#very very very loosely based on the substitute shinigami arc

[doublesidedpan]

black sun, white moon (alternatively, of monsters, swords, and colors)

Pairing: Kurosaki Ichigo/Kuchiki Rukia Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Genre: Magic Realism/Urban Fantasy Word Count: ~4600 Author's Note: very loosely based on the characters and events of the substitute shinigami arc. the use of artistic freedom may cause a difference between the attitudes of the original characters and the characters of this story. some dialogue has been lifted directly from episodes 1 and 2 of the anime.

All his life, he’s known one thing. That one thing is this – everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate. (He doesn’t really care; nobody really needs color, anyway. Even without it, the world goes on like clockwork.)

Violet It’s the first color he sees when she slides into his monotonous life. Jumps inside his window on a January night, actually, would be a more accurate phrasing. There’s a monster lurking somewhere, and she’s been tasked to go after it. Or so she says. (Though for the record, he has no clue what the hell she’s talking about.) But the first thing he mutters is this:

“Why can I see the color of your eyes?”

(It doesn’t occur to him until much later that he’s seen the most vibrant shade of violet possible.)

Red The first splash of blood nearly startles him into shock. So that’s how it looks like. There was a monster, just not one that he was expecting. He couldn’t believe that he was actually seeing this but – no. Get it together. She was still here, wounded, barely able to fight, and all because of him. Because the monster was near his house, the monster was near his family, and he may not be much but he is a son and a brother, and in his stupidity, he’d thrown himself in between the monster and their front door with every intent of protecting his father and his sisters. But she was faster.

“Idiot! What made you think you could face that thing yourself?!” She props herself against a road post, her breaths ragged and shallow.

He’s speechless – he’s stupid, he knows, but he’s impulsive, and his family is one of the only things he’s cared for in this world of routine. “Please”, he begs, “you have to help me save them.”

She stares at him in deep thought, but only for a while because the thing roars in fury, and he fervently hopes to God that this was just some stupid dream, there’s no way his family would actually die, none of this could be real, it can’t be God please –

She pulls out her sword, a sleek, wicked-looking thing that she’d used to slash at the creature even as it had her between its teeth. It had staggered away, limping, but somehow he knew that its first taste of blood would draw it back soon. “Then I must give you the means to protect them.” She holds the sword steady until the point is square at his chest, the cold metal prodding unflinchingly towards the skin behind his shirt and no, there’s absolutely no way she’s thinking what he’s thinking because it makes absolutely no sense at all, why can’t she just give him the damn sword –

She must’ve guessed what he’s thinking because she shakes her head weakly. “It doesn’t work like that.” Her grip on the hilt tightens. “This is the only way. And if it fails, then it won’t matter because we’ll both be dead.”

He hesitates.

The he breathes once.

Twice.

There’s a second, chilling roar, followed by a shrill scream, and this time, his eyes set with a steely fire. Carefully, he wraps his hands on hers. . .

. . . and guides the sword through his heart.

The world disappears in a flash of blinding light.

Black He’s familiar with this color. Of course, he’d see it again. It was familiarity, it was comfort, it was a reassurance that everything was alright. That he was dreaming. That maybe the dullness of repetition had caused his imagination to become too active to the point that he had conjured up a girl in dark robes with a sword in her hands and a monster to slay. He scoffs at himself. Some dream. Still, the sight of colors for the first time leaves a painful pang in his chest.

He doesn’t really care, he tells himself. Nobody really needs color, anyway.

(He wakes up with a jolt to violet eyes and a family that knows nothing about a monster from the previous night. There’s an ocean of emotions roiling inside him, but he keeps his mouth shut and simply tells his father and his sisters that his class would be starting soon.)

Grey The rough hilt of her sword – wait, it’s not hers anymore, it’s his – feels heavy in his palm. What’s worse is that he hasn’t even unsheathed the stupid thing yet. He grits his teeth, looking onward as the boy trips on his shoelaces, leaving him defenseless in the path of the charging monster.

Since that fateful night, she’d been everywhere, his school or his home, as she kept insisting that he take over her duties since she was “still too injured to even try to fight, I mean, what the hell were you thinking when you did that?” It was embarrassing, how his friends would fawn about how quickly he’d fallen for the new transfer student (what strings she pulled, he doesn’t even want to know) or how his father would tearfully rejoice about how he’d finally have grandkids (whatever that was supposed to mean).

Three days later found them both on the school balcony, his hands in his pockets and her hands on a phone.

“I told you, I’ll be damned if I ever fought something like that again!”

