Hold it together
Birds of a feather
Nothing but lies and crooked wings
I have the answer, spreading the cancer
You are the faith inside me
-Breaking Benjamin, Evil Angel
xXxXxXxXx
The name is Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow. For the sake of the greater good, please don't wear it out.
He was not usually one to complain - unless he was supremely pissed - but this situation definitely warrants it.
A week or so ago, a very close friend of his passed away. 'Passed away' is putting is nicely. She was blown away by a gun, cruel bullet piercing her into the next world.
And he could not get over it. Would you?
It was not only the fact that someone he cared about died - it was the fact that her death had no reason, no meaning to it. If death had no meaning, then what the fuck did living stand for?
Which brings Grimmjow to the beginning of his onslaught of problems. To find the meaning and reasons he sought, he was sent an angel - yes, angel - and yes, he is very serious. A guardian angel with black wings, emerald eyes and snow-white skin.
Who went by the name of Ulquiorra.
The morning daylight was streaming like ribbons of flawless sunshine. It was a beautiful morning in every sense. Clear, blues skies. Not a cloud in sight. A slight chill from the breeze.
Grimmjow stood in the midst of it, drinking his tepid coffee in silence. Nearby, a group of citizens were selling baked goods and drinks outside of some shop. One of the kids was ringing a bell and skipping around to find potential suckers to deposit some coins into his cute little bucket.
"What are we doing here?" he finally asks, after a whole ten minutes of immobility. The angel hovering beside him gives him a blank look before following his line of vision.
"There," Ulquiorra replied, pointing at the little boy carrying the bell. "That is why we're here."
Grimmjow made a face, squinting his eyes to scrutinize the boy better. Cherubic little face with a bit of auburn hair poking out from under his hat and a pair of blue eyes beckoning to the public to spare some change for his cause. What was so special about that?
Grimmjow snorted dryly. "So...what? Is this kid supposed to restore my faith in the love that all people are capable of?"
"No," Ulquiorra responded brusquely. "He has cancer."
Grimmjow's attitude abruptly faltered. "What?"
"Leukimia," Ulquiorra nodded, ignoring the hardened aghast that has settled upon his companion's face. "Three months, four days, twelves hours. In that time, Miyoko Kazuya will be dead."
"Geez, do you have it down to the minute? Second?" Grimmjow grunted. Ulquiorra ignored the irritable comment.
"Rest assured though, he will be one of the white-winged."
"Hey, shut up already!" shouted the blue-haired man, unwilling to hear anymore. His temper was bad at the worst of times, but Ulquiorra sure knew how to get him going.
"Calm yourself, heathen," placated the stoic angel, causing him to scowl despicably. Emerald eyes cast themselves towards the scowl, unfazed by the fury held within his glare.
"I am merely making a point."
"A point? Like the point of you being a total jackass?" he retorted madly.
But the pale creature only shrugged. "I'm dead. What's your excuse?"
Grimmjow opened his mouth to retort with some wise-ass comeback...and promptly closed it.
"I see." Were those green orbs gleaming with amusement? "About the boy. There was a point to it."
Again, he felt himself being overwhelmed with sardonic sentiments. "Oh, yeah? Enlighten me, oh wise one."
"Is your body being pulverized by a poison meant to save your life which is actually ulitmately going to slowly kill you from the inside out?"
Grimmjow grinded his teeth back to the gum, biting down on the urge to punch the creature's - human or not - lights out. "No."
"And yet he is making the very best of what he has left." Ulquiorra stared off towards the boy obliviously jingling his bell. "Tell me, does that make you envious? He is so happy yet dying. You're miserable and-"
"Shut. Up." He ordered through tightly clenched teeth. He dug his hands even deeper into his pockets, a compulsive action whenever he felt he was about to do something drastic.
The angel acted as though he didn't hear. "Yet there he is, dying of an incurable ailment, but still trying to do good by others. Trying to save others from suffering the same fate as he. You would think he would hate this world and all it's inhabitants, after foresaking him so."
The last words barely drip from the corners of those dead lips before he lashes out, seizing the collar of his neck, dragging him so they are mere inches apart, Grimmjow's breath seething and warm on his indifferent visage.
"What's your deal?" he yells, ignoring the faint victory at seeing the angel's jolt of surprise. His smugness is gone quicker than it appeared, for that face immediately melts into it's original monotony.
"My deal?" mirrored Ulquiorra. "I'm merely doing what I am meant do to. My reason for existing at the time being is guiding you."
"What the hell does any of this," Grimmjow hisses venomously, "have to do with me and my questions?"
