Hitching


A/N: Okay, Plot bunny that's been sitting on the computer a while. Another Crossover. I haven't decided but there may be more than two. At the moment, I'm labeling it as Bleach/Supernatural. Honestly, I just wanted to see if there was any interest to continue (updates may be far between since it won't be on my update schedule). The title may change as well. Thanks for reading!

WARNINGS: Will NOT be repeated. This story will contain the following:
Graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, and humanoid creatures that feed on humans.
Graphic depictions of torture and subjugation of both humans and creatures.
Graphic descriptions and deceptions of slavery, both of the nonsexual and sexual varieties.
Graphic flashbacks of past non-con, slavery related events.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder at its worst.
Violence, hate speech and general vileness toward humans.

As usual, don't own Bleach or Supernatural, and definitely don't make money off this.

Comments welcome, flamers will be sent down to the King of Hell or to Lucifer in the cage. Who knows. I don't know, I miss Lucy (yes, only something you'll hear from supernatural fans that I miss Lucifer).


Chapter One

From Japan…Without Love


It really was unexpected. It was pouring rain, that night. Thunder resounded in the ears of those that fought for fitful sleep as lightning streaked across the day. And it just simply was not like him to pick up hitch hikers. Not at all. And it really surprised him that he even was willing to pick up a male hitchhiker even more. Everyone's seen the movies, about picking up some psycho lunatic and being murdered in the car. Not that he was really afraid of that, after all, he was the monster in the scary tales more than some kid on the side of the road. But there was just something about the way his shoulders slumped in utter defeat. The kid wasn't even looking for a ride, just stumbling along the side of the road. His heard clenched despite his hard exterior. There was something oddly familiar about the way he walked and he was caught by it. Still, picking up hitchhikers was dangerous, even for the monster in this car. There were monsters far scarier than him, after all. But despite that, he found himself pulling over in front of him, slightly blocking his path so there would be no mistake as to why he stopped.

The kid stopped slowly, seeing a car in front of him. He looked up and his eyes were a deep, molten brown. Under the edge of the soaked hoodie he wore, shocks of orange hair stuck out at wayward angles. His face was shadowed, though and the driver of the car couldn't see more.

"Hey, you need a ride?" he asked the hitchhiker. Well, more like pedestrian, since he wasn't really looking for a ride.

The kid seemed to think about it and glancing up at the cloudy sky, then behind him at the long, empty road, and he nodded slowly to the driver of the SUV that had pulled over. If he noticed the man's garishly blue hair, he didn't comment, only slunk into the leather seat with a wet flop and clicked his seatbelt mechanically. He stared ahead. The driver noted the shaking of his hands during the entire process, however.

"Where you headed to, anyway? Name's Grimmjow," he said smiling at the dripping red head beside him.

There was a derisive snort and he spoke in a low tone that matched the defeated slump of his shoulders. There was a strange, almost tinny sound to his voice. Grimmjow couldn't place where he'd heard something like that before. "Anywhere but here. Ichigo."

Grimmjow nodded and resumed the road. He didn't notice anything strange, definitely not the car that pulled out a few miles down the road behind him. His mind did zero in on the kid's name. It was Japanese. That alone sent a shiver down his back. Running into someone with a Japanese name in the middle of the United States, quite literally, the middle of nowhere in north eastern Missouri, was unlikely. Granted, just because he had a Japanese name didn't mean the kid was Japanese, and he hadn't caught the barest hint of an accent when he spoke. He couldn't be sure, though, because now the kid was quiet, and didn't say anything.

"So, I'm headed to my home, and you looked like a drowned rat, can I drop you somewhere?" he continued finally breaking the silence, or at least he hoped to break the silence.

There was a long silence anyway. "I don't have anywhere to go." Grimmjow confirmed there was no accent to his voice. Whether he was actually Japanese or not still remained to be seen. He didn't seem inclined to lift his head.

Grimmjow thought about the statement. It sounded so empty. He sighed. Well, he'd just dump him somewhere, maybe at the bus station. But then he thought better of it. It was almost two am. And the kid didn't look like he could handle himself too terribly well in a fight, but it was hard to tell under the black hoodie he was wearing. He could have been a cage fighter for all Grimmjow knew. He knew better than anyone that appearances were deceiving.

