To Hell and Back
Vignettes of mourning and bereavement over a period of two years.
After grieving the loss of your husband for more than a decade, is there truly hope for recovery? And if there is, what is the difference between hope and insanity?
ukitake jushiro x f!reader, angst, nsfw?
word count: ~3,600
cw: heavy manga spoilers, death, explicit descriptions of suffering from grief + mental disorders (severe depression, etc.), extreme mental deterioration, alcohol, throwing up + dry-heaving, mention of insomnia, mention of sexual content, allusions to a lack of eating + frail health, hurt/no comfort
notes: lmk if i missed anything in the warnings! first time writing something so heavy, so the warnings + tags may be inadequate.
“UKITAKE-SAMA, YOUR tea is here.” A shinigami you forget the name of places a steaming cup next to you. From a quick glance, you can see a stalk floating vertically in the drink. Jushiro will be pleased to hear about it.
You nod but do not touch the cup. It is rude to drink and eat before your guests, and you are still waiting on them to arrive. Quietly, you watch the snow drift from the overcast sky, flakes clumping together and forming a thick coat over the ground, surrounding roofs, and trees. How many winters has it been?
Around the bend, you hear rapid footsteps. It must be them.
“Ukitake-sama, sincere apologies for our tardiness.”
Turning your gaze to your left, you see Rukia-san and Abarai-san coming to view, noses and ears tinged red. Smiling softly, you beckon them to relax and sit on the engawa with you. They listen obediently and wait with bated breath for your next move.
“No worries at all. I am glad to see the two of you are well.”
Rukia-san smiles cheerfully. “Yes, we are doing very well.”
“And how are you adjusting to your duties as captain?”
“I am not captain yet, Ukitake-sama.”
Abarai-san barks a quick laugh. “She’s already very busy, trust me. The appointment is in a few days, right?”
Rukia-san huffs, and you chuckle. “I am sure the 13th Division will be in good hands.”
A gust of wind passes through the corridor, and you shiver slightly at the biting chill. Jushiro should have reminded you to take a coat with you today.
“Ukitake-sama, please, take this.” Rukia-san removes her shawl and places it over your shoulders. Her hands hover over your frame before she sits back down. “Forgive me for possibly overstepping, but are you eating well, Ukitake-sama?”
What did you eat this lunch? For that matter, did you even eat? How about last night? Hm, for some reason, you cannot recall. You shrug, indifferent. You have always been prone to forgetting your meals without Jushiro reminding you.
A silence falls among the three of you, and the snow picks up. You feel yourself smiling at the downpour. So white, so pure. Jushiro always longed to walk in the snow, but his illness disabled him from spending an extended amount of time outside. While you are sure many of the shinigami are groaning at the weather, you know Jushiro would have found a way to celebrate it.
Abarai-san sighs a deep, hefty breath. “Ukitake-sama, if you’d like, would you join us for dinner? We’re having shabu shabu for the first time this year. I’m sure that’ll warm you up right away.”
It has been a while since the last time you had something so homey. You suppose Jushiro would not mind you spending a dinner with someone else. “I will take on your offer. Thank you for having me, Rukia-san, Abarai-san.”
The two bow before getting up, making their leave. They bid you farewell and several reminders to take care of your health.
Internally, you scoff. You need to be mindful of your health? Please, you are fine and have always been, aside from nasty injuries gained during training and missions. Besides, the one you all should be worried about is Jushiro.
Ah, but there is no need for that either anymore.
–
You wake up late. You only know because the incessant light of the sun is bleeding through the cracks of the shoji screens. You even got the screens filtered to reduce the morning brightness, but nothing can dim the flames of spring.
As usual, you are alone in bed, wrapped and tangled and curled in the giant blankets of your futon. Jushiro should be coming back anytime now, you think. You roll over onto his futon and blindly feel around for the book that he places by his pillow every night. It is always something different because he can never seem to finish one. You wonder what he is reading this time, but nothing is there. In fact, as sleep escapes you, you realize his futon is fully made.
Untouched.
Sobs begin to wrack your body, but you dare not let your tears and snot smear Jushiro’s bedding. You have not washed it once since, and even now, his scent has almost completely, if not already, faded. If you wash it, more traces of his aliveness will disappear and you cannot tolerate that even more.
He was living, breathing, eating, sleeping, training, laughing, loving. He was – is – more than just a stone headpiece sitting underneath a gazebo, and you feel like everyone around you is forgetting that, only speaking of him in the past tense and as a distant, fleeting spark of a memory. And that makes you deeply, profoundly remorseful.
