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Renji stood in the bustling kitchen of the shōten feeling very in the way. Every time he settled against a counter, someone would need something from the cabinets behind him. He’d have to scoot over only to have to do it again and again.
Ostensibly, he’d come in to offer to help peel a vegetable or find the forks or something, but everyone already had a part to play in what was clearly a well-orchestrated event. Ururu set the dishes on the low table looking miserable as always. Jinta found drinks for everyone, stopping to scowl at Renji as he set each place. Tessai was humming happily again as he cooked something amazing smelling, and Urahara seemed to be sniffing all the various jars in the fridge differentiating pickles from experiments.
All Renji could do was keep shuffling out of everyone’s way.
Finally, when Renji ended up accidentally elbowing one of Urahara’s jars and something leaped out it and scurried under the floorboards with a squeak of freedom, Urahara directed Renji to sit at the table. Grouchily muttering about years of modifications lost, Urahara pulled a wadded up collection of papers from his pocket and thrust them at Renji. At Renji’s curious look, Urahara supplied, “More ghost mail.”
“Oh, thanks. Hey, sorry about your, um, thingie—“
“Just read and stay absolutely still,” Urahara admonished. Pulling a butterfly net from the utensil drawer, he crouched on the floor and starting singing a lullaby.
As fascinating as Urahara’s behavior was, Renji turned his attention to the papers in his hand. He used his finger to break the Kuchiki seal and opened up the letter.
“Dearest Renji,
I had the most unusual dinner this evening with Captains Ukitake and Kyōraku. My aunt finally revealed her hand a little. It seems she’s in possession of some spirit record she believes to be yours. I have no idea how this can be possible or what it has to do with her ‘proof’ of our relationship, but she continues to smirk about it like the cat that swallowed the canary. As you well know, my aunt is the single most infuriating person to whom I’ve the misfortune to be related.
The Third Seat approached me privately wanting his position back.”
“Jeez, Taicho, I hope you didn’t give it to the bastard,” Renji said to the letter. As it didn’t respond, he read on:
“I made an extremely generous offer for his silence which he refused. It was a terribly curious thing. I wish you’d been at my side. You’re far better at reading people like him than I.”
Renji grunted. He appreciated the sentiment, but he wondered at the subtext. People like him? Greedy? Stubborn? Because Renji was damn sure Miisho was born inside the Seireitei. He only used to tell Renji about it every other opportunity. With a shrug, Renji kept reading.
“The Division received a letter addressed to you that I took the liberty of opening. I’m glad I did, as it’s from the Second in regards to your brother. I’ve enclosed it for you.”
Renji shuffled through the pages until he found the pasque flower letterhead of the Second Division. He scanned the official letter with a sinking heart. Fuck, what had that stupid boy done to get his ass sent up to solitary? And, the price they wanted for Seichi’s new digs was outrageous! Cripes, did they think Renji was made of ken? With the amount he owed for the tattoos, Urahara’s fees, and now this, he was operating in the blood-fucking-red. With a heavy sigh, he returned to Byakuya’s news.
“Please don’t trouble yourself over this. It’s my extreme honor to support your family in your absence. When you return we can discuss repayment if you insist, but I do this for you, not as a charity, but as an expression of my support and love.
I plan to visit your brother in the morning to make sure he’s being well treated. Rest assured I will consider him as one of my own.”
Renji stopped for a moment and re-read that last line about six times. Finally, he looked up and caught Tessai’s eye by chance, as the big guy was bringing food to the table. “One of his own, he says,” Renji repeated, dazed, and pointing at the line in the letter. “You don’t think he really means that, do you? It’s just a figure of speech, right? I mean Seichi’s just an Inuzuri mutt, like me.”
Urahara stood up from where he’d been crouching in the corner. He’d netted something glittering and black with far too many legs. Urahara rocked the net like a cradle and the creature trapped inside seemed to be snoring peacefully. “I doubt Byakuya Kuchiki ever says anything he doesn’t mean.”
Renji shook his head, “I don’t know, man. Two weeks ago the difference between us was class, and now he’s talking about treating my brother like kin.”
Urahara gently set his captive back in its plastic container marked ‘Blob’ or maybe ‘Bob,’ Renji couldn’t quite parse it before Urahara stuck it back into the fridge. “You have a brother?”
