Author's Note: Next chapter is going to be very exciting! :D
This is your fault, Jaegerjacques.
He left you in charge.
If it weren't for you, they'd still be alive.
If you could pull your own weight, he wouldn't be in this situation.
The voices in Grimmjow's head were a dull roar as he jogged after the crowd, not losing sight of bright orange hair on the gurney. He still wasn't clean. Blue had been stained red, his hand still blood-drenched. Was it the blood of the walker, or was it Kurosaki's?
Was there even a difference anymore?
Kurosaki had been bitten. That was it. Game over. You don't have to go home, but you sure as shit can't stay here.
Nobody at Seireitei had ever been bitten before. Grimmjow knew that it was going to be the talk of the settlement for months to come. Hell, those who had gone on that stupid fucking deathmarch would probably never forget. He knew that he wouldn't. Urahara was going to have to offer a hell of a lot more than some extra food if he wanted Grimmjow to take a step outside of the gates any time soon. No. Scratch that. He'd go. He'd mangle a zombie, strap Yylfordt's jaw to his face, become psychosis incarnate.. but he would never go with someone else. Solitude was safer. He was just fine out there on his own.
Why did he have to go and care?
Grimmjow stood opposite Urahara, Kuchiki, Ukitake, Kyoraku, Unohana.. all of the people who had a say. Hanataro whisked Ichigo into a private examination room to clean him up. The virus wouldn't take hold for another couple of hours. He'd be cleaned up, given some water, and likely left to die. Grimmjow remembered Yylfordt, shaking and sweating, breath shallow as his bodily functions began to shut down..
"What shall we do?" Ukitake asked, watching through the glass as Hanataro began to dress the tell-tale wound on Ichigo's chest.
"What do you recommend, Urahara?"
Urahara sucked in air. "Well, our options are as follows. We make him as comfortable as possible. I observe him, take blood and tissue samples as the disease progresses. Kurotsuchi can analyze them while I stay here. Then, when he reaches the moment of death, we destroy the brain. We can avoid reanimation and safety risk. Or.."
Kuchiki pursed his lips. "Or?"
"We kill him right now."
Grimmjow felt his jaw tense. He could hear his heartbeat against his eardrums. The others were talking, but he couldn't hear them.
"We don't kill the living."
He wasn't audible. A small argument had broken out amongst the captains in attendance. In not even half a second, Grimmjow's hand was wrapped around Urahara's throat. He slammed the man against the wall, a snarl on his face. His stump was holding Urahara in place, keeping him from struggling.
"We don't kill the living," he roared, fingernails leaving deep pits in Urahara's throat. They had to tear Grimmjow away, avoiding his kicks, punches, and attempts to bite Byakuya Kuchiki.
Urahara rubbed his throat, looking at his hand to check for blood.
"I think Jaegerjacques has made himself quite clear. Kurosaki stays alive… until he is taken."
The brain wasn't designed to think about its own mortality. It was designed for self-preservation. It was designed for optimism. Maybe that was why Ichigo had kept so calm. He sat cross-legged on the mattress, eyes fixed on his hands. There was an IV in his arm, placed by a very nervous nurse. Electrodes were placed strategically over his body.
This was wrong. He couldn't list on two hands how many ways this was wrong.
He'd been bitten. In a matter of hours, he'd fall ill. Coughing, sore throat, fever, vomiting. He'd grow sicker and sicker, hallucinations from fever filling his head. He'd drive himself insane up until the moment of death. Then, within minutes, hours at most, he'd reawaken as one of those creatures. The ones that had killed Chad. The ones that had taken his mother, and for all he knew, the rest of his family.
Chad's sacrifice was for nothing.
It was all for nothing.
Ichigo could see Urahara on the other side of the glass. The sight made his stomach churn. How dare he? He'd known. There was no way he couldn't have. He knew what was out there, but he'd sent them out regardless. And Ichigo wanted to know why.
Ichigo pursed his lips as, clad in a surgical mask and gloves, Urahara opened the door to the isolation room, a tray of instruments in his hand. He placed it on the table.
"Get the hell out of here," Ichigo snapped.
"Now, now," Urahara cooed softly. "Save your strength. Why don't you lie back for me? And let me see that nasty wound on your chest."
"Go to Hell."
Quietly, Urahara walked to Ichigo's side. His eyes were sympathetic as he sat beside him. "This is not a discussion," he said firmly. "If you do not allow me to collect these samples, then my colleague, Dr. Kurotsuchi will. He does not like to be dragged out of the lab, and I can guarantee that he will be neither kind nor patient. The decision is yours. Open your gown, or be tied down and forced."
Lips pursed, nostrils flared, gaze averted, Ichigo threw himself back against the bed and unbuttoned the gown, revealing the still-tender wound on the center of his chest.
