Zenith: Tsumi

by Shapooda

3 months after the end of Zenith, Ichigo is trying to get back into normalcy, (whatever counts for normal for a demigod) and he accidentally unleashes a hell of a problem. Grimmichi

8. Hametsu

Hametsu(Japanese): Ruin

Shunsui Kyoraku

His best friend was dead.

You don't take up the sword and expect a life without bloodshed and loss, but to see it happen before his eyes, to be helpless to stop it...he'd never been prepared for that. His hair was splayed over the ground like melting snow, red staining his skin. Decades had passed with this man at his side, and now...

He wanted to hate Kurosaki. Despise him.

He couldn't.

Seeing him holding his broken, dead lover...it hurt. Worse, he understood. He felt Kurosaki's pain alongside his own; His guilt, his shame, his sorrow. He couldn't see Kurosaki's expression, but he didn't have to. He saw only the shake of his shoulders as he sobbed. All of that death...for nothing.

He was the Soutaichou. Get up, do something, give orders.

But what order could he give? A young, broken-hearted God held their fate in his hands. A God he couldn't hope to beat and one that didn't trust anyone.

His thoughts crawled to a stop when he heard the shift in Kurosaki. Sobs grew into full bodied laughter and it sounded less than sane. Kurosaki let his head fall back, wicked horns pointed skyward, and he laughed and laughed and laughed.

It was a sound full of broken agony, and one he didn't want to hear. Could he blame the boy? Fear on their part and his own had isolated him, and fear was a powerful, dangerous motivator. It was hard to remind himself that this demigod was at heart a damaged boy.

Should he be shocked that a boy that was raised with violence relied on violence to protect himself? Shunsui couldn't forgive murder, but he could understand why it happened.

That arrancar was how he coped, how he stayed rational. Shunsui had seen this arrancar pull him back from murder with little more than a touch or a look. It seemed Kurosaki trusted one person, and now that person was dead.

This had been an impossible choice, posed to a young and very powerful soul on the verge of collapse. Shunsui wanted to hate him, but he couldn't find the strength left to hate. The hybrid painted a pathetic picture, his heart was broken, and all Shunsui felt was sadness.

Kurosaki abruptly stopped laughing, gritting his teeth through a sob. La sangre churned around the pair, and he was gone. He left no trace behind, not even blood.

For long time, Kyoraku just stared at the spot he used to be. People always said things happened fast. This was too fast. No goodbye's, no dread, his friend was just...gone. All that remained were regrets.

Kyoraku stood and paced over to Ukitake, his chest feeling heavy and hollow. He'd always worried for his friend, he was too kind, too eager to throw his life away for others. That selflessness cost him in the end, but Hitsugaya was alive, his friend would be happy he'd made a difference.

Byakuya spoke from some distance away. "I would like to go look for Rukia if you have no need of me."

"Go. There's nothing you can do here." The shinigami that lay dead weren't a part of his division, Byakuya had no real reason to stay. The captain left in a sudden burst of shunpo and Kyoraku crouched, gathering Ukitake into his arms.

He felt too light, and it twisted his stomach into knots to know he wasn't ever going to smile at him again. Damn you, Kurosaki…

He was torn from his thoughts by Hitsugaya's voice. "Soutaichou...what do we do?" Kyoraku thought he did a good job hiding how rattled he was.

Kyoraku sighed, "There's nothing we can do."

-xxx-

Kurosaki Ichigo

Glassy black sand cut into his knees, abrasive and cold. It was silent, save for the deep, impossibly huge beating of a heart. Ichigo found the hum in the air to be soothing, and the darkness was a comfort. He didn't want to see Grimmjow's empty eyes, or the blood sticky and drying on his skin. But darkness couldn't hide that reality from him, not with the Gods aiding his sight.

He kept him safe all those years, and in the end he still killed him. It was all his fault.

Panic buzzed under his skin and kept a scream tangled up in every breath he took. He couldn't fall apart, not yet, not now; he had to try to bring him back, or it was all for nothing.

After death, so many souls wanted to scatter and return to Alteza. He didn't let them. He trapped his soul in his body, he could do that much, even if it was hard. He bound them together and refused to believe this was it, that he'd never speak to him again.

"The arrancar is dead, godling." The voice rang in his ears as if it was spoken beside him, but Ichigo knew better.

Rage boiled in his blood and he snarled, "I'll find a way to kill you."

"You would be condemning yourself."

"So be it," Ichigo hissed. Without the hope he might still save Grimmjow, he might have already done it. Grimmjow deserved better than to die a slave to the will of some monster. He couldn't let him go, he couldn't.

He held the scraps of his soul in his hands, he was gone, gone...gone.

He squeezed Grimmjow to his chest and grit his teeth through a scream, the sand around him twisting and raging with his emotions. "If I have to rip out my own heart, I'll kill you." He hissed it like a mantra, "I'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyou-"

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, and Ichigo didn't flinch; he knew his hollow well, he was safe, he had no reason to fear him, and his touch was enough to stall his thoughts.

He was still alone, very alone, but Zangetsu's arms around his neck earned his attention. "Easy, King. Easy…." Zangetsu leaned into his back, pressing the hard line of his Khyber blade against his spine. His hollow traced a gentle path along the hollow of his throat and promised, "We'll bring him back."

"I don't know how," Ichigo whispered.

"The Gods took everything, but they also granted you power. Use it." He pressed his forehead to the back of his neck and hissed, "Use it, King. Take what you want."

Zangetsu's grip on his neck tightened, but he wasn't afraid, it was only a comfort. Ichigo whispered, "I did use it...I killed them. I didn't want to-"

"I know," Zangetsu soothed. He tugged his head back, baring his throat, and held him. "You have all the time in the world."

His hollow was right. He was a soul propped up by Gods, he might as well be immortal. If anyone had a chance, it was him.

"Buy time for koneko. You can't hold his soul in your hands forever."

Zangetsu was talking sense. Sense he still struggled to comprehend while his mind held Grimmjow's last words tight. Ichigo leaned back against Zangetsu, threading his fingers through Grimmjow's hair. It was long and tangled, his body frozen in his Segunda Etapa. He squeezed a soft, furred ear, disgusted by la sangre's nipping insistence Grimmjow's soul be devoured.

No. Not this one.

He could still sense his feral soul dominating the souls trapped within it, and it nearly made him smile. Even wrung out and broken, his soul still fought. But he was no longer his conduit. Those ties fell apart in his hands, shredded by death.

Ichigo reached for la sangre, feeling it shift through his soul and he stiffened in pain.

"Shinigami," Ichigo said, "Distance my connection with the Gods and I'll drive my sword through my heart." Zangetsu knew his threat was genuine, and his grip momentarily tightened.

"I can stop you," Shinigami said.

"You can't stop my hollow," Ichigo snapped.

"The Gods won't let you die."

It was a fact and they both knew it. Ichigo grit his teeth in frustration, rage driving his thoughts to irrational ends. All of his power and his control had slipped away to nothing but threads. It was easier to rage than drown in panic, the thought that his life was no longer his own was terrifying. His life had never been his.

Not fair. It was never fair, most things weren't. He sucked in a fragile breath, and Zangetsu tightened his grip, claws pressuring flesh enough to hurt. It gave him something to think about beyond heartache and fear.

Shinigami suddenly spoke. "You desire to keep control?"

"What kind of question is that?" Ichigo meant to sound annoyed, but his voice broke, and he just sounded pathetic.

"That will require sacrifice," it said. If Shinigami noticed or cared about that weakness, Ichigo couldn't tell.

"What kind of sacrifice?" Ichigo asked softly.

"Souls."

Of course it wanted souls. "Why?"

"I feed through your soul, godling. The more of the God's raw essence you draw into your soul, the less of your soul remains. From the look of your soul, you know that. I can't undo the damage you've done to yourself, I won't kill my only host." It chuckled. "It isn't wise to set fire to the house you live in "

Ichigo hissed, "You don't need a host."

"No."

"Get out," Ichigo snarled.

"Your soul provides everything I need, why would I leave when I have what I want?"

Ichigo grit his teeth and opened his eyes to the dark, staring up into a void that seemed to go on forever. Shinigami knew the moment it left he would kill it. Even if Shinigami tried to take him down in the process, he'd find a way to snuff out its existence.

He prodded with la sangre along the tears in Grimmjow's soul, he tried to heal him again, but it was as if the damage he saw and felt wasn't even real. He whispered, "Y-uln, Jaeger." Nothing.

"Y-uln, Jaeger."

He called Alteza to breathe life back into his soul again, and again, and again, until Zangetsu squeezed his shoulder and murmured, "Enough."

If Zangetsu wasn't there to stop him, he wasn't sure he would have.. Alteza was severed from Grimmjow's body in a way Ichigo wasn't sure how to fix.

Smothering the splintered pain in his chest, Ichigo demanded, "Why can I not undo the damage you've done?"

"Weak or strong, you are all children of the Gods; I am not one of you. Neither is my power."

"Undo what you did to him," Ichigo demanded.

"I am a creature that takes. I do not give."

Ichigo didn't think Shinigami was lying. So far it had told him nothing but the truth, and if there was a way, it had no reason to keep it from him. Then again, it had never tried, it had no reason to do that either.

Ichigo pulled away from Zangetsu, curling around his arrancar in a desperate embrace. He held him tight against his chest, his claws digging too deeply into his shoulder. That pressing need to tear him apart hadn't faded. If anything it was worse.

CONSUME.

It made him feel sick.

His hollow leaned against his back, carefully avoiding the chasm in his chest. His weight was a reassurance, a reminder that against the backdrop of screams and howls in his mind, Zangetsu was real, he was there. He was always there.

Tearing his claws away from Grimmjow's body was hard, almost impossible. Ichigo bent over him and pressed his forehead to his arrancar's, smoothing a thumb along the jagged lines of his estigma, up along the fur of his ear,. He died in his Segunda Etapa, he died with his heart as close to being whole as an arrancar could ever get, and he'd gotten to say goodbye. It was the only consolation he'd ever get.

He couldn't stay there mourning forever, not when he still had some shred of hope he could be saved.

