A/N: I'm still out of the country...one wedding reception down, one more to go! This is what happens when we come from different cities!
He could see everything clear as day, the past replaying in his mind as though it had just happened. Ilforte's gruesome death, the pain and despair that had consumed him afterwards, the anger...he didn't even have the time to process the fact that he was remembering. All he could think of was that he wanted to kill the man standing in front of him. He wanted to feel the man's life ebb away in his hands. He wanted to see the light dim in the man's eyes.
Grimmjow had never wanted to end someone's life as badly like he did now.
Within a heartbeat, he knew what he needed to do. Ignoring the shocked expression on Ichigo's face, he dove for the boy, knocking him off his feet and onto the wet ground. Before Ichigo had the time to protest, Grimmjow went for Urahara next, pulling the older man down and away from the line of fire.
It felt like ages, but in reality, everything happened in a blink of an eye. Knowing full well that his only ally was the element of surprise, Grimmjow bared his teeth and threw himself at the enemy.
A shot rang out, the sound so close and loud that Grimmjow's ears immediately went numb. For a moment, it was as though everything slowed down to a crawl. He saw the snarl on Aizen's face, the look of shock and fury on the man's features, even the recoil from the gun in the white-knuckled grip. Through it all, there was nothing but silence, and then...the pain hit home. A strangled gasp spilled from Grimmjow's lips; the searing heat on his right bicep too great, too sudden, for him to hold it back.
"Grimm!"
He turned, his wound forgotten, to see Ichigo scrambling to get up, one arm reaching out to him. He wished he could take away the expression of horror and concern from the boy's face, but he couldn't turn his back on the threat.
"Don't worry about us!" Urahara yelled, suddenly appearing behind his nephew and grabbing the boy by the arm. "I'll take care of him!"
Grimmjow hesitated, torn between trusting the shopkeeper and defending them from Aizen. For that split second, he saw a gleam in Urahara's eyes, one of fierce confidence that he had never seen on the blonde before. Something told him that he could believe the man.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he tackled Aizen, who was just beginning to recover from his surprise. Their bodies collided in a tangle of limbs, Grimmjow's fist wound tightly in Aizen's shirt as he pushed the man to the soggy ground. He landed heavily on top of the brunette, grunting as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his injured arm. That distraction was enough for Aizen to turn the tables. Still clutching his gun, the man slammed the weapon into Grimmjow's temple, immediately throwing Grimmjow off of him.
Grimmjow landed hard, sharp rocks scraping his hands and face as he rolled a few feet away. Coughing and shaking his head to clear it, he pushed himself onto his palms and knees. Looking up through blurry vision, Grimmjow saw his enemy stagger to his feet, gun in hand. Panic immediately seized him, sending a fresh wave of nausea through his chest.
Ichigo.
The image of Ilforte lying stiff and bloodied on their bed assaulted his mind unbidden. He wasn't going to let the same thing happen again. Cursing under his breath, Grimmjow stood up shakily. His eyes looked past Aizen's back, the impulse to attack the man again temporarily triumphed by the desperate need to go to Ichigo. But, to his surprise, the ground was empty. There were patches of disturbed soil, but the boy and his uncle were nowhere to be seen.
"Your friends sure are a sneaky bunch," Aizen said casually, looking for all the world like he was simply making idle conversation. He dusted himself with one hand, the other already training the gun on Grimmjow once more. His clothes were muddied from their brief struggle, but he seemed not to notice.
Grimmjow fought to remain calm, sucking in deep breaths as slowly as he could, only vaguely aware of the burning ache on his arm. He couldn't afford to let Aizen see the panic swirling in his chest. He knew exactly what Aizen would do.
"So which is it?" the brunette cocked his head and smiled. "The boy, or the blonde?"
A growl left Grimmjow's mouth before he could stop himself. His head throbbed painfully in sync with his rapid heart beat, and he had to swallow a few more times to stave off the urge to throw up.
"I want to say the boy...but forgive me for being blunt, isn't he a little too young? Never knew you had a thing for fresh meat," Aizen continued his monologue with a hint of amusement. "Not quite as pretty as Granz but I suppose he's more...innocent." He paused, then smiled again. "The blonde, on the other hand...too old for you I think. Not your type."
Grimmjow seethed inwardly. The bastard was the cockiest man on earth, always thinking that he was superior, that he could never fail, never get caught. It was almost the truth; he had evaded them for years, taunted them, tried to intimidate them by acting as though he knew them personally.
