Angry at the World

Grimmjow’s jaw clenched tightly. He had been thoroughly beaten, but he hadn't cried out. He didn’t want to give Yami or Ulquiorra the satisfaction.

“You better…watch your shit," Grimm breathed hard. “Cause I am going to break you for this,” he snarled. Ulquiorra’s nails digging into his arms were an obvious “I think not” from the quarto Espada, accompanied by a bark of laughter from Yami.

“Aizen-sama hopes this will teach you not to interfere with his prospects in a negative manner,” Ulquiorra said smoothly, and held Grimmjow’s arms more tightly as his struggling increased.

“Prospects?” Grimmjow gasped out angrily.

“The Kurosaki boy. Even your flawed reasoning should be able to take this particular hint,” Kurosaki. They had no reason to be talking about Ichigo, even thinking about him. Ichigo…Fuck. They couldn’t be thinking about taking him.

"Ya really think I'll learn my lesson like a good lil' boy?" The Sexta Espada asked mockingly.

“You must have mistaken Aizen-sama for a more merciful man, Grimmjow. You did more than interfere; you disobeyed orders and caused the death of several Arrancar. That punishment is entirely separate,” he finished, and grabbed Grimmjow by the hair and slammed him into the floor.

“Son of a…bitch,” he croaked, dazed. Ulquiorra unsheathed his sword.

~

Blood flowed from the scratches on his forehead, over his eye and down his face to drip down to the floor. Ichigo had done it to keep his grip on reality, to keep control over Shirosaki. He had succeeded, but the Hollow inside him had claimed his own kind of victory. The scratches he’d inflicted upon himself mimicked the red of his Hollow mask and burned worse than any sword wound. His pulse throbbed in the marks and made him wince.

Weakness, again, he thought despairingly, and slid down the bathroom wall. Don’t feel so bad… It won’t be much longer now, Ichi-bo. I’ll be in control and everything will be jus’ fine. Ichigo felt as though cold arms encircled his body and squeezed. Y’won’t feel nothin’ at all. What makes you think I don’t want to feel? Ichigo asked him angrily. Don’t kid yourself. Every day is another weight y’can hardly bear. …Zangetsu knew better than you. Shirosaki hissed at the name. I don’t give a damn if the weight crushes me. I’ll handle it better than you ever could. You don’t know what’s best for us, the Hollow said, and laughed.

Ichigo got up and left the bathroom, scowling. Why didn’t anyone help him tame the monster? Not Danna, not the other Vaizards. Not the Shinigami, not Grimmjow. He knew there was only so much energy he could spend resisting him—and it was dangerous. That first encounter with Yami and Ulquiorra had taught him that, when he had nearly been responsible for Inoue’s death. Ichigo shuddered and gripped his bed frame to stop the movement. Kurosaki Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo. Whatever you do, remain Kurosaki Ichigo. He heard Shirosaki’s eerie laughter again and clenched his jaw. Why? Why this sudden onslaught of taunting, fake emotion, lures? What had kept him at bay before that was failing?

Ichigo felt the pain in his chest like a physical blow, and fell to his knees. Simple comfort. A feeling of rightness.

A belief that someone could actually protect him.

That was an illusion he thought he’d done away with the day of his mother’s death. No one after that could protect him. It was up to him; his father would never step in. It wasn’t even that he thought Grimmjow could protect him. No, he was naïve, but not that naïve. But the Espada was solid, strong. Wild and unpredictable, but somehow still dependable. Ichigo had so fucking quickly built himself up around that maelstrom, as if it would be there forever. Now, without those forces to hold him up, he was collapsing in on himself. There was no permanence. Just emptiness where once there were expectations and hope, and the warmth of laying next to another. Trusting someone enough to touch them, sleep next to them.

Ichigo spent most of his life saying one thing and feeling another. It had never, ever done him any good and he went on doing it anyway. Grimmjow always knew what he really meant, could always see right through him. No matter how irritating it was or how much of an asshole he could be when he brought forward the truth, the Espada knew his words’ meanings instinctively.

It always felt wrong to want help from people. But now, it wasn’t that he wanted help from Grimmjow that was making him ache. It was that he wanted him and he wasn’t there.

Grimmjow… …love anyone…it’s laughable…


~


Sleep.

Falling through water, surrounded by quick-rising bubbles. Muffled shouts and a chaotic song. Watching leaves hang suspended in the currents as he sunk. Images blurred and waving, but still clear. Shirosaki brutally beating someone, smiling blissfully as blood sprayed. Grimmjow looking at him, eyes haunted and piercing. A tired, pained Arrancar with purple and silver eyes, holding his hand out in greeting. It all felt familiar. Like déjà vu, but he knew none of it had ever happened.

“Your reiatsu tells me these things, clear as day,” he heard him say, but all of it was fading. Soft colored light from lichen and mold illuminated a cave. There was no way out, at least above the water. A curiously white bird clung to a stalactite above him. A few dead black birds floated below. Depressing and obvious, Ichigo thought, and turned to crawl through a tunnel behind him. Something was playing on his fears. He exited the tunnel into a dark room, with walls that seemed to absorb and dull what little light there was. Everything was soft. Grimmjow was there, dressed in black. Looking serious, not looking happy to see him.

“Shouldn’t be here,” he growled.

“I’ve been here for a long time,” Ichigo found himself saying. He watched Grimmjow’s hands form into fists and his nails dig into his palms until they bled. “I don’t need you.”

“But you want me around.”

“Aren’t you the same?” Ichigo turned around and went back to the cave. Grimmjow followed him, and Ichigo yelled in rage. Like all dreams, every action was quick, uncontrollable. He was shoving Grimmjow’s head under the water, holding him down despite his struggling. Then it was Ichigo panicking, unable to catch his breath and sucking in water. He screamed and bubbles burst from his mouth, clouding his sight.