He wrenched himself away, standing over his prone form and shivered. Everything about this was wrong, he couldn't even imagine he was asleep. He was too battered, too bloody, and the hollow he knew would never sleep on his back.

So many shinigami had died for this. He didn't know their names, he couldn't even remember how many. Nameless, faceless casualties in the wake of an uncaring God. They were right to fear him, hate him. Failing and falling into the carefully laid plan Aizen laid for him was one thing, but to turn his sword on his allies for his own desires?

"I'm a monster."

"We never doubted that, King."

He hadn't, had he? He ran from the title in desperation, but it clung to him like tar.

Ichigo raised his hands and drew on la sangre, pain spiking through his limbs. It felt so much like the first time he'd ever called on the God's, and he wasn't used to pain anymore, not physical pain. Power flooded his soul and Shinigami devoured all that came into contact with it. It was almost convenient, despite the pain. He could draw on more power than before and not risk overwhelming himself. As much as he loathed Shinigami, in that moment, it was useful.

He grit his teeth and pressed on, seeking the knowledge of his predecessors buried in his instincts and power. He knew what he wanted to do, he'd seen it, touched the power, but he wasn't relying on die Konigin, he wanted to do the same with Alteza. As a God that thrived on death, it was difficult to weave the threads that bolstered it rather than feeding off of it.

Sand swirled and moved with his will, sliding over Grimmjow, la sangre licking from the surface like fire. It bound his soul wherever it touched, pulling him under, pressing in around him like a tomb.

Adaliz had done this, she'd surfaced in his mind as he held Grimmjow's broken body. She'd sealed her lover too, unable to let him go, and he finally understood. He thought he had, and he really hadn't, not until the moment was staring him in the eyes.

He'd used her lover against her...now he knew how it felt. He was sorry, even after all she'd done. He didn't think he'd be able to do it again, but along with those regrets came hope.

Mictlan had lived, shadow or not. Ichigo had breathed life back into a corpse after years sealed away under a power that existed to devour him in turn.

He had hope he could do it again.

Ichigo tightened his hands into fists, solidifying his desire into frozen darkness around Grimmjow's body. It cradled him in a cold and dark embrace, pressing in around him to hold the souls that made him what he was in place.

Certain Alteza wouldn't encroach on his arrancar, Ichigo let the power go, sinking to his knees on the surface of a still lake. He pressed his palm to the surface, smooth and cold, the soul he loved most in the worlds trapped within.

He was selfish.

Grimmjow wanted to die, he'd made peace with it, but Ichigo couldn't let him go. He dug in his claws and held him tight and now look where he was. Dead and broken.

He had become everything he loathed, and he had nothing to show for it but heartache; he felt every bit the hollow he appeared to be; his chest ached with loss.

Grimmjow had filled all those spaces in his heart he hadn't wanted to ever suffer again, but every crass word and bloody smile pulled him in so deep, to lose him now gutted him of everything.

The void yawned in his soul, held fast by the millions of eyes of the light, and the clawing hands of the dark. This new sensation sliding beneath his skin felt so real. Shinigami wasn't wrapped around the core of his soul, it was in his body, thick in his veins and his bones. It disgusted him enough to scare him.

"Stop feeding off of me."

"Habit," Shinigami answered, but he didn't stop.

Ichigo turned his question over in his head, disgusted by how closely it fell to a plea. "If I feed you, you'll stop?"

"For a time."

Gritting his teeth, Ichigo's thoughts were dragged back to the agony Grimmjow's soul suffered. If Shinigami kept feeding off him, he wouldn't have the power he needed. Ichigo asked, "Will feeding you kill me too?"

"Unlikely. The God's have a firm grip on your soul."

"What kind of souls do you need?" Ichigo asked.

"Old ones. Powerful ones. Many."

"Will you eat a hollow?"

"I can feed off all."

"Why did you target the shinigami?"

"Revenge."

That stopped Ichigo short. He curled his lip. "How could something like you understand revenge?"

"You never asked where I come from."

"Why should I care?" Ichigo asked.

"You wish to know how I understand human emotion. Where do you think I come from?" Ichigo couldn't even guess. "The shinigami host."

Ichigo frowned. "I never sensed you in him."

"Our time together was fleeting. I was torn from his soul and he was left a shell."

Stiffening, Ichigo began to understand. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I can't have you tempted to remove me."

Which meant it was possible. "What are you?"

"You already know. I devour. Before I found a host, I was weak. I survived, but I did not thrive. For that, I require a host. Together, we flourish."

Ichigo didn't like being talked down to like he was a child, but it was actually helping him understand. "Then why did my predecessor rip you out like a tumor?"

"He wished to become stronger. He could not do that with a dampener on his power."

Ichigo could feel what he meant. His reiatsu wasn't the only thing protecting him until now. Shinigami might be eating the Gods in his soul, but it was also acting like a barrier. The fire no longer spread, the slow and inevitable encroachment in his soul had stopped. If Reizei had wanted to barter away his soul, he wouldn't have been able to.

"He sacrificed his conduits to seal you away. Which means I can do the same. Why not let me live in ignorance?" Ichigo felt the itch of manipulation. He might not always be able to wiggle out of it, but he could see it when it happened.

Shinigami answered, "Because you won't. You need me."

Ichigo wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. A fear hung in his mind like fog, and the concern that asking it might betray some advantage was overwhelmed by his desire to know. "You aren't controlling my body like you did with Grimmjow. Why?"

"I cannot. The Gods would kill you."

"Is that true?" Ichigo asked.

"You aren't sure you believe anything I've told you, that isn't going to change now."

It wasn't. Ichigo searched his soul and asked, "Can I use your power?"

"Do you wish to?"

"I do."

"Then do not reject me."

Ichigo grimaced, disgusted by the possibility of accepting Shinigami in any capacity. He asked, "Would I be able to undo this?"

"I have not tried."

"Is it possible?"

"I have not tried."

Ichigo screamed, his power rippling out across the sand to die out in endless dark. He didn't know what to do, this wasn't merely helplessness, it was frustration. A small mistake, a lapse in judgement, and Grimmjow was gone.

Stowing his pain, his hate, for this thing that took Grimmjow away was never going to happen. There were some things he couldn't do. He loved Grimmjow, to open his heart to this monster would tarnish his heart in ways he couldn't handle.

Grimmjow had died before, he'd failed him twice. The first time was sudden, it happened without his knowledge...but this wasn't like the first time. This was his fault.

He hadn't stumbled across his bloody, broken body, he'd held him in his arms. He hadn't wanted to lose him, not again. If only he'd had this power then, Grimmjow would have lived. He'd have been alive.

Ichigo stilled, his single shred of hope blossoming into a wildfire. His eyes widened. "I can go back."

Zangetsu ventured, "King...you can't know the effect that would have."

A laugh slipped past clenched teeth and Ichigo hissed, "I don't think I care." Torn between trusting and feeding the monster that killed Grimmjow and keeping control, he easily chose the latter, no matter the consequences.

"King, think about this. You could fuck up your life. We agreed we wouldn't fuck with time."

Time was a fickle thing, he'd seen that firsthand, he knew how unpredictable it could be. Ichigo turned to face his hollow, brows creased in distress. "I've already made up my mind...I'm sorry."

His hollow reached for him, but not to harm. His hand smoothed across his cheek, a far cry from the anger on his face. "Don't apologize, I swore we would get him back." His grip tightened to fist in his hair. "If you've made up your mind, then any decision you make has already happened, there's no sense arguing." Fingers clenched in his hair, Ichigo leaned into the wrenching pull on his hair as Zangetsu reeled him in close. "This will all mean something, King. It's not for nothing."

No, he had to make it worth something, or he was a killer without a cause. He killed people that had trusted him, people he respected and cared for. One life wasn't worth so many, but to Ichigo it was almost everything.

Zangetsu disappeared, drawn back into his soul, but he could still feel the tug on his hair, the brush of his hand on his cheek. He missed Grimmjow so much. Their time together was too brief. He couldn't let him go.

He reached for the power at hand and found it lacking. Shinigami had devoured so much, it wasn't enough, not to jump so far back in time, even with a tether to his original soul in his original time.

This would be risky, stupid, and come with a price to pay.

Feeding Shinigami might give him power enough to control him, or it was telling the truth and the Gods would rather kill him than give up their previous host.

Ichigo would take that risk, he needed more power. Feed Shinigami, stockpile power, find Grimmjow's body in a timeline ruled by Aizen. He swallowed and whispered, "Simple." It was simple.

What was a few more souls?

-xxx-

Urahara Kisuke

The defeat on Ishida's face was enough to tell him what happened. The Quincy came back to nothing but questions from the Kurosaki's, and so his answer was less than gentle. "You want to know what happened?! I failed!" Ishida ignored the girls and went straight for Isshin. "He systematically killed shinigami and fed them to that thing. Stabbed them right through the heart, it wasn't even a challenge, it was a massacre."

"You were supposed to stop him!" Karin yelled.

Ishida turned in her, gesturing wildly. "He's beyond reason, he's insane! You understand what that means? He's crazy!"

Isshin miraculously kept his tone level and asked, "What was he trying to do?"

"I don't know, but whatever was in the arrancar is in Ichigo," Ishida said, "and whatever Ichigo was trying to do didn't work. That arrancar is dead."

Kisuke closed his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh. Shit.

Ichigo quite literally held the power to destroy all of the realms in a single night. This did not bode well. From the look Isshin shot him, he was on the same page. His son was unstable on his best day, let alone his worst.

"Where is he now?" Isshin asked.

Ishida threw up his hands. "I don't know. Gone, wherever it is Kurosaki goes when he's not fucking everything up."

"Take that back!" Karin screamed. She launched herself at him, but Isshin got between them, holding her back with half hearted interest.

Yuzu cried. "His name was Grimmjow."

"I don't care," Ishida snapped.

"This only happened because he died protecting us," Karin shouted, "you can use his fucking name!"

Isshin raised his voice. "Everyone bring it down a notch. We're going to stop shouting and discuss this calmly."

