This plot bunny bit me in the ass out of nowhere last night. Updates to this story will probably be slow, as I do want to finish my other two ongoing GrimmIchi's first. And then there's that Mile High Club that I want to expand…
This happens in an AU where I pretend that the Fullbring arc doesn't happen and Ichigo doesn't lose his powers after defeating Aizen.
The pale crescent moon hung high in the dark sky of Hueco Mundo, bathing all beneath it with its gentle silver light. Sand stretched far and wide, neverending, forming dunes and valleys that seemed to go on indefinitely. It looked almost peaceful, so vast and empty unlike the hustle and bustle of Karakura or Soul Society; and perhaps some days it was, when the occupants of this world were not bent on annihilating one another.
But not this day.
Kurosaki Ichigo walked slowly amongst the bodies littering the white sands, Zangetsu clutched tightly in his fist as he tried hard not to look at the bloodied, slack faces on the ground. Most, he did not know personally, but one or two he thought he may have met before, albeit briefly.
All around him, others were doing the same, staggering dazed and disoriented as they finally took in the scene of carnage surrounding them. Here and there, the wounded coughed or groaned in pain. Occasionally, someone would sob, having recognized a fallen comrade. And there were so many.
Ichigo stumbled suddenly, his foot tripping over someone's sword, and he fell onto his knees. Zangetsu landed on the sand with a soft thud. He scrabbled for it immediately, his fingers closing over the hilt and tightening around it protectively. Desperately, because he needed something to ground him, to keep his panic from spiraling out of control. He panted, not from exertion, but from fear; heart-stopping fear that had been growing in his chest since the moment he awoke.
He must be here somewhere. He must! Just because Ichigo hadn't found him yet didn't mean he had fallen. There were many who were still just waking up, perhaps he was among them.
Ichigo sucked in a deep breath to calm himself. It was too soon; too soon to think of the worst. He would've taken it as an insult, surely, that Ichigo didn't think he was strong enough. Despite his worry, Ichigo found himself chuckling.
And that was when he caught sight of it: the scabbard of a sword, partially covered by the body of a shinigami. The wrappings around it was blue.
Light blue.
Like his hair.
Like his eyes.
No.
Ichigo scrambled towards it, half crawling, half running. His knees scraped against rough sand and broken stumps of crystallized trees, but he didn't feel any pain. His world had narrowed down to that one sword.
The sword he would've died before letting go of it.
Ichigo yanked it out from beneath the dead body, not caring that he had rolled the body over in his haste. The fallen shinigami stared lifelessly at the sky, his robes drenched red by a fatal chest wound. But, kind-hearted as he usually was, at this moment Ichigo could not care less about disturbing the dead. His hands trembled as he brought the sword up for a closer look.
It was his. Even if Ichigo disregarded the color of the scabbard, the shape of the guard was too unique for it to be anything else.
He was holding Pantera in his hands.
The light trembling of his hands became uncontrollable shaking, and with a cry of anguish, he pressed Pantera to his chest. He rocked forward, his body curled around the sword. Pain, sharper and harsher than he had ever felt, overwhelmed him completely.
It was a long time before he finally straightened up, Pantera still tightly clutched in his hands. His eyes burned, but he fought it. He forced himself to swallow around the painful lump in his throat. He wouldn't. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't-
And then he felt it: that first drop of tear, finally spilling over and slowly sliding down his cheek. He wiped it off, scrubbing his face with more force than necessary, angry at himself. But it wasn't his fault, was it? That bastard had been so confident, so certain that he'd win. And Ichigo had believed him.
I'll be back before you know it.
Ichigo knew now, what those eyes had been trying to tell him. Perhaps Grimmjow was too proud to say it aloud, but his eyes had given him away. But of course Ichigo had been too thick to see it until now.
Until it was too late.
One year ago…
Ichigo felt cheated.
