Summary: Yachiru can be very demanding at times. It annoys Kenpachi, but the more he is annoyed with her, the more he realizes how far he'd go just to make her happy.

Bedtime Stories

Just when his head hit the pillow and a contented sigh left his lips, a squeal broke out from outside as the door burst open. Kenpachi lifted himself on his elbows but fell back down when Yachiru came hurtling herself at him, colliding headlong with his hard chest.

The first time she had done that – which was years before – she had burst out in tears with a sore at the top of her head. She had probably grown a head of steel since then, because this tackle had been much harder than the first one and she looked down at him not with tears welling up in her eyes, but with a wide beam of excitement instead.

Kenpachi rested a forearm over his eyes, trying hard not to turn over on his side and doze off.

"What, brat?"

"Can I have some stories now, Ken-chan?"

Kenpachi refrained from groaning. Yachiru had been whining for bedtime stories ever since dinner about four hours ago. He had told her to shut up as it wasn't quite fitting for a captain like him to be narrating fairy tales to a little kid in the midst of having a meal with his seated officers.

What the hell would they think of him? The hulking captain of the infamous Squad 11 entertaining his little bob of pink with nonsensical fairy tales? "Preposterous," they'd say. Kenpachi wanted to keep their mindset that way.

"Let's save 'em stories for t'morrow, eh?" he murmured, letting his eyes drift to a close with a loud yawn that stretched his mouth wide enough to encase Yachiru's head, pink hair and all.

"But Ken-chan!" Yachiru protested, pulling his scarred eyelid open with her index finger and thumb. "Ken-chan, you promised!"

With a growl of warning, Kenpachi slapped Yachiru's hand away and turned to lie on his side. She slid off his chest on to the bed. Tucking his head in the crook of his elbow, Kenpachi let himself drift off to sleep. Yachiru's faint spiritual pressure, effortlessly dwarfed by his own massive amount, eventually faded into the darkness of the room.

At least the brat had some sense to back down.

No sooner had he thought that, there was a long shriek of "Hiya!". In his puzzlement, Kenpachi made the mistake of turning around to lie on his back, and a pink blur came crashing head-first into his stomach. The impact jerked his brain right out of slumber, eliciting a sound from his throat that seemed like a choked yelp.

Yelp? Damn it, Kenpachi didn't yelp. He wasn't a fuckin' dog.

He looked down and found himself staring into the very eyes of the runt notorious for her torturous antics. He wasn't the only one who had to put up with her nonsense. In fact, he was the one who had to endure the bulk of it...and in Kenpachi's sudden flare of anger, the last thin thread of his patience snapping, he shoved Yachiru off him without the slightest care for her well-being.

"What the fuck d'ye want from me, ye lil' brat?" he all but bellowed. "Don't'cha get it when I say I don't wanna read those goddamn stories? Only 'em shit gods know who the fuck made 'em up. They ain't nothin' but some fucked up pile o' bullshit!"

When he was done shouting, the room felt like a crackling bonfire, filled with spiritual pressure in an amount large enough to destroy the whole barracks. Yachiru stared up at him, blinking her wide ruby eyes in confusion, and when she swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in her throat and slid off the bed, Kenpachi immediately regretted his words.

He could only watch, mouth dry, as she exited his bedroom. The door closed with a soft click, unlike the usual slam, leaving him alone in the darkness once again.

The only light came from the full moon as it penetrated the window and cast ethereal shadows on the wooden floor. Kenpachi fell back down on the pillow, a harsh curse softly hissing between his teeth.

Smooth, Zaraki. Real fuckin' smooth.

But then again, the brat deserved it. Kenpachi had to attend a three-hour-long meeting first thing in the morning that discussed nothing but pure bullshit and, when he had shot out a challenge to Kuchiki, the "princess" had flatly turned him down without much hesitation – if any. Not like that lily-white assed captain would ever accept. He claimed to have "much better things to do" than waste his time with Kenpachi.

On top of that, he had to deal with a smothering pile of paperwork that never seemed to decrease no matter how many hours he spent working on them. Once in a while, Yumichika would enter the office – only to contribute to the heaps upon heaps of documents. Kenpachi had been on the verge of slaughtering the man right then and there.

After dinner, Kenpachi had returned to the office to resume his work, but Yachiru just had to burst through the door demanding for stories. Giving in, he bathed her, clothed her and, with no intention of getting pissed more than he already was, stuck a lollipop he had found under his pillow into her mouth and retired to his room with hopes of finally getting some rest.

Like most times, his hopes were washed down the drain when Yachiru appeared yet again. Against his better will, Kenpachi had finally lashed out. Now what the hell was he supposed to do with the undoubtedly sulking brat?

Kenpachi ran his fingers through his long, rough strands with a drawn-out sigh. Irritation clearly showed on his face as he frowned at the moon, absentmindedly cursing it for his misfortune and lack of control over his own emotions.

But when Yachiru's image materialized out of the blue on the very face of the moon, Kenpachi stopped short. Pink locks, ruby eyes, bright smile... He blinked, confused, and the image disappeared, swallowed up by a cunning wolf as its howl shattered the murky glass of silence.

