Angry at the World

Humiliation, Ichigo reflected. Grimmjow liked it and was fucking good at it; maybe he had experienced it enough to understand exactly what would embarrass Ichigo. More likely was that Grimmjow innately knew the twists and turns of Ichigo’s personality and used that knowledge in a particularly effective and grueling manner. The part that the Arrancar probably didn’t understand was that Ichigo would have gotten over the humiliation. The strawberry knew he could be too reserved, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t learning about sex and what made it feel good. If that meant the occasional odd request from the bastard, he could deal with it, if reluctantly. …He would never concede that to Grimmjow, though. It would be allowing him a victory.

What sat just under his skin like burrs were smaller things, connections the brutish Espada would never make. He doesn’t remember the last time I was in that position. What it was like. I can’t fucking help what makes me remember. And shit, to have someone at your back, to feel that open to attack, he should’ve fucking understood. Those are things the bastard should’ve known, Ichigo thought mutinously.

The teen knew he shouldn’t be expecting any empathy from him at all. He shouldn’t have felt like it was adding insult to injury when Grimmjow stumbled away from his bed after they’d fucked and collapsed on his pallet. His throat shouldn’t have clenched shut so painfully when the too hot sunshine woke him and the bastard wasn’t there. Not just missing from the room, but gone.

Bastard. I ought to go to Soul Society and stay there. Not give you the satisfaction of someone to come back to. That would be a blow to your precious goddamn ego, wouldn’t it?

… “You blush and get all soft the moment I act like I give a shit, and then you’re an easy lay.” … I am not. I’m not your whore, your plaything. I just fucking…like you. I just fucking thought it was the truth.

Goddamn it was hot. The redhead flung his blanket at his curtains, hoping to block more sunlight. When did the weather turn so warm? The room was stifling. He tried to think of everyday matters, errands he needed to run, things he needed to tell his sisters, homework he needed to do. In spite of it, his mind seemed to be dead set on wounding him and kept bringing back thoughts he wanted to ignore. The things he’d thought of before ending up in bed with the Arrancar, all the reasons he’d told himself he didn’t want to. Damn it, those hadn’t even been reasons not to fuck him--they’d been reasons not to get attached.

It hurts…you had no right…

“He’ll get bored, leave. He…He’d probably just want…sex once or twice and be finished with me.” How painfully and exactly correct he’d been. It had been sex three times instead of two, but Grimmjow had clearly shown normal sex was boring to him. Ichigo was not exciting, thrilling or good enough. He hadn’t thought he was so awful, but Grimmjow was Grimmjow. Uniquely demanding and experienced.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re mine,” “Never going to protect you, or teach you what you could feel… Want you exactly for what you are, want you so badly that he could die. Want you so bad that ‘e’d go away if y’really wanted him to.” “What I done to you, I don’t deserve you. But I want you, I need you so fuckin’ bad. You keep me from bein’ a monster.” Apparently, he didn’t. Didn’t at all.

How fucking humiliating and sentimental. To believe a Hollow could feel, wasn’t that just special. The Arrancar, how could he not know? He must have known exactly how he’d manipulated Ichigo into this pain. Step by step he’d awakened emotions Ichigo had left for dead, and this was the result. Want you exactly for what you are, need you, it hurt so fucking bad to remember.

Goddammit, Grimmjow was supposed to be his! Ichigo was never supposed to know the pain of being incomplete again. Something in Grimmjow had made Ichigo feel whole, and then the blue-haired bastard had ripped it away. Lying, traitorous fuck.

Ichigo viciously pinched the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger to snap him back into reality. He was exaggerating, reading too much into actions. His hurricane of a chest needed to calm before he acted more rashly than he normally did. It was possible, his heart reminded him hesitantly. It was possible that Grimmjow had meant everything he had said, that there was no manipulation involved, only the confusion of desire. It was possible Grimmjow had thought these very same things—that it was humiliating and stupid to feel attached to someone, so he should act out instead.

