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Chained to an Escapist	By : Lances Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2565 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I know this is an unusual pairing... but I can't help myself for trying it out.
Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine, nor do I make any profit from writing this filth. I wish Gin was mine, though... ;)
Warnings: Nothing of consequence just yet, but in future, there'll be violence and male/male action. (As if you couldn't already guess.)
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Chained to an Escapist
by Lances
CHAPTER 2: Soukyoku
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Shades of a cloudless new morning assaulted the sky, orange and grey and just generally too bright to the liking of one Ichimaru Gin. Sitting by the window, watching the last traces of darkness disappear into the faraway horizon, the blond-haired prisoner lazily batted his eyelashes and silently counted the hours between his life and his death.
They were not many. If there was one thing Gin was confident about, it was that Kuchiki Byakuya would never want to spare the life of a man that had so viciously insulted his family. That man had pride in his veins just as much as Gin did, if not vastly more - and he was also known to be resentful.
Gin stared out the window, watching the rapidly progressing sunrise. He narrowed his eyes as the blazing sparks of dawn flooded over the rooftops and the streets, making them shine with a beautiful, golden hue. He had been sitting in that very same position ever since his guests had left last night, and he was stiff, numb and tired. He didn't feel any particular kind of agitation about his quickly approaching assassination anymore; during the long hours of the night, he had somehow managed to completely detach himself from the concept of death. He no longer feared it; he was like a fatigued, paralyzed spirit in somebody else's body, grasping the idea of what he should be feeling on a certain level, yet unable to produce any of those feelings.

Is it spring, is it summer? I see flowers, they are bent.
Did it rain in the autumn? Did it snow in the end?
The words of the hollow song echoed in Gin's subconscious, some of them hitting a nerve deep inside that had yet to die. Ulquiorra Schiffer had been a melancholy boy who had hated Gin with all the apathy and disinterest he could muster, yet for some reason he had not minded Gin listening to his songs. Those songs had comforted the lonely shinigami captain in the world he did not belong to, keeping him relatively sane even as his mind was being continuously raped, corrupted and consumed by Aizen.
Sane in the sense of not being completely off the rocker, that is. After all, Gin had never, not even in his youth, been properly introduced to the normal concept of sanity.
One hundred and some dozens of years ago, Ichimaru Gin had been a child. But he had been very ugly from birth, and as long as he could remember, people had hated him. His eyes, naturally twisting in meagre slits, had enhanced the slyness of his sharp features - and people had avoided him, both from disgust and fear and maybe even something else. Gin's childhood years had been filled with loneliness and he had grown bitter; his only comfort had been the fact that he had not, at least, been weak. People could not walk over him, no matter how much they sometimes had wanted to. His miserable life had gradually molded him into a fearsome soldier, and he had found mometary satisfaction in knowing that he was insurmountable in his power.
That is, before he had met Aizen.
Gin hugged himself in the coldness of the tower, still feeling those same creeps running down his spine that had been there the day he had first looked into Aizen Sousuke's eyes. He did not remember what Aizen had said to him that day; his on-and-off amnesia had allowed him to forget; but he remembered how he had felt. And that feeling had been the ultimate reason as to why he had decided to follow Aizen to whatever end: he had felt accepted. He had felt wanted. Aizen Sousuke had come to him, not the other way around. Aizen had accepted him the way he was, and had acknowledged his power. And, for someone like Ichimaru Gin, that had been more than enough.
However... Gin should not forget there had been one person even before Aizen. That person, a young, pretty Rukongai girl, starving to death in the wintry streets of some numberless district... With a honey-coloured hair and large blue eyes that were so innocent but still tortured. Intrigued by something about her, Gin had saved her from certain death - and received his first-ever friend.
Why had he abandoned that friend? Why had he allowed Aizen's greed to consume him? If there was one thing Gin truly regretted in his life, it was throwing away Matsumoto Rangiku's friendship.
Gin let out a sigh and placed a cold finger against the rocky wall below the window. These memories... Why was he re-living them now? It was insane to dwell in the past. Soon, he would have no past, much like he would not have a future. Not even Rangiku-chan would sacrifice her life and career just to save someone like him if there was no legal way to do it. No-one would sacrifice anything for Ichimaru Gin, the traitor. He was not a good person like Kuchiki Rukia; there would be no Kurosaki Ichigo to save him in the last moment from the Flame Bird of Soukyoku. Gin was not that important to anyone. Rangiku-chan had done what she could, searching for a way to spare his life using legal methods, but it had not been enough. It had not been nearly enough, if she truly wanted him to live. But did she? Gin shook his head; it didn't matter either way. She could not save him, and he could not blame her. The only one responsible for this mess was he, and he alone. It was not in Rangiku-chan's power to save him. Especially not when he needed saving from himself the most.

Drip... Drip... Drip... You hate the melting snow.
