. Talked smoothly with adult professionals. Athletic. Looked cool. Effortlessly. Uryū always had to really put a lot of energy into all that.

He knew he didn’t look cool tonight. He looked proper. Formal. Nerdy. Shirt buttoned up all the way with a tie that was intricately knotted.

His dad approved…which sort of said it all.

“Who is this with you, sir?” The young man asked.

“My son Uryū. He’s a few years younger than you.”

“He… seems familiar.” 

“I said the same thing! He says he does volunteer work around town. You’ve done some river clean up, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. I have, but-Wait a minute! I know you!”

“N-no. I don’t think we’ve met. Officially,” Uryū replied, which was technically true.

“YES!”

Uryū flinched back and his father pulled his chair closer.

“YES! Yes! Grandpa! This is him! We saw him at the subway station! He was the one-”

Uryū’s face was warming up. “No, I-I don’t recall-”

“Subway Ninja! This is so cool! GUYS!” Kenzo bellowed at the balcony and several of his friends appeared and looked over the railing. “LOOK!” He gestured with both arms at Uryū in a ta da! fashion. “It’s the Subway Ninja!”

There was a cheer and then a stampede of footfalls.

“What? No way!”

“I can’t believe it!”

It seemed like Kenzo’s friends were suddenly just there. Or maybe it was because the weight of his father’s hand felt paralyzing?

“We thought we were never gonna see you again!”

“Quick! Make him sign something!”

“N-nope.” Uryū pushed his glasses up, hoping to obscure his face more. “This is a simple c-case of mistaken identity-” 

“Yeah! It’s him! He sounds exactly the same!”

“I can’t believe it. Man, you were so cool. The way you fought him off. I mean, I would never have suspected-”

“But that’s how ninjas are supposed to operate. You’re not supposed to suspect them of-”

“Yeah, but using books as weapons!”

Uryū sunk in his chair. His dad was going to be so angry at him. 

He could already sense it in his spirit ribbon: resentment and disapproval and… fear.

“Back up, you’re making him uncomfortable-”

“Sorry.” 

“Sorry.”

“Uryū,” his father prompted him expectantly.

He glanced up. Could see that muscle tic in his father’s jaw that warned his patience was spent. It was so unfair.

“It was just Tuesday!” he blurted out at him. “And I usually ride the train on Tuesdays. Those are quilting days at Sunflower Threads from Fall until Spring. And it would be rude to leave early when they go to the trouble of bringing food and sewing patterns. And it’s just good manners to wait until the end to make sure they all get home safely. They’re old and some of them have a little bit of sundowners, so you need to make sure a caregiver arrives to take them. Or they’re not allowed to drive anymore and they need help figuring out the routes because they’re not the same as they used to be thirty years ago. So that’s why I ended up being out late every Tuesday and I take the train.”

That was… mostly true.

The whole truth was… he was a bit of a vigilante.

The window was open and a classmate was waving to a friend. Uryū pulled his scarf more securely around himself as the winter air permeated the classroom.

Last night had turned awkward the moment he was recognized. 

Mr. Nakano thanked him repeatedly, eyes shining wetly, as he insisted that he was good and brave and how proud Ryūken must be of him.

And humble! He’d offered a generous reward and Uryū never stepped forward to claim it.

If he was honest, it had been tempting last year. He’d fantasized for about a minute as he chewed on an expired granola bar on the way to school. He’d seen the offer in the newspaper and on posters by the bus stop, but it felt wrong to take advantage of a grandfather’s love for his grandchild.

It still did.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mr. Nakano demanded. “To repay you?”

His face burned as he stammered that no thanks was necessary. He just did what he could until real paramedics could arrive.

Mr. Nakano blinked hard and Uryū scrambled to assure him. After all, Dad was the one who’d really saved Kenzo. Uryū had just done a little damage control. 

“He’s so modest! Ryūken, I can’t imagine how proud you must feel of raising such a brave, goodhearted-” 

‘Imagine’ was the right word. Because that had to be imagined.

Dad was… quiet. Tense. Angry. Deeply angry.

Though he was wise enough not to comment in front of the Nakanos that taking on a knife-wielding psycho in the close quarters of a subway train near midnight was more mad than foolish, let alone heroic. 

But… Uryū not intervening would’ve pretty much guaranteed Kenzo Nakano’s death. 

Dad waited through several courses and dessert.

It wasn’t until they were driving home he said, “You deliberately put yourself in danger.”

It was tempting to talk back, to let the Nakanos’ awe inflate his ego and rally him for the argument that was coming.

He could snark that Ryūken ought to be pleased he prioritized the Living. Wasn’t that what he was always nagging him about?

Only… he didn’t want to fight. He’d wanted tonight to be good. Had tried really hard at everything that came his way. His heart kept sinking. It wasn’t fair.

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

“He was in trouble.”

“Did you hope to encounter trouble?”

“…”

Straight to the heart of the matter.

“Uryū?”

The soul fragment was very truthful. It had already paid the price for being secretive and had nothing to lose.

Or gain.

And Dad was so nice to it anyways. Couldn’t he be like that to him, too?

“…Yes.”

“Why?"

A lifetime of interactions with Mom and Grandpa fluttered by, peppered with stories and legends and noble speeches about righteousness and courage and sacrifice… 

Except… it wasn’t always noble. Or at least not the way it should have been.

“I was there.”

Dad used his signal to merge.

“Do you find it exciting? To barrel headfirst into such drama?” His tone was sharp.

To feel like he was alive and had a purpose and was championing what was right and just?

“…Sometimes.”

Dad gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “It pleases you?”

“To make a difference. Yeah.”

“That’s the only way you could think of?” His teeth were bared at the traffic lights. Frustrated. Furious.

Guess the night was ruined.

Uryū stared through his reflection in the windshield into the red light as well. There was a strangely familiar echo of despair, like he’d done this before.

The feeling of trying so hard and reaching the end and having nothing to show for it.

“What else was I going to do?”

He knew that night that he was only heading back to his empty apartment with stale rice, two dented cans of tuna, and bottles of cheap green tea (because he wouldn’t be able to afford soda until his customers gave him the second half of their payments which wouldn’t happen until payday). Everything kept going to rent. And it was no use demanding money they didn’t have yet.

He was returning to where his homework was already finished and waiting in the semi-completed messenger bag he was sewing together with a massive leather-piercing needle and he was thinking about learning how to carve and stamp leather because he had the time. He always had the time.

Where his school uniform was laid out on mismatching hangers on the bathroom door.

Where his sewing commissions for the week were completed and waiting in a plastic tub with customer information tagging each one to ensure they were returned to their rightful owners. 

Where a cheap black urn was sitting on his secondhand dresser with an envelope nearby addressing ‘Whom it May Concern’ because Tuesdays were a good night to exterminate Hollows because he was already out on the town because of the quilting events at Sunflower Threads and anything could happen.

“What does that mean, Uryū?” Dad asked tightly.

“It means… it was December. Ichigo was awake by then but he had withdrawn—his powers were lost and he just… wasn’t the same. He was hanging out with his normal friends. Family. Busy. Being normal. I didn’t force the issue. Chad and his band hung out a few days each week to write music or practice. Tradition. Busy. Orihime and Tatsuki spent a lot of time together and they were both starting off with their part time jobs—hired before the holiday rush. Busy. And I mean, they all only knew me for a couple months. They were all friends or at least acquaintances for years. I was just… there.

I… I wasn’t busy. Or at least any more than usual. Just school. Just sewing. Just started my campaigning efforts for class president. Had asked Chiyo and Jun and the others for help. They agreed. Considering that I was the one that went off after middle school, it was already a lot of gall for me to ask for their help in the first place… and for that. To bother them outside of that stuff would’ve been really... 

I wasn’t busy and the reapers always struggle with this area. Urahara gave me a phone to help out with Hollows. It was cool. The phone. You saw it. Later. Retro. But mine. It was late. Sunflower Threads is a 24-hour store but… if I lingered after the quilting event…I would just be loitering because I didn’t have any money to spend. Same for the cafes. I’d just be a nuisance. I try not to be when I can.

Not even a month in with helping Urahara so I wasn’t comfortable crashing at the shop yet. I mean, I couldn’t believe Tessai sent me a birthday card. That they knew my… it’s just… Even though they were definitely awake, it’s just… they were more Ichigo’s allies than mine. 

I had to put in time to earn their trust. That’s only fair. Plus, even if they’re ex-Shinigami now they’ve been Shinigami before. Sometimes, it’s hard to know that they were probably okay with the purges of Quincies and I… Later, Shutara said we, as a people, were abandoned by God. And that’s kinda the feeling… even back then… it gets to me sometimes and I just feel so…so…

There just… wasn’t anywhere to be. So, I was at the subway station. It’s important to go periodically so what happened to Aso there doesn’t trip me up.”

“You left from that station?”

“Yeah.”

“That route overshoots your apartment by several blocks.”

“…Yeah.”

“By the time you get in that would leave very little time for sleep.”

“…Yeah.”

“You didn’t want to sleep?”

He shrugged. “I… I don’t know. When I’m feeling like that… sleep is … the stuff I end up dreaming about can be intense.”

His father sighed. “The place to be when you can’t figure out where to go or what to do? That’s home. You come home. If I’m not there and the house feels too empty, you come to the hospital. You find me. That’s what you do. That’s where you go. You come to me. You come to me anytime you feel the way you’ve been describing. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Will you do that for me?”

It seemed simple, spelled out like that.

“…Yes… Dad.”

And then Dad wasn’t angry anymore. Uryū had marveled at the abrupt change in emotion for the rest of the car ride.

He’d ended up staring at him. 

Dad moved one hand away from the steering wheel to briefly rest on Uryū’s forearm. “Everything will be alright.”

And that was that. The evening wound down like it was just another school night with Dad quizzing him with his chemistry flashcards to prepare him for the upcoming quiz.

He took his medicine and was sent off to bed with a “We were out late in the cold and among lots of people. Your immune system may have been stressed. Be sure the drapes in your room are drawn to create a barrier of insulation. The house is old. I don’t want a draft making you fall ill.”

“That’s a superstition. Cold temperatures—”

Dad went and pulled the drapes shut himself. “I’ll get you a hot water bottle to warm your sheets.”

Uryū frowned and set his dragon bookmark into the textbook.

Isshin was making Ichigo spend one more day at home to ensure he wasn’t contagious or feverish.

Lunch was weird without him. It gave him flashbacks of when Ichigo had lost his powers.

Chad and Orihime made a point to observe Sassahara, but she must’ve anticipated that she’d be watched because she’d already pre-set the third warning on a projector slide presentation for a PE class.

People were getting creeped out.

The messages were getting more aggressive.

Take it from me, you’re not going to make it either. The mounting pressure will buckle your bones. 

The next will crack in three days.

Meet you in the morgue.

-Rank 9

He dutifully relayed it to his dad, who texted, “Will the school postpone the festival?”

He replied, Doubt it.

His father immediately followed up with, “You don’t have to attend.”

He texted back, “You know me better than that.”

Dad: Will you at least stay close and be careful?

He wrote back, I can try.

Dad was nervous because the principal was going to let Sassahara attend the festival in the capacity of Vice President; she’d lose her title the following week.

The Council had decided that Chiyo would take her place. There would still need to be some shuffling to see who was best equipped to take over the treasurer role.

Uryū was worried Sassahara was going to vent her frustrations at Chiyo.

Dad kept warning him that he was the one in the crosshairs.

He was having a rough start. Two doctors had called in, likely due to hangovers following overindulgence after last night’s party.

A jogger who fell down an uncovered manhole had died en route and the plus was now haunting the morgue.

He sighed. They couldn’t save everyone. He knew that. It was still frustrating.

And then there was last night’s reveal at the restaurant and the conversation that followed.

He wondered if Uryū understood that the listlessness he’d been experiencing was his depression spiking. The impulsivity was a maladaptive coping mechanism.

Now that he was actively researching the subject, he knew now that depression and impulsivity were closely linked. Key ingredients for the reckless behavior Ryūken hated.

Uryū surprised him by talking to him honestly. 

Without the usual bravado and flowery speeches touting the honor of the Quincies, Uryū’s explanation was… painful to hear. Sad. Jarringly so. In low moments, his child felt terribly alone and it could spur him into gallantry. Into conflict. Because he was scrabbling to find purpose.

Being angry when his son was sad would accomplish nothing.

There’d been nothing left to do but for Ryūken to reassure him that he was there for him. Always. Damn it. He would find the time if it meant he could be the alternative to Uryū chasing danger and death.

And then his child agreed to seek him out.

He released a steadying breath. 

Turning point.

They would get through this. Together.

A text alerted him that Urahara had decrypted more videos.

He took an early lunch and set up his laptop.

“Subway Ninja,” Urahara chuckled.

“I love it,” Isshin declared. “I’m greeting him with that next time I see him.”

Ryūken’s eye twitched as he adjusted the settings on his laptop and moved the microphone of his new headset. Uryū had programmed it for him and shown him how to connect it to his laptop. “You found it?”

“The station’s video is really grainy. Yhwach’s copy is way better.”

“Damn it.”

“…So?”

“Let’s see it.”

Yhwach’s video was played.

Uryū was helping put away supplies and then lending a literal hand to help escort the eldest attendees to their caregivers outside the store making sure they didn’t stumble in the dark or over curbs. Two individuals had needed him to help carry their oxygen tanks when they struggled to maneuver them over door jambs and narrow aisles.

Isshin was blunt: “He’s a good kid, Ryuu.”

“Yes,” he bit out. Obviously. Why did they think he felt so protective of him? He was good and kind and gentle, like his mother. The world was dangerous for them. 

It was very late and very cold as he bid goodnight to the final couple.

Uryū smiled. “I’ll head out now.”

Husband and wife looked conflicted. “If you’re sure.”

“Mother, Father, he says he’ll be fine,” their middle aged son insisted. “We need to go.”

The couple frowned severely at their child who wasn’t stepping up to help what seemed… no, what was an at-risk teen out after curfew.

Uryū replied, “I’ll be safe. I promise. See you next week!”

“Stay healthy, Uryū!”

“Mind the traffic!”

“Good luck with school!”

“Make us proud!”

Their adult child gave them a look.

“I will!” Uryū chuckled and continued on. He checked the cheap phone Urahara had given him several times, hopeful for a Hollow to exterminate as he headed to the subway station.

He walked through several shady areas that made Ryūken uncomfortable to see him in. Places where there were signs of graffiti, flickering streetlights, and drunken salarymen stumbling around.

He patrolled for Hollows but didn’t run into any. He haunted a park for a few hours while kids whose parents couldn’t be bothered to watch over them played. They knew Uryū by name and waved. They even got him to play a few of their games until Uryū told them it was getting late. He walked them back to their apartment units and lightly warned them about the importance of sleep so they could do well at school.

Ryūken’s anxiety grew when Uryū took a shortcut through an alley while pulling out a small book of German conjugations to review.

A group of thugs began tailing him until one announced, “Wait a minute, isn’t he a friend of Kurosaki’s?”

They scattered.

Isshin laughed in delight.

“Damn it.” Uryū pocketed the book and continued on his way to the subway station, miffed that he hadn’t run into any trouble.

The idiot.

He got plenty of it ten minutes after boarding the train.

Chapter Text

The video continued.

Uryū put away the grammar book and pulled out a large tome of Shakespeare’s collected works from his schoolbag. He flipped it open to where a worksheet was being used as a placeholder. Notes had been scribbled under half of the questions.

Since he was alone in the train car, he read out the next question: “Describe the leading factors that make ‘The Winter’s Tale’ a tragicomedy.” He scoffed, “Ugh, that Leontes is a massive dic-”

There were yells of alarm.

Uryū paused and then frowned as he leaned forward and away from his seat towards the aisle.

There was a commotion occurring in the car ahead. He hastily stood, slung his school bag back on, and pushed his glasses up.

He observed through the glass for a moment and then dialed for emergency services on his cellphone.

After giving them a description of the attacker, he said, “Damn it, I think he has a knife. Please send help immediately.” He told them the next stop.

“Sir? Do not engage with-”

He ended the call, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

He hefted his book up higher under his arm and grabbed something from his school bag.

He entered the next car.

“Excuse me! Some of us are trying to read in peace!” he complained and held his book up as evidence. 

Kenzo Nakano was on the ground bleeding.

His friends were trying to drag him away from his attacker.

A would-be gang member, if Ryūken remembered the case correctly. Police had needed to interview Kenzo in the hospital several times as he healed.

“Better back off, nerd, or you’re gonna get hurt real bad.”

“Ohhh, so this is an initiation. Which chapter are you trying to join?” 

“You hard of hearing or stupid? I’m telling you to scram-”

“C’mon, where’s the challenge in fighting some sheltered rich brat? Rob him if you’re going to rob him, but there’s no way killing him will count to your higher-ups as worthy of membership.”

“You volunteering?!” He lunged and swung the knife at Uryū who caught the blade on a mathematical compass and hit him across the face with the book.

The shock made the attacker lose his grip and the knife clattered to the floor and under a seat.

Ryūken’s teeth were on edge as Isshin cheered.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Uryū grinned viciously. He delivered a swift kick to the midsection that made the man stagger back.

“You!” He snarled.

The teen then threw his book and the corner hit the man in the eye.

He swore in rage and tried to tackle Uryū. 

The boy dropped the compass to hoist himself up using the handle straps on the train to jump up. His feet ran across the windows and ceiling before giving a roundhouse kick. 

The hit drove the man backwards and the back of his skull connected with a stanchion. His eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the floor with a groan.

“Hn. Looks like you lose,” Uryū sneered as he recovered his book and his compass and set each back in his school bag before looking over at Kenzo and his friends. “One of you watch him,” he jerked a thumb at the attacker. “If you’ve got a belt, tie him to the pole. Check his vitals.”

“Right. On it.” 

He made use of the rest as well.

“You. Call for an ambulance. Tell them to meet us at the next stop. Two patients. The unconscious one U.S. the attacker. The victim was stabbed. You. Tell the conductor what’s happened. You. Hold this.” He gave him a thick pad of gauze from his school bag. “Press here. Help keep him alive. You got it?”

“Yes!” They scurried to follow his commands.

Uryū took out more first aid supplies from his bag. He sanitized his hands with a small bottle and put on latex gloves. “No allergy to latex, right?”

“N-no,” Kenzo coughed and weakly mumbled, “T-hhank… you for stopping him. Tell my grandfa-”

“Hey! You tell him yourself!” Uryū snapped. “All this is for nothing if you don’t do your part. You hear me? You have to fight to stay here! Can you do that for me?!” 

Yes. Ryūken nodded approvingly. Exactly. 

“Yes.” Kenzo’s expression grew more determined.

“Good. Any health conditions I should know about?”

“No.”

“I’m going to check you for any additional stab wounds. Yep. Here we go. Looks like he got you twice, but you’re a big guy. Athlete?” 

“Yeah.” Kenzo grimaced and clenched his teeth. 

“Oi, vocalizing can help alleviate pain. You’ve been stabbed. It hurts,” Uryū stated matter-of-factly. 

Ryūken flinched a little—Uryū knew exactly how that felt.

“You don’t have to pretend otherwise. These are your friends and I’m just some nobody you’ve never met before and won’t see again. Don’t get all polite on my account.”

Kenzo hissed in pain.

“I’ve got the operator,” one of the friends said.

Uryū nodded. “Okay, move the phone here. I’ll talk.” He continued pressing a gauze pad to Kenzo’s second wound. “Hello there, are you medically trained?”

“Hello. Yes, I understand there’s a medical emergency?” The operator said.

“Yes. As you just heard, a young man was attacked on the subway. Two stab wounds. The attacker is unconscious—blunt force trauma to prevent more violence. The victim is still conscious but is losing blood from two instances of penetrating trauma and will need units waiting for him. We’re keeping pressure on the puncture wounds, but he needs professionals.”

“Paramedics are en route to the train’s next stop.”

“Good to hear.”

“Please stay on the line.”

“Will do. Oi, um.” He looked down. “You…What’s your blood type, friend?”

“A,” Kenzo answered.

“Did you hear that? Type A. Guess he’s an organized team player,” Uryū informed the person on the phone. 

Kenzo laughed weakly.

One of his other friends reported back that the conductor had been made aware and was communicating with police.

A third friend was dialing Kenzo’s grandfather.

When the paramedics arrived, they went to work, talking easily with Uryū who was versed in medical language and could follow their commands.

Police officers and Mr. Nakano arrived on the scene.

“KENZO!”

“Hello sir,” Uryū greeted and then asked if the man could talk calmly to his grandson. “We want his heart rate to stay steady.”

“O-of course. Whatever he needs.”

The paramedics readied a stretcher and one asked Uryū outright, “Are you one of ours? Med-track?”

“Just a Good Samaritan passing through.”

“Thanks for your help. The officers will probably need a witness statement from you.”

“Sure thing.”

By the time the officers were finished speaking with Kenzo’s friends, and looked for Uryū; he was already gone.

Ryūken frowned. He should have stayed. He’d done very well up until that point. 

Another video began.

Ryūken scanned the setting curiously.

It appeared to be the backroom of a poorly funded cafe. There were old faded posters and sagging cardboard boxes with dusty supplies.

A very sour-faced Uryū, who had his arms crossed and was sporting a black eye and a busted lip—This must’ve been soon after his apartment had been broken into!—was being introduced to a ragtag group of employees who looked overworked and unenthusiastic.

A somewhat sleazy looking man with a combover pushed Uryū forward. “Hey staff! Here’s our newest part-timer!”

There was no reaction.

“Treat him nice. Be patient as you show him how we run things here. I-” He checked his watch, cursed, and bid them goodbye because he had somewhere to be. “Gotta run! Be good! Bye!”

The other workers went back to whatever tasks they’d been doing before the interruption.

One slightly older teenager decided to take Uryū underwing.

“I’m Yoshihiro Yuu. You are?”

“Kenyū Katagiri.”

“Now keep these sutures dry and clean. We’ll see you in two weeks to remove them.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ishida.”

“You’re very welcome. It’s my pleasure to sign off and send you home. Call if you have any concerns or notice any changes at the site of the incision, such as fluid or discharge. Have your family read through the care pamphlet as well.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He returned to his office and locked the door.

He sat down heavily at his desk and stared at his wife’s portrait.

“Our son has deeply offended me.”

The light and the angle made it seem like she was smiling in a slightly teasing, somewhat apologetic way. As had been her wont.

“Kenyū Katagiri,” he scoffed.

His son had used a false alias using his mother’s maiden name.

How had that worked for taxes? Unless he used his real name with his employer but the alias for his coworkers?

Light blue eyes narrowed. No, Ryūken had to have signed off on—

He abruptly remembered having to sign five papers. Uryū had barged into the hospital and confronted him in a hallway at the start of his freshman year of high school. 