"Well, yer in luck, I got an extra bedroom, if ya promise yer not a thief and out to rob me blind," Grimmjow said with a smirk, trying desperately to lighten the mood over the kid's head.

There was a snort beside him again and a deep sigh. "Yeah, hard to steal stuff if you don't have anywhere to go with it." He sounded exhausted. Again, that strange high pitched lilt to his voice.

So they drove in silence for nearly an hour and a half. Grimmjow had been collecting parts in Kansas City, as he lived a bit out of the way on a large piece of land outside a moderately sized town named Maryville. The trip had been good; the back of his SUV was full of various car parts for repairing the three classic cars he had on his land that he was putting back together. One thing he enjoyed since moving to the US was working on old style American muscle cars. He glanced over to the wet, silent lump beside him and back to the long road. So, the kid didn't want to talk. He certainly wasn't going to make him, he thought. Finally, they pulled in to his large garage where he worked on his cars and shut off the engine. In the three bays across from where he parked his SUV were his three babies. A 72 mark 2 Mustang, a 69 Firebird, and an almost unrecognizable 82 Camaro.

He smiled and got out, motioning for the kid to follow him.

"Hey, come on, you're drenched. I've got a few clothes you can wear but you'll have to cinch the drawstring up good. Looks like you're smaller than me."

He looked over at the taller man, and hiding his face more, got out and followed. He led him up the steps into the house and showed him to the bathroom. Once he stood, Grimmjow could tell he was maybe around five foot nine or so, not too tall, but certainly not a small kid. Of course, that meant he could still be a teenager, also. He led him to the downstairs half bath that had a small shower in it.

"Here ya go, take a shower, and I'll go rummage and find some clothes for ya, 'kay?" the teal haired man said with a smile.

He got a nodding head from the back as he heard him start to undo the zipper from the hoodie. He shrugged and went diving through his clothes, coming up with a wife beater that had shrunk and a pair of running shorts with a drawstring. That would have to do, because anything else would swallow him. He wasn't really thinking when he opened the door and dropped the clothes he was holding. The kid turned and looked at him with a frightened look.

He was in his boxers now, and had been looking intently at the mirror at what was probably a broken nose and purple-black left eye, an eye that was definitely not normal. The right eye was dark brown, the left had black sclera and the iris was bright gold. His left side was stark purple, and there were bright red bruises around his wrists and deep lacerations along with them. Above the shorts, Grimmjow could see thick purple bruises on his hips and lower back. And to make it worse, there were more faded bruises around them. There was a pair of handprint shaped bruises around his throat, and all along his shoulders there were more bruises that could have come from fingers. There were so many shades, from brown and green to the glaring purple and red.

He stood stock still and stared at the stranger that had picked him up. He wasn't sure what to do. Before he could move, Grimmjow had moved into the room and pulled his face around to look at the kid's face closer. And he was kid. He couldn't be more than fifteen years old now that he was looking at him without a hoodie shading his face. His hair was matted and wet, but he could tell it was vivid orange colored all over, right down to the roots.

"What the hell, kid?" Grimmjow asked.

He stammered in a very soft voice, the tinny sound gone that he'd heard in the car. "I…got in a fight…"

The teal haired man cocked an eyebrow and spun him around, pushing him down onto the counter with one hand, and pulled the back of his boxers away. He was trying to get up, his chest pressed against sink painfully, but soon the band snapped and he yelped in surprise as he was let up. He wanted to run but he couldn't get past the hulking man. He just crossed his arms over his chest and fell to his knees and looked at the floor, shaking, one hand curled around the deep purple bruise on his side.

He expected to be hit, to have his ear cuffed, to be yelled at, but instead the man knelt beside him and pulled up his face to look him in the eyes.

"Who did this?" he asked tightly, and there was a dangerous glint to his eyes.

"I-I…" he stammered and couldn't get the words out, his throat working convulsively.

"Don't lie to me. You're beaten black and blue, and it doesn't take a genius to see that this is a regular occurrence, and unless you are a real masochist, which I doubt since you were running away from something, you've been raped pretty damn brutally and pretty goddamned recently. Now tell me what the fuck is going on," he barely spoke above a whisper but the tone in his voice was commanding and Ichigo broke, finally broke, because until that moment, he had held control. He let out a long choking sob and was soon pulled into the larger man's heavy grasp, and found himself releasing it all at once.