“That’s absurd. Three nights ago, you fought magnificently!” He shrugged his shoulders. To be honest, he can’t even recall what truly happened the moment after he’d helped her plunge her sword into his chest. All he remembers is how it felt like liquid power had flowed into his veins, helping him wield the weapon in his hands as if he’d done it a thousand times before. And then. . .

Darkness.

“I only did it because my family was attacked.” He looked away, hands fidgeting. I’m not even sure if I’m still dreaming right now. “Not to be cruel, but I don’t think I could fight for total strangers.” He was a son and a brother, and sometimes he was a friend. But he wasn’t much apart from that.

“How –” The air around them chilled to a horrific rate. Violet eyes firmly met his own as the bloodcurdling roar of a monster pierced the air. Again? No way. . .

She quickly turned on her heel, head bowed and shoulders hunched as she sought out the creature’s trail. “Let’s go.”

For some reason, he didn’t argue.

“Hey, did you hear me?!” Her voice cuts through his reverie. He hasn’t seen it yet, but he’s pretty sure his hands are raw and red from how tightly he’s gripping the hilt of the sword. As soon as they’d come to the park, a little boy had burst from the trees running, a monster in hot pursuit. He was just about ready to slay it himself until, until –

She had stayed his hand.

“Stop!”

He whips his head towards her, enraged. “What?”

“Why should you save this boy?”

. . .What?

“Why should you save him? This child is a total stranger, right?” The hilt feels as if it would break any second in his grip.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He raises his voice, acid in his words as he practically shouts at her. There’s a bitter taste behind his tongue as he finally unsheathes his sword, order or no order. “That doesn’t mean I can’t just not save him! Not when he’s being attacked right in front of me!” He can feel it now, a strange fire in the pit of his stomach that’s rising faster than he can tell, spreading to his limbs and filling it with the desire to protect. His feet shift as he prepares to raise his sword. . .

One.

Two.

“Don’t you dare be selfish!”

All the air is knocked from his lungs in a single, crucial moment. He freezes.

Selfish?

“You should be fair to everyone!” In a haze, he could hear the boy’s cries as the latter struggles to get up, still out of range of the monster’s reach, and maybe it’s the stupid soul bond that they have, but his feet refuse to move no matter how much he wills them to despite knowing that every second he stays here listening to her is wasted –

Stop it!

“Do you think this work is that convenient for you? You wanted power to protect your family, and I gave that to you. Wanting to save only those you can reach, only those you can see. . .now that you have the means to protect, do you think you can do that?!” There’s barely a few meters between the boy and the creature now, and he knows for sure that if he doesn’t step in right now goddamnit –

“Don’t save that boy!”

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“If you do, then be prepared to save everyone that needs your help! Be prepared to save them even if it means sacrificing yourself!” The fire is no longer just a fire now, it’s an inferno that’s engulfing him entirely and it’s furious and . . . and . . .

And in one graceful move, he leaps, slashing cleanly through the monster’s face before landing right next to the frightened boy. The monster bounds away, wounded, but he’s seen enough now to know that it would take one more strike to end it all. And try as he might, he can’t help but see the impressed glint in her eyes when he raises his face.

“So. . .are you ready?”

He twists his wrist resolutely, the sharp edge facing him as his reflection gleams on the blade. It dawns on him then, how stupid that question was. How stupid he was, because the answer to all her questions were as clear as the fire that was consuming him.

“I sure as hell ain’t!”

“. . .what?”

There’s that same, blazing determination in his eyes as he soldiers on, oblivious to her stunned gasp. “What makes you any different?” He turns his back to her, ready for the killing strike. End this now. “The other night, you risked your neck to save me. Were you thinking about your duty, then? Or did you do it because you wanted to do it as a person?” He encourages that fire, basks in its warmth. “If I’m doing this, it’s because I want to, not because it’s a damn job!” He breaks into a sprint before swinging down the sword in a final, deadly arc of metallic grey, the ripping sound of steel cutting into flesh echoing in the air.

The monster falls, then melts away into ashes.

He breathes once. Twice.

“I’m going home. See you tomorrow.”

(She was three things today.

She was right – he should be ready to save those who would need him. She was also wrong – it wasn’t because it was his duty, at least not just because of that, but because he wanted to save. But most of all, she was a spark. She’d awakened something within him, something he’d always felt inside of him but never truly acknowledged in a mundane world that made it difficult to care. The desire to speak for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. The desire to fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

He may not be much, but today, he is three things too. He is a son and a brother. Now, he is also a protector.)

