This is the first 'chapter' in a series of drabbles I've written about Grimmjow. More to come. They're all just separate minifics, but they're all about him. Enjoy!


Grimmjow didn't have much time to sit and think anymore. Not that it was an activity he'd ever done with much frequency or gusto before, but as the weeks wore on, it seemed like he needed to more and more.

Things plagued him, a lot of things. They ate at the back of his head every waking moment, and sometimes he just needed to sit and think.

So he'd hide in a cave, one of his hideouts, curled in a corner in the back with his stolen cloak wrapped around him against the chill, and think, staring at nothing in particular, lost in thoughts.

All this time, these long weeks, months…he'd been protecting people. The arrancars. He was a one-man army, a lone arrancar against thousands of Quincies. Every five he saved, ten were erased. But he kept fighting. He'd heard whispers of his deeds, people talking of the arrancar that was saving arrancar from those bastards, a savior…

A hero.

It ate at him. A hero? Him? The man who lived to fight for fighting's sake? The man who…

Fuck it. He couldn't deny the fact that he was not that man anymore. The months had taken their toll, and he was no longer the wild, brash, bloodthirsty Espada he once was.

He…fought for something, now. He had a reason behind his battles - to protect arrancar, to protect his kingdom, to save the lives of his 'brothers'. He had a reason, and he fought all the harder for it.

And - and here was the kicker - he liked it. He liked the feeling he got when he was thanked, when he saw the arrancar fleeing and knowing that they were safe. He liked the look on the rescuees' faces when they saw him swoop in. He…liked playing the hero.

That confused him and scared him a little. Hadn't Aizen told him, hadn't they all known that Hollows were vicious creatures, living only on negative emotions, anger and jealousy and pain and hunger? If that was so, then why was he happy? Why was he satisfied? Why was he genuinely enjoying being a protector?

It felt right, though. Like…it was meant to be this way for him. Some memory in the back of his subconscious told him that this is what he was meant to be, and this is what he was made for - some leftover scraps of memories from his human life, maybe? He didn't know. He just knew it felt like home.

And the thing was…as much as he wished things were back the way they used to be, when all he cared about was fighting to fight…he didn't. He liked things this way. He wanted them to stay like this.

All the cold nights hiding in a cave or crouched up against a sand dune..all the sleepless days and weeks running…the hunger that was practically a constant…the exhaustion that ran deep in his bones and sat like a weight whenever he stopped…the loneliness that was the hardest and most painful thing he had to deal with…

It was worth it. He felt good and he felt right for the first time he could ever remember, and he wanted to keep it. Even if he was a Hollow, was empty and incomplete and dark and hungry…he wanted to feel like a hero.

And so he kept fighting.