Manifest

by Ujon Nocturne

Disclaimer: Bleach and all things related to it found here are owned by Kubo Tite. Any similarities with other creations are unintended and purely coincidental. Plot line, original characters, and everything else non-canonical belongs to me.

Manifest © Ujon 2oo9 - 01/31/09

Author's Notes:

Alright, now we're onto the real story! I've been looking stuff up, and I've reread some of the manga chapters, and found out that Grimm-chan's current state is yet to be confirmed. This fic will sort of start off with that, because we all love our favorite sexta kitty. xD So anyway, if you have any suggestions, or any questions, feel free to leave me a message. I'd love to hear from you.

Ah, and yeah, my first attempt at Bleach. It's a little AU, and then there's my lovely little OC, but I promise you won't be disappointed! Enjoy the story!

Chapter One | Moment of Wake

I'm… not dead?

Grimmjow opened his sapphire eyes to a familiar darkness. All was quiet as he gradually came to, but somehow he knew that this calm silence did not belong to Las Noches. Let alone to Hueco Mundo. It was different from the bone-chilling void of that which he hated to call home. Added to that, the numbing cold that encased him was both familiar and not, but leaning slightly to the latter. The low temperature was… more bearable at a significant extent. Weaker, even.

Then again, almost everything around him felt weaker, very much unlike Hueco Mundo. And he has lived there many ages enough to know what kind of atmosphere the place so graciously offered. That meant he was elsewhere. But this "elsewhere" was no stranger to him either.

Grimmjow was in the human world.

The night was dark, and hanging in the air was a distinct, biting cold. Winter. That was what it usually indicated; the bitter end of a year. But for him, this time would have been more significant, should have been more significant. The Winter War. But then what the hell was he doing here? And where exactly was here? And what the hell was happening now? The Espada hastily threw himself up into a seat, only then noticing that he was lying on a bed. A soft one, at that. With that, he began to notice other things as well.

Cold sweat beaded his forehead, and his skin felt damp and clammy. His breathing was labored, and each breath he took felt like hundreds of thorns scraping at the flesh of his throat. The pain beyond that, however, took him by surprise. Grimmjow suddenly began coughing violently as he sat up, fire agonizingly ripping up his throat. He brought his fingers around his neck, eyes wide and bloodshot as it finally stopped.

"Lie down," suddenly came a stranger's voice, and the Espada quickly whipped his head in the direction of the sound, startled for the most part. Though, he was met by nothing. Just the blackness of a pitch night, and an unnerving emptiness that came along with it. The room was eerily dark for a human room. And quiet. The human's voice, other than it didn't belong to anyone he recognized, was higher by an octave or so, which meant it belonged to a woman—no,—a girl.

Well, that was… weird. Her voice was distorted. It sounded as if she were speaking to him from underwater. Nevertheless, he could still make out some of her words, Somewhat. To an extent. He hadn't realized it was his own mind's inability to be coherent that caused the distortion. No matter. He had some answers to get. Grimmjow parted his lips to say something, but the other beat him to it.

"You are in no condition to speak," were her stern words, "let alone move around. Lie down."

Surprised, Grimmjow merely sat there as he realized the girl was right. He couldn't speak. And though he was sure there was none, his mouth tasted like blood. Rust. Venom. That was when the full blow of all his raw injuries came—of the screaming of his strained bones, of his bruised and battered flesh. The fire burned across his whole body, and yet, the pain made him feel whole. He hadn't been whole for… too long. It was a wonder he remembered what it even felt like. Beside all the agonizing pain.

Before he could ponder on it any further, however, the sensation peaked sharply. He curled into himself and groaned, clutching at the searing ache in his chest. It was unbearable, even for him. Like nothing before. He couldn't explain it; he wouldn't accept it. But it was there. The pain made him need to scream, but his pride willed him to swallow it back. There was no way in hell he'd let that happen. He was Grimmjow Jeaguerjaques, for crying out loud! A little collateral damage wasn't something he couldn't handle.

…who was he kidding? Everything hurt like there was no tomorrow. Just breathing was hard; he was suffocating.

His bones felt heavy, strained, torn. Moving in the slightest seemed like the stupidest thing in the world. He was tough, that was a given, beyond normal. For him to be in this much pain—in such a way that he couldn't even move—could only mean he'd sustained near-life-threatening damage. But, oddly enough, nothing was broken. His wounds were still relatively fresh in comparison, as well. And he wasn't even bleeding. How long had passed, exactly?

"You stopped bleeding an hour ago," came the girl's words, as if sensing his unvoiced question. A soft hand pressed against the young man's chest, as if to gently push him down. Though that wouldn't have done much of anything, he didn't resist, and followed the motion. As he was released, he compliantly laid back down. Grimmjow could feel the blood throbbing in his skull, making his head spin and his senses groggy. The feel was sickening, but laying flat on his back toned it down a little. There was no way to avoid the agony should he move, so he couldn't move. He was completely helpless.

Damn it.

The hand moved across his head, gently brushing away the hair that had clung to his clammy forehead and just laying there. "Your fever's going down." She stepped away. "Rest for now," were the kind voice's instructions, interrupting his thoughts. She continued. "At least until you are more able. I'll come back to check on you later."