They sat there for a long time, eons it seemed, but finally, Grimmjow pulled him to his feet, and steered him into the shower's warm spray. He didn't resist as he helped him out of the last of his clothes and began to help him wash away whoever had done this to him. He continued to sob into the water, and Grimmjow stoically held him up, letting the water wash it away. It took a while; Grimmjow didn't think he'd been bathed in a month by the look of him. Eventually, he wrapped him in a towel, drying his hair and putting him in a bathrobe he'd never worn once. He took him into the spare room and sat him on the bed, and he looked at him with a haunted look, the different colored eyes seeming to jolt Grimmjow to his soul. Then he just laid down on top of the covers and fell asleep without another word.

He picked up the hem of robe to see the extent of the damage on the kid, looking now for anything more than bruising. Along the top of his thighs and both buttocks were lines of varying degree of age, some silvery, others pink and more recent. He moved him so he lay on his back and opened the front to look down his stomach. Again, silvery old scars, and some pinker new ones in stripes across his belly and inner thighs. There were a couple thick scars that might have been made by a knife on his pelvis above his pubic hair, which was as orange as the hair on his head, and on his left hip where the crease between his hip and leg were, was what Grimmjow knew too well as a brand of the letter A in a fancy gothic script about three inches tall and two inches wide. It wasn't new. In fact, if that mark wasn't more than ten years old, Grimmjow's hair was pink. That also meant there was no way this kid was a teenager, and more than likely, he wasn't entirely human. The A glared at him.

"Fuck," he whispered, he'd thought it was possible by the marks on him, but to have it confirmed was still hard to take.

He rolled the kid over and tossed a blanket over him and rubbed his temples. This was getting bad. This was getting worse than bad. This was getting horrible. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and jaw where it had grown over the elaborate jawbone tattoo on the right side of his face and got up. He looked back and sighed, leaving the kid there sleeping and unconsciously putting his hand on his lower back where an equally gothic number six was tattooed.

He sighed and went into the neat kitchen. He picked up a burner phone out of the drawer where seven others sat and dialed a familiar number. "Nel? It's Grim. I need yer help again, sweetheart."

There was no answer, only a soft click as the line was cut and Grimmjow went and unlocked the door, then returned to the bedroom to sit beside the kid who slept fitfully. He didn't blame him. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. He looked up as a tall, buxom woman entered with long sea green hair. Grimmjow smiled. She smelled of rain, like always. She looked down at the boy and Grimmjow nodded. She sighed and turned and walked out. Grimmjow got up and followed her.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"Dunno, felt compelled to pick up this kid walking on the side of the road. Pick him up and he's marked with the A on his hipbone," he said, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Man, Grimmy, really?" she said with a sigh. "You've been in hiding for years, and now you're going to get sucked back into the fight."

He nodded. "I know, but what could I do? You know as well as I do what the ones like him are put through. And he doesn't let them go easily. And the mark, it's old. More than ten years, if I'm not wrong…"

Nel sighed and shook her head. "We're gonna need help this time, Grimmy, he's stronger now, and we can't keep one of the ones he's branded away from him for long. He'll track him down."

"But Nel, how'd he get out?" Grimmjow said, looking up at her from his position on the couch.

There was a knock at the door just then and both of them froze. It was almost four in the morning. Grimmjow got up slowly and went to the door. He opened it and found two men in suits standing there, one tall with longish brown hair and the other a bit shorter with short darker hair.

"Sorry to disturb you, but I'm Agent Rhodes and this is Agent Osborn," the shorter of the two said with a nod. "But we were wondering if you had seen a young man in the area wearing a black hoodie that seemed to be injured?" They both held up official looking FBI badges. Grimmjow could tell they were fake. Hunters.

Grimmjow sighed. "Drop the act. I know hunters when I see 'em, Randy and Ozzy."

The two men looked between each other and back at the blue haired man, and slowly put away the fake badges. "Well, then, I take it you've encountered Hunters before."

Grimmjow shook his head. "Only when they've been trying to take off my fuckin' head. Now, my question is, are you gonna try that shit, because I have not got time to deal you people with one of Aizen's fuckin' toys in my spare room."

