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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
M/M

Fandom:
Bleach

Relationship:
Hitsugaya Toushirou/Kurosaki Ichigo

Characters:
Hitsugaya Toushirou, Kurosaki Ichigo
Additional Tags:
light TYBW spoilers, Poor Self Care, Hurt/Comfort,
canon sort of compliant, don't quote me

Language:
English
Stats:
Published: 2021-01-26 Words: 3,079 Chapters:
1/1 Comments: 5 Kudos: 107 Bookmarks: 21
Hits: 993

Blind
All_time_low3st
Summary:
(TYBW spoilers)

In the precious few days between

Ywach's first attack on the Sereitei and
when the Sternritter return with the
Bankai they stole, Toshiro falters and
Ichigo helps him stand back up.

Notes:
Me? Writing rare pair bleach fanfic in
2020?
More likely than you'd think.

"You look like shit." Toshiro looks up, rubbing at his eyes,
trying to make the three Ichigo's standing in his doorway
merge back into one.

"Surely you have better things to do than insult me." He

absolutely does not have the time nor patience for
distractions or useless conversations, which seems to be
most of what follows Kurosaki around. In about ten
minutes he'll probably have a Kenpachi shaped hole in
his wall if he doesn't get Kurosaki out of here before the
directionally challenged Captain and Lieutenant manage
to sniff Ichigo out.

"See, it'd be fine if you only looked like shit. But you feel
like shit too. Your spiritual pressure is in the toilet."
Toshiro presses his palms into his eyes, letting his pen
clatter on the desktop. His head is pounding, his brain
doing somersaults against his skull, the pressure pulsing
behind his eyes.

"Astute observation. You can go now." He hears

footsteps, the soft drag of socks against flooring, but
they aren't heading out, they're heading in. Fabric rustles
as Kurosaki presumably sits down in front of the desk.
Toshiro drops his hands, blinking rapidly several times to
get his eyes to clear and leveling a glare at the substitute
soul reaper. "Did I imagine speaking or did you just
choose not to hear it?"

"Chose not to hear it. I have selective hearing when it

comes to friends digging early graves for themselves."
Toshiro rests his chin on his hands, huffing to get his hair
out of his eyes. He needs to trim it, he just hasn't had
the time. Or the skill.

"Say what you want so I can get back to work." Kurosaki

leans back, putting his hands behind his head and tipping
the chair back on its rear two legs.

"So if I stall you'll be forced to take a break?" Toshiro is

fairly certain the vein in his head is about to pop and
spray blood everywhere.

"If you stall I'll stick you in an ice cube and do my work
anyway." The lax look on Kurosaki's face wipes away, his
eyebrows lowering and his jaw setting at a sharp angle.
He looks older than the last time Toshiro remembers
seeing him.

"You look about five minutes from passing out against

the desk. Your spiritual pressure is about this much," the
substitute pinches his fingers in front of his eye,
squinting at the minuscule space between them. "more
than mine when I lost my powers. What the hell have
you been doing?"

"Training." He spits, leaning over the desk and into

Kurosaki's face. "We're at war. There's no time to be
laying around growing moss on our sandals."

"Training. Yeah. Cause that often tanks you. When was

the last time you ate? Or slept? Or did anything but sit in
this office or hide in that cave?" Toshiro narrows his
eyes, his teeth snapping together. Kurosaki has no way
he would know where Toshiro trains on his own, so that
means someone is meddling. Someone that is probably
his suspiciously absent lieutenant. She acts like she
doesn't have a care in the world, that she doesn't notice
anything, but he's seen it. The keenness in her blue eyes
when she picks up on something, even if she doesn't say
anything. It's why he can get so damn frustrated with
her when she acts stupid and lazy. Because he knows
she's not. He knows what she's capable of when she
doesn't goof off. When she isn't exceedingly intoxicated,
though he is beginning to see the allure of drinking. After
everything they've seen recently, everything they've
been through.

He wonders if it would help him sleep through the

hollowness he feels right now.

He's not sure there's any amount of alcohol anywhere

that could fill that hole.

