Disclaimer: Various concepts and characters have been retrieved from Dragonball Z and Bleach for this story; they belong to Akira Toriyama and Tite Kubo. Please note, however, that the plot, which is an original plot, is unrelated to the events that take place in DBZ and Bleach, meaning this is an AU fic. The OC's and plot belong to myself, and KRenee.
XI
A few days later, Ulquiorra was walking with Grimmjow back to his apartment. Ulquiorra had elected to spend most of his time at Kaisuki and Juritsu's, but he'd requested the opportunity to stay with Grimmjow the other night. And Grimmjow was only just deciding to go back home for more than five minutes at a time.
They hadn't spoken to each other much since Grimmjow's violent outburst. Grimmjow seemed to be feeling self-conscious about the episode, even though Ulquiorra was completely over it. His blue-haired brother was uncharacteristically quiet the whole way to his apartment.
He jammed the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door and stepping inside, "I'm home." There was no answer, meaning Grimmjow's elusive, nameless roommate was away somewhere. Grimmjow's expression was grim as he muttered something about the absence being expected.
"You can toss your stuff wherever," Grimmjow demonstrated such as he kicked off his shoes and watched as they flew into the living room, "Hell, you can even take Ralph's room. I'd bet he's not even here anymore, him and his stupid, pansy-ass fuck buddies from Heaven..."
Ulquiorra stiffened, "Ralph?" He repeated, taking his shoes off and leaving them by the door, "He's... your roommate?"
Ulquiorra was familiar with Ralph and his (usual) companion, Gideon. Before they had seemingly backed off - probably thinking they should "let Fate have her way," as Angels usually did - Ulquiorra had encountered them. It had been shortly after Lillith had almost succeeded in possessing Grimmjow, the time that he had saved his brother from becoming a Succubus' slave. Gideon had deduced that Ulquiorra was working with Chris (though he had evidently lacked the observational skills to notice the immense amount of hesitation), and while Ralph had had little to do with the short-lived battle, the man had done nothing to try and ease up Gideon's evident tendency towards sadism.
It had been Lilith and Duilio (or Leo, as he preferred to be called) who had rescued him. They'd been looking for him anyway, since he'd gone so far against his orders that it warranted something close to a death sentence, and the Horseman of War had jumped at the opportunity to have a little spat with an Angel of the Lord.
Ulquiorra had been beaten endlessly by Gideon, only to return to Hell and receive an even worse beating from Chris. Needless to say, he didn't exactly consider Raphael to be a trusted ally. Then again, he didn't trust any of the Angels, but that was probably in his Hell-born nature.
"Was," Grimmjow spoke from the kitchen as he rummaged through the cabinets trying to figure out what food was even still edible anymore, "I had a run-in with him and his dick friend. Long story short, we aren't friends anymore. And what I wouldn't give to rip Gideon's fucking jaw off."
Ulquiorra glanced into the closet as he hung up his coat, frowning slightly. Two of those coats he recognized, the third he didn't. Ralph was probably still living here, however sporadically. He decided not to mention it to Grimmjow, lest his brother decide to burn everything that didn't belong to him.
"I'll admit, I wouldn't scold you if you did," Ulquiorra stated, closing the closet and heading towards the kitchen, where he'd last heard Grimmjow's voice. His brother had found a can of chili, and was emptying its contents into a saucepan, "Why are you always hungry, Grimmjow? Didn't you eat less than an hour ago?"
"What, you think three helpings of tempura would fill me up?" he cackled, "Not even! Juritsu has no idea."
He paused long enough to grab a spoon and start stirring the chili. "Anyway, I doubt you'd scold me for anything these days, but I take it you're familiar with those angelic twats?"
"After I rescued you from Lillith that time, they caught on to the fact that I was working for Chris," he replied calmly, tracing his fingers around the edge of the counter, "While he takes the Angelic Warrior thing very seriously, Gideon would make a top-notch demon. I don't know anyone short of Lucifer himself who's quite that sadistic." His expression darkened as he directed his gaze at the pot of chili, watching every individual stream of steam.
Grimmjow grimaced at that. "Yea, I got the feeling he was kind of psychotic when he nearly choked me to death for talking shit."
"You're lucky he stopped," he reply grimly, "Considering your usual attitude, I would imagine he was thinking about putting you on the rack."