He lets go of him then, unsure of why he really grabbed him so roughly in the first place. He doubts he actually hurt him. Nor did he put a dent in his ego or pride. The black-winged man brushes himself off.
"You seek answers from humanity," Ulquiorra goes on smoothly. "You want to know why I show you this child? Because he is a prime example of unfair suffering. He is going to die, thousands of innocent of children like him are going to die. Death is inevitable, inescapable."
Grimmjow gulps, suddenly calm. All evidence of his temper seems to have flown the coop. "He doesn't deserve to die."
Ulquiorra nods his head in agreement. "I am certain you are all too aware of the fact that a lot of people die who don't deserve it. But there are also people who do deserve it. Then there are those who live, even when they deserve death."
"So what does that mean?" the blue-haired youth demands.
"Death has no preferrence. No prejudice or reason. That is a choice only the living can make."
These words, Grimmjow realizes, are true. Do diseases care who they off? No. Does the Reaper have any motive for death other than death itself? Hell no. Humans cared. People had motives. People who let other lives slip between their finger tips. People who neglected and let things perish. People who bought guns and shot people.
"Do you get it now?" The angel questions, breaking him from his inner insights.
"I beginning to," he admits grudgingly. "Can I ask just one more thing?"
Green eyes flashed over to him. "I'm listening."
"Is he...do you think when good people are in so much pain...death is a relief?"
"Could you be more explanatory with your question?"
"I mean...if let's say a soldier on the battlefield was caught in a mine explosion...his leg or arm or whatever is torn off. He's slowly dying, bleeding out and wasting away...wouldn't it...wouldn't it be a blessing if someone were to just take and gun and...end it?"
"Yes," the angel conceded after a few careful moments of thought. "Does that make you feel any better?"
"Yeah, actually." Grimmjow blinked, eyes narrowing. "Why do you care?"
Pale lips curl up into what might be the ghost of a wry smile. "Why, indeed?"
Grimmjow glances back at the boy still happily ringing his bell through the air, turning back to his companion only to find air. The fading remnants of the angel once beside him are lost to the breeze.
"That's not an answer," he argues, with no one there to hear it.
His angel is gone like a phantom.
Class goes by like a dull thrumming in his ears, perpetual sounds and motions to the infinite lobe known as the brain. Grimmjow is less than stimulated by the ongoing lecture his professor is dribbling on about. More so, he is distracted.
Who wouldn't be in the same situation?
Grimmjow had always prided himself in being a skeptical and rational man. Despite being claimed as a lunatic on many occasions, he was never one to be mistaken as delusional. Unicorns, zombies, aliens - you name it. He had always denied their existence in favor of grim logic.
Angels especially.
But the proof before him now was overwhelming.
"-jow? Grimmjow?" The blue-haired man snapped out of it, whipping behind him to see who was itching for his attention. He scowled when he saw.
"What do you want, Kurosaki?"
Kurosaki Ichigo gave him a bland look, not so jolly to see him either. He's known him since they were in grade school. They used to be playground buddies. Nowadays, they have more of a love/hate relationship.
For one thing, their personalities opposed each other. Kurosaki is so righteous and caring. Beneath that scowl, the guy is just one soft, teddy bear. Underneath Grimmjow's rough exterior, there was bone.
Since entering college, they had become somewhat of rivals to one another. Kurosaki was majoring in journalism, hoping to get a job at some newspaper and be an investigative reporter. Reminded him a little too much of a Japanese-version of Peter Parker.
Grimmjow was majoring in creative writing. Reporting and journalism was all about finding the truth. He knew the truth already. The truth was important, yet dreadfully boring. Reality was grating. In the long run, making your own story is just the better task in life.
It was an easy enough course that he usually breezed through, exlcuding long, boring lectures and lengthy assignments. Kurosaki worked hard too, from what he saw in the classes they shared.
Grudgingly, Grimmjow had developed some respect for his berry-headed peer. His father was a well-known and highly respected doctor. With all the revere and adoration the elder Kurosaki had gained over the years, it would have been a cinch for his son to find a career in the medical studies. He already had the experience from helping out his old man.
Instead Ichigo chose to pursue an occupation of his own, unwilling to take any hand-outs or shortcuts. It was a bold and gutsy move, which Grimmjow himself would have done if placed in the same shoes.
"Nothing," the orange-haired youth shrugged, causing Grimmjow's scowl to increase. "You were spacing really bad. I just wondered if you had gotten the assignment Sensei just gave us."
Assignment? Shit. He really had been spacing.
By the amused look on Kurosaki's face, the bastard knew he had missed it too.
"I can give it to you," he offered kindly, knowing how his sweetness made Grimmjow want to gag.
