This is my first Bleach fanfic so I'm sorry if it's a little sloppy. (I confess I've never watched the anime nor read the manga but I have played the PS2 game though.)

Disclaimer: Do not own Bleach.

R&R please! Let me know how I did.

Happy birthday Kenpachi-taichou! Although I missed the midnight deadline, damn it.

Nameless. He had always been nameless. When babies were born, their parents would give them a name. He knew he used to have a name. Sure of it. But he died too early to remember. The faces of his parents were hidden by smoke so thick that no light could ever penetrate through.

His mind was empty. Blank. He knew no pain, showed no mercy. He was deaf to the cries of his victims as he slashed through them with the jagged blade of his sword. He tore through skin and flesh, raked bones and ruptured organs. Hot blood splattered onto his own skin and he revelled in its warmth.

He didn't deny the title people bestowed him. He embraced it. The Demon of Zaraki, for he came from the most lawless, most violent and bloodthirsty district of the Rukongai: the 80th district. Bandits and thieves, assassins and murderers prowled her streets day and night looking out for their next victim. Those who weren't strong enough died right then and there, bludgeoned and decapitated to a bloody death.

Him? He survived. He endured nights out in the bitter cold, steeling his flesh against the wind's icy jaws. No matter how violent the fights he participated in, he always made it out alive. Always. Days without food were the worst, though. Being male and an avid fighter, he had quite an appetite. But he didn't steal. Stealing was for pansies who were too fucked up to find a job. He worked for the rags he was wearing and the food that filled up a quarter of his stomach. If those he killed had anything to spare, he'd take them without a second thought. If you were dead, you sure as hell didn't need the money.

And so it came to pass that talk of a bandit raid reached his ears. The marketplace was full of that shit and the nervous villagers kept turning their heads to stare up at the thick turret of smoke spiralling skywards, stark grey against a dark orange backdrop. After living in this godforsaken place, you'd think that they'd gotten used to it.

He had no respect for bandits. A group of fucked up hooligans, the lot of 'em. The 80th district was filled to the brim with them and he killed them all, earning the title of the Demon. More than half of the district's population was gone thanks to him.

In a clearing deep in the lush forest, near the imaginary line separating the 79th district from the 80th, stood a broken down warehouse that served as a brothel. It was also a centre for those dealing in black market trades and that was the reason why the proprietor decided on a secluded area in which to erect his business. Black market items were hard to come by, not to mention expensive, and thieves would do anything to get their hands on them.

The Demon was smothered by thick smoke as soon as he set foot in the area. The brothel was engulfed in flames, its windows smashed with its splintered door hanging precariously by its hinges. Bodies lay scattered in pools of blood. Most were undoubtedly men who had sneaked out under their wives' noses to steal some fun. Che, he thought as he kicked a corpse out of his way, served 'em right.

The aforementioned bandits were picking at the corpses, looking for money and other useful items while a few harassed a couple of ladies – whores, no doubt, who were scantily dressed. They hadn't realized his presence until he made himself known. Even before he appeared from the under brush, they could feel the essence of his reiatsu flowing over them in wild torrents.

They didn't speak. There was no time, not even a second, to part their lips and exhale a curse. The Demon didn't think, he acted. Spinning his blade in his hand, he cut and diced and slashed his way through them. He felt the familiar heat of blood as it splattered onto his face, his clothes, his skin. The stench rose into his nostrils, intoxicating him from within and bringing to the surface his insatiable lust for battle. The two whores, only survivors of the raid, shook and cowered behind one another as the demon advanced on them. They begged for mercy, eyes shut tight so that they didn't have to stare into the flames burning in his eyes.

After not so much as a glance at them, he turned and strode away. He showed no mercy, left no survivors, but he didn't find joy in fighting weaklings – especially women. The bitches couldn't even defend themselves and they weren't worth his time.

