Author's Note: Sorry again for the long time between updates, I'm terrible about it. Thanks for all the reviews I've gotten so far, I really love any feed back you want to give. Anyways, here's the story-

Renji shifted uncomfortably in his bed, out of all the people he knew Rukia would be the one to ask him questions he would rather not answer. They had known each other for so long that he really couldn't hide anything from her, at least not anymore.

"What happened?" Her gaze was piercing and stern, Renji was briefly reminded of her adoptive brother and felt a familiar glimmer of regret that he had missed his friend's transformation from a street rat to noble.

Without answering her question Renji spoke, "Where is Ichigo?"

Rukia's glare softened slightly, "He's training, again. Now answer my question."

"It was just a fight against some bastard Arrancar." The red head looked at the mats his futon was laid on and fruitlessly hoped that Rukia had asked the last of her questions. Renji felt an overwhelming urge to see Ichigo, and he was fearful of the answers that Rukia was demanding.

"If that was the case, you should be dead." The petite woman's expression was tight, giving no quarter as she waited for the truth.

Renji closed his eyes, he remembered exactly how close to death she had been, by the hand of that same Arrancar.

"Rukia, don't you have any faith in my abilities as a lieutenant?" Renji's smile was strained and false.

"Ichigo was very nearly dead from loss of blood and his low spirit pressure levels. If his spirit pressure was depleted then you should have had none."

Renji frowned at her, the insult wasn't intentional, he knew, but nonetheless it pricked something deep within him.

Rukia looked unimpressed at his scowl, reminiscent of another bright-headed Soul Reaper, and continued, "I need to know."

A sinking feeling spread through his gut, he knew that she guessed what had happened. Even in childhood she would do no more than playfully argue over things that were of little importance.

Hoping she would stop asking if he acknowledged the question, he looked to her, "Why do you need to know?"

Rukia ran her hand down the sheath of Sode no Shirayuki, a nervous habit. It was something that Renji had never noticed before and he wondered what other things he had missed seeing as she grew into her own as a warrior.

"Do you remember that winter when we were kids? It was right after Atsushi died and it was so cold people were freezing to death in town." Her voice was strained and he knew that the past often carried painful memories for her too.

The taller Shinigami remembered he had been desperate to make sure that no one else in his makeshift family would be lost to the harsh nature of their home. Charcoal was rare and blankets were hard to come by, leaving the residents of Inuzuri exposed to the harsh and deadly weather.

Again, Renji found himself slipping into memories that had lain unexamined for so long, and wished that he would stop reliving the traumas of his childhood.

Sometime stealing things for their survival became impossible. While the people that lived in Inuzuri would not starve without food or die without water, the harsh winter brought a terrible truth with her, like the humans that they had been the paralyzing cold could also take their lives.

Items that could fight against the prospect of a winter death were guarded much more reverently than food and clean water. Murder for things like sake or food, while not unheard of, was rare, but often times people were brutally killed for the very things they had wished to save their lives with.

His new understanding of the long looks that men sometimes gave their group caused Renji to pay more attention to the uneasiness he felt around such individuals and he made sure that one of their numbers had not been taken or that the group itself was not being followed.

As the nights got colder Renji grew more desperate in finding ways to keep his friends alive. He now often conversed with those that had lived longer in his district. He felt older now and the squabbling of his friends often angered him, leading Renji to find those that shared more in his mindset.

At time these older children would talk about exchanging their bodies for desperately needed items or healing. Now that he knew the cost of such things he swore never to find himself in those situations. Ways of sheltering his friends became limited and he slowly started to eye the idea, instead of immediately dismissing it like he used to.

Then one morning rose upon a little girl with long black hair and startling green eyes, dead. She had accidently rolled away from the group, huddled together to keep warm, and frozen only feet away from the others.

With guilt weighing his frame the redheaded boy lost the second part of his innocence, given once more to protect those he cared for.

He only had to sneak out from under his group's watchful gaze a few times that winter, and with the coal and blankets he had been given no one else had died from those cold nights.

Sadly, the lieutenant knew that was not the last time he was forced to protect his friends in that manner, but it had been the first.

Seeing pain and distance reflected in her best friend's eyes Rukia felt her heart ache. As much as she hated to bring up such painful reminders of their shared past she needed Renji to know that he could trust her.

"I knew Renji. I knew what you did then to help us live, and I know what you did now to protect Ichigo."

Renji waited for the word to come from Rukia, the ending of their newly reborn friendship, some quoted rule about the duties of nobility, but the dreaded reaction never came.

"I will always be here for you Renji. If you need to talk about anything, do anything, please let me know." Looking up, the lieutenant felt his heart lighten in relief, the Rukia he once knew would have never left for such a thing, but Reni was happy to know that her grown counterpart acted the same.