Sheepish looks were exchanged and Kisuke said, "Uryuu-san I'm going to need you to tell me what happened in detail."

When the Quincy spoke this time, it was calmer, more collected. "Why? Kurosaki is unstoppable. Whatever he does now is out of our control."

"This is true, but an unknown entity is inhabiting his body, his behavior is likely going to change, and I would like to know about it."

Ishida emphasised, "Why?"

"Kurosaki still feels, appealing to his empathy is possible, his decisions can be swayed." His words didn't seem to convince anyone, but false hope was better than no hope at all. Kisuke looked to Isshin. "I can track Kurosaki, if what Ishida says is true, I believe he'll return to Karakura at some point. He never goes long without at least seeing his sisters. It should be you."

"He won't stick around to talk to his old man," Isshin argued.

"Your son has spoken to you before, and I think he will again," Kisuke said.

As little as Isshin believed him, he trusted him, and he had the air of desperation any good parent holds when their child is in distress.

"It's not like I'm going to refuse," Isshin said. "is it?"

-xxx-

Kuchiki Rukia

2 weeks later

Kurosaki Ichigo was indirectly responsible for the deaths of 56 unseated officers. He was directly responsible for the deaths of 4 seated officers, 3 captains, and 5 convicts.

Her captain's haori hung heavy on her shoulders, pulled by a gust of moisture thick air. Heavy clouds crawled in the sky, threatening rain, but never delivering on that promise.

Her tears wouldn't fall. They hadn't fallen at her mentor's funeral, and they hadn't fallen since.

"I'm sorry to ask you here again Kuchiki-taichou." The shinigami standing before her looked uncertain, defeated. She tried not to let her attitude bleed through her posture; The last thing they needed was weakness in command. That in mind, she gave him a half hearted smile, but she thought it might have done more harm than good. "At ease, there's no need to apologise."

He dipped his head and grimaced in return, "As you say," and she wondered if her own smile had been that bad.

She crouched by the body and rolled them to their back. Blood stained their shitagi black, blank eyes unfocused on the clouds. It wasn't like being near any body she'd ever seen, it was like with Ukitake...it was like seeing a ghost.

Forcing her discomfort aside, she leaned in, eyes tracing the surgically clean cut through bone and flesh below a thickened pool of blood. It was a single, clean stab to the heart. Rukia wasn't squeamish, but she grimaced. "It's him." This wasn't a powerless soul getting lucky, this was a kill executed with precision and intent, and Ichigo had no reiatsu they could sense to trace.

The shinigami shifted and asked, "How can you tell?" Her expression must have changed, because apologies tumbled from his lips, as if he'd tread over forbidden ground.

Rather than try to placate him, she talked over him until he listened. She pulled apart the shihakusho on the body and said, "No reiatsu, and the length of the stab wound. No shinigami has a shikai this size except Ichigo." She amended, "No shinigami that's capable of concealing their presence to this degree."

She took back her hand and straightened, asking the other, "Who was he?"

The shinigami's eyes widened, unprepared for the question. "Umm...we still aren't sure, but there's a high chance he's a deserter."

Rukia thought that was highly probable after seeing Kurosaki's previous victims. Since Grimmjow's death, he'd been methodically killing shinigami accused of crimes. How he'd learned this information, nobody knew, but the results were clear to anyone that dared look. He was passing judgement in a way he swore he never would. She couldn't understand why, but she wished she did.

Ichigo was a threat, but one they couldn't hope to fight or cage. He'd taken her mentor, her friend. He'd killed in cold blood, for love or for not. He was dangerous.

The people he killed now weren't good people. He was passing judgement, but it was quick, clean. It seemed he was doing it out of necessity, but she had no idea why. As insane as he may have been, Mayuri was their best line of understanding what Ichigo was, and now he was dead.

Ichigo had wanted to kill Mayuri, but the others...not so much.

Kyoraku called out to her as he crossed over to meet her. "Kuchiki-taichou!" She looked up, and he waited until he was beside her before he spoke again. "You don't have to attend to this, Hitsugaya-taichou would jump at the chance."

She nodded stiffly, shifted, and found her voice. "I knew him best, it should be me."

Kyoraku looked at her, nearly through her, and then to the shinigami awkwardly waiting to be dismissed. "Bring a team to collect the body." The shinigami bowed and happily left, not eager to be a part of this conversation. Kyoraku watching him go, then looked back to her. "Kuchiki-san, punishing yourself isn't going to change things."

"I know." She tightened her hands into fists. "I want to do it." She finally looked up at him, and saw that he looked profoundly sad.

He wasn't standing there as the Soutaichou, he was standing there as Kyoraku Shunsui, he was letting her see that grief for a reason.

She bit her lip and looked away. "I miss him." She felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder, and it was shockingly comforting. He squeezed gently and pulled away, his touch brief, but no less meaningful. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. 'Miss' was too weak of a word.

She wanted to curse Ichigo as selfish. He wanted Grimmjow back, but what about the people they cared for? She wanted to, but she felt the void in his soul. Grimmjow had been right; Ichigo was desperately lonely. When Grimmjow had been sharing that piece of his soul, it wasn't so noticeable, but without him, that pain was so clear. She saw the looks on the other captain's faces. They wanted to hate him, but it was hard when they could feel his pain. It made it difficult to get over their own.

She found she missed Grimmjow. It could have been it was Ichigo's feelings, muddling her own, but she'd come to respect him, even like him, even if she didn't understand him.

Losing Seireitei was a blow, but it was nothing like this. They had trusted Ichigo, they'd known the risks, and this was a betrayal no one wanted to speak of.

"How's your brother?"

Rukia flashed him a tight smile. "The same. He's angry at Ichigo, his arm isn't getting any better." And Ichigo might have been the only person who could fix it, but his stupid pride wouldn't allow him to ask for help, especially not from an outsider, even at her request.

Kyoraku made a thoughtful sound, and reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin. "I thought as much. How angry do you think he would be if I asked him to teach?"

Rukia grimaced. "I think he would be disappointed in himself."

"When it comes to shunpo, he's one of the best. It's not retirement, and we lost a lot of good shinigami." Kyoraku looked from the body, back to her. "I know he's capable, but I see how much he relies on Abarai."

Rukia had noticed too. She rarely saw Renji, and when she did, it was at meetings, or brief. Renji made a point to come see her, but she couldn't bring herself to say what she wanted, and it frustrated them both. She sighed and said, "I think Niisan is in a lot of pain."

Kyoraku nodded and said, "I don't think either of them will be happy, but I'll make it official." Rukia looked back at him, but he was already looking skyward.

The conversation fell to a lull, and her thoughts drifted back to Ichigo. She said, "He's making every effort to avoid us, how are we supposed to stop him?"

"I wish I had an answer," Kyoraku said. "I know you can feel his guilt, he isn't proud of this."

"So we can convince him to stop."

"Perhaps."

"You don't sound convinced."

Kyoraku sighed and looked to her, then past her to the team of shinigami on their way to them. "If Kurosaki doesn't want to be found, we'll never find him. I don't like to admit it, but we're at his mercy." Kyoraku lowered his voice to keep the conversation private. "We can't appeal to his humanity if we can't speak with him."

"We could try?"

Kyoraku glanced across to her, thoughtful. "You know him best. If you have an idea, I'd love to hear it."

She frowned and looked back down at the body. "Still working on it."

"In any other situation, this would be my top priority, but I have divisions to manage, captains to replace, and fears to quell. Attracting Kurosaki's attention is the last thing I want."

She chewed her lip, aware of that, but still unwilling to give up on Ichigo. He dipped his head to her and said, "Don't dig too deep, Kuchiki-san. Try to move on." He left her standing there while the shinigami recovered the body, her heart aching and her thoughts muddled.

-xxx-

She should have told someone her plan, but anyone she told would tell her it was too dangerous and either stop her, or tail her. So she stood in the shadow of moonlight alone, stalking her targets.

She knew Ichigo wanted criminals, so what better way to find him than tail criminals. His kills had slowed to about one a month, which meant she had to find and choose targets carefully. Then she had to follow them and do nothing, and that was the hardest part of all.

Weeks passed in vain, she saw people do terrible things, and she merely watched. It riled her up to be forced to do nothing, to become a bystander. But if she spooked Ichigo, she lost her chance.

Weeks of nothing, when something finally did happen, she almost didn't believe it. It was so fast. One moment the man was walking, and the next, a shadow blocked her view. The man collapsed, caught by a clawed hand around his throat. He was dropped just as quickly, discarded like trash. Ichigo turned, the moonlight reflecting off the dagger edge of a horn. The wind tugged long, wild hair across his face, eyes glinting like a wildcat.

The chasm in his chest was so obvious, breaking up his silhouette in a grotesque way.

"Rukia." His voice was quiet, but it carried, thick from misuse. He didn't run, and he didn't move, eerily still, so she broke from her hiding spot to cross over and stand before him.

As dark as it was, even among the hollow black of his sclera, he looked broken. She'd never seen Ichigo like this. She'd seen him desperate and haunted, but seeing the result of weeks of heartache wasn't something she was prepared for. He didn't look like a God. He looked sad.

She'd fantasised about this for weeks, it kept her up at night, but the only question that she could think to voice was simple. "Why are you doing this?"

His brows creased, and he answered, quietly, his words gentle, as if spoken too loudly they might disturb the shattered pieces of his heart. "For him."

For all his faults, and all he'd done, seeing his relentless drive to fix this was heartbreaking. "Ichigo...he's dead."

His breath fled his lungs in a heavy exhale, sadness rippling through his frame like a physical blow. It occurred to her that this was likely the first time he'd heard those words from another person. He swallowed, blinking back tears, and it was the most motion she'd seen from him since he'd shown himself.

Afraid he might run, she desperately tried to change the subject. "What does killing these people do?"

He looked down at the body beside him. "It's complicated."

"Try me!"

He looked back at her with a severity that didn't look like Ichigo. She was staring into the wide eyes of something else; something powerful hid behind those eyes, something that twisted Ichigo's emotions into gruesome shapes. He raised a clawed finger to his lips. "Shhhh...I hear you." He was still whispering, and whether by the chill of night or by his presence, it was silent.

