Disclaimer: I once kidnapped Grimmjow so i could claim ownership and not have to disclaim him. (That's why he disappeared after fighting Ichigo.) Now that he's escaped, though, i have to admit that Bleach isn't mine. Also, the song quoted is the property of great singer Aurelio Voltaire.
Happy birthday, my old friend
It seems this horror show will never end
–Voltaire, "Happy Birthday (My Olde Friend)"
It seemed like an ordinary day when Aizen called the meeting. Of course, he called meetings whenever he felt like it, occasionally for no good reason. Most of the Espadas figured he just liked to mess with them.
This particular meeting was an excellent example. It was held at the time of morning that could even prompt Stark to do something (namely, to demonstrate to the Arrancar trying to get him to do something how little he actually wanted to). Even Aizen had to think sometimes about what would happen if he let his Espadas continue to destroy the fortress any time the mood struck them, so in this case, a rare compromise had been reached. Stark didn't have to wake up, he just had to be there and not snore too loudly.
Anyone else who wanted to protest the early hour, though, was out of luck. They gathered sullenly around the long table. Tea had been provided, but that wasn't much of a comfort. It didn't have a high enough level of caffeine.
"Good morning, everyone," Aizen said in a way that didn't imply at all dire things for those who didn't appreciate mornings.
"Good morning," the Espadas chorused dutifully. Stark snorted in his sleep.
"Is everyone enjoying their tea?"
There was an assorted mumbling that suggested vague agreement.
"Excellent. I can't help but notice," he began, "that you don't seem to view each other as comrades."
There was more muttering, this time along the lines of of course, duh.
"This needs to change."
Grumbling sounds this time. No one actually came out and said i beg to differ, but they were all thinking it.
"I have been considering ways to build a sense of fellowship among my Arrancars. It occurs to me that if you all showed how much you appreciate each other, you would feel that appreciation much better."
The Espadas were silent this time, mainly because most of them weren't quite sure what he meant by that.
"And so, to that end, we will be celebrating birthdays from now on. Fortunately, Grimmjow's is right around the corner."
"Wait, what?" Grimmjow demanded. This did not sound good.
"Your birthday is in the next few days," Ulquiorra clarified for him. "Lord Aizen thinks we should celebrate it."
"Thanks a lot, that was so helpful," Grimmjow growled under his breath. Ulquiorra ignored him.
"Why do we have birthdays?" Zommari wondered. "What do birthdays even mean to us as hollows? Was it the day we were born as humans? The day we were reborn as hollows? The day we became Arrancars? Or was it the day we gained self-awareness as Menos?"
"Shut up, Zommari," Nnoitora said.
Zommari remembered why he usually stayed silent at these meetings.
I cannot agree with this," Barragan spoke up. "My birthday should be the first one celebrated."
Aizen raised an eyebrow at him. "Your birthday isn't for some time yet, Barragan."
Barragan fell a bit silent, but to his credit, he didn't squirm.
"But how do we know what day it is?" Aaroniero piped up, high voice cutting through the silence. Everyone looked at him. He wilted slightly, possibly blushing behind his mask. His deeper voice continued, "I mean, it's always night outside of Las Noches. How would you know what day it was, whatever your birthday was?"
"Shut up, Aaroniero."
"He's got a point, though," Grimmjow said, leaning forward. Hell if he was just going to let this happen. "We don't know when our birthdays are. Hell, we don't even know what they are! How can we have a party for that?"
"Grimmjow," Aizen said, smiling benevolently. "Do you really think i don't know when your birthday is? I have been watching you since the day you were born, because i knew that one day you'd be useful to me."
Grimmjow felt a chill go down his spine. He was pretty sure Aizen hadn't paid attention to him for that long, probably, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man knew everything that had happened, as far back as Grimmjow could remember, and even farther than that. And what if he really had engineered it all, like he suggested sometimes?
"In fact," Aizen looked around the table, "i know every detail of all of your lives, since before you became hollows."
After that particular statement, no one was quite in the mood to discuss whether or not they had birthdays.
And so it was decided.
When the day (or possibly night, it was hard to tell) came, Grimmjow found himself sitting on a table in a party hall he hadn't known existed in Las Noches, his Fracciones grouped around him for commiseration.
Some poor sap had been enlisted to decorate the room. They had done their best, drawing grinning faces on white balloons with black marker and hanging black and white streamers from the walls. But their best wasn't good enough.
