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I Can't Do It Alone	By : ZackaryAndersonJ Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2096 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any recognizable characters, artistic inventions, etcetera. Tite Kubo drew and wrote it, Viz Media published and licensed it. I make no money from writing this fanfiction. Any lyrics posted do not belong to me.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER 7EVEN: THE GHOST OF YOU
The Ghost of You belongs to My Chemical Romance.

Ever get the feeling that you're never

All alone and I remember now

At the top of my lungs in my arms she dies

She dies

At the end of the world

Or the last thing I see

You are

Never coming home

Never coming home

Could I? Should I?

And all the things that you never ever told me

And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

Never coming home

Never coming home

Could I? Should I?

And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me

For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

            Ichigo sat on the couch and rubbed his aching belly with his good hand. Mr. Kuchiki and Bya-ya-chan, maybe Uncle Kisuke and Renji, were on their way over. Hopefully his uncle brought candies again; he was really hungry! He wanted to go and try to wake him momma up again, but he didn’t for two reasons. He was told not to get off the couch until they got there, and he didn’t want to wake her up and have her be mad at her again…
            The orange haired child coughed and shivered for a few seconds. His shoulder started twitching and his breathing increased heavily. Was he having another daymare? His parents, Bya-ya-chan, or Mr. Kuchiki were always with him when he ha one, but the Kuchiki’s were what seemed to Ichigo as an hour away, daddy was at Gamma and Gampa’s, and momma was asleep and angry at him. He felt his muscles tense up, the beginning stages of his daymares, and he let out a cry of fear.
            The daymares that Ichigo suffered from were apparently forms of withdrawal. At first the doctors believed that he had epilepsy, but the medication for it was ineffective. The seizures were harmless to an extent; all he had to worry about was getting bruised up or concussed as he fell down. If anything they were more like involuntary muscle-memory that could kill someone for being on a flight of stairs or alone in a pool. No one knew if it would ever go away or if there was a cure for it or not.
            As he fell on his side, body convulsing with tears in his eyes, the front door slammed open and his uncle ran to him. The last thing that the orange haired boy saw and felt was the warmth of hands on his shoulders and the sight of his uncle’s terrified eyes.
            Urahara Kisuke was generally a calm man. One had to be for teaching high school students. His fiancé and adoptive children kept him on his toes. His brother, who kept their mother’s maiden name Kurosaki, helped keep him sane. That worked the same way around when Isshin’s wife OD’ed nearly four years ago after birthing their first child. His brother had broken down and couldn’t bear to take care of his own child, let alone himself. So while Ginrei took care of the baby, Kisuke took care of Isshin.
            Kisuke was praying that history didn’t repeat itself on his over-the-speed-limit drive to his brothers’ house. Masaki had just given birth, granted a week had passed, she was alone with her son, her husband was on his way home, and she undoubtedly didn’t know what to do with her son to keep him occupied. He prayed it was just his overactive imagination acting up again, but when he reached the house, flung open the door, and found his nephew convulsing on the floor with his mother no where in sight he knew it wasn’t just in his head. Her son was in the midst of a seizure, and Masaki wasn’t even in the room trying to help. Kisuke picked up the unconscious convulsing boy and held him tightly to his chest. Several minutes passed and the already jarred door slammed against the wall as Ginrei shoved passed it to get inside/ Faltering as he saw Kisuke, he headed upstairs to the master bedroom as Kisuke waved him on and muttered out,
            “Find her!”
            Loud bangs, clanks, and crashes were heard as the old man began his search through every room upstairs. Ichigo had finally stopped shaking and, other then the sounds that the almost 50 year old man was making; the sound of a dial tone was filling the room. Kisuke gently placed the sleeping child on the couch and stood to hang up the phone after taking note of the sloppily bandaged hand.
            He stared at the now silent and hung up phone blankly. Surely Ginrei would have called for him once he’d found her, right? Sighing and closing his eyes, Kisuke turned around to tend to his nephew. Instead, he froze when he reopened his eyes and proceeded to become as wide as his mouth as it fell open. Under a pile of blankets in front of the turned on electric stove lay a silhouette of strawberry blonde hair.
            He cried out his late best friend’s father’s name as he sprinted to the prone body. As his arms and legs gave out underneath him, he pulled the blankets back. Putting his two shaking fingers to his sister in law’s neck, his mind went numb and Ginrei’s words were lost on deaf ears. His eyes glazed over, staring blankly at the cold body, trying to piece together any other reason as to why it would be as cold as it was. Anything but the alternative… the cold floor was causing it. She had a cold herself. The removal of the blankets took her warmth away. It was his own cold hands he was feeling. The cool touch caused her skin to become cool as well.
            She was alive. She had to be. For Ichigo’s sake, for her twin daughters’ sake! She was alive! He knew she was, and his shocked mind was coming to think it was right.
            But it wasn’t.
            And as Kisuke came back to his right state of mind, two lukewarm lines of salt water leaked from his eyes. Standing up and shouldering passed his also shocked and teary eyed fatherly figure, Kisuke reached the phone. Pushing the big blue P button and waited patiently for the dispatcher to ask his what his emergency was,
            “I’d like to report a dead body,” his voice had no emotion to it. It wasn’t sad, not was it cold, it just… was. Stumbling over her words at his tone and words, the woman asked for his name and location. There was a pause as he listed them off before the woman timidly spoke up once more,
            “The police and an ambulance are on their way. Uhm… sir?”
            “Yes?” Kisuke’s voice cracked as he took in the sight of the kitchen for the first time since he arrived at the house. A drawer that looked broken, a filthy looking spoon, an empty needle, and a bright red tourniquet lay scattered across the counter and the floor. He turned away from the sight of the kitchen and stared at the machine on the wall in front of him.
            “Do you know the cause of death..?” It killed him to whisper it, and it killed him in a much more harsh and brutal way to say what he knew he had to add on afterwards,
            “Overdose; I think she did it in front of her four year old.” He hung up on the woman and tightly sealed his eyes shut. Arms wrapped around him and turned him around. As a hand pushed his head down he completely let himself go and sobbed openly and loudly into the other crying man’s chest. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Isshin, or Yuzu, or Karin, or him, or the Kuchikis, and most of all it wasn’t fair to the son she caused to be born the way he was and will most likely blame himself for what she did an what he saw. It wasn’t fair to anyone, not even Masaki.

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I Can't Do It Alone