The Butterfly Effect

Chapter Eight: Ignite

Ignite: transitive verb, \ig-ˈnīt\

1. to subject to fire or set aflame
2. to render luminous with heat
3. to set in motion

***

The contents of Uryū's satchel lay spread out on the ground before him. Mostly, he'd packed medical supplies, but there were also a couple of emergency food items, some water, a needle and thread, and, set carefully aside, an oblong lacquer case and small glass bottle of ink. He picked up the needle, attempting to unspool the thread with little success. Stitching himself back together was mandatory if he was to continue, but he was finding it difficult to get there with only one functional arm.

Deliberately, Uryū set the needle between his teeth, applying a tiny burst of reishi to cut the thread. The end was jagged, so he smoothed it by pinching it between his fingers, then brought it up carefully to his mouth, crossing his eyes to be able to see what he was doing. He missed on the first pass, the thread striking the outside of the eye as he attempted to pass it through, and Uryū realized that something was causing a fine tremor in his limbs.

Strangely, he didn't feel all that tired, really. More than anything, his injury was hindering him, but he somehow knew that if he could take care of it, even to the extent he was capable of with living world techniques, he could still get up and keep moving. Perhaps he'd gained more from his time in Urahara's basement than he'd initially believed. It was just like that man to sneak such conditioning in to what seemed to be completely different endeavors.

On the second attempt, the end passed through the eye, and Uryū pulled it out the other side, adjusting the thread so that the needle rested in the middle of its length. Tying a knot might be more difficult still, but he had enough practice sewing that he knew he'd be able to figure something out. Granted, he wasn't usually stitching flesh, but the basic principle was the same.

Something registered on the edge of his senses, and Uryū abruptly dropped the needle beside him, his fingers finding the empty hilt of his Seele Schneider and channeling reishi through it. The blade extended, luminous and blue-white, as the door to the small storage shed he'd hidden himself in slid open.

The person on the other side of the door immediately held both of his hands up at the level of his chest, palms out, and Uryū heard him take in a sharp breath. "P-please," he stuttered, "I'm not here to fight."

Uryū did not deactivate the Seele Schneider, but he didn't immediately move to stand, either, not eager to aggravate his injury when he'd only just managed to stop the worst of the bleeding in preparation for stitches. The shinigami in front of him had to be one of the least-dangerous-looking people he'd ever encountered, but he knew that counted for absolutely nothing around here. The man had a youthful face, wide eyes with a notable downturn at the outer edges, lending him a slightly pathetic aspect, like a puppy. His hair hung around his face to his chin, and though he carried no visible zanpakutō, there was a white sash with some kind of greenish strap laying across his chest.

"Then what do you want?" Uryū asked, shifting slightly in his seat. "Get in here and shut the door behind you." If it remained gaping open like that, someone would wander by and see him.

The shinigami jumped slightly, turning around hastily and shutting the door with a soft click. "I'm Hanatarō Yamada," he said, folding his hands in front of him and bowing. "Seventh seat of the Fourth Division."

Uryū's frown deepened. The Fourth was healing and support, but their captain was third on the list of people not to fight. Some woman named Unohana. "What do you want?" he repeated, enunciating each word crisply.

"O-oh, um... it's just... you're one of the ryoka, right? There's a rumor that you're here to help Rukia Kuchiki." Hanatarō straightened from his bow, blinking his wide eyes.