Thank you Vikishus for beta reading for me! Fixing those keyboard double spaces is hell ; A ;
-xxx-
Grimmjow
"What did you do?" Grimmjow whispered.
The hollow reached for his hand, strangely gentle, and wove their fingers together. Blood slipped between their skin as the hollow squeezed Grimmjow's hand in his own. It might have been slow and soft, but there was a savage undercurrent, one that he and Kurosaki shared. "We made you like us."
Grimmjow stared blankly up at him, and Zangetsu carried on, claws scoring the back of his hand in tiny lines. "Ichigo disregarded your desires for his own. He can't watch you die again."
Zangetsu reached up with his free hand to encircled his neck, flattening him against the sand with a sudden shove. Grimmjow grunted, staring up at the hollow with growing unease. "That doesn't answer my question, hollow."
"Zangetsu," the hollow said. "I have a name, koneko."
"I'll use yours," Grimmjow ground out, "When you use mine."
The hollow laughed, a soft, quiet growl in his throat. So much like Kurosaki, but still different. He leaned in, his hair slipping from his shoulder to cascade onto the sand in a curtain. It was pitch black around them, but Grimmjow could see every detail as if it were twilight, and he had yet to ask why. The hollow spoke, chiding, "Koneko, he remade you to withstand la sangre, to carry it like a curse."
Grimmjow swallowed, Zangetsu's hand against his throat an ever present weight. "What does that mean?"
"You tried to use la sangre before," Zangetsu said. "Do it again."
The hollow wasn't going to answer his question, he wanted Grimmjow to see for himself. Grimmjow was uncertain. He'd used it alright; it was painful and it ended with Shinigami making itself at home in his soul. He blinked, the memories hitting him in a flood. "Shinigami. What happened to it?"
Zangetsu let out a hapless bark of laughter. "Where do you think, koneko?" The hollow bared his teeth, eyes narrowed. "It's here with uuuuuussss. If it didn't keep Ichigo from going-" he cackled, spinning his finger by his temple, "IN~sane," the hollow leaned closer, teeth suddenly bared in a snarl, over enunciating every word like a curse. "I'd have skinned us alive to tear it from us."
In the hollow's very not-insane passion, his hand had tightened on his throat, cutting off his air. Grimmjow didn't have to warn Zangetsu, the hollow noticed as quickly as he'd done it. His grip went lax, his hand sliding to the side, thumb tracing his jaw, suddenly gentle again.
This behavior wasn't unexpected, but it was even more unsettling to be facing Zangetsu rather than Kurosaki. Zangetsu was supposed to be the one that was more level-headed, or at least, predictable.
The hollow seemed to notice his inhibitions, and so moved slower, more carefully. "Ichigo threw away almost everything for you." His tone was carefully devoid of emotion, but his eyes betrayed more than Grimmjow expected. The hollow looked desperately sad. Grimmjow didn't think he'd ever seen that look on Zangetsu before.
"I didn't ask him to," Grimmjow hissed.
"Of course not," Zangetsu scoffed. "It's his nature." He petted his lower lip, tracing the curve, and said, "Use it."
"What are you doing?" Grimmjow asked instead. It was a genuine question, even if he was deflecting. Zangetsu had never touched him like this before. In fact, he couldn't remember a time he'd ever touched him without threatening him. Maybe it had happened, but this was so starkly different than what he expected, nothing came to mind.
"You," Zangetsu drawled, "Are changing the subject. Are you afraid?" Grimmjow swallowed, gritting his teeth. Admitting it felt pathetic, but the very reminder of Shinigami was enough to set his heart pounding.
Zangetsu didn't reassure him that he shouldn't be afraid, he held his face in his palm and said, "We won't lose you again."
That felt more like a threat. He should be dead, and against all odds he was flat on his back in a desert that shouldn't exist, alive. Relatively speaking.
His body felt off. Not wrong, not uncomfortable, but off. Maybe he could blame it on being recently dead, but that didn't feel right. It was a sense of displacement. "Do you feel like this?" Grimmjow asked.
Zangetsu looked concerned, head tilting to the side. "Elaborate."
"I feel wrong."
"Wrong…" Zangetsu tapered off, "We haven't felt right since we got here, koneko, but I don't know what you feel." He hummed, the sound distinctly inhuman. "But I'm sure we're the cause."
"You proud of that?" Grimmjow snapped.
"No," Zangetsu said, and corrected him. "Satisfied."
The hollow spoke through a sigh, and Grimmjow had no reason to doubt it was true. Whatever they'd done had brought him back, but he was inextricably different.