His sleeve slipped down his forearm, and she noticed there was no pale stripe of skin, his arm was black. She asked, "What's wrong with you?"

He chuckled, an unhappy, stressed sound as he studied his hand. "Its self inflicted."

She watched him, throat tight, and said, "I want to despise you."

He dropped his hand, sharp yellow eyes flicking back up to meet hers. "It's okay if you do," he said.

"Ichigo, please."

His eyes narrowed and he finally answered her. "Shinigami is feeding off of my soul, but I don't want it to. The only alternative is to feed it. I need more power but it keeps eating it." He finished speaking with a snarl, pouring more hatred into his words than he'd ever heard from him before.

"Shinigami...the thing that killed Grimmjow?"

He made a hysterical sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Yes...yes it's in here too. It has a lot to say." His voice fell, suddenly weary. "They all have a lot to say."

Rukia took a step back, wary. This was a glimmer of madness, and one she didn't think she could reason with. Grimmjow had been able to stay those thoughts, but Ichigo didn't trust her.

Ichigo noticed her caution, hyper fixated on it as a predator should be. "Shinigami helps, as much as I hate that thing." His eyes widened, pupils blown wide. "I need Alteza." He hissed, "I can fix this."

Rukia tried to puzzle what he meant, brows furrowed in concern. He sounded desperate, which meant he had a goal, but no end in sight. The methodical and resigned way he'd killed the man at his feet spoke far more to what was going on than anything Ichigo might tell her. "How many more people have to die before you do?"

Face twisting, Ichigo was suddenly inches away, snarling, "As many as it takes."

She stumbled back, startled, heart pounding, and Ichigo flinched back as if her reaction was a shock. She felt the shame poison his heart just as clearly as she saw it sweep over his face. He'd scared her, there was no pretending otherwise.

She straightened, trying to reassure herself with the knowledge that if Ichigo chose to kill her, she was powerless to stop it. "How are you choosing these people?"

Ichigo grimaced, baring his teeth in a sneer. "Shinigami can feel evil, smell it. It hunts, I kill, it eats." His eyes were darting from the trees to the camp in the distance, she could sense his unease, and she was determined to get her answers before he fled.

"You have to kill them?"

"I want to. It's my choice, it should be me." His words fell into a growl, shoulders hunched, and Rukia couldn't keep a grip on the hate she wanted to feel. Anger was so much easier to feel, this ached.

She took a small step closer and begged, "Please let him go. It isn't too late to stop."

Sudden panic flashed across his face, and his expression caved, the pain he'd held at bay washing over him so hard he couldn't hide it. "It is," he whispered. He sucked in a breath to speak, lost his nerve, and swallowed. "When I killed him...Ukitake told me he was sorry. He said...he said, 'I'm sorry we failed you.'"

She stiffened in shock. No one had told her that, if they'd heard at all. It dug into her heart and ached.

"He didn't deserve that."

She shouted, "Then why did you do it?!" Her tears finally fell, blurring her vision, hot and messy with weeks of pain.

The look in Ichigo's eyes was telling. He wanted to comfort her, but he'd been the one to hurt her, and the shame was reflected in her soul in dark shadows. "I've done so many things I didn't want to do. What's one more?"

"What sort of answer is that?!"

Ichigo grit his teeth, and despite the threatening silhouette he cast, Rukia pitied him. "It's my answer," he hissed. "My soul isn't mine, the Gods fight over it like savage dogs. My body isn't mine, my sanity isn't mine, my life isn't mine!"

He rambled faster, edging closer as his words grew clipped and panicked. "I can feel Shinigami in my skin, coiled in my brain like hands on my throat." He was close now, close enough that if he tried, he could touch her. "I'm a weapon, a tool, I can live with that, I have to, they won't let me die. They won't let me."

Rukia sniffed, afraid to wipe away her tears out of fear of taking her eyes off of him. He was panicked and erratic, and she was scared.

She saw the shine of tears in his eyes, but they didn't fall. "I can't do this alone." His voice cracked. "I can't, Rukia, I can't."

"You have your family, Ichigo."

His brows creased, and he shook his head, his shame filling his heart with poison. "No."

After killing innocent people, she understood why he would hide from them. He was unraveling, and she just kept digging. "You've been alone all this time?"

The look he gave her was answer enough. She hissed, "Look at you. Even if you bring him back, Ichigo, what will you be?"

Pain flooded his expression, but she saw determination in his eyes. He wasn't going to stop, this conversation was nothing but acid. He turned away, eyes on the shinigami he killed, then on the woods surrounding them.

"Why did you let me find you?" She asked.

He looked up at her, yellow eyes glazed with tears. "You've been relentless."

"So have your family. Why me?"

For a moment, she didn't think he would answer. All his power, and he looked at her like she was a threat. He "I betrayed you. I needed to face you."

"You betrayed all of the shinigami."

Regret flashed across his face, but he buried it, killing it before it could take root. "I did, and I'd do it again."

"Ichigo!"

"I'm sorry!" He shouted. "Who do you think was there when I couldn't sleep, when my very thoughts were colored by souls I never met, I never knew, and people I despise. It was him, Rukia. I put my hand through his heart, I nearly killed him, and he stayed, he was always there, the stupid fuck."

Rukia could have told him this was his fault, that his desire to keep Grimmjow close had killed him, but she couldn't do it, she couldn't hurt him when he was already so low. "Ichigo, he's gone, let him be."

"I can't," he cried, "I can't. It's selfish but I can't let it go, I need him."

"Even if it isn't what's best for him?" She asked, "or anyone?"

He swayed back, eyes dark, and said, "Just because I accept it, and I know what to expect, doesn't mean I like to see the people I love look at me like that."

"Ichi-"

He ran, leaving her alone with the body of a stranger, and the knowledge that he was resolved to sacrifice everything.

-xxx-

Kurosaki Isshin

The cell phone Kisuke left him sat cold and unused for weeks, then months, and Isshin came to understand he would have one chance. Just one.

He kept the phone with him all the time. In his hand, in his pocket, but it was always within reach, it was always at the back of his mind; he couldn't pretend his son didn't exist.

Yuzu and Karin weren't taking it well, and Isshin didn't know what to say. They seemed fine, they acted almost the same, but Karin seemed to be taking wholeheartedly after her brother. She followed in his footsteps, training with Kisuke, killing hollows. He wasn't sure what goals she held, but she carried on with the drive and purpose that proved she had one.

Visiting Masaki's grave was no different than it always was, except they were short a brother, and a son. It dampened the mood more than a little, and all three of them surreptitiously kept sneaking glances, hoping they might see Ichigo.

He didn't show, but Isshin didn't give up hope, not even into the late hours of the night, when Yuzu and Karin had long since fallen asleep. He held into it right up until the cold phone in his pocket buzzed, stirring for the first time in months.

"Ichigo…" The girls were asleep, it was late, and Isshin couldn't help but feel that was intentional.

Skipping out of his body, Isshin poured on the speed, crossing town in mere minutes. He found Masaki's grave obscured, Ichigo's silhouette a looking shadow in the dark.

"You didn't want to see me," Isshin said. It was a given, but he wanted to hear his voice.

"No." That single word was enough to betray how tired he sounded, despite how softly it was spoken.

"Why?"

"Lots of reasons," Ichigo sighed. "Shame, fear, self loathing...pick one." Isshin wasn't sure what to say to that, allowing the silence to grow. Ichigo shifted, as uneasy as Isshin with the chasm between them. He tilted his head in Isshin's direction, the hard edge of a horn interrupting his silhouette. "Are you here to stop me?"

In the time that had passed, Isshin realized his mind had changed. "No, Ichigo."

"Do you know what I did?"

He did. He didn't want to know, but he was no coward, he wouldn't hide from the truth. Isshin said, "You're still my son."

The abrupt change in Ichigo's posture was subtle, but Isshin noticed. Those words cut him deep. Ichigo's shoulders fell and he turned, finally facing him. He looked different. He was expecting the hollow features, the dark hair and amber eyes, but not to such an extreme extent. The dark streaks on his skin were no longer so striking, it was what was left of his skin that stood out. His arms were pitch black to the bend of his arm, the stripes on his face were thicker, longer, and if he wasn't mistaken, there were more of them.

Isshin couldn't keep the pain from his voice. "What have you done to yourself?"

"What makes you think I did this?" Ichigo asked.

"You can barely face me."

That forced Ichigo's eyes away. Not down, he didn't regret this, but he couldn't face it either.

Isshin said, "I just need to know, Ichigo. Can you take it?" He didn't need to ask if it was worth it. If he'd had the chance to bring Masaki back, he would have done it in a heartbeat, regardless of the consequences. He and his son were too similar. The world could burn in matters of the heart. He might not understand his choices, but he understood the driving force behind them.

"Can I?" Ichigo trailed off, eyes flicking back to his mother's grave. They both knew there was no soul here to guide him, no presence to comfort him. He was here for himself. "I have to, don't I?"

That wasn't what Isshin wanted to hear, and it twisted his stomach up into ugly knots. It was a nihilistic answer, and one he couldn't blame his son for. Things happened to him and he just dealt with it, he had no other alternative or recourse.

Isshin signed, pulling a cigarette from his jacket. He wouldn't smoke in front of his girls, he just couldn't do it, people could say what they liked about it. He snapped the lighter a few times before it caught, singing the end of the cigarette. Truthfully he hated the taste, but like Ichigo, he'd gone too far to stop now.

He was grateful Ichigo didn't run. He just stood there with him, so much like that time years before, probably many, many years, for Ichigo, when he first got his powers. He could have intervened, could have stopped Ichigo from falling so far he couldn't climb back out, but who were they but the choices they made? He didn't think he'd have done anything differently.

"Son, you do what you have to." He took another draw of the cigarette and blew out the smoke in a steady stream. He dropped his hand, crossing over to stand before him. Ichigo's eyes settled on his, looking for all the world to be lost. "You don't wanna hear your old man tell you what to do, but don't forget your family, don't destroy yourself."

