Erich wakes to the feel of Degurechaff’s familiar-unfamiliar spiritual presence pressing down on him. He grunts and forces himself up on his elbow, squinting at her silhouette in the gloom of the tent, and mutters, “You’re projecting, Colonel.”

“Sorry, sir,” she answers, voice clear-soft-judging as she shifts a step closer. She does, however, rein in her power with a few quick breaths, lightening the air around them until it’s barely noticeable. “I thought we had an agreement, however.”

He stares at her, mind too mazed by sleep to parse what she’s hinting at; they’ve made many agreements over the course of their years working together, and he can’t quite…

Degurechaff sighs and tips her head towards the foot of his cot. “Sir.”

Erich levers himself up a bit more, the motion made more difficult by Alexis’ arm over his chest and the weight on his—

On his legs.

Where Urahara is sprawled, head resting on the side of Erich’s knee and his body contorted to fit where he honestly shouldn’t be able to.

Camp beds are not designed to fit three, especially three people of their height!

“Huh,” is all Erich can muster, as he stares at the sleeping form of his second soulmate and tries to remember how they ended up in this tangle of limbs. He remembers being tired and moving to sit next to Alexis, he remembers continuing to translate stories back and forth, but this…

(He remembers a dark tent, sun long vanished and none of them feeling like getting up to light a lantern.)

(He remembers exhaustion dragging at his limbs, Alexis tugging him to lay down, Urahara moving to give their legs space…)

(How in the world did he — did they — fall asleep with a Reaper right there?)

Degurechaff makes an incoherent noise of frustration, control slipping for a moment, then sighs heavily and wrangles her power back beneath her skin. “Fine. Just… fine, sir. Give me… five minutes.”

“Degurechaff…?” he murmurs in confusion, then blinks when she just waves a hand and turns to march out of their tent without another word. He… really can’t think what she’s going to do, if he’s being honest. The fact that she isn’t forcing Urahara awake to sleep in his own bed is… strange.

With that in mind, Erich turns his attention back to Urahara, watching the way the flickering lantern-light dances across the man’s face, and… Urahara is almost ethereal like this, his guard let down and his hair spilling across Erich’s thigh like water reflecting light. He looks so young without the mask of joviality in place, just another young man lost-betrayed-wounded by those who should care—

Breath hisses through Erich’s teeth as he shakes his head, trying to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

(He has a Reaper laying on his legs and the only thing he can think about is the way the man looks?)

(What is wrong with him?!)

Still, he can’t seem to find it in him to prod the man awake; truthfully, he should, even if Urahara wasn’t a Reaper, because the position the man is sleeping in is going to be hell on his body. Bad enough if they were just spending the day in camp again, but they’re planning on marching from nearly sunrise to sunset and that’s going to make everything worse.

Hesitantly, Erich reaches out, fingertips ghosting over Urahara’s hair before he can think better of his action; it’s… soft, though he can tell the man needs to wash it, and it’s all he can do to keep his touch limited to only the part spilling across his own thigh.

(He doesn’t want to disturb the man, doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable—)

(He shouldn’t even be doing this.)

The sound of people approaching their tent is like a bucket of ice across his body, and he jerks his hand away, twining his fingers with Alexis’ and laying back down.

Degurechaff ducks into their tent and then turns to hold open one flap, letting the person behind her enter easily and—

Erich squints into the flickering light, trying to understand why someone is carrying another cot into the tent. Two someones, he amends as the other end of the cot enters the tent and Degurechaff allows the flap to drop back in place.

“Right next to his bed,” Degurechaff murmurs, stepping around them to stand near the foot of Erich’s bed. “Tie the legs together. It’ll be better than nothing.”

“Yes sir,” Weiss responds as he and the other person maneuver the second cot in place and then kneel down to fiddle with the legs.

They’re gone as quickly as they came, soft murmurs of ‘goodnight’ drifting through the air before silence returns to the tent.

“Alright, get up,” Degurechaff orders as she bends over Urahara and lets some of her spiritual power seep into the air. “I know you’re not asleep,” she grumbles when Urahara doesn’t move. “Your options are get up and lay down properly or I drag you out of bed and make you sleep in the tent I had set up for you.”

Urahara huffs and slowly pushes himself up, attention fixed on Degurechaff, and Erich feels the breath catch in his throat and his heart sink into his stomach.

(How long has Urahara been awake?)

(Did… did he just… touch Urahara’s hair while the man was awake?!)

(No, no, later, he can worry about it later.)

“I’m surprised that isn’t your first option,” Urahara mumbles as he carefully untangles himself from Erich and Alexis’ legs and settles on the new cot.

“Believe me, if it were up to me you would be,” Degurechaff growls, then steps back from their new, larger bed and addresses Erich again, “Sir, if you want me to remove him, just let me know.”