“Yeah,” Renji said. “I thought he was dead like the rest of ‘em, but he managed to survive a century in prison only to get caught again, the stupid fool.”
Tessai’s thick eyebrows rose over square glasses. It suddenly occurred to Renji that maybe it was unusual to be so casual about having dead and/or incarcerated siblings. He felt his face flush when he realized everyone in the shōten was giving him wide, vaguely horrified eyes.
“I meant, uh…” Renji muttered trying to hide behind his papers. “Yeah, I have a brother.”
“What the hell? Is your whole family a bunch of thugs?” Jinta wanted to know, as he came to take his seat at the table. “I knew you had too many tattoos.”
“Wha…? Too many?” Renji sputtered. That was a thing?
“Who tattoos their face?” Jinta grumped, “And their neck. That’s hard core, dude. Did you get those in prison?”
“Ah, now! We try not to judge things that might be magical,” Urahara said in a light admonishment to Jinta as he took his seat as well. He started putting some kind of beef and potato stir-fry onto the plates of the children. Urahara glanced at Renji before handing over the serving ladle to Tessai, “Besides, I’m sure if Lieutenant Abarai or his family committed crimes, it was in response to the inequities of the Soul Society or some other equally valid reason.”
Renji tried to figure exactly what kind situational ethics Urahara lived by, but gave up. “Sure, I guess. Seichi went down on a garbage run. Technically, it was a charge of being out of district, but we were all just trying to find enough to eat. Me… well, it always came down to food and not having any.”
And idiot relatives, but Renji kept that part to himself. Tessai passed the food bowl and ladle to Renji. Tucking Byakuya’s letter under his plate, Renji took it. The smells wafting up were so scrumptiously savory Renji had a hard time not dumping the remainder onto his plate and scraping the sides with the spoon.
“You should get a tear drop next,” Jinta said, pointing to where it should go with his chopstick and almost poked out his own eye. “It’s a prison thing, I hear.”
“I was never in prison, you annoying little...” Renji started, but at the implied glare of doom behind Tessai’s glasses made him weakly finish, “person.”
Ururu patted Renji’s arm and gave him a morose look of… sympathy?
“Anyway, I believe that’s an American gangster tradition, which none of us know anything about, am I right, young man?” Urahara asked with a pointed look at Jinta, who just shrugged and muttered something about a TV show. Urahara shook his head and sighed, “You try to raise them right…”
In a little shop of soul horrors, Renji thought, but didn’t say. After Tessai said a word of blessing, Renji dug in. He tried not to gobble his food as the conversation turned to other matters like Jinta’s baseball obsession, Ururu’s health and recovery, and an opera Tessai hoped to attend. The conversation got heated when they all discussed something the entire family seemed to have read. They seemed to have such fun arguing their points that Renji wondered what it would take to get in on their little book club.
Far too soon Renji’s plate was empty and he stared longingly at the remains of the stir fry. He’ left most of the pickles untouched because he noticed some came from a container that had been marked ‘Alice’ and then crossed out. Urahara had eaten them, but… well, ‘Alice.’ Rest in peace, little radish girl.
Being mostly left out of the conversation, Renji pulled Byakuya’s letter out from under his plate and read the rest.
“I miss you most at times like this, when the day is done, and I’m alone, my thoughts in a jumble. I’m not sure I realized how much I count on you to be my sounding board, my touchstone.
Lying in bed without you is torture. So much so that I find I even long for those ridiculous noises you made all night long and the way you crowded my side of the bed.
But I leave your space open every night. There will always be a Renji-shaped emptiness beside me and in my heart until you return.
Yours,
Byakuya”
The last letter had been sexy-cute, but this one was incredibly romantic and made Renji’s heart go pitter-pat in an entirely new way. Renji thought maybe this whole courting thing might be working for him a little bit.
When Renji tucked the letter back under the plate, he noticed everyone around the table was smiling soppily at him. When they nodded encouragingly, he realized they were all just mirroring his own goofy expression. Heat tipped his ears.
“Good note from the boyfriend, huh?” Jinta actually smiled, but then he stuck his tongue out and made a gross smoochy face.
Just when he started to like the kid, too.