"Call it, koneko," Zangetsu demanded. "Use it." Golden eyes rolled skyward, "Alteza protects its own," then flicked back down to meet blue. "You've nothing to fear from the dark."
Grimmjow couldn't remember the last time he'd frozen up, he'd done it before, but he was afraid. Stupid, stupid, stupid––this fear was pointless, just do something.
Lifting both hands to his face, Zangetsu traced the hard edge of his mask and whispered, "Use it."
Shame and fear held his tongue, Grimmjow had nothing to say; no excuses, only silence. Lifting his hand to Zangetsu's wrist, his breathing doubled, the ghost of pain slithering up his spine.
Irrational. Use it. He'd done it before, he could do it again.
Closing his eyes, Grimmjow felt for the dark, as he'd done with that medallion hundreds of times before. He felt the dark reach back, hungry, and he pushed it a step further. He'd done the same to save Kurosaki's family, he knew how, he just had to invite that death into his soul. Invite it someplace it did not belong.
It flowed to him at his call with relative ease, gathering around him like cold water. There was no pain, it didn't devour him like before, it just existed, called by him.
Grimmjow opened his eyes to see the dark licking at the corners of his vision, and Zangetsu was smiling down at him, looking both pleased and proud. "Good job, Koneko." His hands hadn't left his face, but the hollow let him turn his head to look at the lapping darkness. Zangetsu had been right, it felt safe, against all his previous experience and pain, it felt like it belonged with him, despite never having felt that way before.
"How?" Grimmjow asked.
"You're not our conduit anymore," Zangetsu said. "Look at me." Grimmjow tore his eyes from the dark weaving around his fingers and looked back up at him. The hollow's expression fell. "Ichigo wanted to tell you…"
"Tell me what?"
"You're not a conduit, Grimmjow, you're our equal."
Grimmjow struggled to understand what that meant, desperate for a real answer. "Explain."
"Ichigo didn't just remake you with la sangre, he did so with the parts of himself that had already been consumed by the Gods. You don't have a piece of his soul… you have half."
"I… half? I don't feel him, I don't understand."
"A conduit is slowly devoured, used up to keep the host alive. A host loses its mind, not its soul and physical form. A host's soul is changed." Zangetsu lifted his hand for his hair, pulling it through his fingers. "You can see some of that change." The hollow said, "Your soul, your physical form was weak, so Ichigo spent hours, days, pulling himself apart to give to you. Alteza recognizes Ichigo's soul as its host, and half of it is in you, so it will not harm you."
Grimmjow heard what he was saying, but he was so focused on the things he no longer had. "Why can't I feel him?"
"You can," Zangetsu said. "You feel his reiatsu, but that connection you had as a conduit doesn't exist. Ichigo isn't sharing his soul, he's torn it apart, he gave it to you."
"Why didn't he tell me this himself?" Grimmjow asked.
His expression fell again, and the hollow took his hands away, moving them to the sand on either side of his face. "Ichigo doesn't expect you to thank him for this. He didn't ask, and he didn't care. You might be safe, but you're as much Alteza's servant as he is."
Stiffening in understanding, Grimmjow came to grips with what he'd been told. No choice, he was forced to be a host, Ichigo forced this on him, even after all his fears, he did this to him. "What? He's scared of me?"
Zangetsu grimaced at the accusation, but didn't deny it.
Grimmjow hissed, his tone mocking. "What's he so scared of, that I'm gonna be pissed off over all the shit he did?" He sat up, pushing Zangetsu back. The hollow let him, so Grimmjow shoved hard, throwing the hollow to his back. Hands fisted in his shihakusho, Grimmjow snarled, "You should have left me dead."
The hollow's eyes flashed with rage, but he stayed pinned against the sand. "I have one purpose, koneko, and if fulfilling it means helping Ichigo steal your corpse I would have done it a thousand times over. Death is easy," he hissed, "You didn't have to listen to him wail over your corpse, or watch him try and fail to heal you. He went mad over you."
Grimmjow liked to think if he was in Ichigo's place, that he might move on, that he might not lose everything about himself he actually liked. The thought of suddenly being alone again wasn't appealing, he didn't want to think about it. "He should have moved on," Grimmjow growled, "What about his family? I'm just a hollow."
"Just a hollow," Zangetsu sneered. Without any warning at all, the hollow's hands were fisted in his hair, and his lips were crushed against his own. It was startling, and confusing. He felt like Ichigo. He wouldn't never forget what it felt like to kiss him, but it wasn't Ichigo, not really, it was Zangetsu. He was still reeling in confusion when the memories hit him. It was vastly uncomfortable, and oddly familiar, like a sudden wave of deja vu. He thought for a moment that they were Ichigo's memories, but he realized they were Zangetsu's.