"That's a good boy," Urahara cooed, standing to grab his instruments.
This is what hell was going to be like.
Exhausted by his day's misery, Ichigo draped his arm over his eyes, attempting to get a little bit of sleep. It wasn't likely that he'd get any- Unohana and Urahara were taking turns checking on him every half hour.
"It seems like you have a visitor," Unohana noted, taking his temperature. It was normal… but for how long? Ichigo moved his arm to peek through the window.
Uryuu.
"Ishida!" he called, unsure if he was audible through the glass. Ishida turned, placing the garment he'd been working on in his lap. That wasn't unlike Ishida. He'd always had a weird thing for sewing. Ichigo recognized the cloth he was working on as one of Rukia's shirts. At least he was making himself useful. "What are you doing here?"
Uryuu's gaze dropped. "It is my belief that nobody deserves to die alone." He shoved his glasses up on his nose. "I know that we are not necessarily liking each other. But I will be here until the end. It is part of my honor."
Ichigo scoffed, leaning against the headboard of the bed. "I don't need your sympathy, Ishida."
"Good. I am not giving it." Uryuu moved to return to work. "Say what you will, but I am not moving. There is not much you can do to convince me otherwise. You are in there, and I am out here."
Ichigo shook his head, groaning loudly as he flopped back onto the pillows. He was going to die. And what was worse, Ishida was going to see him die.
"Don't you have a gate to guard?"
"It's taken care of."
Fuck.
When Ichigo woke, Ishida was still seated on the floor in front of him. It seemed as if he hadn't been prepared to wait there for such a long time. Rukia's shirt had long since been mended, and he'd taken to cross stitching designs into the back. Ishida looked tired- how long had he been there?
Before Ichigo could investigate, he saw Urahara approach and kneel beside Uryuu, rubbing his shoulder gently.
"You should go get yourself a snack and take a nap. I've called someone else to keep vigil. I'll call you if anything happens," Urahara promised.
Ishida looked reluctant. "I just.. it normally doesn't take so long."
Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Sorry for taking too long to die," he snapped, throwing his arms into the air. The motion pulled on his IV, and he winced a little.
"Good, you're up." Urahara smiled at Ichigo. "He's right. Six hours, not so much as a sniffle. Very peculiar." He cocked his head. "Do you mind if I take a few more samples?"
"...Don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"Not in the slightest."
Ishida took the opportunity to leave, opting to fill his stomach and close his eyes for a while. Ichigo closed his eyes while Urahara took a few more vials of blood- more than last time- and took some tissue samples from the bite site. Curiously, instead of continuing to ooze and necrotize, Urahara noted that it was.. quite stable. He closed Ichigo's shirt quickly, not wanting to bring up any questions that he couldn't yet answer.
When Ichigo's eyes opened again, Urahara was gone. In Uryuu's place by the window was…
Grimmjow?
"What the hell are you doing here?" Ichigo demanded, sitting up.
Grimmjow shrugged, lips pursed as he flipped open a 3DS with one hand. "Making sure you don't go all brain-munchy, I guess." His voice didn't hold nearly as much hostility as it normally did. He must have been exhausted. His accent was stronger. He wasn't self-monitoring. For a split second, Ichigo felt worse for him than he did for himself.
And then he remembered. Oh, yeah. He was going to become a zombie. Fuck Grimmjow's sadness.
"...Are you playing Pokemon right now?"
"Go fuck yourself, Kurosaki."
Grimmjow lasted longer than Uryuu had. Though, he had disappeared for a few moments to go to the bathroom and grab something to eat. He returned with a Coke, a bag of Doritos, and a brownie.
See, Ichigo hadn't been granted anything to eat or drink since arrival. Honestly, he doubted that they had expected him to live that long. It certainly seemed to intrigue Urahara, who seemed intent on slowly draining him of his blood, vial by vial. And there was Grimmjow, holding delicious junk food. It wasn't right.
"How come he gets snacks?" Ichigo demanded as Urahara came in once more to check his vital signs. "I haven't eaten all day."
"What, this?" Grimmjow asked, looking at his brownie. He licked up the side of the treat sensually, teasing the short edge with his tongue, making eye contact with Ichigo the entire time. "Ugh. It's so good." He nibbled off a corner, holding it in his mouth as he rubbed his nipple through his shirt.
Ichigo looked ready to break through the glass and stab Grimmjow with a scalpel, but Urahara pushed him back onto the bed. "Grimmjow, cut it out. You're going to make me vomit," Urahara warned, rubbing Ichigo's shoulder soothingly.
"I'll be back in a while."
"It'd better be with food," Ichigo grumbled.
