Uryuu woke to pain and an unfamiliar room, bundled in blankets he didn’t remember finding and wearing a kimono with traces of someone else’s power lingering in the fabric. (*Shiro? Ichigo? Zangetsu?*) he asked as he carefully sat up, hissing as the movement pulled on still-healing wounds. He patted at the bed nearby, fumbling for his glasses, and shoved them on the moment he found them in order to get a better look at the room.

(*Yeh. We’re… I ain’t got a clue where we are,*) Shiro admitted grudgingly, creeping forward as if uncertain of his welcome. (*Aibo an’ th’old man are still asleep. Sorry, I—*)

(*What happened?*) Uryuu cut Shiro’s apology off, not wanting to hear it. As far as he knew, Shiro had nothing to apologize for.

Shiro paused, startled-wary-hopeful, then crept a bit closer, mental presence leaning into Uryuu’s strong enough to almost be a physical sensation. (*After breakin’ Aizen’s kido, we ended up… I wanna say in th’past? Cause Aizen was in Seireitei an’ no one cared an’ Karakura was missin’ an’ so was all th’damage we did t’the landscape. So… so I ran? Cause th’Captains sensed me an’ we weren’t — aren’t — in any shape t’fight.*)

Uryuu swayed towards the phantom sensation before catching himself and taking a few deep, regulated breaths. He shoved the pain away. Stared down at his hands. Ignored the strange room he was in. (*You ran here?*)

(*Nah, ran t’Hueco Mundo, inta th’forest. Ain’t no one gives a fuck ‘bout Hueco Mundo, an’ that’s where th’Captains’d expect a Hollow t’run anyway.*) Shiro said immediately, then hesitated, drawing in on himself. (*I… thought I’d hidden us well ‘nough. Thought we’d be safe t’rest fer a bit. But… but a Menos found us, an’ I didn’t… I ran. Jes one Menos an’ I ran, threw us into th’space between worlds an’ kept runnin’ an’… an’ now we’re here an’ I don’t know where that is, an’—*)

(*Stop that!*) Uryuu snapped, giving Shiro a small mental ‘shove’ and glowering at the Hollow when Shiro’s surprise echoed through his mind. (*I don’t expect you to fight all the time, especially when we feel like this. Even if you won, the battle would have attracted other Hollows, and then you’d be caught having to keep fighting. Running was the better option.*) He swallowed and rubbed at his left wrist, focusing on how rough his fingers felt against the new skin. (*Unless we have no choice.*)

Shiro processed Uryuu’s words in stunned silence, unconsciously leaning into Uryuu’s presence again. (*We’re… we ain’t nowhere I know,*) he offered softly. (*An’ Aizen was alive—*)

(*An Aizen was alive,*) Uryuu corrected firmly, then shuddered and drew his legs up to his chest. The battle had been going so well until Aizen used that strange kido. How… how had it ended? What had happened to everyone he knew, to Inoue and Sado and Urahara and Yoruichi and everyone else Ichigo cared so much for?

Shiro lingered close, awkward but there, and Uryuu’s breath caught in his throat, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. It was just his luck to end up somewhere entirely unknown, without even the barest memory of it happening or any way to know what had happened.

(*Uh, well… we… ain’t alone, at least?*) Shiro awkwardly offered, before launching into a meandering story about their arrival in this strange place and the man he’d met, Urahara’s unknown son who was also a hybrid like them.

Uryuu listened with half an ear, letting Shiro’s words wash over him. He didn’t know what to make of it all, whether he trusted the man’s promise of being able to leave, but… it was the best chance they had.

“How are you feeling?” a voice asked suddenly, startling Uryuu from his thoughts.

He looked over to the window and stared, taking in the distinctly Hollow-esque appearance of the person perched on the sill: clawed hands and bestial feet, a long whip-like tail, and a bone-white mask with long, forward pointing horns resting on the side of his head. Two gigantic blades crossed the man’s back, hilts rising up over his shoulder, and he looked… ruffled in that way that came from high-speed combat.

“Th’hell happened t’ya?!” Shiro yelped, making them sit up. “Yer all—” he trailed off, uncertainty stealing his voice as he gestured vaguely at the man’s figure.

The man laughed and hopped down off the sill and into the room. “Piece of advice, don’t call your mask in this world unless it’s necessary.”

Uryuu elbowed Shiro enough out of the way that he could regain some control. “Is that… permanent?” he asked warily, watching the man approach.

“Nah, I just need to do some meditation, figure out what got stuck and how to unstick it. Should get easier after a while,” the man said with a shrug. He stood at the side of the bed and gave Uryuu a once-over. “So, now that you’re awake and the initial emergency is over, time for some introductions I think. I’m Urahara Kaito, Urahara Kisuke’s son. I’m a hybrid like yourself, if your Hollow hadn’t yet told you.”

“He did,” Uryuu said slowly, taking in the man’s — Urahara’s — striated eyes and flaxen blond hair. Take away the Hollow features and he could certainly believe Urahara Kaito was related to the Urahara he knew. “I’m… I’m Ishida Uryuu, and his name is Shiro. Uhm… is your Hollow also… separate?”

“It’s how it always ends up working out,” Urahara agreed, tail swaying lazily as he puled his blades from his back and stepped to the end of the bed. He sat down and leaned against the bedpost, one leg folded and the other swinging idly over the side. “Well, if a hybrid has Shinigami heritage, it is. Shinigami already have their Zanpakutou as separate entities, so other distinct portions of our power form their own personality as well.”