"Well, his fault for not accepting the fact that he and his bitch friends are doing a shitty job handling this situation," the blue-haired Espada huffed defensively as he turned off the stove, grabbing a bowl and dumping half the pot of chili into it. A smirk graced his features as he continued, "I just can't wait to see the looks on their faces when I show them I wasn't just bullshitting them. By the way, you want some of this?"
Ulquiorra eyed the pot of chili for a moment before shaking his head, "I'll pass." He responded, ignoring the way his stomach twisted indignantly - feed me! - and pointed ignored the mildly concerned look Grimmjow gave him. Ulquiorra was well aware of the fact that he hadn't been caught eating in over 72 hours.
He was eating (a little tiny bit every so often), but with no one usually seeing him do so and his obvious and consistent loss of weight, there was definitely reason for concern. He was hungry, sure, but he couldn't keep much down. He could handle small bits of fruit - berries were his go-to for that - and water. Eating much more than that inevitably resulted in him throwing up more than he had consumed.
The Sixth looked at him for a long moment, before turning back to the fridge. "I know you're hungry," he seemed to understand somewhat the situation going on. He hummed as he scanned the food items, "What do you think you can keep down? I've got some grapes... hey, they're still good too!"
Ulquiorra stepped towards him, glancing into the fridge to confirm that they were actually good and Grimmjow wasn't just stupid at fruit. They were ripe, plump, bright green grapes and they all but glowed in his eyes.
"I'll... have some, sure," he muttered, sincerely praying his stomach would be able to handle it. If he ate slowly, and didn't eat the entire two pound bag, he should be alright... probably. Grimmjow reached into the crisper and pulled out the bag, handing it to him with a "help yourself" grin on his face. It looked more hopeful than anything, but Ulquiorra didn't let that stop him from returning the gesture with a tired smile of his own. He seemed to be getting better at that, for some reason, though he was sure it was still odd in Grimmjow's eyes.
Grimmjow led the way back into the living room, kicking his previously discarded shoes out of his way and further across the room before sitting down on the couch. Ulquiorra joined him, seating himself on the other side of the couch and nibbling on the grapes in silence. He wasn't sure if this was awkward, tense, or just a regular, companionable silence. It felt rather like all of the above.
They sat in silence for only a short while before Grimmjow picked up the remote to the television and switched it on. He flipped through the channels, never stopping for more than a split second. His expression was uninterested, a sideways frown on his face as he repetitively clicked the next channel button. Ulquiorra watched the screen with him, wondering if it was even possible for his nutrition-starved, tired brain to keep up with what he was seeing.
Finally Grimmjow came to a stop on a sports channel, his frown turning into a pleased smile. It looked like a high level soccer match. Ulquiorra tilted his head slightly as he observed, barely able to keep track of who Grimmjow was rooting for. It seemed like he cheered every time someone scored a goal, whether it was his team or not. Assuming, of course, that he had a specific team he was following.
At one point, his brother glanced over at him, noting the mild curiosity mixed with confusion. The next thing he knew, Grimmjow was carefully - albeit speedily - explaining the game that was soccer, and that he picked up interest in it after learning Juritsu liked to play the sport - convenient as that was. Ulquiorra found himself only half-listening as the scattered players ran around the field during a... what was that? Did they call it a corner kick?
It was interesting, the way it played out. Women's soccer, Grimmjow had mentioned in passing, had a strange tendency to be more aggressive than men's soccer, in a more subtle way. He watched the ball sail out of the corner of the field, he saw a really awesome play that ended in some form of horrific bloodshed. One of the forwards had moved to head the incoming ball, only to get kicked in the head by a defender trying to trap the ball with a high kick; the resulting cleat-to-skull blow had resulted in a nasty gash and most likely a concussion.
Grimmjow gone completely silent, his jaw dropped in a mixture of amazement and horror. The cameras zoomed in on the situation, which looked pretty bad. The girl was laying on the ground unmoving; Ulquiorra suspected she was frozen from pain. He'd been in that kind of situation before - where the agony was so dreadful that one couldn't move, even if they wanted to.
