Chapter Text
Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez wasn’t a stranger to death.
He’d been at death’s door too many times to count, yet somehow he’d always managed to walk away in some form or another. There had been a time when he would brag to his own Fracción that he was a hard man to kill, and they all knew it was true.
Yet somehow, lying under the false sky of Las Noches, Grimmjow knew that this time was different. His body didn’t respond the way it usually would; there was no more fire in his blood. In fact, he felt rather weak. No chance in hell , he thought.
Ain’t no chance in hell an Espada like me’s goin’ down like this!
He hadn’t quite registered that something was wrong at the time. One moment he was preparing to kill that fucking Shinigami (or at least he was desperate to); the next his vision simply went red. There had been no pain, not then anyways. In fact, he wasn’t even aware of what had happened.
Blood.
It was blood.
Ichigo’s face had emerged on the other side, eyes wide with shock. Even in that moment, Grimmjow thought about wiping that stupid look off his face, to knock his ass into the sand and be done with him.
He could taste it now, flooding his throat and spilling from his mouth. He could feel the wound on his neck, feel the cold steel of a curved zanpakuto. It had all felt like slow motion, as if the seconds had turned to hours.
Grimmjow’s legs had given way, his body crumpling into the sand like a broken twig.
A smug voice trailed over him, oozing with sadistic glee. His ears couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but he knew who it was. Gritting his teeth, he managed to open his eyes, looking up at the tall bastard that stood over him.
Fuckin’ Nnoitra .
There was only one thing worth saying between labored breaths, the only thing he could muster.
“Bastard…”
After that, it was hard to keep track of time. He drifted between blurry, cruel light and comforting darkness. It was all slipping away between the ebb and flow of pain, his breathing slowing down to worrying levels.
Can’t… die…
Stubborn, even in times like this. That’s probably what Aizen said, standing over him with utter disdain in his eyes.
His efforts should have been focused on trying to live, to get up and walk away. Instead, he kept track of that Shinigami’s presence, making sure not to lose it. I ain’t through with you yet, Kurosaki… Pain shuddered through him, paralyzing him with every breath. I’m gonna be the one to beat ya, just you wait!
He had been starting to lose any sort of feeling in his limbs by the time he heard voices swirl around him. Annoying, high pitched voices, like a swarm of mosquitos descending. Just ‘cause I’m like this, any ol’ fucker thinks they can mess with me now, huh? That spark of anger gave him enough strength to open his eyes again.
“Grimmjow?!”
Small hands patted his face, trying to shake him back to consciousness. Grimmjow emitted a weak, annoyed growl, glaring at the small Arrancar kneeling on his left.
“Cut that... shit… out.” He coughed, thick globs of blood filling his mouth, his voice left a warbling gurgle. He turned his head, spitting it out into the sand. That small action alone seemed to sap whatever remaining energy he had left.
“Grimmjow, you’re still awake!” He vaguely heard the small feminine voice clap in delight. “This is good, we still have a chance!”
“B-but Lady Nel!”
There was another annoying voice that filled his ears, irritating him further. God dammit, if I am gonna die, at least let me die in peace …
“This might not be the best idea, d-don’tcha know?”
“I can’t just let him die, not like this!” Grimmjow felt her touch his shoulder again, but this time her hands were dripping an odd viscous fluid that smelled like bad breath. A jolt of revulsion went through him. He didn’t know what it was that she was putting on him, but he instinctively knew he didn’t want it anywhere near him, let alone on him . “Hold still, Grimm! We gotta get you well again! Stop squirming so-!”
But Grimmjow seethed, spitting with rage. “Get… yer little hands… off!” His face was strained, growing hot as he felt his fury flow through him. “I ain’t got time… for you. Where’s that bastard… Kurosaki?!”
Large hazel eyes stared in horror from under green fringes of messy hair. None other than the former Tres Espada’s crippled form peered down at him. Great, my last moments spent being pitied by someone else Nnoitra fucked over. Nel’s hands forced him back down with startling strength. “Stop! You’re only gonna make your wounds worse, Grimm!”
“Where’s Kurosaki, dammit?!”
“He’s not here, now c’mon!” With one final push, she made him lie down once again. “Please… stop moving so much. You’ve lost so much blood and spiritual energy already.”
Everything began to spiral. Grimmjow could no longer make out a single word she said, nor keep his eyes open. He felt like he was slipping away, growing numb. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move his arms or legs. Even his own mind began to deteriorate.
Shit.
He had to get angry. That was all he knew to do in order to motivate himself. And there was no better image than that one glimpse of Kurosaki’s shocked face. The way he stared at him, as if frozen with fear.
But to his dismay, even his own anger was starting to fade out. All that was left was his tattered memory of Ichigo, that look in his eyes.
I ain’t givin’ up. Not now, not fuckin’ ever.
It all went black. Fate grabbed the wheel from his hands and he spit in the face of it.
Kurosaki… Ichigo.