“Come on, Ryūken, do the bare minimum,” he sneered.

One form was for a vaccination. One was to help him maintain his crafting license. Another was for a volunteering effort near the river. 

There was an urgent announcement over the PA. “Dr. Ishida, paging Dr. Ishida, we need you in OR 3.”

The emergency necessitated him handing the clipboard back unfinished.

He checked. “Damn it, Ryūken, hurry up already!” 

“You will not speak to me that way here. Leave the forms.” He motioned to a staffer’s desk who could deliver it to his office in the interim. “Return tomorrow. I have more important matters to attend to.”

“Why should I have to go out of my way for you two days in a row?! For a freaking signature! Sign the last two and you can forget I was even here!” The fabric of his windbreaker was loud as he crossed his arms.

Ryūken’s lip curled at his son’s cheap taste in clothing—a baseball cap for a rival prefecture, a jacket that was too big, dingy sneakers—

All of that should’ve been clued him in. 

Frustrated by the belligerence, he snatched the clipboard, signed it twice more, and thrust it back at Uryū. “Leave. You’re disturbing my patients.”

His son had manipulated him on several levels. 

He’d dressed in a way that he knew would upset him. By fixating on Uryū’s tacky state of dress, he missed Uryū’s state of being.

He’d dressed similarly following the mugging attack.

A cap to cast shadows over the bruising on his face. Baggy clothing to hide the bulkiness of bandages. Otherwise, Ryūken would have inspected those wounds. Anger rallied Uryū’s reiryoku so Ryūken didn’t sense how injured he was. 

Uryū had wanted them to quarrel. He’d done that a few weeks ago, instigating a fight to tire Ryūken and drive him off. Because… his jaw dropped… it had worked numerous times before.

Driving Ryūken off or storming off on his own…

He’d also cunningly used the tense moment to prevent Ryūken from reading the final forms: a permission form allowing Uryū to work as a student and an employment contract for the cafe.

Because he wouldn’t have allowed him to risk his grades like that. He’d have insisted on giving him an allowance with… conditions.

He knew himself well enough to know he’d have also demanded a key to the apartment. Upon entering it, he would’ve brought him home or set up an alternate apartment depending on how volatile Uryū reacted.

Kenyū Katagiri.

Kenyū…

He could guess the kanji… 

Hero of the Bow.

That he would exchange Uryū for Kenyū.

To go from being a mighty rain dragon to a mere…hero… a mere archer…

He had deeply wanted to be part of Sōken’s legacy, even if it came at the price of rejecting everything his father wanted for him.

It hurt more than he expected.

He stared hard at his wife’s photo.

Uryū was as much of a Katagiri as he was an Ishida.

He knew that.

He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. His highschooler smiled up at him.

He took a deep breath and pushed his feelings down.

Kenyū Katagiri.

Because Uryū wasn’t a common name.

Ishida…

That name would’ve gotten back.

A patient or a colleague would’ve noticed a name badge for a worker at a cafe named Ishida.

Still… his stomach flopped. What kind of cafe had it been that his child was so worried of the news getting back to Ryūken that he used a fake name?

Maybe Uryū had grown too used to sitting in the passenger seat of his father’s car?

Having to be in the backseat with Jinta and Ururu while Urahara and Tessai drove him home from school felt…demeaning.

Jinta and Ururu were debating what radio station to choose. Jinta was smelly from PE and apparently hadn’t bothered to make use of the showers. Meanwhile, Ururu had discovered floral body mists and smelled overwhelmingly of artificial cherry blossoms.

Uryū’s one saving grace was that he was beside the window and he’d rolled it down a crack.

“Here we are” was the ultimate mercy.

“Thank” goodness “you.” He immediately got out of the car so he could let himself in through the gate and wave the vehicle off.

Urahara rolled his window down as Uryū punched in the code. “Hey Uryū, Yoruichi wants you to be extra alert at the festival. Sassahara is definitely up to something. She’s had an obsession with melting plastic lately.”

“Of course she is,” he sighed. “Thanks for the confirmation.”

“Bye bye for now!”

He closed the gate behind him and went to the main house. The front door opened as he was fishing for his keys. 

He blinked. “Oh. Hey Dad? Did you get off early?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Here. Let me get changed. We can work on your suit for the contest!”

His father seemed unusually melancholic as they did the fitting. 

He kept wondering when to broach the topic of the latest warning from “Inukai.”

“Hayate Egawa, over in orthopedics, his son wants a part-time job,” Dad commented a bit listlessly.

The horror… apparently…

“Hm. Want me to talk to him?” Uryū asked as he adjusted the hem of the trousers.

His father stared down at him.

He looked up and felt his face warm. “It’s just, I mean… I can let him know the good and bad. That could… influence his decision. I wouldn’t be sugarcoating it.”

“I don’t think he would be doing crafting commissions.” 

“Oh. Well I…I…have done some odds and ends and…”

“Have you ever worked at a cafe?”

Uryū dropped his pincushion and several pins fell out. “Oops. Don’t move. Gotta get these pins. Cushion must be getting old. Sorry. Wow. Haven’t had a mishap like this in years.”

He looked up to flash a smile. His father’s eyebrows were furrowed tightly together in worry.

“I’m not having any issues with my hypotension, I promise,” He assured him. “Just clumsy today, I guess.”

“…”

“Is…is Egawa’s son interested in working at a cafe? Lots to choose from.”

“I imagine the location matters.”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t want it too far away from your home. Especially given whatever the hours turn out to be.”

“Some cafes are 24-hour.”

“Y-yeah,” he agreed. “But the Labor Standards Act prevents-”

“The way the Karakura Ordinance prevented you from wandering around the city at night?” 

He abruptly found himself staring hard at his father’s slippered feet so he didn’t have to meet his eyes.

Shit. He knew. He knew. Somehow he knew. Or sensed.

A gentle hand nestled in his hair. “You usually cashed your work checks and then deposited amounts into our joint account because you didn’t want me to know where the money came from.” 

“…”

“What kind of cafe did you work at?”

“…”

“Was it… was it safe there?” His voice sounded pained.

He thought of the low standards of hygiene and the drunk patrons.

He grimaced.

His father’s worry spiked. “What were you forced to do?”

“Nobody forced me to do anything. It was just…” He remembered having to perform for bonuses like an organ grinder’s monkey. “Embarassing.”

It was weird to sense his father starting to panic.

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Wha?”

“Take me there,” Dad ordered fiercely. “Now.”

“Katagiriiiiiii!” A man in his forties cried out in delight. It was the man from the video. He was wearing a toupee now. “O my prayers were answered!”

“Um-”

“You’re back. We’ll figure out the paperwork later!” He dragged the teenager over to the hosting podium. “What do you want to do? Pick anything. Greeting and seating? Serving? Bussing? Hell, if you’re in the mood, the mic is set. We had to sell the piano. Sorry. But there’s a keyboard. One of the G’s doesn’t work. Can’t remember which-”

“Um-”

“You need a minute. That’s fine,” He began scrabbling through a plastic basket of name tags. “Aha! See? Never gave up on you.” He reached over and pinned the badge on him. “Okay, sooo Nina will be here in five minutes. You remember Nina. Just wait here. Byeee!” And he left.

“That’s… why I don’t come here,” Uryū mumbled.

“Well?” Ryūken smirked. “Are you going to greet me?”

Uryū heaved a long sigh and glared at him. 

Ryūken waited.

His son closed his eyes and gave him a perfunctory, “Welcome to Yoko’s Retro Vibes Music Cafe. We have several themed areas to choose from.” 

“Let’s hear it.”

“…Classical, Jukebox, Disco, Country, Jazz, and Pop. There’s also a bar as well as a pool table—”

“Bar, please.”

He grabbed a menu. “This way…sir.”

They walked along past peeling booths and over carpet that was rumpled.

“Katagiri?!” A server’s jaw dropped. “Hell yeah, here take these to Table 7 after you’re done with him.” He gave him a tray with drinks.

“I hate you.”

The young man laughed. “Classic Katagiri. I’ll be taking my break and then dishwashing. We’re backed up like you won’t believe. Or maybe you can? Washer’s on the fritz. So it’s the old fashioned way. Where’s your apron? Here, take mine.” He tied it around Uryū’s waist while the latter balanced the tray and menu.

They continued on.

“Holy shit, Katagiri?!” A bartender in his early thirties with visible tattoos squawked as he pushed his sunglasses to rest on top of his head..

“H-hey…”

“Well, I lost that bet. I swore the black market organ donors harvested you and the leftover bits were roach food.”

Uryū wrinkled his nose. “Gee thanks.”

He noticed the “customer” then, “Hello sir. What do you need to get you there?” 

“Scotch on the rocks,” he answered honestly.

“You got it.”

Uryū sighed again. “I guess… I have to go back to the front… until Nina comes.”

Ryūken smirked. “I’ll wait for you. Take in the atmosphere.”

“Right.”

Once he was out of earshot, Ryūken turned to the bartender. “How long have you known… Katagiri?”

“You some kind of inspector? Truant officer?”

“No. I’m a doctor.”

“Ah. You must want to get plastered somewhere no one will recognize you. No judgement. I can make your drink harder.” He gave a sharper smile as he set the beverage in front of him.

“I can’t pass out here.”

“Ha! Fair enough. Though, you’ll need at least that drink and a shot to make the food here more palatable since our J-Poppers went overseas. I think they’re working at a club now.”

“If it’s so awful here, why stay?

The man shrugged as he leaned on the counter. “The hours? The apathy? The ambience?” 

The way he didn’t need to cover up his tattoos while on the clock?

“…”

“Katagiri,” he prompted again.

“He owes you money?” He looked faintly uneasy.

“He’s my son.”

His pierced eyebrows shot up, “Shit! Really? Wow.”

“I wanted to see the cafe he had worked at. Whether it was… safe.”

“It’s fairly safe. We get down-on-their-luckers and those that run out on their bills but no gang members or ragers. This place is depressing but not violent.”

Ryūken breathed a little easier. “Nothing illicit?”

He made a sound of disagreement. “I… know Uryū has had to mix a few alcoholic drinks-”

“What?!”

“He didn’t drink. Ol’ man Mori taught him the basics for like four kinds and only if we were completely slammed. And he might’ve performed a few songs that-” He took a look at him from head to toe and assumed. “-You might think were iffy.”

“Performed? What does that mean exactly?” His anxiety was ramping up.

“Sang and danced.”

“Oh…How so?”

“You know, karaoke style? You get a bonus. It loosens things up and more customers will sign up.” He motioned to a pathetic looking stage. “And when I say ‘iffy,’ it’s that the lyrics were… strongly worded.” He winked.

Rather than risqué. 

“…Oh.” Bad language that Uryū got to say into a microphone. “Teenagers.”

The bartender laughed.

“Nina” turned out to be an elderly woman who wore too much makeup that reminded him strongly of the ‘80s and whose voice and smell exposed her as a chain smoker. 

He blinked. Had he smelled like that?

She gave Uryū a push towards his father. “You’re off the hook, sweetheart.” She chewed a piece of gum aggressively. She eyed Ryūken sharply. “You get him out of here. Take that badge with you. Or Daichi will continue harassing him.”

“Understood.” He finished his drink and paid.

Uryū hovered uncertainly at his elbow even after they left.

The alcohol had done its job and he was feeling more relaxed. “Well? You know this area. Show me around.”

Uryū agreed on the condition that he told no one.

“Ichigo will never let me live it down. See, I sometimes did sign flipping or writing on windows or chalkboards.”

“Ha.”

Uryū bought them shimiji soup as a snack. “Don’t worry. No mushrooms. I double checked whether they’d changed their recipe.”

“Thank you.” He accepted the food meant to sober him up.

It was amusing; Uryū really didn’t like him drinking.

“I know it’s not fancy, but it uses this bone broth as a base that I like.”

Or maybe he just liked it and wanted to share the experience?

“I used to try and get it whenever I felt a little rundown.”

He turned to him sharply. “Are you feeling ill? We can go home.” Even if it meant calling a taxi.

“No, not yet. You… you deserve to know this part, I guess.”

Indeed. It took Herculean willpower not to scoff.

Uryū fidgeted self-consciously. “I was here. A lot. In this shopping district.”

They finished their soup and found a shop to throw the cups away.

“Here. Over here. There’s this one bookshop-”

The old lady that worked there wore coke bottle lenses and recognized Uryū, though not by name. She ended up calling him by several before the interaction ended.

“She always gave me really good discount prices for study guides and test booklets,” Uryū told him.

“Hm.”

“Now, over there is the gym I’d go to during middle school. Chiba would train there. The sensei I’d do gymnastics training with moved away in our final year to live closer to his daughter. I… I hear he comes back and visits sometimes, but I… I stopped going to that one.” 

“To avoid your middle school friends?”

“Yeah… and…I kinda got… jealous.”

“…”

Uryū looked down and away. “That he moved closer to her. Which is stupid. It makes sense. That’s his kid. I get it. It’s just-you and me, we were in a bad spot and it made me angry. I know it’s really selfish. Silly. Since she was little and I was a teenager, but I just wanted to feel like I mattered to somebody—”

Ryūken cut in front of him to face him. “Always. You always matter to me.”

There were several beats and then in a very quiet voice, his son admitted, “He told me to go home to you.”  

“And you almost did.” Because a stranger he respected more than his father at that point had said so.

Nod.

The corner of Uryū’s mouth lifted. “Once, he even offered to punch you for me.”

“And that won you over,” he guessed.

Uryū laughed. “No. I was worried he was gonna jump you. At first he thought I just got in a lot of fights. But then, he saw… the bruising on my arm and I had to explain that yeah, it was a grownup but… it wasn’t you.”

“He should’ve told you to tell the police.”

“He did. But then I was worried about being expelled and arrested or sued for taking out Aso’s eye.”

“Which only happened because he was trying to kill you. He should’ve reported it.”

“I think he assumed I was scared of losing a scholarship to attend there.”

“Hn.”

They continued walking.

Ryūken glanced at the name badge affixed to his son’s coat. He didn’t like the Katagiri name being linked to service work.

But maybe it was the Ishida name that Uryū had wanted a reprieve from.

He remembered his preteen angrily researching the process involved. “Did you consider changing your name?”

The teen bit his lip guiltily. “…Yeah.”

“Why?”

“…If you were going to be ashamed of me, why bother keeping the name that connected us.”

“I’m your father. We’re connected no matter what.”

“…”

“Where do you come up with these ideas? That I could hate you? Feel ashamed of you? I do everything I can to keep you safe, healthy, and comfortable. I’m… I’m not sure what I’ve said to… to cause this? Tell me and I’ll correct this misunderstanding.”

“…”

“…”

“…I’m a foolish idiot who wastes people’s time and resources with my antics? I’m-”

“No! That’s not—I worded that badly. That’s not—I wanted you terribly. Your mother and I both wanted you so much, to lose you because you-you felt you needed to prove yourself—”

“That’s not helpful-”

“How is that not reassuring?”

“Because I’m probably not even what you pictured when you envisioned fatherhood! You probably thought I was supposed to-”

“I wanted you to be mine. Ours. And you are. What do you need to hear from me? You exceed all expectations.”

His son stared at him hopefully. “…It was… how confidently they’d whisper behind my back. And then when they confronted me face-to-face. The reasons why you missed so many meetings and events. They were so sure. And I started to observe…how you were so strict with me… why you didn’t want to be near me…you didn’t want me to approach you anymore when you came home—”

“My job was very demanding. Your health was more precarious after Auswählen. After your mother… and your grandfather died. I was worried about exposing you to germs that could compromise your immune system. I told you that. To wait until I’d cleaned up.”

Uryū’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh…”

“Remember? You caught bacterial conjunctivitis from my coat. I felt terrible about that. Sleeve cuffs and pockets can be breeding grounds for-” 

“Oh…”

“Very preventable harm.” 

“…Right.”

“It wasn't an intentional rejection. Yes, I was trying to instill more independence in you. I didn’t mean to completely push… I never wanted you to run away.”

“…” His son looked conflicted.

“It’s difficult. Parenting…” he confessed, “knowing when to hold on and let go. Saying the right thing…failing…” 

There were some Christmas decorations in a display window.

Uryū stopped in his tracks.

Ryūken looked it over. Not terribly impressive in his opinion: bright lights cycling on an old tinsel tree and various toys and garishly vivid decor.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Hm?”

Uryū’s eyes were out of focus. “Something isn’t…right… why is…?”

“What?”

“…Here?”

Ryūken steadied him with both hands and moved closer to brace him if needed. “What is it? Food poisoning? Hypotension?”

“Their portraits in the red light told me to run.”

This again.

“There in the red light… changing colors and I… and I… I don’t know… I remember the floor was cold when their pictures told me to run. Maybe it was a hypotension episode?”

Uryū swayed. Ryūken carefully braced one arm around his shoulders before moving the other to his legs.

He picked him up and carried him to a nearby bench and let him lay down.

Uryū blinked slowly, coming back around. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m panicking.”

Ryūken carefully took his pulse. His son’s heart was racing. He moved his hand through the dark hair, deciding to be more dad than doctor and praying it was the right decision. “What’s scaring you, Ryū? I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t then, the lights…their portraits…the floor was cold. Weird taste. Loud cracking sound. Something happened to my glasses. I think my glasses broke, Dad. My eyesight was weird. Unbalanced…”

“Rest right here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Something in that Christmas display set this off and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Glowering at it, he analyzed it from top to bottom and side to side and the best he could hypothesize was that it had something to do with the rotating color wheel.

He went back to Uryū and knelt beside the bench. “Is it the color wheel? Is that what’s bothering you? Red. Green. Yellow. Blue-”

“Red. Told me to run.” He started shivering.

“Okay. Okay.” He removed his coat to drape it over him. “So it was in a dark place? It cast light on their portraits. Portraits of whom, Ryū?”

“…umi told me to run…” He mumbled.

“Sumi told you to run?” He clarified. Had he hallucinated her? It seemed like he’d have remembered meeting her spirit.

“Dad, where are you?”

He took a painful breath. His heart twisted. “I’m not there. I’m sorry I’m not there. But whatever you had to do to get out of that situation was the right thing.”

Uryū stilled. “I… I had to hide.” His voice broke. “Does that make you think less of me?”

“Of course not, my dragon. Very sensible.”

This seemed to calm him down until “Or have you never thought highly of me?” He asked sharply.

His face was bloodless, his lips were tinged blue from the borderline case of syncope mixed with the cold temperature.

“The things you think and worry about. My dragon, oh my dragon, don’t be so proud,” Ryūken murmured gently. He moved the hands to clasp each other and signalled that he wanted Uryū to pull. To fight the syncope with the exercise.

“I can’t believe he abandoned us… Adyneus…”

Honestly, the tangents he went on…

“We will survive somehow,” he assured… without the husk of a fallen God watching them in a vegetative state…

Uryū sighed up at the sky. “I don’t understand why he’d make this body so weak—”

“How dramatic. You are well made. You’ve been through awful ordeals and need only to rest so you may recover. How many can boast of that-”

“As you carry me along?” He muttered in distaste, the irises of his eyes flickering between red and blue.

“Whose arms are better than mine?” Ryūken demanded as he gave one of his son’s forearms an affectionate squeeze. “I held you first! ‘Mr. Ishida… your son.’ You were 2.6 kilograms. ‘Mind his head,’ they told me. Your neck couldn’t support your head for months. You needed me. Us. To support you. Do you honestly think I ever resented that?”

“…” His expression was very fragile. One eye blue. One eye red.

“My rain dragon needs me. Then. Now. Be patient. You will continue to grow into your strength. So you still need me. That’s alright. We have time. I’m still here. We have each other.”

“It doesn’t bother you to be needed?”

“Even when the day comes where I’m no longer needed by you, I do hope I will still be wanted. Otherwise, that…that will… be a very sad day.”

Uryū’s eye color returned to blue and stayed that way. 

Chapter Text

That evening a very reluctant Ryūken ended up needing to head back into work to diffuse a situation between the nurses and the newest resident who was suffering an ego trip at the worst time.

“I’m okay, Dad, you can go,” Uryū assured from where he was resting on the couch. He was still concerningly pale.

Ryūken couldn’t help feeling guilty. It was his insistence on that trip out that had led to this. 

“You could come with me and we could check your iron levels?” Ryūken offered.

“Because that’s fun,” he deadpanned.

Ryūken sighed. “You call me if you feel worse. Hikari can drive you over.”

“Yes, Dad.” 

“In the meantime, I want you to continue resting.”

“Yes, Dad.” The tone brimmed with exasperated indulgence.

“Son-”

“I still don’t get why a color wheel sets me off. That’s just odd. I suppose I should be grateful that it’s that specifically and not just multicolor sequences. Hey, maybe the soul fragment knows more-”

“We can investigate that later. Together. Don’t do anything right now.” Not while he was away.

His son raised an eyebrow.

He needed an enticing offer to keep him from doing something unwise during his father’s absence. “If you want, you can eat dinner here.”

Surprise registered on his son’s face.

“Hikari knows to expect a takeout order arriving at the gate. Order when you’re hungry. Just… rest,” he impressed upon him.

Uryū gave him a questioning look even as he replied with a much more respectful, “Yes, Dad.”

He nodded and turned to leave the room.

“Dad?”

“Yes?” He strode back to the couch.

“Don’t… don’t feel bad." He fiddled with a blanket. "It’s not your fault I’m having a rough time. I’m just stressed. There’s a lot going on.”

“…” Ryūken tucked the blanket around him. “Call or text me as needed.”

“Okay.”

“I’m leaving your medicine out. Be responsible."

“I will. Try not to worry too much about me.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“Drive safe, Dad.”

Two warnings and a write up resolved the worst of it, but it was still late when Ryūken got home; Uryū had already taken his medicine and gone to bed. 

He washed up and realized he needed to mark something down in his planner. He was surprised to find a thermos of citrus tea waiting for him on his desk with a Post-It note near it that said:

Vitamin C! 

So you can’t back out of the festival this weekend because of illness. 

It was and wasn’t signed.

At the bottom there was a doodle of Rain Dragon. Instead of a pearl, it had an orange in its claws.

He snorted in spite of himself and took a drink.

It was pleasantly warm.

He took the thermos with him downstairs to the kitchen. He needed to make a bento for his son to enjoy the next day. He probably didn’t need to make one considering tomorrow was Saturday, but Juri had scheduled time off and Ryūken would be out part of tomorrow as well. He needed to make sure Uryū ate during his absence.

He glanced at the thermos. He should probably scold him for making tea when he’d explicitly told him to rest but couldn’t muster any willingness to do so.

He devoted himself to his current task: Slicing cucumbers and other greens had always been somewhat therapeutic for him. 

He cooked rice and stir fried some more vegetables.

He wet his hands and then used a rice ball shaper to help him mold the rice.

“You’re going to set expectations,” Kanae warned as she stood on tiptoe to peek around him at the cutting board.

