Erich wakes with a gasp and twists free of his tangled blankets, heart beating a frantic pace in his chest and mouth sour with the taste of blood—

(He drank— he drank blood!)

(He drank Yhwach’s blood!)

His body is trembling, cold and hot and restless with the memory of— of Yhwach laughing at him. Of a woman with bright blue eyes cupping his cheek, relief in her gaze. Of a man with despairing, red-brown eyes, blade poised to strike. Of staring at someone with silver hair, desperately reaching out—

Of pain-hunger-fury. Of desperation to live, fear of— of something. Something murky, something horrible, a fate hanging over his head forever—

Erich groans and buries his head in his hands, trying to force his breathing into some semblance of order.

(Just a dream.)

(It was just a dream.)

He can feel the other stirring in his soul, writhing under the weight of their (shared?) nightmare, and it’s all he can do to yank the other free and pull him close. He can’t… he can’t offer any comfort, not really, not with his own heart still racing and his mind as tangled as his blankets, but… but he refuses to leave the other to suffer.

The other jars awake. Scrambles closer, mental fingers digging into Erich’s mind, trying to find purchase, find stability—

Erich flinches. Braces himself. Does his best to catch the other’s presence, does his best to help him settle, but it’s… it’s hard. It hurts, their emotions reflecting back and back and back again, until it’s all Erich can do to breathe through it. Until it’s all he can do to think of something, anything, else.

Something shifts and suddenly he’s being hugged from behind and a head is resting between his shoulder blades. ::Shhh, you’re safe. You’re both safe,:: Io murmurs in his mind as she hugs him close. ::Just breathe. Focus on my voice and breathe. You’re safe, Erich, there’s no danger here.::

She’s right, he knows she’s right — he’s safe, he’s in his own home, they’re both safe — but it’s hard to make himself believe it when the nightmare is still lingering so close, close enough that he can still hear Yhwach’s cruel laughter, still feel a hand on his cheek, still feel the burn of a blade piercing his chest—

(Wait, what?)

Erich jolts with the realization and presses a hand to his chest, over his rabbiting heart, palm pressed to smooth, unscarred skin—

The other lunges forward to seize control. Lifts their suddenly trembling hand. Looks down at their bare chest— ::R-right. You don’t— you haven’t been—:: the other cuts himself off with a strangled noise and leans them back into Io’s golden form. ::S-sorry…::

“I’ve taken my fair share of damage,” Erich says aloud, nudging the other presence aside enough to move their hand up to their left shoulder. He runs their thumb over the shrapnel scars scattered across their shoulder and down their left arm, feeling the way the other’s terror begins to subside with the distraction. “I survived a war, and lived my entire life as a Quincy with a Quincy’s duties. Scars are not unusual.”

(Even if he would never wish them on anyone.)

(Even if he wishes he could have prevented Kisuke’s—)

(Kisuke’s?)

(Since when did he think of the man like that?!)

Erich shakes his head, trying to dislodge the strange feeling; he has no permission to use Ki— Urahara’s personal name, and in any case he’s not that close with the man.

(It must be his exhaustion talking, combined with the reiatsu sharing earlier.)

The other sighs, though Erich has no idea why, and pointedly turns away from him to reclaim control, lowering their hand to brush their fingers across Io’s golden arm. ::Io? Why are you… like this?:: he asks, tone plaintive.

There’s a cautious-thoughtful-uncertain pause, and then Io says, ::I was not about to abandon you to this world, but I… there is no mistle and I cannot seem to reform properly. I’m fine for now; clinging to, ah, Rerugen-san helps, but…::

::You can’t reform,:: the other echoes with sorrow-resignation-despair.

Erich clenches his jaw, mind scrambling for a way to fix this, but the only answer he can come up with is… is…

(No, Io doesn’t deserve to fade, not if she doesn’t want to.)

(And especially not if the only reason she’s here is because she refused to abandon the other!)

“We can ask Urahara-san,” Erich forces out before he loses his nerve, then squares his shoulders under the sudden attention that garners from his guests. “I don’t know if you know anything about Shinigami, or spirits, but Urahara-san is a talented inventor. I’m certain he can figure something out to help you reform.” Whatever she means by ‘reforming’. It sounds like it’s a common thing, aided by whatever the ‘mistle’ is, but the implication that she — and the other, perhaps? — are used to just turning into motes and having their bodies rebuild elsewhere is a very strange one.

No spirit he’s every heard of can do that, nor any other being or creatures, but—

(The other drank Yhwach’s blood with all signs of enjoyment.)

(Are they vampires?)

(What strange reality did he manage to connect with, anyway?!)

::Are you certain?:: Io asks, her arms tightening around his stomach. ::Do you think he really would?::

The other snorts and dryly adds, ::I think if it’s Rerugen-san asking, Urahara-san will do everything in his power to provide.::

“That’s hardly true!” Erich sputters at the other’s confidence, then scowls at the bark of laughter that gets him. “We’re hardly that close,” he tells them in exasperation. “But I think he’ll be fascinated by the challenge, so yes, I think he will help.”