“Yeah, it was alright,” Renji gruffed. When everyone continued to look at him expectantly, he said looked around for a different subject, and his eyes lit on the remainder of the stir fry. Since no one had claimed it, he helped himself, “This was a really excellent meal. Can I help clean up or something?”
“Nah, you just sit there,” Jinta said, and muttered something about a freeloaders.
“Ururu will get tea,” Urahara said. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about…”
The shift was palatable. “Oh?”
“Mr. Sado is in need of training.”
“What? What’s that got to do with me?” Renji had a very bad feeling he was starting one of those conversations with Urahara that he couldn’t win.
#
Soi Fon didn’t seem pleased to see Byakuya at her office first thing in the morning, despite the overly-effusive greeting the Second’s Lieutenant Ōmaeda had given him. But, he knew she’d appreciate it, if he skipped the pleasantries and got right to the point. He didn’t even bother to sit and simply announced, “I’m here to see Abarai. I would like to be certain of his new accommodations.”
Her narrow face pinched up. “Why?”
“He’s my lieutenant’s brother and I’m paying for his room and board. If he can have better arrangements, I’d like it to be done immediately.”
She studied him for a long time in that clever, scrutinizing way she had. “It’s not up to me what happens to him,” she said dismissively. “You can take it up with the civilian warden. Ōmaeda will show you to him.”
#
The civilian warden smiled and bowed graciously when he greeted Byakuya. He had a warm, youthful face and short-cropped blond hair. He wore the standard uniform of the shinigami with only the barest modification in that he wore a green armband that seemed to indicate his special position as warden. His zanpakutō stood out, too, as it had almost neon blue bindings, a color he’d chosen to burnish the sheath with, as well.
He’d introduced himself as Aikira Aomori, the cheerful alliteration of which, instantly irritated Byakuya for some reason. Still, Byakuya tried to set those impressions aside to focus on the matter at hand.
Once they were ushered inside and all the introductions finished and Ōmaeda had left, Aomori said, “Captain Kuchiki, this is quite an honor! I trust you and your family are recovering after the recent unpleasantness?”
Oh bother. He’d have to engage in small talk first. Byakuya took in a deep breath, as he settled into seiza across from Aomori’s desk in the meager office, “Yes, thank you. My sister feels well enough that she’s already on assignment in the World of the Living. Similarly, Captain Unohana has assured me that the last of Ichimaru’s poison has left my system some time ago.”
“Excellent. So, what can I help you with today, sir?” he asked, with incessant good cheer. It was an odd demeanor for a man in charge of a prison. Byakuya thought a warden should be dour, or at least no-nonsense like Soi Fon. But, she seemed to prefer to surround herself with plucky, happy people.
“Seichi Abarai,” Byakuya explained. “I have assumed financial responsibility for him in the absence of his brother, my lieutenant. If it is feasible, I would prefer to have his accommodations better reflect his status as kin to a high-ranking officer of the Sixth. Also, given his recent trouble, I should like to see how he’s getting on.”
Aomori nodded along, but his smile faltered. “Oh, well, you don’t ask for much, do you?”
Byakuya had no response to that other than disagreement. It didn’t seem like too much to expect, at all. In fact, Byakuya stood up. “I have time now. You may show me to Abarai. We can discuss the upgrade to his situation on the way.”
Aomori continued to sit, unmoving for several seconds, but then seemed to make some kind of internal decision. With a nod, he stood, “Right. It might be easier to explain things when you see him, anyway.”
“Explain? What’s there to explain?” Byakuya asked as Aomori slid open the door for them, and motioned to two guards at the end of the hallway to follow them.
“We had to move him to the Maggot’s Nest.”
Byakuya tried not to express as much shock as he felt. “I thought the Maggot’s Nest was only for those with shinigami level reiatsu.”
They moved deeper into the Division. Large atriums shrank to wide corridors, corridors to hallways. Each getting smaller and narrower with every turn like some kind of visual puzzle game.
Aomori chuckled, glancing over his shoulder a he led the way, he explained, “Abarai had a, shall we say, explosive power surge last week. He blew his restraining manacle off and accidentally blasted a kidō hole in the barracks’ wall.”
“Accidental kidō? Sounds like an Abarai, all right,” Byakuya mused dryly. “But how did this happen? How could someone from Inuzuri who has spent most of his life behind bars have learned Hadō 31 or some other kidō spell?”