Grimmjow's team had spent a long time monitoring the man's immense drug empire before they finally captured him. They'd had enough evidence to send him to jail to rot for a thousand lifetimes, but they had underestimated just how much Aizen's power had infiltrated their ranks. The man was free within hours of his capture, before he had even arrived at his holding cell.
Grimmjow would never forget the phone call he got that day. He had been in the middle of a meeting, his team being commended for the breaking the case, still unaware of the car "accident" that had killed four agents and allowed Aizen to escape. Grimmjow had zoned out in favor of planning the vacation to the Bahamas that Ilforte had wanted since forever, something he had promised to do after this case was wrapped up.
Then, his phone had rung. When he heard Aizen's voice on the other end, he had truly thought that it was a bad joke...until he heard Ilforte's pained scream.
And now, this very man, this monster who had taken everything from him, was here, threatening to do the same again.
"Look at you," Aizen said mockingly. "Nostrils flaring, eyes unfocused...you're so easy to read. Are you forgetting that you have a gun in your face? Or do you not care anymore? Your life ended when your pretty little blonde lover died, didn't it?"
"You sure talk a lot," Grimmjow sneered. "You just love the sound of your own voice, huh?"
The insult merely rolled off Aizen's back. "Let's see how tough you are when I find your friends," the criminal laughed, beginning to stroll slowly towards the car.
Grimmjow's heart leapt into his throat. They must be there, there was nowhere else for them to hide. He took a step forward, eyes focused on the weapon trained firmly on him. Aizen's lips curled into a cruel smile, apparently confident enough not to see Grimmjow's approach as an immediate threat.
"I'm going to count to three," the brunette said cooly.
The ground in front of Grimmjow's feet exploded suddenly, spraying him with shreds of pebbles and mud. He stiffened, blood pounding in his ears and heart hammering away as he realized belatedly how close that had been.
"I don't think I have to explain what will happen after three..." Aizen finished.
For a moment, nothing happened, then came the crunching of gravel before Urahara stood up from the other side of the truck and walked around it towards Aizen, hands held high in the universal sign of surrender. Grimmjow groaned when another figure followed, the boy's rain-soaked tangerine locks matted to his scalp. Their eyes locked briefly, confusion and questions evident in the teen's gaze.
Time slowed down then, the slight narrowing of Aizen's eyes the only warning before the man pulled the trigger.
Shoved aside abruptly by his uncle, Ichigo hit the ground hard, barely able to break his fall with his elbows. A sharp burst of pain shot up his arms as his skin tore, but he quickly rolled onto his back, eyes wide with shock and terror as he watched his nightmare unfold in front of his eyes.
His blood ran cold as the dark-haired assailant approached him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Uncle Kisuke groaned groggily next to him, where the man had landed heavily when he'd thrown himself over Ichigo. Ichigo couldn't tell if his uncle was injured, but he hardly had the time to worry about that now. They were unarmed, and this man was coming towards them, deadly metal gleaming in one hand.
Limbs heavy from fatigue and barely-recovered fever, Ichigo did the only thing he could think of. It was a dirty trick, but he couldn't bring himself to care at that moment. His fingers dug into the wet soil around him, the heels of his sneakers scraping the ground as he backpedaled on his butt. As their nameless enemy loomed close with a cold smile on his face, Ichigo closed his fist around as much dirt as he could gather and threw it in the man's face.
The brunette cried out and raised his arms to block the offensive cloud of dust and fine, moist sand, his foot steps halted just enough for Uncle Kisuke to recover and launch himself at the man's legs. The man went down with a loud grunt, his gun skidding across the uneven ground to come to a stop beneath the truck.
Blinking in surprise, Ichigo watched his uncle grapple with the assailant, the blonde surprisingly agile and strong as he staddled the other man. For a moment, it looked as though his uncle was about to knock him out, but the dark-haired male fought back suddenly, shoving a bony knee straight into Uncle Kisuke's stomach. The shopkeeper doubled over, air leaving his lungs audibly, and was flung off easily as their enemy dove for the truck.
By the time Ichigo realized what the man was after, he was a second too late. There was a deafening bang, then Ichigo watched, his body frozen in horror, as his uncle collapsed.
Everything had happened so quickly. One second Aizen had had his gun on him, and the next, the bastard had fired it in Ichigo's direction. Grimmjow stiffened, mind suddenly blank as the image of Ilforte flashed in front of his eyes. He desperately wanted to rush to Ichigo, but it was as though his limbs were stuck. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and was on the brink of falling onto his knees when he was suddenly greeted by the scene of Urahara and Aizen on the ground.