Because you are also only able to recall him now. How did he smell? You only remember it was a combination of tea leaves, anesthesia, and soil, a poor, inadequate description you came up with when he asked you decades ago. How about his hair length? Jushiro kept it long for centuries, but he always had you trim it so that it never extended past his hip. And the sound of his voice? Not even your memories can imitate the way he pronounced your name, bantered with Kyoraku, commandeered his squad.
Moments like these are arguably the hardest. Not only are you overcome with grief, but you are also frustrated and restless, unable to do anything because there is nothing to do. There is no solution to this mourning. You would never kill these feelings for Jushiro, but that means this torment is inescapable, inevitable. You want this sadness to pass, become the silver lining to some cloud, rejoice instead in the legacy he has left behind. But leaving this phase would mean enough time has passed, and with enough time, you would forget much about him.
You should have recorded more of your moments with your late husband. But you can only sigh and harbor more resentment towards yourself in your heart.
By now, the tears have stopped. You are back in your futon, only to bury yourself under the covers.
–
“Class is dismissed!”
The shinigami disperse, heading to grab their belongings lining the walls of the garden. As you have retired from your post in the Gotei 13, you are now a kido instructor for new court guard cadets. The young ones are promising, you think.
Surprisingly, the classes of shinigami are growing. You had thought the war with the Quincies would deter future talent, but the damages and casualties seemed to have only bolstered interest. Interest in learning kido has also increased, no doubt due to Aizen’s influence.
Jushiro was plenty good at kido, too, you think bitterly. He just never had the opportunity to demonstrate his strength.
In fact, your first encounter with your late husband was at a kido training session that he was leading. With gentle encouragement and precise guidance, he taught you how to perform the casts you know by heart, and you continued to seek him out with questions and concerns until his appointment as captain. To say you missed your one-on-ones with him was an extreme understatement. You missed his soft laughs in the face of your snarky remarks and the fleeting touches of his fingertips against your tense arms. You did not think he would forget you, but you were not sure if you would ever be able to get so close to him again. Your doubt quickly dissipated, though, when you were accepted into the Gotei 13. It seemed he had chosen you to be placed into the 13th Division under him.
You are brought back from your reminiscing when you hear an angry cry. “Ukitake-sama is our instructor! How can you say that about her?”
The crowd breaks into waves of murmuring at the outburst. You look towards the right wall, and there you see a red-haired little girl being held back by two of her classmates. Like a cartoon character, she is kicking her feet, trying to wrangle her arms free, spewing insults at two other students who only roll their eyes.
This is nothing new. To be fair, ever since Jushiro’s sacrifice, you have only done the bare minimum to contribute to Soul Society, a stark contrast to the committed soldier you once were who went above and beyond. Many were shocked by your transformation and have begun to bear annoyance towards you for being a deadweight. You still receive many benefits for your many decades of service, and you remain in Jushiro’s old quarters in the 13th Division barracks. You are, for sure, taking up more space than a veteran should. But truly, you could care less to be noble.
You appreciate Ichika-chan’s attempts to save your face, regardless. You should give her some of the candies you store in your sleeves on her way out.
“Enough.” Everyone is now looking at you. You stare directly at the two shinigami who defaced you. What should you do with them?
Or rather, what would Jushiro do with them?
The answer is too obvious. You motion them to come to you, and they trudge over with lowered heads. When they come close enough, you sigh because had you acted purely out of your own volition, you would have reacted much differently.
You point at one of the students. “You are much too weak at defense. Please pay closer attention to our lessons on bakudou, and be sure to apply it during your sparring sessions.” Onto the other. “In order to summon the full force of a hado incantation, you have to call it properly. Polish your articulation, and you will experience a stronger effect.”
With that, you dismiss them again. As soon as they leave, Ichika-chan runs up to you, face blushing red (from the heat? embarrassment? or both?).
“Ukitake-sama, thank you for today’s class!”
You chuckle, adoring the young girl’s energy and brightness, and reach to take her hand in yours. You notice small callouses and blisters blooming on her palms, no doubt from practicing with her sword. Grabbing a fistful of candies, you enclose her fingers around the pile. “For you.”
A wide grin breaks on Ichika-chan’s face and she bows. “Thank you, Ukitake-sama!”
“I shall see you in a week, then.”
When all of the students finally filter out of the garden, you sit in peace. For once, the quiet is not eerie or haunting. Rather, it is much needed, a comforting break in between your classes. You still much prefer the sound of Jushiro’s chattering, but this tranquility may not be so bad either.