Erich licks his lips, gaze darting over to Urahara who’s still sitting upright, head down and slightly tipped away. There’s a stillness to Urahara that he’s becoming more and more familiar with, more and more bothered by, because he’s realizing that it means Urahara is waiting for Erich to react poorly or to send him away.

(Because this isn’t something Urahara’s picked up over the short handful of days they’ve know each other.)

(This is something longer, something deeper, and it makes him want to hurt someone.)

(If only he knew who…)

He breathes out and tightens his grip on Alexis’ hand, eyes sliding closed as he tries to untangle his muddled, sleep-mazed mind.

(He misses the warmth across his legs and—)

(No, stop thinking about it.)

(Reassess.)

“It’s… fine,” Erich decides on after a moment of mental digging. After an evening spent swapping stories and muddling through languages and falling asleep in front of a Reaper, he just can’t muster the save level of terror as before. Maybe in the morning he’ll regret this, maybe Degurechaff’s right and this is the very last thing he should be doing, but… “‘M too tired to care. He can sleep here…”

(Urahara had so many opportunities to hurt him before…)

“Not exactly a glowing recc—ah!” Urahara yelps as Erich yanks him down and he lands, stiff and uncertain, on the cot a bare hand-span away from Erich.

Erich snorts and cracks open an eye to glare blearily at the Reaper. “Go back to sleep,” he growls, completely done with this entire disturbance. Tomorrow is tomorrow and he might change his mind then, but right now he just wants to sleep.

Urahara laughs, soft and breathy, and relaxes a bit as he makes himself more comfortable. “Maa, maa, Rerugen-san is demanding when he’s half asleep.”

“Rerugen is tired and wants to sleep,” Erich mutters, trying not to sound petulant but distantly aware that he’s failing. Urahara’s chuckle doesn’t make it any better, but the soft-cautious-warm brush of fingers over the back of his hand is… nice.

“Go to sleep, then,” Urahara responds warmly, their bond settling into a soothing pulse of warmth-amusement-fondnessand Erich…

Settles.

Drifts.

Sleeps.

---

Erich wakes to a body pressed against his back and another curled against his chest, wakes to a head tucked beneath his chin and arms and legs draped across his body, wakes to the sensation of security despite everything that’s happened.

Their combined presence makes him warm-languid-sleepy, though a sense of something wrong niggles at the corners of his mind.

(Something about this is… unexpected…)

For a moment, all he can focus on is the warm breath ghosting across his collarbones and the back of his neck.

(All he can focus on is the shimmering contentment-loyalty-love echoing between his humming soulmarks and—)

(Wait—)

The person against his chest moves, soft hair brushing against his chin and—

Erich freezes, breath catching in his throat as his mind finally makes sense of his position.

(He’s— this is— there’s a Reaper in his bed—)

Urahara comes awake all at once, his return to consciousness an almost physical sensation as the faltering harmony between their soulmarks shatters and—

He doesn’t jerk away, doesn’t babble out apologies, just… moves, slowly, calmly, drifting back like it’s his choice, like Erich’s not three heartbeats away from lashing out and… it helps. It helps, grounding Erich in the physical, in the now, in peace-calm-not a threat that part of him believes and part of him doesn’t but…

It helps.

Urahara’s hand trails butterfly-soft down Erich’s arm, distracting, soothing despite the way it makes goosebumps rise and his skin twitch. The man’s leg slowly straightens as if he’s just stretching, and his head lifts away as he rolls onto his back, mouth curving into a warm-sleepy-lazy smile that belies the sense of watchful-quiet-prepared that Erich can feel the edge of through their bond.

“Beloved…?” Alexis murmurs as she heaves herself up and drapes across his upper body. He can tell the moment she spots Urahara because her body settles, weight shifting in preparation to lunge, and her spiritual presence turns calm like a bottomless lake. “Ah…”

“Maa… I should probably lea—”

Erich reaches out and presses his hand over Urahara’s mouth, ignoring the way the man’s eyes widen at the contact. “No,” he orders, trying to infuse as much command as possible into the single word to make sure Urahara will listen. Now that he’s awake and the panic is beginning to fade, it’s not… it’s not a terrible position to be in; his self-preservation is still on edge, but with everything that’s happened, everything that’s going on he’s… tired.

He’s tired, and terror is such an exhausting thing to maintain.

(In any other situation, any other time, he doubts he’d be so easily accepting of Urahara’s presence.)

(But here, now, faced with everything the man has done for him, promised to him…)

(He can’t muster the energy anymore.)

(If Urahara kills him now, his only regret will be abandoning his men.)

Urahara says something, voice muffled into incoherence by Erich’s hand, then wrinkles his nose in protest and tries to pout.