“Hm.”

Uryū liked riceball pandas and tako sausages. They weren’t that difficult to make.

He set fruit into one of the compartments and vegetables into another.

The fact was…he liked being able to ask his preschooler if he liked his bento and hearing:

“Yes, Daddy, it was yummy!” The little one beamed.

“And it gave you enough energy? You didn’t feel sleepy during class?”

“Not sleepy! Strong! Smart!” He flexed his tiny arms. “I am a powerful dragon!”

He was so funny.

“Ah.” He chuckled as he removed the yellow hat from his son’s head so he could ruffle the dark hair. “Very good.”

If Uryū decided he wanted something simple and easy on his stomach, Ryūken had provided him with an option.

He had just set the bento into the fridge and was climbing the stairs when Urahara texted him that he’d decoded the second half of Uryū’s fight versus the Echts.

He paused by Uryū’s room. The door was slightly ajar. He peered in. His son had kicked off his duvet.

He entered and recovered it from the floor.

He reasoned that Urahara could wait.

He moved the thick winter duvet back over Uryū and tucked him in.

On some level, he knew he was stalling, trying to prepare himself to see the second half of that fight where Uryū opened his match with Sprenger. Those Echts had wanted to tear him apart. 

It was chilling to imagine a scenario where they’d both been captured by the Wandenreich. Ryūken would have been prepared for a brutal death as a traitor to their cause, but it was more likely they’d have tormented him first Echt-to-Echt, taking him to task for gladly siring a Gemischt child. 

He shuddered at the thought of them cruelly mutilating his son in front of him while he was helpless to save him. To have survived the Auswählen just to die at the hands of their people, who weren’t at all how his innocent Uryū imagined them. Monsters...monsters in uniforms.

It would’ve been pure agony. Ryūken would’ve cursed them to his dying breath—

He gasped lightly as one arm clumsily wrapped around him. 

“G’night, Dad” was mumbled into his chest near his shoulder. “No bad dreams, ‘kay?”

That was a paraphrase of something he’d tell his child after reading a scary story and tucking him in—half certain already that he and his wife would wind up with their child between them before the night ended because ogres had too much in common with Hollows. And he said as much but Kanae told him to read it anyway because Uryū wanted that one and if they didn’t read it to him, he’d read it on his own and they wouldn’t know why he was frightened.

“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Yes. Goodnight, Uryū. Sleep well, my son.” He carefully guided him back down, settling him and pulling the blankets back up to his chin.

He made sure the humidifier and ambient noise machine were on, that the drapes were drawn, and he squinted in the dim light coming in from the hallway to determine whether there was anything more on his son’s calendar that he’d forgotten to add to their shared one.

It was while doing this, he noticed additional photos to the room: the one he’d taken of Uryū on his birthday and the one in Kyoto of them together.

He checked the room over one more time, noting to himself that Uryū needed a new set of slippers (his pair was looking worn), and then left the room.

He leaned against the wall. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

When he made it back to his office, he texted Urahara: Let’s get this over with.

Ryūken’s phone immediately vibrated with a text.

Urahara: Thought you were asleep.

He got his laptop set up, plugged his headphones in, and signed into the chat Urahara had orchestrated.

Isshin announced himself with, “Hey Ryuu, might need Ichigo to visit you, he’s got a low grade fever that won’t break, and he can’t miss much more class.”

Idiot. He should’ve been tending to him. “I’ll set up an appointment.”

“I’ll see if I can get Ichigo to go.”

Ryūken’s eyebrows twitched. Why wouldn't Isshin commit to just escorting his son over?

“He said Uryū diagnosed him first and you seconded it. Your kid’s got a knack for it, huh?”

“I can do a phone consultation if he’s being difficult.” And you’re being lazy, he thought viciously. “Yes. My son is going to study for the subject tests in science and math for his university exams. In February following the National Center T—”

“The ones for medical school?”

“Yes. His scores there will make him eligible for med school.”

Isshin chuckled. “Do I congratulate you or him?”

He adjusted his glasses. “He hasn’t taken the test yet or confirmed that he wants to go to medical school, but… he’s setting himself up for the path for it. I think he realizes he has a genuine talent for this. His problem-solving skills and empathetic nature will serve him well in healthcare. But I understand that he wants it to feel like it was his choice and not mine. Which is fine. I want it to be his choice.”

“Uh huh.”

“He’s wanted to be a doctor since he was a toddler.”

“My kids have all wanted to be lots of things.”

“Uryū didn’t. He wanted to be a doctor…and a Quincy astronaut,” he finished under his breath.

Isshin laughed. “That’s adorable. But I thought he was into sewing stuff now?”

“Being a tailor helped him pay his rent,” he agreed. “He set his own hours around school and exterminating Hollows.”

“So, you’re sure he doesn’t want to go into fashion design? His Quincy outfits are pretty cool. And they look pretty comfortable. I’m gonna be real with you… I’m not just basing this off the video files. I’ve seen him around town.”

His eyebrow twitched.

“Don’t worry. People just thought he was a cosplayer,” Urahara added.

“…”

“Yeah, there’s an old man who plays Go at the park specifically because he likes to see Uryū running around,” Urahara explained. “But don’t worry. We already vetted him. He’s harmless. He used to run youth theatre clubs before his health declined.” 

Ryūken sighed and sweatdropped. This was yet another facet of why he constantly worried about his son. He did not scan his surroundings for threats. Or worry about his reputation… running around in Quincy outfits while giving melodramatic speeches.

“Okay, quick recap. Allard was the big guy Uryū took out with Sprenger. Smith is the teenager with the spear. And the last man is Li,” Urahara said.

The video buffered for a moment and then picked up after the Sprenger was activated.

Uryū activated a Seele Schneider and let it brush against the fallen Quincy, Allard. Dark blue eyes narrowed at the blood that spilled.

Light blue eyes widened. 

He was testing what kind of reflex blut vene was. While Echts instinctively knew how to use it, it didn’t activate autonomously. They had to instinctively brace (as well as learn not to flinch and reveal themselves to non-Quincies). An unconscious Echt Quincy couldn’t use it.

Uryū made to summon his bow, but the other teenager had already used his Quincy bracelet to summon a huge spear and launched it with a blut arterie-powered throw.

It severed Uryū’s right arm completely from his body.

Ryūken’s teeth clenched as his child’s blood splattered across the ground.

The battle continued with his enemies jeering at him.

Uryū attacked with the Seele Schneider.

Li batted him away easily with blut arterie. Uryū slammed into one of the pillars surrounding them in a semi circle. 

Ryūken winced as his son dropped his weapon and slid down in a heap. 

He gasped weakly, the wind knocked from him.

His opponent stalked forward, reached down and grabbed him by the collar. He held him aloft in the air.

“As if a Gemischt like you could ever hope to reach the level of Echts.”  

Uryū’s eyes fluttered closed and he dropped a Ginto bottle. A drop of blood fell on it and activated it.

His son had mentioned that—blood and intention.

But the canister only sealed his enemy’s feet to the ground.

Ryūken’s hands clenched. Of all the clumsy wasteful ideas. He could have used it on the head! Cut off his air supply!

The man chuckled and called to his remaining ally, “Think you can hit him from there?”

“Of course!” He moved away from where he’d been taking cover.

Dark blue eyes snapped open.

A multitude of reishi strings erupted and held his enemy, Li, in place—maintaining the illusion that Uryū was at a disadvantage.

Ryūken frowned. What was he pulling here?

“No way,” Urahara muttered, already catching onto whatever Uryū’s plan was. 

“MOUNTAIN SPARROW!” 

Uryū drew his remaining arm back.

Had he lost his mind? He-

The arm that had been severed was suspended in midair through a complicated design of reishi strings tangled around the ruins, one of which connected to Uryū so he could maintain control of it.

The dismembered hand flexed and summoned a bow. One finger pointing to give the arrow a guide.

Because of the distance from the rest of his body, it created a simple, though massive bow and accompanying arrow with a wickedly sharp point.

The Quincy in the distance didn’t stand a chance.

The arrow broke through the other’s blut vene and impaled him through the side of his chest and pinned him to the cover he’d been using.

Because it was a simple arrow and the reishi in Schatten Bereich was dense, it remained in effect long after being fired.

Uryū smiled at the Quincy that was still standing. “Thanks for helping me. It would’ve been difficult to get him to walk out into the open like that.”

He reached with his left hand to unclasp the Quincy cross on his opponent and pocketed it.

He then manipulated the reishi strings like a puppeteer and the other Quincy was forced to let Uryū go.

He then commanded the strings once more and the man was forcibly brought to his knees.

“You…you… tricked us… the whole time you… before…”

Uryū’s head cocked to the side. “Tricked? What part felt like a trick? You all volunteered for these lessons. After all, I’m not a warrior.” He pushed his glasses up. “I’m a scholar. Thank you. All of you. For helping me learn.”

“…Learn?” He muttered incredulously.

“Yes. I’m terribly grateful. You’re all teaching me so much about blut. It’s a very effective psychological tool. You feel safer than you are because of it.” 

Masaki versus that monstrous Hollow...her faith in her blut...

He flourished his hand and the strings forced the man to lie prostrated on the ground.

“It is just a tool. Meant to stave off defeat long enough to employ a strategy. It can’t really win a fight. I’m sorry you were deluded into believing it could. Someone who’s unconscious can’t don blut. And it is donned. Like armor. And if it’s armor…” His smile sharpened. “Well, armor can be breached. Something sharp enough, strong enough, and sent with enough acceleration, can penetrate. Like bodkin arrows.” He nodded at the unfortunate Quincy he’d impaled against a boulder as a case and point.

“…”

“Want to know what you’ll be helping me understand?” He reached a hand towards him.

The man glared and activated blut vene. “…”

Uryū wasn’t offended and continued, “The pitfalls of armor even when it’s working correctly.”

“My blut is stronger than theirs. You won’t break it.”

“I suspect that I won’t need to, especially if that’s true,” Uryū remarked softly. “I want to know how deeply the blut vene roots. Your skin, muscles, probably bones, but…is there an inner protective harness of reishi?” His eyes gleamed with cruel curiosity. “I doubt it.”

Ryūken shivered. Reishi was typically gathered from the surrounding environment, hence why blut could even protect clothing to an extent. It was somewhat like a plasma armor that could soak into a Quincy. 

“…”

Uryū leaned down. “I’ll simplify it so you can understand, armor doesn’t save you from a fall. It can’t really safeguard against blunt force trauma. If I slam your skull against the ground while your blut vene is activated, will your brain slam into that blut vene-fortified bone? And what will that do? I think you’ll get-”

A concussion… at the least.

“A traumatic brain injury. And I’ll be really interested to see how that affects your command of blut.”

Ryūken felt sick.

“Uryū?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I told you, if you had questions, you may ask me. The answer to this one is that it depends. Some Quincies like yourself have greater command over reishi altogether and inner fascia than others. You’re already commanding an internal blut or losing that arm would’ve killed you.”

Ryūken gasped. So there were different thresholds.

“Now, if we give him a concussion, you’re right, he’ll fall unconscious and lose his command over blut vene. A brain injury could also alter the consistency of the blut—making structure in certain areas more brittle. ”

“And a Quincy has to generate a certain amount of reishi or gather enough reishi to maintain the blut or the blut goes out even if they remain conscious?” Uryū asked.

Talking about it like it was a pilot light…

“Yes, my son. I’m pleased your sparring sessions were so informative for you.”

“Then why are you stopping me?”

One of Uryū’s eyes had started glowing red earlier as he explained himself. Yhwach brushed away the tear that had fallen from it.

“Oh my Uryū, I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything you aren’t ready for. Actions require intentions to be meaningful. And I want you to champion my cause. You can only do that if you believe in it… if you believe in me.”

“…”

“We have time.” He leisurely walked over to the boy's dismembered arm and collected it. “Here, let me heal you.”

“What about them? They’re in worse shape than me.”  He motioned to Li who was lying totally still and silent on the ground.

“Their wounds are a privilege. Evidence of a sparring match with their prince who took pity on them even when they didn’t merit it. Oh Uryū, you could’ve aimed for their heads.” Yhwach smiled. “What a merciful prince you are.”

Ryūken drank a strong cup of coffee as his nephew held a very reluctant phone consultation with him. He was in his office to ensure patient confidentiality.

Ichigo had missed a few doses of his antibiotics. That explained his situation.

“You need to set an alarm. Your phone can be used for this, provided you keep it charged. Otherwise, you’ll need to ask someone to remind you.”

“I hate it. It messes with my stomach.”

“Have you been drinking enough water?”

“Probably not.”

“Drink water. Not soda. If your symptoms don’t improve in the next three hours, come into the hospital for an IV. We can make sure there’s not an electrolyte imbalance complicating your recovery. Your father will still need to prescribe you an additional round of antibiotics to ensure the bacterial infection clears.”

“Fine.”

After the call ended, he took two painkillers for the slight tension headache he was developing from lack of sleep.

He left his office as Uryū left his bedroom. His son was dressed warmly in a pullover.

“Oh, hey Dad, I’m making chazuke. Do you want some?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Uryū seemed surprised when he accompanied him to the kitchen to go through his plans for the day. 

“After breakfast, I need to go over and discuss something with Urahara. I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t go overboard with festival planning. We can go over your speeches later. You don’t want to go hoarse from overdoing it.”

Uryū raised an eyebrow as he grilled salmon. “You’re not… prescribing me T.V., are you Dr-?”

He braced for the habitual “Snowman” dig.

“-Dad?”

He blinked.

‘Dr. Dad?’ He could deal with that one.

“Ha ha. Two hours. No more. No less. And stay warm. There’s a cold weather warning in effect. Stay indoors. Also, Juri and Yuna requested this day off. Hikari and Aoi are here if you end up needing help with anything.”

“Okay.”

He ruffled the dark hair. “I hope you enjoy the bento later. I made some of your favorites. It’s in the fridge over there.”

“Thanks, Dad. You didn’t have to make me lunch. It’s the weekend.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “If I know you, you’re probably already getting nervous about tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged sheepishly.

“I know you’ll eat it,” he said smugly.

“Hmm…Tako sausages?” He guessed.

“Yes.”

“Ahh, my weakness.” He laughed a little. “Thanks.”

His bright blue eyes crinkled in a smile. 

He looked so much like his mother when he was happy.

There was something in this easy rapport that helped alleviate some of his fears from the previous night even if it put a bit of a lump in his throat.

“Of course.”

It was proof that Uryū could recover from his time with that mad tyrant. 

That father and son could reconcile. 

That they could have a simple breakfast together without aggressive conflict or tense silence.

He carried their meals to the dining room despite Uryū’s insistence he could assist.

Ryūken felt surprisingly good, despite only having two hours of sleep.

Clearly, the painkillers were helping. Or maybe it was his son’s upbeat mood despite the stressors?

Was this a sign his child’s antidepressants were working? He wasn’t bogged down with overwhelming anxiety?

As they settled and began eating, he said, “I keep receiving emails about your performance.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Everyone was so impressed with you.”

His teen turned a little pink.

“Spur of the moment. No music sheets. And your hair looked good. Clean. Professional.”

Uryū’s smile grew. “They did not compliment hair.”

“No. But it looked good. You’re discovering how to style it well.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You shouldn’t hide your face behind your hair. It’s…it’s a good face.”

“Geez, Dad.”

“Dr. Oguro thought we orchestrated your ‘rescue’ of the program.”

“Ha!”

“I know…how foolish of him. Uryū? If… if music is something you want to pursue, professionally, I would support you.”

“…” Blue eyes widened.

“I like it better than the pool shark option.”

His child laughed.

He didn’t want to leave to discuss anything at Urahara’s shop and it must’ve shown because the first thing Isshin said as he saw him was “Wow. You look like crap.”

“Why aren’t you home with your son?” He snapped back. “If he does have an electrolyte imbalance, he’ll need an IV. What’s he been eating? Is he getting enough potassium?” The blank look on Isshin’s face infuriated him. “You should be monitoring what he eats!”

He shrugged. “…Yuzu does the cooking.”

Useless…

He’d heard Uryū sneer that at him frequently as their relationship soured.

He was commenting on the cluelessness which had felt like apathy to a vulnerable child.

And in truth, he had been utterly useless… not recognizing and treating his child’s spiraling mental health.

That video… had really showcased a disturbing willingness to engage in a level of self harm far beyond what he’d feared.

He was also more violent than he’d expected.

Still, the tear escaping that red eye seemed to prove that the phenomenon was not a visible cue for spiritual malevolence. 

Uryū was Uryū. He could be provoked into violence and he could use his brain to win a fight but… mercy stayed his hand. 

The eye color was a talking point.

“It’s divinity,” Urahara said flat out. “Or grace. He’s got the Soul King’s blessing. As does or did… Yhwach.”

“…”

“It’s just… his is kinda buried? I’m thinking Yhwach was doing his damnedest to wake it up? You’re not gonna like my theory, but…I think Uryū is…truly a free player. Yhwach recognized that pretty quickly and decided he needed to recruit him.”

“Get to the point.”

“Uryū wasn’t supposed to survive.”

He could barely recall moving, but his hand was now on Urahara’s throat. 

“Whoa whoa!” Isshin waved his arms.

“Easy, I’m not trying to antagonize you, honestly,” Urahara said quietly.

Ryūken dropped him back on his feet and found himself shaking with barely repressed emotion.

Urahara took a decisive step backwards and adjusted his hat. “Him surviving is proof that Adyneus still had some influence even in that wretched state.”

“Chose to spare him. I know,” he managed between clenched teeth.

“I think it’s… more than that. The more I review these files…the way Yhwach talks about him. He’s a prize and a weapon to win over. He says the weirdest thing right here.” He gestured to the screen.

Yhwach turned to Haschwalth. “Adyneus grew soft. He should’ve committed to letting the child die and removing him from my sphere of influence, but then he realized he would’ve robbed him of free will. Father couldn’t bear to be a hypocrite.”

“I think Uryū had a mission. I think Adyneus wanted him to learn something on Earth that was important. Something he could only learn by being alive. Get in. Get out. Report back? I mean, why make him a Quincy? If it was an important lesson, wouldn’t reincarnation be the better way to drive it home? But no. He chose for him to have one life-”

“He was eight years old,” Ryūken choked out.

“Yeah. I know this is really shitty for you to hear but him dying during Auswählen really would’ve put him beyond Yhwach’s reach, which arguably might’ve made us all safer.”

The fury he felt...

“That is, if you consider the idea that Uryū was intended by Adyneus for something else altogether that, whatever it was, was super important. If you do that, Yhwach’s obsession with him starts to make sense. He’s a free player. Adyneus has granted him protection from being seen with the Almighty. He's hardy for a Quincy in the fight against Hollows. Whatever the hell his mission was… it was important but Adyneus balked.”

“Which means?” Isshin motioned for him to continue.

“I dunno. But Yhwach constantly calls Uryū his Antithesis. Which kinda suggests that Adyneus made Yhwach’s soul one way and Uryū’s another. Yhwach has power over shadows and Quincies. Uryū was the Prinz Von Licht. Darkness. Light. Yhwach wanted Uryū to choose him. To serve him. Him? And not Adyneus? I don’t know yet. The weird thing is that no matter how inexperienced Uryū obviously is, Yhwach never acts like Uryū is weak. He acts like Uryū is different. And he is. He’s fundamentally different. We just don’t know why.”

“…”

“I mean, he’s always having to persuade or reason with Uryū. He talks gently to him. Doesn’t use force or violence. Wants to be chosen. Why? He’s way too powerful to play like that. Why did Uryū have to choose to come to Schatten Bereich? He nearly had him in the tunnel. But even then, Uryū had to walk in of his own free will. Why? Why can’t he be captured? Is Yhwach not strong enough? Is there a lingering protection from Adyneus? What’s going on there?”

“Longest freaking recruitment effort ever,” Isshin replied.

“Exactly! Why not kill him if he’s a threat? That’d be simpler. Easier on his ego. Unless that triggers Adyneus’s original plan for Uryū again and moves him out of Yhwach’s reach once more. Whatever danger Uryū represents by existing is outweighed by something else.”

“Maybe he’s more dangerous dead?” Isshin guessed. “I think I’ve said that before. His spirit either wakes up and he knows stuff the Soul King told him on how to defeat Yhwach? So it’s safer for Yhwach to keep him alive? That’s my guess.”

“It’s actually a good guess.”

“Thank you, Kisuke.”

Ryūken wanted to go home.

“Are you looking forward to the end of the school year?” Dad asked.

Uryū looked up from where he was cutting colored cardstock. “Uhhh, um?”

Dad was helping him make a cache of flashcards to start prepping for his university entrance exams. He liked having certain colors signifying specific categories. Dad preferred a subsection to have a decorative edge using the pattern scissors.

It was a good idea and he was happy to incorporate it.

Plus, it was kinda funny to see how much Dad liked having one of his contributions marked as “good.” He became a lot more agreeable.

“Perhaps… you want a party or a trip to mark the end? Maybe Okinawa would be more fun with your friends?”

Uryū considered that. “Hmm, I’ll have to think about it. Plus, I’ll need to ask the others what their plans are. They’ve got jobs so…”

“It’s worth celebrating.”

It was… even if… even if his friends did end up being too busy.

Maybe that sounded kind of selfish? But they went off on various outings…movies… tournaments…clubbing… that Uryū didn’t crash…

He set down his pair of scissors and got up to retrieve his planner from his room.

His father called after him, sounding worried.

He hurried back and sat beside his father with the planner and flipped it open to April. “I should, theoretically, know how to drive by then. Right? So-so, d-do you want to drive somewhere? I mean, if it’s far we might have to take turns-”

“We could do that.”

“Cool. M-maybe I could get prescription sunglasses?” It made his insides squirm a bit as he recalled his outing with the Schutzstaffel but… sunglasses just appealed to the teenager part of him. There was no use fighting it.

“You have a vision of what you want?”

He ended up blurting it out. That he wanted to drive a car somewhere interesting in sunglasses with music he liked playing in the background.

It was kind of stupid. Cheesy. Cutaway footage seen in movies and soap operas…

He could feel his face heating up. It probably sounded—

“Yes, I think we can make that happen for you, Uryū.”

A surge of excitement filled him. “I just… I travel by foot a lot. It’s nice to have options.”

“Hm.”

“Are you… okay? You seem…down?”

“Seasonal affective disorder. My mother had it, too.”

“Oh…”

Uryū got up and opened the curtains to let more light in.

“Don’t do that. You’ll let more cold in. I need to invest in thicker glass.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just put on another sweater.”

“No.” He closed the curtains again. 

“We could get a light box. Studies are showing that blue wavelengths are seemingly effective when…what?”

“…”

“I just… I think… if all you need is a little more light… why not try it? I mean, yeah my meds are helping me but what I’d trade for a simple light box remedy. You know?”