“Spells are a highly tradable commodity Inside. They’re perfect prison currency because there’s nothing tangible for us to seize.”
The hallways were little more than dark passageways now, and people passing had to press against the wall to let Byakuya pass.
“But why trade at all?” Byakuya asked. “Kidō is currency with no value, if one lacks the reiatsu to back up the spells.”
“Yeah, you’d think,” Aomori agreed, leading them down a flight of stairs to an even more cramped and claustrophobic passage. Now, even the two guards behind Byakuya were forced to walk single file. The place began to smell of dank underground, and bare electric blubs flickered in overhead cages. “Yet, there’re several groups that will give up ridiculous amounts of other things to possess certain chants and gestures. The only thing I can figure it that the knowledge gives the owner a sense of power.”
“But a power they cannot wield,” Byakuya noted “… Except when they suddenly can. Is it typical for a prisoner to have—what did you call it?—a surge?”
“More than I’d like to admit,” Aomori said, stopping in front of a barred door. He made a series of raps, knocks, and taps that seemed to constitute some kind of code. “We have to make enough regular transfers to the Nest that I have my own special block for civilians. Abarai was moved to of the solitary cells. I didn’t want to risk putting him in with the general population given his surname.”
“Because of Renji’s reputation? Is he feared by the criminal element?” Byakuya wondered.
“Some,” Aomori acknowledged, “But, more that people might think he’d make a good hostage.”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
Someone approached from the other side of barred door. Byakuya could just make out a long shadow as it moved closer. Finally, Byakuya could see a woman carrying a lantern. She had the demeanor Byakuya would have expected of someone in charge of a prison: her thin mouth was set in a grim line, and her brow seemed perpetually creased in a scowling frown. Her hair was steel gray and cut short. Though thin and reedy, she carried herself with confidence and authority.
Peering out between the bars, black eyes glared judgingly at them, beady and sharp like a crow’s. “Well, well…. Captain Kuchiki,” she said with a wicked sort interest, “I never thought I’d see the likes of you at my door.” But, then she took in Senbonzakura and seemed… disappointed, “Alas, only a visit! I shall have to savor the moment nonetheless. Ah well, all well.” She tapped a finger against her lip, “But, hmmmm…. let me guess, you must be interested in the Abarai.”
“I am,” Byakuya informed her.
The door opened. Byakuya almost expected it to creak on hinges like something from legend, but it hissed mechanically instead, and disappeared into a hidden slot in the wall.
She clucked her tongue and made clutching motions with her hands at Senbonzakura, like she wanted to take the zanpakutō from Byakuya but didn’t dare.
“Those souls aren’t normally allowed,” she reminded him, while standing just a little too close and staring a bit too possessively at Senbonzakura for Byakuya’s comfort. He held his ground as she seemed to sniff around him. Just when he felt he might actually need to take a step back to preserve his dignity, she shrugged and gestured that they follow her. “But we’re going through the secret tunnels and won’t come near the general population. I suppose an exception can be made. Though, you’ll have to keep this brief. After a while my poor dears can start to smell a nearby zanpakutō and crave it like meat on a bone.”
Byakuya nodded, “We are in agreement. This visit will be as short as possible.”
“Ooooh,” she turned to smile at Byakuya, as she led the way, “A smart man to be uncomfortable here.”
Byakuya considered denying it, but it was true enough. The second they stepped over the threshold into the Maggot’s Nest proper, the nearness of the sekkiseki caused Byakuya’s spiritual pressure to restrict suddenly, an unnerving sensation not unlike a full-body ear-pop. Even more disorienting, Senbonzakura seemed to suddenly snuggle closer, and sang soft songs of childhood comfort.
The Maggot’s Nest’s warden watched Byakuya with a widening smile and a knowing nod. “Wise, too, to cling to your master,” she said as though speaking directly to Senbonzakura. “Should he come here under the usual circumstances, you would have your own special prison.”
“Zanpakutō are not destroyed?” Byakuya asked, curious, despite himself.
She hissed at him, “Captain! What do you think we are? We guard the monsters, but aren’t monsters ourselves! Besides, we haven’t the power to do such a thing, even if we wanted to. And, we don’t want, do we? That’s a completely different kind of hell to be severed in half… I’m not sure a soul could truly survive it, do you?”