While he was glad that his friend had no desire to abandon him, the primary feelings that spread through his veins at the though of relaying such experiences to another were humiliation and grief.

"Rukia thanks, but right now I really don't want to talk about it." Seeing the petite Soul Reaper's face fall he hurriedly added, "But, if I ever feel that I do, you will know."

Rukia smiled softly and briefly hugged Renji, he automatically tensed before his body noticed the familiar scent and relaxed. Pulling back from the embrace the black haired Soul Reaper's face morphed into a frown, "Renji! You need to bathe. There is no way you will report to my brother in such a state!"

Smiling Renji let Rukia lead him to the bathroom giving him stern directions on how to make himself look presentable enough to report to his captain.

Now that he had dealt with Rukia's concern, the tattooed man's mind once again circled thoughts of Ichigo. The need to see the broody Soul Reaper swarmed his being. Renji knew that the person to ask were the substitute had disappeared to would be Urahara. The lieutenant guessed that there were few things that escaped the shopkeeper's notice in this town.

He arched towards the man, trying to buck the restrictive body above him. His limbs were long, and there was a delicate look to his wrists and fingers as they struggled against Grimmjow's broader hands. That delicate, almost brittle look was a lie. The Arrancar was barely able to press the other down, his muscles were screaming and from one moment to the next the Espada didn't know if he would still be holding the human.

Blue hair, usually spiked up, was clinging to his face that was soaked in sweat. A few short locks were hanging, swinging back and forth as the two males struggled. His body was much larger than his opponent's; large fingers, a broad chest, and long powerful legs dwarfed the other's anatomy, but this fact only seemed to give Grimmjow the slightest of edges.

Hate and fury burned in Ichigo's eyes as he looked up to the other.

"I'll kill you."

There was no hesitation coloring this statement and no embroidered insult followed it. It was a statement of fact, and that detail infuriated the other like nothing else could.

Snarling, Grimmjow was enraged, and with his hands occupied he instinctively used his teeth to mark his prey. Blood welled in his mouth, the slick coppery substance only served to feed his desire further.

A slight gasp accompanied the sharp teeth's piercing movement, a sound that would have been unheard if the Espada's head wasn't inches away from the lips producing the noise. The utterance cooled his rage and he softly licked the wound on Ichigo's shoulder.

How the Espada tied the human's wrists above his head with Reiatsu suppressing rope was blurry in his own mind, all his thoughts registered were that his hands had been freed to play with their prey.

Ichigo was bare beneath his touch, his body marked with fresh wounds, some that Grimmjow was sure he inflicted, and old scars. His hands slid over the smaller, but well muscled torso beneath him feeling muscles flex as the human continued to try to free himself from the restraints. As he traced raised flesh and scraped his nails down unmarked patches of skin the Espada felt Ichigo's cock harden. After examining his chest the Arrancar's hands reached the human's neck and loosely wrapped around his throat.

Having tuned out Ichigo's detailed and vehement threats after biting him, the Arrancar was surprised when he found that the only sounds being made in the room were the Soul Reaper's and his heavy breathing. Grimmjow looked down to his long digits the easily encircling the vulnerable neck of his prey and tightened them. His action was followed by the orange-headed male's instinctive shiver.

The grip didn't cut off the other's breathing or blood flow, but it was a reminder of Grimmjow's dominance over the human. The Espada took in the fierce expression below him, bright blue eyes eagerly drinking in the small details of his prey's face.

No matter where he tried to stare, his gaze was drawn to the brightly lit eyes of the Soul Reaper. If Grimmjow could summarize his fascination with the human into one aspect of the other, it would be his eyes.

Nothing in Hueco Mundo burned, even the bodies of fallen hollows, blasted by a cero, would only smolder for a short time before dissolving into the sand that had housed them. But those eyes, they burned. The moon with it's reflected light couldn't describe their heat; they more closely resembled that bright ball of fire in the human's sky.

He hated this cold desert, Aizen and his damn Shinigami's icy glares, and the frozen fire of his fellow Espada. When it became too much, when he felt like blasting that false fire out of the sky, he remembered those taunting, challenging eyes.

Every time he looked into the other's burnished copper eyes it was like wax had been dripped on his spine; each glance and stare became another tilt of the candle until Grimmjow was the one burning, almost painfully, under the heat of that gaze.

The blue-headed Espada has been hard ever since he had Ichigo pressed into his bed, but now his lust felt almost painful and breaking their eye contact he ground down onto the other for relief. A deep moan sounded under him, Ichigo's eyes were defiant but his mouth was slightly open as he panted and his face had a red tint.