–
Underneath the gazebo, you bring the sake cup to your lips and down the liquid. The alcohol stings at the back of your throat, a burning sensation that muddles your brain yet pinches you awake. Across from you, a man also takes a swig, releasing a loud, uncouth exhale.
He holds up a bottle, gesturing towards you with it. “Want more?”
You shake your head. Eyes downcast, you hold onto the cup in your lap with your hands clasped around it, staring into the glossy bottom of the ceramic. You see a faint reflection of your face, but it is too shady underneath the gazebo for there to be a clear outline.
The man downs another large gulp, humming in contentment at the taste. He then sighs and adjusts his large bamboo hat. “Eleven years, huh?”
“Indeed.” You glance up, catching the eye of the Captain General of the Gotei 13. “How are you feeling, Kyoraku?”
“Ha, I should be asking you that.”
“Not a day goes by that I do not think of him.”
Kyoraku says your name gingerly, as if he is testing the mood of a spoiled, unpredictable child. “I understand. But you also need to live your life. That’s what he would want.”
You cannot hold back your voice. Close by, you know some of the other captains and their respective lieutenants are waiting for their turns to pay tribute. You are also aware that Kyoraku means no harm – in fact, he empathizes with you, something no one else can do. But still. “What he wanted was to live longer and be at peace! Do not dare to speak on his behalf! You may have been his best friend, but I was his wife, and I will not stand another shoving words into his mouth! Perhaps he does want me to live a little, be happy again. But…”
Your face feels hot. Feverish from strain, humiliation, shame. You can still hear echoes of your voice ricocheting off the walls of nearby buildings.
“Kyoraku… How are you able to carry on so easily?”
A torrent of jealousy and frustration courses through you, rushing through your veins and welling up nausea at the pit of your stomach. Why are you not able to move on? Why have you been robbed of joy and happiness, never to feel those feelings again? Are you to live such a directionless, empty life for centuries more?
Kyoraku moves from his seat to sit next to you. He pats you on the back at a slow, tempered pace. “Because I have to. Because that’s what he would want from me.”
You crumple into the commander’s side, eyes blurring and body shivering. A gust of wind blows through the gazebo, colder than normal, a sign that fall is arriving soon. Kyoraku wraps his haori over you, doing his best to shield and comfort you.
–
“How is she doing?”
“Much better! She’s been eating more and spending time with others these past two weeks.”
Kyoraku closes his eyes. Is he relieved? Yes. Is it too good to be true? Also yes.
“Commander? Is everything alright?”
Kyoraku puts on the best smile he can manage. “Yes, don’t worry about lil’ ol’ me, Kotetsu-kun. Just keep an eye on her for me, alright?”
“Yes, of course!”
The 4th Division captain bows before leaving the captain general’s office. Kyoraku waits until the doors shut with a resounding thud before he sighs deeply, worriedly. He had just seen you days ago, and it seemed there was much that was plaguing you. The likelihood of you recovering as rapidly as Kotetsu says you are is slim.
He peeks at the stack of files that Nanao-chan handed him this afternoon. But those can really wait, especially when it comes to you. Without you, there will be very few – if not, no one else – who can as vividly and intimately remember Ukitake as he can. He cannot lose the last connecting thread to his best companion. But truly, your state of mind’s very troubling. Stuck in an abyss, you wander, a ghost piloting a frail cadaver, bound to the grounds your late husband frequented when he was live. Often forgetting to eat and bathe and venture beyond your bedroom, you are withering away in real time, little pieces of your soul dying out.
At times, he can understand. Ukitake’s death left a permanent hole in his life as well, bereaving him from anyone he has given himself wholly to. Other times, though, he can’t extend any more empathy or compassion than he already has. How is it possible for you to not have anymore love or care for anything in this world? How can the loss of one person – something everyone experiences at one point in their life – disable you so much so?
But perhaps it’s a privilege that he cannot understand such enduring grief. He still has his niece, friends, and alcohol. Now that he thinks about it, you really don’t have anyone or anything else. Always keeping to yourself, you’ve been razor sharp in words and sight since he first met you; if others hadn’t already avoided you for your intimidating glare, then they were bound to be driven away by your scathing criticism and dry, sarcastic quips. Truth be told, it also took him a while to warm up to you, let alone fathom how you captured the heart of the open-minded, warm-hearted Ukitake. Kyoraku shakes his head. That’s Ukitake for you, he thinks, able to love everyone and everything.