If asked only a few short hours prior, Ichigo Kurosaki wouldn't have said that he expected to see another sunrise. But there it was, peeking through the blinds. He blinked to consciousness slowly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. No sore throat. No fever. No cough. Not even a sneeze. For a second, he thought that maybe he was already dead. Peace had found him in his sleep, and Urahara had relieved him of his misery before he could do an damage. He could see Grimmjow and Ishida sleeping side-by-side, propped up against the wall. Urahara was approaching, with several others behind him.
Nope. Scratch that. This was hell.
"Rise and shine," Urahara sang, opening the door. Unexpectedly, everyone else joined him. Well, mostly everyone. Ukitake remained outside, gently shooing Ishida and Jaegerjacques. "We've come to discuss your test results, Ichigo."
"Is it Ebola AIDS?" Ichigo deadpanned, rolling over onto his stomach. He didn't like to be woken, especially when faced with near-certain death.
"I don't think that you appreciate the gravity of this situation, young man."
Ichigo opened his mouth and turned his head to insist to the unknown speaker that, yes, he knew very well that he was going to die a very horrific, painful death, thank you very much. But when he saw the man's face, he screamed, and nearly fell out of the bed.
This new stranger was like nothing he'd ever seen before. He was tall and skinny, with long fingers and creepy, long fingernails painted black. His face was layered on with so much paint that he no longer resembled a human, but rather an ancient Egyptian pharaoh mask. The look in his eyes was more unsettling than even Grimmjow's. There wasn't a shred of sanity or reason left in this guy.
"I'm Dr. Kurotsuchi, an expert on infectious disease. And you, Ichigo Kurosaki, are supposed to be dead right now."
Ichigo regarded him with distrust.
"I looked at your samples again and again. Freshly infected flesh is hard to come by, you know?" He tapped his chin. "In the first sample provided by Dr. Urahara, I was able to see the virus among your cells. I'd hoped to observe them as they infected and took over your cells at the very molecular level.. but I was very disappointed! You see, instead of succumbing to the infection, your white blood cells actually destroyed them on the spot!" he cried, seeming quite distressed.
"What he means, Ichigo, is that you seem to be.. immune, for the lack of a better word," Urahara explained.
Ichigo sat in silence. Most people would be jumping over the moon at that point. But Ichigo's expression darkened. He was immune. The disease wouldn't touch him. But why him? Why him, and not his mother? Why him, and not the millions of people who had succumbed to the virus? What made him so special? His brows furrowed, and he avoided Kyoraku's touch.
"That can't be right."
Urahara sat beside him. "Your subsequent samples showed less and less viral activity. I expect that, by tomorrow, your viral load will be undetectable, if it's even there at all."
"Then you need to do something," Ichigo insisted quickly. "A vaccine. A treatment. Something. Anything."
"One step at a time," Kurotsuchi interjected. "Those things are tricky. They take time and testing. And trust me, Urahara isn't very keen on trying to infect people to test a little shot. Trust me, we've tried." He looked at his assistant, a very pretty young woman in a short skirt. "Nemu, be a dear and take some more samples from the subject."
"...He needs blood to live, Dr. Kurtosuchi."
Guilt filled Rukia's eyes. She hadn't slept peacefully. Between her shoulder and her mental anguish, she couldn't close her eyes. Every time she did, she saw Hitsugaya charging into the horde of zombies. She saw Chad. She saw his rare smile, his teddybear eyes. She saw Ichigo, scowling like the jackass he was and.. not zombified. Her head fell against the pillows, uninjured arm thrown over her eyes.
And she began to cry.
The quiet sobs pulled Renji out of his work. With an unfortunately limited amount of concrete and asphalt to draw on, he'd taken to paper. He felt that art was one of humanity's most important tools. He used his art to immortalize his experience. For posterity. If mankind survived this trial, he wanted there to be proof of this place. And, if the zombies won, he wanted the goddamn aliens or evolved rats to know what happened.
"Hey," he cooed, closing his sketchbook and reaching out to stroke her hair. "Uh, I think Unohana's still busy with the whole.. Kurosaki situation. Want me to hunt down Hanataro or Inoue to give you more pain medicine?"
She shook her head. "I'm fine. And that's just it. I'm fine," she cried, burying her head in her more mobile hand. "I'm going to recover from this. Chad is dead, Renji. And Ichigo- what's going to happen to him? Hitsugaya's as good as dead. I did this, Renji. If it weren't for me, none of this would hav-"
"Shut up," Renji barked. The rude interjection seemed to leave Rukia momentarily speechless. "It was a dangerous trip. We knew that before we left. They knew that. Nobody blames you." He needed to distract her, if she was ever going to get any sleep.
"Hey. Tell me what it's like in Vermont. I never got that far up north."
"Renji.." She was hesitant.
