I do not own Bleach

Stage 1 – The Set

He clutched the cold piece of iron with his sweating, trembling hands. He was just another soldier on this field of death. Although trying to keep calm and collected, he was itching to shoot his gun like wild and end this whole damn war right now. His gaze shifted from the field to his comrades. Kids, really, in the clothes of an 'American Hero'. He briefly examined his own clothes in disgust, as they haven't been washed in weeks. They were matted with a combination of blood, dirt, sweat, and more blood mixed within the very fabric. His boots were too tight, he shifted his blistered feet against the soles and gritted in discomfort. The European air made him slightly sick and the state of war-zones were pathetic.

At twenty-five, he should be back home in America, but what was there to miss? No sweetheart, no home, no family still alive to care he was around. Abandoned as a child, raised in an orphanage, kicked out at eighteen to fend for himself. It's no wonder he immediately joined the army as soon as they gave him a bit of cash and the clothes on his back. His new family was now these kids who crouched down in the trenches, counting on one person to keep them alive to see another sunrise. His rough and unlikable personality made it real easy to keep him detached from these youngsters. That way, if and when they lie face down in the dirt, he'll simply regard them as another death count. Mourning over a stranger that had his head blown off was more than enough.

The end was drawing nigh as his dog tag clicked against his only lifeline. He saw one of the kid's flinch at the sudden sound. It was so quiet. He hated it when it was too still. It wasn't peaceful at all; it was war, and battles were never peaceful. It's always "the calm before the storm". The kid who flinched started to mumble a prayer. He didn't understand why people would cling to something so intangible and unexplainable so strongly. Faith, it must've been a nice feeling knowing that someone might be watching over you. But then again, who was watching out for the nineteen-year-old who stepped on that land-mine? Who was watching over the soldier who gave his life to save a comrade? Who the hell was watching over them now? No one. Not one goddamned savior, not one superior being, no one. It was just this group of kids and their sergeant in the middle of No Man's Land. None of his ten-man group was older than twenty-one years. He was considered an old man to the others. The real old man was their superior; The Sergeant. He was the one who kept everyone alive so far. The Sergeant had saved his life more than once, and he owed it to him to obey each and every order. He might've been disrespectful, and a total prick to everyone, but he held his loyalty to The Sergeant.

The distant engine of an aircraft came like a sharp knife would slice through butter. Everyone jumped, and snapped their heads to where it was coming from. He tightened his grip and couldn't believe it; there wasn't just one engine; there was a freaking swarm. It was like a wave of birds flocking to nearly helpless insects; only the insects had AK-47's and the birds were armed with missiles. Even so, the birds still had the advantage.

"Don't move!" The Sergeant ordered sternly. The kids were trembling, he was unsteady, and the aircrafts were drawing closer and closer. There wasn't any way out of this; no reinforcements, no tanks, just the troop. They could scatter, but to where? They were in the middle of No Man's Land. No man, no cover. Again, who was watching over them? They could always go out in one blaze of glory. Closer, and closer, the swarm was so close now.

"Take cover!" The Sergeant yelled while he covered within the indentation of the trench. Everyone immediately hit the deck as the crafts sped over them. He hated this feeling; vulnerability, helplessness, hiding. War was supposed to be a glorified battle of honor and duty. What the hell was this? Hide and shot? For a few minutes, the swarm seemed like a never-ending parade of enemy air-crafts. During those few long and agonizing minutes, everyone felt safe from enemy fire. That was, until the last few seconds of hell. A small barrage of bullets showered down at their trench; as some where spared, and others more unfortunate. One soldier thought it was safe and started to crawl out when at least three bullets pierced straight through his body. No one wanted to move to drag him back, even if he was still alive. He stared at the soldier, young and dying. The solider stared back at him as if he was trying to reach out to him. And yet, another small shower was sent upon the soldier, as he was lying openly as a target. He twitched as each bullet entered his body, bleeding more and more through his wounds.

'Grimm…you're not gonna die like that.' He thought to himself. 'No way in hell'. After another few minutes, one of the soldier's friend tried checking to see if there was any sign of life, but obviously, there was none. At least, that's what he thought.

"Geezus! He's still alive!" One exclaimed as they hovered around him. Everyone but Grimm crouched next to the dying child. He stood with his gun in hand, and kept his gaze with the dying soldier. Even though the solider was covered, he was staring back.

He kicked a comrade out of the way and looked at the soldier on the ground, choking on his own blood. He heaved and gagged as he was fixated with Grimm's deadly blue eyes. Grimm took his gun and shot the soldier in the head. Quick, painless, and the best part was, he didn't even see it coming. For a second, everyone was so stunned at what he had done, they ceased breathing. He didn't know why; he asked for it. Who wants to die choking on their own blood? He did him a favor.

Suddenly, every soldier in his troop was trying to beat the living crap out of him. He took it. Every punch, every kick, and every slimly wad of spit that landed on his face. He took it. All the while, he kept his eyes on the dead soldier. It was just a corpse with The Sergeant now. Everyone else was taking their unnecessary anger out on him. How childish.

"Back off." The Sergeant's commanding voice echoed through the air. Everyone stopped, but kept sending death glares at him. "Let's get him buried. He deserves that much." They all moved as Grimm sat up and spat out a wad of blood. He glared at The Sergeant, saying with his eyes, "You know I did the right thing." The Sergeant sent a message back without words saying, "Tell that to his friends".

'Screw friends…' Grimm muttered as his jaw started to throb. He rubbed it and spit another wad of blood out. He's gonna feel this tomorrow.

A/N: My first Bleach Fanfic, and my first non-romantic fic too. Killing two birds with one stone heh. I really like Grimmjow and Ulquiorra, idk about 'as a pair' but just characters in general. Best Bad Guys. I love it.