Byakuya remembered the horrifying moments of silence when Ichigo Kurosaki shattered Senbonzakura. As if on its own accord, Byakuya’s hand fell to the scabbard to squeeze it protectively. “No,” he agreed. “No one could.”
The walls around them lost their definition and seemed even more cave-like. Byakuya had to duck under overhanging rock formations, and squeeze through crevasses. There was an echoing dripping sound in the distance, and the walls seemed covered in condensation. At last, they came to a ladder. The woman scurried up it, and opened a cleverly hidden hatch overhead.
They climbed up and out into a supply room, crates and boxes lined the walls. The Maggot’s Nest warden led them on, through a more industrial space. Now Byakuya had to watch for overhead sewage pipes and other such obstacles. If anything, the sensation of being cramped was worse. Every sound seemed to echo with unnatural loudness as well.
Finally, the passageway opened into a dark hall lined with rows of cells, all empty save at the far end where Byakuya could see two pale, dirty hands clutching at the bars. “What’s going on?” a voice demanded. At the thundering sound of many feet, the hands jumped away suddenly, and Byakuya could hear a frightened whisper of, “Fuck me. Execution.”
By the time they stood in front of the cell, Seichi had pressed himself into the corner, battered and bruised fists raised as though he intended to fight them, despite his cowering posture. When his nervous, jittering gaze took in the white haori and Senbonzakura, his hands dropped in defeat.
“Okay,” he said. “At least make it clean and quick.”
At some point Seichi had lost Renji’s bandana, as the tattoo ‘dog’ was visible in the middle of his forehead. His dirty blond mop of braids and dreads stuck up in every direction. Byakuya wondered if spiky, thick, uncontrollable hair was some kind of male Abarai attribute. Perhaps so, and maybe along with it came that fierce, murderous look, which Byakuya had seen in Renji’s eyes far too often.
Though unlike his brother, Seichi was a small and miserable person, thin-boned and gaunt. “I’m not here to kill you, Seichi Abarai,” Byakuya said. “I came on behalf of your brother to make sure you’re well.”
“What?” Seichi glanced at the group of them--the two guards, the civilian warden, the Maggot’s Nest warden and Byakuya—in complete disbelief. “Are you joking? You came here to see if I’m okay? I’m not okay. Does this look like an okay life to you?”
Byakuya had to admit it didn’t. There didn’t even seem to be a toilet beyond a drain in the floor in the corner opposite from the one in which Seichi slumped. Dressed in little more than the rags he’d been wearing when they’d caught him, the fabric was stained with all manner of filth. Barefoot and unwashed, he very much resembled the animal his tattoo declared him to be.
Turning to the Aomori, Byakuya said, “He needs a bath. You will arrange it. And what is my money paying for, if not new clothing? Could he also not be allowed bedding of some fashion? Are there not more humane accommodations?”
“Your money?” Seichi asked, stepping out from the corner slightly.
Byakuya opened his mouth to explain, when the Nest’s warden cooed, “You want your little doggie kept like a prince?”
Even though it was not truly directed at him, Byakuya felt himself stiffen at the dog comment. “Any why not? Where would you keep me, if I came to such a fate?”
She chuckled. “You, dear Captain, would commit seppuku, very honorably, no doubt. But since you asked, I’d love to throw you in with the general population. It’d be fun, my dears would love to get their hands on someone like you. But, alas! I suppose you’d get that tower room we’ve been clearly saving for someone special.”
“Excellent,” Byakuya said, considering the matter settled. “You can move Abarai there as soon as he’s bathed.”
Even though he heard the beginnings of protest, Byakuya began to turn away. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he caught Seichi lifting his hand, as though wishing to ask a question.
“Uh, hello?” Siechi asked, “Who are you even? And why are you haggling over me like I’m your property all of a sudden?”
Swinging back around, Byakuya said, “You know full well who I am. I’m Byakuya Kuchiki, Captain of the Sixth Division, and, as I told you, I’m here as a representative of your brother’s interests.”
“I thought Renji told me I could fuck myself if I’d killed his people. Ain’t they your people too?”
Byakuya pursed his lips and regarded Seichi for a long time. Clearly, he was being intentionally provocative. Why this belligerence? Did he not want help? However, Byakuya wasn’t interested in playing games. “Is that a confession?”