He remembered the pain more than the individual incidents. He could perfectly recall to himself exactly how much it had hurt, but he couldn't always remember what was injured or how it had been injured. Ulquiorra's eyes left the screen, lowering to his lap. His stomach was twisting around the three handfuls of grapes that he hadn't meant to eat. He slowly set the bag of fruit down on the coffee table in front of him, a strategy to keep himself from eating any more.
Grimmjow had looked over at him, and had yet to look away. Ulquiorra ignored him, pretending he hadn't noticed. He was sure his brother wasn't going to fall for his terrible acting. Luckily, this time at least, Grimmjow chose to keep his mouth shut. Ulquiorra was secretly thankful for that. He wasn't sure he wanted to disclose right this second.
He watched the replay of the injury about a dozen times, and every time Grimmjow had a new comment to make. Anything from the approximate size of the girl's breasts to the amount of space she had tore across the field in whatever surprising amount of time. Ulquiorra tuned him and his noisy television out, turning his attention out the nearby window. It looked like it would rain today. He wouldn't mind that - it hadn't snowed at all the past winter, which meant that there would be a drought if there wasn't any rainfall during the incoming summer, especially with the heat that was sure to come.
He started when he heard the front door open, a pair of vaguely familiar voices wrenching him out of the thoughts he hadn't quite succumbed to. He turned his attention over to Grimmjow, who had shut off the television and pivoted in his seat with his empty bowl clutched tightly in one hand. Ulquiorra's heart plummeted.
Ralph was home, and by the sounds of it, he had brought company.
"I just need to grab a few things and-..." Ralph trailed off as Grimmjow met his gaze, he and who was most likely Gideon coming to a stop in the archway between the living room and the hall.
It was weird seeing such an enraged glare on Grimmjow's face that wasn't directed at him. He didn't turn to investigate the newcomers any more than he already had, instead shifting back towards the coffee table in front of him and trying not to sink into himself like he wanted to. He was only half-successful. Grimmjow's reiatsu was stirring irritably, as if the Sixth were prepping himself for a battle. Apparently, that run in had left a few more hard feelings than Grimmjow had implied.
"... Grimmjow... it's been a while..." Ralph began, somewhat awkwardly.
"I didn't miss you one bit," Grimmjow shot back hotly, "Nor did I miss your prick friend." Out of the corner of his eye, Ulquiorra watched Grimmjow obnoxiously wave, "How's it going? Still sucking at life?"
"You're lucky I don't obliterate you right here and now, swine," Gideon's voice was akin to ice, "As it is, you're harboring a member of Lucifer's army. Him I'm not so likely to spare."
Immediately, Grimmjow was on his feet, fists clenched and at the ready. His blue eyes flashed. "You try saying that again, you uptight piece of shi-..."
His stomach twisted into a tight knot, and his throat constricted tightly. He felt his stomach threatening to rebel, the spasms in his esophagus beginning to make it hard to breathe.
"Kitchen. Now." Grimmjow was stalking off, his sudden disappearance startling him. There was shuffling into the general direction of the kitchen, and then, silence.
There was muffled noise for several long minutes, before abruptly, Grimmjow's voice echoed into the living room. "The hell he is! Do you idiots pay any attention at all to what goes on outside your asses?!"
From there, the voices continued to increase in volume until all parties involved were more or less bellowing at the top of their lungs.
"That Hollow out there is an agent of Satan! He should not be permitted to even leave this apartment alive!"
"Fuck off! How out-dated is your intel? He's been giving us all sorts info for months! I bet I know more about this shit going on than you ever will!"
"You are only defending him because he is of your kind."
"I'd lay him out before you'd even think to, you asshole! He's on my side. Now get the fuck out of my house!"
He closed his eyes, wondering if he could block out the sounds of their voices.
Lucifer's teeth grinding against his bones- his voice cracking as he cried out in pain- "You did this to yourself..."- I'll kill him, I pro-
Ulquiorra's eyes flew open so fast, a hand slowly lifting to press against his lips. His breathing had increased a touch, and he was going to throw up any second now.
"You've got to be the most worthless agents of God I've ever seen! I told you I'd do your job for you, but I can't believe you're actually letting me!" Grimmjow began laughing outright, "Hell at the rate you're going, I'll be taking your place sucking God's dick for you too! Or wait, do I have to go through the ass-kissing phase first?"
"You impudent heathen!" Suddenly, there was a series of loud crashes and shouts from the kitchen.