He stood in the clearing. All was silent now except for the large bonfire of the brothel crackling its anger like some sort of gateway to Hell. The fire could spread to other parts of the forest judging on how big it was, but that didn't matter to him. It wasn't his forest. Nature could take its course out here and he didn't give a shit as long as it didn't interfere with his search for worthy opponents. Settling down on a patch of soil that was miraculously left unstained, he decided to clean and sharpen his sword. He did that every time after a battle without fail. Take care of your sword, and it'll take care of you.

Absently, he ran a hand along the blade's jagged edge, coating his palm with blood. He curled and uncurled his hand, then snapped his head up when he heard a little splash nearby. What he saw wasn't what he had expected at all. There, splashing carelessly through a pool of steaming blood and torn intestines, was a little pink-haired infant. She caught his curious eyes and blinked up at him, silently questioning his presence. He sat there, frozen in place, as she crawled towards him. This...was a kid. There weren't many kids in the 80th district. Most of them died just days after being given birth to, either succumbing to illness or killed by someone who was in desperate need of food. Quite surprising that a child like this one – a mere baby – had survived the raid.

"Where'd ye come from...brat?" he muttered, half-expecting her to understand. "Got a family?" Apparently, she had no interest whatsoever in his question as she continued to stare at his blade. The look in her bright eyes told him that she was, despite the situation and its circumstances, fascinated. "That's a sword," he said plainly. "It's used for killin' people." Ye might be next if ye don't stay 'way from me.

The infant cocked her head to one side like someone would when inspecting something interesting. She blinked, then proceeded to wipe her bloodstained palms on the soil. Still wet, the blood smeared the untouched earth. She looked at her palms again, now without so much as a few smudges here and there. Seemingly satisfied, she crawled nearer towards him. He refrained from backing away. It was just a kid anyway. It was nigh impossible for someone like him to fear a little brat.

She reached out a small hand and, with two stubby fingers, slid it along the blade's flat surface. He wanted to pull away right then and there, but found that, by all the gods, he couldn't. With a small giggle, she licked a trickle of blood from her index, then, to his surprise, stuck the finger into her mouth with a wide smile.

To see an innocent little child enjoying the blood of his victims was a first...and he found that he didn't want a second.

"Hey, stop that," he growled softly, nudging her hand away from her face. She grasped his finger in both her hands, tiny fingers wrapping around a much longer, larger one. A giggle left her. He stared at her for a long time while she turned his hand around, examining it like as if it was some new doll. A flicker of life edged its way through the trees and snapped him out of his trance-like state. The villagers were probably out to investigate the raid and look for survivors. With some hesitation, the Demon of Zaraki picked up the little baby and took off in the direction away from the oncoming source of life, heading deeper into the forest.

It didn't take long for them to find a stream and leave behind the stifling clouds of smoke in the forest. The thick grey spiral was still present in the sky with a promise not to cease until a few days later, serving as a memorandum of the threat of bandits. The corpses left there however, and the two eyewitnesses that were spared, would give rise to the rumour of the Demon prowling about the 79th district.

As soon as he could, the Demon placed the child back on the ground as if just touching her scorched his skin more than a bonfire. It felt strange carrying the kid around like that, even if it were for a few fuckin' seconds. She didn't feel too happy about being let down though. With her lip puffed up in an upset pout, she raised her hands up to him, letting out small cries of protests. He wondered just what the hell he was trying to do by taking her away with him like that. He should have just left her there so the villagers could take her in. But, he reasoned, with the amount of smoke that was present there, a child would suffocate to death and so he did the one thing that would prevent that from happening. The thought didn't make him feel any better than a fucked up idiot.

Looking down at her now, he saw that tears had welled up in her eyes as she waved her hands in the air for attention.