Your eyes are still frozen, but your tears will still flow.
Shivering with both mental and physical cold, Gin continued to stare at the sunrise that promised a hot day. He did not cry; he couldn't. He didn't remember the time he had last cried. He had emptied his tears too many moons ago to be able to even bring up the memory. And how could he cry in the first place, when he did not feel sadness? When he did not feel pain? When he did not feel anything but numbness?
He closed his eyes, the image of Seireitei bathing in the morning fire burning against his lids. And he gave up. In the silence of the tower, as the moments passed by, Ichimaru Gin sunk deeper and deeper into his own world, leaving this world behind. He was a tired, forsaken soul in a body that should have been his but belonged to someone else, someone who had already passed away from this world - and his mind was now going to follow.
He was outside, chained from wrists and ankles, the familiar, red leather collar of condamned prisoners belted around his slender neck even tighter than before. Adding to the general discomfort, the air was hot, almost too hot to breathe, and he felt both thirsty and dizzy. Already considerably weakened by his long imprisonment, he found it nearly impossible to stand on his feet in the overpowering heat. But he was still walking, walking towards the Soukyoku, as he was not given the chance to fall down on his knees.
Dust rose from the ground, stinging his eyes and making him want to cough, but he did not yield to its crude demand. Instead, he bit harshly down on his lip and, by so doing, chased away the threat of vertigo. What a time to snap out of his otherworldly stupor and come back to reality! He was just in time to see his own death. It was a trick of the cruelest irony, but Gin was prepared to deal with it nonetheless. He couldn't have remained in his mind's prison forever, anyway, because that mind would soon cease to exist.
Gin straightened his back and raised his chin up higher.
He still had pride enough to keep himself from falling apart, damn it.
Surrounded by ten masked escorts clad in white, he arrived on top of the mountain. As he looked around, his knees nearly buckled once more; the pressure of several, excessively hostile reiatsus whirling like an invisible thunderstorm around him hit him hard. But he refused to go down. He kept himself stubbornly on his feet, even though he was slightly swaying. There was no way he would give these people the pleasure of seeing him beaten, snivelling on the ground and begging for mercy that would never be granted.
Soifon-taichou probably saw how much he was struggling, though, and Gin was a little surprised when she rapidly approached him and cast a strong deflecting barrier around him. It was immediately easier to breathe, in spite of the agonizingly tight collar that still circled his neck, and Gin could not help giving the small woman a look of wonder and gratitude - even if she totally ignored it.
After regaining some of his strenght, Gin took a careful look around. All of the remaining captains of Gotei 13 were present except that of the 11th, Zaraki Kenpachi, who probably hadn�t bothered to show up since there would not be any excessive bloodshed or good fighting taking place. The majority of the fukutaichous had made their appearance, too; the most fervent-looking of them was Momo Hinamori from Aizen's late 5th Division. She looked half crazy, throwing poisoned daggers at Gin with her maniacally glinting eyes. Giving the woman his usual smile that always managed to infuriate people, Gin turned his attention to the rest of the crowd.
In addition to the captains and vice-captains, more than a few other curious faces were lingering in the background. However, their faces were nearly unrecognizable in the blinding brightness of the cloudless day - the darkness of the tower had made his eyes weak against the sun - and Gin soon gave up the attempt of finding out who they were. He would soon be dead, anyway, so there was no point in trying to memorize this moment. In fact... It would probably be best not to think about anything at all.
Yet his mind could not rest until he had met the eyes of the man who held the cards of his life in his hand: Kuchiki Byakuya. Gin searched around and easily located the dark-haired noble among the other captains. He cracked his eyes open a little more than usual and the wind instantly caught up with him, blowing hard enough to make his aquamarine depths gleam with involuntary wetness. Kami-sama - Gin wished nobody thought he was crying, because he was not. Although...
He might as well have been.
Kuchiki Byakuya met his gaze. It was not for a long moment - hardly even for a fraction of a second - but it was so hostile that even Gin, who was used to being looked at with hostility, felt cowed. It felt like the ground below was opening up with a loud crack and swallowing him whole. Those unfeeling, insanely dark eyes bored into the very core of his soul. If there had been a small spark of hope left in his heart, it now died; Gin had lost the game. He would die today. He would die, step through the gates of Hell and be resurrected into a sulphur-filled pitch of eternal agony.
�Attention, please!� Captain-commander Yamamoto�s strong voice boomed in the wind, alerting everyone. �We have gathered here today to witness the execution of one Ichimaru Gin, the former 3rd Division Captain of Gotei 13.�
The crowd was silent, if not for Hinamori-fukutaichou, who looked pleased and even clapped her hands. Yamamoto looked disapproving as he began to read the list of the various charges put against Gin, thankfully describing each of his offenses in relatively short detail. Nevertheless, Gin bowed his head, feeling slightly confused as he still didn't quite understand what he had done so very wrong. Yes, he had rebelled against the rules of Soul Society - but that was because the place had been completely rotten from the inside and needed to be purified. Gin believed this, even now. Wasn't it unfair to judge someone for their beliefs?
