The scream that left his throat wasn’t one he ever meant you to hear.

Renji had been mid-swing, Zabimaru cleaving through air with purpose, precision—until that flicker of motion caught the edge of his vision. The kind of movement he didn’t want to recognise. The kind of blood he never wanted to see. Your blood.

And when your eyes met his—just for a second—wide, glassy, red blooming across your uniform like ink dropped in water, something in him shattered so loud it drowned out the battlefield.

He didn’t think. He couldn’t.

“Hey—”

It was already too late.

Your body had crumpled into the dirt like a marionette with its strings cut, limbs slack, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

It was so abrupt, so violently quiet, that for a split second it didn’t register—not even to you.

One second you were there standing—Zanpakuto drawn, trying to hold your ground. The next, your vision had gone white at the edges as blood poured in a hot, relentless wave from your side. It soaked through your uniform with a sickening warmth, spilled down your thigh, streaked across your fingers as you reached to press down.

Everything inside Renji twisted into something monstrous. Rage. Fear. Guilt. It ripped up his chest like wildfire, blazing through his ribs, scorching his throat raw.

There were enemies around—he knew it, he knew it—but his feet were already moving, towards you. Feet slamming into the ground, ignoring the howls of the injured and the ring of steel, the calls from other shinigamis yelling for him to fall back.

He didn’t care. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

His hands were on you before he could breathe. One arm sliding beneath your back, the other cradling your head like you were the most fragile thing he’d ever held—because to him, it was.

You were bleeding. So much. Too much. It coated his hands, smeared across his arms, soaked into the fabric of his uniform. And your eyes, god—your eyes—they were fluttering, unfocused, lashes trembling with every shallow breath you fought to take.

“Hey. Hey, no—no no no, don’t close your eyes, you hear me?” His voice cracked. Splintered. The desperation was ugly in it. “I’m right here—fuck, I got you, okay? You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine, just—stay with me.”

Zabimaru’s tip dug into the dirt beside him, forgotten. He didn’t even register the enemy running off in retreat—Renji was too busy. Too busy shaking, clutching your bloodied form like you’d vanish if he let go.

“Why the hell weren’t you watching your flank?!” he barked. It wasn’t fair—it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t your fault. But the terror was eating him alive and all he had were these words, these broken pieces of rage to keep him from sobbing.

“You—you idiot, why didn’t you call for me?”

Your lips moved. Just slightly. A ghost of a whisper that he had to lean in to catch. Whatever you had tried to say was lost beneath the way your body jerked with pain, how your fingers clenched in his uniform weakly like you were holding onto the last thread of consciousness.

And Renji broke.

Not into tears—those would come later. But into movement. Determination. Resolve. His jaw set, his shoulders squared, and he surged to his feet sigh you in his arms—like a vow carved into his bones.

“You’re not dying. Not on me. Not today.”

The battlefield blurred around him as he flash-stepped through the chaos, your weight cradled against his chest. Blood still trickled between his fingers, but his grip never faltered.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t listen.

He didn’t care what orders he disobeyed. He didn’t care for what consequences he had to face.

Abarai Renji didn’t give a damn about protocol. To hell with it.

Not when the person he loved was bleeding out in his arms. Not when your breath hitched like it could be your last. He didn’t care how fast he had to move, how many walls he had to break to get you help.

He just knew—that if he lost you, he’d never forgive himself.

Not in this lifetime.

Not in any.