"Ye ain't my problem, brat," he growled, meaning to frighten her off, but she continued her pleas. Kids. They were annoying, and after seeing the first one in all his life, he prayed to whatever shit god that this was going to be the last kid he'd ever meet. He walked past her, his blade leaving a trail of blood droplets in its wake. Her cries got louder and louder with each step he took until a gut-wrenching wail broke out, piercing through the calming flow of the stream. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. Keep walkin', she ain't your god damn problem. Keep walkin', keep walkin'. Breathe... What the fuck are ye doin'? He turned around, teeth grinding, strode back to where the baby was and glared down at her. "Shut up."

Her wails stopped a moment as she reached out and tugged at his frayed hakama, smearing it with her bloodstained hands. Great. Blood was fuckin' hard to wash off. Speaking of which... He turned to the stream, then up at the smoke turret in the sky. No one would know that they were here. Hell, no one would even know that there was a child who survived the mess. He jerked away and knelt down by the stream to wash the blood off himself. Leaning over the edge, she tried to mirror his movement but lost her balance and toppled head first into the water. Immediately, he grabbed her by the scruff of her kimono and pulled her out, holding her up so that their eyes were levelled. She spluttered and giggled, oblivious to the fact that she could have drowned. Reaching out, she gripped the bridge of his hooked nose and tugged playfully.

He growled a warning, swatting her hand away and dropping her into the stream. When she stood, the water came up to her chin. No good. He cursed himself. He placed her back on solid ground, cursing again when he realized that the only outfit she possessed was now drenched. But at least the dip got most of the blood off. Wetting his hands, he wiped off the blood from her face and hair.

"Stop movin', brat," he snapped when she started to wiggle. With most of her clean, he turned his attention to his sword. Tendrils of thick red liquid spread throughout the stream when he submerged it, tainting the clear water with a network of gore. He scrubbed the rest of the stubborn stains off, ignoring the child until she cupped some water and splashed him for the third time in a row. He flicked his blade and sprayed her with water. He couldn't help but grin when that elicited a squeal of delight from the child. She laughed, clapping her hands and splashed some more water on him, thinking that he was finally going to play her game. He scoffed and stood up. He didn't play games with kids.

The sun had finally set behind the mountains, leaving the Rukongai a dark and dismal place. A dangerous place. Gods knew how many murderers were out there seeking new victims. Certainly not a playground for some damn kid. He looked down at her as she tugged at his hakama again. Having his attention, she raised her hands with bright eyes and a hopeful smile.

"Up, up."

With not much of a choice, he picked her up once and looked at her from head to toe. Then he put her back down again. She whined.

"Wait," he hissed. Hunger was catching up on him and since they were here, he might as well hunt for some dinner. He waded into the stream, careful not to slip on the smooth rocks at the bottom. Being tall and experienced made it easy for him to swoop down like a bird of prey and snatch up an unsuspecting fish. The runt tried wading in after him but after a fierce snap, she stayed where she was and watched, clapping and cheering every time he tossed a fish onto the bank. Once he thought that that was more than enough to feed the both of them, he got out and shook himself, spraying water over the giggling little girl.

With one arm cradling raw fish and the other securing the runt on his shoulder, he delved deep into the forest for a place to camp. He would have rented an inn, but he was broke. Stealing was not an option. He found a small grassy glade untouched by the likes of 'em fucked up bandits and started a camp fire. After thinking twice about the little runt's clothes, he decided to undress her and wrap her up in his own ragged haori, leaving her kimono and obi to dry by the fire. He was all too familiar with the cold anyway, and this kid wasn't. He'd be damned if she fell ill.

Once cooked, he handed the skewered fish on a twig to the girl, warning her that it was still too hot to eat. Either she was ignorant or simply dumb, she bit into it right after he uttered the last syllable of his admonishment and burst out into tears.

"Told ye," he said, blowing on his own fish. He was about ready to explode when she didn't stop her wailing after a few seconds. "Shut the hell up, will ye?" That didn't work. In fact, it only made the situation worse. Suppressing a snarl, he did the only thing that he knew she would like. He picked her up in his arms and paced around the camp fire. She cried and cried until well into the night and then all was silent. He checked and found that she had fallen asleep. Despite his damp shoulder, he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. Careful so as not to wake the little runt, he sat down slowly and dug into his now cold dinner.