A whisper in the night, too weak to fight the storm.
A fate that belongs to no-one, never lives until the morn.
A song of a hollow, this is what you hear
Drip... drip... drip... It is not the water...
It's your own, re-awakened fear.
The wind tousled his long silvery hair, whipping it around his face, and he finally felt the first signs of pure horror spreading like poison in his veins. He was truly going to die, and it was going to be a painful death; Soukyoku's fire was said to be more agonizing than anything else that had ever existed in any of the four dimensions and between - Hell included. As if on cue, Soifon-taichou lifted the reflective barrier and let Gin feel the anger, the pure hatred surrounding him, willing his heart to stop beating. Unable to keep himself up any longer, Gin gave up and broke down. Knees hitting the sandy ground, shackles clattering behind his back, the legendary bastard Ichimaru Gin literally crumbled. The gates to his heart flew wide open and he was, after a long period of obscure numbness, finally able to feel. And oh, how intensively did he feel it! Every single cell in his body suddenly screamed with deep agony and sorrow. It was pain, it was sheer torturous pain. Bittersweet, long-lost, somehow even desired pain, mixed with the salty taste of disappointment, a hope that had been quenched even before it had fully been born.
Kuchiki Byakuya had not wanted him.
The Captain-Commander's voice echoed through the rush of reiatsu, his words hardly making any sense to Gin. Yet again, he found the simple act of breathing difficult; he realized he was hyperventilating. He struggled to get his act together for a while but finally, to his own horror, tears began to well in his eyes and he was forced to give in. On his knees before this crowd of people who had always hated him, and whom he had hated in return, he cried. And he feared. He could not even begin to describe all the feelings that were going through him in this fleeting moment in time, but none of them were pleasant.
Well... except for maybe one.
Gin felt an unexpected jolt of happiness as he realized that his last memory from this world would not be cruel, but beautiful: a small flower was crying with him. Under the blurry gaze of his eyes, a lonely, almost dead Chinese Bellflower dropped a sky blue petal next to his fallen tears.
Gin closed his eyes and smiled.
"Head of the Kuchiki house, please step forth."
The words did not immediately register, but when they did, Gin's tender smile dropped as fast as his former fukutaichou Kira usually did after a bottle of beer. Slowly, ever so slowly, Gin raised his eyes as he felt the familiar reiatsu of Captain Kuchiki approach him. The man moved quietly like some kind of an elf, and almost as delicately as a woman; it was fucking frightening. But Kuchiki-taichou had always been like that, cold and aloof - and weirdly feminine in his grace, despite he was, to Gin's best knowledge, completely heterosexual. Hell, the man had had a wife, once; he could not be gay. No matter how much it sometimes looked like he was.
Gin shook his head, confused as to why he was thinking about Kuchiki Byakuya's sexual orientation (or the apparent lack of it since the aforementioned wife's death) in this serious situation.
Kuchiki-taichou stood next to Yamamoto-chotaichou, looking utterly cold and composed as far as Gin could see. The wind was still biting and hot, and the air was rippling; Gin didn't like to keep his eyes open, because they were swollen and they hurt.
�Keiyaku Dorei Seido."
Squinting in the direction of the chotaichou, Gin saw Yamamoto produce a familiar-looking paper from the folds of his robes and hold it high in his wrinkled hands, presenting it to the dazed crowd to see.
"A contract of slavery."
Yamamoto's words were met with absolute silence; only the wind continued its melancholy howling undisturbed. Gin, now shaking all over, stared at the ground. The rocky terrain felt hard and uncomfortable under his bony knees, but he did not move. Pale brown dust swayed around him like a suffocating veil, burning his lungs as he breathed it in, but he did not move.
He did not dare.
"This contract has been made between the defendant, Ichimaru Gin, and the noble Kuchiki family late last night. According to its terms, Ichimaru Gin shall be, from this day on, the property of Captain Kuchiki Byakuya, the 28th head of the Kuchiki house. He will enter the house as a slave and will be serving his new master and owner humbly and dutifully for the rest of his life."
Gin looked up, puffy red eyes partly hidden behind the veil of his tangled hair, and looked at Byakuya. The noble had a look of solemn disinterest on his face, his hand calmly resting on the hilt of his zanpakutou. Gin shivered: Kuchiki Byakuya owned him now. Was the man going to cut off his head now that he had the legal right? Surely not; didn't the terms clearly state that Kuchiki was not allowed to kill him? That's what Soifon had said, wasn't it? Then again... Gin couldn't be sure. After all, it wasn't like he'd actually read the contract yesterday.