Ichigo's brows scrunched together and he struggled to hold his gaze. His whispered, "I'm trying."

"I know, Ichigo."

His son's expression twisted, the pain in his eyes hiding him in the gut. God, he missed Masaki, the pain never went away, he just learned to hide it. Ichigo had the look of a man hell bent on on his goal, maybe even to the point of madness.

Ichigo disappeared in a flurry of darkness, and Isshin finished his cigarette alone.

-xxx-

Kurosaki Ichigo

Every moment spent waiting to accrue la sangre was agony. He spent his days surrounded by silence and death, and so he practiced, he trained, with nothing but memories and regrets to keep his mind occupied. He killed so many, he started to fear the balance of things, but the Gods seemed satisfied, and Shinigami assured him new souls were created, it simply took a very, very long time.

The only marker of time he held close to his heart was the anniversary of his mother's death. The rest of his time passed in darkness and unrelenting solitude. His memories were full of gentle touches, snarled reassurances, and the savage nature of Grimmjow's heart. He missed him so much.

He couldn't be certain how many weeks passed before he deemed he was finally ready. He let Alteza's power flow through him; cold, untamed and powerful.

All he had were guesses and his past experiences. Everything he'd done or been backseat to in the past was blind luck or an accident, but this was intentional.

He knew when he wanted to be, and he knew where. He remembered that day so clearly, he'd run it over and over in his head for years. He had one chance to get this right.

He drew on Alteza and Sunyata together. All of the God's opposed the other, but die Konigin was so different, and so far from what he was used to, he didn't think he could manage it. So he called on the dark and the void and threw all his will and desire into what he wanted.

If he ever wanted for anything, it was this. He couldn't change time, but he could steal a corpse. A corpse that wasn't hopelessly destroyed.

Power hummed in the air around him, clashing but strengthened with a unified goal. He knew what he wanted.

Energy caved around him, twisting and pulling him inside out. He gasped and blinked, power siphoned away from him in one massive chunk, gone in an instant. It was disorienting to feel, but proof he'd succeeded. The desert he stared out across was no different from the one he'd left. Crystal sands spread out in rolling white waves, with nothing in sight.

He felt everything. He felt Neliel, his Neliel. He could sense his father, Rukia, Renji...but he wasn't here for them.

Another source of power grated against his own in a way that was familiar and expected. He felt compelled to destroy it, and he wasn't sure if it was Alteza's desired or his own hate. Aizen knew he was here, and he was coming to him.

That was fine. He wasn't a threat.

He stood and waited, basking in the familiar presence of his friend's reiatsu. They were far away, but it was a guilty pleasure to feel their reiatsu brush up against his own. It felt voyeuristic and wrong, realizing he was no longer a part of this time, this reality. His past had no place for him, he shouldn't be here.

It didn't take long for Aizen to find him. Ichigo was both eager to face him, and irritated his solitude was interrupted.

Shinigami mused, voice rattling around his mind. "His would be a delicious soul."

'Not this one.'

He heard the crunch of sand beneath his boots before Aizen even spoke. "Who are you?" It was spoken as a demand, but Ichigo knew him well; there was trepidation in his tone.

Ichigo turned to face him, less than a few yards away from the man that ruined his life. It made him feel perversely good to see Aizen fearful. He wanted to explore that feeling, but now wasn't the time. "You don't recognize me? I'm insulted."

"Is this wise, Ichigo?" Ossan warned.

'I'm sure it isn't. I don't care.'

Aizen's eyes narrowed, as if certain he was being tricked, but he looked, really looked, and realization hit him hard enough to show on his face. "Kurosaki Ichigo." He looked like he'd seen a ghost, and honestly, Ichigo felt the same way about Mictlan. It was a ghastly peek into his future, and what he could become, and he'd sprinted towards that reality, grasping onto a sliver of hope. Aizen didn't have that hope, only fear for his own mortality.

Ichigo took a step closer, and was shocked to see Aizen take a step back. He really shouldn't be; he was in a situation where he finally held all the power. It inspired him to talk. "It isn't what you expected, is it?" Aizen's eyes narrowed, Alteza's trademark rage bleeding through. "It changes you," Ichigo said, "Not for the better."

Aizen's lips curled in a sneer, and it seemed to Ichigo he was disagreeing out of sheer denial, possibly even pride.

Ichigo cocked his head. "You're an improper host for Alteza."

"I control it," Aizen said.

"It's a God, Aizen, and you're it's puppet." Ichigo hissed in disgust. "It's taking nearly half of la sangre's power just to keep you alive. Can't feel pain can you? Can't sleep, can't eat. You're no God, Aizen, you're just a walking corpse."

"You're a host," Aizen seemed to have come to this conclusion before he'd even set foot before him, but he was working through things. "Why are you here?"

"Not everything is about you," Ichigo snapped. He eyed Aizen, thoughtful, and asked, "Why haven't you killed me yet?" It was a given he meant his younger self. His older self was leagues more powerful than Aizen, but all he did was toy with his weaker self.

"I have my reasons."

"You really are a lonely bastard, aren't you. You figured out the Soul King doesn't fucking matter, and now you have no goal."

From the rage on Aizen's face, that was a close guess

Ichigo made a thoughtful sound, having given this a good deal of thought once he realized Aizen was a host. "I'll get stronger. One day I'll kill you."

"Ichigo," Ossan warned.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because like me, like every host before you, it'll drive you mad, it'll wipe away who you were, and you'll only wish you could die." Ichigo took a step closer, offering temptation where he knew desire bred. "I can do it, I can take your place."

"You want me to raise my own killer?" Aizen cocked his head. "Why would I do that?"

Claws flexing, Ichigo moved, his hand circling Aizen's throat. The shinigami froze, watching him, but he didn't flinch. "I loathe you. I despise everything about you...but...you started this. Finish it!" He tightened his grip around his throat, grinding his teeth in rage. His grip still allowed him to breathe, if he squeezed any tighter, he didn't think he'd be able to stop from himself from killing his predecessor.

The shinigami watched him, eyes narrowed, and spoke, the tendons in his throat sliding beneath his palm. It was a chore to focus on the words he spoke without indulging in the need to tear his throat out. "You say this God will change me."

"It already has," Ichigo growled. "You didn't even recognize me."

It seemed that had occurred to Aizen already, and he said nothing, even after Ichigo wrenched his hand away from his throat. Fine, to hell with him. Ichigo turned away from him and growled, "Do what you want."

Aizen said, "I expected you to insist."

"You don't know me."

There was a wistful edge in Aizen's tone. "Perhaps not."

The silence dragged and Ichigo broke it, distracted while his attention was elsewhere on the horizon. "I think you already made up your mind, and I don't think Alteza will let you kill a viable replacement."

"You presume much." Aizen hummed, and said, "You want me to groom your younger self?"

Ichigo repeated himself. "Do what you want."

"If that means killing you?"

Ichigo growled the words in a rush. "This game is pointless; Do what you want. I'm still alive, aren't I? You won't kill me."

Aizen chuckled, a sound the set his nerves alight. "I suppose you're right." His tone shifted into something more calculating. "This is a strange feeling. If this is what you turn out to be, I'd like to say I'm proud."

That single word was enough to flip Ichigo's stomach. He hadn't come here from approval from the man he hated as much as Shinigami. He looked back, hands clenched into fists. He could fantasize all he wanted about tearing him apart, limb by limb, the squelch of blood around his claws and the metallic stink of hot blood and guts.

A smile stretched across Aizen's face. "That's a good look, Ichigo."

Now he was just pushing his luck. He knew Ichigo couldn't kill him, and as powerful as Ichigo knew he was, he couldn't make Aizen shut the fuck up.

"I'm glad you're happy," Ichigo drawled. "I have somewhere to be. Don't follow me."

"Is that an order?" Aizen drawled, amused. "This isn't your time anymore."

Shinigami finally had commentary. "You should kill him."

Ichigo wished he could, the desire pulled his lips back from his teeth in a wolfish smile. He drew on la sangre instead; all of it, and it rose from the desert like low lying fog. He tugged on la sangre inside Aizen's very soul and he got the reaction he wanted. The shinigami was startled.

"Alteza is mine," Ichigo rumbled. He forced Aizen to his knees with both La sangre and his reiatsu, satisfaction spiking behind his eyes. The shinigami was more than startled, he was afraid. Ichigo liked that look too much. It clawed up his throat, a vicious lashing of approval. Ichigo stood before him and leaned forward, squeezing his shoulder. He reached into his chest and clenched the Hogyoku, el corazon de la Alteza, tight in his fist.

Pain flashed across Aizen's face, and Ichigo smiled. "Imposter."

Ateza reached, wicking towards him like a dying star. He was stronger, he was worthy, and Ateza saw him, knew him. Ichigo knew Aizen could feel that. For all the shinigami's hopes and desires, he'd chosen the wrong side out of hatred and ambition. It wasn't his fault Reizei and Sunyata fell off the map. A pure shinigami could never be a proper host for Alteza.

"You've overestimated yourself, Aizen." He withdrew his hand from the other host's shoulder and leaned back. His order was simple. "Stay."

Ichigo had found where he wanted to be minutes ago. He stepped through la sangre, hand raised to the back of the head of his younger self. "Inemuri." His younger self crumpled like his strings were cut, and in the same instant, a zanpakuto was cutting a line for his neck. Ichigo caught the blade with ease, met his hollow's eyes and smiled fondly. "Zangetsu."

The look on Zangetsu's face melted from murderous rage into wide eyed shock. Ichigo felt the tremble in his arm through the blade, never having felt so much confusion from his sword in his life. He couldn't blame his sword, time travel was a thing of fantasy, a thing their mind created in their dreams in the hope of hugging his sisters one last time.

Zangetsu finally spoke, his shock shifting quickly into distress. Ichigo didn't think he'd ever seen that look on his hollow's face before. It was the first raw reaction he'd ever seen from his sword; It was a look that was coalescing into grief, and tempered by pain. His hollow was his pillar, he hid his fears and insecurities behind a wall thicker than even his own, but that wall didn't exist here. Zangetsu was his sword, but he wasn't.