"I'm preparing. In case you've forgotten, I don't have my

bankai anymore. Half of my abilities I cannot do like this,
I have to fill in that gap somehow. And paperwork
doesn't wait for wars to end." Toshiro picks back up his
pen, only to have Kurosaki smack it out of his loose
grasp, the metal clamoring on the wood once more. "If
you don't want frostbite, get out."

"I don't even think you could hold me right now Toshiro."
Ichigo actually isn't one hundred percent confident in
that assumption, but he's confident enough. Confident
enough to risk it versus risking what might happen if he
walks away now. He doesn't know why Toshiro would
listen to him when he's apparently not listening to
anyone else, but he's not above trying. He does care
about Toshiro. That's why he's here.

"I get that your bankai being gone sucks, but

realistically, what the hell are you gonna do if they attack
right now? You'll be killed before you have half a chance
to use whatever skills you've been working on. You've
got to take a damn break."

"And if all I have is a shikai and half assed Kido I'm also
dead. Thank you for the revelations."

"Do you have to be an ass when someone is trying to

help you?" Kurosaki snaps back, leaning until his elbows
rest on the edge of the mahogany desk, brown eyes
staring into Toshiro's green ones.

"You're not helping, you're distracting." Brown eyes

narrow and the taller man stands, making the captain
almost breath a sigh of relief, until he doesn't leave,
invading further into Toshiro's space when he slips
behind the desk and wraps his long fingers around
Toshiro's thin bicep and pulling him up, practically
yanking him against the wall of his chest.

"You're even lighter than I guessed," Kurosaki murmurs

as he drags Toshiro out from behind the desk, either not
noticing or not commenting when the captain pinches his
eyes shut and his feet catch on each other for a moment
as dizziness overtakes his head, stars exploding behind
his eyelids like fireworks, the world shifting on his axis.
"And clumsier."

"Because a big oaf is dragging me out of my chair."

Toshiro doesn't bat him away though, his balance slightly
too precarious and his energy too low to get into an
actual fistfight with the substitute. "Where are we even
going?"

"Somewhere with a damn bed."

"At least take me to dinner first." Toshiro quips, bobbing

along as he's dragged down the hallway, head lulling
slightly as he jostles and turns. He probably looks about
like Matsumoto does on her second bottle of sake. Except
he's entirely sober. Of alcohol anyway. what he is, is
very, very tired. But he's loathe to admit that.

"Oh I plan to. When was the last time you ate?"

"An hour ago."

"Tea isn't food." Toshiro mumbles something even he

isn't sure what he actually says, perhaps just a series of
defiant nonsensical syllables, but he retorts nonetheless,
claiming the last word for himself. "Tea isn't even a good
drink. Especially not since you drink it black."

"Drinking it with as much sugar as you do makes it a

desert not anything else. Certainly not worth having."
Toshiro stumbles when his sock catches on a splinter in
the flooring, his whole head spinning with the jarring
motion. At least it's the end of his workweek. Matsumoto
is on for the next two days, bar emergencies, he should
be able to sleep.

He just needs to finish those papers...

"Come on Kurosaki, just let me finish my work."

"Sorry short stack. No dice. I was supposed to drag you

out of their hours ago." Supposed to. He doesn't know
why that makes his heart ache, but it does. To know he's
really just here for some obligation, not any individual
concern. He shouldn't care. He doesn't care.

The words are as empty as his damn stomach.

"Who's your boss then."

Who made you waste your time to come drag me out of

the office.

They finally reach Toshiro's quarters, his home for all

intents and purposes and Kurosaki shoulders open the
door and drags Toshiro inside. "Put on pajamas. I'm
going to make something with calories and fat. You're
too skinny." Toshiro nods, though half of the words were
just static. Just mumbling. Noise in his ears. He huffs,
pushing his hair out of his eye, though it falls right back
into place, tickling his eyelashes and threatening to
scratch his cornea.

He shuffles into the bathroom, bracing himself subtly on

the door when he walks through. He just needs to sleep.
Then he'll be fine. Kurosaki and everyone who is involved
in this stupid intervention are just paranoid.