::And I thought I was bad,:: the other says with a touch of surprise. ::Io, was I…?::

::Only until Yakumo explained,:: she says confidently.

“I have no idea what the two of you are talking about, and I don’t think I want to know,” Erich grumbles as he reaches up to rub at his eyes; he’s starting to feel his lack of sleep now that he’s calming down, but at the same time he… he really doesn’t want to lay back down. The nightmare is still too close, still too real, and he knows it’s going to return as soon as he closes his eyes again.

The other presses closer, presence rippling with concern-worry-distress, and murmurs, ::I didn’t realize we’d share dreams—::

“Don’t. It happens. We’ll just… figure something out later,” Erich cuts the other off, then hesitates a moment before asking, “Do you— would you want Urahara-san to see about getting you a body as well?”

The other wavers, then curls in on himself and says in a small voice, ::Would you prefer that?::

::Oh, my Successor…:: Io whispers sadly, her forehead pressed tight to Erich’s spine. ::You cannot stay in him forever—::

“You can stay until you feel better,” Erich declares firmly, tapping his knuckles against his sternum. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” And he doesn’t, not really, not after everything he’s sensed from the other so far; whatever the other has survived, it’s left him even more exhausted than Erich is. If hiding for a while is what the other needs to do, then Erich will let him hide.

Though, if they’re going to be sharing a body for a while, he should probably, ah… figure out what to call the other.

Erich clears his throat and gathers up his nerve. “So, this is a bit of an… awkward question, given everything that’s happened so far, but, ah… what’s your name? I know Io-san’s, but I don’t— I don’t… uh…” he trails off as Io bursts into laughter against his back, her entire body shaking with the strength of it, and the other quickly joins her. “Right, what’s so funny.”

::Io’s— Io’s said my name several times already!:: the other gets out between bouts of laughter.

“She’s— wait.” Erich stares blankly at the wall, combing through his memory, but the only name he remembers is— “Wait, Erich?” he asks incredulously. It makes sense — of course it makes sense, now that he’s actually thinking — but there’s a part of him that really can’t believe the coincidence.

(Except is it really a coincidence?)

(Wouldn’t it be easier for a version of himself to sense and respond to his need?)

(Wouldn’t it be easier to share a soul with himself?)

::Yeah, my name’s Erich, just like you,:: the other answers, amusement slowly fading. ::Though I… I don’t know if I had a family name. I suppose I must have, at some point…::

Erich frowns at that and absently taps his knuckles against his chest again. “That’s why you reacted like that to hearing my family name,” he muses as he considers the other’s phrasing. “You can’t remember.”

The other hesitates a moment, then awkwardly says, ::There’s… a lot I don’t remember. Most of my life, actually. I woke up in Io’s lap a few months ago, remembering only that my name is ‘Erich’ and nothing else. I… well, I don’t even know if I was ‘Erich Rerugen’ at one point, or if that’s another difference like our eye colors.::

“That’s going to get awkward,” Erich murmurs as he considers their options; Ki— Urahara will probably feel uncomfortable with needing to use ‘Erich’ for the other, combined with the confusion that someone calling their shared name will produce. At least if the other had a different family name they could use that for differentiation, but since the other doesn’t remember— “You could… you could use Lergen,” Erich offers hesitantly, uncertain how the suggestion will go over. “It was my mother’s family name, so… so it might have been yours at some point?”

His suggestion makes the other go still and silent, emotions tangled into knots, and Erich hastily opens his mouth to say something, anything to correct this—

::You’re certain…?:: the other whispers. ::That’s not— you don’t need to— I mean, if I need to have a family name here, you don’t— you don’t need to—::

“You might as well,” Erich answers gruffly, trying not to react to the way the other’s emotions coil tight-tight-tight until Erich can barely hold himself still. “My mother wouldn’t mind, especially with the way you saved me and my great-grandson. And… I mean… you’re probably a version of me, so you have as much right to use it as I do.”

Erich can feel the way the other considers this, turning the idea over and over until his emotions finally settle and acceptance-gratitude-warmth takes over. ::Thank you,:: the other — Lergen — says softly.

Erich shrugs awkwardly, uncomfortable at the gratitude when he hasn’t really done anything deserving of it, then taps Io’s arm and asks, “Do you have a family name?”

::No, not as such,:: Io answers, then huffs a bit and adds, ::I’m an Attendant, I don’t have a family.::

The noise Lergen makes is equal parts offense and exasperation. ::Not that it matters,:: he points out, presence going a bit wary as he focuses on Erich. ::Does it?::

“It will be considered a bit odd, but no, it doesn’t,” Erich answers with a shrug. “I asked out of politeness, in case Io-san would rather I use her family name instead of her personal name,” Erich points out.