The second that blade made contact, Zangetsu had known who he was, but there was no obligation from his sword to hide how he felt. He was still apart of him, but not this older version of himself. "You're dead," Zangetsu lamented, "We failed."

Ichigo's expression softened. "We failed a lot."

"What happened?"

Ichigo uncurled his fingers from the blade, cutting their connection short, and Zangetsu slowly lowered the cleaver to rest tip down in the sand. Ichigo said, "You can't know."

"King...your soul is in pieces." His hollow's tone wavered, struggling to give voice to his concern.

Ichigo's Zangetsu materialized between them, looking so similar, and so different from his past self. In the past, his hair was shorter; he looked younger, leaner, less mean, less mad. "You can't be allowed to remember us," his Zangetsu said.

The Zangetsu of the past didn't question them, Ichigo knew hearing it from them personally would solidify that, but the stricken look on his face hadn't faded. He knew in that brief touch, Zangetsu felt all his pain, his heartache, and his helplessness. He asked, "What do you want with yourself?"

"I'm not here for me," Ichigo said. He finally looked down, forcing himself to look at Grimmjow for the first time. He remembered this. He remembered. His breath fell from his lungs, tightly controlled, raking his eyes over dark, sticky blood drying in rivers between scarred and hardened muscle. The edge of a six was visible under streamers of blood, stark against pale skin. The back of his jacket was soaked with blood, the blade of pantera still wedged between bone and gristle like a pinned butterfly. Just a body, left to be devoured in the dark. "I'm here for him," he whispered.

Stepping around his unconscious body, he bent and grasped the handle of Pantera. He felt nothing, no hum of Grimmjow's soul, nothing but fading reiatsu; Grimmjow and Aizen's mixed into a disgusting combination. He yanked the sword free, dropping it in the sand with little care. It was no longer a part of Grimmjow, it was just a memory.

He bent and rolled Grimmjow to his back, flinching at dull, unseeing blue eyes. He didn't try to close them, he'd been dead too long, so he forced himself to look elsewhere. He slipped his hands beneath shoulders and knees and lifted Grimmjow up in his arms, Sand had clotted in cold blood, wet and abrasive on his palms. It wasn't pleasant, but he locked the horror from his mind and focused on his task.

He held him close, factually aware that the cluster of souls that made Grimmjow, Grimmjow, were gone, but he still knew the weight of him and the curves and angles of his shoulders and legs. This was still Grimmjow.

Ichigo closed his eyes and reached out with la sangre, questing for the damage done. He felt the rips and tears in his spirit form, the gap in his heart that should be whole, the splinters in a broken spine. He sighed, relief flooding over his skin in a wave; He could fix this.

Zangetsu reached down for him and squeezed his shoulder, both out of silent support and as a reminder. Ichigo stood, Grimmjow cradled in his arms like a bride. That was a dark thought, and one he preferred not to linger on. He could almost forget Grimmjow was dead, but he was too still, too limp, and the familiar comfort of his soul was gone.

Turning to the younger hollow, Ichigo have him a look of apology. "You have to forget."

The younger hollow's eyes narrowed, anger taking the place of grief. "You're just going to let this happen to you? You could stop it."

"I could," Ichigo said, "but I need to get strong, I won't survive if I don't. No one will."

Zangetsu took a step towards his younger self and lifted a hand to his face. "Time to forget." The other wasn't thrilled about that, but he didn't lift a finger to try to stop them. "Keep him safe." The younger hollow wasn't given a window to respond, he collapsed under the Kidou Zangetsu directed at him, dematerializing the moment his knees struck the ground.

Turning back to him, Zangetsu admitted, "It feels wrong to do this."

Ichigo couldn't say he disagreed. It felt like he was breaking the rules, like some twist of fate would stop him now that he was so close. He cast the desert a paranoid look and said, "Let's go."

As much as he enjoyed sensing the reiatsu of the people he'd loved and lost, this place wasn't for him anymore, it was a memory, one he shouldn't even be stealing from in the first place.

He knew there would be a cost, but he had yet to figure out what it was. He'd recklessly decided it was worth the risk.

Zangetsu returned to the confines of his soul and Ichigo squeezed Grimmjow tight. Inoue had sent them through time on accident, he could do this, it was possible. He had no soul to touch and sense and keep close, so he held Grimmjow's body tight, far too tightly. His claws sank through flesh and sinew, bone resisted the squeeze of his arms, and blood oozed sluggishly around his claws. He focused on the conflicted desires that sprang from his heart and Alteza.

DEVOUR

NO.

It was a feeling that made his guts crawl, so he focused on it and where he wanted to be with all his heart. He wanted to go home, to go to the place where he could feel Grimmjow's soul; fierce and hungry. A place quiet and dark and safe.

Alteza pulled on his instincts and need and his soul snapped tight.

The sudden drain on Alteza and his reiatsu made him gasp, falling to his knees onto coarse sand. The void where Alteza had been was immense. He'd brought a foreign body into a timeline where it didn't belong, along with his own soul. The rebound was painful, clawing up his insides like acid. Ichigo set Grimmjow down with more delicacy than was necessary for the dead, then turned and threw up.

This wasn't new, he'd overused Alteza before, but it also wasn't good. Alteza licked through his veins, feeding off of what was left of his reiatsu. Ichigo coughed and growled, "Shinigami."

It responded, skeletal hands dragging over exposed nerves and bones, the pain drawing a cry from Ichigo. God it hurt, but it was worth it. He snarled, "Don't take it all. I need it."

"It's freeessshhh," Shinigami purred.

"Fuck off," Ichigo gasped. He caught himself on a shaking arm, fingers sinking into sand like broken glass. He swore. "I'll feed you. Keep Alteza back, that's all I want."

Saved the pain of Alteza eating his own soul, Ichigo turned his attention on Grimm. He was whole, if not alive, and outside of time, outside of place, he would remain that way.

Ichigo coughed up more blood and bile and darkness, collapsing on the sand. "Shinigami."

"This is pervasive work. I need time and energy."

Ichigo cast Grimmjow a longing look, muscles trembling in pain. He needed to fix him. He needed power now. Now…there was no telling how long his body was viable after his soul was gone.

He coughed, the sound wet and thick in his chest. "Kisuke," he growled. "Kisuke can help."

He refused to let die konigin or Sunyata take over, he needed Alteza to temper an arrancar soul, only Alteza. His grip on both were unsteady when he had tipped the scale so far, so he pulled on la sangre, the motion so familiar he barely had to think to use it.

The dark licked over his skin and dropped him in the middle of Kisuke's house. Tessai was present, but no one else. Ichigo dragged himself off the floor and snarled, "Kisuke." The man hesitated, then was gone, disappearing out of sight. Ichigo collapsed, coughing a puddle of brackish tar that disappeared the moment it left his body. Disgusting, but Shinigami had to work carefully, or he'd have worse than weakness and a rough cough.

Ichigo caught someone's wrist an inch before they touched him. He rolled back on the ground, blinking blearily up at them. He'd know that stupid stripey hat and sluggishly sharp reiatsu anywhere. Kisuke. "I need you to fix this."

The ex-captain stared down at him, eyes shadowed and guarded. "If I refuse?" Kisuke asked.

Ichigo glared up at him, his claws digging trenches into the floor in bloody streaks, but his grip on Kisuke's wrist was merely firm. "Then I'll make you."

Kisuke's expression hadn't changed, watching Ichigo gasping for breath on his floor, but he crouched, tugging his hand from Ichigo's grip with little effort. "You must be truly desperate."

"I need your bankai," Ichigo growled. He coughed, curling into himself, but Kisuke dropped to a knee and fearlessly caught his chin in hand, keeping his head raised. The shinigami got a good look, assessing. "You killed shinigami."

"I did," Ichigo rasped. "I'd do it again."

Kisuke studied him a moment, eyes narrowed, then let him go. Ichigo pressed his forehead to the floor, hacking up more darkness and blood.

"You're unbalanced," Kisuke noted.

Zangetsu materialized above him in a defensive crouch and spat. "No shit."

"But you'll be fine," Kisuke finished. "You don't need my help."

"Time," Ichigo blurted. "I don't have time." He shuddered, pain rippling up his spine, and shot Kisuke a look flooded with naked desperation. "Please."

A look of genuine shock crossed over Kisuke's face. He'd come to him before, but he'd never begged. From the discomfort Ichigo saw in the other, Kisuke didn't like being on the receiving end of such desperation. He deflected, "You look terrible, Kurosaki-san."

Ichigo chuckled and rolled to his back. "Feels worse."

Shinigami cooed, "This one smells delicious."

"No!" Ichigo snarled. "No, not this one."

Kisuke took a small step back, unsettled hearing half a conversation, but that didn't stop him from prying. "What do you need my bankai for?"

"I need to be able to move," Ichigo said. His words were cut off with a spike of pain, arching off the floor. "And concentrate."

Kisuke tightened his grip on the cane in his hand, thoughtful. "Mobility and pain...against a God? It's possible. But it might not last."

Ichigo coughed through a sob. "I don't know what else to do."

Yoruichi stepped out from around him, stark naked and scowling. "Are you really going to make him beg?" she stepped around him and crouched beside him. Ichigo grimaced and looked away. "I really didn't want to look straight up your-"

"Kurosaki-san," Kisuke interrupted loudly. "Please never finish that sentence."

"That's right, you're into dick now," Yoruichi said lightly. "Shame."

"Really?" Ichigo asked, incredulous. "Now?"

Giving his hollow a cautious look, Yoruichi offered him a hand. "Yes, now. I'm not gonna let you cry and beg on the floor, Ichigo."

Shuddering under another wave of pain, Ichigo gave her hand a skeptical once over, than took it, wicked black claws looking decidedly deadly around such delicate hands. "I'm sorry I couldn't-"

"Ichigo." Her tone was hard, but amber eyes were gentle. She couldn't forgive him for Soi Fon, because she saw nothing to forgive. He understood wanting to leave the past in the past, and he understood the pain of loss far too well, so he swallowed his words. She hauled him to his feet with more strength than such a small woman should have and said, "You've been trying to bring him back."