“…You look and sound better.”

It was said so quietly and with a huge undercurrent of trepidation; he parsed through that carefully. It wasn’t meant to be a ‘different patients need different things and you won the crap lottery of medical maladies’ dismissal. It was an observation. It was meant to be supportive. A confirmation of progress. He'd undoubtedly been tracking Uryū’s health from the moment he returned home…and privately agonized over it.

“I’m less agitated by sounds," he conceded. “My teachers have noticed. My sense of concentration isn’t as easy to disturb so I’m not flipping out if someone drops their pencil case.” He laughed a little ruefully.

The back of his head was pet tentatively. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner… what you needed.”

Antidepressants. Cognitive behavioral therapy. For Ryūken to give a damn and articulate that.

“Nonono. I would’ve hated it back then on top of everything-”

“Uryū-” 

“Can you imagine what would’ve been scratched into my desk then if I’d been on antidepressants already?”

“…You were so angry. You shouldn’t have had to feel like that.”

He blinked. The anger had been a godsend. 

White eyebrows furrowed. “That look makes me feel uneasy. What are you thinking right now?”

“It’s just weird that you take issue with the anger.”

“What do you mean?”

“The anger saved me. It gave me purpose, drive.” It didn’t let him drown in how miserable he was… like Hana-

“It pitted us against each other.”

There he went again, making it about himself.

“No, it pitted me against the world. And I needed that. I had to see the world, the worst of it, to help me decide if it was worth protecting. Whether Sensei was right. That’s why I think it’s so interesting that you always scoffed that I was an idealist. I wasn’t. I mean, come on. Open a newspaper. Turn on the T.V. 

Humans are terrible. Despicable. And not just to strangers but to their own blood. Husbands murder wives. Parents starve children. Siblings enter rages. They let themselves degrade into monsters before even dying. That they corrupt into Hollows is the end of a process of soul-corruption spanning lifetimes, worsening with each life until hollowification is inevitable. Knowing that… I think… makes exterminating Hollows easier.”

His father stared. “…”

“Sensei’s approach had good intentions, but I think you and I can be honest. Not all souls deserve more chances.”

“…I… don’t know.”

Uryū blinked, taken aback.

Dad gazed at him levelly. “I prefer abstaining whenever possible on decisions like that. Not all of my patients are saints. I still treat them. Hollows were humans first.”

He’d intervene with Hollows when it was unavoidable.

“For the balance?” Uryū clarified. “I used to agree more fully with the Shinigami, until I saw them in action. They’re so flawed. Their system is flawed. I’ve been there. Soul Society is a wasteland housing souls until they can escape through reincarnation. But they’re just reincarnated here. Another wasteland and Hueco Mundo is a ruin as well. Souls are just pitched haphazardly across these three realms like molecules colliding with one another. And there’s no real rhyme or reason for why we’re born where we are and to whom or where we wind up at the end. It’s quite likely that there’s no true destiny other than what we choose for ourselves. And once we step back and resign ourselves to the mess of this reality, it becomes clearer that the cycle just keeps going and going until souls wind up in Hell or a Hollow’s stomach.”

“…Are you… suggesting Hollow extermination is… a mercy killing?”

Chapter Text

“I…I’m not sure. There is a sense of….inner nihilism I’m trying to fight.” Uryū grimaced. Because there was an idealistic part of him that still wanted to believe firmly in goodness and destiny no matter how much evidence to the contrary he saw.

It had been such a compliment when Haschwalth referred to him as an animal—something loyal and courageous and beyond the traditional binary of good and evil. Because he’d long been a judgmental person who believed in justice and had reached a breaking point where he would betray anything he had to in order to protect his friends, which threw him into such spiritual disarray that it was hard to communicate how lost he felt—

“Yes, fight it.” Dad pushed his glasses up. “I think it’s good that you’re taking a break from missions if this is your mindset regarding-”

“I’m not flagrantly exterminating—Urahara gives me the green light for Hollows that the reapers are struggling with. It’s not like before.” It was such a battle not to roll his eyes.

“Apathy doesn’t suit you.”

He chuckled a little darkly. “And here I thought you’d approve of me finally getting less sensitive.”

“No. You’ve misunderstood me.”

“Hm.” Typical. It was his own fault as per usual.

“I didn’t explain it well enough.”

He blinked. Whoa! Was that some accountability? Ha.

His father’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed. “To me, it seemed you were so affected by violent news articles and graphic shows and stories, I worried that you were too soft. I tried to control what media you were exposed to-I-you suffered nightmares regularly. I…I didn’t know you’d seen Grandpa-”

“You knew about Mom.” That was vindictive. It was also the truth.

His father flinched and nodded. He took a deep breath. “…Yes. I hoped you would… move past it. That you could… understand… at least after Yhwach was defeated why I… had to do that.”

“…” He nodded. Yes. He understood. Forgiving it was still… beyond him. Why couldn’t Urahara have done it instead? Why did it have to be Dad? Why hadn’t he drugged him to ensure the autopsy remained a secret? Why couldn’t he have been left with Grandpa? Why—

“She would understand,” his father said tightly, “if our places were reversed, I would have expected her to do the same.”

“…”

“To learn what she could to protect you. To protect the world, so you could continue living safely in it.”

“…Mmhm.”

His tone became agitated. “That’s still not good enough for you.”

“No.”

His father was upset to hear that. 

But that was too bad.

There was a hole in Uryū because of what he’d witnessed regarding Mom, a wound that stretched after seeing Sensei in a similar state of undignified death.

Middle school hadn’t helped. At all.

He hadn’t seen Aso jump, but he’d sensed his death. The eruption of foul Hollow-tainted energy had triggered such dread. To think, his human body had still been sealing so much of it.

He shuddered.

There were several tense beats of silence but then his father looked up, expression stern. Determined. “I think you’re wrong…I do believe in destiny. It brought your mother and I together. We were presented with a choice. We were given free will and we chose each other. You were then entrusted to us.”

Uryū sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “This probably seems combative. What I’m trying to say is that it’s okay. You… you don’t have to romanticize it. If a different soul had been… assigned to you and Mom-”

“No. There would not have been another soul. You are where you’re supposed to be. Born to us. Here. Destiny. I grant you that the Soul King messed up a lot of things. He got this part right.”

Uryū felt his face heat up and his mouth moved before he could think better of it, “Do you… really believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?!” 

It was said fiercely. Passionately. The way Uryū would’ve delivered a declaration not so many years ago.

He suddenly saw… himself… in his father.

And there it was, what Grandfather had wanted him to see, that his father was just as passionate as him for what he deemed most important.

Only… it came so late.

His lips twisted. “I envy your conviction. It seems like, since I’ve returned from Schatten Bereich, I’m just not so certain about anything anymore.”

“…”

“I guess it’s that oak and reed fable. If you can’t bend, you break.” He laughed weakly. “Or if you’re arrogant enough to stand as the tallest, you win the lightning.”

“No. That’s…no. You’re not broken. You’re not being punished. You’ve just been made aware that the world and its range of options are infinitely bigger than what you’d allowed yourself to believe. Quite abruptly, you’ve been spoiled for choice and are reeling a bit. This sort of mental paralysis is temporary. It’s… it’s okay to feel a little lost.”

No, it wasn’t.

He shook his head. “I’m used to picking something and-and knowing it and myself and believing. And now there’s this… this weight…sense of caution…” He touched his chest where his soul injury ached. “What if things aren’t as they seem? What if there’s more to know? But sometimes there isn’t time to gather all the data you need to make a truly informed decision. You have to make do with what’s available and you can be wrong. It makes everything more complicated.” 

“Ah. My dragon is learning wisdom.” 

It was strange to sense fondness and sadness mixing in his father’s spirit ribbon. Oddly enough, the feeling wasn’t fragile, if anything, a sense of tranquility was materializing and strengthening. His father even smiled through it. “Sometimes, even when there are lots of options, it doesn’t mean your first decision was wrong. I always thought the principle you chose at the very start was highly admirable: To do the best you can at all things that came your way. That seemed, to me, a very fulfilling way to live.”

The mattress bounced, instantly waking Ryūken from his slumber to find Uryū sitting nearby—a fuzzy but familiar form in the dark. 

“Festival! Early start like you said!” Uryū told him in a loud whisper of urgency that Ryūken remembered from elementary school field trips and other “important” events.

Ryūken reached for his glasses. He glanced at the clock: 5:03 AM.

Which meant Uryū had awakened at 5 AM, contained himself for three whole minutes, and then barged in here.

Ha. The dreaded successor of an evil Quincy King…

He recalled that frightful battle with the Echts.

Uryū’s power and wits could make him a formidable opponent. It was his morality that kept him in check.

That was… difficult to come to terms with.

He reached to smooth the dark hair that was sticking up in multiple directions.

“I see.”

“Okay, so, um, since Juri’s off, should I make us breakfast? Should I pack the car? Should I practice my closing speech one more time?”

“Let’s… get ready and go out.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

Uryū became a morning whirlwind of productivity. He made them tea to take in thermoses. He packed the car with supplies for various “what if’s.” He ended up barging in again while Ryūken was shaving. It was lucky he’d instinctively used blut or he’d have had an impressive cut. 

“Dad, do you think Sassahara will rig my podium with razors?”

It was a good question, but with a toothbrush hanging out of his son’s mouth, it was difficult to take seriously.

He gestured to the sink.

“Oh. Right.” He spat. 

Ryūken reached over to the faucet to let him rinse the toothbrush and finish up.

In the interim, he grabbed a towel to pat his face dry.

“Or do you think she’ll, like, interrupt my speeches or something?”

“I’m not sure.” He selected some cologne for himself and smiled a little to himself as he noticed his son glancing over the bottles with interest.

He explained some of the scents and tones. He gestured for him to choose one.

Uryū went for a vanilla and cedar combination.

He could tell from the way his son stood a little taller afterwards that it made him feel grown up.

Ryūken figured his son needed the confidence boost.

There was a high probability that the day would be challenging. The prior week, he’d alerted the police to the “warnings” and Sahashi had said he’d personally attend the event as a precaution or deterrent.

But the school had refused to cancel or reschedule. 

Idiots.

Ryūken tied his tie and pondered whether it would be literal danger or public humiliation of some kind? 

With so much happening, it might’ve seemed odd to insist on breakfast out, but…

Uryū needed a kind distraction.

And how often did he really get to treat his son?

Yes, sitting down with the menu and seeing a variety of pastries reminded him painfully of Kanae’s absence but Uryū clearly appreciated the effort he was making for him. The corners of his mouth kept going up as he took in the morning scents of breakfast and coffee.

He smiled a little sheepishly. “Everything smells so good.”

“Order what you want. Remember, you’re probably going to have a late lunch.”

“There’s some snacks in the car, too.” Uryū reminded him.

“Yes, but the morning setup will require lots of energy. So make sure you eat well.”

His son’s stomach growled. “Heh. Yes, sir.”

Sitting across from him with bright blue eyes and a pleasant mood made echoes of his nightmare, from weeks ago, resurface. There was a dull sort of horror that in some alternate timeline he made a point to dine out in his son’s honor because he could not treat him. And here he was, alive, and Ryūken had made so little time for him.

His son was smiling over breakfast.

That made his heart twist.

“I’m still a little nervous,” Uryū confided to him as he cut into his stack of soufflé pancakes. 

“Urahara told you she was experimenting with melting plastic?” He confirmed again.

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Mmm. Ichigo texted that he remembered that she likes Shakespeare, too. I vaguely recall that they got into some debates about ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘Othello.’”

“About?”

“Can’t remember. Ichigo wasn’t super fond of the lead characters in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ Which, yeah, they’re kinda dumb and the play is an unflattering commentary about the melodramatic impulsivity of youth.”

Ryūken cut in with a “Hmmm.”

“Don’t invite me to roll my eyes at you. Anyways, I think he also disliked the evil for evil’s sake that Iago embodied. Which I get. But you have to, like, accept that that kind of evil exists even if it makes no sense to you.” 

“I don't think either of those titles bode well for us.” Tragedies, both of them.

“I keep wondering if she’s going to try something from my middle school days… but I’m way too big to shove in a locker now.”

Ryūken’s eyebrow twitched and he paused with his fork midway to his mouth. “I could’ve reported that.”

Uryū shrugged.

Ryūken completed his bite, chewed and swallowed before agreeing, “There are a lot of variables, but you’re not alone in this.”

Uryū fidgeted with his hands. “It makes me feel guilty though. Dragging everyone else into my problems.”

“You sound like your mother.” He took a drink of his coffee.

“Hm?” His expression of surprise made him look like his mother, too.

He reached over to tuck a loose lock of dark hair so it didn’t snag in the hinge of his glasses.

“When your mother and I were newlyweds, it used to drive me mad having to guess when she needed help. So much extra stress because she didn’t want to ‘burden’ me.”

“But she learned to trust you with stuff?”

“Yes. Not all at once but gradually. Especially once you were in our lives.”

He made a face. “I made things more difficult?”

Ryūken shook his head, a little dismayed though resigned that Uryū had inherited that from his mother as well—constant anxiety that he was somehow at fault for things beyond his control. “Our situation became more complex with you. How could it not with someone incredibly vulnerable literally depending on us? Times where I would’ve indulged her proud nature on such things greatly ebbed. Times where she would’ve insisted on struggling on her own also ebbed as I learned to communicate better. My concerns. My support. I know, I know. It’s scary to think I was worse.”

Uryū cracked a guilty smile. 

“Basically, we realized, why work separately when we could collaborate? It was easy to do… for you.” Their son was precious to them.

Uryū’s face went very pink and he smiled cheerfully. For one shining moment, Ryūken dared to hope his son could keep that feeling of happiness, but then his expression fell. 

Damn it.

Dark blue eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Sometimes, I feel bad. That I’m here and she’s not. 

“Don’t.”

“But-”

“No. It’s not even a question. Believe me. If it was down to you or me surviving, I would do all I could to ensure your survival. I understand her completel-”

“But it’s not fair for either of you in those scenarios-”

“Fair? Eight. Eighteen. Those are young ages, Uryū. How could that ever be fair? You have so much more life to live. If I’m honest with myself, and you were eighty and I was still… around, I would still choose you. That’s fairness to me.”

Uryū’s mouth twitched with another smile before he grew somber. “I feel like I cheated and that’s why I’m still here.”

“No. No, it’s grace. It might be… the one grace note that’s convinced me that Adyneus wasn’t a vile, worthless creator. You were spared.” If Kanae had sacrificed herself and it hadn’t worked…

It was too terrible to-

“And that’s enough?” 

“I have nightmares where you weren’t.”

“Oh…” He seemed to grow thoughtful and he poured more coffee from the pot for Ryūken. “Today… could be dangerous,” he said with a soft serious honesty.

He was so much like his mother. 

“Mhmm.”

There was a very long pause and an even softer confession of: “I’m… glad I’m not facing it alone.”

That was good to hear.

It was painful to hear.

To hear and know from that strained tone that his child had felt very alone in his struggles for a very long time.

Alone had become the default. And while he’d grown resigned to it… he’d longed for support.

Leaning into the melodrama, Ryūken replied as he lifted his cup, “May the heavens have pity for your enemies for I surely won’t.”

Uryū snickered appreciatively.

Ryūken meant every word.

He took a deep sip.

Even after stopping for breakfast, they still arrived first and had to wait for a groundskeeper to unlock the doors to Karakura High School.

Dad had approved of the extra measure of security. He’d been worried that all of the school’s assurances to this point had been lip service.

It was a cold day. There was frost on the grass. 

“I’m glad we rented outdoor heating units.” He flexed his fingers in front of the car’s passenger heater.

Dad handed him some pocket warmers.

“T-thanks.” His hand shook a little from nerves. 

“I’m going to stay the whole time,” Dad told him in that no-nonsense-don’t-bother-arguing-with-me tone. “Please remain close.”

Fine by him. He nodded.

Dad seemed to sit a little straighter in his seat after that, as if he’d been bracing for an argument on that and it had been weighing him down.

When they saw the groundskeeper, Dad got out to talk to him about the security of the event. Almost as soon as he did, Officer Sahashi drove up and parked next to their car. The officer joined the men’s conversation. Dad beckoned for him to join and soon all four of them walked around the school to see if there was anything noticeably suspicious and to let Uryū discuss his concerns. 

There was a strange surreality to being taken seriously. He half-wished he could’ve told his middle school self to keep trying with the adults in his life—that there were ones that did want to help.

They were halfway through their circuit when Chad arrived and asked him what to do. Uryū requested him to set the ladders out so they could hang banners as soon as they arrived.

“Sassahara is-?”

“Bringing the banners,” Uryū sighed. “We’ll wait on bringing out the beverages and nonperishable snacks until we’re closer to opening for the event, but I think we’ve got a pallet specifically for the organizers, but I’m not sure which grouping is which though.”

“No problem.”

“Uryū!” A high voice greeted him.

“Hey Chiyo!” He called back.

Her parents were with her.

They said their hello’s.

Towa, Suna, and their… Dad…it was still kinda weird thinking of Sensei Chiba as a dad dad rather than the loose paternal guardian figure he remembered. He… dressed more like a dad now. Before he’d been more non conforming and rebellious with ripped up martial arts clothing and gym gear. Uryū wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hey Uryū,” Mr. Chiba gave him a steady look, “you need to come visit the dojo.”

He felt an internal twinge of guilt at the lecture this probably signaled, until the man followed up with, “We’ve all missed you.”

Truth.

He nodded and tentatively requested “Martial arts movie night?”

The man grinned. “Good plan.”

Their fathers helped move tables into position for some of the booths. 

Chiyo’s mother began sorting packets for each booth and checking them off on a spreadsheet. 

Harumi was suddenly by his elbow.

“Ninja,” he muttered fondly. 

She smiled.

Junya was grim as he arrived. “Do I just film Sassahara the whole time? We all know she’s the most dangerous variable here today.”

Sahashi adjusted his hat. “Tempting but she could claim harassment. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to set up a few cameras. I’ve got some-”

“So do I! At least one by the podium so she doesn’t mess with it,” Junya argued.

“Good idea, Gomi.”

The rest of the council and school club members arrived and started standing around, which necessitated a quick pep talk to coordinate their efforts and energize them.

It was still a little surprising to look up and see his dad at the edge of the room leaning against the wall, arms folded, intently listening.

Afterwards, Uryū received a nod of approval from him that was even followed up with a “You’d said before you pursued this to learn leadership. You have. Well done.”

That kindled some warmth in his chest.

The first truck arrived and the men helped set up tents for the outdoor events of the festival. 

There were activity stations there that involved fake snowballs and targets and other carnival-styled games.

Dad stuck with him. “How do I help, Student Council President?”

“Assist me? We’re making rounds. Tying up loose ends. So there could be a lot of variation.” He hesitated and moved closer, lowering his voice. “I sense she’s here.”

His father nodded.

“She feels very content and that worries me. I… I’m a little rattled because of her drama and what happened the other day at the window display. I’m worried that it’s going to be a toss up of whether my mental health or my physical health dips because of the stress. I…I need you to look out for me.”

“My pleasure, Student Council President.”

“Heh.” He was about to speak when he noticed Mrs. Kobayashi, the Surgical Assistant.

“Oh, hello! You were right. Hara’s Supermarket was willing to help me.”

His father snickered, which led to the incredibly embarrassing reveal that the grocery store she’d promoted was her family’s business and the current owner was her brother.

Oh well. He didn’t have time to be embarrassed.

It was kind of fun running around and checking in with everyone to ensure everything was on track. He and Dad picked up tasks as needed.

All the booths were coming together. It was nice to see tinsel decorations and multicolored lights. Though he had to give some warnings about how many cords could be safely plugged into an outlet.

Stereos were starting to be set up and music began adding to the ambience.

He and Dad had been moving crates of origami supplies onto a dolly when they ended up overhearing a conversation between Kobayashi and her brother.

“Your Director’s here,” Mr. Hara noted sourly. “PR stunt?”

“No. Uryū is Ryūken’s boy,” she explained.

“Really?” His tone indicated surprise.

Uryū stared at his shoes. It hurt and he wasn't sure why, after years of not wanting to be associated with his father at all. 

“Yes, so treat him well. Ryūken adores him.”

Uryū’s head snapped back up. What?! He glanced over.

His father continued moving the paper craft supplies only pausing slightly on hearing—

“I thought they had a falling out?”

Ryūken pushed up his glasses.

“Reconciled. I hear he made quite a spectacle at the golf tournament.”

Uryū frowned not recalling what he’d done to embarrass himself—

“Introduced Uryū to anyone and everyone he could. Just like the old days at the picnics!” She laughed. “I knew it just had to be a misunderstanding.”

Oh. He tentatively looked to see his dad was cleaning his glasses with a cloth.

“Hm.”

“I felt so terrible for him. First his wife. And then his son-”

“Son doesn’t strike me as someone who’d leave on a whim-”

“You’ve known him for an hour,” she pointed out. “I’ve known Ryūken since-”

“I’m a good judge of character.”

“One phone call and a face-to-face ‘hello’ and you’re on Uryū’s side?”

“Yeah. He’s a responsible kid. And he’s too grateful when he gets help. That phone call made me angry. You told him I was going to help, right?”

“I implied that you would, but…I tried to leave room if you needed—” 

“When I told him the store would donate to the food drive in addition to providing a truck for the event, he got choked up.”

Uryū cringed, he thought he’d played it off. Apparently not. He had been taken off guard by the level of generosity—proof that good people weren’t just a hypothetical thing to believe in.

He wasn’t sure if his friends would ever understand how they had pulled him back from the edge by existing. He hadn’t even needed them to be his friends. He just needed them to be good. To stay good. To be what he was fighting to protect.

“Well, yes, Uryū is sensitive-” 

“No. Uryū has gone hungry before. I don’t think I can forgive your director for that. A man with that kind of salary-”

“Uryū ran away. He wanted to-”

“No. He might’ve done that, but it wasn’t because he wanted to. Kids like him don’t want to leave their parents. Something happened. More likely, something built up. You saw him. He was so surprised I showed up. I said I would but he thought that meant I’d send someone in my stead.”

“…”

“Yeah. My intuition says that’s something he’s experienced a lot.”

“…”

“Ryūken is trying. We can all see he’s trying. If you knew him, the way we do, you’d see how much he—”

“Yeah well, who’s the one giving him the second chance? Give that kid more credit.”

Brother and sister walked away, Uryū felt woozy and exposed. 

“Feel validated?” Ryūken asked dryly as he moved another container.

He nodded. 

“Hn.”

Uryū sighed. “I wish I could enjoy when others call you out.”

“It’s just more satisfying when you do it personally?” He guessed.

He shook his head.

“No?” The elder Ishida was skeptical. 

“…No.” Because it dug claws in the open wound of Mom and Grandpa being gone. And the one person who was still there and supposed to care about him… didn’t.

