Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait on The Haunted Palace, but here's the start on a new story in the meantime. If I'm not updating one, I'm updating the other.
Flames burned through the wood and plaster of the house, ill intent making them burn hotter and faster than was normal. Even Grimmjow knew that. He also knew that the windows and doors had been boarded up so that they couldn't escape. Fire surrounded them on all sides, a large puddle of blood beneath their feet. Shiro was screaming and shrieking, his white skin the same color of their mothers had been, as her skin was becoming whiter still. Her long silver hair was soaked with crimson, torso torn open and throat ripped out. Golden eyes forever open and glazed over. Grimmjow pulled his younger shrieking brother closer, trying to shield him from the flames.
Their father was glassy eyed, staring at what was left of his beautiful, strong, and kind wife. His strong, broad shoulders were sagged in defeat and grief. Dark blue hair weighed down with sweat and soot. Grimmjow may have been seven years old, but he knew he and his brother would die soon if no one saved them. He hugged Shiro tightly to his body with one arm and smacked his father with his empty hand. The shock brought their father back to himself and he stared into eyes identical to his own.
"Remember these names, Grimmjow. Aizen Souske. Ichimaru Gin. Yamamoto Genryusi. They did this, Grimmjow. Never forget." He saddened at the sight of the now screeched silent Shiro. "Beautiful, like his mother. Take care of him, Grimm. This will kill him, but don't let him die."
"Papa." Grimmjow whispered.
Jason Jaegerjaques gave him a sad smile.
"I have nothing to give you, little loves. Only my heart and my life." He pulled his wife's body into his arms. "I'm going to release all of my power and it should clear out this fire, the doors, and the windows. Once the way is clear, you take Shiro and run, Grimmjow. Don't look back. You run and find your Uncle Kokuto."
Grimmjow watched his father's eyes glow, the dark blue spreading over the entire eye.
"I'll remember." Grimmjow whispered, and Jason smiled.
"Run."
The blast knocked both boys onto the floor, pieces of their parents slamming against them. Grimmjow closed his eyes, hiding Shiro's face in his chest.
"Close your eyes, baby Shi, and don't open 'em until I say."
He then ran, making Shiro run with him. They tripped over each others feet, over their parents blood and flesh. And as they ran out into the dark of night, Grimmjow was glad that he had spared his little brother the sight.
Two weeks later
Smoke clogged his lungs, blood soaked his skin and blinded him. He could hear Shiro's screams.
Grimmjow woke abruptly, shaking and shivering from fear and cold. Two weeks and they still hadn't found Kokuto, another night sleeping in an alley. He felt a tugging on the too big jacket that he'd beaten off an older kid. Shiro was looking up at him, swimming in the jacket of the older kids friend.
"Hungry?"
They didn't have any food or money, but Grimmjow would steal or swindle in order to fill Shiro's belly.
" 'M cold." Shiro whispered in his strange voice. The sound was familiar and chased the nightmare away.
He maneuvered Shiro out of his jacket and into his. After zipping it most of the way up, he spread the jacket over them like a bed cover. Shiro curled into his side.
"No more home." Shiro whispered.
Grimmjow tightened his arms around him.
"We're going to kill the ones who did it. Want to say them with me again?"
He felt Shiro nod. Then they spoke in unison.
"Souske Aizen. Ichimaru Gin. Yamamoto Genryusi."
Grimmjow smiled.
"Good job, baby Shi. We can't ever forget. They're the reason why we're hungry, why we're cold, why we're scared, why we're lonely, and why there's no more home." He snuggled his face close to Shiro's. "Why do we have to remember, baby Shi?"
"So we can make them suffer."
He watched as the faint glow of yellow eyes was covered by heavy eye lids. It was the only way to get Shiro to sleep anymore. He didn't mind the new bedtime ritual though. As long as he had a reminder, he had someone to hate. As long as he had someone to hate, he had someone to kill.