He hangs his haori on the hook in the closet and starts

shucking his robes, dropping them in piles on the ground
and reaching for a simple yukata to wrap loosely around
his frame. It hangs slightly short on his arms, a marker
of the little bit he has managed to grow, but it also hangs
loose on his shoulders, the sash looping more than he
remembered it doing last time he wore it.

He's fine.

He has to be fine.

"You have almost no food in here man. What the hell do

you eat?" Kurosaki's voice rings out from the kitchen and
Toshiro's eyes fly open, not even having realized when he
closed them.

He tugs the ends of his hair into a short tie at the base of
his neck, the strands puffing out but not stuck to his skin
anymore. "I don't eat here much." Mostly, he goes into
the office early. Half the days Matsumoto drags him out
to breakfast, the other half he does morning brief over
his squad members while they're munching on bagels.

Toshiro flops onto the couch in the living area, pressing

his fingertips into his temples and leaning forward on his
knees. He hears Kurosaki approach, but he doesn't look
up. HIs arms feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, his
head ten times that.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm being a pain, but Tosh, we're all
worried about you. Rangiku has been by the house ten
times in the last month, talking about you, even Momo
made her way down. I thought maybe they were
exaggerating, but now you're scaring the shit out of me
too."

The couch dips beside him.

"I don't really know why they thought I was the best one
to send in, we don't even know each other that well,"
Kurosaki shifts and chuckles dryly, his nervousness
showing through even though Toshiro doesn't actually
look at him.

"I'm fine. I was going to sleep soon anyway." Probably at

his desk, on top of his work, but that's neither here nor
there.

"You aren't. You look like I could snap your forearm like a
toothpick and a breeze could knock you over. I don't
know what kind of training you've been doing, but you're
spiritual pressure is barely hanging on."

"If you're going to talk my ear off, at least wait until

morning." It's not like he hasn't heard all this before.

The one thing he hasn't heard...

A warm hand wraps around his wrist and tugs it away

from his face, touches under his chin and tilts his head
up.

"Eat. Then we'll talk about how for a genius you're acting
like an idiot." Toshiro rolls his eyes, eyes fluttering when
it causes some more dizziness. He's handed a small plate
of something and he doesn't even look at it before he
starts munching on it, his stomach coming alive when
the first bite hits it.

Shit.

"Fine. You had one point," Toshiro mumbles as he very

gracelessly shovels the food in his mouth. It is a mixture
of nauseating and relieving, finally eating, and he's not
sure which sensation is winning, but he can't stop tossing
it all back.

He still doesn't taste it, it barely chewing really, the

shadow of dread for tomorrow hanging over them like a
noose.

"They've been worried about you much longer than just

since Ywach showed up," Ichigo says softly and Toshiro
can feel eyes on him even if he doesn't turn to meet
them. He can feel the scrutiny, the judgement. He bets
Kurosaki is thinking he isn't a good captain either. That
he's not suited for it. Making his own men worry about
him... just validates everything he knows people have
thought of him since the beginning. They've all made
their opinions of him painfully clear, even if they haven't
meant to do it cruelly. Jushiro treats him like a child,
Kyoraku acts like he can't defend himself and it always
sticking up for him, Mayuri doesn't miss a chance to dog
Toshiro's performance or idea, Soi fon, well she doesn't
even pretend she likes him and Kenpachi scoffs every
time they cross paths. Byakuya hasn't really done much
this way or that, but Toshiro is sure he wasn't in support
of Toshiro's promotion back in the day. It's not like he's
done anything since to prove he has a right to wear his
haori.

The only one who seemed to legitimately support him

was Aizen... and they all know how that turned out. He
was mocking all of them the entire time.

"What happened anyway? When-when I got there, things

were already bad.." Ichigo laughs, but it's in a way that's
dark and haunted, lacking any actual amusement. "I
thought half you guys were dead before I got there... I
thought I was too late. You and Byakuya, you scared the
shit out me man."

Toshiro sets the half eaten food down, grateful that at

least some of the dizziness has subsided, though an
oppressive weight has settled in where it was, making it
exceedingly hard each time he blinks to make his eyes
open again. It makes it hard to think too, his brain firing
slowly, fighting each half conclusion he tries to jump to.