Both men exchanged a glance with each other. "Aizen?" the taller one echoed.

Nel stepped up behind Grimmjow and looked between them. "Winchesters," she said with a frown. "I know you two. You busted the nest I was in a few years ago. I looked a lot different then," she said and there was a flash and instead of a full grown woman, she looked like a four year old child. Another flash ensued and she transferred back to her full grown stage.

"What the hell, man?" the dark haired one said, eyes wide.

Nel rolled her eyes. "You're telling me you don't know a Nixie when you see one? Or should I go find some water and show you how I turn into a fish. No thanks, I prefer this form," she said, turning and returning into the house.

Grimmjow sighed and motioned the two hunters in, going and grabbing three beers out of the fridge and returned to sit down. "Sit down, if you're here, you might as well hear the whole story before you try and take my fuckin' head off."

"What are you?" asked the tall one as he carefully took the beer.

"You know, I know your last name, but first names would be nice, since I'm not sure you won't try and kill us," he said, glancing between them as the shorter one took the beer.

"Fair enough," the darker haired one said, "My name's Dean, this is my brother Sam. Now, you two are?"

"Name's Grimmjow Jagerjaquez, and this is Nelliel Tu Oderschvank. She already told you, she's a Nixie, I'm an Ailuranthrope, but I was born this way so I have control over my shape," he said, drinking his beer with a shrug.

"A what?" Sam asked with a frown.

"You call yourselves Hunters," Nel said with an eye roll.

Grimmjow shrugged. "My kind doesn't get noticed, Nel, you know that. Also called werecats. Like werewolves, only we don't make others of our kind by biting or scratching them on purpose. Happens on accident now and then, but we are a breed of naturally born shapeshifters. We don't prey on humans, and over the years, we've trained the need for fresh meat out of our lines. I'm a member of a line of panther aliuranthropes, last actually, and there won't be any more of my kind if I can help it. World today, we just need to die out," he said, drawing deep from the beer in his hand.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. It wouldn't have been the first time they'd come across "good" monsters in their work, and considering neither of them had ever heard of these werecats, it seemed he was telling the truth. Either that, or they were really good at hiding their deeds.

Nel sighed. "So, you're here for the boy, then?"

The Hunters looked between each other. "Well, we got a report of a vampire nest and when we got there they were already dead. We asked around, and they said they saw a kid with orange hair in a black hoodie walking down the road. We were behind you when you picked him up."

"You thought he was a vampire?" asked Grimmjow with a smirk.

Dean shrugged. "What else would he be? You didn't see the nest."

"Human, as far as we can tell," Nel said with a sigh, glancing at Grimmjow nervously, "And he's in trouble because he's been branded by Aizen, and he never lets his property go alive."

"Aizen? Who's this?" Sam said. "I've never heard of this person."

"Not a person, he's an Oni, a Japanese Demon, in case you aren't aware," Grimmjow said with a sigh. "He's somehow gained a lot of power recently, and was chased out of Japan. We encountered him when he came through Germany because Nel and I were on the run from a sect of Hunters called the Quincy, which you probably have never heard of either. We were recruited into Aizen's employ with promises of freedom to no longer hide ourselves from the world, safety in numbers, and all that jazz. He brands those he takes in in one of two ways; he brands those of us he considers his Espada with a number that indicates that we are in the inner circle." Grimmjow turned and lifted his shirt to show the gothic six on his back. Nel turned and dropped the back of her shirt so show the three between her shoulder blades to them.

"He marks his slaves and property with a gothic letter A. Depending on what their function is, the A is in different places, like the numbers. If they are branded on the leg, they are a runner or mule. If they're branded on the arm, they're a guard or strong arm. If they're branded on the back, they're a soldier, like me and Nel here were branded with our numbers on our backs. There are many places to be branded, and he makes sure that everyone wearing the brand remains with him until they die. Upon death, the mark disappears," Grimmjow said as he finished his beer. "It isn't a normal mark; he's infused his power into it when he applies it. The slaves are actually branded with a special iron so he doesn't have to waste his energy. The brands he grants the Espada are given by a touch of his hands and are painless."

"But you're here and still have the brand," Sam said, looking between them.