Though his senses were still quickly deteriorating, Grimmjow could faintly hear the girl's footsteps gradually disappearing into the distance that, he imagined, was most likely shorter than it seemed. Without really thinking, the sexta Espada let his throat raggedly choke out his voice, stopping her just as a sheet of light burst against her faceless silhouette.

"Get better," the young one swiftly cut off, turning her head towards the open door. She stopped for a moment, the movement of her lips her only visible feature to the man that was helplessly slipping into unconsciousness. The nameless, faceless girl spoke. Voice pleading, bearing tension and uncalled for sadness. Words meaning more than was meant by sound.

Though she could no longer be heard. From the bed there came only the slow rhythmic breathing brought about by sleep. He was already completely out. The door closed with a soft click, the light disappearing beyond. And the girl, with it.

Shaded, watchful eyes observed the small, stark white apartment from a distance. The massive flare of reiatsu indicated that the slumbering guest had awoken, but only for a moment. It was much subtler now, to which the shady figure gave a sigh of relief. It had been days, and for a good long while it didn't seem like he ever would wake up. Now that he had, how was he to consider this situation?

The cold, night wind blew the man's coat from his perch upon the rooftop, a hand clamped over his head to keep his bucket hat in place. His silhouette outlined with the moonlight, Urahara Kisuke stood brooding as he watched the tiny blot of lilac emerge from the glass doors to the balcony. His usually merry eyes sharpened into a hard, unreadable stare. It wasn't quite a glare, but it was getting there.

Though the small figure was hardly distinguishable—and the midnight fog didn't really help—he could easily tell that the blob was a girl. By the way she moved across the terrace, the way she swung her legs over the banister back and forth. Like a lonely child playing in the summer. It was cold out, but it didn't seem to bother her. Such a strange sight in this cold winter night. With a small, audible sigh he turned around, pushing his hat further down to cover his eyes.

In all his years, trying to destroy it had seemed impossible. Though he had tried his best to keep it hidden, had already foreseen the possibility of it being stolen away from him. That already happened. What he hadn't expected, however, was this. Now this was not something anyone could have ever expected. But here it was. It had landed right back in his hands, but not as he had expected. Something had seriously gone wrong, and he had no other choice but to step up and take responsibility.

"Guess it can't be helped, now, huh?" he murmured to himself idly, throwing one last glance in her direction. He could almost see her vacant expression, when she suddenly stopped…and stared right at him. Though startled slightly, he held her gaze for a few moments, wondering if she knew, when she abruptly looked away and resumed swinging her legs back and forth, as if nothing happened at all. This made the older man grin, and he himself turned away, wooden sandals clicking against the roof. Then he mumbled, as an afterthought, before he disappeared into the night air. "Such a strange girl."

And he, of all people, should know.

The blue-haired sexta Espada had, after some time, finally succeeded at regaining his senses. After which, he'd refused to be consumed by sleep since. He lay awake in bed, thick cotton quilts keeping him warm from the harsh weather outside. Grimmjow started flexing his fingers beneath the sheets, feeling a little more control slip into his grasp. Though the pain was yet to disappear completely, it was more bearable now. He could move his hands, then his forearms, and now his shoulders. The thick blankets rustled as his movements grew underneath them.

"Are you awake?" came the girl's again sudden, but now familiar, voice. Her words were small, toneless, and yet still hinted with concern. The young man's eyes flew in the direction of the sound. He hadn't noticed any doors or windows open or close, and there was absolutely no sound other than his rasped breathing until then.

Was she in the room the whole time?

"Where the hell am I?" was the man's vicious growl, his voice huskier with the enflamed throat. The taste of blood, albeit barely, was definitely still there.

"I see it's easier for you to speak now," remarked the girl softly, deliberately ignoring his rudeness without missing a beat. The sounds he heard indicated that she had stood, and had begun to pace across the carpeted floor. Towards a wall, it seemed, as he heard her hand against its surface. His senses were coming back just nicely. Only a matter of time now before he could get out of here and finally attend to some unfinished business with a certain orange-haired punk of a Shinigami.

"Would you mind if I turned on the lights?"

The young man glared in the voice's direction wordlessly, soundlessly.

"Your treatment is incomplete."

Grunting, Grimmjow tore his eyes away from the faint silhouette, letting his tired eyelids fall shut. "Do as you like."

Click!

Bright, pure white spread across the room in an instant. Grimmjow scowled at it for a moment, unused to the brightness. Though, it did remind him of Las Noches. Spotless walls of white. As his vision adjusted itself to the blaring light, he heard the faceless girl start walking towards him. Then, quicker than he'd anticipated, she was standing beside the bed. Still faceless, merely a flurry of… well, there wasn't really any color.

What appeared to be the shape of a small hand then reached down into of his field of sight, seemingly about to touch him, but it stopped just inches before his skin, and eventually recoiled completely.

"Can you sit up?" was the girl's polite inquiry. "Do you need assistance?"

