Chapter Text
Ichigo Kurosaki was pronounced dead, alone in his small studio apartment, on the eve of his thirty-first birthday. He had few material possessions and no lover or spouse to mourn his passing, and certainly not any children. Were it not for his micromanaging boss alerting the police as soon as he was a few hours late for work, Ichigo’s body may have remained undiscovered for several days longer.
“I’m dead, aren’t I,” Ichigo said to himself. There was not much emotion to the statement: it was more of an observation than anything else. Death had happened to him the same way life did, with him as a passive onlooker.
“You know, people are usually more upset when that happens,” said the man slouching against the wall next to him.
Ichigo merely shrugged indifferently in response.
The two of them watched as paramedics carried away Ichigo’s body after they had determined he was beyond saving. His body looked almost peaceful laying there, and perhaps it was as he had died uneventfully by heart attack in his sleep.
“Is this a dream?” Ichigo did have strange dreams like this sometimes, but never so vividly. He could even smell the faint mildew that typically lingered in his cheap studio.
“Nope.” The man popped his ‘p’ obnoxiously. The harsh reality of the situation still had Ichigo feeling indifferent. Alive or dead, it all felt the same to him.
Ichigo turned to look at his companion. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see. Perhaps a scythe-wielding black-robed figure with a skull instead of a face, or a winged angel clad in pure white. He certainly didn’t expect Death to be just a man, albeit one with glaringly blue hair and burning blue eyes to match. He was wearing a short white jacket with nothing underneath, and black pants that were fastened by one too many belts. But when Death turned his head, Ichigo was able to see that he had a half-mask of bone on his right cheek that resembled the jaws of a beast after its skin and flesh had been stripped away. There was also a gaping circular hole that perforated his lower gut. Not human after all, he thought.
“I’m not really Death, you know,” the man said, as though reading Ichigo’s thoughts. Perhaps he could. “At least, I’m not the Death. More of a death with a lowercase ‘d.’” Ichigo only looked at him strangely, not sure how that information helped him.
‘death with a lowercase d’ sighed, clearly displeased. “You’re a boring one, aren’t you? Usually humans will plead, cry, or do something when I come for them. You’re too young to act this apathetically,” he complained.
“Sorry the end of my life isn’t entertaining for you.”
The blue-haired man burst into uncontrollable laughter, his entire body shaking with amusement as if Ichigo had just told him the single funniest joke in the universe.
“Fuck, kid. It’s been a while since there’s been a human who’s had the balls to talk back to me like that,” he said a while later, after he had finally calmed down.
Ichigo frowned. “I’m not a kid. I’m thirty-one, or at least I was supposed to turn thirty-one today.”
“Really? With that face? Well, happy thirty-first. And surprise! You’re dead.” The man chuckled to himself. It seemed he was the type to be amused by his own jokes.
“What happens to me now?” Ichigo asked.
“Your body gets taken to a morgue where they may or may not perform an autopsy. They may take your organs if you were a Good Samaritan, but probably not your heart after seeing what it had done to you. Then the mortician will either cremate you or prepare you for burial, depending on what your wishes were. And that’s the end.” Usually people would be at least a little unsettled from hearing what will happen to their bodies described so clinically, but Ichigo had been a paramedic for nearly a decade, and was familiar with dead bodies. It was nothing new to him, even when it was his own.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“That would be a spoiler, my friend. You would have to find out for yourself.”
death unsheathed a thin blade that Ichigo hadn’t realized he had been carrying. For a moment, Ichigo was afraid that he would end up impaled on the glinting steel, but instead, the man slashed the air in front of them in a graceful arc. As he returned the sword to its scabbard, the air started to warp and small black lines radiated from a single, large tear in reality. As the lines spread, the tear grew until it was large enough to accommodate a human to pass through.
“Whenever you’re ready,” death drawled. He walked through the portal first without checking if Ichigo was going to follow. Maybe he didn’t care whether Ichigo went or not. How unprofessional .
Ichigo lingered in his apartment for a few moments longer, taking one last look at what was familiar before he ventured off into the unknown. He was suddenly glad that he never followed through with his plan from a few years back to adopt a cat. Ichigo would have been wracked with guilt at leaving some poor animal to fend for itself after his untimely death.
There really was nothing keeping him tethered to the living world.
With that sobering thought, Ichigo followed death into whatever new fate was laid out for him.
The afterlife, as it turned out, was a vast, empty desert shrouded in night and illuminated by a pale, uncaring moon. death was waiting, sprawled lazily across a sand dune and leafing through an open manilla folder.
“Ichigo Kurosaki,” he read out loud from the folder. “Born July 15th, 1986 at 9:32 in Karakura Town. Died July 14th, 2017 at 23:41, also in Karakura Town.” He looked up from the documents to make eye contact with Ichigo. “You know, it’s always pathetic when a human lives and dies in the same place.” Ichigo bristled at the insult, but had to admit it was true that his life could best be described as ‘pathetic.’