He had a difficult choice; get the assignment from Strawberry or fail a paper. Granted, he had failed papers before and it had not been so terrible; he still had fairly well marks. But when he took the matter of Ulquiorra into account...
Considering how he may be distracted for a while yet, he probably couldn't afford to fail any more papers. Regardless, he stil felt disgruntled at the small blow to his pride. Asking for help was never his forte.
"Fine," he conceded, albiet gruffly. "Give me yer damn notes."
Kurosaki blinked in astonishment. Usually, Grimmjow put up a hell of a lot more fight and the dispute almost always ended with him threatening to bash that orange head in while his colleague laughed himself to death. It was a back-and-forth banter they had going.
"Oh. Sure." Without a witty remark, he handed him the notes to which Grimmjow accepted with a nod.
"You were really spacing back there," Kurosaki comments. "In fact, your face was indulged in such intense thought, I assumed you might actually be paying attention and learning something."
Grimmjow snorted, but said nothing more.
Again, he refused to rise to the bait. Kurosaki seemed completely put-off by his mood. Unlike him, the other viewed him as an equal and one of his oldest companions. To see him like this, he was bound to be pertubed.
"Are you okay?" he asked, brow knitting in something akin to worry. Like he said - this guy was pure stuffing on the inside. "You seem- I don't know, distracted."
The blue-haired student merely hummed. "Yes, I am. I'm trying to concentrate on copying these notes, but there's this annoying buzzing tone that reminds me of a certain carrot-topped idiot."
A wry smirk lit up said idiot's face. "Excuse me. Just a little disturbed, is all. You don't seem your usual 'I'm-going-rip-your-throat-out-and-laugh-about-it-later' kind of self today."
Boy, does he have me pegged, Grimmjow inwardly laughs. On the outside, he shrugs.
"Yeah, well, you're radar must be off." He shakes his head. "I'm fine. Only a bit distracted. Nothing for you to get your pink-primmed panties in a twist over."
His assurance is weak. But before Kurosaki can open his mouth to argue, the bell rings and he shoves back the notes and marches out the door before the latter can cook up a response.
Being a college student isn't cheap. Especially when you decide to house yourself in a one-bedroom, one-bath within walking distance of the campus.
Which is where work comes in.
He can't complain all too much about his job. He worked for old man Zangetsu at his hardware store, stacking boxes in the back and doing cleanups here and there. His boss is lenient; there he sits now, engrossed in the newspaper while his employee slaves away. Plus, there aren't a lot of other workers around, which provides the silence he so desperately needs right now-
"You missed a stain a little to your left." Grimmjow blinks, lifts his head, and mutely groans as he notices the familiar figure leaning in the corner.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He makes sure to stress the you and here parts.
"Floating. You?"
Grimmjow growls. "Working. See, us living men have to work our asses off to support ourselves and keep at least a little food in the fridge."
"Uh huh," Ulquiorra mutters dispassionately. "So true. What would you do without your stock of instant ramen, T.V. dinners, canned goods and beer?"
This brings a rueful smirk to the blue-haired worker's face. "Okay, point taken. Still, do you have to be here while I work? It's bad enough just the thought of you distracts me during class."
"You think of me during class?" was the dull retort.
Grimmjow pauses and realizes how wrong that actually sounds.
"N-no! You misunderstand! It's not like, I meant-! Argh! You jackass, you know I didn't-!"
"Grimmjow?"
He is ashamed to say that he jumps and nearly releases and embarrassing 'meep' sound when the abrupt voice of his boss calls out. Then, with all the grace and manner of a blind antelope, he swerves around and tries to look as calm and cool as possible. Holding a mop.
"Yeah, boss?" He questions, nonchalantly clearing his throat.
Zangetsu raises a reproachful brow. "Who are you talking to?"
Grimmjow can feel the heat rise to his face before blanching white. Fuck, don't I look crazy?
He can practically hear the angel behind him rolling those green eyes.
"Uh...well...I...no one. No one at all!" Denial seemed to be the easiest and safest route. "No, I wasn't talking to anyone." He scoffed. "Your must be goin' deaf, old man."
Deflecting worked pretty well too.
Zangetsu hummed in the back of his throat, the only clear sign of his irritation. He gave his blue-haired employee a disbelieving glance before once again covering his face with the newspaper.
Grimmjow exhaled in relief. He really had to careful about how loud he spoke to his angel with company around. At this rate, he would be sent to looney bin before he managed to learn anything.
And the deep, meaningful lesson; that's what this whole exchange was about, right?
Right.
Nonetheless, he had to remind himself not to look over and speak to the wall again and resume his work. In the back of his mind, he knew the raven-haired angel was already gone.