Making a sound of disgust, Grimmjow squeezed his eyes shut and pushed himself up on his elbows. Difficultly. And though it was painful, he barely grimaced. His ice blue eyes slowly lifted open, glaring directly at the wall in front of him. No movement for the head, he quickly decided. He could still feel the liquid sloshing about inside his skull.

"Does it hurt?"

Grimmjow hated being underestimated, and though perhaps that was not in the stranger's intentions, being offered help like this just pissed the Espada off. No one looked down upon the King.

"Is it too much?"

A snarl already ripping through his throat, he drew back an arm and turned to her, preparing to strike. When he caught her eye, however, his body just stopped. He couldn't make a sound, and for a moment, his control slipped out of his grasp. Everything began to spin, rapidly getting more and more out of focus. A loud ringing began screaming in his head, subduing the man in incredible pain. He quickly turned away, only making it worse, and he grunted as he reached up and grabbed the sides of his head. He groaned loudly through clenched teeth, breathing violently.

I said no moving, damn it! He berated himself internally, suppressing the grimace forming on his features. Though he failed, and the girl was quick to assist him. She was saying something now, but her words were back to being an incomprehensible slur. No, now it was worse than before. Whoever she was, whatever she was saying, she was worried. He could at least catch that in her voice. And that wasn't good. Idiot.

"Llloolkkkttatttmmmee," was all the disoriented man could hear, the sounds overlapping each other and slurring into the next. "Ll-lllooolookkookkat ata attme mmeee."

Grimmjow could just barely feel a slight weight against the sides of his head, keeping them there. It was dark, but small splotches of color still twinkled and spun before his eyes. The girl's voice came again, stern, and he could slightly make out some of the words now. "Cccooonnceeentrraaattte. Oopp-ppenn yo-yyoouuur ee-eeeyes aaandd llookk aaatt-tt mm-meee." It was only then that he realized that he had shut his eyes, and with some effort, he lifted his heavy lids open.

Everything then slowly fell into place, and the first thing Grimmjow saw was the young woman's face in front of his. Watching him attentively, pensively, the concern subtly displayed on her face as she held his head in place. Her straight, platinum-lilac hair draped just past her shoulders, her complexion milky of untouched softness. And her big, bright eyes were a pair more radiant than the most precious ruby gems—a lustrous red, like infinite pools of blood. It gave away all her otherwise stoic expression masked. But there Grimmjow couldn't find the screaming fear everyone that's come close to him possessed. He found anxiety, even relief, and something else he couldn't understand. If she wasn't afraid of him, what was she afraid of? There was fear alright, but not of him… for his well being? She was practically half his size, and she looked so meek and defenseless just seated there that the Espada knew that he could kill her even in his broken state.

That was when he noticed that there was not even the slightest trace of reiatsu from where the girl lay, completely taking him off-guard. That couldn't be right. She shouldn't be able to sense him, let alone touch him. Her soul should have been crushed under the mere presence of he, the Sexta Espada—the sixth strongest Arrancar in all of Hueco Mundo—alone. And yet now he could only stare, a hard scowl set firm in his confused features.

The girl merely stared back evenly, watching him briefly, before finally closing her eyes again. He didn't catch the breath of relief she took before speaking again. "You mustn't force yourself to move if it hurts," she said gently, slowly pulling back away from him. Ah. That was all she meant. Grimmjow wasn't supposed to feel bad for misunderstanding. She turned away and stood. "I will come back another time." And she began to take her leave.

…when Grimmjow suddenly grabbed hold of her wrist, carefully, with a hand that could so easily break apart some of the most powerful Shinigami of Soul Society without even trying. Her eyes widened with surprise for about a second, before she immediately recollected herself, but the man's eyes were keen enough to pick even that up. Along with how her muscles had tensed at contact. She looked at him questioningly, and he glared up at her.

"Who," he managed heavily, ice blue eyes piercing right through her flame red orbs, "the hell are you?" He was not growling. He was not yelling. But that was definitely enough to get at least some kind of reaction from the girl. His quiet, unwavering tone. She frowned for a moment, still staring at him, just watching like she had been for quite some time now. Then the frown smoothed back into her silent demeanor, and she turned her gaze down to his hold on her. He wasn't letting her go without getting some answers, and she closed her eyes.

"Kiyoi Shizuka," she introduced herself tonelessly, never forgetting her manners and offering him a curt nod. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Shizuka didn't move to pull her wrist away, even though she probably could have judging by the strange man's bad condition. "I found you a few nights ago." Instead, she just looked at him, her bright crimson eyes unnervingly nonchalant. "You were broken, so I fixed you."

Author's Notes:

Awesome, we're down to the first chapter. I'd love to know what you think about it thus far. So… readers, you review the story, ne? No sneaky-sneaky. And nobody worry, 'cause there ain't gonna be any Mary Sues in this fanfic, I assure you. Just… I dunno, I'm gonna stay a little clean with the language. I'm a minor. xD

Thanks to Arrancar13, by the way, for my first review! I'm glad you liked it. I'll keep it coming in as steady as I can. I've already some of the second chapter written, so it should come around soon. So everybody just stick around, aigh't?

Thanks for reading. Please Rate & Review!

Your authoress,

Ujon Nocturne