Uryuu narrowed his eyes at the man’s weapons. The black blade looked unnervingly familiar, and the white blade looked like Shiro’s weapon. Shinigami didn’t share identical zanpakutou that he was aware of, and Urahara didn’t look enough like him to be his alternate, so what the hell was going on.

Urahara’s gaze followed him to his weapons, the man’s lips quirking up into a resigned smile. “Distinctive, aren’t they?” he asked sadly, left hand fidgeting with his right sleeve. “I can seal them away if I try, but it’s still tiring to do. Besides, the moment you saw this you’d figure it out anyway.” The man tugged his right sleeve up, revealing pale skin and a large patch of even paler skin that was definitely a scar. Other, branching scars stretched up from the large patch, disappearing under Urahara’s sleeve.

(*Hey, that fuckin’ looks like our injury!*) Shiro exclaimed, yanking control back in order to shove their right sleeve up, revealing the angry red burn-mark that covered their lower arm and branched upward in the same manner as Urahara’s. “Who th’fuck are ya?!”

“Urahara Kisuke’s son in everything that matters,” Urahara said with a hint of amusement that faded just as quickly. “Originally, though? You. After Aizen’s kido shattered, we were stranded in the past, injured and weakened and alone. Urahara adopted us, gave us a new identity, and helped us end Aizen before he became a threat.”

“You went to Urahara for help?” Uryuu couldn’t help but exclaim, trying to imagine himself doing the same and coming up blank. Urahara was no longer a part of Seireitei but he was still a Shinigami, and Uryuu didn’t know if he could trust the man enough to rely on him. Ichigo had but… would that have really been enough?

Urahara laughed, warm-kind-giddy, and said, “He came to me as soon as we showed up in Karakura, so I accepted his offer. What other choice did I really have, anyway?” He leaned back, head tilting to stare up at the ceiling, saying, “It worked out for the best,” and then the horns of his mask collided with the bedpost with a clack. Urahara yelped and caught himself, straightening up with a sheepish smile.

“How… are you me.” Uryuu stared at Urahara blankly, trying to parse the idea that the other man was him. Urahara Kaito acted so much like Urahara Kisuke that it was hard to see any similarities between them beyond the weapons and the scars.

“Time and freedom,” Urahara said with a shrug. “Father doesn’t have any expectations except that we enjoy ourselves and keep learning.” He paused, smiled a bit, then casually threw out, “I’m also almost a decade older than you.”

“You… what? You’re how old?!”

Urahara grinned brightly. “I age very well~”

Uryuu opened his mouth to snap at Urahara, then froze when Shiro mentally elbowed him.

(*Th’Urahara we know uses humor t’cover shit, right?*) Shiro asked. (*Think I r’member bits a’that from Aibo’s memories.*)

(*I don’t, but… he is a lot more like Urahara than me…*) Uryuu closed his mouth and fixed Urahara with a considering stare. The longer he watched the man in silence, the more the man’s grin wilted and the more agitated his tail became.

“That’s a very intent look you have on,” Urahara said lightly, catching the tip of his tail in one hand and stilling the whole thing by force. “Do I have something on my face?”

“What’s the catch. If you’re almost thirty—”

“I’m not that old!”

“—but look closer to my age, there’s a catch there. What is it?” Uryuu pressed on, ignoring Urahara’s indignant interjection. Twenty-five and thirty were practically the same anyway, so the man had no right to be so offended by the suggestion.

“I always was perceptive,” Kaito murmured to himself in resignation, then shrugged and crossed his arms over his legs, tail still held in one hand. “You remember going to Hueco Mundo? How Father — how Urahara, I mean — used the same gate as when you went to Soul Society?”

Uryuu thought back, dredging his memory for the details. “It was… a conversion gate. Because Inoue, Sado, and I aren’t… we aren’t spirits…” A pit began to form in his stomach and he licked his lips, looking away from Urahara’s steady gaze. He’d merged with Ichigo in Hueco Mundo, had forced his entire body to adapt to the sudden strain, had changed in ways he was still trying to figure out…

Did that mean he was a soul?

“It won’t matter much in this world,” Urahara said, attention focused on a point over Uryuu’s shoulder. “Whatever power exists here, it’s part of everything, even the people, so they’ll be able to see and interact with you.”

He swallowed and rubbed at his face, knocking his glasses askew. In the grand scheme of things, being a spirit wasn’t… it was almost expected, and yet—

An arm settled carefully around his body, pulling him into Urahara’s side. He stiffened at the touch and squinted up at Urahara’s blurry face, wondering at the reason and trying to ignore how warm-safe-kind Urahara felt.

“S’all right,” Urahara murmured into Uryuu’s hair, free hand rising to comb through the strands in a steady rhythm. “Let it all out. Y’wouldn’t believe how many times I cried all over Father. It helps so much, it really does…”

Uryuu grimaced at Urahara’s words and scrubbed at his face again. He didn’t—he didn’t need to cry. He didn’t.

Urahara hummed softly. Gently took Uryuu’s glasses and set them aside. Pulled him in a bit closer and draped his tail around Uryuu’s waist and across his lap.

Stayed silent. Relaxed. Accepting.

Uryuu buried his face against Urahara’s chest and gave in.