Instead of fighting that kiss, Grimmjow returned it, eager for more of the flashes of memory Zangetsu shared with him. None of it was good, but he wanted to know. He saw Kurosaki alone in this wasteland, standing in silence, eyes locked on a silvery smooth surface. He saw him cry, scream, saw him kill, saw him panic in the dark, clawing at his skin in sudden, bloody madness. He let in no one but his hollow, Zangetsu watched it all.
The hollow pulled away, cutting off the stream of memories, but Grimmjow kept his eyes squeezed shut, memorizing every agonizing detail. Zangetsu whispered, "Ichigo can't hear your answer, but I need to know. Do you hate him? I don't think he could face you if you did."
Grimmjow kept his thoughts on the past, picking apart moments he'd been shown with growing disquiet. "God, no, I don't hate him. I'm…" He didn't know. He pulled back and Zangetsu's hands slipped from his hair without resistance, and the hollow laid back on the sand and watched him in silence.
Growing restlessness pulled his thoughts in too many directions, and the dark and the silence suddenly felt too close, too oppressive. Grimmjow breathed. "I need to get out of here."
"La sangre is yours. Go." The hollow didn't speak as an order, it was mellow, maybe even sad. Zangetsu was going to let him go. His shock must have shown on his face, because Zangetsu heaved a deep sigh. "You're not our prisoner, Grimmjow. Go."
So he left.
He pulled on la sangre, through him and around him, and knew where he wanted to be. It was a sudden drain on his energy, but he fell to his hands and knees on white sands, not black. This was familiar, this was expected. He was alone again.
He let out a long, slow exhale, his breath drawn away by the wind. His arms shook, but he didn't think it was the strain. Cool, quartz grains slipped over blackened claws, the dark lashing up his arms in angry streaks that carried on out of sight. He felt like he was looking at someone else, but it was his hands that clenched in the sand, it was his eyes that blurred with tears.
Kurosaki couldn't face him, he couldn't even look at him. And Grimmjow was… angry. Was he angry at Kurosaki? Shinigami? Everything? He wasn't even sure he cared who he was angry with, he was just mad.
Lifting a hand to Pantera's hilt, rough fabric cut into calloused fingers, vibrating with the pestering desire to shred and destroy. He squeezed it tight, letting out a sigh of relief. His sword felt the same, it was the one part of his soul he could always rely on. "Fuck…"
Why did everything else feel different?
Drawing Pantera, Grimmjow drew his legs under him and stood. He felt like a fresh turned Espada again, but he didn't feel the same elation. He'd been ecstatic at his leap in power, he'd clawed and scraped his way to sexta and been fucking proud of it. Why was it different?
Comparing Kurosaki to Aizen had him peeling his lips back from his teeth in disgust. They were nothing alike. Kurosaki hadn't given him power out of manipulation and curiosity, and maybe that was why it felt like shit. He hadn't felt he owed Aizen shit, he'd taken the power for what it was, expecting to be used. Yes, Kurosaki was different. He gave him power as absolute as a death sentence, fully expecting him to take it and never look back.
It didn't feel good at all.
Leaving Kurosaki didn't seem feasible, not after so long, but from the look on Zangetsu's face, neither of them thought he'd come back. It didn't feel like a year had passed, not to Grimmjow. It felt like hours ago he'd been dying, forced to face Kurosaki in his weakest moment. He shuddered, remembering the feeling of being gutted all too clearly. Shinigami had crushed him, he'd never longed for death in all his life, but he knew he was ruined, he wanted nothing more than to die.
Kurosaki had seen, he'd felt that. He wasn't supposed to bring him back, he wasn't supposed to have to face this shit. He screamed, lashing out at an empty desert. Reiatsu surged from the blade, cutting a valley through the sand. Darkness swirled at the edges of his reiatsu like dark fire, tainting his power in a way he'd never asked for.
He needed room to think, but his thoughts still stuttered to a halt at a recent memory. Kurosaki had looked at him like he was the source of all his pain, like he was a ghost come back to haunt him. Why bring him back if he couldn't even face him?
Grimmjow grit his teeth and raked his claws over Pantera's blade. "GRIND, PANTERA!"