“Spiky orange hair and brown eyes. Height 181 centimeters, and weight 66 kilograms. Single divorcee with no kids. Worked as a paramedic for eight years. Only personal interest was an unsuccessful attempt at writing a novel.” Having his life reduced to these short, straightforward facts was rather dehumanizing. Ichigo decided he was not fond of death, the man, who was too abrasive and too callous to be likable.
death raised an eyebrow at the next line in Ichigo’s obituary. “Deeply closeted since the age of sixteen. No wonder you divorced that ginger bombshell of yours.”
“I’m not…” Ichigo tried to protest, but was interrupted by death’s infuriating tsk-tsking.
“You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” He was starting to dislike death more and more.
“Her name is Inoue,” Ichigo huffed, not wanting death to have the last word in. He didn’t like the idea of Orihime being reduced to a mere ‘bombshell’ when she deserved so much better. And she certainly deserved better than him.
death snapped the folder shut with a resounding sense of finality. “And that was your life, Ichigo Kurosaki.”
“Does that mean you are done mocking me?” The way death had read through his file left Ichigo’s ego feeling pretty bruised.
He received a rather cruel grin in return. “Not quite yet, Kurosaki. We still have your highlight reel to get through.” Ichigo would rather be doing anything else with anyone else.
There was no wind, but the sand around them started to pick up, flying in the air and swirling into various shapes until a clear image was formed. He was watching the moment of his own birth, Ichigo realized, but from an outsider’s perspective.
“Mom…” he whispered, his voice filled with pain. Although she had just gone through an excruciatingly long labor, Masaki Kurosaki had a smile that radiated warmth like the midday sun as she gazed lovingly at her newborn son.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Kurosaki,” the nurse said as he handed over the baby, all bundled up in a snug blue cloth, into her waiting arms. “He’s a healthy baby boy weighing 3.2 kilograms.” The newborn was wailing loudly as all babies did at the moment of their birth. “What do you wish to name him?”
“Ichigo. His name will be Ichigo Kurosaki. As he will be my little protector.” Masaki’s joyful words pierced Ichigo’s heart with their cruel irony. She had named him to be her protector, and he had failed her miserably. A single, hot tear ran down his right cheek.
“So your name doesn’t mean strawberry, huh,” death commented. Ichigo glared at him through misty eyes, his presence spoiling the bittersweet memory. death raised his hands in mock surrender before the playful glint in his eyes faded into seriousness.
“You know that’s not what she meant when she named you, right?”
Ichigo scoffed harshly. “And what would you know?” He didn’t want to hear pitying words from anyone, much less from the man beside him.
“More than you may expect,” death shrugged, as though to say suit yourself.
Ichigo hadn’t noticed that he was too busy being angry at the man to feel like crying.
The hospital around them shifted then scattered like spilled sand, only to be replaced with a new memory. The next few scenes blurred into each other, and Ichigo’s life was literally flashing before his eyes. He saw himself grow up as a happy, energetic child being chased around by his adoring parents. He was loud in expressing his emotions, whether it was through laughter or tears, though it was more of the former than the latter.
“What happened to all that fire, Kurosaki?” death asked.
He glowered, the back of his throat tasted of acid. “You already know what happened,” Ichigo spat out.
Sure enough, the sands moved once again, and Ichigo was watching that night . It wasn’t any easier experiencing it as an outsider. It was raining hard, and Ichigo did not want to understand the logistics behind how the sand was able to simulate the feeling of rain pouring down his body.
A nine-year-old version of him was skipping happily ahead of his mom, excited to be home after Karate practice.
“Wait up, Ichigo!” Masaki cried out breathlessly behind him, voice shaky from laughter. Ichigo giggled, but he slowed down to give his mom a chance to catch up.
There was a sickening thud and a sudden end to Masaki’s lilting laughter.
“Mom?” the little Ichigo asked, still not aware that anything was wrong.
“I can’t watch this,” the real Ichigo said as nausea threatened to overcome him. His eyes stung with unshed tears as he tried to blank out what he was seeing.
The scene disappeared entirely until it was nothing but sand. Ordinary sand.
“That’s okay, Kurosaki,” death reassured him. “You did well.”
“Why would you make me experience that again?” Ichigo shouted, blinded with grief and fury.
Despite the yelling, death remained calm as still water. “I don’t decide which moments are important to you.” He allowed Ichigo a few moments to collect himself before continuing the stream of memories.
The next thing they saw was Ichigo’s return to school after his long period of mourning. The glee that once lit his eyes had been extinguished. The child Ichigo looked entirely lifeless, and his schoolmates cut a wide berth around him. Hurried whispering trailed behind him, but he was too numb to care that everyone was talking about him. What had happened to him.