Orange Somehow, she’s wormed her way into his life, he thinks as they watch the sunset together. It shouldn’t be at all that surprising, really. In school, she’s a classmate. At home, she’s a neighbor. (She’s managed to rent out a room in the small but decent building right across the street from him. If anybody thinks about how curious it was that she was almost never seen without him and he was never really anywhere without her, they don’t say anything.) In the battlefield, she’s a mentor. But to him, personally. . .

What was she? He leans against the railings of the school balcony and looks on as the sun sets the sky ablaze, brilliant shades of pink, red, and orange painting the world in a masterpiece that he didn’t know was possible. That’s all it takes to push his mind back to several weeks ago, when he’d unearthed an unbelievable strength within himself. A fire.

He flexes his fingers, calloused now and uncomfortable without the hilt of a sword in its grasp. It’s been weeks too, since he’d first seen the likes of her, since he’d first held a sword in his hand, and since he’d first slain a monster.

You know how your life changes, but nobody really sees it? How different it is now, but how it feels like you were meant to do this the entire time?

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t turned himself in yet – to the hospital or the police, whichever. Were they both losing their minds? Did shared delusions actually exist? His family had no idea they were about to die that night, while news reports stated that it was a large truck that had rammed into their house that caused all that damage. The boy in the park – a supposed eyewitness swore that it was a freak explosion caused by nearby gas pipes. “It was pure luck that these two were there when it happened. God knows I wasn’t fast enough to get to that kid.”

(Although a few days after the incident, they both found the little boy again in the park, this time with his mother. It didn’t take very long for the boy to run up to him and whisper in his ear.

“Thanks for making the monster go away, mister.”)

His gaze gravitates toward her as she sits serenely on a stone stairway. And then there’s the whole soulmate bond to worry about.

“Hey.”

(“Where’d you say you were from, again?”

“Far away from here. Trust me, the commute isn’t something you’re going to enjoy.”

“. . .fair enough.” Silence. “Are there other. . .you know. . .” He trails off, the thought still too ridiculous to actually voice aloud.

She hums in response. “Mmhmm.” There’s a beat. He waits.

“Well?”

She huffs in annoyance. “You’re really nosy, you know that?” Still she stretches her arms, crossing them behind her head before leaning on them. “Everyone’s like me. Where I’m from, that is.” She raises her eyebrows as if to end the discussion. “Is that good enough for you?”

This time, it’s his turn to huff. “Fine, fine, I get it. Mysterious girl with a sword and all that. Don’t want to ruin your image.”

She laughs at that, and that warmth that radiates from the center of his chest quirks his lips into a soft smile.)

“What?”

He pauses, drinking her in as the most dazzling bursts of color bathe her entirely. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Could she see it too?

There’s too many things he wants to say all at once, all of them fighting for the way out, but the one thing he says is this:

“Let’s go home.”

She smiles.

“Ok.”

Blue It’s way too early for this bullshit, he thinks as he slices through another monster. Today, the clear afternoon sky is peaceful, and the scene in front of him is anything but.

It was a good thing everyone had cleared out before the real fight had begun. Five down, one more to go.

“Behind you!” He hears rather than sees the giant claw headed right for him, dashing out of the way just as it lands with a heavy thud on the spot he’d stood on a split second before. Opening – strike through left arm. He springs to the side, turning at the last second before cutting through the monster’s left arm. There’s red everywhere. With both hands on the hilt and all the strength he could muster, he thrusts the blade as deeply as he could into the monster’s belly, uncaring of the way it squirms futilely or of the blood that splatters on his face and clothing.

Pathetic.

Serves you right.

The creature wails one last pitiful scream as it disintegrates into a pile of dust. Satisfied, he takes one steady step in her direction . . . right before his knees give in and he surrenders to exhaustion.

“No!”

Damn it. That was a lot more difficult than he thought it would be. He could feel her small hands trying desperately to block the flow of blood from the gash on his arm, and despite his best efforts, he sneers. He was barely the problem here.

“Don’t,” he mumbles, the ground before him giving way to his blade as he throws his weight against it. “Just don’t. Please.”

Her hands falter.

Bloodlust.

They both knew how close he was to losing her today. In a strange reversal of events, she’d found herself on the opposite end of the monster’s rampaging path, weaponless and vulnerable. She’d been all too ready to go down fighting – he’d seen it in her eyes – and the cold, suffocating fear that squeezed around his heart told him he couldn’t bear to let that happen. The red had seeped into his vision without him knowing it, as he hacked and slit and cleaved with no care at all, not even when sharp fangs snapped at his arm with a sickening crunch. No logic, no pain. Simply the basic instinct to kill.