The problem, Grimmjow decided, was that there was never any color in Las Noches. It was stupid. A little color would add some life.
Red was nice. Maybe he should kill some random Arrancar and splash its blood over the walls. That would make it a little more interesting.
He had with him a tall glass of some clear liquid. Grimmjow wasn't sure he trusted it. He had seen Gin hovering around the drink table. Still, depending on how the party went, he was seriously considering drinking it anyway. No Arrancar had a clear idea of birthdays, and he just knew their combined efforts would be terrible.
One thing he did know, though, was that the other Espadas were supposed to give him stuff. That should provide a bright point. His attention focused as the first of them started to drift over.
"I don't want to be here," Ulquiorra announced as he approached. Apparently remembering why he was here, he added, with no inflection at all, "Happy birthday." He handed Grimmjow a small wrapped package.
"Least i get something out of this," Grimmjow muttered, ripping the paper off. He stared at the object in his hand for a long moment. Finally he looked back up at Ulquiorra. "A can opener?"
"I thought it would be useful," Ulquiorra told him. Grimmjow just stared from him to the utensil and back again.
Whatever Grimmjow could have said about Ulquiorra's gift, though, he'd also have to admit it was the best he got from his fellow Espadas.
Take Nnoitora's, for example. The Quinta Espada gave him a plastic fishing rod with a stuffed fish attached to the end with elastic string. That by itself was bad enough, but the grin on his face as he presented it . . . Grimmjow had to stop himself from reaching out and throttling him. The bastard thought he was so great. He only barely outranked Grimmjow. He had no business acting so superior.
Other packages included toy mice, little balls with bells in them, and the like. The crowning jewel was Halibel's gift, a can of Iams® cat food. Grimmjow threw them all down in disgust. "Just who do they think i am?" he demanded.
Ilfort bounced the fishing pole thoughtfully. Grimmjow clenched his fists at his sides and, with a valiant effort, was able to prevent himself from batting at the fish. "Get that out of my face before i ram it down your throat," he said in a low, deadly voice. Ilfort stopped.
A flash of movement caught his eye. Aaroniero had started to approach the table Grimmjow and his gang had taken over, and now seemed to be dithering about whether to continue the rest of the way over. He clutched a gift in both hands.
Grimmjow looked at the package. It appeared to be three lumps of something strapped to a square of cardboard, wrapped in colorful, sparkly paper. He could just guess what it was. He looked at Aaroniero very hard.
Aaroniero decided this wasn't the best time.
Grimmjow's shoulders slumped. Terrorizing the lower ranks was only fun for so long. He wanted to do something. "Well, might as well see if there's any point to this bullshit," he said, getting down from the table.
At the far end of the hall, next to the suspicious drinks, a buffet had been arranged with the finest human souls, imported straight from the world of the living. Yammy had stationed himself there as soon as he had arrived – he hadn't even paused on his way over to give Grimmjow something – and was working his way steadily through it.
Someone had put up a poster on one wall with a picture of something vaguely equine. There was a small group around it playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Nnoitora's voice rose above the noise, loudly suggesting that the game would be more fun if they put the poster on some random Arrancar instead. Or, better yet, to get rid of the poster and the pins completely and just stab somebody.
That sounded like fun. Grimmjow really wanted to stab someone right now. He was thinking about going over when he noticed that Ilfort had disappeared. Probably didn't want to spend more time around Szayel than absolutely necessary. He couldn't say he blamed him. If that was what family was like, Grimmjow thought, then no thanks.
Speaking of Szayel, he was now fiddling with the drinks. Well, that settled it. Grimmjow was not drinking anything.
The buffet had run out, so he wouldn't have any food making him thirsty anyway. Any minute now, Yammy would start on the weaker party guests. Grimmjow automatically looked around for D-Roy. The little guy wasn't likely to survive a hungry Yammy.
He was gone too. Probably realized the danger he was in, Grimmjow figured. He wasn't too bothered. He'd rather not have his Fraccion eaten, and it wasn't like the party could get much worse if he didn't have all of them there to keep him company.
He drifted over to stand by Ulquiorra by the wall. He was one of the few Espadas whose presence Grimmjow found tolerable.
"I want to leave," Ulquiorra said. If Grimmjow didn't know better, he would almost say the Cuarta was whining.
He snorted. "Yeah, you and me both." He stood within the safe barrier created by Ulquiorra's lack of enthusiasm and watched the activity. Halibel stood in another corner with the quietest of her Fracciones. The louder two seemed to be having a dance-off.