::No, I have no problem with anyone using my name,:: Io says as she tightens her arms around him a bit. ::Ah… I think I need to rest, I’m sorry.:: And before Erich can ask what she means, she dissolves back into a stream of bright motes that settle across his skin like gold-dust.

Erich swallows and lifts a hand, watching how the skin on his arm shimmers as he moves it, then tips his head back and stares blankly at the ceiling as he tries to make sense of— of Io literally clinging to his body.

(He… really doesn’t want to consider that too deeply right now.)

::I guess… we should probably go back to bed too, shouldn’t we?:: Lergen reluctantly asks, clearly as disinterested in trying again as Erich himself is.

“Probably,” Erich agrees, even as he carefully stands up, one hand braced to catch himself just in case—

But he doesn’t fall. His legs feel a bit unsteady, but nothing dangerous, and taking a step doesn’t make him feel any worse. Nor does a second, or a third, until he’s suddenly in front of his closet and reaching for a change of clothing.

::You’re not going back to bed, are you,:: Lergen says dryly. ::Your Urahara-san is going to be disappointed, you know.::

“He’s not my anything,” Erich mutters back while tugging an undershirt over his head. “And he has no say in what I do.” He pulls a button down off the hanger and tosses it over his shoulder, then grabs underwear, socks, and slacks and retreats to the bed to put them on.

(He feels better, but he’s not going to try balancing on one leg right now!)

Lergen practically radiates judgment as Erich gets dressed, but does nothing to actually prevent it, so Erich just flicks exasperation back and continues getting dressed, pulling his pants on, then socks, then standing up to half-heartedly attempt to tuck his shirt in properly before giving up the effort.

(Good enough.)

(It’s late, he’s tired, and no one who sees him at this hour will expect to see him properly dressed.)

A brief stop to grab his glasses from the sink, then a pause at the entrance to slip his feet into shoes, and Erich is soon locking the apartment door behind him and heading for the Shoten.

It’s full dark out, without even a moon to light his way, but the street-lights are plenty, especially since he knows this walk quite well. He can’t sense any danger in the area — human or Hollow or other — and the lonely walk is… peaceful. Quiet. Comfortable.

::Huh, your world really is different,:: Lergen says as he leans in and observes Karakura. ::It looks so… peaceful.::

“It generally is,” Erich agrees. For all the danger and death and unknown threats looking to take over the world, it’s certainly much more peaceful than when he was young. Certainly more peaceful than whatever Lergen went through to become… who he is.

::It’s strange to see so much unbroken ground,:: Lergen muses as they cross the street and continue on down the sidewalk. ::The Gaol of the Mist is a tangled, ruined landscape with quite a few endless pits, and I think the world outside the Gaol is the same, though… well… no one really knows for sure.::

“That sounds…” Erich trails off, trying to think of a descriptor that isn’t ‘horrible’ or ‘terrifying’ or something similar. Combined with the name ‘Goal of the Mist’, he really has to wonder what the hell happened to Lergen’s world.

Lergen makes an amused noise. ::Yeah, it’s not exactly a pleasant place, especially if you don’t have anyone to rely on.::

“I got that impression.” Erich sighs and runs a hand through his hair, already feeling the drain of walking so far. The Shoten isn’t far, though, so there’s no point in turning around.

::…what if Urahara-san is asleep?::

Erich blinks at the question, then shrugs and says, “I doubt he will be. And even if he is, Tsukabishi-san lives there too.”

Lergen hums, tone a touch exasperated, then subsides to let Erich continue on his way. Not that it’s too many more streets over; he crosses one more street, turns down another, and then the Shoten is right there, tucked away in its little lot, dark and unassuming.

Erich steps onto the lot, feeling the wards brush across his senses as he does, and absently reaches out to pluck a specific ward-thread, announcing his presence in a way that Urahara can’t miss. Lergen makes a soft, fascinated noise and presses closer, tugging at Erich’s senses as he stares at ward-traces all around them.

::I’ve never seen anything like it,:: Lergen murmurs as Erich reaches the door and raps his knuckles against it.

“It’s Shinigami warding, not Quincy, but there are enough similarities that I could explain most of it, if you’d like,” Erich offers, though he doubts Lergen can do much with it; what few powers he’d seen Lergen display so far were nothing like spiritual powers, so he had no idea if there was any overlap at all. Still, interest is interest, and he doesn’t mind explaining things to the curious.

Surprise-curiosity-interest flickers through Lergen at the offer. ::If you wouldn’t mind, I would like that.::

Erich nods slightly, about to open his mouth to agree, and then freezes as the door slides open and Urahara Kisuke, sleep-mussed and concerned, peers out at him.

(Oh.)

(Oh…)

(Maybe he didn’t think this through the way he should have…)

(Oh dear…)