“It makes me feel…”

He remembered lying in the hospital bed in Nagano with no one to call as the staff complained about him. No wallet. No identification. No money.

He hurt so badly. On every level. And now it worsened as he overheard them:

A nobody… wasting their finite resources…

Doctors. Nurses. Attending staff. This was just a job to them. Not a calling. Not a reflection of their desires to do good for good’s sake.

Deciding which lives were more valuable and how much effort should be allotted as a result.

Pay checks. Salaries. Greed. Prestige. Reputation.

Liars. Hypocrites. 

Humans were despicable.

A chill settled over him like a pall.

Humans were despicable.

No one cared about him. He was—

“…So… alone.”

Because humans were despicable.

There was a flash of alarm that didn’t belong to him and he instinctively scanned his surroundings for a Hollow and began drawing reishi to form a bow.

“No Hollow,” Ryūken told him gruffly.

“Oh.” He let the energy dissipate. “Why are you…distressed?”

Where was the danger?

He received an incredulous look. “You just said you take no satisfaction hearing me slandered because it made you feel alone. That it confirmed what you feared: that you were alone.”

“…Oh.”

“That’s not true,” Dad bit out. “I’m sorry if it seemed that way, but it wasn’t-”

He nodded hurriedly, not wanting to talk about this. Here. Now. There was too much going on.

“Uryū, listen-”

“Please, I can’t—not now. Plus, it’s very public here-”

His father’s mouth was downturned in a severe frown.

“President!”

“Chiyo!” He forced a smile. Good timing. “I-I think I need to sit for a bit.”

“Oh no, your hypotension?” She asked immediately.

“Y-Yes…Is there a role I can do that’ll let me rest but be productive?”

It was handing out maps at the front. 

“Another council member will join you in a few minutes,” Chiyo told him.

“Right. Thank you.”

She was going to make an excellent Vice President.

She left him with an itinerary of the event on a clipboard in a plastic sheet. “Let me know if you need to tag-team out.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“This event is going to be successful,” she assured him.

“Yes,” his father agreed.

“Y-yes,” he echoed back weakly.

“I don’t like this,” Dad complained.

“We’re doing rotations,” Uryū reminded him for a second time. “And since I’m doing my shift now, I won’t have to do it later.” 

“Hn.” Dad set two thermoses of tea on the table before taking up a seat beside him at the greeting station. “I’m glad we prepped these this morning.”

“It’s just an hour.” 

“Hn. I don’t like this for you. It’s cold out here.”

“Coat. Scarf. Gloves. Handwarmers. Standing heater.” He pointed to it. “I’ll live.”

Dad was hovering especially close since his disclosure about his hypotension.

And then it happened: Sassahara, who he’d been trying to avoid all morning, approached.

“Good morning, President,” she greeted cheerily.

Be professional, Uryū.

“Good morning, Vice President,” he greeted back. “All the signs?”

“Have been set up.”

“Good.”

She glanced over at Ryūken who was openly glaring at her.

“Oh. Hello, sir.” She gave a wooden smile.

His dad did not reciprocate and continued to stare her down.

“I’ll be joining this station,” she informed them.

Dad didn’t move.

Uryū frowned. “That’s not what the itinerary says. It says Obata’s supposed to be here.” Looking for his energy signature revealed he was in a classroom on the third floor.

“And he’s twelve minutes late,” Dad said.

She toyed with a strand of hair before tucking it behind her ear. “I asked. And he swapped with me because… you and I… We… really should talk things out. Find some closure. I’m transferring schools, you know? During the break.” 

He blinked. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” She took up a tone of wounded victimhood. “My father doesn’t like this witch hunt I’ve been subjected t-”

“You will need to find another chair,” Dad told her bluntly. “These two are taken.”

That Dad didn’t relinquish his own or offer to get said chair or send Uryū to do the task said a lot.

“Dad…” He was a little stunned. 

It felt very ungentlemanly. 

“Right.” She returned with a foldout chair of her own that didn’t match theirs and a very plastically stiff smile. Though her intention was to set up next to Uryū, Dad foiled her plan.

“Uryū, switch places with me.”

He had to admire Dad’s sense of unflinching, inflexible commitment as he stubbornly sat between them and ignored how awkward it made things.

Because Uryū had asked him for his support.

Dad then outperformed Sassahara at their station’s duties, proving some of Uryū’s competitive spirit really was from him.

He was also highly recognizable.

As festival goers began arriving, there were exclamations of “Dr. Ishida?!” from various patients of Karakura Gen.

“You’re helping out here?”

“Yes, my son Uryū is the Student President of this school.”

“And you’re here? Helping on one of your few days off? No rest? Up at the crack of dawn?” The man gave a look at Uryū like he was spoiled.

He was. He knew that. He owned it.

“Yes, my father is being very generous with his time.”

“He certainly is.”

“No, my son is being kind,” Ryūken replied. “There have been too many times I couldn’t be present for his activities. It’s a gift to spend time together.” 

Uryū’s face burned and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

This speech, witnessed by multiple people, instantly endeared father and son. 

He could literally sense Sassahara’s agitation, which was kind of satisfying.

Dad prompted him to explain about the origami cranes. Something in the action and expression reminded him abruptly of being little: his first school pageant and Dad had memorized his lines. 

Kneeling in the front row with a bulky camcorder in his hands, mouthing the words so Uryū wouldn’t get lost. That feeling…

That safety net…

Uryū had performed his part with gusto back then.

And he did so here as well, talking up the origami activity and the children’s ward of the hospital, the food and clothing drives, the festival’s hours when people expressed a desire to go home and bring back old coats or buy toys for the less fortunate. 

Dad handed out more pamphlets and maps.

As Uryū talked, the words all came out smoothly and there was a sense of confidence mixed in with exhilaration because, yes, this was his school’s festival and it was a good thing. And it felt good to be class president then.

There was something in their faces, in their spirit ribbons, the way they smiled warmly at Uryū and then glanced over at his father…

The feeling deepened in a way that was hard to describe.

He turned to realize Dad was watching him with an open look of…

“Yes, so treat him well. Ryūken adores him.”

It was just hard to believe...

Mom smiled down at him. “You mean the world to him, Uryū.”

When there was a lull, and Dad and Uryū had rejoined her at the table, Sassahara cleared her throat and dug around in the satchel she’d brought with her.

She pulled out two water bottles. “That was a lot of talking. You must be thirsty. Sorry, I only brought two, sir. For myself and for Uryū.”

“My son and I have drinks.” Dad tapped their thermoses as he repositioned them.

She frowned. “Well, this is refreshing. For you, Uryū.” She reached across Ryūken and nearly thrust it under Uryū’s nose.

“I-I don’t-”

“I will take it,” Dad decided.

She started to withdraw it altogether, but he snatched the bottle from her hand and set it hard on the table, snapping a harsh “Thank you” at her.

She all but fled from the table.

Dad gave him a sharp look as he commanded, “Do not drink that under any circumstance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad didn’t bother to wait to remove her chair from the table. He got up and folded it and set it out of view.

When he returned, he set the bottle on the ground near his foot.

“I don’t trust her or anything she offers,” Dad declared. He crossed his arms and set one leg over the other. His foot bounced, proof he was deeply agitated. “Closure. Hn. She was trying to appeal to your empathy. You noticed that, right? Loathsome.”

Maybe Uryū had overdone it by communicating his vulnerabilities and directly asking Dad to have his back?

Dad was in attack mode.

The bottle was suspicious.

That it was clearly intended for Uryū and no one else, judging by Sassahara’s reaction to him accepting it, made him recall Chiyo and Junya’s warning months ago that they never let Uryū accept food or beverages from her.

He wanted it tested. Perhaps it contained a laxative of some kind to cause him embarrassment? The cap didn’t seem to be tampered with but-

“Hey Uryū. Hey Uncle,” Ichigo greeted. “Ugh, this thing starts way too early.”

His father and sisters were following at a more leisurely pace.

Ryūken eyed the medical face mask his nephew was sporting. “Are you well enough to be here?”

The teen rolled his eyes and gave a belligerent, “Yes. Look, you guys need all the help you can get.”

“Hey Subway Ninja!” Isshin greeted Uryū with a cheery wave and laughter.

Uryū immediately turned bright red.

Ryūken’s eyebrows twitched.

Ichigo blinked in confusion. “What’s Goatface blathering about?”

“I can explain that later, um, Ichigo, can you check on Obata for us?” Uryū requested. “Third floor. Fourth classroom, I think. He’s been there for over forty minutes. It’s making me anxious.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “You think he’s up to something?”

“I don’t know. I can’t sense any kind of emotion. It’s weird. Can you call after you check on him?”

“Sure. You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, Dad’s my bodyguard, I’m good.”

Ichigo snickered. “Just what Uncle’s always wanted. Glad someone’s having a good day.”

Ryūken scowled but didn’t argue the point.

It was an honor to pay back Kanae for years of unwavering service and loyalty to him by being their child’s steadfast protector.

He would do anything for their little dragon.

Especially when big blue eyes looked up at him earnestly. “Inukai…she…she didn’t move from the bridge… and Obata now… he isn’t moving.” He bit his lip in worry.

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed in determination. “Onata-”

“Obata!” Ishida corrected.

“Got it!” Ichigo rushed off to the stairwell.

“Possible medical emergency?” Isshin clarified. “I’m on it!” He dashed after his son. “Watch the girls for me, Ryuu!”

And now Ryūken had three children to safeguard from a possible plot. Great.

Uryū was getting anxious. “Dad, Obata… likes Sassahara… you don’t think she’d harm him, do you?”

As per usual, he had no answers that wouldn’t hurt him.

He straightened his child’s scarf and tried to analyze what he assumed was Obata’s energy signature.

There was something off with it.

He couldn’t help wondering if Obata had accepted a water bottle from Sassahara.

There had been a cloudiness when the liquid was disturbed, but sometimes minerals could do that.

It was hard to know more because the plastic was tinted blue.

Tinted plastic.

Plastic.

Melting plastic.

He inspected the bottom of the bottle. There was a bead of plastic at the center where it dimpled.

Was that usual? Part of the design? An alteration? 

Urahara called.

He answered.

The man barely uttered the word “Yoruichi” before playing operator and letting her speak for herself.

Or, rather, yell:

“It’s pesticide! Don’t let him drink anything, Ryūken! She’s been experimenting with PESTICIDE!”

Chapter Text

Malice.

Ryūken worked in a hospital. He wasn’t a stranger to malice. 

Had seen it in multiple cases involving injuries, illnesses, conditions, skin and digestive reactions, abuse…

Toxins. Neglect. Punishments. Cruelty. 

Darker than bar room brawls with simple motives of greed or jealousy or belligerence.

There was a certain type of wickedness involved in setups like this. A desire to not just deceive but cause pain.

There was a terrible ringing in his ears. He told Yoruichi he understood and to report her findings to the police so there could be a multipronged investigation launched as soon as possible.

“Dad?”

Light blue eyes refocused.

“Dad, what’s wrong? Who was that? Isshin? O-or Urahara?”

The wind blew Uryū’s hair into his face and made him shiver.

He reached and carefully brushed it away. He was so pale. Cold. See? Being out here was bad for him.

Should’ve kept him home. Avoided it all. Or maybe this would’ve just postponed it? Would it have then happened on an otherwise “normal” school day? And Uryū would’ve accepted the drink, collapsed afterwards, and been rushed to the emergency room? What if Ryūken was in surgery when it happened? Leaving him torn between which patient to treat? The one he owed a professional’s obligation? Or the one who was dearer?

Why couldn’t others just leave their family alone? 

Hadn’t they suffered enough?!

Hadn’t his child suffered enough?

From eight to eighteen, he’d endured more than his share. Here he was, getting ready to make his debut into the world as an adult.

Already poised to be a better man than Ryūken was, and no one was prouder of that than him.

And already there were those who wanted to cut his son down.

Poison. 

He wasn’t sure if blut could counteract poison that was ingested in this particular manner. He doubted it. As he understood it, most of blut’s defensive power was in opposing external forces.

“Dad? Are you okay?” His dark eyebrows furrowed together, the way Kanae’s would when she was anxious. 

Sassahara… 

She would’ve fed his little dragon poison. 

His breath caught. His teeth clenched.

Fed him poison while smiling and talking about closure and presenting it like a gift of good will: 

Bad water for his rain dragon. Tainted. 

And he remembered that painting his middle schooler had made of a rain dragon sickened by what humans had done to its river.

Unforgivable.

She might’ve succeeded with her plot if Ryūken hadn’t been there. Because Uryū could be overly polite and chivalrous at inopportune moments. She still tried to carry it out right in front of Ryūken. The gall. The evil of it.

The potential horror of having his son succumb before his very eyes. Curling up in the fetal position as he suffered organ failure—

“Dad?”

He had Kanae’s eyes. He remembered looking into them for the first time and seeing that hue and hoping they’d stay that color.

And they did. 

“Uryū…”

It was so personal.

He’d always strove to make sure he only presented his child with good things: healthy food, safe beverages, shelter, security, a future unblemished by Quincy tyranny—just for some ordinary human to try and take advantage of his son’s good nature—

Tentative fingers gripped his sleeve and tugged lightly. “Dad?”

“Daddy, listen!”

“You’re not listening!”

“Yes?” He choked out.

“Dad, what did they say?”

He pulled him close and relayed the information.

Predictably, Uryū was appalled. He gasped, stood up, and made to bolt. Perhaps, he intended to run around shouting the news at the top of his lungs? They didn’t have time for something dramatic and ineffective like that.

Ryūken stood as well and caught him by the arm.

Dark blue eyes flashed. “I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!” 

“NO!” Ryūken bellowed back, hands on his son’s biceps.

Maybe it was the desperation in his voice that made Uryū freeze and made his nieces nervous?

“No,” he repeated more softly. “No. Not like that. You need to stay here with me. I’ll call Officer Sahashi. You send a group text to your council members warning them and having them alert the rest of the organizers. Is there a way to get access to the PA system? We can inform the attendees next in case she intended harm to everyone here.”

He looked at the twins. He motioned to his and his son’s now vacated seats. “Sit down until your father or brother returns for you.”

“Don’t accept any food or drinks,” Uryū followed up. 

There was still some tension between the cousins, but Uryū explaining that his villainous vice president may have rigged the festival resolved the worst of it.

Ryūken talked to Officer Sahashi who was calling it into headquarters to get back up.

“I just… I’m not sure what the point of all of this is,” Uryū murmured, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

There he went trying to understand evil. He couldn’t. It was beyond him. It was why he struggled with making sense of Yhwach. That was why he was the latter’s antithesis.

By this point, the twins had heard enough to theorize for themselves.

“Maybe it’s not just you?” Karin offered. “Maybe it’s your reputation? She wants this to happen on your watch?”

Uryū grimaced and nodded. “Maybe. But how could she endanger so many-?”

“Because that would hurt you worse,” Yuzu answered quietly. 

Yes. That was the reason.

Ryūken felt a surge of hate.

Uryū glanced at him in surprise.

Right. He could sense strong emotions. He tried to reign it in for his sake.

Chiyo and Junya arrived for the next shift of passing out maps and greeting.

They were walking somewhat close together with neutral expressions which signified some level of reconciliation, but then they noticed Uryū’s distress.

Chiyo hurried to him. “Uryū? What’s wrong?” 

“I just texted you the situation,” Uryū said. 

They checked their phones.

Chiyo’s expression hardened and her voice went low and flat, “That psychotic bitch…I swear…”

“I should’ve just filmed her the whole fricking time! Harassment case be damned!” Junya hissed.

And Ryūken’s initial assessment proved true: the “puppies” could make for fearsome attack dogs.

“So, it’s water bottles? Or all food and drink?” Chiyo asked as she called her parents.

“I don’t know,” Uryū replied.

“For the staff? Or everyone?” She asked next.

“I don’t know. I know the water bottle she offered me is bad-” His son was interrupted by his phone ringing. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He hesitated to answer it though, choosing to explain a little more first. “I think she hurt Obata. He didn’t show up to meet Dad and I here. She says she swapped with him to settle things with me and have closure.”

“Ominous,” Jun muttered.

“Exactly. So I sent my cousin to go check on him.”

“Because of course she would hurt someone to get to take a potshot at you,” Junya muttered.

Uryū answered his phone, “Hey Ichigo.”

“You okay? You don’t usually take that long to answer.”

“Yeah, catching Chiyo and Jun up to speed.”

“Kay. Yeah, your instinct was on. He seems pretty sick. Dad’s helping him now.”

“Symptoms?” Uryū asked. His voice was level, but a bead of cold sweat dropped down along his hairline.

Yes, Yuzu’s observation was right. Sassahara knew Uryū cared about people. He’d made that clear from the start. He wanted to protect them. He felt awful when he was helpless to prevent harm. Endangering others like this allowed her to twist the proverbial knife deeper.

Awful.

Junya announced that he was going to call the other council members in case they didn’t check their texts and for them to alert the staffers nearest them. 

“Good idea,” Ryūken encouraged him.

Hopefully, they hadn’t set their phones to silent out of respect for the event. Which, ironically, would be something good students would do.

Yuzu and Karin decided to move a table to block the entrance and to stand in front of it, stopping additional festival goers from heading inside. Their message was blunt: there was a dangerous person inside and the cops needed to remove them, please return to the parking lot until they received an all-clear.

Uryū was standing close enough, Ryūken could overhear the entire conversation he was holding.

Ichigo said, “Um, here. I’ll hand you to Dad.”

“Hey Ryuu, he’s feverish. Stomach cramps. Might be a case of food poisoning. We’re going to take him to the nurse’s office.” 

“Um, this is Uryū.” 

Ryūken leaned forward, ready to intervene.

“Oh! Hey kiddo, can you hand me to your D-”

“Dad’s talking to Officer Sahashi. Can you call Obata an ambulance? We’ve reason to suspect he’s been poisoned. Insecticide. Sassahara.”

Ryūken nodded approvingly at his son and patted his shoulder. Yes. That was the right call.

He continued his own conversation with Sahashi explaining Yoruichi’s tipoff, the murkiness of the water bottle, the strange encounter regarding it, and Obata’s current medical distress.

There were often multiple conversations going on at a hospital so it was easy for him to manage his own while supervising Uryū’s.

His son really was doing well so far. It had been the right move to pause and explain more to Chiyo and Jun before answering Ichigo. They were part of his support team and needed to be trusted in order to help as they were now.

Uryū jumped a little at his uncle’s explosive reaction, but Ryūken squeezed his shoulder and he calmed back down.

“What?!” Isshin’s anger was palpable. “Uryū, are you alright? You didn’t get exposed to any-”

“No, I didn’t drink the water bottle she offered. Dad wouldn’t let me.” He looked up at him, grateful.

Idiot, of course he intervened.

“Shit! Shit! Right. Ichigo! Here. Use my phone. Call an ambulance! Uryū, do you have any additional information you can give me?”

“He was supposed to be at the greeting station with us when we started. At 8am.”

“Okay so. So probably at least an hour since initial ingestion. Damn it.”

Abruptly, Towa gave a stern warning over the PA, alerting the attendees that there was something wrong with festival foods and beverages. They needed those who had partaken to congregate in the courtyard. Medical staff were on the way to ensure their health.

Good. Ryūken nodded. Uryū’s support network was working even better than he’d hoped. 

While there were gasps and worried murmuring, the instructions were followed. People began to move.

He could see Officer Sahashi hurrying towards them, pocketing his phone. “That’ll definitely alert her.” He pointed at the air, meaning the PA system. But he acknowledged that it could prevent more casualties if other beverages were contaminated as well.

Ryūken showed him the water bottle in his possession. They needed it to be tested.

Ryūken said, “The cap isn’t broken but the bottom-”

“Yeah, that bead. Suspicious. A syringe or something and then melted to cover?” Sahashi asked.

“Possibly.”

Two ambulances arrived. One to help transport Obata to the Karakura Hospital. Ryūken gave them the likely contaminated water bottle to give an idea of what kind of toxin they were probably dealing with. It helped that he knew these paramedics.

Ryūken made a call to the hospital to alert them.

The other ambulance and its paramedics were monitoring the festival goers for signs of poisoning. 

Chiyo was reunited with her parents and waved her fellow student council members to join. “We need to keep everyone calm, so when we go to the front, be prepared. There are little kids here. There are elderly people. We don’t want people panicking and a stampede occurring.”

Isshin and Ichigo returned to the table as more officers began arriving;  Sahashi went over to get his colleagues up to speed.

The girls were no longer his responsibility. Good. He could return his complete attention to—

“Uryū, come. I want you to stay with the officers for additional protection. In case she decides to hurt you outright.”

Because there was a real possibility that she could grow increasingly desperate as her plot was dismantled and she could fixate completely on Uryū.

Uryū but his lip. “Dad, I sense that she’s over by the sheds for the maintenance equipment.”

Ryūken closed his eyes and concentrated. He should’ve focused more on memorizing her spiritual signature earlier. He’d been too distracted by her gall. 

Yes, his son was right. There was someone close to the perimeter of the school. She might have been planning her escape.

His son fidgeted. “But I don’t know how to relay that without telling the officers I’m clairvoyant. Do you think we should send Ichigo or Chad to-to flush her out?”

“No. We can make an official statement. How she tried to force you to accept the drink.” If this wasn’t handled carefully, it could become a ‘he said she said’ affair and Sassahara could play the victim.

“But-”

“Uryū,” Chad said, “You go with your dad. I’ll check the perimeter. Make sure she hasn’t rigged anything else up.”

“Be careful,” both Ishidas warned him.

Chad smiled and flashed a thumbs up.

“Let’s go, Son.”

“Shouldn’t I at least help Chiyo?”

“No. She’s a leader in her own right and she’s handling it. Don’t you trust her?”

“Of course! I just… feel useless.”

“Your actions have facilitated Obata receiving treatment and for the festival to be stopped before there could be significant casualties. You’ve done plenty.”

“But if I’m the reason she’s doing all of this-”

“No. She is the one responsible.”

Uryū looked at him very uncertainly. “L-let go?”

He put his arm around him and quietly confirmed. “Let go.”

His son nodded but looked very sad.

Right. Uryū was used to looking past troubling behavior and seeing the good potential underneath.

He had success stories with his middle school friends.

He was having to accept Sassahara as she was and not as she could be.

She wasn’t going to be redeemed.

He couldn’t save her from her worst traits.

Honestly, that wasn’t something a teenager should be worried about.

They were heading over to the police officers when a grim-faced Orihime made her way through the crowd to them. “Uryū, Dr. Ishida… I found something you should see.”

Ryūken signaled Sahashi over and she led the way.

Officer Sahashi let out a whistle.

Up on a projector screen behind the curtain of the stage in the auditorium, there was a PowerPoint Slide with the word “RECKONING” as its title, along with a picture of Uryū and his first set of doomed friends from middle school.

