A/N: Significantly shorter chapter than the last one…but I think the second one might have been too long anyway .

I hope you guys enjoy.


Protector
Chapter 3: Anacampserote

"Kurosaki, let's see how good at karate you are now." A fist came towards his face, and he instinctively caught it, lifted himself from the ground and kicked the guy before him, all in a few seconds. If the others were stunned, they didn't show it. The rest of them charged at him with unhidden ferocity; he sidestepped the first, punched the second, and caught the third in a lock. The first guy came at him from the back, so he pushed the third guy down, heard him scream and kicked the first. The second picked up Ichigo's bag and beat his head with it; he blocked it and swiveled around to kick him in the face.

He wasn't prepared for his own trophy swinging in to his shoulder, wielded by the leader like a club. The sharp end cut through to his skin and stained his shirt with fresh blood. He clutched his shoulder, pushed the trophy away and cursed. Damn! Why is today so – so out of my control!

I'll get these bastards.

He got two of them in a single blow, and twisted the third's leg back. The first two ran away, and the third couldn't so much as move; Ichigo was pretty sure he had at least injured the guy's ligament. The leader charged at him at the same time, and Ichigo kicked him in the crotch, not interested in restraining himself anymore. His shoulder muscles were almost crying.

He wasn't prepared, though, for the rock to hit him a second time, exactly on the shoulder where the trophy had cut him. He lost control of that arm, and it fell limp for a minute as the pain coursed through him like the waves rushing to the shore on a windy day – sudden, and repetitive. The guy with the hurt knee sighed, relaxing himself, trying to pick himself up and attack one last time.

Ichigo remained there on one knee, trying to make the blood stop flowing. There wasn't a single person on the street to help. Everything seemed to be going so wrong today. He raised his other arm to block the guy's kick, but it was futile –

The guy fell with a scream of pure agony, the blood flowing from his head as something pushed him down with a force greater than anything he could ever imagined. The leader of the group got only a moment's notice as he felt a force comparable to a speeding truck hit him in the face. He flew across the street with a yell of pain and landed on the wall on the opposite side, and everything went black for him as he slumped over.

Ichigo blinked furiously, trying to make sense of what had just happened. A rough hand, one he couldn't see, dragged him up by the unhurt shoulder and shoved him. "What the hell!" He screamed furiously, stumbling backwards.


Don't touch my prey. He snarled.

As he saw the weak little things fall to the ground, he turned on Kurosaki and pushed him backward. "I can't keep saving your sorry ass all the fucking time, Kurosaki!" He was genuinely angry. What the hell had come over him? Sure, he fought well and all, but he lacked any of the speed and power he had possessed in his fight with him.

Had he really become that weak?

He was useless now! A fucking doll was all he was. And he still went and saved him; he shouldn't have even bothered.

There was a torrent of negative emotions raging throughout him, and he departed in a huff.


"Hey! Whoever you are, stop! Wait!" His voice was coarse, and every word grated at his throat. Damn it. That hand was oddly familiar…like the hand that had grabbed him yesterday, perhaps? And, something else…something else. That hand was one he knew, a one that ignited something akin to a flame within him. The flame of passion and determination, of wanting to fight and improve himself. That hand was almost nostalgic, and he hated it for that. He didn't desire any nostalgia anymore.

He didn't know what to do. As he slowly gathered up his things and walked back home, he was assailed with a paralyzing feeling of incompetence. He had failed. He had never once imagined that he would have to be saved so many times. This mystery soul must have been the one who saved him from the Hollow this morning too. I'm so powerless. The feeling shook him like no other, and he could feel his head throb with both physical as well as mental pain. He wanted out, wanted to be free from these shackles tying him down to the ground and preventing him from protecting anyone.

I've always wanted to protect everyone, and I can't even protect myself. I'm pathetic!

This feeling was nostalgic too. He didn't want to be reminded anymore of the life he had once led. Everything was raging in his head, so swirling, so intertwined, so utterly confusing, that he didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to worry, he didn't want to wonder who his savior was, and he didn't want to wrestle with feelings of inadequacy.

Sometimes it was easier not to feel anything at all. But he had never been that way.

And if he couldn't feel anything, he wouldn't be able to protect anyone efficiently.

What he needed was power. He wanted the power to protect once more, and he didn't know how to get it.


The next morning, walking to school, he was subdued. There was no distraction of any sort; no Hollow, no sudden attacks by people from his school – it was as quiet as it could be, and he was as alone as he could get. He hated it. He was glad his friends didn't know about what had happened – the wound on his shoulder, now patched up by his dad, winced in reminder. If anything, he wanted them to be able to believe in him.