The Demon leaned back against a tree trunk and gazed through the heavy canopy at the dark sky, pondering his misfortune. He had gone to look for a good fight with those bandits, but they were no match for him at all. A waste of time, those fuckin' pansies were. He had expected that to be the end of it, and he could go on looking for other tough guys to beat up, but for once he was wrong. So god damn wrong that it wasn't in the least bit funny. He got himself stuck with this godforsaken runt.

"Fuck," he spat into the fire in disgust. She shifted at that, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her pink strands tickled his skin and he surreptitiously brushed them away. What the hell was he so careful about anyway? He could've just left the brat there for the villagers to find her, no big deal. She sneezed, as if she knew what he was thinking even in slumber. Sighing, he tucked the haori securely around her and cradled her small figure to his chest, muttering curses to any shit god that could hear him.

xxx

The next morning, he awoke to an agonizing shriek that jerked him right off from the trunk he was slumped against, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword in an instant. When he saw no bandit, no thug, no nothing, he released the hilt and blinked away the mist of sleep from his eyes. The screams were still ongoing though...

Then his eyes came to rest on the pink-haired bob sitting right in front of him. Her mouth was open so wide that maybe a whole tree trunk could fit through and tears were streaming down her cheeks like a fuckin' downpour.

"What the fuck are ye bawlin' 'bout now, ye lil' runt?" he snapped, automatically taking her into his arms. Through her cries, he could only make out incoherent words like 'mam-mam, mam-mam'. What the hell was a fuckin' 'mam-mam'? He spotted the leftover fish he had wrapped up in her kimono and snatched it up. "Ye hungry? Here, eat this." She cried even harder when she saw it. Maybe she remembered the fact that it scalded her tongue once upon a time. Now irritated, he broke away some of the flesh, pinched it between his fingers so that it was small and soft enough and stuffed it into her mouth. She quietened down, and he went on to feed her using that method. It took some time before the whole fish was gone. She only managed to finish up half of it, so he took the rest.

Her clothes were dry from last night's roast by the fire. He flapped the kimono out to rid it of dirt and dressed her. "You're a fuckin' nuisance," he muttered under his breath as he figured out how to tie the obi. To hell with it, he decided and simply tied it up in a knot around her waist.

Since the sun was still climbing up the sky, yet to reach its peak, he settled against the tree trunk with his sword, found a suitable rock and started to sharpen it. He had planned on doing it last night after dinner, but then the brat just had to have a fuckin' emotional breakdown. 'Annoying' was the first word that made its way into his mind right then. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her play with the obi. Obviously, it was her first time seeing it tied the other way around.

The brat looked like a rich man's daughter. He considered on taking her hostage and demanding money for her release. But her family was probably killed in that bandit raid anyway. Probably. There was still a chance though. The thought that had been nagging at the back of his mind since he saw her came to the surface. Why did her family even lived in such a place as the 79th district? Didn't they know that it was dangerous here? To bring up a child here was just begging for her to turn into a whore or maybe even a thug. Now, after thinking through all that, he came to the conclusion that her family was full of those rich-ass pansies who didn't know shit to fend for themselves. That bastard of a father had most likely wanted his kid to become a whore. He'd probably brought her to that brothel so that she could get started with some early training from the professionals while he had his fun. Like hitting two birds with one god damn stone. Just thinking about it made him angry.

She was crawling towards him now, eyes bulging with curiosity. She reached out a hand to touch the sword but he nudged it away. He sure as hell didn't want to carry her around like her god damn mama and clean up the cut. She stared up at him inquisitively, head tilted to one side. He searched her bright eyes. Her irises were a dark pink, like the colour of that sweet syrup kids liked to drink. He never tried it though. Had no taste for sweet things. She stretched out again, a kind of determination flashing through her eyes. He grabbed her hand this time, gripping it gently but firmly.