“She had died of the same thing that killed me. A weak heart,” Ichigo said quietly as he observed broken-spirited younger self wander aimlessly without direction.
“Your heart isn’t weak,” death scoffed. “Well, maybe in the literal sense…”
They stood in silence as more of Ichigo’s life was revealed. As he grew older, although the light never returned in his eyes, Ichigo became better at masking his grief. He attracted a small group of friends who he kept at arm’s distance. And then, there was Orihime.
Inoue Orihime was a beautiful girl with long, copper hair and the sweetest smile ever-present on her gentle face. Every boy, and some of the girls, in Karakura High was half in love with her. Of all his friends, he always felt closest to her. It was probably because of her close resemblance to Masaki Kurosaki.
He couldn’t say he was exactly surprised when Orihime asked him out on the last day of high school, her cheeks burning and her eyes glued to her feet. Ichigo knew that if he had said no, he would have broken her tender heart in twain. So he accepted her feelings because he couldn’t bring himself to make a smile that was so similar to Masaki’s disappear, even though he didn’t feel a shred of attraction to Orihime. They were good friends, and he had foolishly thought that would be enough.
“What a hero you were, Kurosaki. You didn't have the balls to break that poor girl’s heart, so you instead led her on for most of a decade.”
“Fuck you.” Ichigo didn’t have the energy to say more to death. Not when those words only hurt so much because they were true.
The rest of his life was an uninteresting slush. Ichigo became a paramedic because he had thought he should at least save others from his mother’s fate as a way to repent for his sin. He didn’t love his job, some days he even hated it. All the death and gore he witnessed did not make up for the lives he saved, no matter what he said to himself. He had only pursued that career out of a misplaced sense of guilt.
As Ichigo became more and more withdrawn from the traumas of his job, his marriage with Orihime was falling apart at the seams. They were rarely intimate, and as time went on, rarely became never. Orihime wanted a small family and a loving husband, but received neither from Ichigo. Even her all-consuming love for him could not overcome how cold Ichigo was around her. And Ichigo was all too aware of how incapable he was of giving her what she deserved.
Eventually, Ichigo grew tired of punishing Orihime for his own incompetence. He had served her the divorce papers in hopes that her current heartbreak would mean she would eventually find someone who could make her happy. And it worked. Although the fallout had hurt almost more than anything else had in his life, Ichigo was content when Orihime did find a partner who cherished her properly.
And that brought them to the current day. Ichigo’s death, after a meaningless life.
“Wow. That truly was more tragically pathetic than I could have expected.” death’s cruel words stung, but was nothing compared to the raw, visceral pain Ichigo felt over relieving all his worst moments. He only scowled at death in silence.
“All that potential, squandered away because you couldn’t ever stand up for yourself,” the man sighed.
“Fuck you,” Ichigo echoed, too drained for what he said to have any real heat.
“You know, I don’t usually do this, but I suppose I could make an exception for you,” death mused. “What do you say to a chance to relive your life from the start?”
“What, and try to fix the countless mistakes I have made?” The very idea seemed tiresome to Ichigo.
death rolled his eyes. “How boring . No, I want you to go back and live your life more selfishly . Be an asshole to whoever you want, stop giving a fuck about what you’re supposed to do and just live instead of being such a goddamned pushover.”
“And why would you want me to do that?”
death grinned ferally at him. “For my entertainment, of course! Do you know how fucking boring all your human lives have become, following the same damned script.”
“I’m not going to relive my life for you to get your rocks off.”
“What about for yourself? Don’t you want a chance for happiness?”
Ichigo thought about how miserable he had been for most of his life. Is happiness even possible for him?
“Of course it is. No one is born destined for eternal suffering.” It was the kindest thing death had said to him so far. And it also confirmed Ichigo’s suspicion that death was reading his thoughts.
He let out a long sigh. Was he really considering this? “What’s to stop me from just doing everything the exact same as before?”
“Nothing, I guess. But I’ll probably just send you back again until I’m satisfied.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. But definitely not for your sake.” It was a terrible idea, yet how often did someone have a chance to undo all the harm they had caused? Ichigo wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Attaboy, Kurosaki.” death sounded too self-satisfied for Ichigo’s liking. “Any point in time you would like for me to send you to?”
“Don’t care, as long as it’s after that day .” death nodded in understanding. He opened a portal yet again, but this time it led from the afterlife to the living world.
“Good luck, Kurosaki. And don’t forget to make it interesting this time around.”
“Fuck you. I’m not doing this for you,” Ichigo rolled his eyes at death personified. “Why don’t you try living an interesting mortal life yourself, huh?” There was a sense of petty contentment from seeing how shocked death looked at Ichigo’s suggestion. Ichigo was smirking to himself, happy to have gotten the last word in, when he once again crossed the worlds into an uncertain future.