"I mean, I can start singing inste-"
"Cold. Vermont is cold."
Renji listened as Rukia told him all about her past. She told him about hiking to school in two feet of snow, of taking trips out to catch lobster. She had taken classes in karate and ballet. She remembered going ice skating with her sister..
"Wait, sister?" Renji asked, eyebrow raised.
Rukia dragged her hand over her face. "Shit, you don't know, do you? Byakuya isn't my blood brother," she explained. "He's my brother-in-law. He married my older sister about.. eight years ago." Pain was present in her voice and on her face. Renji could feel his stomach drop. There were only so many directions that this story could travel in.
"You know the story. He was a spoiled rich boy with a temper from Hell. She was the poor girl with a heart of gold. I was just.. thrown into the middle of it. She and I moved in with him, until I was given the opportunity to go to Karakura. When we got here.. I was so happy to see him. If he was here, then surely Hisana.." She began to tear up again. Renji reached out to hold her hand.
"Hey. You need to sleep. It's been a long enough day," he insisted, getting up to leave.
Rukia nodded slowly. As Renji made his way out the door, she reached out to take his sketchbook. Thinking that he'd remember to come back for it at some point, she flipped through the pages.
Zombies. Byakuya. A drawing of himself tuning his guitar. Grimmjow in full uniform. Byakuya. The Karakura kids. Byakuya. Byakuya. Seireitei itself. Byakuya.
"...Oh my god."
"The fuck do you mean, I can't go out? This is fucking bullshit!"
Ikkaku and Yumichika had their backs to the gate, stances firm, glares hard. Grimmjow was in front of them, trying his damnedest to get out.
"Urahara doesn't want you leaving."
"Urahara can bite my dick. Balls, too." Grimmjow snarled. He paced like a scared lion, lip drawn up in a snarl. "One arm or not, I can tear both of your fruity asses to shre-"
"Now, that's enough!"
Grimmjow snapped back to look at the intruder. Rangiku. Without any fear, she marched right up to him and took him by the good arm. He tried to swing around to kick her, punch her with his stump, whatever blow he could land. She brought him to his knees, hand twisted behind his back.
"You wanna run that by me again?" she hissed, pressing his face into the dirt. "You gonna apologize?" she asked expectantly, raising his head by the hair so he could speak.
"..Sorry that you guys are fuckwads," he grumbled. That was the best they were going to get out of him. Rangiku let him go, and stood back as she watched him stumble back to his feet.
Grimmjow was deteriorating before her very eyes. She didn't need to be told why. He was angry. With Hitsugaya, with Kurosaki, with himself. He blamed himself for their predicaments. Though the latest status report kept Ichigo listed as 'stable,' that could change at any second. And, for some reason, those were the two people that Grimmjow had attached himself to. He didn't seem like the kind of person who gave a shit about anybody but himself.
And he'd cared about them.
"...Come on, buddy. Let's gather the gang and get blackout drunk. How's that sound?" She took him by the arm, placing her hand over the healed and scarred track marks on his arm.
"About fucking time."
'The gang' ended up being Rangiku, Izuru, Gin, and Shuuhei. They were seated in the tack room, spread out on the floor, an unfeasible amount of red Solo cups surrounding them.
"So, what was your.. thing with Hitsugaya?" Shuuhei slurred, making the attempt to look at Grimmjow. "Were you fuckin'?"
"Shit, no," Grimmjow waved his stump, pouring some more vodka into his cup. "Ain't nothin' gay like that. No offense, Kira."
Izuru rose an eyebrow.
"Then what were you?"
Grimmjow groaned. "You're really fuckin' harshin' my liquor boner, Hisagi," he snapped. "Most people think I'm a worthless little shitfuck. He didn't. The end."
Gin took a swig of Izuru's drink. "What're them scars on your arms?"
"Heroin's one hell of a drug, ai-je raison?" he asked, sick grin on his face. "Three years of my life, pissed right away."
"...You're eighteen."
"It's not polite to comment on a lady's age."
Without a word, Rangiku crawled awkwardly to where Grimmjow sat. She threw her arms around him and pulled him close. He seemed to melt, burying his face in her neck. The embrace was held for a few moments, with nobody daring to say a word.
Rangiku fell back on her ass as she pulled away. "I think it's time for us to be hittin' the sack. We got that meetin' in the mornin'," she slurred. "'Mon, Jaegerja… G-Grimmjow. Y'all're sleepin' with me t'night. Jus' don't scare th' piss outta Hinamori," she giggled, leaning into him as they stood and stumbled out of the barn.
"...So my best friend has to go missing for me to get in bed with her?" Shuuhei lamented, leaning back against a saddle rack.
Izuru shrugged. "You can always make Renji disappear."
"Don't give 'im ideas, 'Zuru."