"Don't. You'll hurt yerself," he said and released her. She seemed to light up at the physical contact and dragged his left hand into her two small palms. As he watched her play with his fingers and trace the callouses on his palms earned from countless days of rigorous chores, he couldn't help but feel a kind of warmth pooling in the empty pit of his stomach. It had been a long time since he felt that warmth. A long, long time...but he could never forget it.

"Hey, brat." He poked her nose gently and grinned when she blinked up at him in surprise, clearly taken aback. "What's yer name?"

The look she gave him was blank. She had one, he was sure of it. But, like him, she couldn't remember. He realized just now how alike they both were. No names, no family, no home to go back to.

"Ain't got one, huh?" They were just two sides of the same coin. "Me neither, kid." She resumed playing with his hand, oblivious to his musings. It took him a while to figure out what he should do. Take her or leave her. He went for the latter, much to his own surprise and puzzlement. In just a span of a night, she had latched onto him and wouldn't let go no matter how much he tried to shake her off. Unbelievable.

She didn't have a name, eh? They were going to be travelling together from now on and, though he had no trouble with the idea of referring to her as 'brat', he was going to name her. He knew the pain of not having a name. A personal reference someone would use to call you. Your own identity that makes up your whole being. It was important, as important as having a good fight with a worthy opponent.

"Yachiru," he murmured absently, tasting the name as it rolled on his tongue. It had been too long since he last uttered that name. "Yachiru," he said it a little louder this time as he etched into the soil the three kanji characters that made up the name with the tip of his sword. "It's the name of the one person I admired." He caught her stare and locked eyes with her. "I'm givin' it to ye."

Bending down, she squinted at the characters and went on to write them out in the soil with her finger. She only managed the first two characters. The third one was a little too complicated and she made a mess out of it until it was downright unreadable. Despite that, she clapped her hands together in delight, a smile stretching the edges of her soft lips.

"Ya...chi..." she said. "Yachi..."

"Yachiru," he helped out and, with an afterthought, added, "Kusajishi Yachiru, of the 79th district."

"Yachi...Yachi...ru?" She rubbed her cheek, leaving a smudge of dirt. He flicked the stain off with the tips of his fingers and gave a slight nod. He wanted her to know her own name, say it out loud, so that in time she could discover the significance of that name.

"I'll be Kenpachi," he said as he felt confidence building inside of him. "It's the name given to the strongest shinigami of the generation. I'll be usin' it from now on." Kenpachi...that was a big name to live up to, but he knew he was capable of it. "Zaraki Kenpachi...of the 80th district." For the first time in a long time that warmth overruled blood lust and seized control of him. It filled up the emptiness inside of him that at one time seemed to be an endless pit devoid of feelings and emotions. Now he knew that he was capable of feeling. That he was not just one of those useless bastards out there killing for nothing. He realized how much he was actually needed. This...brat needed him. He was the only one she had.

"Ken..." she uttered, licking her lips. "Ken...cha..."

"Kenpachi," he said slowly.

"Ken...cha..." She rubbed her nose, frowning in frustration. "Ya...chiru. Ken...Ken-chan?" With that, she giggled, squeezing his index finger in her hands. "Ken-chan, Ken-chan!"

His lips curled in an amused grin as he observed the celebrating infant, seemingly rejoicing for the both of them for finally having names. She needed him. And he? Well, he didn't mind having someone to be occasionally called 'brat'. He nodded, giving her pert nose another gentle poke. "That's 'bout right."

Kenpachi would always remember the day when he first met the little runt, because that was the day when he was reborn and offered salvation for a better shot at life. He embraced that chance whole-heartedly and swore to himself that he wouldn't screw up – if not for his own sake, then for Yachiru's.