Hi, guys. Along with Redemption, I've redone Curbed Instinct a bit to update and dust it off a bit after four years of leaving y'all hanging. I'll do better this time around!
This one deviates from canon midway through the Fake Karakura Town arc.
Please enjoy, and review!
oOoOo
It was black.
He stood in a void of nothingness. It wasn't dark, it wasn't shaded, it wasn't, like, the 'dawn of the abyss' or whatever poetic shit Octava had loved to go on and on about.
It was black.
The last thing he remembered was fighting Kurosaki Ichigo. The kid had gotten stronger – how the hell had that happened, exactly? – and he could dimly recall one last charge before he'd wound up here, in the black.
Was this what dying felt like? He couldn't remember. He was standing, he knew. Couldn't move to blink, let alone charge a cero or reach for Pantera, but he was standing.
Still, if this was death, it fuckin' sucked.
One thing he did know was that he wasn't making his merry way back to Las Noches. That meant that Kurosaki had won their little fight.
Kurosaki.
Won.
Kurosaki won.
Damn it, there was no hope for his ego to rebuild itself. He, the Sexta Espada, one of the most terrifying beings in all of Hueco Mundo, had lost to some jumped-up substitute pencil-necked brat.
Eh, it was a good thing that Grimmjow was hanging out in nowhere-land, otherwise he would've had to kill himself from the shame of it all.
"Grimmjow…"
The hell?
"Grimmjow…come, Grimmjow…"
Was that God? God was calling him?!
"Move it, you ain't doing it right. Ne, Grimm-chan, wakey-wakey! You've been asleep long enough, Sexta, time to rise an' shine!"
No, not God, Grimmjow resolved. Satan Fuckin' Incarnate.
"Aww, he ain't stirrin'. Maybe it's like a fairy tale, where the princess is sleepin', an' all it takes is one little kiss like-"
"Gah!"
The blue-haired Espada jolted upright, nearly colliding heads forcibly with Ichimaru Gin, whose shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.
"See? Toldja that would wake him up. Ohayou, Grimm-chan!" The silver-haired man waved cheerfully to the glaring arrancar.
"Now, now, no need to give the poor man a complex, Gin. After all, he's already been through so very much." The unbridled concern that seemed to permeate those unctuous words told Grimmjow that Aizen was present without having to look.
Granted, the concern was probably a lie, like so much else about the man, but it was there nonetheless.
The Espada blinked, trying his best to clear that damned blackness from his vision. "Guess I oughta be grateful or somethin', Aizen-sama?" Aizen-sama. Pfft. He almost gagged every time he had to say that. "Thought I was done for. I got you t' thank for that?"
The lord and master of Hueco Mundo chuckled lightly. "Mm. I'm afraid not. Your little shinigami friends were kind enough to bring you along when they roped us in quite nicely."
"…the fuck?"
Grimmjow stood, noticing his surroundings for the first time. The white walls weren't anything new, not when he'd lived in a palace that looked like a damn bleach truck exploded inside, but the room was small and round. And didn't have any doors.
"Glad y'could join us, Grimm-chan," Gin beamed. "Though the senzaikyu don't exactly have much t'join."
The Espada's jaw tightened. "Sen…what?"
Aizen sighed. "The senzaikyu. The shrine of penitence in Seireitei."
"So…can't you just, like, make with the explosions and get outta here? Hell, you're right where you wanted to be, ain'tcha?"
"Do you really think we would still be here if I could?" Aizen's posture was relaxed, but he was using his patented 'you-are-a-blithering-idiot-and-I-am-obviously-much-more-intelligent-than-you-could-ever-hope-to-be-you-stupid-excuse-for-primordial-ooze' tone.
"The senzaikyu is made of deathstone. It essentially acts as a massive extraction unit for reiatsu of any kind. I couldn't so much as light a candle with a hado right now."
Despite his commander's words, Grimmjow had to chuckle unpleasantly. "Y'mean you actually managed t'get yerself caught, Aizen-sama? Naw, it can't be true!"
"But it is!" Gin chimed in, pacing nonchalantly around the perimeter of the confined chamber. "We were all set ta take down the four cornerstones holdin' that fake Karakura Town an' make the Ouken. Trouble is, some clownfaced Head o' Research had t'inlay 'em with a bakudo big enough t'pin down everybody inside.
"Soon as Stark broke down the last one, ain't nobody could move. Espada, Shinigami, even us. Trussed up pretty as dinner!" Ignoring Grimmjow's obvious disbelief and Aizen's attempts at quelling an incoming migraine, Gin continued cheerily. "Well, a' first we just thought it was a setback, yanno. Aizen-taichou ain't gonna let anything hold him down, so he's almost got this thing shrugged off. Then, wham! Out cold."