Szayel had left the drink table to join Nnoitora and Tesla. Grimmjow couldn't help but notice that from where he was standing, the scientist would have an excellent view of whoever was stupid enough to drink anything. Grimmjow would have to trust that his gang was smart enough to steer clear.
Come to think of it, Edorad, Shawlong, and Nakim were missing too. Grimmjow growled deep in his throat. If he had to be here, they ought to be suffering right along with him. D-Roy and Ilfort had excuses to disappear, sort of, but none of the rest of them had any business taking off. He was going to kill them.
He caught Nnoitora and Szayel sneaking a glance at him, Szayel's mouth moving in what had to be some kind of snide comment, and reconsidered. Maybe he shouldn't kill the only people he could stand to associate with. Maybe he'd just maim them a little. One thing was for sure, though. He was going to spill some blood the next time he saw them.
A fresh wave of noise came from across the room. Apparently that girl with the pigtails who always followed Aizen around had challenged Halibel's Fracciones' dancing. Now it was the two of them versus pigtails and that friend of hers.
Grimmjow looked away. It was too loud. It was too much. "Why am i here?" he groaned.
"Because Lord Aizen ordered it," Ulquiorra responded.
Grimmjow hadn't actually wanted an answer. He looked at the other Espada, ready to snarl at him. When his eyes actually fell on him, though, he reconsidered. Ulquiorra was clearly suffering just as much as he was. And he was stronger than Grimmjow. While a fight would lighten the mood, it probably wasn't a good idea to push him right now.
A tap came on his shoulder. On the other hand, whoever this was Grimmjow had no reason not to massacre. He turned, ready to tear someone open.
Nakim had appeared on his other side. The Arrancar didn't offer any apology or excuse for leaving, just jerked his head away from the crowd.
Grimmjow grinned, his mood lightening a bit. That was his gang. They were scheming something. And whatever it was, it had to be better than this. He made to follow his Fraccion, but stopped when a strong hand closed tightly on his wrist. He turned to face Ulquiorra.
"Take me with you," Ulquiorra ordered, only the faintest hint of desperation in his eyes.
Grimmjow didn't really bother considering his options. Ulquiorra was better than most of these bastards. "Sure, whatever," he said. "Let's just get the hell out of here." Their escape didn't seem to be noticed any more than the escapes of Grimmjow's other Fracciones.
Nakim led them through the deserted halls of Las Noches and out the back door. Maybe he ought to think about locking that sometime, Grimmjow thought idly. Then again, it wasn't like he cared. If Aizen wanted to be lax about security, it wasn't on Grimmjow.
His other Fracciones were waiting a safe distance from the walls. So this was where they'd disappeared to after abandoning him.
"Hey, there he is!" Edorad roared as Grimmjow's group approached. The others cheered. Grimmjow found himself feeling a little less homicidal. Still, he figured he'd menace them a little. He had not enjoyed being left there on his own with only Ulquiorra for company.
"What's the big idea?" he growled as they got close.
"We decided to arrange a little party of our own," Shawlong told him.
"The one inside sucked," D-Roy added.
"Not gonna argue with that," Grimmjow admitted. "What d'you have in mind?"
Ilfort jerked his head, long hair rippling. "Take a look over there."
Grimmjow looked. On the horizon, far from Las Noches, he spotted movement. Straining his senses, he identified the movement as a group of Adjuchas. "Ah," he said, baring his teeth in a wide grin. So that was what they were up to.
"We figured we'd go kill them a little," D-Roy announced.
It had been too long since he'd indulged in mindless slaughter, Grimmjow decided. A little exercise would do him good.
He raised an eyebrow at Ulquiorra, who had followed them out. The Cuarta Espada stared back at him blankly. Grimmjow shrugged. Clearly he would do whatever he wanted. Meanwhile, Grimmjow had his buddies around him, and prey in his sights. It was time to move.
Grimmjow purred deep in his throat, a sound that would soon turn into a growl. Now this was more like it. "Let's get 'em," he said.
So have another cigarette, have another beer
Raise your glass to one more year gone!
–Voltaire, "Happy Birthday (My Olde Friend)"
A/N: I've been wanting to write a fic along these lines ever since i got my copy of Bleach: Masked and found out Grimmjow and i have the same birthday. Every year, though, i got stuck and couldn't get it done. Then this year i decided that was because what i had written so far was terrible and i needed to start over completely. So here's the not-as-horrible edition, posted a day early because of reasons.