His stomach lurched violently, and he gagged, barely able to contain himself as he suddenly stood up, stalking out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Ulquiorra heard the voices in the kitchen suddenly cease as he slammed the door behind him, collapsing to his knees and heaving up everything he'd just eaten. It paused just long enough for him to inhale before it started up again, his gut clenching and spasms wracking his body. He felt cold, but he could also feel the sweat pricking at his forehead. He absentmindedly reached up and flushed courteously - he'd been through this regime so many times, it was getting to be a routine.
His entire body was trembling uncontrollably, his eyes squeezed shut. Ulquiorra decided then that his personal hell - after he died again - would probably be an eternity of vomiting. Flashes were lighting up in front of his eyes, some with images burned into his mind, others without.
Chris never passed up the opportunity to hurt him. Lillith was less about the physical pain and more about the psychological. He'd done everything he could to obey, but sometimes it just wasn't enough. It usually wasn't enough. No one would rescue him, not even Grimmjow. Especially not Grimmjow, he hates you. Please stop I'll try harder next time I swear I swear just please don't hurt me again...
The dots in front of his vision were large and blinding when he finally opened his eyes again. He sucked in a breath and his vision immediately started to clear. He heard a faint knock on the door and groaned as he slowly started to pick himself up off the floor. He didn't make it very far before his knees gave out and his fell back against the wall - hard - and wound up back on the floor. Clearly, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
"Oi... Ulquiorra..." it was Grimmjow. The concern and hesitation in his voice was as clear as day, even if he was trying to act relatively light-hearted, "You still alive, right?"
"You have to kill him."
"I will. I promise."
He swallowed the lump in his throat and cleared his throat, "I'm fine," he replied, ignoring the shaky tone of his voice and shifting into a more comfortable position, "I just can't get up right now."
He had hoped that such words would reassure Grimmjow. Judging by the restless shifting on the other side of the door, he had managed to do the complete opposite. Oops.
"... You... can't get up right now..."
He let out a distracted sigh, looking around the bathroom. Was there anything he could grab to haul himself to his feet? Did he even have enough strength for that? He frowned, looking back to the door, "I just... afterwards, I can't get up. My legs get too weak and... I guess I'm a little low on blood sugar."
"Oh for fuck's..." The door opened, and Grimmjow came in, looking slightly disgruntled albeit concerned for the pale Espada. Sexta crouched in front of him, checking him over for a long moment before offering a hand.
"You can go be feeble on the damned couch."
"I can't..." Ulquiorra stared at the outstretched hand, "I won't be able to walk, Grimmjow. I can barely see straight. Give me a few minutes and I'll be fine."
Sexta let out an exaggerated sigh of exasperation before plopping down on the tile across from him. "If you'd rather be all weak in the knees on linoleum instead of a comfy couch, that's fine by me."
"That couch smells like your feet," Ulquiorra retorted half-heartedly, "I wouldn't call such an environment comfortable."
"Hey, I'll have you know that my feet smell fucking beautiful now that I don't have to wear the stupid outfit Aizen picked out for me. I can wear actual socks now."
"You are the only spirit in all of the universe that is capable of producing a body odor, Grimmjow," he grunted, briefly lifting his arm to test the relative jelly-ness of their musculature.
The blue-haired Espada rolled his eyes and huffed before muttering "You haven't been in Nnoitra's room..." before falling silent. Ulquiorra lowered his arm slowly, watching the way it trembled from the resistance of gravity. At first, the gap in his power hadn't been much of a bothersome thing. He could still generate ceros, he could still use shunpo, he still had a certain amount of Hierro - enough to prevent someone weaker than him from breaking bone. But, at least as recently as his possession by Lucifer, his power seemed to be steadily lessening. He almost felt like he had less of himself than before, and he wondered absently if his reiatsu would continue to deplete until he didn't have the energy to sustain his spirit.
He glanced up at Grimmjow, who was staring at him with an odd expression in his eyes. Should he tell Grimmjow about his little "imminent death" pet theory? Or would it be better to hide it from him? His brother had become so complicated, Ulquiorra could never be sure what situation would result in more anger.
"No, besides anger, you retard."
