Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Spoilers: Past SS arc.


Dodge. Duck. Weave. Hide.

He hates his father.

Perhaps hate doesn't do his feeling justice. Loathe? Abhor? Despise? That's a good word. Duck. Despise.

Despise the fact the once again, Ryuuken has all the power. Just like he had been when his son was a small boy looking for comfort when a dodge ball game that was not so friendly had gone awry and his nose was bleeding and he wanted his mother but she was dead and his father was no substitute. Ryuuken was not a kiss and a hug. He was all scorn.

"If you can't handle it, then don't play," he calls to his son. "I have better things to do with my time, Uryuu."

Uryuu knows this already. But he knows this would not be happening if he had not asked for it. Crouched behind a wall, debating his next move, he examines a scorch mark on his forearm. It has only just stopped bleeding.

"You can only hide for so long," calls Ryuuken.

I'm aware of that, Uryuu's mind snaps back and he can only be grateful he did not say this aloud. He's wanted to say a lot of things aloud since this started. But right now he can only think of how his father made him bleed.

And how he wants to make his father bleed. Ryuuken's blood will prove one and for all he's marble god and Uryuu can make him crumble. Somehow. For half a second he lets his wish wash over him. He'll never get his powers back, but wouldn't that be worth being rid of his father's scowling, smug superiority?

The arrow that sails over his head, singeing his hair, stops him cold. How much time he waisted on his little revenge fantasy he does not know. What he does know is that he's been found. No, that's not it. Ryuuken is informing him that he does still have a whiff of reiatsu. And a good Quincy only needs a little to detect its prey.

Uryuu closes his eyes, listens. Steps from expensive shoes ringing hollow in the emptiness of the maze. His father always paid close attention to his wardrobe. He'd most likely be the best dressed individual at his son's funeral—of course this is it, there is divine judgment in each step—and people will spend more time complimenting the impeccable doctor on his clothes than offering condolences.

But no. As Uryuu rises, his mind floods with what-ifs and how-comes. He is dimly aware that they don't matter quite as much as the sound of his own blood pounding in his ear. He bleeds. He lives.

And as he charges his father, this is what he thinks: What does not bleed is not alive. Ryuuken does not bleed. A Quincy's prey consists of dead things. Unless you're Ryuuken.

Uryuu is not his father. He is something entirely different. Ryuuken's scowl becomes a smirk, even as he falls back with his boy's fist in his face. "This is a surprise," he says.

"No it isn't," Ishida says. He's just enough of a Quincy still to know the truth of it.