Grimmjow snorted. "What, it knocked you out, too?"
"Er…no." Aizen sniffed pointedly, rubbing at the back of his head and wincing. Gin sidled over and spun the man around before he could protest, parting the thick brown hair to reveal a sizable lump.
"Urahara-san snuck up on 'im. Figures he'd have a sneaky way o' avoidin' somethin' like that trap!"
Gin's pale hand was immediately slapped away by the other ex-shinigami, and Aizen grumbled, tossing his head in an effort to re-settle his hair from the intrusion. "Gin, do recall whom you are referring to. That man could swindle a Kuchiki out of house and home without so much as blinking."
"My mistake!" The silver-haired man fluted.
"Why are you so damn chipper, anyway? I dunno about you fine fellas, but bein' stuck in a prison that sucks out yer reiatsu in the middle of enemy territory ain't exactly my idea of a good time."
Gin canted his head to the side, folding his hands into his sleeves. "The battle was a week ago, Grimm-chan. If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead. Nah, they're waitin' for somethin'."
"Of course we are," an authoritative voice intoned, causing three pairs of eyes to snap, surprised, to the luminous entryway that had just opened in the wall.
"Information."
oOoOo
"Did the soutaichou get what he was looking for?" Kurosaki Ichigo inquired through a mouthful of rice. Dinner at the Urahara Shouten had become a semi-regular affair over the past two weeks, since the battle at the false Karakura Town, but Ichigo wasn't about to complain in the face of free food.
"Oh, yes," Urahara crooned, pouring a cup of tea. "By its nature, though, it's highly classified information. Which means, of course, that even I don't know much about it."
Kurosaki blinked. Bullshit, he thought. Geta-boushi wasn't ignorant of anything unless he chose to be.
"But, I mean, these are the bad guys. Aizen! Ichimaru! All of those damned arrancar! Everyone knows what they've been responsible for!"
Urahara snickered softly, bringing the steaming cup carefully to his mouth. "Well, they knew what they saw, we'll say. Yamamoto-soutaichou doesn't want mistakes of any sort made after the little affair with Kuchiki-san."
Ichigo snorted derisively, swallowing another bit of rice. "Why the hell is he giving those bastards a chance? After all they've done, kill them and be done with it!"
"Why the hell didja give this bastard a chance?" A mocking chuckle issued from the doorway, causing Ichigo to whirl suddenly, coming to his feet with practiced ease.
"After all I did, kill me an' be done with it, eh?"
Ichigo blinked, as though his vision would wipe away the smirking Grimmjow Jeagerjaques standing bold as brass in the entrance to the Shouten.
His hand went to his sword before he could react, drawing the blade without conscious effort. "What, you came back for more after I managed to kick your ass the first time?"
The Espada sauntered in, scoffing lightly. "Hey, you plannin' on usin' that overgrown cleaver this time around?" He paused before the strawberry and raised an eyebrow curiously. "If I c'n remember right, last time we fought, you didn't finish me off. Then ya stopped Nnoitra from doin' me in. Now, we ain't friends, shinigami, so I can't help but wonder what the hell ya thought you were doin'."
Ichigo glared at Grimmjow as though the taller man were an idiot. "I was trying to keep you from getting killed, you asshole! Yeah, I mean, you're a bad guy, but a bad guy with one fucked up death wish! Seriously, I never thought I'd see another Kenpachi."
"Death wish?" Grimmjow echoed. "What the fuck do you mean I have a death wish?"
"Just because you're a good fighter doesn't mean you're supposed to keep going up against somebody until they kill you!"
"Havin' a death wish ain't the same as wantin' ta win, y'know that!"
"Okay, look. There was no way you were going to win the last fight we had. You knew that, Espada, you knew that damn well."
Urahara Kisuke, for his part, poured another cup of tea while the two argued. As the voices raised and physical harm grew imminent, he rose to his feet languidly and flipped out his fan.
"Now, now, we're all friends here. Kurosaki-san, stop."
The embattled teen halted in the middle of his snarled curse, reluctantly straightening.
Grimmjow leaned forward, nearly nose-to-nose with the younger man, giving a low chuckle as Ichigo flinched but refused to back away.
"Better watch yer morals, shinigami. Fer a few seconds, here I was thinkin' ya cared about me."
He leered unpleasantly, rewarding Ichigo with a wolfish wink as the strawberry finally buckled and backpedaled.
