The rehabilitated

Kenpachi didn't know what emotion rang louder in her body when she heard the news of Itada. Sadness? Pity? Disgust? Contempt? The former two were foreign concepts to her, and yet she was both sad and pitied Itada for his weakness. And in the same breath, she condemned him for it. How dare he let some asshat Espada beat him to a pulp? She had fallen long ago for a man who exuded strength and composure.

She was glad she wouldn't be able to see the state he was in now.

Kenpachi pushed into the room Itada dwelled in. She came in while the Kidoshu Commander issued his oh-so-sound piece of wisdom: you have no idea of how much better this colossal defeat is going to make you. What bullshit. The fact he was even in the same room as her made her light up in fury. "If it isn't Getaway-san," she jabbed through a distasteful smirk. Though a bandage wrapped around her unseeing eyes, she moved around the man and to the other side of Itada's bed without problem. Her hand trailed along the side of the bed to guide her until she felt Itada's arm, though she quickly removed her hand.

She didn't do heartfelt moments. And she didn't do cheering up. "Was he really that strong, Ita-kun?"

I could deal with Shi’Kuyo; our relationship was defined and our roles were easily fulfilled: he lectured, I administrated. However, when she—of all people who decided to visit—arrived, my mind went inaudible. The argument the two Captains shared was of no concern to me and I cared little for the differences in opinions, that was their relational realm and I didn’t exist in it. Nonetheless, she always knew how to drive absurdity into my normally rational demesne and as she touched me, I turned my face away. It drove me insane, not being able to feel her, but to feel what I assumed was an apathetic touch through the textiles that composed these casts and bandages.   

‘Was he really that strong’ She continued to tunnel that blade of a tongue into my confidence as my digits—even slightly—tensed beneath the wrapping of my cast. He was powerful, yes, but he was an opponent I should have conquered. The moment I healed, The Hollow’s territory would find itself an invader. It wasn’t retribution that fueled these thought, it was mere justice. To answer her question would have only enraged me, so I remained silent. Her rejoinder should have been as clear as the condition I sat in.  

To have Jingu here only motivated me to remove these restraints, so I did. It took every grain of strength left within these wrecked vessel to crawl to a seated position beside the bed, legs hanging for but a second before touching the cold floor. It was excruciating and show winces signified as much, but I just didn’t care. Systemically, I pulled at the wraps, the IVs and the apparatuses designed to monitor and aid. Needles were dragged from deep within my veins and clothes, blooded and used fell to the clean tiles as I continued to unwrap. Each muscle tensed and burned as I overexerted myself, but I couldn’t be belittled so easily, not like this, and not by them.  

I panted heavily, feeling my energy waning and exhaustion quickly settling into effect. All I wanted was for everyone to leave me be and then I heard a knock—everyone could hear a knock at the door. Who came to reprimand me next? 

To be healed was something I was concerned with; the damage was considerable, though I healed much faster than normal Shinigami innately. A Seiryū—even crippled—was still beyond normal comprehension even for spiritual beings, though to say this was something I would shrug off was sheer asinine. What did this old hag possess that some of the most compelling genetic recompenses within the Soul society’s history didn’t? 

I didn’t acknowledge the grey beard’s words for now, instead, I gave way and designed a platform for both Jingu-chan and Shi’Kuyo-san to articulate their pieces; one of which ended with the fiery-haired brute leaving. As she fled, fading into black, I watched her; there was nothing I needed to say, everything was tacit, though our strange channel of communication was enough, enough for us to understand one another. Maybe I’d actually take her up on her offer to rumble—I wanted the revamp after such an appalling defeat.  

Now, my attention revised as my ophthalmic view leveled on the man, who sat to my side. “Do it.” I publicized my tone now as my hands clenched into the sheets dishonorably. This was attacking my pride. “If you can heal, be quiet and do it.” My head remained fixated on the eldest of the three as he simply grinned.  

“Alright, you rushed ungratefuls.” Before I could react, I felt a solid, open palm reach out to my throat. Before I could react, I felt a surge of energy pulse through my form. It was enlivening, explosive, and above all else, a momentary high I couldn’t flout. The man’s hand’s erupted a gaudy green and within seconds, my bones realigned and healed my organs—once punctured—sealed and the blood I tried to recover was supplanted with new, fresh, natural red solutions. In a matter of seconds, I went from completely ignored, to completely mended.  

My eyes widened as sensations returned to my visage and functions I once loss, returned within a fragment of a moment. I was speechless as I looked on at myself, reflective in thought trying to consider everything that happened. How it happened? 

“Now, you—Shi’Kuyo. Come closer.” The elderly commanded with an aged humor in his raspy voice. What could he have wanted?