Thoughts that were too complicated, Ichigo thought derisively. Why should he stay attached? Grimmjow was just an asshole. If he saw him again he’d be happy for the chance to get back at him, nothing more. The bastard needed to learn a lesson, no matter Ichigo’s feelings. … He took a deep breath and accepted that fact. If the Espada never returned, it would be good for everyone. If he died in battle, even better. If it was Ichigo who did it, the score could be settled once and for all. Grimmjow needed to account for his lies. ...Ichigo wouldn’t admit, couldn’t admit, the damage those lies were doing to his heart.

He had left without helping… And he hadn’t pushed back the darkness before he’d gone. Ichigo had been foolish to believe him, he knew now, so he was on his own. But it doesn’t make a difference, he growled to himself. He could conquer this demon just fine on his own. He left his home, subtly stretching out his spiritual awareness. He would focus on another fight instead, one more important than anything he’d ever done. He would find Hirako and his Vaizards, and he would learn to control his inner Hollow.

Let’s see what you can do, Aibo. Y’should probably clear up the clouds here first though, don’t y’know? Ichigo remained silent. You’re such a sissy. Pining for him like a woman and trying to hide it. How miserable, that someone like you is King and would let a thing like that control you. Ichigo could feel Shirosaki’s cold fingers stab into his heart with a bitter embrace that made him stumble. He grimaced but kept walking. He wouldn’t be shaken by Shirosaki this time. I’ll show you, you disgusting bastard. You can’t see how weak you are, even in comparison to an embarrassment like me, he thought with a smirk. A light came on in his brain, and the smirk became focused, wicked. And that’s the ultimate humiliation, now ain’t it?

~

Szayel loved a good game. If the other Arrancar thought he could be too serious, they just didn’t understand his sort of fun. He was quite sure that if they tried his kind of games, they would have a good time. They might even understand him. Other than his own pursuits however, frivolity was certainly just a waste of valuable time.
Nieronaut understood very well Szayel’s sort of fun. His eye’s brief foray into the Espada’s mind had just touched upon the sadism Eight cultivated so lovingly, so carefully, and the new Arrancar had nervously prepared himself for what might happen. His heaving lungs, the stabbing stitch in his side, the tightening of his muscles and the burning that encompassed his whole body told him he’d obviously been a bit off in what to expect.

To say the laboratory was a labyrinth would be a good description, but wrong. The gods cursed thing would shift at random, and there was no escape at this point. Szayel himself and several test subjects had made sure he knew that. The point of the game was not really to win, Niero acknowledged as his left calf began to twist and pull on itself. He stopped to try and massage the muscle and prevent the cramp, still panting. The point was to last as long as he could without getting caught. His chest felt empty, a yawning maw of ill feeling. Without his Zanpakuto, what could he do?

It wasn’t even the Espada chasing him. No, he thought bitterly, that would have been too great an honor. It was a hulking, mindless minion, a personally modified fraccion, Eight had told him with relish. It wasn’t bright, but it wouldn’t tire. It wasn’t fast, but it wouldn’t stop. Niero would be able to hear the beast from a mile, and easily get away… If he could still walk. He grinned cynically; that was the trick now wasn’t it?

Nieronaut was quick, he was smart. But with his power stripped to the bare essentials, trapped in this hell, he was at a loss. Before he’d gotten too tired, he’d tried to be inventive. He ran up the forsaken walls, inspected every dark, lonely rafter and door. He’d even desperately tried to stabilize the maze of rooms with his reiatsu, but it seemed that Szayel had long ago keyed this area to respond to only his own reiatsu. Is there a way to manipulate my own reiatsu to match his? …No, not match, but maybe make it close, he thought, and tenderly checked the bandage around his silver eye. Sweat soaked, but still protecting his precious resource.

Eight is arrogant, he doesn’t want his time wasted, it’s too important to him. To make his little rooms respond to him quickly, his doors can’t analyze every bit of him. So…maybe it only catches onto certain parts of his reiatsu? He wouldn’t want this place switching around without his say-so. The new Arrancar quieted his breathing, listening for thundering steps and feeling the floor with his fingertips for its vibrations. It was strange, this place, in more ways than he had patience to discover. Something about time had been distorted. He had learned that the hard way, when the lumbering beast had almost snuck up on him. Even the faint tremors in the floor meant he was close enough to make Niero want to move.