Today, he had put some of his turmoil to rest, and began to wonder who it was who saved him yesterday. If anything, they were a familiar figure, but then, a lot of souls were familiar to him. He wondered if it was a Shinigami; that would be the most plausible option…but the feel of that hand, he didn't know which Shinigami it could be. Not Imoyama-san, definitely not Rukia. Actually, he wasn't sure it could be anyone of them. None of them would shove him when he was hurt. Maybe playfully, but not so roughly. None of them would bother him after he had lost his powers; all of them clearly knew that and would probably not want to rub it into his face.

Besides, that hand…felt different. It was like the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't grasp it. He knew that hand. He had to know that hand. It was so familiar…

If it really was a hand he knew, then perhaps, he had let that one person down. Everyone he knew was aware of his constant affirmations to 'protect'. He couldn't so much as protect himself. If he had to be honest with himself, he felt a deep sense of shame, of humiliation.

Somehow, that feeling reminded him of that hand again. He made a mental note – this hand is associated with the feelings of shame and humiliation. How it was associated was still an unsolved question, but he'd get to that soon. Or so he hoped.

He walked down the corridor to class. Someone walking in the opposite direction nudged his arm and congratulated him for the victory in yesterday's karate meet, but he wasn't gratified, because the very memory was something he'd like to avoid bringing up again.

His pace was slow, his gaze away from them deliberate, as he passed his friends talking. Chad was back in school today, and Ishida was surprisingly without a book before class started; he was usually always reading. He noted from the corner of his eye that the two of them were talking to a worried-looking Inoue. Why was she worried? He flicked his eyes towards her, and heard her whisper something indistinct, and a name.

"…Grimmjow…"

Grimmjow? That guy, who he'd fought in Hueco Mundo. Was he still alive? He recalled protecting him from the tall Espada…Nnoitra. Grimmjow wasn't dead even then. Why were they talking about someone who hadn't crossed his thoughts in such a long while?

Okay, maybe that was a lie. He had crossed his thoughts some times. When he reminisced on all the fights he had had once. He was, by far, one of the most interesting people he had fought that time, the one he felt he could understand best. Like they were on the same level, but on two different sides. I fought Grimmjow. Why aren't they telling me? He casually tried to listen to snatches of what Inoue was saying to them.

"…please don't tell Kurosaki-kun that….Grimmjow…. here … worried … doesn't … his powers…" Chad nodded once in agreement to her statement, and Ishida added quietly, "He…save…Hollow… remember the reiatsu…that day…looking…Kurosaki…"

Ichigo was in a state of shock. Disbelief. What were his friends saying? He walked away exactly as Inoue lifted her gaze to see if anyone was listening, and didn't notice him at all.

Grimmjow. He couldn't believe it. Could it be he who saved him? Ridiculous, they had got to be kidding. Grimmjow was in Hueco Mundo, right?

How could he say that? He couldn't even sense people's reiatsu anymore. Grimmjow could be here, in Karakura Town. Maybe even in front of him, right now. No, Inoue and the others would have sniffed him out then. Why would Grimmjow protect him, though? He thought Grimmjow loathed him. That was how he had acted towards him. Absolute loathing, and lots of pride.

But that hand. The hand came back to his thoughts again. That hand, now that he thought about it, fit Grimmjow's description very well. Rough, aggressive, sudden. Shame and humiliation – those feelings that he was reminded of – they made sense too. Grimmjow had felt so completely humiliated that day, he could sense it present in his weakening reiatsu, see it drip from him with every drop of blood that his wounds oozed.

He felt sorry for him. What was he doing now?

For the second time that day, he desperately wished he was able to get his powers back again. Or at least see him. Say a simple thank you.

Grimmjow. The name didn't leave his mind through the entire school day. He wondered if he was there, somewhere close by. He wondered why no one had attacked him. Ishida's dad, Urahara-san…no one had attacked. Maybe they wanted to wait and watch what would happen. Maybe it was because Grimmjow hadn't caused much harm yet. Ha, what about the 'gas leak'. Guess it really isn't a gas leak anymore. It was odd. Why didn't they consider him a threat yet? Hadn't he caused damage to the city?

Dad obviously doesn't know; he's out of town. Right. Hey, wait, didn't Ishida say his dad had gone with mine? Oh yeah, that big meeting thing for doctors. Damn, I forgot. Guess that's why he didn't know about Gr…let me not say his name. Fuck, this is really odd.

Somehow, he thought that – not attacking, that is – a good decision and he didn't know why. When he walked home from school, he had the strangest new feeling poking its way through his mind, and he decided to trust that it was a good one. It felt welcome. For most of the day, the blue-haired Arrancar's name had been a lingering presence in the corner of his mind, and saying it to himself gave him a pleasantly funny feeling in his stomach. That was new; he hadn't ever felt that before, and he didn't know what it was.

He didn't know what to associate it with, of course, but you and I would have called it 'butterflies'.


A/N: I…kinda changed the narration style in that last sentence, I guess, but I just felt like it :3 Poor Ichigo, he's never been in love before.

Please, please review! This is the first time I've written GrimmIchi.