Ichigo caught himself on Zangetsu's shoulder, chest heaving, and panted, "Yes."

"I have no doubt you will." She glanced back at Kisuke and snapped, "God save you, help the boy."

Kisuke sucked in a breath in a hiss. "I wanted to know his intentions."

"Don't be deliberately dense," Yoruichi shouted. "Fix him."

"It isn't certain that I can."

"Try," she pressured.

Ichigo swayed into Zangetsu, tightening his grip on his shoulder and said, "You don't want to help." Kisuke had helped him before on problems with shady morality, and this was the first time the scientist was uncertain.

Kisuke looked at him, debating his answer, and said, "I know what you've set into motion, and I can't say I approve. There's no telling what damage you've caused."

It wasn't surprising to Ichigo that Kisuke had figured it out. He'd given him plenty of time to chew on this particular problem, and he knew more than most. Ichigo whispered, "I need him."

"You carried on without your sisters," Kisuke said. "Why is this so different?"

Ichigo's brows creased, Kisuke's outline blurry in his vision. He doubled over to throw up. It didn't really make a sound, dissolving into reishi the instant it touched the floor, devoured by die Konigin. He felt like shit, but it took a backseat to this. Zangetsu at least had the foresight to pull his hair back and hold him on his feet. He said, "I don't know what to tell you."

"The truth, Ichigo."

Tears pulled at his eyes, feeling increasingly vulnerable the more he pulled his walls down. Zangetsu was there, his hand was wrapped around his waist, he was leaning against his side, the hilt of a sword jutting into his ribs. He was safe. This was safe. "I can't stop now...not after everything I've done."

Kisuke watched him for long enough that Zangetsu felt the need to intervene. "If you don't help him, shinigami, he might beg, but I will do far worse."

Kisuke stiffened, "Not against your wielder's orders."

"Kisuke-" Yoruichi started, concern in her eyes.

"I act in his best interest." Zangetsu said bluntly. "If you're between me and his best interest…" he shrugged. "I'll do what I have to."

"Stop," Ichigo growled. "Please Kisuke, I'm running out of time."

Kisuke frowned down at Benihime, twisting the cane in both hands. Moments passed with nothing but the laboured sound of Ichigo's own breath, long enough for Ichigo wrack his brain for other options. Finally Kisuke's eyes flicked back over to meet his own, and Ichigo's breath caught. "I'll help you."

Sagging against Zangetsu, Ichigo coughed through a li gful of reishi, but managed to say, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me before anything has happened. I might not be able to help you."

That didn't matter much to Ichigo, he said it again, softer.

Yoruichi merely watched, silent and catlike as Kisuke led him to the basement. It wasn't comfortable silence, Ichigo sensed Kisuke had more than a mouthful to say to him, but for some reason he held his tongue. Yoruichi perched on the ladder near the roof of the training area to watch, and Zangetsu practically carried him the whole way via sonido. He set him down and hovered, nervous, despite the fact they both knew he couldn't die.

Ichigo sank to his knees beside his hollow, abandoning his pride for the moment. His reiatsu was simmering and low, he could only hope Kisuke could overwhelm him, or this was all a waste of time.

Kisuke drew his sword, tossing the sheath aside in the dust. He raised the blade and said, "Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame."

Ichigo had only seen it once before, and it was no less hauntingly beautiful this time around. The woman hunched behind Kisuke was too deliberately perfect, that perfection interrupted by joints segmented like a doll. Benihime reached for him with slender fingers, the spirits hand gently brushing his collarbone.

One touch was all it took for his skin to split along his limbs from throat to fingertips, along his spine and his chest. He grit his teeth, holding la sangre back even as blood sheeted over his skin.

It took a massive heave of effort to keep the God's from stopping the sudden invasion of Kisuke's reiatsu. After what he dealt with from the Gods, it really was nothing to suffer and bear it.

Benihime's fingers twitched, and thin lines of reishi sewed him back together, sealing the surgically fine split in flesh.

It was so fast, it barely hurt at all, but the reiatsu that had soaked into his skin felt delicate. To any normal shinigami, it might be irreversible, but he wasn't normal. Using la sangre in any huge capacity would unravel all Kisuke had done, but it had bought him the time he needed.

Pushing himself upright, Ichigo got his feet under him and stood. "Thank you."

"I hope this wasn't for nothing, Kurosaki-san."

Ichigo couldn't fathom what he would do if it was. This would work, he'd come too far.

He couldn't hold Kisuke's eyes, so he looked away, glancing up at Yoruichi. She sat on a rung, one leg drawn up to her chest, her expression hardened. She didn't trust him, nobody did, not the way Grimmjow had. His trust had bordered on insanity and recklessness...and he needed that back.

La sangre dragged him back to the space outside their realms, and Zangetsu stayed materialized beside him, watching him cautiously.

"I'm fine," Ichigo assured him.

His hollow grunted, not buying it. Ichigo coughed up more of la sangre, that problem clearly not settled, but he didn't feel the pain anymore, and he could move, and that was all that mattered.

Ichigo spoke to Shinigami. "Don't do a thing, not a fucking thing."

Shinigami chuckled in his thoughts. "Good luck, godling."

Luck was a stupid concept. There was no luck, just failure and small victories.

His hollow crouched near Grimmjow's body, eyes glued to the scar on his chest. "Eerie, ain't it?"

Ichigo looked, he didn't want to, but he did. It wasn't the Grimmjow he'd come to know and love, his scars were all wrong; this was a living memory, something he'd forced into his past, locked up tight where it couldn't hurt him. Ichigo mumbled, "Like a nightmare."

Falling to his knees beside Grimmjow's body, Ichigo closed his eyes. He could feel la sangre, resting dormant in Grimmjow's body, etching away at the vessel in the ever present need to return la sangre to it's malleable form. Ichigo lifted his hands, fingers curled into claws, and grasped every last drop in his body. Ichigo began to mend.

It was more difficult than he wanted it to be, he'd never tried to mend the dead before. La sangre didn't want to cooperate; it fought him, over every vein, every hairline fracture. It was slow, careful work. If he went too fast or pushed too hard, he'd destroy Benihime's efforts. He was so careful.

Sweat beaded on his skin, dragging lines down his back like timid claws. It wasn't painful, thanks to Kisuke, but it was exhausting. He didn't know how much time passed, if time passed at all in that place, but when he finally stopped and he opened his eyes, his chest was heaving.

His hollow leaned up against his back, hands smoothing over his forearms, over the ridges of stitching, to bully his way through clenched fingers to rest their palms together. "Good work, King."

"I'm so close," Ichigo panted.

"You are," Zangetsu assured him. "Rest, I have you."

Ichigo blinked, his vision failing him. Grimmjow's chest was unmarred, not even blood staining his skin. He was whole. Complete. He let out a long, slow breath, sagging back against Zangetsu. "I'm so tired."

"I know. Sleep, King," Zangetsu whispered.

-xxx-

Zangetsu

His wielder trusted him. It was a given, but King pulled him into his heart and embraced him, he welcomed his instincts with greedy desire. Holding Ichigo in his arms wasn't what he wanted. King was a mess. He slept heavy and deep, he didn't flinch or stir; it was unusual.

Cradling King in his arms, he idly traced a claw over a horn, following the uneven dips and ridges. If it were up to him, King would never draw him again, he would be alive, he wouldn't be split open and stitched together, blood still sticky on his skin. He wouldn't be a slave to monsters and Gods.

"Zangetsu."

Tilting his head, Zangetsu glanced at Ossan's boots, wrinkled his nose in a snarl, and looked away. "What?"

"You've changed."

"Shut up." The Quincy spirit wasn't wrong. He no longer acted to protect Ichigo's physical wellbeing. He was protecting his heart. That wasn't his purpose...no, that wasn't a Zanpakuto's purpose. But he wasn't just a Zanpakuto, he was as much a mutt as Ichigo. He was a hollow, he was a part of Ichigo since he was born. The same, but different.

Ichigo's desires didn't exist separately from his own. He missed Koneko too. It was nerve-wracking to be inches away from either destruction or salvation. If Grimmjow stayed dead, if they failed, there was no telling what would happen to Ichigo. Even with this thread of hope, Ichigo couldn't do this on his own, his self imposed exile was leaving a mark.

His wielder didn't see it, that, or he refused to acknowledge it. Zangetsu had no choice but to watch him fall apart. He saw how quickly Ichigo reverted back to what he knew, back to what kept him safe. He moved differently; sharper, faster, yet cautious. His trust in the world was gone again. All that work unraveled in a single moment. Every day that passed broke him a little more, chipping away at the things that made him human.

Grimmjow had been good for him, which was disastrous. Ichigo had relied on the arrancar too much. If this worked, if Ichigo could bring Grimmjow back...They wouldn't let this happen again. It was a selfish desire, one of the few selfish wants Ichigo had ever allowed himself, and it was costing him everything.

Zangetsu brushed Ichigo's hair back from his cheek, strands clinging to sweat damp skin. All the power in the world, and Ichigo was right back where he started, reeling from loss. Maybe he looked different, maybe the situation was twisted, but he'd been here before, this was disgustingly familiar.

'This time things would be different.' That's what they always said.

This time he wanted it to be true.

-xxx-

Kurosaki Ichigo

He ruined Grimmjow. He went out of his way to do it.

It felt like a filthy thing to do without the arrancar's consent, but the knowledge he was dead, that he was still only mortal, spurred him on. It was slow, painstaking work, and he had to suffer every second of it.

Stop playing God, Kurosaki. He said it all the time.

And here he was, playing God.

Hands shaking, he clambered back onto Grimmjow's waist, leaned down, and hovering over his lips. His breath warmed cool skin, like kissing a statue...It had been hours of this, but it was no easier with repetition. He pressed their lips together in a mockery of a kiss, his stomach twisting in distaste.

It was this, or tearing him apart. He couldn't handle the alternative; He didn't fix him just so he could flay him. He wasn't squeamish, but he didn't think he could stomach doing it to Grimmjow.

And so Ichigo forced la sangre into Grimmjow's body a little at a time, changing him piece by piece.