He picked up a steady jog once more. If only I had time to catch my breath, time to try it… Why wouldn’t he have thought of this? … Niero grimaced. Anything unfortunate enough to find itself in Eight’s web probably wouldn’t have time to think of such things. Or the sense of mind to try and ignore the pain and horror...

Szayel liked horror, almost more than he liked games.

Another shudder hit that Nieronaut couldn’t control. He had looked inside Eight, he had been Eight. It wracked his body with pain to take on those memories again, pain from sympathy and from touching a mind like that.

Eight’s favorite experiments had been foremost in his mind, and now they were forever carved in his own. Without knowing, Niero’s arms hugged each other across his chest while he ran. Needles, injections, surgeries, torture. Drugs, chemicals, viruses, poisons—burning welts, rashes, dissolving skin, liquefying organs, uncontrollable bleeding. He remembered vividly a pale, grossly mutilated Arrancar laboring hard to take his last shallow gasps, and the final, terrible paroxysms of death. The first death Eight had caused that was not in the name of science. The first time Szayel had experimented for enjoyment—for pleasure.

Nieronaut’s mind was ingrained with the same curious joy and sick pleasure that the Espada had felt at the time. It made him ill, and worried for his future. In the den of the monster, where could any light burst into existence? He bit his cheek until the taste of copper permeated his mouth; this was no time to worry about his future. There were only two things that mattered right now, he affirmed in his head. Manipulating his reiatsu, and running. Always, always running.

~

“We’ve been waiting for you. Broadcasting our reiatsu like mad so even an idiot like you could find us,” Hirako said with his odd smirk. Ichigo glowered and surreptitiously took in his surroundings, noting how many Vaizard were here. “But I’m glad you’ve finally decided to join us.”

“Join you?” The redhead asked with an ill-tempered snort. “Hardly.”

“…What?” Hirako blinked.

“If you won’t teach me how to suppress my inner Hollow, then I’ll just have to beat the shit out of you until you tell me,” Ichigo said, and took Zangetsu from his back.

“Whoa, hey, wait a second!” The strange blonde Vaizard said crossly.

“If he wants a fight, why don’t you just let me kick his ass?” Hiyori asked and hopped down from her perch in the dilapidated building. Shinji sighed heavily.

“Why don’t you let out your Hollow Ichigo, and we’ll see how things go?” Ichigo grimaced.

“I’ll kick your asses without him!” He held out his sword, and with a mass of reiatsu released his bankai. Hiyori grinned and unsheathed her sword.

“Come on, this isn’t really necessary. You know that Shinji,” A clear voice protested. It clicked with something in Ichigo’s brain, and with a frown he turned to see who had spoken. Why was she here? No, he must be mistaken. It didn’t add up.

“Shut up bitch, he wants a fight he’ll get a fight!” Hiyori brayed and pointed her sword at Danna. Danna who sat casually next to the other Vaizard.

“…What the fuck are you doing here?!” Ichigo finally exploded. A Vaizard? How could she have just forgotten to mention it? He wouldn’t have been pissed. …He wouldn’t have been that pissed. Danna shrank back a little before stepping forward. Hiyori looked back and forth between them with one cocked eyebrow. Shinji scratched his head, sighing. He interrupted Danna before she had a chance to speak.

“I asked her to look into you and your friends, do a check on your character. She got a little carried away,” he said lightly. “But hey, it means you’re already friends, right?” He asked with his strange grin.

“… Don’t you think that’s a little oversimplified?!” Ichigo asked, looking both confused and angry.

“Maybe,” Hirako said, picking at his ear.

“But…at the schoolyard!” He continued to deny it.

“Why do you think I wanted to talk to her in English, Ichigo?” Shinji asked irritably.

“…Why?” He looked toward Danna again with frustration.

“I’m sorry. But…I told you I could protect myself--”

“You lied, and you made everyone worry about you,” the redhead said darkly. He didn’t like showing emotion or being made a fool of.

“I… I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” she said, and straightened. Hiyori rolled her eyes, and Hirako continued to pretend as though he wasn’t paying attention.

“It’s… fine,” Ichigo said and rubbed his forehead. A Shinigami. No, not just a Shinigami, one that can control the Hollow inside her. And she just…didn’t fucking mention it? Goddammit. “It’s better, you can take care of yourself. Ishida is the one who’s gonna have a goddamn cow,” he said, and grimaced.