He had imagined this moment many times; dreamed about it, even. Aizen had been defeated and sealed away, finally. The Espada had been wiped out. Karakura was safe again. His friends and family had survived. Wounded, yes, some more than others, but alive, which was more than he could say for those who had stood against him and his sword.
By all rights, he should be celebrating their hard-won victory. But the sense of triumph he was expecting never came. Instead, he felt almost...numb. Even when people shook his hand and called him a hero, he couldn't bring himself to feel the slightest bit of joy.
How could he? He had drawn blood, not only of his enemies but of his friend as well. He had driven Zangetsu clean through Ishida, who had only wanted to save him from the monster that he had become.
So, no, he had nothing to celebrate, but it was impossible to escape the clutches of those who did.
Soul Society buzzed with energy. Shinigami of all divisions and ranks flooded the streets and crowded the bars. Naturally, Ichigo found himself dragged to one by Renji, and he spent the night drinking his first cup of sake and more. It was just as well; half way into the evening he began to feel the warm glow of alcohol, and suddenly, celebrating didn't sound like such a bad idea after all.
By the time the bar closed and the shopkeeper shooed them out, it was late into the night. Despite the hour, the streets were still bright, though emptier than before. Ichigo ended up spending the night at Renji's, both of them exhausted and more than a little drunk. He was out before his head even hit the pillow, and that night he had a blissfully deep night of sleep.
When morning came, he bid his friends farewell and stepped through the Senkaimon that had been prepared specially for him, to return to the world he had fought so hard for. Karakura may not seem like much, but it was where he was born and raised. It was his home.
First, he made a pit stop at Urahara's to pick up his body. Even after so long, Ichigo still hadn't gotten used to the sight of his own body lying limp and lifeless on the floor. He gave an involuntary shiver, and then quickly stepped into his body.
His sisters greeted him with joy, while his father clapped him on the back. He exchanged a knowing look with his father, and the older man nodded, a slight smile tugging on his lips as he looked proudly at his son, the boy who had saved the world. They would have a good long talk soon. It was high time Ichigo learned about his parents' story.
Yuzu made him promise to help her make dinner, then he trudged his way up to his room. Pushing the door wide open, he closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. His room smelled a little musty, though he supposed it couldn't be helped. Padding over to his bed, he climbed onto it to open the window. A strong breeze hit him right in the face, the air cool and fresh against his skin, and for a brief moment, despite his dark mood, he couldn't help but smile a little.
It was good to be back, even if it felt strange. He had been so caught up by the war that he had known nothing but sword, blood, and pain for a long while, to suddenly have nothing to fight against was jarring. He felt lost, somehow, like he no longer knew what to do with his life now that he had it back.
Later that night, Ichigo had his first nightmare of the Winter War.
He woke up, drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding in his ears. He clutched hard at his chest, right where Ulquiorra had punched through. The pain was crippling, and even though he knew it was just a dream, the ache felt real enough to make him gasp out loud. He saw, in his mind, the emerald green depths of Ulquiorra eyes, staring accusingly at him as the Espada slowly disintegrated in the wind. And next to him, teeth bared with murderous intent, was Grimmjow. Blood dripped steadily from the Sexta Espada's claws, and Ichigo nearly whimpered, suddenly remembering the feeling of those cruel talons ripping through his robe, tearing skin and shredding muscle.
"Just a dream..."
He willed his heart to calm down, reminding himself again that this was not real, that he had already left all that behind. Ulquiorra was gone, he had made sure of that. And he had watched Nnoitra destroy Grimmjow in a single swipe right in front of his eyes.
They were dead. Very dead.
Letting out a shaky breath, Ichigo rubbed his face vigorously. The phantom pain in his chest was slowly ebbing, and he sighed. Shit, if this was what he had to deal with from now on...
Just then, suddenly, he felt it: the eerie sensation of being watched. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he snapped his head up.
There, perched on his window sill, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, was a creature straight out of his worst nightmare. Even in the semi-darkness, the crazed grin was unmistakable.
"Kurosaki Ichigo, I'm here to kill you."
To be continued...