His hand trembles on the hilt of his sword.

“Why?” she whispers, her voice thick with disbelief. Sadness too, he thinks.

“Because. . .” Because we’re comrades, because we’re soulmates, because even if you barreled into my life without any warning, I don’t think I could stand to see you die.

“Because you’re my friend,” he says. “You’re my friend,” he repeats, and he doesn’t know if he imagines the flicker of disappointment that crosses her face. (He doesn’t know, either, if he repeated himself for her sake or for his.)

He looks up.

The clear afternoon sky coaxes his thoughts into words.

“I don’t think I could stand to see you die.”

She says nothing, choosing instead to wrap his arm around her neck and her arm on his waist to shoulder his weight.

(This time, he doesn’t imagine how tight her grip on his hip is nor the caress of her thumb on his hand. He definitely doesn’t imagine how she whispers those same words back to him when she thought he wasn’t listening.)

Green He takes her to a field just outside of the city, random clusters of trees dotting rolling fields that stretched out as far as the eye could see. It’s so tranquil and pleasant, in fact, that he falls right onto the picnic blanket the first chance that he gets. “Quiet, isn’t it?”

She sighs contentedly in agreement. It’s been a week since the last attack, and more than a few days since the term ended. It was then that he’d announced, loudly and almost irritatingly, that a break was in order. And so he’d arranged it with his father and his sisters, who had all been too welcoming of the fact that his new “friend” would be joining them. (He staunchly ignores whatever suggestive winks or nudges are thrown his way.) And in any case, future attacks would be dealt with using the sword carefully concealed in his duffel bag.

It would give them time to rest. And probably to settle whatever it was between them.

“Don’t run off too far.” He says, eyes closing as he lazes in the gentle warmth of the sun.

He vaguely registers her retort that she wasn’t a child despite her height, and really, was this warmth coming from the sun or from the inside of his chest?

He closes his eyes.

It's only moments later when a shadow falls on his face, and he grunts in mild annoyance, compelled to look for the offending stranger. “. . . hmm?”

It’s her. She plops down beside him, with neither a word nor regards for personal space, and hides her face in his chest. “Don’t say anything, you idiot. I’m cold and tired, that’s all. Let me sleep.”

He rolls his eyes in pure and utter doubt. Cold and tired. It’s summer, dummy. And you slept a solid twelve hours the night before. The corners of his lips turn up in a small smile. Yeah, right.

It doesn’t stop him from lightly hooking his arm around her waist, just so that she wouldn’t fall off.

She doesn’t stop him, either.

Maybe they don’t have to do anything to settle it.

(He catches her in the kitchen of their rented cottage, his duffel bag open on the table. The shouts of his father and sisters could still reach them here, even as they chose to enjoy the bursts of cool summer air longer.

“Were you talking to someone?”

She scrunches her eyebrows. “What do you mean? I was here by myself.”

“. . . sorry. Guess I was hearing things.”

She sighs exasperatedly, but he knows her enough to hear the undertones of fondness in that single breath. “Tch. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He doesn’t bring up the fact that she’d answered a beat too late.)

White He wakes up with a start, limbs flailing around and head almost becoming cordial with the shiny wooden floor of his bedroom. Strange. This is the first time in months that he’s done that, the most recent one occurring right after she’d come into his life.

He’d awoken because he’d felt cold and clammy – no, that wasn’t even the best way to describe it. Unpleasant, but not entirely painful. More like . . . like . . .

Like something important had left, and he was here grasping at straws, desperate to fill that gaping hole. He scratches his neck and yawns, debating whether or not he should go back to sleep when his eyes flit lazily to where his sword was propped. Or, rather, to where it should have been propped.

No.

He runs.

“Please, let me in!” He bangs his fist relentlessly against the metal gate of the house where she was staying. Or used to stay. It doesn’t take long for the owner to show up – an old lady in her sixties wearing a pale nightgown.

“Wait a second kid, geez, want me to call the cops on you?” Her annoyance is clear as she peers at him sullenly through a small hole in the gate.

“Oh.” Her tone turns soft, and he doesn’t know if that should relieve or scare him. “It’s you.”

“She left in a hurry, you know. Wouldn’t tell me why.” The landlady unlocks the door on the far right of the second floor. “She told me to let you in here as soon as you came by.” The sound of a key being dropped on a table is heavy in his ears. “Paid a good price for the room, so I didn’t pry. Lock up when you’re done.”