“Enough talking!” Hiyori snarled and pulled her mask down over her face. A Hollow’s eyes stared out violently at Ichigo before she lunged at him. How!? He jumped to meet her, but when their blades clashed, Ichigo was driven back against the wall. He used both of his legs to kick her away from him. They ran forward exchanged blows, slashing and thrusting but neither finding their mark. If they can control their Hollows, there must be some way to do it, some simple self-control I’m not getting. He wasn’t paying close enough attention, and Hiyori’s foot launched him up into the air via his stomach. “This fight sucks! Let out your Hollow so I can see what you can do!”

“Shit, Shinji!” Danna protested and held her arm out towards the fight. He shook his head mutely.

“I’m not letting that thing out!” Ichigo growled, but almost instantly Hiyori was there next to him again.

“It ain’t hardly a fight if you don’t let out your Hollow! Come on!” She swung her sword furiously, beating Ichigo back. “Look at this, afraid of it! You won’t even tap into your own power you’re so afraid of him!” Stupid bitch doesn’t understand! How does she do it?! He was holding himself back, holding back as much as he could while he tried to study Hiyori. If he tapped any further into his power, Shirosaki would be close to him, too close.

Too close, too late. No, NO! Don’t tell me that you don’t want to snap this annoying lil’ bitch’s neck, Ichi!? Lookit her, kickin your ass. You fucking pussy. Don’t hurt her! Ichigo gritted his teeth, trying to stop Hiyori from spearing him and stop Shirosaki from encroaching any further at the same time. I’ll hurt ‘em all aibo. You can’t stop me anymore.

One solid thump of Ichigo’s heart. He was right; he couldn’t be stopped anymore. Fuck. Power wrapped his limbs, and his head snapped up to look at Hiyori accompanied with high-pitched, sadistic laughter. The smaller Vaizard was shocked, and could do nothing when Shirosaki grabbed her throat and slammed her against the wall.

“Say g’bye, bitch,” he said, laughing. His hand tightened, and Hiyori’s mask shattered.

~

Always… always… running…

Niero staggered and clutched at the wall for support to keep walking. Every step was a barrage of needles in his muscles, clenching and unclenching along the rhythm of his slouched and unsteady gait. Why? Why hadn’t Eight ended this charade yet? It was sickening. His calves burned, his thighs had nothing left. For Nieronaut, to take a breath was difficult and it grew ever more so as his throat began to swell. He took longer, deeper breaths but it achieved nothing. There was nothing more he could do. The resounding bass of the Fraccion’s steps had been behind him for what seemed like forever, and he could no longer run. He could no longer walk. And finally, he could no longer stand.

His knees slammed into the ground first, followed by his body. He made no effort to break his fall with his hands, and let his face hit the ground with an audible smack. As sudden as his fall, the horrible cadence of the beast’s steps ceased, and Niero was alone with his breath. How surprising, that there seems to be a trick inside of Eight’s game... Those halls were looking more and more like a prison. Even the air was conspiring to be oppressive, he thought as he still struggled to take in oxygen. He heard the exacting click of steps become louder and louder until they were next to him, and stopped. Niero shifted his arm weakly to view the shoes, and their owner was not a surprise to him.

“You lasted much longer than I thought you would, darling little newbie,” Szayel drawled, and stepped on Nieronaut’s back heavily. “Enough to make me annoyed and speed things up, as I’m sure you noticed,” Szayel’s shoe ground into his sore back, and he gasped quietly. “But now that you’re too tired to make a scene, I can get to work,” he said in a bored tone, and snapped his fingers. Another clumsy Fraccion appeared and picked up Niero and slung him across it’s back gracelessly.

The mostly shapeless servant paused when Szayel didn’t start walking. Eight’s long, curious fingers touched his hair gingerly, then ran through its sweaty strands. What was with this bizarre gesture? His hand closed around a thick strand of hair and twined it around his fingers. …Affection? I don’t think he…has that in him, but why else would he… Eight’s other hand spread across his head firmly, holding it in place. The hand that held Niero’s hair yanked, viciously ripping away his hair and a chunk of his scalp while he screamed. Shit. Fire throbbed on his head and blood ran hot along his jaw to drip on the floor. He panted, making small noises of pain. Szayel laughed.