It had been strange after Aizen's defeat. Halibel had taken it upon herself to keep watch over Las Noches, with Ulquiorra staying loyally by her side. The few remaining stragglers from that war had all come to Las Noches seeking a refuge where they'd be surrounded by fellow Arrancar, fellow survivors of that miserable reign beneath the Shinigami. Neliel had eventually made her way there, her companions having been killed in the cross fire between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo after the battle had ended. They'd wanted to wipe out all the remaining Arrancar, but Kurosaki Ichigo - strangely enough - had appealed for them. It had been shortly after that when Grimmjow had disappeared. No one had even noticed his absence at first, but then it had become starkly obvious. Grimmjow had become quiet after that battle, but not so quiet that he'd seemed transparent.
And then, without notifying anyone, he'd just disappeared. The battle had changed everyone who'd survived it. But Grimmjow, it seemed, had been changed the most. And Ulquiorra was happy for him, because no one else had been so brave as to try living again. He'd always considered his brother to be a low-life, idiotic thug, but it had become steadily more and more clear to him that Grimmjow was smart, and thoughtful, and that there was - and probably always had been - more to him than anger and fighting.
His throat clenched briefly with a wave of sudden depression. Part of him had wished that Grimmjow had been there with him. Grimmjow would've stood a better chance at surviving that tragedy in one piece.
Grimmjow wouldn't have given Neliel up in order to save himself.
"Hey..." Grimmjow spoke up, interrupting Ulquiorra's thoughts. He glanced over at the Sixth, who was giving him a curious albeit reluctant, glance. "Why do you keep getting sick?"
"That's..." he began slowly, wondering if there was a reasonable way of phrasing this that didn't make him sound like he had PTSD and bulimia. He averted his gaze to the floor near Grimmjow's knee, "Well... Kaisuki said it was... something like, uh... Post-traumatic stress disorder. She said the symptoms matched, I mean," he quickly amended his statement. He didn't want to sound crazy, or like his experience had been so dreadful that it'd left him mentally impaired. He had just finished convincing himself that he'd been overreacting all this time, so he wasn't about to let anything pull him back the other way.
"It just..." he finally managed to figure out what he'd been more or less meaning to say from the start, "It just happens when I start over-thinking a stressful situation..."
Grimmjow gave him a pointed look for a moment before sighing and glancing around the room. He looked like he felt awkward, for whatever reason. Ulquiorra shifted his leg, discovering that he felt like he could move again. Wordlessly, he reached up to the counter beside him and dragged himself to his feet. Grimmjow quickly took the hint and stood with him, looking as if he was prepared to catch his comrade should he collapse again.
They went back to the living room. Ulquiorra's legs were more than happy to oblige his desire to fall into the couch. It didn't really smell like Grimmjow's feet. It smelled like musk and deodorant, but it wasn't a bad smell. Just... masculine. His brother sat down on the other end of the couch as Ulquiorra was pulling his knees up to his chest and locking his arms around them.
"What..." the blur-haired Espada began but trailed off, looking hesitant once more. Obviously, Grimmjow could tell this was a delicate subject. Ulquiorra looked over at him expectantly, hoping that his eyes weren't betraying actual thoughts on the subject. He had promised this conversation would take place, and since he could count on himself to never start it, he thought he might as well let Grimmjow do it for him.
Grimmjow caught his gaze, looking uncertain if not a bit uncomfortable. At the same time though, it was clear that it was important to him that he learned the truth. "What... happened?"
Ulquiorra found himself chewing his lip, wondering if it was plausible for there to even be words in the dictionary to describe what'd happened. He lowered his head slightly, frowning as he considered how to start... where to start. So much had happened, and in a fairly short period of time.
He swallowed, and it felt like he would choke on his heart. Just thinking about where he might start was going to give him a stroke. This wasn't... could he even talk about this? He couldn't find any words at all.
"It's... hard to describe." He muttered uncertainly, more to his lap than to Grimmjow, "It would be easier to... show you."
There was a long, tense pause before Grimmjow finally spoke up. "Okay, show me."
...
Fire and blood colored the air with dark smoke and splatters of blood, screaming echoed through the grand hall of Las Noches. In the center of the carnage was a huge beast, clawing open Arrancar with his clawed hands while ripping into the flesh of others with his blood-smeared jaws. Those who weren't fighting were trying to run, but none made it very far. He could feel blood oozing down the side of his face from a wound on his temple - the wall had blasted open and he'd been standing too close; the impact against the wall made a sickening crunch and he hit the floor, not intending to get back up.