“Thank you.”

There isn’t much left, just a folded piece of paper sitting on the bed that used to be hers.

He sits quietly, clutching the paper with trembling hands, until he unfolds it gently, smoothing out the creases.

Hey.

By the time you read this, I’ll have gone back to where I came from. I can already see the gears cranking in your head so my answer is this.

NO.

Don’t follow me there. I wasn’t kidding when I said the commute wasn’t something you’d enjoy. Also, you should stop thinking because you’ll hurt yourself if you keep doing that.

He scoffs, but he doesn’t deny the wry smile that spreads across his lips. I can’t believe you still have the guts to make fun of me right now.

I’ll cut to the chase. I wasn’t supposed to stay here long. At least, I wasn’t supposed to stay here and . . .

He could see the dark ink blot from where she’d scratched the lines over again and again, as if she couldn’t find the words to write down.

. . . get attached.

His heart sputters, pumping suddenly in a staccato beat.

No acquaintances, no friends. No one. An in-and-out job, if you will. But I got distracted. I wasn’t fast enough, and the rest is history.

“But you were,” he murmurs. “You were fast enough to save me.”

Those monsters may not be like anything in this world, but they’re like animals in a lot of ways. For one, they don’t go where they sense danger. So if you’re worried about that, then don’t be. No one of them would be stupid enough to come here after how many you’ve killed.

As for me . . . in some ways, I’m like those monsters too. In which way, I think you could already figure it out. I’ve already said it anyway. But fair enough, I’ll say it again.

They don’t go where they sense danger.

You don’t know how relieved I was when I realized that I could hold my sword again. I was strong enough to fight, but what was there left to fight when you’ve already finished them all? In this case, I was strong enough to go back home. I was strong enough to leave. You’ve already finished my mission here anyway.

But I was scared. And I don’t know which scared me more. Leaving or staying.

Because I heard you the first night I saw you. You said you could see the color of my eyes.

I didn’t tell you that I could see yours too.

That’s all it takes to knock the wind right out of him again.

Because of her. It’s always been because of her.

I know I told you not to come looking for me, but I know we’ll meet again. Because there’s a bond between us now that can twist and turn, but wouldn’t be broken. Because we’re soulmates. Don’t look so surprised, I can be poetic when I want to be. The language classes in your school aren’t so bad either.

This wasn’t the best way for me to say it, but we don’t always get what we want. Sometimes, we have to sacrifice things. I’ve told you that once, remember?

We’ll see each other again. Until then, she’s yours. Keep her safe.

Her? He shakes his head wildly, sweeping the entirety of the room until his gaze zooms in on a familiar outline in the corner of the room.

Right. His sword – no, not his. Hers.

He gives it a small, experimental swing before falling back on the bed.

He breathes once. Twice. And then he decides.

He’ll wait.

(It’s there that he realizes just how strong she’s helped him become.)

He’ll wait not just because their souls are fated, not just because he doesn’t want to be alone when he’s already found her.

He’ll wait, because no matter how long it will take, no matter how painful it could be, she’s taught him how to overcome it. Taught him about the strength he possessed, taught him how to use it, taught him how to wield it better than any blade he could ever hold.

She’d helped him realize who he was, how he stood out in this world of clockwork and routine.

A protector.

The colors he sees are muted now, their vibrancy slipping away as quickly as she’d left.

If his will was any weaker, he would’ve wondered if this was any way to live. Seeing in black and white would be better than this. Much less painful too.

Could I keep up with the speed of the world without you in it?

He will. He has too.

For her.

And for everyone who needs him.

Since then, he’s known three things. One thing is this – everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate. The second is this – sometimes, soulmates don’t always stay. The last and the third is something he learns a little bit later on, and it is this – that soulmates always, always come back.

Author's Note: This was honestly supposed to have a different ending. Supposedly, the characters of Byakuya and Renji would come to take her away, just as in the original story. However, I wasn't sure how to translate that here as Rukia's character doesn't outright mention where she comes from. (Also, I was pressed for time as this was a requirement.) Still, I'm quite proud of this story, but I do still plan on changing the ending to one that I feel would be better for it. (Also, posting this because I want to compare it to the future version.) Thank you so much for reading.

There are several soundtracks that helped me write some scenes. All of these music belongs to the Bleach OST (in part because they may have already been the music to the episode the scene was based on). Red was influenced by On the Precipice of Defeat, while Orange and Green were influenced by both Going Home and Peaceful Afternoon.