Finally he was yanked from the water and in sweet relief took a gasp of air, but his joy was short lived. Grimmjow shoved him down to the ground. Sudden panic took the place of water in his lungs.

“No, no!” He screamed. Grimmjow laughed.

“What’s wrong, Kurosaki!? I just wanna have a little fun before I send ya off to Seireitei!”His hand pressed down around the redhead’s throat, and his eyes were filled with lust. Not this. Not this again.

“You sick fuck!” Ichigo spat out while his heart raced. The words and actions played out all over again, and he had no way to change them.

“I like it better when they fight back,” Grimmjow told him with a grin. He straddled Ichigo’s hips and pressed his arousal against him ,biting his lip. The look of disgust on Ichigo’s face deepened while Grimmjow’s grin widened. He ripped open Ichigo’s haori and splayed his hands out across his torso, crudely discovering every crevice in his abs, temptingly soft with his touch. It felt like sickening poison followed his touch, dirtying his body, making him filthy. “You’re so hot, Kurosaki,” he moaned. Ichigo screamed with panic and rage and tried to punch him. One fist connected with his cheek; The Espada didn’t look fazed. The other hand Grimmjow caught and licked, looking right into Ichigo’s eyes as he did. Ichigo thought he might vomit from the disgust and fear. Grimmjow circled his tongue around the Shinigami’s fingers lewdly, daring him with his eyes. Ichigo hated the rush of heat it sent to his groin. Some strange feeling, like dull pounding needles, hit against his chest and rose up his neck to his cheeks.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” His words were filled with bravado, but he looked away first. Grimmjow sucked tightly on a finger, his mouth hot and talented, before letting go to touch Ichigo’s body again. He writhed to try and escape the feeling, but it did nothing. Grimmjow he leaned down to bite and suck at his neck. Ichigo growled in protest, anger filling him up enough to make him bite Grimmjow’s neck, drawing blood. He just laughed. Why couldn’t he succeed?! Why wasn’t he strong enough to throw him off and stop this!? Just stop it!

“I like it rough, Kurosaki…Maybe we’ll get along after all,” he said cruelly, and moved to bite Ichigo’s nipple. It was so much more sensitive and sharp than he could have imagined. Ichigo cried out in surprise and pain but was silenced by Grimmjow’s harsh kiss. The Espada’s tongue slammed down into his mouth and throat, discovering without permission. Sounds of panic formed around the hot slickness that explored his mouth, sounds that slowly became shriller as Grimmjow’s skilled hand slid silkily to Ichigo’s crotch and gripped his member. Nobody was supposed to touch him like this. Absolute fear was filling his whole body, this wasn’t happening. Stop touching me, stop touching me, please, please stop, please stop.

His noises became more and more insistent until finally Grimmjow pulled away and laughed. “I like it when you come to play too,” he said huskily into his ear, before letting his tongue dive into those crevices as well. His fingers played in circles along Ichigo’s cock, tauntingly gentle before pumping roughly and erratically, and then playing one fingertip harshly into his slit again and again until Ichigo writhed in pain, and then comforted the boy with soft palming. He was getting so, so hard and the shame was an intense physical pain. He gagged.

“Stop, stop it already! You already won goddammit!” He cried out. Tears stung at his eyes and his mind, his logic was fogged by terror.

“Quit whinin’ ya little bitch, just take it like a man why don’t ya? But I guess you’re not really a man are ya, ya little fairy boy,” he drove the point home by grinding their crotches together. Pleasure and humiliation shot up from his groin. “A man wouldn’t get hard when he’s about ta get raped.” Don’t say that, don’t remind me, don’t…

He woke up screaming, soaked in cold sweat. His body’s memories of Grimmjow remained; the ghosts of his hands still touched him and he shuddered. The fear was getting unbearable. The malaise of Shirosaki always hanging above him, tainting his reiatsu, endangering his friends. Grimmjow, lying and tearing up feelings that he wasn’t supposed to have. Responsibility slowly crushing his breath and ending the life he’d lived for so long.

But because he was Kurosaki Ichigo, he did not let himself break. Tears fell quickly, down his cheeks to his chin, dripping quietly on to his bed. His sobs had little sound, there was only the occasional gasp for breath or sniff to accompany the anguish. He wouldn’t humiliate himself further with unnecessary concessions to his tears.

His door cracked open, a sliver of light hitting his lap. He didn’t look up to see who had come, but the heavy steps made him jolt and told him who it was. His bed creaked and lowered as his visitor sat down. Ichigo didn’t look up, but he paused and licked his over-dry lips before speaking to Isshin.

“…I don’t need you,” he said, but more as a soft statement of fact than an attempt to make his father leave.

“No, you haven’t for a long time,” he replied with a weak smile. “But I think I can help, all the same.” Ichigo wondered numbly why he wasn’t being attacked with questions; about the scratches on his face, the screaming, the tears. Surely his old man wasn’t dense enough to think the stresses of a normal life, school and social situations were enough to do this to him? Then again, Goat-Face had a startling ability to at least fake ignorance in the most outrageous of circumstances. Maybe he just liked lying to himself.

“…I don’t see how,” Ichigo said in a monotone, finally looking his father stubbornly in the eyes.

“Just by being here, this time. I think,” his father said, his voice still too light for the situation. But that was simply his old man. Slowly, Isshin put one strong arm around his son’s shoulders and pulled him against his chest. There, instead of fighting him off, Ichigo just closed his eyes and quietly let his tears continue. This was not a breaking point. He was still solid, still strong. Still Kurosaki Ichigo.