"I'm going to run my Zanpakutō through you so many times…" Ichigo broke off as Grimmjow ground full body against him, his mask leaving angry welts on the Vizard's skin. The substitute groaned and mirrored the gesture before he stopped, furious.

iMine. You're mine.i Those were the only thoughts running through the Espada's head as he rubbed and ground against the human, who was fighting his body every step of the way.

Ichigo tried to protest, but every time he opened his mouth sounds of pleasure and desperation poured forth until he ground his teeth trying to cut off his involuntary vocalizations.

Like a desert drenched with a sudden flood, Grimmjow's mind was swept of all thought until he was buried into the body beneath him. Unusual wetness marked Ichigo's eyes where they only seemed to highlight their heat never damping it. At first the Espada thought they were tears of pain, but as an enraged snarl made its way past barred teeth, Grimmjow knew it was tears of utter rage.

Fury, hatred, rage all of it was impassioned in a way that Grimmjow had never felt, and as he pulled back and slammed into that tight heat he felt his body tighten under the weight of their power.

The anger that he felt with Ichigo wasn't the same as he felt towards Ulquiorra, cold and calculated, or Aizen, the hate of the repressed and cold disinterest of the superior. Their rage burned and threaded them together in a bond closer that Grimmjow had ever experienced.

The bed shook and creaked violently as the Arrancar pressed into the Vizard again and again. The two males vocalizations were reduced to growls, moans, and hardly heard cries as the coupling continued. Ichigo no longer struggled against his bonds to escape, but in an attempt to bring himself closer to the man above him.

Suddenly Grimmjow felt his lungs compressing, despite the restrains on the human below him, his spiritual pressure was rising in a stifling wave. The Espada collapsed on the body beneath him and heard rather than saw the other's restraints break. Pleasure was still flooding his frame as he was pressed into the body beneath him, but he started to panic as the pressure continued.

He felt trapped in the oppressive presence, struggling and flaring his own power uncontrollably as his more animal nature protested the confinement. Suddenly it stopped. Opening his eyes, the Arrancar saw the clinical whiteness of his ceiling, not the powerful body of his Soul Reaper.

As his mind cleared Grimmjow cursed, Aizen's signal for the meeting of his Espada had wrenched him from another pleasant dream. About to sit up, he gasped as he felt the sheets move over his erection.

Laying back down Grimmjow let images of Ichigo, screaming his name in rage and pleasure as he made the Soul Reaper his, drench his senses until he reached completion.

Leaning against a sandy colored rock Shinji watched as blood slowly painted their underground training area. Kensei appeared in front of the lounging blond. "That fucking brat, I'm going to have to get Hitachi to heal these wounds."

Turning from Love and Rose battling Ichigo, the former captain looked at the silvered headed man, long cuts littered his torso and sweat beaded his body.

With a surprised expression Shinji pointed to a burned patch of skin, and questioned his fellow Vizard, "Cero?"

Snorting the man answered, "No. One of his Getsuga Tenshō. That one would have taken my hand off if I had been any slower."

Kensei watched as Ichigo violently swung at the two former captains with little technique, but with his immense reserves of spiritual pressure behind each blow.

"Shinji, you do know you'll have stop him? He's wearing out the rest of us, and we can't battle him forever and not seriously hurt the kid."

The unofficial leader of the Vizards closed his eyes, "I know what I have to do. For now though, this is what he needs."

Remaining silent the former captain of the ninth sat down next to Shinji and hoped that the man next to him knew what he was doing, for the sake of their young comrade.

Ichigo barely noticed when one opponent was exchanged for another, or two. Rage boiled in his veins, lesser Soul Reapers would have crumbled from the spirit pressure he was putting out, but those that Ichigo faced had been tempered in flames that would have turned those around them to ash. Their resolve never weakened, they would weather him like they would any natural calamity.

They understood the fight subrogating his hollow was finished, but the battle that would define who Ichigo was had yet to be resolved. All the Vizards could do was bear the harsh bite of his sword, support him how they could, and hope that what returned to them was more human than monster.

With Rukia watching Renji and Ichigo occupying the Vizard, Urahara decided that it was finally time to get the answers to questions that had been haunting him for the last couple of months. Before he set off for his trip across town, Urahara slipped on his newest spirit pressure-concealing device, a small silver ring. Within minuets he landed lightly outside of his student's place of residence and, unusually for a Shinigami, he knocked on the door.

Before the door fully opened a professional and slightly annoyed voice rang out, "We're closed right now, so unless it's an emergency…" Isshin broke off his well-practiced spiel, his face morphing from a friendly smile to a solemn scowl, reminiscent of his only son, as he recognized his visitor.