Kenpachi lay in bed, chest slightly pulsing with a sudden ache, and tried going back to sleep. Quite a while passed and when he decided that the growing pain deep within his chest was too hard to ignore, he threw the covers off himself and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair once again, growled at his own ignorance and thoroughly messed up the dark tresses.

Damn it, 'Chiru.

The night was cold, but Kenpachi was numb to it as it bit into his bare skin. He was more than used to the cold. In a few swift strides, he crossed the bedroom. He stood outside Yachiru's door, one hand braced on the knob, wondering just what to say. He was never good with words, especially not in the sense of giving comfort and apologizing.

But before he was even remotely ready, his hand turned the knob and he found himself gazing down at Yachiru. She was on the floor, lying on her stomach, with several boxes of crayons and colour pencils scattered around her.

Kenpachi knew that she was aware of his presence. There was no one in the Court of Pure Souls who couldn't sense his overwhelming spiritual pressure. But Yachiru continued to work on her art, ignoring him completely like as if he wasn't even there.

The man was annoyed, but he kept a control on his own emotions. He had lashed out enough, and this was a delicate situation. One could say that he was treading into a nest of hollows. One false move and game over. Kenpachi hadn't any problems with hollows. The only thing that worried him was the sulking child. Yachiru didn't sulk much, and that was because Kenpachi rarely did anything to upset her.

When he did upset her though...he had absolutely no idea of how to undo it.

So Kenpachi just stood there, watching Yachiru. Her lithe hands snatched crayons and pencils up and worked their magic upon the paper. Soon, a picture began to form. When she was done, she dropped the art utensils and held up the paper in front of her face.

Kenpachi took one look at it and burst out laughing. Yachiru spun her head around to stare up at him. Seeing the mirth on his face, her eyes began welling up with tears. A sharp sob left her, knocking Kenpachi back to his senses. He was fast to scoop her up in his arms before she could run past him and out the door.

"I didn't mean it that way, brat." Kenpachi grinned at the picture of Aramaki being smacked around by a small pink and black bob whose only weapon was a pink stick – Kenpachi assumed that it was supposed to be a sheathed zanpakuto. As Yachiru's art normally reflected her feelings, this meant that if she didn't cool off soon, someone was going to get hurt.

"What'cha doin' here?" Yachiru demanded, fighting back sobs. "You're s'posed to be asleep!"

"I can come in here any time I want," Kenpachi replied bluntly, settling down on the pink covers of the bed. She tried wiggling out of his grasp, but all her efforts were nothing but futile. With one hand secured around her, he kept the child in his hold while he scanned through the art piece. This was definitely going to be on his office wall, next to the few dozen earlier works. He placed it down on the bed beside him with a huff.

"So how's 'bout some stories, eh?" Kenpachi grinned down at Yachiru as her eyes widened. A sob escaped, causing his lips to curl downwards in an instant frown. "What the hell's gotten into ye?" Nudging her hands from her face, he wiped the tears away with a calloused thumb, careful not to press too hard.

"You're gonna tell me stories, Ken-chan?" she asked tentatively as his hand retreated from her face.

"What the hell does it look like?" With that said, Kenpachi fell back on to the pink, fluffy pillow and leisurely stretched his arms above his head. He let out a sigh of satisfaction as his joints cracked and folded his hands under his head. Yachiru lay on top of his torso, dwarfed by his much larger frame. A slow smile crept up her face, eliminating all previous signs of sadness.

"What kinda stories are ya gonna tell me, Ken-chan?"

Kenpachi thought of it for a moment with his eyes shut. Then he raised his arms and stretched again, eyes opening to see the hopeful beam on his runt's jovial, moon-shaped face. He was very tempted to fall back into slumber but he couldn't take his gaze away from the child's smile. It was that joyful expression that kept him awake, made him push himself to his limits just to witness it – even if it were just for a few precious seconds.

That was when Kenpachi knew that falling asleep was nothing compared to what he could experience whilst awake. Even if he was tired, exhausted, or teetering on the brink of death, he'd do whatever it took to see that innocent joy in Yachiru's eyes. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the happiness he had felt for himself years ago. It had been a long, long time since then...but never did the memories fade away.

Involuntarily, a hand reached out and plopped itself on Yachiru's crown of pink strands. He caught a whiff of sweet strawberry as he ruffled her hair. The shampoo Yumichika had recommended wasn't so bad after all. It was expensive but it paid off. At least she wouldn't have to suffer with soap as a replacement for proper shampoo.

Yachiru tilted her head to the side, a gesture that made him...love her more than he already did. "What kinda stories, Ken-chan? Are ya gonna tell me 'bout when Feather-face lost to Baldy and had to leave his feathers at home for a day? Or the one 'bout Uki-chan and his flowers? I forgot who burned his baby trees. What 'bout Panda-chan and her pink picture books?"

With a soft chuckle, Kenpachi wrapped his arms around her, grip tightening ever so slightly, securing her small figure to his chest.

"Whatever ye want, 'Chiru."

A/C: "Panda-chan" is an OC in my multi-chaptered fic Frontline.