story I decided to try something different. This is probably heavily AU but oh well. Tell me if I should keep going or not.


"Get in there you!"

Bykauya was thrown into the cell, his injured shoulder striking the ground painfully. It was pride that kept the cry from spilling from his lips. Pride at what he had once been, pride as a Soul Reaper, a Captain, the Head of Noble Family. It kept his eyes dry and his lips silent when all he wanted to do was scream. Instead he pushed himself up and limped over to the wall, using it to sit up strait. His head felt ten times heavier than it had any right too, even though his kenseikan was nothing more than dust on the battlefield now.

They lost the Winter War.

It was not a possiblity that had really crossed his mind. After all, they were the good guys and the good guys won. Men like Aizen were supposed to be put in their place, to be made an example of, they were not supposed to be making their way towards the Royal Family. They were not supposed to be God. But Aizen had never followed the rules before so Byakuya supposed it made a certain sense that he would not start anytime soon. It had happened very quickly. The four pillars had been compromised, two had fallen initially but the second two fell as well. Prioriety was to saving the town that was their battlefield, to protecting the innocent souls inside. It had been useless in the end.

He wondered who had survived. He couldn't believe he was the only one still alive. He raised his head, looking for any sort of indication as to where he was. It was useless. The cell was white, oppressive in its sterility. A row of black bars separated him from the other half of the room. Through them he could see a door but that was all. There was no furniture in the room, nothing that could be of any use to him. For a moment the despair almost overwhelmed him. For a moment his face came close to contorting with the grief coursing through his body. For a moment he almost lost control. He reigned it back in, refusing to appear weak.

Especially when the door opened and Gin Ichimaru walked in. He looked the same. He had the same grin, the same slitted eyes, there wasn't a scratch on him. Byakuya's body protested when he struggled to his feet. It wasn't fair that Gin Ichimaru was standing on the other side of the barred cell, grinning at him. By the time Byakuya made it to his feet his breathing was erratic and he could feel sweat beading his brow. Gin made a scolding sound and shook his head.

"Now now, you don't have to look strong for me," he said merrily, "I won already."

"For now," Byakuya gasped out harshly.

"Still so stubborn," Gin's grin, if possible, widened, "well lets see if this loosens you up a bit," he flicked out his wrist.

For a moment Byakuya wasn't sure what he had thrown. It hit the ground with a wet sound, throwing liquid onto the floor. His eyes went down immediately, though he regretted the action. He recognized the collar instantly. He imagined he would recognize it even if he was blind. It was the collar Rukia had worn when she was going to be executed, only this time it was soaked in fresh blood. The blood had decorated the floor around the collar in a bright red. His eyes widened and then flew to Gin's impassive, grinning face.

"What did you do to her?" he demanded, his voice low and angry.

"Oh nothing permenant," he said, "yet," he added, "whether her head stays attached to neck or not is entirely up to you," he sighed dramatically, "it would be a pity though to break your vow, what is it, twice now?"

"I want to see her," he said.

"My my, you shouldn't cause your sister more pain. You'd be shocked at how painful it is to walk on a shattered leg."

"What do you want from me?" he asked, tearing his eyes from the collar and back to Gin.

"I want to know where Yoruichi Shihon is," he said.

"Why would I know that?" he asked.

"You don't?" Gin's smile slipped fractionally. Byakuya shook his head and regretted the action as the world lurched sharply, "pity," Gin said, smiling again, "I'm sure your sister's head will make a fantastic decoration."

He turned and walked out, waving his hand. Byakuya slid down the wall, his eyes die and focused only on the blood stained collar on the ground. He wished he could call Gin back, he wished he could lie and tell him he had some idea. But the words locked in his throat as the hopelessness truly dawned on him. To anyone's view he simply looked as though he were mezmerized by the one spot of color in the too-white cell. To anyone who knew him however, he looked as though he had gone quite mad.

Gin watched him from a slit in the door, a satisfied smile on his face. Yoruichi was missing, evading capture somehow, and it was going to become a problem unless they could locate the so-called 'Demon Cat' soon. He had assigned a good portion of Soul Reapers to comb the surrounding city to look for her but there was no doubt in his mind she had become a cat. If she was in cat form then it was not as though they could capture every single cat to find her.

His smile widened as he approached the next cell, already feeling the air grow colder. Of all the recent additions this was by far his favorite. He idly wondered if he had been such a pain in the ass when he was a kid. He pushed open the door. They had recently brough him back from 'talking' obviously. Unlike Byakuya whose wounds were at least half-healed his were fresh. Even though he was on all fours, his lips stained with his own blood, he raised his head and looked at Gin. His eye, the one that wasn't swollen shut, told Gin that Toshiro Hitsugaya wanted nothing more than to kill him very very slowly. Gin was amused by the notion that the boy could still be so proud, even when he was beaten so soundly.

"You're not looking very well, Shiro," he said, the nickname slipping off his lips to have the exact effect he wanted.

Hitsugaya surged forward, his hands grabbing the edge of the bars. Before he could move any further Gin grabbed Shinso and threw him back, pinning him against the wall with the tip of his Zanpakto. A cry escaped his lips as the tip of the blade buried itself in his stomach. Gin didn't push it in far enough to do any real damage, just enough so that Hitsguaya would feel pain. He withdrew the Zanpakto, resheathing it by the time Hitsugaya's body crumpled to the floor in a heap of white and red.

"Now now if you'd just cooperate I'm sure these conversations would be shorter," he replied with false sincerity.

"I don't care," Hitsugaya gritted out, the blood in his throat making it hard to talk.

"You've been reading too many bedtime stories," Gin purred with a shake of his head, "you're thinking that you'll figure out a way to rescue everyone, to make her see the truth," his smile widened, "you won't. It's really that simple. You're not a prince and, though she is many things, dear little Momo is no princess."

"Do not talk about her," he hissed, his head flying up to lock his gaze with Gin's.

"Oh talking isn't the issue," he replied smothly, "I'm sure I'll visit again."

He turned and walked slowly out of the room. As soon as the door was closed he heard the anguished howl that came from the prisoner inside. Gin's smile widened and he pushed his hands into his pockets. He had thought he'd stay and taunt the prisoners a bit longer but the last words with Hitsugaya presented an entirely different possiblity. He turned and walked out of the prison, stepping into the bright sunlight of the Court of Pure Souls. Those that immediately surrounded him dropped into deep bows, murmers of respect spilling from their lips.

He wanted to spill something decidedly more red from them.

They were all traitors. A couple of gruesome public executions and suddenly they were loyal to Aizen. They didn't know the meaning of the word. They all wore white now. He never thought he'd miss the black uniforms before. Ignoring the men he walked past them and headed towards where he knew Momo Hinamori was. She may not have been a prisoner but taunting her would be no less fun. Especially not when Hitsugaya's blood decorated his Zanpakto.

He titled his head back and let the sun wash over his face. It was going to be a good day.

He could tell.