Reiatsu spiked, blue and black power sweeping sand and dunes flat in his fury. He howled, flexing all his power and then some. Fucker made him stronger, he'd never had this much reiatsu before. It hung around him like a storm, feeding off his distress. He wanted to tear something apart with teeth and claws, maim and kill it. He'd never been much of a sadist, but fuck if Kurosaki didn't set his teeth itching for violence.
He gave himself a good once over first, noting the differences with an emotion tied curiously between disgust and pride. He was strong, he had what he wanted, but at what cost? Clenching his claws into his hands, blood pooled and spattered the sand, healing instantly when he unclenched them. Well, his regeneration was back. He shouldn't be surprised. Kurosaki wanted him safe, how much safer could he fucking get?
Sinking even further into his power, he let his segunda etapa swallow him up, black fur racing along his arms and spine. His skin itched with the need to stretch, unsure if that was his restlessness or a side effect of being dead. He turned full circle, giving himself a once over. Two tails twitched and lashed by his ankles, carelessly flicking blackened reiatsu from the ends. That was new. So was all the fur and claws. His hair was still long, still black, but even more unruly than he remembered. He lifted bladed hands to his face, feeling long, furred ears. He had a mouthful of sharpened teeth, if a bloody tongue was anything to show for it. That much was the same.
He took a page from Kurosaki's book for once, and he hunted.
He didn't know why, but the bottomless hunger he was used to feeling was more acute, different. He wasn't sure if it was Alteza or rage that drove it, but he wouldn't doubt it was both. He tracked down an adjuchas and he tore it to shreds. There was no sport, it was just senseless, mindless slaughter.
Viscera shone on his claws and he snarled his fury at the desert as if it might provide an answer. Isn't this what he wanted? He wanted to be the best, to hold this desert in the palm of his hand, and it brought him no joy. He felt how strong he was, he could kill Harribel and take her throne. He could kill everything. But to what end?
He found another adjuchas, avoiding the questions he so desperately wanted answered. He indulged every instinct he had, teeth and claws goring the thing long after it was dead. This wasn't him, he didn't kill for the sake of it, there was no purpose here.
He was drenched in hot blood and he felt no better for it. "Weak," he snarled at the corpse. Weak and pathetic, and he killed them anyway.
La sangre swarmed over his skin, consuming the blood he had no use for. He swiped and snarled at it anyway, the evidence of his kill devoured by an overzealous god.
La sangre dragged the hollow into the sand, souls scattered and eaten. He could feel it there beneath taloned paws, sluggish and waiting, and he really didn't want to. He looked up, and he saw more than darkness. He saw nightmares.
Whatever he saw beyond the sky moved, undulating and writhing. Slow, slowly, but moving nonetheless. No, he didn't want this, none of this.
He wanted Kurosaki.
Not this.
Take the good with the bad, he'd learned that lesson early, but this was a whole lot of bad.
This is what you wanted, Grimmjow.
His chest heaved, panic racing up his spine and gripping his throat. Nothing to fight, nothing to kill, nowhere to go. He screamed, the sound more animal than human, he screamed until he had no energy left to scream, all his rage falling out from under him. It was replaced with longing.
He sank to his knees in the sand, glaring at his claws in hate. He'd been weak, he'd cost Kurosaki his sanity, his friends, trust… he'd cost Kurosaki him. For some reason the idiot still loved him. Loved him enough to hide behind his hollow when it mattered.
Was that fair? He understood shame. He didn't want Kurosaki to see him cry, see him break down. He was stronger than this. A different body, changed without his consent, used by the same monster that had kept them apart… he hated it.
Hated it, but longed for him anyway. Months gone for Kurosaki was only hours for Grimmjow; he wanted him back in his arms, regardless of what he'd done, regardless of everything. But the sudden gap between them felt increasingly difficult to breach.
The ever-present whispers in his mind were surprisingly quiet. He didn't know why he expected them to be louder, but Alteza had very little to say, if it cared at all. He lifted his hand to his own chest, the pads of his fingers chasing the smoothed and jagged edged of a scar he didn't remember getting. He felt trapped in his skin, like his body didn't quite fit. He had the insane urge to dig his claws into his skin, to tear himself open. That sparked a memory that wasn't his own, of Zangetsu clutching slippery, bloodied wrists, holding Kurosaki back, and the idea lost its appeal.
So wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't realize he wasn't alone.
"Grimm-"
He whirled, attacking this stranger mid word, throwing them back onto the sand with all of his weight. They slid back on the sand, and he was glad then that he hadn't attacked to kill. He held her flat with a hand on her throat, but his pressure eased in recognition. "Neliel?" His voice sounded rough, guttural.
She coughed, pushing at his arm. "Get off, I thought you were dead! Harribel said you were dead."