At the end of the day, there’s a singular fundamental difference between you and Kyoraku: he has a reason to keep living, and you don’t.
He rubs at his left eye. He hopes you find one soon.
–
You have been having horrible dreams recently. More specifically, the dreams are so euphoric that they make you want to throw up when you wake up.
Jushiro appears in all of them. Sometimes, it is a recollection of your wedding day, from the ceremony in the morning to the love he made to you that night. There are also flashes of him bedridden, weakened by the intrinsic sickliness of his physicality. Last night, Jushiro and you were in a field, one so vast that you could not see beyond the rolling hills of low-hanging yellow camellia shrubs.
Both of you were stooping to admire the perennial flowers. You plucked one, tucking it behind his ear, and he laughed, doing the same for you. There was no well-trodden road or path, so the two of you meandered about at your own leisure. Strangely, though, neither of you spoke a word, only listening to the summer wind rustling through the field and the worker bees buzzing about. But you did not care at all. You just needed him by your side, just like this.
At one point, you were entranced by a particular shrub that grew taller than the rest, and while you were distracted, Jushiro had wandered far off. When you noticed the lack of his presence, you jolted up to your feet, eyes frantically searching all around, until you spotted him a couple hundred yards away behind you. He was waving his arm, calling out to you in his bright voice. “Come over here!”
Yet, before you were able to tell that you are on your way, you wake up, cold sweat seeping through your yukata.
The experience is truly nauseating, and you have had to experience it every morning for the past half-month. You would much rather become an insomniac at this point.
Regardless, you know the cause behind such dreams: the Konso Reisai ceremony is coming up.
–
The lieutenants are late. As per custom, they are to capture a Hollow in order for the ceremony to proceed. You, along with the division captains, surround Jushiro’s tombstone and wait in silence. You notice Rukia-san, who tries to smile encouragingly at you. You nod, stone-faced, barely able to reciprocate her efforts.
You are sure you look miserable. This morning, you were caught dry-heaving into the toilet by Kotetsu-san, who called Kyoraku over when you refused to leave your bathroom. With much begging and pleading, you let the commander peel you from the toilet bowl and off the floor, carrying you over to your and Jushiro’s futons to get dressed. Without the help of Rukia-san and Kotetsu-san, you would not even be dressed properly for the occasion.
Twelve years, and the grief is no less debilitating. You are depression epitomized, the personification of sadness and anger and surrender mushed into a near-corpse. The saying goes that healing is not linear, but you are sure yours is a straight trend downwards, unrelenting and deterministic in nature, never to plateau.
Suddenly, one of the captains, Soifun-san, gasps. “What is this…?”
There are black dewdrops scattered about, hanging immobilized in the air. You jerk as one appears right in front of you.
You catch a glimpse of Kyoraku unsheathing his sword, slicing a droplet faster than you can see, and then examining the bubbling matter staining the blade. “This is a will-o’-wisp from Hell.”
As he explains the will-o’-wisps and the superstition behind the Konso Reisai ceremony, you feel…
Adrenaline surging through you.
Goosebumps appearing on your arms and back.
Expectation bringing you to a dangerous high.
Hope.
Reishi too potent cannot return to Soul Society? The ceremony is dedicated solely to deceased captains? The only other option is Hell?
Does that mean… Jushiro is in Hell?
Hope.
Hope.
Kyoraku concludes. “I just realized right now that this superstition might have been true.”
Hope.
You are giddy. Ecstatic. Overjoyed at the news.
For the first time since your husband’s death, you are feeling positively abundant. Hopeful. You never thought you would feel hope again.
At first, only your shoulders shake. But your clothes that hang so loosely on you can only hide so much of your shuddering frame, and the other captains begin to take notice. Your hands reach up to hold your face, one covering your eyes and the other failing to mute your laughs.
You can no longer hold back.
You cackle loudly, hunched over while laughing and giggling incessantly. Someone tells you to shut it, but you simply cannot.
Of course, this is no comedic matter. This is serious – wonderful – news! Because Jushiro’s reishi cannot be deconstructed and digested by Soul Society, it has been sent down to Hell. His soul is still intact, from what you understand. That means, in essence, he is still alive.
A miracle has occurred, you think.
Hysterical. Unrestrained. Deranged.
You can see Jushiro again. You can smell his comforting scent of tea leaves, feel the silkiness of his hair slip between your fingers, taste his lips against yours, imagine him smiling and laughing and existing in one whole piece right in front of you.
It cannot get better than this.
I am on my way, you think. I am coming over right now, Jushiro.
My beloved, I will be right there with you.