Leaving his door open the man retreated further into his house, leaving the shopkeeper to follow. Urahara took his time in removing his geta at the entryway, not eager to delve right into the task that awaited him. When he made his way into the main room he found Isshin staring at a picture of his wife, not the large poster proudly displayed on the wall, but a small framed photograph. It showed a tired but laughing Masaki and a slightly frazzled Isshin who was holding a howling and bright orange bundle.

While the former twelfth division captain had known Isshin for only a short time they had grown close quickly. Moving from the Soul Society to the living world was enormous change to almost aspects of life, and they had found in each other a common understanding that had cemented their fast friendship.

Isshin had fit in with the human world, helped along with his love for Masaki and the children they begun to raise, in a way Urahara never could. He had never really felt the same connection that his friend had to the living world with so much of his life still tied to his old home.

But the father had helped rid him of the loneliness he often carried that even Yoruichi at times couldn't dispel. That had all changed with Masaki's death. The other man retreated into raising his family and running his clinic. Urahara understood that such things left little time to hang out with old friends that brought painful memories, but a small part of him still hurt that he had been so thoroughly dismissed from his friend's life.

For years Urahara had remained a respectful distance from the family while keeping an eye out for further danger that might have found them. With Isshin so obviously wanting to stay away from anything non-human, hollow or Soul Reaper, the former captain had no reason to intrude into their lives until that fateful night when Soul Society finally made contact with Ichigo.

Surprise and then anger had tainted his view of his old friend as Ichigo's involvement in the world of the Shinigami increased and he failed to come forward with his own secret.

After Ichigo's latest brush with danger, untamable rage now flooded Urahara's mind when he thought of Isshin's lack of action in protecting his own son from such innocence crushing battles.

No matter how hard Urahara wished, he couldn't take care of Ichigo like someone his age deserved. When it came down to it, Ichigo was his only chance to stop Aizen from destroying everything that he held dear. Despite how much he wanted to protect that strong willed, brave, and loving boy from the harsh reality that was war, he couldn't.

While he couldn't shelter and comfort his student, his father could take that coveted, desired and dearly wanted role. With every battle, every increase in the father and son's power, with every further threat from Soul Society Urahara waited for the man to step up and take his role.

But the only thing that Isshin did was to protect his son's body and to avenge the spirit of his long dead wife, all with his son's slowly corrupting spirit fighting across town.

His time for waiting was over. He would no longer stand in the shadows when the one person that could offer Ichigo unconditional comfort was right next to him, failing to raise a hand to protect his own son.

"Do you even know what happened in your son's last fight?"

Isshin didn't respond, he just kept staring at that glass incased memory.

Not caring of the other's sensitivity he went on, "He went to fight an Arrancar, with hardly any spirit pressure."

The dark haired man was shaking, "He wouldn't…"

"If he had any other choice you would be right, but he didn't. Neither did we."

Wanting to rage; Urahara held himself together, "Ichigo will find out one day, no matter what you do. You might want to make sure he does before he's dead."

He knew coming here that nothing was likely to change, and when the silence stretched into minutes, the shopkeeper tried one last time, "Just tell me why? Do you hate us all that much?"

He couldn't keep the pain that stayed chained in his heart from bleeding through and he saw the other flinch, "No, I don't… I… I just can't."

With the other's admission he didn't trust himself to not hurt the doctor. Ichigo deserved the truth and his father was one of the few people that could give it to him without putting the whole world in danger. No matter what Isshin felt, he had no right to deny his son the knowledge of his existence.

Unable to stand the sight of his former friend Urahara quickly left, hurriedly sliding back on his geta and flash stepping out to the city limits.

Isshin felt the shopkeeper's exit as he stared down at the photo cradled in his hands. No matter how much he wanted to stop lying to his son he couldn't bear the hatred and the blame he would see in Ichigo's eyes. The possibility of losing another member of his family was too much for Isshin too bear.

Hearing one of his daughters coming down stairs, the former Shinigami once again slipped into the role of idiot father, while praying that he could find a way to keep his family whole.

This is what he was made to do. To fight and fight and fight, till his blade lay broken and the throats were torn out of all that opposed him. Karakura Town was his territory, his home. Those that trespassed on his home, his heart, would feel the bite of his blade and submit to his power. Ichigo didn't notice his slow descent into pure instinct, it was a welcome relief from his buzzing brain and he instinctively did what he could to slink into its mind-numbing grip.

Looking at the bloody frame of their youngest Vizard, Shinji slowly pulled himself to his feet. Currents of fear, anger, frustration, and sorrows were sweeping the training ground almost tangible in their intensity.

It was finally time the former captain could step in and help to calm the storm that was his young student's heart.

TBC