Nel snorted. "Wasn't easy. We've been on the run for the last twenty years trying to avoid him. We thought coming across the ocean to the United States would mean we'd outrun him. It seems we were wrong because he's come here too."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. They had not dealt with an Oni yet. "So, the kid?"

Grimmjow nodded. "He's branded. So I'm sure he'll send someone after him soon as he can locate him."

"What was he doing in a vampire nest?" Dean asked with a frown. "That intel was from a reliable source."

"I'm sure he was in one, how do you think I got into a vampire's nest? I'd been sent there as an emissary to help defend it against the hunters, you it turned out, and when it turned bad for them, I changed form and let you 'rescue' me." Nel said with a shrug. "Aizen likes to loan out his people and his slaves to his allies. No doubt he's busy making allies with the creatures in the dark nearby to try and take control of the area. He wants to be the one in charge. So he'll make promises, like he did to us, of safety and building a perfect society where we're all accepted and live together without fear of people like you."

"How is it no hunter has ever heard of this guy?" Dean asked, ever suspicious.

Nel shook her head. "He only awakened about thirty years ago. He'd been bound in a demon sleep by an ancient order of monks, but the monastery he was secured in was vandalized, the demon jar broken, and he was released. Rumor was that he wasn't just a powerful Oni, but the Emperor of the Oni. Hunters chased him from Japan, knowing a little about the Oni, but this one is different, much more powerful than your average Oni."

Dean and Sam exchanged another look. "Say we believe you, how did this kid get out of a vampire nest unhurt?"

"I wouldn't say unhurt, but he's alive," Grimmjow said with a sigh. "I'm curious myself because he said his name was Ichigo, which is a Japanese name, and he appears to be at least of Japanese descent, except for the glaringly orange hair. It is quite possible he's among the slaves that Aizen brought out of Japan with him, though that would mean that he might not be human after all. If I remember right, he brought five people out of Japan with him, three of which were slaves and two were his associates. Aizen does use what he considers lesser creatures for his slavery as well. I'm not sure how long he's been branded, but the skin around the brand healed well, so anywhere from a few months to years as far as we know."

"Can we see him, then?" Sam said with a sideways glance at his brother. They wanted to confirm he wasn't possessed. The whole thing was growing more interesting and more curious by the moment.

Grimmjow nodded standing and leading them to the spare room where he was laid out on the bed, still covered by the blanket but sleeping fitfully.

"Holy crap, dude, he looks like shit," Dean said, frowning at the state the boy was in, eyes moving over the beaten face and the marks on his neck and shoulders.

"Normal for someone in his position," Grimmjow said softly, moving over to sit beside him and putting a hand on his leg to still his thrashing a bit. "Aizen tortures them into submission first, then when he loans them out, his only warning is that if they die, he has to be reimbursed somehow. Sometimes this means he gains loyalty when something decides to kill one of his slaves and the only thing he'll accept is that loyalty in payment. After all, there aren't a lack of humans he can torture and turn into slaves."

"Where's the brand?" asked Sam, moving a bit closer because he didn't see anything on his arms.

A runner or a mule perhaps, surely the kid wasn't a soldier. He looked far too young and frail for something like that. Yet, something had killed those vampires, at least fifteen had been beheaded in the nest they'd found. The odd part was there were no marks of any swords or knives on the bodies. It looked like their heads had been literally ripped from their bodies by something rather than a person. More than one of them had been mutilated as well, but as far as they could tell, whatever had killed them hadn't eaten anything from them. It had been a grisly sight, even for a nest of vampires. So if this kid were some kind of creature, rather than a human, that would explain how he could have pulled apart a vampire nest. However, if he was something that could do that, what could he do to a pair of hunters?

Grimmjow reached for the sheet and pulled it away from him and opened the front of the robe the boy was wearing enough for them to see the letter A seared into the flesh at the juncture of his thigh and pelvis. Both of them looked surprised at the sight, noting also the bruising scarring along his legs. Grimmjow quickly threw the cover over him as he rolled over in his sleep and whimpered against the bed as he rolled onto the badly bruised side.

"Um, what kind of slave is branded there?" asked Sam finally to the quiet room.

Grimmjow gave them both an "are you seriously asking me that" look and shook his head. "You two don't look that naïve. The sex slaves, of course."