So I was listening to The End of the Road by Boyz II Men… And this thought came. So yeah… songfic? My first attempt at a songfic
It was stupid. He was stupid. He never should have joined their pack. He should have just eaten them all and been done with it. Maybe if he had done that instead, he wouldn't be hurting so damn much. Why didn't he eat them?
It was so simple at first. He was sick, so they helped him recover. Then they made him their King. He didn't have to do anything. He just wandered around and killed things as usual to eat, they just followed him and cleaned up the leftovers. It was so simple.
It seemed like he would always have them nearby. Even when they had informed him that they were done trying to become Vasto Lordes, when they had him eat a part of them so that they at the very least would not regress, they still followed him around. They no longer ate part of his kills, they just followed him around and kept him company.
They followed him to the shinigami. They became arrancars with him. They became his fracciones, and his lovers. How could he have been so stupid as to risk all of that? And to what reason?
The stupid strawberry wasn't even worth it. The kid was weak. And yet…
And yet he still managed to wound Grimmjow. Him! The King! Wounded!… First it was Di Roy, and then the next thing he knew, he was all alone.
They would always sleep in a giant dog pile on the bed. Despite the fact that they all had their own separate bedrooms, and would in fact start in those separate bedrooms… Still, every morning when he woke up, they were all around him in one big, warm, comforting pile.
But now all he has left is their scent. The warmth that filled the palace was gone. Now it just seemed so empty and white and big and cold. His arm was gone. His rank was gone. They were gone. He was alone.
Their scent soon faded. God knows his tears is probably what washed the scents away. The scent of the salt in his tears was soon replaced by the coppery scent of blood as he claws his wrists. His neck. His chest. His face. Anywhere, everywhere, he tore at with his claws. He wanted them. He needed to be with them. He would get dizzy and pass out, only to wake up healed from his torn skin as his regeneration kicked in. He would repeat it. Endlessly.
He noticed some of the other Espadas giving him concerned looks. Mostly Nnoitra, who he was sure would have a similar reaction if Tesla died so suddenly, and Szayelaporro. The Octava, from what he understood, didn't even have a good relationship with his brother. And he avoided Szayel on most days anyways. So why was he concerned? Was it because of how he refused to leave his palace for days, trying to cling to the fast fading scent? How he didn't pick up any of their dirty laundry or any of the messes they left behind? How he didn't want to erase any of the signs that they had been alive, with him?
Really, it had been a fluke. And so very stupid, how he let them in. He never had a family before, never had a pack before. He had always thought that he didn't need one. And they came into his life and… Goddammit, he missed them so much…
He wanted them back. He would give anything, anything, to see them again. Smell them, hear them. Feel them again. Even if it meant letting Aizen use that damn sword of his on him. If it meant having them back, he'd gladly do it. He will tear through his flesh again, over and over again, trying to get to where they had gone without him. Trying to reach them again. He's lost track of the tears at this point.
It seemed like pain was all he was feeling now. Brief flashes of rage would pass, rage at the shinigami, rage at Aizen, at Kurosaki. But mostly rage at himself. All of his belongings, the ones that they had never touched, where soon destroyed. But their belongings remained as they had been left, awaiting the return of those who had used them.
He supposed… At this point… They won't be coming back. It just isn't possible. They were well and truly gone, and he was alone. His very purpose in life was gone. What should he do now?
His face tightens into the familiar predatory expression he would carry for so long, an expression that appears disinterested at first. But with a calculating gaze, searching for weakness. Ready to kill.
"Yer ass is mine, Kurosaki. For taking away what I loved most."
It is time to live up to his former title as the Espada of Destruction to his fullest. He would destroy Kurosaki and all that he loved, or he would destroy himself first. Either way is fine with him.