"Whatever you're trying to do, you're a team. All of you.

That's what the 13 court guard squads is right? You have
a whole squad of people to help you if you'd let them."
Ichigo's hand falls heavy on his shoulder for a moment,
squeezing him tightly, a shuddered exhale blowing the
loose strands that have fallen out of Toshiro's ponytail.
"I'd help. If you'd let me."

"Why do you care?" It's meant to be rude, as near all

things Toshiro says are, but it doesn't come out with the
bite he meant. Instead it comes out strangely vulnerable
sounding, lacking the authority of his captaincy, his hard
shell cracked open and betraying his youth and his
insecurity.

Ichigo laughs again, but it's nervous this time. He

wonders if laughing is something he does when he's
uncomfortable. So far Toshiro is pretty sure he hasn't
heard the substitute genuinely laugh. He bets it sounds
nice.

The laugh that follows is genuine, bright and clear and

perhaps a little excessive, but Toshiro finds he doesn't
actually mind that the volume is a little too loud for so
close to his ear.

"You know I'm almost tempted to keep you awake and

see what else you say," Ichigo nudges Toshiro, preparing
to force the younger (older?) boy into bed, standing with
his hand outstretched, Toshiro's poor balance something
Ichigo didn't miss. "Come on. Get some rest and I'll help
you tomorrow. Okay Toshiro?"

Toshiro sighs, rolling his eyes and regretting it

immediately as it makes his entire head feel like it's
spinning.

"It's Captain Hitsugaya, Ichigo." He chastises, but it, like

his other comments tonight, lack their usual heat.

"You're about to be Captain princess if you don't come

on," Ichigo threatens and Toshiro stands, slightly
steadier, though he doesn't protest taking Ichigo's hand,
warm in his own, rough like his.

"Pick me up and I'll kill you." He grumbles, letting

himself be dragged to bed. The fact that he makes it with
only a stubbed toe and a bumped shoulder is probably a
miracle, but right now he's just pissed off by it. When the
hell did the hallway get so narrow anyway?

"Did dad ever tuck you in?" Ichigo asks and Toshiro just
manages to send a withering glare his way.

"I'm not a child." He hisses, slinking down into his futon

and stretching out, the blankets stuck around his feet
until Ichigo unfurls them and drapes them over his
shoulders. "How'd you find out about that anyway." He
mumbles, eyes cracking open when he feels Ichigo's
weight settle at the foot of the bed, annoyance making
his brow twitch. "I don't need a damn sitter."

"Just gonna make sure you stay in the bed." Ichigo holds
up his hands as if in surrender, but he doesn't move.

"At least sit up here instead of down there like a voyeur."

"Who taught the baby grown up words!" Ichigo snarks

back, mock offense coloring his tone. Toshiro doesn't
even register he'd closed his eyes again until he hears
the shuffling instead of seeing Ichigo moving around.
"After Aizen, when he told me he was a soul reaper, and
I saw his haori, I asked. It was a long shot, but I knew
his division was yours. Renji said people switch squads a
lot, but he told me about you and Rangiku. That he
missed you both."

If Ichigo ever were to bring up this moment in the

future, Toshiro would deny it wholeheartedly. He'd deny
that he'd rolled over, curled into himself and felt his chest
devolve into shudders, hushed tears slipping down his
cheeks, his hands clasped together over his chest.

He protests his age being a problem anytime it's brought

up, but in truth, he was young. He still is. He was a child
when he was under Isshin and though he'd never ever
say it out loud, the man was like a father. He made
Toshiro feel like he belonged somewhere. He made him
feel less like an abandoned and unwanted boy and- and
he just left. He left Toshiro and Rangiku without a word.
Toshiro knew he was alive, only because it came up in
the meeting to discuss returning Ichigo's powers.
Because he felt him that night, even if they didn't speak.

Isshin made Toshiro feel like he mattered. Until he didn't.

Until he was just another person that left him.

It's an agonizing relief to hear he wasn't forgotten.

He'll protest that being held by Ichigo ever happened.

More than that, he'll deny until he's blue in the face how
nice it felt, even to himself.

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