He pulled back, letting her push herself to a slow sitting position, and she gingerly touched her chest and winced. She wheezed. "You broke...my collarbone...nice to see you too."
He hadn't meant to do that, he almost felt bad. Was this how Kurosaki felt when he hurt people on accident? He growled, "Well, I ain't dead anymore."
Her eyes widened, looking him over for what seemed to be the first time, and she asked, "Anymore?"
Before she could question him further, he asked, "I know I'm supposed to be dead, but why do you look so surprised to see me?"
"We thought...we thought you were Ichigo?"
"What?"
Neliel hauled herself to her feet with another wince and gust of breath and said, "Szayel got a hit on Ichigo-– well we thought it was Ichigo-– for the first time in weeks. I'm glad you're alive but… we were kind of hoping to find Ichigo."
Grimmjow scoffed. "Fuck you too." He bared sharpened teeth. "Did you all forget how to sense reiatsu while I was dead?"
Neliel blinked, as if this statement was even more baffling than finding him instead of Kurosaki. "You don't know?" She asked.
"Kow what?" he snapped.
She started to shake her head, regretted it and said, "I can't sense your reiatsu at all, nobody can. I'd say you were hiding it, but this looks like a Segunda Etapa." Questions shone in her eyes. "That should be impossible."
That shocked Grimmjow into wide-eyed silence. His reiatsu was different?
"Why are you in segunda etapa?"
"None of your goddamned business," he snarled.
She lifted her hand to the hilt of her sword, thoughtful, and tilted her head. "Will you come speak to Harribel?"
"No."
"Will you speak to me?"
"No!"
She sighed and said, "Please, Grimmjow." He didn't respond, so she switched tactics. "You broke my collarbone, you owe me."
Clenching his teeth, Grimmjow growled, "What do you want?"
"Why aren't you with Ichigo?"
It was a simple question, but one he didn't have the heart to hear. His breath fled him in a heavy exhale that he couldn't stop. Neliel wasn't stupid, she saw the pain he tried so desperately to hide.
Neliel was very careful, she didn't show pity, or sympathy. Her expression hardened and she said, "Talk to me."
Grimmjow threw the offer back in her face. "Why the fuck would I talk to you?"
"Because we're equals," she said sharply, "and unless you're going to have a heart to heart with your fraccion, I don't see anyone else here."
He glared in mistrust for long enough that she sighed, annoyed. He hadn't often seen her annoyed, and he wasn't sure if it was pain, stress, or a combination of unknown factors, but she had little patience for him. "I'm not your enemy, Grimmjow." His tails lashed, and he held his tongue, uncertain if he wanted to speak, leave, or chase her away. He wasn't in the business of letting people close to his heart. It hurt, it wasn't a weakness he was willing to share, but her offer was tempting.
When the silence stretched, she asked bluntly. "Did you fuck?"
"What?!"
"You heard me. Did. You-"
"No!" She narrowed her eyes, skeptical, and Grimmjow felt the need to defend himself. "No, we didn't fuck."
She cocked her head. "Didn't you want to?"
He blinked, tails stopping mid-thrash. "What?"
She rolled her eyes. "Grimmjow, please, Ichigo never drops his guard for anyone but you, and I've never seen you give a damn about anyone but yourself."
Were they so obvious? From the look on her face, they were.
"Don't be a coward, Grimmjow, talk to me."
"What good does talking do?" He hadn't meant it as a real question, he just wanted to be contrarian for the sake of it, but the second the words left his mouth, he realized he meant it.
Her eyes pointedly flicked off towards the horizon, back at his last kill, but she was also making a statement. She looked away from a potential threat, she wasn't afraid of him, she was treating him as an ally. She solidified that nonverbal arrangement by turning her back and walking towards las Noches. "You're not getting anywhere on your own, are you? Unless you wiped the dunes with some random adjuchas out of sheer joy over your epiphanies."
"Bitch," Grimmjow breathed. He scowled at her back, ears twitching in irritation, then followed after her. He dropped out of his segunda etapa, sheathing his sword and his bloodlust along with it. She was right, she wasn't his enemy, and violence hadn't made him feel better. He couldn't even get a good fight out of her, if he'd accidentally snapped her collarbone. She was sweating a little, but she didn't let the pain get to her. Tough bitch.
They walked for a long time in silence, their boots hissing on the sand, and she didn't press him again. Most hollows were used to silence; this silence was companionable, and surprisingly… wanted. He wasn't alone, and he hadn't considered how desperately he hadn't wanted to be.