"You're an arrancar! An Espada!" Ichigo spluttered. "Wwhen have I ever done anything besides try to kill you? hy the hell would you think that?!" Ichigo all but shouted. Pleading eyes turned to Urahara. "What the hell is he doing here, anyway?! He's a maniac, he goes nuts and attacks anybody without warning!"
The shopkeeper slid the newly-steaming cup of tea to a third setting and motioned for the two men – one guffawing loudly at the other's distress, one glaring at the world – to seat themselves.
"The former Sexta Espada is here to help me shut the shop down – temporarily, of course – and escort the both of us to Soul Society."
Grimmjow, in some obviously underhanded ploy, lowered himself leisurely to the floor and took a drink of his tea. Ichigo's mind could be heard crackling, trying to connect the dots.
"Former?"
"Yep," Grimmjow drawled. "The old geezer didn't kill us, or Aizen, f'r that matter. Recruited us!"
The arrancar smirked, inwardly cackling at the outraged disbelief that he knew would come from Ichigo.
"What the hell for?!"
"Eh, all I know is I'm s'posed ta grab you two for whatever that fart has planned. Couldn't kill ya if I wanted, either. Sucks."
Grimmjow flicked disinterestedly at the choker that Ichigo suddenly noticed encircled his neck. It was a black band of some sort of leather, inset with small sphere of black stone.
"A new fashion statement?" Ichigo scoffed, sitting down at last, though he made no move to tough his tea.
"Deathstone!" Urahara piped up. "No reiatsu means no threat."
Grimmjow glared at the man, mentally willing him to burst into flame.
"What?" Ichigo crowed suddenly. "You mean that he can't do anything?"
"Precisely," Urahara quipped. "A precautionary measure taken by the soutaichou himself – at someone's anonymous suggestion, of course," he added subtly. "Just because new situations have come to light doesn't mean that former enemies can run amok while we sort them out."
"Uh...what?" Ichigo seemed lost.
Grimmjow rolled his eyes – for the fighter that he was, Ichigo seemed damn stupid.
"Never mind," Urahara supplied, seemingly having reached the same conclusion as Grimmjow. "Go home and get some rest – we'll take care of things here and leave first thing tomorrow. I'll explain everything then, hmm?"
Ichigo turned from a snorting, skeptical Espada to a smiling shopkeeper who made shooing motions with his hands.
"Fine," he muttered, standing. "Man, there are times I miss normal."
"You gave normal up a long time ago," Urahara murmured to Ichigo's retreating back,
Grimmjow didn't know whether to grin madly or frown. Stupid, headstrong, and an all-around idiot, sure. But hadn't he been referred to by those same things? Why the fuck didn't the kid kill him and get it over with?
Further investigation was in order. After he'd done whatever this weirdo with the hat needed him for, he was finding out exactly why.
oOoOo
Ichigo couldn't sleep.
His head was spinning. Granted, he was used to having too much to think about, but tonight was a big exception. Not only was he being dragged off to Soul Society again after barely two weeks, but he was expected to accept the fact that Grimmjow Effing Jeagerjaques was a good guy now?
No, he'd always be an enemy. After what he did to Rukia? After setting up an execution squad to slaughter everyone in Karakura Town with the faintest hint of reiatsu? After catering to Aizen's every whim without a care for who it affected, as long as it wasn't him?
No, Grimmjow would always be reviled.
Then again, Urahara didn't seem too perturbed.
No, geta-boushi was out of his damn mind anyway.
Urahara could look at the guy without blushing.
Psh, the shopkeeper's sex drive had died with the dodo.
Right, so Urahara could take the Sexiest Espada in stride without getting an embarrassing tent in his pants.
Ichigo's eyes snapped shut, teeth gritted and fists clenched, immediately purging that thought from his mind.
Grimmjow was the enemy. A lunatic. A murder-gorged fiend.
Though not that bad-looking, either.
Every time Ichigo tried to imagine the atrocities that Grimmjow had committed, he couldn't picture the victims, the unwitting subjects to his attention. He could only visualize the open jacket that left the Espada's toned chest and hard abs in full view, the white hakama that were held up just enough by that damned sash, the hollow hole in his stomach that dipped just beneath his waistband.
Ichigo was fucked up, and he knew it.
For a half hour following that, Ichigo tossed and turned beneath his blanket, repositioning himself in an attempt to go to sleep. On his stomach, on his side, on his back, above the covers, underneath them. Pillow, no pillow, lights on, lights off.