The walk back to Eight’s lab began , grim, quiet. He watched the Espada with his one good eye, numbly analyzing the sadistic intellectual. It was time to start making an account of everything he did, the new Arrancar decided grimly. Someone, even if it wasn’t him, needed to make him pay. His vision began to gray and fill with stars, but to his disappointment he did not pass out. He remained awake and weak, open to whatever Eight’s mind had imagined during their game.

The Fraccion placed him on metal table surrounded by darkened lights and restraints. To his surprise, the minion did nothing to secure him and walked away. But, Niero thought bitterly, he guessed there really was no need. Exhausted and put in this frigid room with only one exit, he wasn’t anything to worry about. He shivered. It really was so cold.

“I suppose you haven’t been able to think of the other reasons for my game, Nieronaut. I never do anything for just one reason,” he said genially as he stepped towards the table and looked over his surgical implements. “It isn’t cost-effective and doesn’t catch my interest,” Szayel flicked on the bright lights surrounding the table and turned on several computers that Nieronaut couldn’t see. “However, you were probably intelligent enough to realize that the coming analysis is exactly what Aizen-sama wished to occur. Your reiatsu is bizarre. I could interrogate you, but I doubt you know the intricacies of the pattern and the details I need to know,” all of it continued in a completely conversation manner, as though the Espada were not brandishing the possibility of cruel experiments above the young Arrancar. “Then we can discover if you will be useful… or useless,” he said with satisfied smirk.

Niero had already forgotten how much Eight loved to hear himself talk.

~

“It didn’t go well,” what a goddamn understatement. That’s what Hirako had told him after he’d woken up, with Hiyori glaring at him from a corner, and Danna glaring at Hirako. None of the other strange looking Vaizard were glaring at him openly, but they obviously weren’t warming up to him. This was going to go nowhere fast… Especially since he’d effectively been sent home and told to come back in a few days, after his affairs were in order. As if waiting would do anything but let the thing closer.

He had warned them; none of them had taken it seriously. They’d acted like their Hollows were easily a part of them and something to take advantage of. Hiyori had mocked him for being afraid of it. She’d apparently learned why, but she still didn’t know, not really. They didn’t know how much more powerful, how much more awful he really was.

Aw, it’s nice to hear such compliments from ya when you’re usually oh so mean, Aibo. Fuck, haven’t you learned when you’re not wanted yet? When I’m in control, I won’t be so mean t’ya. I want us to have an open dialogue about who we kill, y’know? So I wanted to start it up early. Just fer you. This isn’t your body, and you’re a creepy bastard. What if I took out that Aizen fer ya? I can do that myself.

Right, you can’t even top his Espada and you expect to kill the man ‘imself? How about this aibo…How about I get that revenge for ya on that par-tic-u-lar Espada… Ichigo froze. The one that’s makin’ it all thundery here…Shirosaki hissed. Makin’ you angry, makin’ a fool outta you… I’ll teach him who’s King, for the both a us, how ‘bout that?...No. Ya know he deserves it. Filthy liar. Remember, I see the things you dream about, Ichigo, I know every dark thing you won’t do. No revenge, no killing, no you. Whatever horrible things you think Grimmjow’s done, you’re far worse.

And I’ll get worse before I get better, Ichi-bo. Not accepting me is going ta ruin your life.

~

Maybe he should have expected something like this, instead of thinking he could waltz right back in.

“Be ya ever so still, and ever so silent Grimmja’ Jeagerjacques… Or who knows what this sword ‘a mine might end up doin’, y’know?” Gin’s mocking voice informed him.

He might be fucked. But just this once, Grimmjow really felt like being optimistic.

“This is not a punishment. This is a reminder. Heed it well,” Aizen said smoothly from his throne.

Maybe realism suited him better.



~AN~
I am back, and the chapter is beta-ed. Thank you for dealing with my long absence... I do believe my inspiration is back, and hopefully updates will be more consistent. Also, I know original characters aren't why you're here...But please try to bear with me. :) Or learn to like them, just a little.