Las noches was a long ways off, and Neliel seemed content to walk with little to no hurry. She was giving him time, and he still didn't want to talk, but he had no other recourse.
"Kurosaki is a wreck," he said. "And it's my fault."
She stopped, facing him and said, "You were dead."
"Exactly," he hissed. "I died on him and he fell apart." Her brows fell, but she didn't contest him, she believed him.
He half expected her to argue or not listen, but she faced him and challenged, "But you're alive. Why aren't you with him?" It was accusatory on purpose, and it stung as deeply as they knew it would.
If he knew how to answer, he might have. They were alone, he had the power here, but he didn't know what to say. "It's complicated."
She hummed and looked from the scar on his chest, to his mask. "I've no doubt." Her eyes flicked back up to meet his, and she asked a simple question. "Do you love him?" He didn't answer, he didn't think he needed to. She inclined her head, not a thoughtful gesture, but slightly aggressive. "Then you already know what to do, you just don't want to do it."
He clenched his jaw, because she was right. He knew what he wanted, he knew what they needed, he just didn't like it. She turned away from him, and after a few moments standing on the dunes, he followed her.
He didn't have anywhere else to go.
-xxx-
Harribel didn't take to a throne like Barragan had. She met Grimmjow in a random hall, in a random corridor of Las Noches. He'd always considered himself an Espada first, since that's what he'd always been, but this new reception reminded him that wasn't true. Las Noches wasn't inherently his home anymore, nor were these hollows necessarily his allies.
Knowing they wouldn't risk Kurosaki's wrath didn't make him lower his guard any less.
"Why can't I sense your reiatsu?" Harribel demanded.
"I don't owe you anything," Grimmjow rumbled.
She blinked slowly, dipping her head in acquiescence. "That's fair. Why are you here, Grimmjow?"
"You want me to go?" Grimmjow asked. "I'll go."
"That isn't what I asked you."
"I don't know," Grimmjow said truthfully. "Don't got anywhere else to be."
"I hear you've been dead, so perhaps you're unaware, but Ichigo declared his intentions to be less than hospitable to any hollow that crosses his path. Why should I not return that favor?"
Grimmjow scoffed. "You won't. You're not the petty type." He shrugged. "Can make me do shit anyways."
Harribel sighed. "The both of you make things difficult. Although I suppose a good ruler doesn't need to rely on strength."
Grimmjow's brows furrowed, surprised by how forthcoming that statement was. She waved him off. "You're not subject to my rules, you're Ichigo's. I have no choice but to coexist, there's no need for a false front."
Ichigo's. Everyone assumed it, even Grimmjow.
She rolled her shoulder in a shallow shrug. "Do what you like, but leave my arrancar alone."
Baring his teeth, Grimmjow hissed. "I've no business with weaklings."
It wasn't taken as a threat, Harribel wouldn't have brushed him off if it was. "Do what you like, Grimmjow, I have no desire to make an enemy of Ichigo."
He thought he should have been annoyed that she wasn't taking him seriously, but he realized that wasn't the case. He was different, and she recognized it. He no longer had a desire to be a king. Unless he was King over ashes, he knew what it entailed, and it no longer captured his interest. His interest was in someone. That reminded him. "What do you want with Ichigo?"
Her eyes narrowed, suddenly serious. "As Ichigo once said, the desert is his; I have a problem that cannot be resolved by a hollow. He's been missing for months with no way to contact him. If I thought you would take me to him, I would have asked."
Grimmjow's nose scrunched in a grimace at her blatant audacity to think she knew what he thought, and that she was right. He asked instead, "What's the problem?"
"Don't pretend to care, Grimmjow."
He scoffed and turned his back, having no destination in mind, he simply didn't want to be there anymore. "Fine." Then he'd stop pretending.
"Keep an eye on him, Neliel."
The Espada did her best to not look disappointed, dipping her head in a shallow nod. "Heika." She watched Grimmjow pass, then trailed behind him.
Being followed got old fast, this must be how Kurosaki felt all those years. Or maybe only in the beginning. He hadn't seemed to mind near the end. The end of what? He cut that train of thought off before it led someplace unsavory. Grimmjow growled. "I don't need a babysitter, go fix your collarbone."
"Orders are orders," she answered from someplace behind him.
From her tone, she didn't seem too excited by the prospect either. He said, "Look, I'm not into people watching me sleep. Go find something to do."
"You're tired?"
For a moment, he was confused by the question, then it hit him. "Being dead ain't the same thing as sleeping. Scram."