He hadn't even been able to process what was going on. Everyone was being slaughtered right in front of him. Blood, everywhere, the stench of burning flesh, the horrible sound of cracking and crunching bone. His stomach lurched. Oh god.
Halibel appeared out of nowhere, thrusting a sobbing, ex-Tercera into his arms and commanding him to run, to take Neliel tu Oderschvank and run run run and don't look back.
His survival instinct kept him from arguing and he obeyed, taking Neliel and running running running and never daring to look back. The air was thin and lacking a sufficient amount of spirit particles. His lungs protested the abuse, acting as if they wanted to collapse or something. He had to stop a few hundred miles sooner than he'd wanted to, gasping as he finally permitted himself to put his charge down.
It'd been a miserable, lonely, and tiring two days, but it hadn't compared to the months that followed.
They caught up to him shortly after he'd moved Neliel for the umpteenth time. He'd been wandering the desolate landscape, looking for something he could give her to fuel her lacking energy when he'd felt the sudden, impossibly fast approach of the Devil. He'd turned around, drawing his sword just barely in time to half-block a blow that would've surely torn him in half. As it was, it split Murciélago messily, sending the tip of the blade flying and embedding in a nearby rock wall. Shards of metal cut through the air, forcing him to close his eyes to prevent damage, but that left him wide open and Lucifer wasn't about to miss a golden opportunity like this one. He heard the attack coming, but couldn't dodge it in time.
The massive arm struck him in the side, he felt bones crack and fracture in his chest, his arm, his shoulder. He smashed into the rock wall, and anything that had only cracked chose that moment to fully snap. His head smashed into the rocks, a head-splitting blow that would've killed anyone else. He opened his eyes but he couldn't see he couldn't see and his body was aching and burning and he could feel tears stinging the corners of his blind eyes and he couldn't breathe oh god the pressure of the swelling around his broken ribs was making it so much harder to breathe in this impossibly thin air.
His vision began to clear, but everything was still blurry. He barely managed to roll out of the way of another lunge, but he couldn't avoid the second. Lucifer's clawed palm smashed into his chest, cracking more bone and crushing him to the ground. The weight on his body was immense he couldn't move couldn't breathe he couldn't no god please all he could think of was the screams of agony that had filled the halls of Las Noches, the splatters of blood and the stench of burning flesh I don't want that please please someone help. No one would come, he knew that, but he prayed anyway, and when Lucifer leaned forward and exhaled a heavy, hot breath of decay into his face, his lips parted and he was speaking words in a language he hardly remembered I'll do anything please don't kill me I'll do anything I swear just please...
Lucifer let out a snarl of a laugh, grinning to bare both rows of razor sharp teeth, his jaws splitting open no no no no no no it was like a vortex in that mouth no no no no no he was going to die no no no no no I don't want to die.
The weight of the Devil's huge body disappeared, and someone new stood over him. His gentle smile couldn't hide the darkness in the depths of his blue eyes, nor could his fair features disguise his malice.
"We can use this."
"Show us where she is."
He led them to Neliel, stopped at the entrance of the cave he'd left his comrade in. He heard Neliel's voice from the darkness, calling out to ask if that was Ulqui-kun. He couldn't reply. He couldn't. Lucifer let out a booming laugh and raced into the cave. Chris grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, leading him further into the cave to show him.
Neliel screamed, and wailed, and his heart wrenched. He wanted to undo it. Take everything back. Let them kill him, but spare Neliel. Her energies as a toddler were so miniscule compared to when she was an adult, they might've left Hueco Mundo without her ever being found.
When her hazel eyes swept around the cave, blood smeared across her ripped clothes and pouring from the wounds inflicted on her body, she saw him. Her expression was frightened, horrified, but more than anything else, he saw the betrayal in her eyes.
He couldn't even apologize. She died alone and in pain, and he...
He didn't protect her.