Grimmjow recognized some of the moves, knew how difficult they were, yet there he was, Urahara Kisuke the shopkeeper, pulling them off flawlessly on one of the most dangerous, most powerful criminal in the world.
The sight snapped his attention back to the present, and he dropped into a fighting stance, muscles tensing, preparing to jump in to join the fight. It was almost impossible to find an opening, he didn't want to interrupt at the wrong moment and get in Urahara's way.
By the time he finally saw one, it was too late. Grimmjow could only watch as the blonde's body jerked violently before the man went down...and remained still, face-down on the ground unmoving. Grimmjow couldn't see how bad it was, whether Ichigo's uncle was dead.
An anguished scream spurred him into action. He didn't have time to check on Urahara now. Teeth bared and nearly snarling like a wild animal, Grimmjow sprung. Aizen was just picking himself up from the ground, features contorted into one of arrogance and disgust. He raised his arm, but before he could pull the trigger, Grimmjow descended upon him.
Ichigo scrambled around the truck towards his uncle, blood roaring in his ears as his eyes darted between the man's prone form and the struggle that was going on not far away from him. Grimmjow was wrestling with the assailant, angry grunts escaping from him as he fought for the weapon.
Ichigo realized that it was stupid to put himself in the line of fire, but he couldn't possibly leave his uncle like that. Ignoring the warning bells in his head, Ichigo dropped to his knees and grabbed his uncle by the shoulder.
One quick glance confirmed his fear. His uncle had been shot in the chest. Ichigo placed two shaking fingers on his uncle's neck, searching desperately for a pulse. He couldn't find one. His fingers were slippery from sweat and trembling so hard that he simply couldn't hold it in place. His breath hitched in his throat. No...not his uncle...
He was so lost in his panic that he didn't even notice that the gun had gone off again until his ears started ringing. The silence that followed was deafening. It was as though the air itself had stood still. Nothing moved, even the rain ceased.
Ichigo turned his head stiffly and stared, his limbs ice cold, at the other two men who now laid in a crumpled heap. The assailant was sprawled on top of Grimmjow, head turned to the other side, his dark brown, wavy hair obscuring Grimmjow's face from view.
Ichigo waited with a baited breath, willing Grimmjow to move.
Come on, push him off, get up!
Then, he saw it: an ominous pool of bright crimson, spreading...under Grimmjow. It grew, seeping into the moist earth, expanding slowly but surely.
"No," Ichigo said out loud, his voice flat, exhausted. He couldn't believe this was happening. Grimmjow wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving?
A hoarse groan broke the silence suddenly, and Ichigo froze.
For a moment it looked as though Grimmjow had shifted...but no, it wasn't him. It was the attacker, pushing himself up shakily, arms braced against Grimmjow's body for leverage. The man coughed, wheezing, as he untangled his limbs. He shook his head groggily, body swaying slightly, and sat up.
"No," Ichigo repeated numbly.
At his voice, the other man turned. His eyes were glazed over in pain, left eye swollen, lips cut in multiple places, nose bleeding. But when his gaze settled on Ichigo, his battered face broke into a grin.
Ichigo fell back onto his butt, his arms and legs refusing to support his weight any longer. He searched wildly around him for something to defend himself with; a rock, a stick, anything.
There was nothing.
The deadly nuzzle of a gun appeared in front of his face, aimed directly between his eyes. He stared at it, heart hammering in his chest but suddenly devoid of any fear. He felt oddly detached, numb, so he simply remained expressionless as his would-be executioner widened his smile. Ichigo fought back the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. No, he wouldn't go down looking so defeated even if the end was inevitable.
The finger on the trigger flexed.
Something zinged by above Ichigo's head. His eyes widened in disbelief as the brunette stiffened, gun arm still extended. A trickle of blood slid down the bridge of the man's nose, flowing from a small wound on his forehead that Ichigo hadn't noticed at first. Then, as though he was a manequinne whose string was abruptly cut, the man dropped heavily to the ground.
How...?
Ichigo gaped at the lifeless body, too stunned to do much else other than blink dumbly at it. Then everything rushed back to him - his uncle, Grimmjow. Both lying just as still, both...gone.
Grimmjow.
As his vision darkened and his last threads of consciousness slipped through his fingers, Ichigo thought he saw a thin, impossibly tall figure approach. But he must be hallucinating - surely no human being could be that tall - or perhaps he was already dead and that was the Grim Reaper coming to collect his soul.
To be continued...