Her silence felt speculative, so he turned to look, seeing her running through the probability he was lying to be rid of her. He wasn't. He didn't fancy himself a liar, it was too much work.
If he was being honest with himself, it wasn't just an excuse, he really was tired. Not physically, but he was mentally drained and he needed to stop for a moment. He needed everything to stop; it was too much, too fast. He liked to think he could adapt, he was a survivor. But he needed a break.
"Fine," she relented. "Don't go far."
That's right, he was spiritually invisible. That was new, but also strange. Now that he knew about it, it was freeing. He had no doubt Kurosaki could find him, but the demigod wasn't going to come looking. Not right then anyway. Just about disappearing from notice was a perk he never thought he'd have or appreciate.
She cast him one final look before she flickered into sonido. It was a look shared between allies, or maybe even friends. He never considered Neliel a friend, but she definitely wasn't an enemy. They both cared for Kurosaki, and that seemed to be ties enough for the other arrancar to express concern.
A year ago, he'd have been insulted, but that sentiment had changed. Looking out for someone didn't make them less. He never thought less of Kurosaki, only more. A single need to defeat him had splintered and become something far more complex.
Before his thoughts ran rampant he focused on finding someplace alone. He still had a room here, probably, but he didn't want something familiar, he wanting something new, something sterile of memories.
It was easy to find. A simple, blank room with a simple futon. It was devoid of any traces of reiatsu, and smelled of nothing but cold desert wind. It felt relatively safe.
He wasn't scared of these arrancar, so he wasn't so sure what he felt safe from, but it eased his nerves. He took Pantera from his side and sat on the edge of the futon, his sword lying on his thighs. Safe.
As much as he wanted to be alone, he detested it. The silence rang in his ears, deep and heavy, and gave his thoughts all the space they needed to scream. He clenched his hands on Pantera, claws scraping the shealth. He felt that in his soul, but it still felt wrong, like a thin layer persisted between the part of his soul he valued most. Even in his segunda etapa it felt different in a way he couldn't explain.
Flopping onto his side, he held Pantera to his chest and closed his eyes. He wasn't dead, he should be fine. Everything was fine.
He curled around his sword and tried to think about nothing, he tried to sleep. He'd accepted he was going to die, he'd been ready for it, yearned for it to stop. To be alive again was…
Jarring.
He didn't want to die anymore, that primal fear was clawing at the back of his neck, but the exhaustion he felt was real. His skin still itched to run and fight and kill but he had no purpose. Torn two ways, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed his mind to shut up.
He kept thinking about him. He tested his name on his tongue, he whispered, "Ichigo." His name felt unfamiliar, but no one was there to criticize that but himself. It was almost forbidden, and it lured him into saying it again.
"Ichigo."
The crippling guilt and hate in his eyes haunted him. He was used to seeing fear, rage, but never this. How did he fix this. Could he fix it? Did he want to? A small, bitter corner of his heart hissed that Kurosaki deserved it. He should have killed him when he had the chance.
But could he have done the same for Kurosaki? He didn't think so. Striking him, rending flesh with claws, had felt good, but would he have the stomach to end his life? No...he didn't think so.
He slept, and he dreamt. There were no nightmares, only dreams of a place he knew and people he didn't remember.
He woke up confused, torn from a dream that had felt so real. He was confused where he was for a moment, but footsteps jolted him into the present. He sucked in a deep breath and sat up, recognizing that reiatsu anywhere. Szayel.
The scientist turned the corner and leaned in the doorframe, arms crossed and looking more smug than usual.
"How did you find me?" Grimmjow demanded.
Szayel smiled, looking pleased he had someone to brag to. "Once I was informed it was you my sensors picked up, it only took some tweaking to distinguish between you and Kurosaki."
So his newfound anonymity didn't apply to Szayel. He really did know how Kurosaki felt. "What do you want?"
Szayel pushed back from the door frame and stepped into the room. "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"You're like him now. How?" The scientist's voice was steady, but there was a sharp light of fascination on Szayel's face that Grimmjow didn't much appreciate.
"Why would I tell you?" Feeling spiteful and finally having a target, Grimmjow stood, Pantera clenched in his left hand. He hissed, "Jealous?"
Szayel frowned, but didn't back down.
"Hate me, don't you? You want him, and you know you'll never have him."
Szayel leaned back when Grimmjow stepped close, invading his personal space. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled in disgust. "I don't know what he sees in you."
"Does it matter?" Grimmjow growled.
"You were never the strongest, the smartest, you weren't even the most attractive." Szayel leaned in with a sneer. "You don't deserve this gift."