Hell was dark and horrible, the stench of blood and decay never left him. Chris had him pinned down, had Lillith reach into the Hollow hole on his chest and tear out a baseball sized lump of something. She said it was part of him, that they'd keep an eye on it for him until later. Murciélago shrieked indignantly, in pain, and he felt it when they forced the ball of light into the blade, he screamed and screamed and he couldn't catch his breath, and then Chris was standing over him with a delicate smile on his face, quoting a verse from that holy book:
"Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord."
Endless, endless pain, spiraling into darkness, I'll do whatever you say. A familiar blue-haired comrade, someone he'd forgotten about.
"You have to kill him."
"I will..."
Reality was as abrupt as a flash of light. Grimmjow found himself gasping for air, sweat coating his skin, and heart hammering in his throat. It was like waking up from a nightmare. Only, he realized as bile rose up into his throat, it wasn't a nightmare for Ulquiorra - it'd actually happened to him.
The silence was deafening. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of any way to break it. What could possibly be said to make that any better?
The lapse in conversation continued for several long moments before Grimmjow found the courage to attempt to use his voice. "J... Jesus," he managed to croak out through the lump in his throat, "I had... no idea..."
Ulquiorra took a long time to reply. There was a deep tremor that seemed to run through every muscle of his thin body, and his face was shadowed with exhaustion. That technique of his had taken a lot more out of him than Grimmjow could've expected.
Finally, the Cuarta let out a soft, shaky chuckle, "That was the whole point." He heaved a sigh and leaned back into the couch, looking like he was working pretty hard to calm his nerves.
Grimmjow shuddered at the images still fresh in his mind. "So... you were supposed to kill me, huh..."
Ulquiorra didn't look up, but Grimmjow could see the tension in his brother's jaw, "Yes... I was going to, more than once. Never could follow through, though."
It took a while for the words the sink in, along with the images. Aside from the horror he felt witnessing the atrocities that occurred to a place that had been his home for so long, Grimmjow felt an unsettling guilt. I should've been there... the nagging thought kept replaying over and over in his head. Even if no one actually liked him, they were still all kin. And they were all taken apart by the giant, lumbering fuck that was the King.
The Sixth Espada clenched his fists so tightly, his knuckles were white. Inwardly, his reiatsu was aburptly simmering with his rage, almost as if it were screaming for release, for blood.
"The number of Hollow will gradually return to normal. It won't be empty forever."
It wouldn't be the same. There wouldn't be a Halibel whom he could shamelessly flirt with. He wouldn't be able to pick fights with stupid Nnoitra. Hell, he'd never be able to snap impatiently at a wailing Neliel to "shut the fuck up already!" ever again.
As annoying and dysfunctional as they all were, they had, somehow, become a family of sorts for him. And that would be gone forever. He really had lost most everything when Lucifer had gone through and destroyed Hueco Mundo.
The fucking bastard would pay, he'd see to that. They would all pay.
"Grimmjow," Ulquiorra voice was quiet, almost startling him with how it so abruptly shattered the tense silence that had fallen upon the two of them, "Don't... don't take this on. You have something good to look forward to. I don't... want to be responsible for ruining what you've worked so hard to gain."
Grimmjow snorted, finding Ulquiorra's comment humorous for some strange reason. Maybe the emotional overload had finally caused him to snap. "If by 'good' you mean a half-alien chick, a bounty on your head from home, and being on the run from the entire universe, then I think that you need a vacation."
Ulquiorra let out a breathy chuckle, "When you finish graduate school, you'll be able to put all that and 'prevented the apocalypse' on your resume." He replied, "You'll have more job offers than you have time remaining in your lifespan."
Yea, Lucifer might have killed off most everyone he knew and sort of cared about. But at least he still had this fucker. And, as he busted out laughing at Ulquiorra's quip, deep down he made a decision. He'd be damned if Cuarta went off and got himself killed, so he wasn't about to let that happen. He'd figure out a way to get Ulquiorra's power back, and they'd go and disembowel the Devil himself. With Juritsu and Khrai and any other kiddies that wanted to tag along.
A/N: And with this chapter, you are now officially caught up. We'll be starting XII very soon - I've got the first section of the chapter plotted out.
Anyway, what do you think so far? I'm gonna go ahead and say that Grimmjow and Ulquiorra have the ultimate OTB (that would be Only True Bromance). I don't know what KRenee thinks (because she writes Ulquiorra), but I friggen love writing out these interactions between the two Espada.
- G