“No,” Seichi said firmly. At the same time, he tapped two fingers against the left side of his jaw in a way that seemed deliberate, though he turned it into a chin scratch.
Could it be hand cant? Was Seichi hoping Byakuya could interpret the secret sign? And, if so, what could it possibly mean? Perhaps, he’d simply have to ask. Byakuya turned his attention to his entourage. “Would be possible for Abarai and myself to have a moment of privacy?”
“No,” said Aomori said, just as the Nest’s warden said, “Okay.”
The two wardens glanced at each other for a second. But, Aomori nodded to the Nest’s warden, and she said, “You can have ten minutes. We’ll only go as far as the end of the hall.”
“Acceptable,” Byakuya nodded.
They moved away. The Maggot’s Nest warden kept glancing over her shoulder at Byakuya and muttering about noble privilege.
Coming out from his corner another step, Seichi watched the retreating shinigami. Then, he turned a wary eye at Byakuya. Positioning himself so that his back was to where the wardens and their guard settled, Seichi made several other quick motions with his hand.
Byakuya watched them carefully, but their meaning was far from obvious. Byakuya shook his head, hoping to convey his lack of understanding rather than a negative to any question that may have been posed.
“But, he’s okay, right?” Seichi said as though continuing a conversation in progress, “Renji?”
“He’s on assignment in the World of the Living,” Byakuya said. “At the moment, I believe there’s peace and he is well.”
“You sent him to the front lines? Ugh. Of course you did. That’s the way it always is, isn’t it?” He paced the confines of his cell, back and forth, like a tiger in a cage. Though with his hair and size, he reminded Byakuya more of a hedgehog—a very angry, anxious hedgehog. Seichi stopped for a moment and looked at Byakuya, his eyes focused on the kenseikan. “When he’s dead, what happens to me?”
“His name isn’t protecting you now,” Byakuya pointed out.
Seichi laughed. “You don’t think so? I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m here. And I bet you ain’t paying for nobody else.”
“No one else in my Division has family in jail,” Byakuya said. “Perhaps if they did, I would. You are Renji’s brother, therefore I do it for you.”
Going back to pacing, Seichi shook his head, “If you want to get me something, why don’t you buy me something useful like food. God, I’d kill for anything. A bit of rice, that can’t cost much can it? How about some flavored water, even? Or whatever you didn’t eat at breakfast,” He stopped to clutch at his stomach for a second, and then held up his hands for Byakuya to see. The skin around his fingernails was bloody. “I’m so fucking hungry I’ve been eating my own skin. Fuck it, I ate my own shit when it first came out. But, now there’s so much empty in my stomach, nothing comes out or I’d eat that too.”
Byakuya’s own stomach turned at the thought.
Not monsters? Wasn’t that what the Nest’s Warden had scolded Byakuya with, yet they let such atrocity happen? Yet, intellectually, Byakuya understood why Seichi wasn’t being fed. The food would be instantly converted to power, and he’d already proved himself a danger to himself and others.
Still, this was unconscionable. It should not be allowed to go on. Byakuya had a thought: “If you’re not guilty, you could be rehabilitated. You could be sent to Academy--“
“No,” Seichi said firmly. “I already got dog on my face thanks to you lot, I ain’t going to be no dog of the military!”
Byakuya had to fight to keep his frustration down. “Then I have no sympathy for you. I will make your physical surroundings as comfortable as I can. Your fate is your own.”
Finished with this infuriating and upsetting conversation Byakuya turned away. He’d started a step down the hall when Seichi said, “You keep saying that like you really mean it, like it’s true.”
Byakuya paused, but didn’t bother turning around, “What?”
“That Renji’s my brother.”
Now Byakuya had to see Seichi’s face, so he turned slightly, “Is he not?”
“He’s kin, but not blood. You know we’s just dogs that found each other, right?”
Byakuya turned his back to Seichi once more, “You’re a bigger fool that I thought, if you imagine that either Renji or myself measure family by blood.” So many other words fought to be expressed at this moment that Byakuya found, instead, none of them to be adequate. Taking in a deep breath, he let them go. Byakuya lifted his head, “Renji gave you his name, a name he worked very hard to make something of. I suggest you consider living up to it.”