"Gift," Grimmjow mocked. He let out a bark of laughter, his hand snapping out for Szayel's throat. If the arrancar cared he might be on the verge of a brutal death, he certainly didn't show it. Grimmjow squeezed, wanting nothing more than to kill him. He could do it, it would be easy, but was it worth the mess? "You don't know shit."
He threw Szayel to the ground hard, which felt infinitely better than senseless slaughter. The arrancar caught himself on his hands, coughing through laughter. "What's stopping you? Harribel? Confused morals? Kurosaki" He laughed harder and pushed himself up to stand. "So tell me, how does one become Kurosaki's bitch?"
Grimmjow didn't think, the sudden need to hurt him scraped up his insides with desire la sangre responded to. Darkness swarmed over Szayel's skin and pain spread across his face in a grimace. An understanding that did not belong to him whispered in his thoughts and Grimmjow knew. He reached for Szayel's throat, lifting him off the ground so all of his weight was on his throat. Szayel's hands gripped his wrist, and pale yellow eyes fixed on him in fear, and Grimmjow had to admit that felt good.
He backed him into the wall, teeth bared in disgust. "You want it?" he hissed.
Szyel's jaw worked, he formed a single word without sound. Yes.
Grimmjow snarled, "Fine. Take it." He pushed him back into the wall, holding him up off the ground, and la sangre swarmed around them both, whispers and distant voices eager for fresh blood. Szayel thought he knew what he wanted. Chasing perfection when there was nothing but entropy at the end of that road. He loathed this scientist, not that he could place why. Was it him? Was this desire even his? Was it Alteza's, Kurosaki's? Fuck.
He dropped Pantera and brought his other hand to Szayel's crotch, he squeezed his dick in his claws. He dug talons through fabric into soft flesh and Szayel's jaw worked in a silent scream. He could just tear him in half and be done with it. He should. He could kill him, but he wanted him to suffer.
Grimmjow grit his teeth in disgust, curling his claws through his hollow hole. Szayel trembled in his hands in pain and Grimmjow took his time. La sangre licked off his hands and clung to Szayel, greedy for the souls he held in his claws. It crawled down Szayel's throat and the arrancar started to fight. Whether he wanted it or not didn't matter, it was only natural to fight.
He stared at the scar Kurosaki had left on his face. He could see it now so clearly, and it brought him a kind of visceral joy he'd never felt before. Gift. Yes, he'd give him a gift.
Willing la sangre into Szayel's soul he let it devour and change, he forced it to irreversibly change him. Not a conduit, just tied to la sangre in a way his soul would be eaten like kindling the way his own was. If anyone deserved to go mad, to forget who they were, it was Szayel. After what the arrancar did to him.
Grimmjow dropped Szayel and stepped back, watching the hollow writhe in pain at his feet.
Phantom pain ghosted over his skin and he lifted his arm to look. Nothing. He smoothed his hand over his wrist to erase that feeling, staring in newfound horror at Szayel as he began to scream.
Why did he do this?
Why?
He swallowed, eyes flicking to Pantera. He bent to pick it up, replacing it at his side and then he left Szayel screaming. He screamed and screamed, echoing off the walls and following him down the hall. He couldn't pin why, but the sound was almost soothing; like music. The arrancar deserved it.
He just couldn't remember why, and even if he did, it couldn't be his memory. He knew Szayel had hurt Kurosaki, but this? Kurosaki never told him about this. Kurosaki never would have wanted to burden him with this on purpose, so if he felt it now, it was so deeply a part of Kurosaki that he couldn't be rid of it.
He needed to talk to him, but he still didn't know what to say.
His feet carried him to Neliel, who seemed to have been following the screams. She gave him a once over, looked past him and asked, "What did you-"
"Drop it. He's alive." It wasn't a subject he was willing to broach, whoever's feelings they were, he didn't want to pour salt over it. She inhaled to speak again and again he cut her off. "Tell me what happened. I need to know."
"What do you already know?" she asked.
"Assume I don't know shit. I need to know what he did."
He didn't mean to sound so desperate, but his tone was too fast, too clipped.
She shot another worried look down the hall, then turned and said, "Let's find someplace to talk." She didn't say if it was a long story, or a short one, he didn't know what to expect.
Zangetsu showed him the aftermath, but he didn't know what actually happened. Kurosaki wasn't going to tell him, not in any detail. He reeked of shame, but not regret. He'd been hell bent on bringing him back, but he hated himself all the more for it.
Grimmjow followed her until he couldn't hear Szayel's screams anymore. He was disappointed.
-xxx-