Under it was what looked like a photocopied image of a portion of a yearbook with a quote:

If the world is wrong, you have a responsibility to rectify it. 

A community that turns its back on its most vulnerable members deserves retribution. 

If you’re lucky it happens in this world… and not the next.

-Uryū Ishida, 13, 

Seventh Grader at 

Karakura Academy

Nearby were large self-service taps and stacks of cups for the lunch break of the festival where complimentary beverages were going to be provided. Sahashi immediately called that in. He then turned to look at Ryūken. “I’d bet my badge those are contaminated.”

“Uryū has been with me the entire morning. This is our first time entering this space since our tour with you this morning. Cameras can confirm this,” Ryūken stated firmly. “And Uryū wouldn’t arrange a composition this way.” He pointed at the screen. “He’s left-handed. Everything he makes has a tendency to reflect that-” 

“I'm sure when we dust for prints, we won’t find his.” 

“See how the mouse at the podium is situated? It’s on the right. My son usually moves it over the keyboard to the other side-”

“I know it’s not him, Ryūken. But, they sure want us to think so.” 

Uryū looked deeply stricken.

The officer sighed. “Relax, Ishida. I know you. This isn’t your style,” he said flatly.

Uryū’s eyebrows shot up. “H-huh?” 

The officer gave a tired laugh. “Give me some credit. Remember our clashes? You being a skinny, smartmouthed brat picking fights with hulking thugs because they robbed little old ladies or harassed people at train and bus stops. I’ve seen you around, Uryū, wearing—whatever the hell you were wearing—weird white fashion kick. You’re so transparent. You notice wrongdoing. You fume. You act. Three minutes tops. You don’t have the patience for something elaborate like this, let alone the malevolence. Plus, I’m pretty sure Jun planted a camera here somewhere, so we might have actual footage of her setting this up.”

“...”

“It’s a nice quote though. I remember reading it in a copy of the yearbook, so anyone who can borrow one, has access to it.”

Uryū shook his head. “But why is she doing this? Trying to frame me?”

A second officer shrugged. “Ruin you, probably. It would look like a massive poisoning event, avenging those who’d been bullied and the population that ignores it, and that you had committed suicide to avoid repercussions.”

Uryū looked at him, his jaw dropping in shock. “Years later? At a public event?”

“You’ve been pretty outspoken at city hall over the years about the community dropping the ball on this kind of thing. Hell, it could be seen as a way to force attention back to your case with Karakura Academy.”

“What?! I-I-”

Sahashi raised an eyebrow. “Completely dragged your feet on that case? Yeah, I know-”

“We’ve foiled her plan,” Ryūken assured him, setting a hand on his shoulder to try and ground him. “That’s why she’s hiding.”

Orihime stood nearby, hands twisting fretfully.

“Orihime?” Ryūken beckoned her over. “Can you call Ichigo here? I’d like the three of you with me as I escort Uryū to the front of the school for his safety.” He then addressed Sahashi. “Should my son and I head to the station? I need-”

“Dad, I can’t just abandon everyone? I-I should be working to keep everyone calm-”

“No, you’re the target. You need to leave.”

“You need to be safe,” Orihime agreed. “If you’re not here…she can’t get you.”

She moved to the side of the stage to dial Ichigo.

Sahashi tutted. “I’m worried she's going to poison herself. Make it look like she’s a victim, too. Play it off that she didn’t know the waters she was handing out were bad.”

Uryū began shuffling backwards. 

“Uryū? Uryū, wait.”

He gagged. “I need the restroom. I’m gonna be sick.”

For a split second, he worried that Sassahara had poisoned him another way. But his son just looked green.

“It’s-” He glanced around for a trash can but couldn’t find one. “-Alright.” He could just get sick. It could be mopped up. If anything it proved how vile he found the whole-

His son shrugged his hand off and sprinted to a door leading to a hallway behind the stage. 

Ryūken was swift on his heels. “Uryū!”

The officers called after them both.

He caught the door and turned hard to the right. As it shut, it cut the other men’s voices off.

He really needed to talk to Uryū over his tendency to run off like this.

Uryū’s shoes squeaked against the floor. The teen ducked around another corner.

“Uryū!” Ryūken put on another burst of speed and saw the door to the boys’ restroom just closing. He entered to the sound of vomit hitting a sink. 

Oh.

Uryū hadn’t made it to the stalls. 

Ryūken slowed down and approached him carefully. “It’s alright.” He patted his shoulders as the latter coughed and heaved. “It’s alright, Ryū.”

“No, it’s not.” Uryū gripped the sink. His face was getting splotchy. “I should’ve canceled the event. I should’ve insisted-”

“You’re a high schooler. You don’t have the authority to make that call.”

“Why didn’t I realize? I saw them in the greenhouse.”

“You couldn’t have known. Just think what might’ve happened if we hadn’t attended and intervened, she-” 

Uryū tensed. “She’s here.”

Ryūken reached out with his powers, there, in the hall—

Damn it. 

Sassahara.

The door opened.

There wasn’t any time to use his cell and make a call.

Ryūken immediately moved to stand between her and Uryū.

Her hair was coming loose from the chignon she’d been wearing—a seemingly literal metaphor for her unraveling.

“You…” Her dark eyes narrowed at the sight of Ryūken. “I just can’t get rid you. You keep…ruining everything today,” she growled at Ryuken.

By being present. Yes, universe, he could learn from his mistakes.

Ryūken raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? I could say the same. What possessed you to think poison was an acceptable solution to your juvenile dilemmas?”

Uryū wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sassahara?! What the hell? This is the men’s restroom!”

Ryūken sweatdropped. Sometimes, he wondered about his son’s processing abilities—he got so hung up on small details, he missed the big picture completely.

“What-what is that in there? What kind of sick slideshow was that?” He gestured wildly. “How could you do this?! How many were you planning on poisoning? How could you endanger everyone? What’s the point?!”

Her nose wrinkled. “You… you don’t get it. You just keep taking. The first spot. The presidency. First, you didn’t care about the hospital project and then suddenly you do. And I told myself that was fine. It was fine because I wanted someone at my level...Never even looked at me. Not even once. I was so nice to you even when it was clear you’d been disowned. Because that was okay. My family had money. We could’ve made such a good match. We’d have been powerful regardless if we’d stayed in Karakura or went overseas. I know you’ve always wanted to travel. See Europe. We could’ve done that together! You didn’t have to crawl back to him! You should’ve come to me! I’m your Vice President. I’m your equal. But you went and you got him involved and ruined my career in the medical industry-”

He got flustered. “I… I’m sorry, I can’t control that. I-”

“Ha. Like I’d ever allow it,” Ryūken sneered. “You with my son. Hn. Or working at my hospital. Ha.”

She jerked to look at him, eyes flashing. 

Good. He wanted her to lash out at him. Him and not Uryū. 

He was worried that Uryū’s strong sense of gallantry wouldn’t permit him to protect himself to the utmost of his abilities.

She moved forward, teeth bared. “Why?! Why couldn’t you just let him drink it? I’d have drank it, too!”

“Like Romeo and Juliet?” Ryūken scoffed. “Hn. If Juliet was a violent, deranged stalker determined to take Romeo hostage and then kill him?”

“S-shut up!” She snarled. 

“No.”

“My family doesn’t like him either-”

“I fear I must inform you that your favored Montague doesn’t even reciprocate your affections-”

“Why go to these lengths?” Uryū asked softly. “Did something happen? Did your family give you an ultimatum?”

She went very still.

“…Not gonna marry that…” she gritted through her teeth as one tear rolled down her face. “Man…”

“Okay…so… okay, they’re pressuring you to get engaged.”

Likely a business deal of some kind to merge corporations or…something.

“There has to be a better way of dealing with it than this!” Uryū insisted. “We’re smart. We can find a way-”

Like jail, Ryūken thought acerbically.

At no point, even as an angst-ridden teenager himself, had Ryūken ever considered hurting other people because he was upset about his lineage and his parents’ matchmaking plans for him. 

The idea of doing something heinous like this… of hurting Kanae because he was in love with her and he knew his parents wouldn’t want him to pursue her… 

Their lives together flashed before his eyes: racing through the gardens hand-in-hand as children talking about everything that passed through their heads and out of their mouths, quizzing each other to prepare for school, practicing their archery, studying Quincy battle techniques, sneaking out for sweets or to look up at the stars. 

Becoming a teenager came with the realization that upholding his family’s expectations would crush all his hopes of ever living just for himself and his own desires. He could have no dreams for himself. Everything he was, everything he had was for their people… for the continuation of their race. He gradually became aware that Kanae, his protector and companion, stirred deeper feelings than what was allowed and he wallowed in his doomed affections. Helpless. Pathetic.  

Becoming a man required taking accountability for his life. He had to stop permitting himself to be a victim of fate. To be swept along into places, roles, and decisions he didn’t want. Rebelling would be hard. There would be consequences. Hardships. His willingness to buck tradition rewarded him with more opportunities for happiness. 

Dark blue eyes sparkled. 

He was able to encourage her. Support her. Be with her.

To deliberately hurt her because he wanted her…

To harass and trick her because he couldn’t fathom a way to be together (without even taking her thoughts and feelings into account)…

To betray her…

To betray her…

His stomach flopped. 

That was the difference: love versus obsession.

Uryū was speaking too kindly to this wretch. 

“But I need to know. Sassahara…Yuki… did you hurt Obata?” Uryū asked, still using a soft tone. “To swap places with him this morning?”

“Why should he even matter to you?” She muttered. “It’s not like you’re even friends. You’ve been nicer to those charity cases—Chikafuji-”

“He loves you. How could you manipulate and betray him like that? Even if you didn’t feel the same way?”

“Betray? Ha. You want to talk about betrayal?! I did so much for you during the campaign,” she hissed, “and you just ‘thanked’ me. I stepped down to let you run because I didn’t want us splitting the vote and Okusawa winning."

“I’m sorry. That’s-I-I never asked-”

“Hn. You’re flattering yourself. Uryū would have defeated you as well,” Ryūken sneered.

“Shut up, you old windbag!” She screeched.

Uryū’s jaw dropped. “Dad?! What’re you-?”

“You’re a selfish, stupid girl. How on earth did you expect to succeed anywhere with an attitude like that?”

A very ugly expression of rage contorted her features.

“I fear your daydream ends here. See? I’m a doctor and here’s a dose of reality: You were never going to succeed. In school. In work. In life. You think you’re owed what you want. And because you’re entitled, you see obstacles as insults. You think you can take shortcuts. Oh, it works at the start, until those shortcuts start leading to dead ends and others start recognizing the game you’re playing. Anticipating your moves. You have to keep moving to prevent them from seeing these little rages of yours, don’t they? And you do rage when you don’t get your way. Hm, Sassahara? That’s why you keep needing to change schools. Mom and Dad keep paying your victims to stay quiet.”

That was a big piece of the puzzle. They knew what their daughter was like and had learned to compensate with their pocket book.

Uryū was too close. He tried to discreetly signal him to stand further back.

It would be safer; Ryūken was a good deal stronger and heavier than Uryū. 

If she attacked, he could handle her. She could probably tackle Uryū.

Plus, she was hiding something behind her back. A weapon of some kind. Ryūken was used to hostile patients. Criminals sometimes hid knives or brandished objects to escape before authorities took them to jail.

He would need to subdue her and then Uryū could run and get help.

That was the plan until…Taro Hirata opened the door. “Uryū? Are you in here? Inoue said the officers told everyone we need to head back to the front-”

He and Sassahara locked eyes for a moment then his gaze went down. Ryūken was able to see now in the restroom mirror, since she’d moved slightly, that she was holding a hammer.

She must’ve gotten it from the storage shed.

Damn it. The situation was escalating.

She swung it at Taro who was blocking her exit route. He dodged the first two, and cried out as she hit his arm with a sickening crunch.

He’d need an X-ray.

“Taro!” Uryū made to push past but Ryūken threw out an arm to prevent him. 

“DAD?!”

Taro dodged again and the hammer hit a tile, smashing it to pieces.

She swung and missed again. The sound of shattering ceramic was loud and bounced.

There had to be someone who heard this ruckus—

The door leading to the space opened with such force, it was ripped off its hinges.

Chad was now in the doorway.

“Chad!” Uryū shouted and pointed at Sassahara. “Hammer!”

Sassahara swung at Chad, who caught it between his hands like he was ending an insect. The head of the hammer snapped off the handle.

Sassahara gasped. She let the handle go and stumbled backwards. Her eyes scanned around and saw a window at the far end past the stalls. Ryūken pulled Uryū back as she sprinted towards it.

“Dad!”

“Let her go,” Ryūken ordered. They had enough witnesses. They didn’t need to do anything more.

She was mentally unstable and a danger to those around her.

Uryū had even managed to get a motive out of her. Her home life had destabilized and her obsession with Uryū had consumed her.

Her morbid dismissive treatment of suicidal ideation was in part because she was suffering from those impulses but masking them.

The “pressure”?

Her pressure wasn’t academic, it was domestic.

Taro rushed forward and grabbed her arm.

No! Fool!

With a cry of rage and adrenaline, she shoved the boy with all her strength and then sprinted towards the window. 

Maybe he should’ve used hirenkyaku to catch the boy?

But… damn it, he had Uryū in his arms… and Uryū… always took precedence.

Taro slipped, and his head hit the floor with a terrible CRACK.

Damn it.

It was a bad fall. 

It was a bad landing.

“NOOO!” Uryū howled as blood began pooling around his classmate’s head and he tried to pull free from his father’s hold.

Conundrum: deal with the girl or help the boy? No, he could have Uryū render First Aid while he—

“Antithesis.”

In the space between blinking, time and space were rewritten.

“Huh? What? How? What just happened?!” Taro exclaimed, chest heaving, hand pushing up the window.

It was the weirdest phenomena to witness. It was only because he knew of his son’s power that he was able to comprehend what had happened.

Taro whirled around to face them. His hand tentatively went to check the back of his head.

Ryūken moved to render first aid to Sassahara. “Chad, please call an ambulance.”

“Right.”

“Uryū, please assist me.”

“R-right.” His son moved forward.

“Well, well, well. Quite the party in here!” Kisuke Urahara noted as he strolled inside. “Mind if I crash?”

Taro pointed to where Ryūken was tending to Sassahara. “S-she pushed me and I fell and my head cracked open but Uryū said something and now I’m here and she’s the one bleeding!”

Urahara stopped smiling. “I completely believe you.”

FLASH!

He had used a kisanshinki.

Ryūken smirked. “Hn.”

Guess the old meddler was finally good for something.

Now Ryūken just had to deal with… he glanced down… this.

Damn, he wanted a cigarette.

Chapter Text

Chad was sent to get help.

Urahara was talking to Taro who was holding his arm in pain. The latter was now oblivious to what had really happened—the wonders of memory modification.

Uryū had suspected that the technology had existed, given the way his classmates could forget events and people related to Soul Reaper incidents, but it was something else to witness it upfront. It was also odd that reapers never tracked him down to try it. Maybe Urahara had something to do with that?

He glanced one too many times—Urahara winked at him. That meant he’d explain it all later if Uryū asked. Which was good. Maybe in a week when his brain stopped buzzing?

Taro’s arm was broken. Uryū hadn’t transferred that wound, just the…other…more serious one.

Should he have…? He wasn’t sure she would survive another complication. But Taro was a musician. Had he ruined his future? Even if he’d spared his life?

Uryū was helping his dad keep Sassahara from bleeding out. 

CRACK.

He kept hearing that.

She was staring blankly up at the ceiling which was mercifully cleaner than some of the other restrooms on the campus. The more frequently visited ones could have wads of wet paper towels stuck on the ceiling. It sucked having to scrape those off on his assigned cleaning days. 

“Continue to apply pressure,” Dad told him quietly.

“Yes, sir.” It was weird. A few minutes ago, his mind had been a chaotic swirl of questions and thoughts. Now it was oddly still. Eye of the storm?

Except…

CRACK…

Her blood was on his hands, literally and figuratively. He felt bad. Should he feel worse? He did this. Was he numb? Had Yhwach ruined him?

Luckily, Dad had brought latex gloves with him and had issued Uryū a pair.

Uryū had left his box of latex gloves in his schoolbag, which was… somewhere… now. 

Chad returned with the police. The paramedics from the second ambulance were summoned.

Time felt odd to him. Fast and sluggish at the same time. It moved with a surreality he hadn’t experienced in years.  

Though when it did happen, it was always because something bad had happened, like:

When Mom died…

When Grandpa died…

When Aso really hurt him… both times…and then when he was battling his Hollow form.

Time distorted weirdly when he was stressed to his breaking point.

Sometimes he sharpened. The way he had when dealing with Mayuri and Ulqiorra. But other times...it was like his everything around him was unraveling. 

Was that what was happening now? He was in some kind of shock?

That span following Aso stabbing him…

Going to the hospital, then the service, then the morgue and then the cemetery… it all seemed so immediate, like comic panels, but… that didn’t make sense. His brain had either edited out great chunks or entered a state where the information was filed differently.

He was missing time leading up into his final exams and being attacked in his apartment afterwards. A solid memory gap.

And then days later when he was leaving Nakano Prefecture… that whole episode was so hellish and jarring… and disjointed, he was still trying to make sense of it.

This wasn’t as bad as that last one. He knew that.

But he was getting gaps here, too.

CRACK…

The paramedics were suddenly there. He was tapped on his shoulder so they could take over.

Uryū watched Sassahara leave on a stretcher.

Pictures were taken. Statements were taken. The sink with his half-washed away vomit was noted because it explained why Uryū wound up there.

Urahara cheerfully declared himself a “family friend!” when the officers inquired as to how he was involved in the situation.

Then he and his father were allowed to clean themselves up in an alternate restroom.

Dad took out some wipes and cleaned his hands. So calm. So collected. Just flecks of blood here and there on his suit.

“I feel weird,” Uryū confessed to him. 

“Oh?”

“I felt like this when Grandpa...” 

CRUNCH. CRACK. SNAP. BLOOD—

“Go on.”

He wanted to hold his breath. He forced himself to keep talking, “My body feels far away. I’m here but...distant. I control my body but… the rest of me…”

“That sounds like disassociation.”

“Oh…” He was disassociating? He usually likened it to an internal, mental version of Ransōtengai. 

Dad threw away the wipe and got another. He began cleaning Uryū’s hands. 

For him.

He didn’t need to do that. He wasn’t a little kid. 

Only, he could barely move now. 

He wanted to hide… until it was less dangerous…

The heat of summer and the sounds of insects….

Nonono. It was winter. He wasn’t outside.

Maybe he did need the help?

“What does this feel like?” Dad asked, like they were doing a check up.

“C-cold.” It was uncomfortably cold.

“Does it sting?” 

“No.”

“Good.”

“Yeah…Otherwise, I-I’d need PEP treatment… just in case, even though the gloves should have been enough.”

“Smart boy.”

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

Dad was very efficient. He knew to clean up and under the nails.

Surgeon…

He tried not to think of Mom. Of Dad cleaning Mom’s blood off of—Everything.

The room blurred.

“I…I don’t remember where my winter gloves are. I had them at the greeting station. I don’t… I don’t have them now. I’m… sorry…” That I ever opened that door… that I ever saw…

“That’s alright. You have more gloves at home. Or we can get you more.” He threw the soiled wipe away and washed his hands.

Uryū glanced down. “My scarf is dirty.”

His scarf had come out from where it was tucked in his coat and was stained. Ruined.

If it was just his own blood, it wouldn’t have felt so dirty. He could just spot clean. Or if it was Hollow blood, bleach it at the laundromat.

Dad shook his hands dry and then reached over and removed the scarf, draping it over a soap dispenser. He gave Uryū his own scarf—tied it and tucked it in his coat. “There. What do you see?”

“You’re wearing the watch Mom and I got you for your birthday.” It kept catching the light.

“Yes.” 

“I forgot to wear my watch today. I was going to. The nice one.”

“That’s alright. You can wear it tomorrow.” 

Lucky him. Who knew what tomorrow had in store for Obata and Sassahara? Probably not a watch.

“Y-yeah.”

“What else do you see, Ryū?” There was an artificial sense of forced calm.

Dad was employing grounding techniques to reel him back in. That was why he was acting like this; Uryū was simultaneously numb and hypersensitive to his environment.

Damn it. He didn’t like having to be coddled like this, but maybe Dad really did know best in this instance? Except a while back he’d been escalating a volatile situation? Why had he gone and made it all worse? 

Especially if he did know how to deescalate situations, like this?

Together, they might’ve been able to talk her down or through it?

His brain was buzzing again. His vision doubled for a few seconds.

Five Hollows… no…

One girl who was desperate…and vicious…

School was out so the lights were dimmed. Only emergency ones had been left on and some of them were shuttering out. It kept getting darker and darker.

There was an information desk on this level. He was hiding there.

He felt heavy. Sluggish. Tired.

He wanted to go home. Find Dad. Dad could take him to the hospital. But Dad wasn’t there. At home. Or at work.

Dad, where are you?

“Try to focus on me and what I’m asking, Ryū.” 

Right next to him. He blinked. He was… right next to him.

Breathe. In. Out. He needed to get back on track so he went along with Dad’s exercise.

“There are ceiling lights that are flickering in the hall. I don’t know if that’s the school being cheap or Yhwach messing with it.”

“Hm. Let’s wash our hands now. You remember the way I taught you? The way we wash at the hospital?” 

“Y-yeah?”

“Show me?”

Lather. Palms together. Tops of hands. Fingers through. Thumbs. Wrists.

He counted out loud to twenty.

“Such a natural,” Dad said softly as he handed him his personal hand towel to dry off.

It was ridiculous how good it felt to be complimented over this. 

Why was he such an idiot? Why did he have to care what this man thought? Why did he promise Sensei he’d change this man’s mind?

He handed the towel back. Dad folded and pocketed it, then he coaxed Uryū to follow him.

Orihime was waiting for them outside of the restroom. 

An officer was trying to get her to leave.

She wouldn’t. “I need to make sure my friend is okay.”

Her eyes searched his. “Uryū, I was worried. Are you alright?”

Truth.

And he didn’t want to lie. Not to his friend.

“I don’t… know.”

Her spirit ribbon swelled with compassion for him.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Dad steered him to the front of the school. He let him. The shadows of everything seemed darker. There were so many people out there. It made him feel dizzy.

There were two more ambulances.

There’d been four more cases of poisoning since they’d gone to the auditorium.

One ambulance took Taro and a few festival attendees.

The other paramedics continued monitoring the festival goers and event staff.

Dad explained to a paramedic and Officer Miura, who’d just arrived on scene, that Uryū was medically alright, but he was experiencing acute psychological stress.

Apparently, Uryū wasn’t looking very good; People kept asking after him. 

“He’s fighting a freeze response,” Dad told them bluntly. 