"But what about the execution?" came a confused question from the surrounding crowd.
Gin swallowed, even though his throat was as dry as Tousen-taichou's sense of humour. Apparently, the hostile eruption Gin had waited earlier came now.
"There will be no execution taking place today."
"WHAT? What do you mean he won�t he be executed?" It was Momo Hinamori, almost sounding like a wild animal in her anger. She looked outright crazy, her knuckles white around the hilt of her zanpakutou. "I want to see him dead! DEAD!"
A shower of dirt rained upon Gin, but he was far too distraught to shelter himself from it. Besides, his arms were bound behind his back, anyway, so there wasn't much he could've done in the first place.
"DEAD! DIE! YOU TRAITOR!" Hinamori was shouting in her rage, picking up a new fistful of sand.
Both Yamamoto and Kuchiki-taichou's reiatsu levels flared up and Gin, wincing with the additional pain, guessed they were rather displeased with the way a mere fukutaichou, and a lousy one at that, dared to oppose the will of the chotaichou and embarrass herself like this.
�Restrain yourself, vice-captain Momo,� Gin heard Byakuya drawl with a voice that might have frozen oceans.
"I have restrained myself long enough! That man doesn't deserve to live!"
Another shower of dirt came Gin's way. This time, however, it was blocked by a sudden swirl of what looked like a cloud of pale pink cherry blossoms.
�Allow me to enlighten you about the details of this contract, Momo-fukutaichou," Byakuya continued with a deathly touch in his words. �Ichimaru Gin belongs to me now. You will not touch him, talk to him, or throw dirt at him, without asking me first.�
Hinamori took a couple of involuntary steps back under Byakuya's famous death glare. �Why? Why are you protecting him?� she yelled, looking both furious and devastated at the same time. �He�s a traitor! He betrayed Seireitei! He betrayed us! He�s the man who ruined our lives!"
Agreeing murmurs came from some of the spectators, and Gin felt dizzy and nauseous. Panting in shallow breaths in the middle of the cherry blossoms that were actually Senbonzakura�s blades, Gin fought to concentrate on what was happening around him. He was well aware of the general tension still growing exponentially in the crowd, even though the glowing petals of Byakuya�s shikai effectively drowned most of the agitated voices.
�Dear fellow shinigami; there is no need to concern yourselves over these new arrangements,� Yamamoto-chotaichou interfered, trying to calm down the atmosphere. �Kuchiki-taichou will undoubtedly keep Ichimaru Gin under the strictest discipline imaginable, and no harm will come out of this deal.�
As if on cue, Senbonzakura�s blades drew back, slicing Gin�s face as they returned to their master. Everyone fell silent again, watching the blood dance in the air; they waited for a reaction. But Gin did not react at all. He felt the blood spurt out of the numerous gashes on his face, the red droplets flying all around him, but he did not even flinch. Because he was looking at a pair of cold, dark eyes that were daring him to let out so much as a sound.
�It is a special occasion, my dear shinigami friends," continued the chotaichou with a flair, his words sounding ridiculously bombastic in Gin's ears. "A contract like this hasn't been made here in over four hundred years. The law is old, yes, but it has never been annulled. Personally, I think it would be both wise and recommendable if the other captains gave Kuchiki-taichou their full support on this unusual and no doubt complicated situation. It would be...� the old man sighed, closing his eyes �...a step closer to that seamless collaboration we so desperately need to learn. The war against Aizen showed us many things, but most importantly it showed us how easily our society can fall when we do not trust each other. It is our top priority to mend that weak point. And in order to do that, we must learn mutual understanding."
The sun was scorching now, and Gin wondered how long he would still be able to fight the intensifying dizziness. If he didn't faint from excruciating thirst combined with the apparent blood-loss soon, he surely would faint from an overdose of hostile reiatsus. Whichever came first.
�It is for the benefit of this dream that Ichimaru Gin will not be executed today," Yamamoto sighed, his voice now quieting down. Then he slowly raised his staff and pointed at Gin with it. "The sight of this man will always remind you of the days that were filled with darkness and death, thus reminding you of the dire need to cooperate. And before you know it, this man has become the epitome of your shared strength - not that of your never-ending hatred and pain.�
A few captains now openly agreed with the chotaichou, as far as Gin could observe through his blood-soaked vision. It had been a fine speech. Scratch that � it had been a ridiculous speech and everybody knew that, but nobody dared to gainsay the old war-horse.
"Kuchiki-taichou, you are free to take your slave and go home. You are given a week's leave from work to get acquainted with the new situation, and to train your slave. Abarai-fukutaichou shall take the lead in the 6th Division in your absence. This meeting is now adjourned."
Smiling and crying at the same time, Gin dearly welcomed the blackness that chose that very moment to cloud his vision.
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TBC...
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Chained to an Escapist