He couldn't drift off because the blue-haired man's grinning face and familiar physique ghosted through Ichigo's mind in all manner of ways.
Ichigo dimly realized that he also had a little...problem.
Well, maybe not that little.
Sleep might come, he resolved, if he took care of that problem.
oOoOo
Grimmjow fairly panted, sweat glistening on his frame in the moonlight. He was sore, but it had been worth it. He was exhausted after working muscles he hadn't even known he'd had, but it was over. And man, it had been something.
Who knew how much goddamn work closing a shop- could be? No, it wasn't as simple as slapping an 'Out of Business' sign on the front. Inventory had to be taken. Rooms had to be cleaned.
Boxes and boxes and more fucking boxes had to be packed and moved and labeled and shipped and hidden and stacked and organized and covered.
And the jerk with the hat hadn't lifted a finger. He just sat back while Grimmjow did all of the work.
It was done, though, thank God, and Grimmjow had been given permission to prowl, thanks to that handy collar around his neck.
Grimmjow hated that thing, he really did.
Once he had caught his breath from the last box – "Just a few gigai components. Put this label on the box." "Seven hundred pounds of BOX is JUST A FEW?!" – Grimmjow was prowling.
He couldn't sense reiatsu to save his life, let alone find Kurosaki. Fuckin' collar. Lucky for him, he had been a cat in a past life – or, well, before he'd been zapped with the Hogyoku – and the kid's scent was all over the shop.
It was easy enough to follow the trail, and he soon found himself at the small residence next to the town's clinic. Huh.
A quick sniff told Grimmjow that the kid was around back, on the second floor. A couple of steps and a hop brought him up to Kurosaki's windowsill.
The room was dark, but that didn't stop him from pushing the window up.
He stopped pushing as a faint moan reached his ears.
The fuck?
He peered under the window, surveying the dark room. Kurosaki was laying in bed – early bedtime, the pussy – but Grimmjow abruptly noticed that he wasn't sleeping. No, his eyes were closed, but his head lolled back on his pillow, and his mouth was parted just so. Not even the Espada was so dense as to miss what the kid's hand was doing underneath the thin covering, either.
Now, he wouldn't like anybody walking in on him in this situation, either – not that he'd be desperate enough to put himself in this situation – so he drew back, sliding the window down.
"Ngh...Grimmjow..."
The Espada nearly fell off his perch. He froze, peering back into the room. The kid's eyes were still closed, and he'd been quiet, he knew he had. How the fuck had he been spotted?
"Grimm...yeah..."
Oh.
Ohhh.
A blue eyebrow raised itself in surprise, and Grimmjow suddenly bore a toothy grin. Call it the predator in him. This was definitely a surprise. For all his flaws, he had never taken the substitute shinigami to be a pillow-biter, nor had he supposed that Ichigo really intended to save him for any other reason than that 'protecting-people' complex that the nutcase had told him about while he was breaking his back at the Shouten.
All work and no play made Grimmy a dull boy. The work was done, and Grimmjow weighed the situation in his head. He wasn't gay, fuck no.
But the kid was kinda cute. Reminded him of himself.
Was obviously into Grimmjow enough to be doing this.
Before he had finished turning the plan over in his head, Grimmjow was crouched on the foot of the bed, window drawing in the night breeze.
The bed creaked with new weight, and Ichigo's eyes opened partially, hazed with lust and a bit of sleep.
The glaze vanished when he saw the Espada grinning down at him.
His hands shot out from under the covers like lightning, and he bolted upright, sitting and covering what of his dignity he could salvage, sputtering.
"I didn't – you – what the fuck?!"
Grimmjow let loose with a low, throaty chuckle that seemed to reverberate around the room.
"You rang?"
Before Ichigo could respond, the Espada's lips were pressed against his.
The strawberry wasn't a great kisser, hell, didn't react when Grimmjow fuckin' put himself down there for the kid.
Warmed up quick when the arrancar's hand began roaming south, though. The younger man arched beneath the arrancar, pressing his hips involuntarily against the intruder.
Ichigo moaned softly into the kiss, the tang of blood reaching his tongue – both their tongues – but going unnoticed. His hands splayed against Grimmjow's back as he sought leverage, friction, release - and found none as the former Espada drew back, teeth glinting in a wide, amused smirk.
"Get some sleep, kid. Long, -long- day tomorrow."
Grimmjow threw a smug, insouciant wink over his shoulder as he jumped through the window and fell from sight, deaf by all appearances to Ichigo's muddled, angry invectives echoing across the street.
This was going to be interesting.