“Oh.” The paramedic glanced at Uryū and encouraged him to “keep breathing deeply.”

“I’m… trying,” Uryū whispered. Why was his voice so weak?

“Does he need to lie down?”

“No. Not yet. He does have hypotension so I want to continue monitoring him. That girl wanted to hurt him, but his friend intervened and was injured. Naturally, he’s been unnerved by the turn of events.”

“Of course, Director.”

He was given a blanket, like a character at the end of a cheesy made-for-T.V. movie.

They were sitting on the edge of a planter awaiting instructions from the police on what to do next.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Shouldn’t you be helping people who are actually in trouble?”

“You don’t seem out of the woods to me,” he replied dryly.

Uryū tried to take deep breaths and relax. “I can handle this.”

“Yes, you can.”

Oops. He said that out loud.

“You’re doing very well,” Dad assured him further.

Except that-that-that—

He ended up blurting about Ginjō’s dirty tactics against Ichigo and how Ichigo had suffered a nervous breakdown on the roof. But then he got his powers back from Rukia and the rest and he just shrugged it all off to fight Ginjō. Which Uryū thought was adrenaline at first, but he didn’t crash afterwards. The way Uryū was now. 

“What? You’re telling me you have more emotional depth than your cousin? A child of Masaki, who couldn’t go ten minutes without prioritizing what she was going to eat next regardless of whatever drama was unfolding within her proximity, and Isshin, who left his captaincy in the same way he leaves his clinic and patients to fend for themselves because he gets bored waiting there… doing his job. That child can’t hold onto deep feelings because he’s hyperactive? Because he’s inherited that from both of his parents. That’s what you’re telling me?”

Uryū laughed in spite of himself though his breath hitched. 

“You are your mother’s child and mine.”

“…You wouldn’t let me talk to Sassahara. Why?” Maybe he could have handled it better?

Dad gave him a side glance that reminded him so eerily of Sensei, his breath caught. Sometimes, he could almost forget Dad was Sensei’s son until moments like this. 

“If she calmed down too much, she’d be able to talk her way out. Blame Obata. She’s smart, Uryū. She consistently earns high marks. I don’t think they’re paying for her grades. It’s the volatility. She likely has some form of oppositional defiance disorder that her family has refused getting treatment for, fearing stigma. They’re… they’re probably trying to marry her off quickly before it’s known.”

“I disapprove of your methods.”

Dad smirked and got himself a candy from his pocket and unwrapped it. “You would. I know you’re thinking about now, so you’re not considering later. But I am. She deserves jail time, only she’s from a prominent family. Even after all of this, it’ll be a battle to see her and her family receive true justice.”

“Why did you hold me back? I could’ve done something.”

“We didn’t need to. We had enough witnesses of her being erratic.” 

“…Economy of movement?”

“Yes.” He looked a little surprised. “You learned that from Father?”

“No. From the gym and Mr. Chiba, too. There’s waste in a punch or a kick that doesn’t land. If you can get your opponent to repeatedly strike, and dodge it. You can wear them down.”

“Even in academics there are times where you merely need to meet the requirements rather than be flashy.”

“But being flashy is my signature.” 

His dad shifted slightly. “I wish your friend had listened to me. Though, I recognize that I shoulder some blame in that. I am very late in investing myself in your social life and I lack authority with your friends. I told him to stop. My warning meant nothing.”

“…” Uryū was surprised that it even mattered to him.

“They don’t respect me. Yet.”

Or that he seemed determined to rectify it now.

Uryū sighed. “I feel tired. Like, really tired. Like, strangely tired.”

More than physical or reishi-related. It was worrying.

CRUNCH…

He blinked hard. Feeling lost…

“You got up very early. You worked hard setting up this morning. You were deeply stressed. You were ill. You then had to provide emergency first aid to someone who wanted to harm you. You had to talk with officers. We’ve missed lunch. You’re emotionally exhausted. You’re probably taxed from everyone’s energy if you passively take in other’s emotions. And your blood sugar is low.”

“So… not strangely?”

“No, not strange. Easily explainable. Very understandable.”

“Oh…” He looked away and saw— “Yoruichi is pissed off.” Uryū gestured to where he could see her. She was standing in an unflattering staff uniform with her hands on her hips cursing out a cop for delaying her from coming to the school to help. 

“Yes, she is.” Dad sounded amused.

“This is all such a mess.”

“Ryū, it could’ve been far worse.”

Ryūken gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling like he’d aged several years in the past few hours. “That was a very sensible application of your schrift.”

They had finally been given permission to leave the police station. 

“I…I played God,” Uryū mumbled from where he was slumped in the passenger seat.

“No. You minimized collateral damage caused by someone having a psychotic break.”

It was more like… correcting an act of God?

No. Swapping? Or… if they were more poetic… the means of facilitating comeuppance? If she hadn’t caused harm, it couldn’t have been reflected at her?

Justice?

Reckoning…

That PowerPoint title had been surprisingly apt.

Was that why Yhwach had been desperate to recruit him? He’d performed Auswählen on Uryū. Could Uryū then perform it on him? Was it time sensitive or… could Uryū perform it whenever he wanted? That would strike fear into the tyrant Quincy.

“This is all my fault. I should’ve demanded the festival to be canceled.” Uryū fiddled with his seatbelt. 

Ryūken reached over and plucked it from his grasp, making it lie smooth. “As if you had the authority. That’s on the school.”

His son’s breath hitched. “What if she doesn’t wake up, Dad?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Then she gets to skip out on the legal consequences of her actions and the social fallout. Lucky her.”

He also didn’t point out that Orihime could use her powers and negate the injuries the way she had for Uryū last June. No doubt, if Uryū asked, she would. That she hadn’t volunteered…

Well, it looked like the girl had more of a spine than he’d first assumed. It was nice when pacifists weren’t bleeding heart idiots.

“That’s so callous!” Uryū’s fist clenched and he hit the car’s armrest.

“Watch it!” If he’d used blut arterie by mistake, he’d have smashed it.

“NO! You escalated EVERYTHING!”

“You listen to me! To me! And not whatever inner voice is tormenting you by being self-righteous and absurd. You didn’t ask for any of this. She was planning on casually poisoning countless innocent people, yourself included!”

Uryū jolted, eyes going wide.

Damn it, his son was such an idiot sometimes.

“Yes, you, Uryū. Innocent. You’re Innocent,” he repeated. “My innocent… foolish… little dragon… of course you don’t get why she acted like this. How? How could you ever hope to understand… evil?” His chest heaved. “It’s the opposite of everything you stand for.”

Uryū stared.

He was such a little idiot.

“Why do you think I try so hard to protect you? The world doesn’t have enough good in it. You have to stay!”

“…” Uryū rolled his eyes.

They drove on in silence until Ryūken recovered himself enough to offer, “I’m glad your survival instincts kicked in. That’s good. There’s a limit to how selfless one should be. A little pragmatism keeps you alive.”

“…”

“I was prepared to use blut to protect us. I know, I know. Quincy-related violence against ordinary humans is a difficult concept for you to accept.”

“…Where are we going?” His teenager grumbled.

“Hospital.”

“Ughh. I’m fine. You’ve checked me over at least eight times already.”

“I’m going in to personally ensure that Sassahara receives the best treatment available. You’ll wait in my off-”

“Why bother? You clearly hold her in contempt.”

He turned the defroster on. “I do. I do hold her in contempt. She’s loathsome. Awful. She hurt you by doing this. She was upset with her marriage prospects and, rather than straightening things out by striking out into the world with or without her family’s support and pursuing an education and a career that better suited her, she decided murdering you was more cathartic. I hate her.” He could feel disgusted at her risking the lives of others. But her threatening Uryū… that made her worthy of hate.

Uryū swallowed uncomfortably. “Dad…”

They both knew he could sense it. He didn’t bother trying to soften it. It was… a human thing to hate. And a fairly reasonable response given the circumstances.

And maybe he needed to give Uryū that kind of permission. To hate… to really hate. He usually hated actions and resented people, but his “wrath” was usually a mixture of distress and abhorrence at things he witnessed.

Ryūken doubled down. “I hate her. Completely. But you don’t. And that’s why I’ll treat her. For you. If she recovers enough to be held accountable for her crimes, I’ll endure that. If she doesn’t, I won’t lose any sleep. I need… I need you to be able to sleep.”

“Mom used to tell me that you were a very caring doctor. That you did your best for all of your patients because you were a good man.”

“Your mother had a very high opinion of me. You know better.” 

“That’s not what I-I’m not trying to insult you!”

“Aren’t you though?” He pulled into his parking space and set the brake.

“No, I just… want Mom to be right. I want you to…to be…” His voice trembled.

That good. 

“I will treat her, Uryū. I just can’t care about her.”

“…You’re…a doctor…you’re…supposed to-”

“No. I’m sorry I don’t belong on that pedestal. I never did. So… I know I’ll never reclaim it.” And that was hard. Harder than Uryū could fathom. To fall like that and have no hope of full redemption. He remembered his young child’s face lighting up on seeing him. Believing he was a true force of good. He would never have that again. “My heart isn’t as strong as yours.”

I was never on your level. Will never be.

“…”

“You’ve already forgiven her. You’re horrified by what she's done. You’re agonizing over why she did it. But you don’t hate her.”

“…”

“And you dare to wonder why I’m so neurotic when it comes to you and who you associate with?”

He escorted Uryū to his office and left to get more information on Sassahara’s condition, though not before telling him, “You do not open this door for anyone.”

He returned an hour later to find Ichigo on the floor, sitting with his back against the door talking quietly to Uryū. The boy had recovered Uryū’s schoolbag from the event.

His nephew looked annoyed. “Man, stop beating yourself up. I don’t think anyone could prepare for this. Of course the greenhouse thing makes sense now. That’s why they say hindsight’s 20/20. And your vision sucks to begin with. Watch, they’re probably not even gonna cancel school tomorrow. All that festival crap everywhere. We’ll be tripping over it and class will just continue.”

Ryūken sighed as a familiar sense of failure settled on him. Then he shouldered it and walked over. He gave the door a succinct knock. “Uryū? We can let your cousin inside...provided he keeps his medical mask on.”

It felt like the terrible twos all over again.

“Please eat. Something. Anything.”

It was getting late. They were in the kitchen. Ryūken was getting desperate. He gestured to the refrigerators. Every suggestion was being turned down. “I don’t care what it is! If you want snacks or a-a dessert or-or-” 

They had less than three hours  before he needed his antidepressant; he had to eat something or it was going to make him nauseous.

“I’m not trying to be difficult-”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not annoyed. I’m worried you’re going to faint from low blood sugar.”

Uryū sighed. “It’s hard. I’m just not hungry. It’s like there’s lead in my stomach, weighing it down-”

“You’ve only had breakfast and you threw that up.”

“I had tea and a rice ball at the police station.”

“Because I practically forcefed you. And you threw that up, too.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I just… How could she… I mean, what… what did she even feel to make that-”

“She was psychotic. Don’t try to understand her.”

“Why do I keep running into these weirdos?”

“I don’t know. It’s a good question. I suspect you’re too tolerant. And by the time you realize how unhinged they are, it’s too late.”

“I-I…Urgh!”  

That growl of frustration brought up the past in the worst way. 

Ryūken’s blood pressure spiked and he wrestled with the instinct to snap back and contain his child’s outburst.

His talks with Dr. Jibiki had helped somewhat. That he needed to reprogram his response—the sound was not necessarily a sign of flagrant defiance.

He pushed it down and ordered, in an admittedly clipped tone, but he was trying, “I can’t translate that. Use your words.”

“I’m upset! I’m disappointed!” Uryū hissed, pacing the space aggressively. “It was supposed to be a good day! My council, we thought out all the games, food, and logistics. Hours spent planning and organizing. A-and the booths were so good. Did you see the Christmas lights and the decorations? Everyone tried so hard! And the clubs were going to be able to write this down for their résumés. A-and the drive… collections are now way under our projected sums. And-and the cranes…the cranes, Dad. There aren’t any cranes for the children’s ward,” his breath hitched. “I-I…I let everyone down.”

“No.”

He rubbed his nose with the end of his sleeve.

“No,” Ryūken repeated as he fished out a handkerchief for him.

When Uryū accepted it, he snagged the wrist and used it to pull him into his chest.

“I…I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her before she… did this. I mean, if she was freaking out why didn’t she…?”

“Get help?” Ryūken asked. Like it hadn’t been a Herculean effort to persuade Uryū to get help when he was a benevolent person?

There was a forceful nod and a sniffle.

It was a somewhat painful epiphany: the growl of aggression was a precursor for oncoming anguish, like tremors before an earthquake.

Anger that attempted to mask and stave off sadness. Because Uryū struggled to deal with sadness.

Damn it.

His son sniffled again. “I c-can’t believe she hurt Obata. Was gonna hurt… did hurt Taro. He…his parents… if they’d lost him, too. That would’ve been…But she… she’s an only child. What about her family?”

Ryūken shifted uneasily. “Uryū…” Worrying like this would only hurt him.

He sniffled, “Dad, why did you egg her on? She could have hurt you, too.”

For a moment he felt intensely angry that his child could ask that.

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I would’ve felt so guilty. I mean, you were only there in the first place because of me.”

And then Ryūken felt resigned. He needed to spell it out. “I attacked her delusion hoping to move her attention from you to me. If I could get her to fixate her aggression on me then, when the opportunity came and she attacked me, you would be free to run and get help.”

“But why did you have to be so aggressive?! Why couldn’t you let me try to calm her down?”

“I needed her to be herself. At her worst. It’s going to be harder for her family to try and sweep this under the rug. I don’t want them coming after you anymore. They can come after me. I was the instigator. I pushed her. When it goes to court, it won’t be on you. This part will focus on me and her.”

“And Taro.”

“Unfortunately. But we won’t pity her the way you would. So when we discuss it, it’ll be easier.”

“Because… you… you would do anything to…help me,” Uryū finished unprompted. “…Even something crazy.”

“Yes, Ryū. Exactly.” 

Because being a loving father was a lesson in madness.

What else did he think pushed him to extract the Still Silver and continue living? 

Uryū stared at him.

“Thank you…I guess.”

“You’re welcome, Son. Now prove your gratitude by picking something to eat.”

“I-I-fine. You pick. Something easy.”

“And you’ll eat?”

There was a sullen nod.

Terrible twos…

He made kartoffelsuppe.

Uryū watched. “Do you ever get tired of doing this? It seems like a lot of effort?” 

“No. I don’t get tired of doing things for you.” 

Uryū made them tea.

When they sat down at the kitchen’s small table, it was in companionable silence.

There was the initial reluctant bite followed by a more enthusiastic one.

Uryū was over halfway through his meal when he gave a soft word of gratitude for the meal… and for supporting him…in general.

Ryūken couldn’t deny the hard rush of relief and optimism that came with having his care seen and accepted. 

But then, he’d always known he was a bit pathetic, especially when it came to the people who were most precious to him.

Kanae smiled as she cradled their newborn. “…Look at how perfect he is.

I should never have doubted his power. He has you wrapped around his finger.”

“I never stood a chance,” he agreed. 

“What wouldn’t I do for you, my dragon?”

School… wasn’t easy to get through. The school had an assembly. For his part, he tried to reassure his peers.

It was complicated further with Dad’s flurry of well-meaning texts:

You don’t have to go.

You don’t have to stay.

You don’t need to do it all on your own.

Wait for me. We’ll make a statement to the press together.

On top of his usual reminders regarding vitamins and supplements.

He’d already had one teacher notice when he was trying to text back that he was okay.

His face burned. “It’s… my Dad, he’s really worried about me.”

“Of course he is.”

“He wanted me to stay home, but-but I wanted to show my council and peers my support.”

He ended up babbling about having to give away a lot of the food today and how the charity organizers were miffed about not receiving the amount of donations they expected.

“Ishida? If you do need to leave for the Nurse's office or you want to leave early, that’s fine. Just make your plans clear to us.”

There had also been a flood of letters in his locker expressing sympathy over the festival and Sassahara.

So many spirit ribbons were feeling concern for him; it ought to have felt flattering, but he felt self conscious instead.

Lunch wasn’t much easier.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mizuiro asked him.

“Of course w-why?”

“Cause you have this perpetual shellshocked look and it’s freaking us all out!” Keigo insisted. “Hey, wait a minute! Are those fruit sandos?!”

"Yes." He wasn’t sure when Dad explained what had happened to the household staff, but it seemed like Juri was there at the house at the crack of dawn.

But then again, Dad had also effectively kept him away from the television, internet, and radio. Maybe they'd seen it on the news? 

His name was called. He blinked. He'd been quiet too long and now the group was staring at him.

This whole fiasco kept reminding him of Aso… how weird it felt... “I just…having someone hate you because they know you…”

His phone pinged with yet another text.

“Your dad?” Ichigo asked, setting his bento down on his lap.

“Yeah.”

“Dr. Worrywart?”

“To the tenth power. We’ve… got an emergency counseling session after school today.”

“Well, yeah. Nearly murdered,” Mizuiro muttered as he put his headphones on. 

Lunch finished. They went to their classes. He tried to focus.

He was pulling out his assignment for his first class following lunch when his teacher received a phone call from the office.

She walked over to him with a folder holding today’s worksheets for their literature readings. “Your father is here. He’s signing you out. Do you have your work? I’ll collect it before you go.”

“Yes, ma’am. Here.” He’d done it all before the festival.

She nodded approvingly.

“Please take your things with you.”

His dad was waiting in the office. “Uryū,” he greeted.

“Hey Dad.”

Maybe he was becoming better attuned to it? But he swore his father relaxed as he walked toward him.

“I have one last assignment to turn in today.” Maybe he could run it up?

Dad looked to the administrative receptionist. “Could you set this assignment in his teacher’s box in the mailroom? I’ll write a note.”

“Yes, sir.”

As they settled in the car, Dad told him. “There was a cancellation and Dr. Jibiki asked if we wanted to come in sooner. I said, ‘yes,’ for us. I’m sorry if it feels sudden.”

“No, sooner is better. I… I feel kind of…overwhelmed. I mean, everyone has been surprisingly supportive.”

“Good. You did well yesterday. Protected them. Worked with the authorities.”

“Hmm.”

“They noticed. Good role modeling.”

“How is she?” 

“Her family wants to have her transferred to another hospital.” 

That was a somewhat evasive answer.

“Is…is she awake?”

Ryūken’s mouth tightened. “No.”

Uryū tensed.

“Not uncommon. It was a significant head injury and it’s only the second day.”

“Dad?”

“…She’s in a coma.”

His stomach flopped.

Coma…

“Coma…” he mumbled. 

Like Mom…

Chapter Text

Maybe it was because Dr. Jibiki spoke gently, like Sōken, Uryū was able to tell him, “M-mom was in a coma…three months… s-slipped a-away…”

Ryūken had explained the medical situation as simply as he could to his eight-year-old (when he was still hopeful he could save her and wasn’t just delaying the inevitable) but he hadn’t discussed the emotional aspect of visiting someone in that state. Or what end of life care would entail.

The helplessness… which, if it had been awful as an adult (as her husband and a doctor), for a child… the unfairness…the unnaturalness of losing a mother…

Ryūken shifted uneasily. Was he going to mention the autopsy next?

Sassahara being in a coma had reignited the trauma of seeing his mother in a similar state.

He wondered if Ichigo’s coma following the war with Aizen had triggered the same effect. Was that what had prompted Uryū to accept Urahara’s request to help patrol the city against Hollows? 

He felt anger instinctively flare at the thought of Urahara exploiting that.

His son was shaking so badly in a chair, as far away from him as the room would allow, that Ryūken half hoped he would speak about the autopsy, even if it might necessitate Urahara modifying another human’s memory.

Jibiki gave him a few glances. No doubt expecting him to do something.

He just didn’t know what to say.

It was… awful. Losing Kanae was awful. He’d never recover from it. The love of his life… his soul mate… wasting away as the monitors counted down her time on Earth…

But then, abruptly, Uryū started talking about Aso. 

“Aso hated me. He-he really hated me. It’s… really disturbing being hated like that. Not for what you are or things you've done. But who you are. And that’s what they hate about you. She hated me at the end. Sassahara. And it’s hard…being worthy of hate.”

“Wait now. ‘Being worthy of hate?’ Why would you think that, Uryū?” Jibiki asked.

“Frequency.”

“What?”

Uryū gripped the armrests tightly. “If multiple people think that…about me, c-can they ALL be wrong?”

“Of course they’re wrong!” Ryūken argued, half-relieved from dwelling on his grief by focusing his fury on those two. “What a-” foolish “limited way to look at it. You’re assuming they’re reasonable. People often…aren’t very reasonable. Humans—They…we’re… emotion-driven beings. There’s jealousy, envy-”

“Their feelings crowd out mine and I feel… overwhelmed with stress,” the teen mumbled.

Because his powers cursed him with too much insight.

“Do you have a habit of trying to accommodate others?” the doctor asked.

“I dunno. I… just get tired of apologizing for existing.”

Light blue eyes narrowed. What the hell did that mean?

His son was struggling… struggling in earnest to process his feelings which were all churning together—traumas from different points in his life all converging into a messy street pile.

Ryūken felt… frustrated. Held at length. It was several meters. He could cross the room, but… Uryū chose to sit over there, signaling that he wanted space. Did he respect that? Or was he supposed to bridge the gap?

The least he could do was—

“You were very brave,” he declared, shifting the conversation. It wasn’t an empty compliment. He was proud. “Yesterday was unsettling. Chaotic. You kept your head and you collaborated and you-”

“But I’m falling apart now!” Uryū snapped.

“After. Not during. Allowed. Yes, fall apart now.” It was so common at the hospital—Staff needing a moment to compose themselves because youth, or age, or relatability, or tragedy, or compassion demanded it. “Here. Safe. Where you can be helped-”

“I s-shouldn’t just-you’re not! You were there, too. And you seem fine. That’s not fair!” His voice broke.

“Hn, I have a high-stakes job where I have to regularly make life-or-death decisions. I’ve been conditioned for it. It takes time and practice to let go. To build resilience. I’ve had years to develop these skills. Training. Mentors. And I still have reactions. Grief. You know that. You’ve seen. It’s hard on me when I can’t save someone like you. Or like your mother. Our situations aren’t remotely comparable. Also, I’m not invested, emotionally, to the same extent you are. You’re worried about your classmates and friends. You are my child. That sets you apart. You’re safe. My anxiety lowers. I don’t worry about the rest the way I worry about you.”

“You’re a doctor…you’re supposed to-to care about all potential patients-”

“Ha. That’s not how I experience life.”

“Well, you should!”

“That is…an unfair assessment,” their counselor remarked warningly.