Erich snorts and rolls his shoulder to nudge Alexis off of him, then levers himself up and tries to fix Urahara with a flat look. He doesn’t know how effective he is, given his lack of glasses and how sleep-muddled he feels, but he still tries. “I let you stay last night,” he says slowly, feeling his way through both the words and his blurry memories of the night before. “How I woke is… unfortunate but… I let you stay,” he settles on, unable to entirely express why he doesn’t want Urahara to simply leave this time.

(He doesn’t have the words for it, even in his own language.)

(The harmony he woke to… he wants more, wants it desperately, and that desire tangles with his fear and leaves him sick-wanting-aching in a way he’s never experienced before.)

(He wants to throw Urahara from the tent just as much as he wants to pull the man closer and—)

(All he can do is settle for keeping the man nearby.)

Urahara’s emotions shift towards disbelief-exasperation-warmth as he reaches up and pries Erich’s hand away from his mouth. His fingers curl around Erich’s hand, gentle and warm, and his thumb brushes across Erich’s knuckles in a whisper-soft gesture that makes the breath catch in Erich’s throat.

(Why is he so affected?)

(Damn it.)

“I’m grateful for the opportunity,” Urahara murmurs as he brushes his thumb across Erich’s knuckles again. “But if this is how you’re going to wake every morning—”

“It was my choice,” Erich bites out, slipping his hand from Urahara’s grip and pushing himself further upright. He narrows his eyes at Urahara when all he gets through their bond is exasperation. “What did I say last night about our fear?”

“There’s accustoming yourself to me over time, and then there’s throwing yourself headfirst into a situation you know is going to cause you to panic,” Urahara drawls, sounding utterly unimpressed.

“How I want to handle it is my choice,” Erich repeats with a glare, then twitches and forces himself to look away as Alexis’ hand settles on his hip. He’s being unreasonable, he knows he is — last night was an accident, a mistake on his, on their, part, and they all know it — but for some reason he just… can’t make himself back down.

“Breathe, love,” Alexis murmurs in his ear, her lips ghosting against his skin and her attention fixed on Urahara below them. All he can sense from her is the deadly stillness of the world before a storm, but it feels… leashed.

(She’s waiting for his cue, waiting to see if she needs to defend them both and…)

(He’s so tired of being responsible for people’s lives!)

Erich squeezes his eyes closed and tries to center himself. They have a long march ahead of them and he can’t afford to be spending his energy like this. Nor can he afford the distraction that this argument is turning into; he should have been up and moving already, not… not still in bed, arguing over something they both understand was too much too soon.

The cot creaks as Urahara pushes himself up. “I’m going to fetch my sword,” he says easily, instead of continuing to press. “That way you have one less thing to worry about.”

“I… what?” Erich frowns and scrambles to his feet as Urahara stands up, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat during the bare second that Urahara towers over him. “One less thing to worry about…?”

Urahara blinks at him, then laughs awkwardly and looks away, rubbing at the back of his head. “Maa, you wanted my weapons, remember? So I was less threatening?”

Erich nods slowly, trying to make sense of Urahara’s sudden desire to hand his weapons over now of all times. They’d specified that Urahara should hand everything over when they were on Rerugen lands, but… that wasn’t for another two days at minimum. “I… yes. But I… didn’t expect…”

“It would make you more comfortable around me, wouldn’t it?” Urahara asks, something strange in his voice that Erich can’t pinpoint.

“Well… perhaps?” Erich tries, unable to give Urahara a solid answer. He doesn’t actually know if having Urahara’s weapon in his possession will help at all; he’s felt exactly how strong the man is first hand, and has no doubt that Urahara’s just as dangerous without his weapon as he is with it. “I… I am uncertain—”

“Then we can try it,” Urahara answers with a bright mask of a smile, hands moving to clasp behind his back. “I’ll peace-bind it before I bring it to you, how’s that?”

There’s something wrong about this, something that Urahara is refusing to tell him, but he doesn’t have the words to ask about it. Really, he doesn’t have anything except a gut instinct and a growing sense of unease that he can’t pinpoint the cause of; he has all the reason in the world to be uneasy about carrying Urahara’s weapon, peace-bound or not, but somehow that doesn’t entirely feel like the cause.

Or… it is but it also isn’t.

(What in the world is Urahara not telling him?)

All he can do is nod mutely and hope to hell he hasn’t made a mistake; it almost feels like he has, with the way Urahara’s smile turns fixed and the tiny twitch of his head that means he’s not actually looking directly at Erich anymore, but… what else can he do?

Urahara hesitates a moment, gaze skimming from Erich to Alexis and then away, like he’s waiting for someone to say something else, but Erich doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to break the sudden awkwardness between them, and…

Urahara smiles, bright-brittle-empty, and says, “Be back soon!” before darting from the tent.

He exchanges despairing looks with Alexis, helpless-frustrated-furious at himself and unable to do a thing about any of it.

(He’s screwed everything up yet again, he knows he has.)

(He just… doesn’t know what he did.)

(Or how to fix it.)

(Goddamnit.)