Too much of la sangre at once could kill a hollow. With power so desperate to consume, it would eat them alive That wouldn't happen if it was a part of his very bones. Grimmjow would never survive such an invasive shift alive, he'd barely withstood becoming his conduit.

But he wasn't alive just then.

A soul could only take so much abuse, but this was just a shadow of his soul, a vessel.

Shinigami felt the need to compliment him. "Clever."

Ichigo pulled his lips from Grimmjow's, darkness snaking between them, and hissed. "You broke him, you don't get to comment."

"You creatures are so fragile."

Shinigami wasn't wrong, which pissed him off. "Now he won't be weak."

Shinigami laughed. "Breaking the neck to save the leg. Curious logic."

"Shut up," Ichigo snarled. Alteza made him testy on a good day, but the urge to tear throats with his bare teeth sat in his mind unchallenged and underfed.

He kissed Grimmjow again, breathing la sangre into his bones, so careful not to break Kisuke's efforts. He kept going, even when Grimmjow's mask bled black, when dark black lines bled from his estigma like tears, tracing jagged, invisible lines across his cheeks, arms and chest. His hair bled black from the roots, irreversibly different.

There was no one to blame for this but himself. This would have been a chance to be free from him, and he was selfish. Selfish selfish selfish.

It was hours before he was satisfied he'd done enough. Grimmjow's very bones resonated with la sangre, it was as much a part of him as it was for Ichigo. He didn't like to dwell in regret, but he already regretted didn't mean he was going to change his mind.

Ichigo stood above Grimmjow, trying to make peace with this. He really was no different than Aizen. He was arguably so much worse.

Crouching above Grimmjow's temporary grave, Ichigo raised his hands, the sand sifting to part around Grimmjow's body. It fell away in dark streams, exactly as he'd left him. Hopelessly broken, used as a fleshy shield for a thing he despised.

There was only one thing left.

-xxx-

Grimmjow

He sucked in a cold lungful of air and his eyes shot open, chest heaving as if he'd woken from a nightmare. He remembered no nightmare, no dreams...where was he? It was dark and silent, sand scraped against his palms, cold and too sharp.

He stared above him, trying in vain to blink back the darkness. Unease prickled the back of his neck, eyes following the undulating shape of something massive. Fear prickled in his mind, and he didn't want to look at it anymore. He turned his head to the side, and he didn't like what he saw there either.

It was someone that looked just like him. Same furred ears, same blue hair, estigma...it couldn't be. He reached out to touch, hand shaking, and froze. His hands were clawed and sharp, a jagged line of darkness snaking around his bicep and out of sight. Someone coughed.

He spun, eyes wide, and his breath caught in his throat. Kurosaki.

The man looked different, but it was still Kurosaki; there was no mistaking those wicked horns. The amber eyes that locked on his own were steeped in guilt and fear.

Oh hell...He was dead. He'd been dead.

He remembered everything; every soul, all the pain, all of Kurosaki's regret. He swallowed, throat raw and dry, and croaked, "You look like shit."

Kurosaki blinked, then burst out laughing, doubling over into a fit of coughing. He coughed up la sangre, he'd experienced that before, and knew how unpleasant it was, but wasn't sure why it was happening. The black stripes snaking around his body had thickened, stripes of pale skin striking against a black canvas. As tragic as it should be, it still painted a vivid, warlike picture.

His skin shone somehow visible in pure darkness. It took Grimmjow a moment to understand he was seeing tears on his cheeks. Ichigo clenched his teeth, cutting those tears short, and pushed his hair back from his face with both hands, holding himself together. "You were dead a long time, Grimmjow."

The demigod's voice wavered, lacking the strength he remembered. That didn't seem right. Kurosaki had lost people before, he should have moved on, he should have forgotten him. Grimmjow wet dry lips, or tried to, and asked, "How long?" Kurosaki just stared at him, the prick. "HOW LONG?!"

His answer came too quickly, too stiff. "Months...nearly a year, I think."

Struggling to his feet, Grimmjow closed the small gap between them and let his legs buckle. His knees struck the sand hard and he reached for Kurosaki's face, forcing his fingers beneath his palms, his hair scrunched and wild between their fingers. Now that he had a better look at him, he could see how worn down he looked, how raw and undone he'd become. "Have you been alone?"

The demigod stiffened, a sharp exhale gusting from his chest, as if afraid to admit it. Grimmjow had mercy on him and changed the subject, asking, "Why are you afraid of me?"

Kurosaki's expression crumpled, struggling to hold his gaze, and he whispered, "There was a cost."

Hands tightening on the sides of his face, Grimmjow demanded, "What cost, Kurosaki?"

No response, just more guilt. He hated that look on his face, it was unnecessary weakness. This wasn't the man knew.

Grimmjow's voice betrayed his panic. "Stop talking around the truth. Tell me." Kurosaki's brows furrowed and he was silent. Rage stoked the growing fire in his chest and he screamed, "TELL ME!"

Kurosaki cringed back from his voice and said, "It's a long story. Do you want to hear it?"

A tremble started in Grimmjow's arms, the presence of the body at his back scratching at the back of his thoughts, hardly forgotten. He swallowed, letting Kurosaki go, and sat back on his heels. He ordered, "Talk. I need to know."

Kurosaki was right. It was a long story. A story full of loneliness and pain.

A lot had happened. Some of what Kurosaki told him devolved into rambling, but it was proof he wasn't lying. He'd been through hell, he couldn't imagine living his life with the thing that killed the person he loved rubbing shoulders with his soul. His feelings for the demigod hadn't changed, they were just...more complicated.

He listened to the whole thing in silence, betraying nothing, whereas Kurosaki wore his emotions on his sleeve. He was cracked. He constantly flinched, twitched, and scanned the desolate horizon for threats, or perhaps whispers and bodiless voices. He spoke to someone who wasn't there, and stared at him like he wasn't real.

It was pathetic, but made him aware of power he shouldn't feasibly have. He reduced a near God to this. And he hadn't even tried.

He wished he had a better read on Kurosaki's emotions, but he was no longer a conduit. The sudden break of contact he knew should be there and wasn't, ached.

It might have been a year, but not to him. To Grimmjow, only moments had passed. A few moments, and everything was different.

When it became clear Kurosaki wouldn't continue, Grimmjow gestured back at the body...his body, behind him. "What is this? Everything, Kurosaki."

The demigod was reluctant, but they both knew it couldn't stay secret forever. Instead of speaking, Kurosaki reached for his chest, fingers tracing smooth and uneven skin, the path he traced dimly familiar.

Grimmjow looked down at his chest for the first time. He clamped his hand down over Kurosaki's before he could follow the scar lower. He was breathing too fast, he knew that, but he couldn't calm down. A jagged scar ripped through his entire torso, a scar whose story he'd heard before. "What did you do?" He whispered.

"I'm sorry, Grimmjow, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Stop apologizing! What did you do?!"

"I couldn't fix you...so I stole your body from my time. I stole something I could fix."

Grimmjow let go of his hand only to hold it out, brandishing it like an object. "And what is this?! You never said anything about this, what did you do?!"

He barely got the words out before he was flattened to the sand, wrists pinned by his head. He wasn't looking up into Ichigo's eyes, but those of his hollow. He thought he'd materialized, but once his thoughts caught up to the situation, he realized he was in control of Ichigo's body. "I wasn't done," Grimmjow snapped.

"Ichigo is," Zangetsu said.

Grimmjow tensed, staring up into cold amber. He'd never heard him call his wielder Ichigo before.

The hollow slid his hands up his wrists, claws scoring his palms in needle sharp lines. "You sense his fear, don't you?"

"I'm not a conduit anymore."

"Exactly," Zangetsu purred. "But you see it in him, Ichigo isn't hiding. Do you know why?"

Grimmjow felt unease slide up his spine in a shiver. "No."

"You were free," Zangetsu said. Grimmjow blinked up at him, uncomprehending, and Zangetsu repeated himself. "You were free from Alteza."

His world narrowed to those simple words in dread.

"You haven't questioned why la sangre has infected this body? A body stolen from a time where you never had contact with it before "

Realization settled in Grimmjow's chest like a heavy stone, his voice lilting upwards in disbelief. "Ichigo did this?"

Zangetsu's claws slid between his fingers, pressing their palms together. There was no joy in his eyes, but Grimmjow didn't see regret there either. "He did."

Despite knowing the answer, it washed over him in a confusing storm of rage, betrayal, and confusion. "Why?"

"You were weak."

That hit him in the chest every time he heard it, anger beginning to build in his throat like a scream, but Zangetsu wasn't done.

"Now you're not." Zangetsu let his palm slip away, leaning back to sit on his thighs. He tilted his head, the sharp point of horns angled towards his throat, and watched expectantly.

The fucker wanted him to do hit him. Fine then. Grimmjow's claws whipped across Ichigo's cheek, splitting open his flesh like butter. His attack left bloody rivers through his cheek, jaw, and nose. Black bone was exposed under ribbons of blood, streaming from his jaw to splatter Grimmjow's chest. It healed as he watched, split flesh knitting together, la sangre greedily absorbing any blood that was spilt.

Eye's wide, Grimmjow stared at the place the wound had been. For all his effort, he'd never been able to hurt Ichigo, not unless he was on the brink of death. Ichigo was suffering and in pain, but he was still strong, his reiatsu still prickled his senses like a monolith.

His thoughts tripped over themselves, confused by that realization. He wasn't a conduit, but he could sense Kurosaki's reiatsu.

He could sense Kurosaki's reiatsu.

Confusion morphed into horror, looking at blackened, bloody claws, claws that didn't feel like his, in a body that itched with scars he didn't remember. "What did you do?" Grimmjow whispered.

-xxx-

Y-uln: I call

Jaeger: Grimmjow's human name I used in Zenith: Reap

I'm so nervous you all hate it o ~ o

Even if I haven't answered you yet I read all your lovely comments! It's prolly dumb, but I use my time to write for you instead of answering sometimes, but it doesn't mean I don't love and appreciate all the time and attention you've given little me and my story ; A ; thank you!