Ryūken waved a dismissive hand. “He’s not a doctor and he’s not a parent, but he is upset so I’ll let it slide.” He refocused his attention on Uryū. “I will point out that you’re still caught up in yesterday. Of course you are. It was highly traumatic. It happened in an environment that you regularly engage with, disturbing the familiarity and stability you’ve come to expect. You’re young. Of course you have strong feelings regarding it.”

He’d been reading diligently about trauma and how to treat it. From the texts, he’d handled so many things wrong when Uryū was younger, but treatment… even when it came late… was still treatment.

He could help heal it. It was also… enlightening to see certain things that pertained to his own childhood resurfacing and complicating his parental decisions and how to be aware and deal with it.

Mother yelled because she was trying to exude authority and control. She was expressing her negative feelings in a combative way that forced acknowledgment.

Ryūken came to equate that kind of behavior with authority (even if he didn’t reenact it himself, breaking part of the cycle). However, his child yelling at him often seemed like insolence, like he was attempting to exert authority and control over Ryūken, which he didn’t have.

When it was far simpler than that:

Uryū yelled because he didn’t feel heard…and he was scared and upset. And, like a child, seemed to think if he just talked louder he could be understood. And then Dad would help him.

“YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!”

“You seem to have very high expectations for where your threshold for stress should be,” Dr. Jibiki noted.

Uryū made a sound of angry exasperation. “I’m just so frustrated. I should’ve expected her to do this. Orihime and I saw her at the greenhouse!”

“So? So did Obata,” Ryūken pointed out, “and he didn’t foresee it. How could you have planned for it? I didn’t. Blame me, Uryū. I’m older and wiser and I’ve had exposure to patients suffering episodes of instability. Why didn’t I know what she was planning? How could I not piece together, with a handful of meager clues, what she was up to?” 

“…” 

“What’s this? You’re not angry at me?” Ryūken asked.

The boy shook his head.

“No? Why? Why are you to be held accountable and not me? I have far more authority than you, a mere student. Don’t I?”

“…”

“Don’t I, Uryū?” He pressed.

“Ryūken, you’re being very aggressive,” Dr. Jibiki warned. “We’ve talked about this-”

The eye contact from his son was so brief and the nod was so minimal, but the immense relief he felt on witnessing it—

“See?” He breathed. “We did everything we could. We alerted the authorities. The school. The police. Her family and friends should’ve been more involved if they were noticing troubling behavior from her, they should’ve stepped forward. How could we know what was going on inside her head? Hm?”

“I just feel bad!” Uryū blurted out, voice cracking.

There. That was the root of it. 

Ryūken floundered a little in the unexpected success. Uryū usually resisted more when his father had a point. Or maybe they’d made more progress than he’d dared to hope?

“Yes. Right. T-tell me more, come here.” He motioned him over to join him on the couch where he was sitting. “Tell Dad what you’re feeling-”

“Urgh! It’s embarrassing! I shouldn’t feel so lost-”

“Tell me-”

“Why? I know it won’t make sense!”

“It doesn’t have to!” He snapped back. “What matters is you need to talk. I’m here. I’m listening. Don’t hold this in. Holding it in feels bad, right? I don’t want you t-to feel bad. Please come here. If I can help you feel better, damn it all, let me try!”

Try…

When had Ryūken stopped trying?

It was a question that kept haunting him in the hours following their therapy session.

He was seated with his son, working on the puzzle they’d started the previous night. He’d been tasked with taking all the white pieces.

As a child, he would’ve been quietly seething at this. Back then, he had hated being associated with white, the color of death. People always thought they were clever when they made comments.

“It even feels different from mine,” a very young Kanae told him with her hands in his hair because she was helping him get leaves out—removing evidence of their latest misadventure in the garden. “See? Look.” She reached for his hand and set it on her head. 

In that moment, he’d had half a mind to pull a handful of the dark hair there because he didn’t like being teased about this sore subject.

“Your hair is so much lighter, it must be nice.”

His hold tightened as he decided what to do.

“Mine’s heavy and it tangles so my mother cuts it short.” She sighed. Unhappy.

And Kanae was usually cheerful in a soft, quiet way that didn’t annoy him.

He didn’t like her being sad.

“Why does she cut it?” He demanded.

“Because it gets in the way.”

It was heavier than his. And sleek. Slippery. It would look nice longer. The princesses in the storybooks usually had long hair.

“I’ll tell her not to cut it,” he decided.

Kanae’s eyes sparkled.

He made the order that hour and Mrs. Katagiri indulged him. “Very well, young master.” Though she gave her daughter a stern look (likely because such a trivial matter shouldn’t have been elevated to the Ishida family’s notice). “But if it becomes a hassle-” 

“I won’t allow that,” he sniffed, considering the matter over.

Because he truly had been a spoiled brat back then and he had viewed Katagiri’s growing hair over the following months as something that was his to protect.

Still, Mrs. Katagiri had been surprised when he turned up at their quarters the following year with supplies because Katagiri had sprained her left arm.

“She can’t brush her hair so I will. No hassle. So don’t touch it.” He gave her a sharp look before letting himself into his best friend’s bedroom.

He gazed down at the pile of white puzzle pieces. Yes, it would’ve angered him as a child. Annoyed him as a teenager.

But Uryū had all the blue puzzle pieces. 

Sky Dragon. Rain Dragon. White. Blue.

And that made all the difference.

Having his toddler point to white objects and clouds and snow and saying “Daddy’s.”

For Daddy was the master of that color and all things of that hue were his.

The color was intrinsically good because it resembled Daddy rather than the other way around. 

That had been a massive ego boost for a young Ryūken, much to his dear wife’s amusement.

Little Uryū telling him in delight, as he hugged his legs, that he was easy to find in a crowd had made him feel relieved.

Yes, this hair made him easy to notice. And it suddenly seemed silly that he had used to hate that.

“Are you sad my hair’s not like yours, Daddy?”

He glanced down at the small child in his arms with surprise. “What? No. Why?”

“Mommy says you used to be sad about your hair cuz no one else had the same color at school. Why Daddy?” His preschooler reached up to touch it gently.  

He was a little miffed that Kanae had phrased it that way.

“Hm. Well, you’ve probably noticed lots of people have dark hair. I wanted to fit in.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “So you do wish my hair was-?”

“No, Ryū,” he combed the glossy strands with his fingers, "your hair suits you so well, I couldn’t imagine it being different.”

“That’s what I think about you!” Uryū declared several Hertz louder than he needed to. He hugged him, little arms wrapping around his neck. “You wouldn’t be you and I would be sad.” 

“Ah, thank you, my little Ryū.”

His child had been so forthcoming with his thoughts and feelings back then…

His child burrowed into his side. “Maybe reading this story at night is a mistake, it’s very scary, Daddy.”

“Hm. Perhaps, we should finish it during the day?” 

He made a face. “Do we have to finish it?”

“It’s important to see things through, Uryū.”

His sleeve was tugged. “Even if… there’s not a happy ending?”

In the aftermath of Kanae’s death, Ryūken had forced himself to carry on.

He got up. He went to work. He paid the bills. Kept the household running. Checked homework. Enforced rules. Attended the meals he could. Carried his child to bed if he found him camped out on the living room floor with photo albums.

Periodically told the staff to make his son his favorite meals. Told the staff to buy him new clothes. Told the staff to take him to and from school.

He flattened out and became a backdrop of his son’s life or a kind of surrounding architecture that passively kept him safe in a hit-or-miss way.

His son stopped seeing him as a person with feelings because he’d looked to him in moments of colossal stress and saw stoicism.

Mistook it for emptiness. Apathy.

When what he had needed from his father was help on figuring out how to regulate his own emotions. 

Granted, Ryūken was extremely introverted and his feelings were more internalized than expressed from a very young age. But he had feelings. Deep feelings.

Eight-year-old Uryū did not see Ryūken process his grief and anger and so, to him, it didn’t happen.

And they didn’t discuss it so he couldn’t learn. 

Didn’t learn.

He began to distrust his father. 

And then he began to disobey. First, it was in favoring Sōken who was trying to provide some stability and guidance as Uryū navigated life after his mother’s death and the deaths of everyone else in their household.

Father had treated Uryū warmly and given him attention.

Father… kept trying to redirect Uryū to come back to him. To have faith that Ryūken had a reason for acting the way he was. But he’d believed Uryū should figure it out for himself because it would mean more. He wouldn’t feel manipulated in the long term.

But Sōken died. And his death spiralled Uryū into an even darker mental space. 

He tried to honor his grandfather’s wishes but the more he observed of his father’s words and actions, the more contempt he developed.

The contempt wasn’t a secret. But Ryūken misunderstood why it was happening. He developed his own theories on the situation: Mainly arrogance and youthful idealism. 

The reality was that his child wasn’t having his needs met and the pain and frustration of that built until he began having outbursts which Ryūken met with lectures and derision.

Because that was how he’d been raised. He had fallen back on what was familiar to him.

But Uryū hadn’t been raised that way for his first eight years.

The change was radical and abrupt—interpreted as cruelty. Uryū revolted.

Ryūken hadn’t understood then how Uryū’s worldview was being shaped.

Yes, Ryūken’s cynicism wasn’t a nurturing philosophy for a child to adopt, but he’d thought it would help his son develop a properly skeptical view of their Quincy heritage and the world at large.

He did not realize Uryū was in a chokehold of nihilism while grasping for existentialism.

Because he was trying not to despair.

And by middle school he was seeing others drown in it. 

He was eighteen now and still did not know how to process highly emotional states. 

He tried to stay busy. He tried to distract himself. He tried to suppress it. He made morbid jokes. He said mean things. He pushed others away when he couldn’t hold it in. Would hide.

Tried to kill the feelings in a clumsy attempt to mimic the stoicism he’d seen from his father, not understanding that they could simply be different in how they expressed themselves. How there were different ways to express emotions.

He wasn’t going to take after Ryūken in every regard, nor did his father expect him to.

He hadn’t wanted his child to be as reserved as himself and Kanae.

It was unnerving to know Uryū occasionally succeeded in killing an emotional response and where there should’ve been a strong reaction following an upsetting event, there was apathy.

Those blue eyes were never supposed stare at him so blankly…

Empty…

It was alarming to entertain the notion that apathy was a possible counter for despair—a case where the cure was almost worse than the affliction.

Ryūken couldn’t claim to be well-adjusted—grief and vengeance had scarred and hollowed out his soul to a husk. He wasn’t the man he’d been before, but he wasn’t in crisis. He accepted his emotions, painful and damning as they were. He accepted the world, as unclean and flawed as it was; there were glimmers of goodness—good people who deserved to be healed, bad people who deserved a second chance on his operating table… or at least to live long enough to see justice meted out. 

This afforded Ryūken some measure of internal stability. He could survive on that.

Uryū… he… wasn’t sure what Uryū wanted in regards to his own emotions.

He said they overwhelmed him.

Ryūken believed that.

Uryū could feel so strongly.

The antidepressants were meant to help keep his depression from worsening. The counseling was intended to investigate and lighten it.

But Uryū was hinting at something that kept the depression anchored in him—he struggled with emotions. Not just his own. There was a resistance in accepting others’ care for him because he struggled to understand others’ emotions and motivations. 

Were humans a monolith to him? Because some were bad, all of them couldn’t be trusted? And yet he felt pity and contempt for them even as he proclaimed his desire to protect them? And how did Uryū’s own humanity factor in?

Ryūken didn’t have the clout to challenge that yet. Instead, he had to return to the starting line and settle for being a building block again: ‘Yes, Uryū, Dad is trustworthy. Dad’s care for you is genuine. Constant. Endless. Come to Dad. I am safe.’

In the office, several beats had passed before Ryūken realized he ended his impassioned little speech with opening his arms…With an arrogant, paternal expectation that his child would come to him…

Like Uryū was still a toddler learning to walk.

Like he was still his little grade schooler eager to greet him after school.

Like they could just paper over the last near decade of troubles.

His ears burned.

He was such an idiot.

Uryū was too old.

It was too late.

Ryūken had made too many mistakes.  

His heart fell. And as his confidence wavered, his arms started to lower.

‘I’m sorry, Kanae. I’ve failed.’

But then his son stood up and slowly made his way over. 

It was not the exuberant charge of yesteryears. 

It was a silent, weary trudge, like he was wading through muck. And maybe, metaphorically, he was. 

It still felt good to hold him. 

He’d grown a little since coming home. Maybe a centimeter and a half? They’d have to measure him next time he came into the hospital for a checkup. He’d scheduled an appointment for January (mainly because if his son was an ultra-rapid metabolizer that needed to be noted in his file so he could be treated effectively). But noting his height could be a positive detail? Maybe over the next few years, he would reach Ryūken’s height after all?

His son’s back and shoulders felt more muscular. Healthier than he’d been months ago. 

That was good. Months ago, in his early attempts to gauge his son’s mental health and offer comfort, it had been upsetting to feel how thin he was.

Wasting away…

Kanae…

And then Uryū…

And Uryū hadn’t been in a coma… he just…was failing to thrive…

Depression and anxiety had been interfering with his eating and sleeping habits.

He was doing better. He was doing better. He cupped the back of his son’s head, letting his fingers curl into the dark hair. He was doing better.

Clink. Their glasses caught each other. 

“Ha…” 

Uryū didn’t speak.

So he did.

Quite suddenly he was talking about getting Uryū fitted for his very first pair of glasses. He still had them at home. The very first pair. Light blue. Soft. “You smiled so brightly…I…I…on seeing us, I-” He tried to explain it; how Uryū’s gladness sparked his own gladness and “Every day… everything was so new and interesting to you…watching you explore was… good,” but things could be scary, too. And he hated anything that caused his child fear or pain. “Having a child amplifies it all. It sometimes feels like I never felt anything so strongly as when you were experiencing it. And then I feel it, too. Greater than if it was only my own. And that goes for epiphanies and accomplishments. That sounds absurd, doesn’t it? That I’m prouder when I see you do well than when some stranger awards me something. But it also means…seeing you upset… is…” He shook his head. “Seeing you struggle and not knowing how to help is… hell.”

When his son finally replied, his voice was so quiet, he knew the words were only for him. “…There’s this weight on me. And I know I volunteered for it, but it’s so heavy.”

“…” 

“I could cast it off completely but… it would come at a price. Rebelling like that…”

“Hm?”

“A dereliction of duty.”

“You’re barely out of childhood. What great responsibility could you have?”

“You say things like that and I want to believe you because you believe it.”

“I don’t understand.”

Uryū pulled away slightly. “You make it sound like I could cast it all off and stay with you. But I have a responsibility. Adyneus trusted me.”

Red eyes. Thankfully, he was facing Ryūken and not the counselor.

Ichigo had White.

Did Uryū have something, too? Embedded in his soul?

Urahara had theorized about fragments of divinity, but… Ryūken felt like it was something else.

Was it that Uryū legitimately had memories of his soul’s creation?

Of being crafted by Adyneus with a particular purpose in mind?

Had Yhwach’s unlocking of Uryū’s schrift resulted in this?

Was it a consequence of the soul injury?

Was it because he’d survived Auswählen?

Maybe Ryūken was a bad influence? He wasn’t like Sōken or Isshin. The scale of loss he’d endured hadn’t made him permissive to being the cosmos’s plaything and giving away what he had left.

His take was, “If that responsibility would steal you from me, then yes, cast it off. Stay with me, my dragon.”

There was a soft chuckle and the look in those red eyes was gentle even as he rebuked him. “You’re so selfish.”

“Yes… yes, I’m… human.”

The red irises faded back to blue and Uryū spoke loud enough for Jibiki to hear once more.

It was about “human” things again:

How hard it was to balance being a good role model with wanting to be liked. Trying to be fair even to people he didn’t like and now having his gut instinct be right and how he felt like a fool for ignoring it. He just liked it when people redeemed themselves, though that wasn’t very practical.

No, it wasn’t. But it sounded true to Uryū’s nature.

He’d wanted the festival in a juvenile sense. That he’d wanted the community to be impressed. He’d wanted his school and his classmates to succeed. He was resentful that he hadn’t gotten to play any of the games or enjoy the food. And after all that planning they’d had to pivot and give the food and prizes away.

Seated beside his father, he rested his weight on him. “And that’s such a stupid thing to be upset over.”

“No, you sound like a teenager.”

Uryū made a face.

“Why is being a teenager bad?” Ryūken murmured.

Uryū gave him a look.

He gave a gentle prod to the child’s head. “When I was nineteen, I once got annoyed with your mother for realizing she had never commented on my new glasses. This was several months after I’d gotten them. I suddenly cared about it. I pressed her for an answer and she said the frames were too dark and distracting. It turned out she preferred when I wore rimless glasses because she liked to see my face.”

One dark eyebrow raised.  

“I went from being annoyed to flattered.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. That’s what being a teenager is like. The emotions crash through with intensity and can change course at any point. And that was for a very minor thing.”

“…”

“You don’t just shrug off your childhood like-like a snake skin. There are parts of your youth that linger. They’re supposed to. It smooths out the transition to adulthood.” 

Dr. Jibiki nodded approvingly.

Emboldened, Ryūken kept talking, “It’s not all sacrifice and drudgery. All politics and hard topics. Yes, those things will surface but you choose the extent and frequency. It can’t all be that way. Every moment, every day. The ‘weight’ of that would be monstrous.” Something a human couldn’t hope to survive.

Which was why Yhwach had offered to take it.

Was Urahara correct? There was a mission from Adyneus? 

And Uryū began instinctively deciphering it? Only, if it was, as Isshin assumed, meant to begin after death—Uryū shouldn’t have been aware of it.

Something had happened that wasn’t supposed to, that undermined  Adyneus’s intentions.

Was it Uryū’s repeated brushes with death? Whatever it was sealing it was… fraying?

“‘He who fights with monsters…’”

Ryūken jolted at hearing that.

Yes. That was a very pertinent quote for Uryū and he was glad he knew it.

“Exactly. There is an abyss. You have to step away. You have to take time to ground yourself in that which is good. Or you will become unable to see that good.” He was still coming to terms with that himself. In his anger and grief, he hadn’t properly appreciated the gift of his son’s childhood as Kanae would have wanted. He’d set it aside and let the time dwindle as he worked towards securing the world’s fate and Uryū’s future. It was succeeding on that front and then refocusing his efforts on his child (because there would be a tomorrow now) that made him horribly aware of how sickly his child had become in the interim.

It wasn’t just the physical neglect of letting his stubborn child go off and fend for himself, it was the loss of spiritual guidance that deeply damaged the child.

Weeks ago, sitting together and talking… hearing morbid observations escape his supposedly “idealistic” child… and having it confirmed from multiple angles that the light in Uryū was flickering…

Ryūken became desperate to strengthen and preserve it. 

His son sighed. “I like feeling that there’s a purpose. That things like justice and charity aren’t just poetic concepts masking wrath and pride.”

“Of course, you’re noble.”

Uryū gave him a searching look before heaving a self-deprecating sigh. “Yeah, I am, when I’m not pouting because I didn’t get to throw a fake snowball or eat yaki-ika.”

“Heaven forbid you expect to enjoy yourself at a festival,” Ryūken deadpanned.

Uryū laughed in spite of himself.

Ryūken wrapped an arm around him and asked, somewhat desperately, what things he did like at festivals. Usually.

Because he realized… he didn’t know anymore. His eight-year-old hadn’t liked games where he had to throw items because he was very small and it was difficult to aim. He would whine and ask his parents to win him things.

Eighteen-year-old Uryū was more than capable of…

Ryūken ended up losing track of time as they talked. They went over their session by a full hour. Dr. Jibiki had been surprisingly understanding and waved off his apologies.

Afterwards, Ryūken had Uryū wait for him in the car while he immediately requested the receptionist to pay the higher rate of the emergency session for both hours and whatever penalties they may have incurred.

Uryū was adding to a corner of the puzzle when he said, “You don’t feel like the festival was ruined.”

“No, the festival was ruined,” Ryūken said as he set three white puzzle pieces together. “I don’t feel like life was ruined because the festival was ruined.”

Uryū took a deep breath. “She won’t… be able to hurt anyone else. And Sahashi said they’re re-examining Inukai’s case.”

“Mhmm.”

“Chiyo and the others really stepped up.”

“They did. Your friends, too.”

“Yeah. I guess the greenhouse clue wasn’t so obvious if Yoruichi only learned of her plans that day… after weeks of observation.”

“Mhm.”

“Urgh, I wish I didn’t feel cheated though! You were finally off work for a big event with me! I wanted that so bad in middle school, you don’t even know, but you were always so busy then, and she ruined it! It was supposed to be good. My paranoia was supposed to be misplaced. And I was going to do well and you were going to be impressed. And we were going to have fun. Yeah, fun. Somehow you were going to survive an afternoon of fun. With me. And my friends. And then you were going to have another picture for your office. And then when I talked to your staff there I’d have something that’s-that’s not depressing or scary to tell them. It’s hard to hold a meaningful conversation when all your most recent experiences are traumatic. They’re all ‘How is school? What’s been going on?’ And I’m stuck! It makes things so awkward.”

“Hmm.”

“…Yeah…”

“Well, you’ve got winter break next week.”

“…Yeah.”

“I’m taking time off for that amusement park debacle you were excited for. Hopefully, I survive that day of ‘fun.’ Maybe the next day, we could see a movie?”

“Really?”

“Then there’s Christmas and New Year’s. You’ll need to take the written part of the driving exam before we enroll you in driving school. You’ve got your college entrance exams. There’s that crafting competition. And an end-of-the-year festival?”

He was trying to show his son that he had plenty of topics he could bring up for a pleasant “normal” conversation, but maybe he was being too subtle?

Uryū had gotten a look of vexation.

“Yeah. Yeah…I’m supposed to help train the next Student Council President,” he grumbled.

Ryūken blinked. “There were elections? You didn’t tell me that, Ryū.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Last month. It was kinda quiet. I campaigned for several months. As a build up. My successor didn’t go all out like Okusawa and I did. There were barely any posters. His platform was all less waste, more digital, protecting the budget. But less is less and low effort looks like low effort…in my opinion. He didn’t do any real community outreach so there were no takeaways for students to enjoy.”

“You didn’t endorse him.”

“Heh, I did not. He doesn’t take over until April after I’ve graduated. If I’m nice, I might show him the ropes for the last festival. But…ehh. No promises.”

Ryūken smirked. “Not all of my residents are… good fits. They can be talented and diligent yet…not good fits for this hospital. I teach what I can and I help them get the experience they need and then I write the recommendation letters that will get them where they are better suited.”

“So… train the annoying new president?” Uryū guessed.

“You said it yourself. He’s annoying. Not evil. That has to be a step up from Sassahara.”

“Ugh, Dad, too soon.” He moved several of the lighter blue puzzle pieces to connect with the white—where the sky of the image met the snowy landscape. 

“Uryū?”

“Mhmm?”

“You know I don’t need a concerto or a festival to be proud of you. I could take a picture of you right now for my office and it would be just as well thought of.”