2.) Sleepwalker

—(xXx)—

Grimmjow couldn't move.

He felt himself pant as every part of his body seized with pain, the biggest being in his torso. The pain in his limbs from pushing his power to its limits in his fight against Kurosaki, would have been bearable if it wasn't for the gaping slash in his shoulder.

A whimper formed in the back of his throat and he roughly swallowed, wincing at the movement of the muscles in his neck and the dryness down his esophagus.

He didn't know where he was, and his senses where just as clouded and muddy as his head was at the moment.

All he remembered was facing Kurosaki, considering taking up the shinigami's offer and fleeing to stay out of Aizen's fight. But he had known. He had known if he fled that Aizen would enviably send one of his lackeys to hunt him down when he won. If only to make and example of him by killing the 'traitor'.

He loved to fight. He wouldn't deny that. But Aizen had crossed the line on too many things that Grimmjow considered alright. Aizen already showed he could care less what happened to Grimmjow.

And despite how much he hated it he knew he'd never be able to beat Aizen in a fight for king.

On the other hand. He had watched Kurosaki. The shinigami obviously loved to fight just as much as Grimmjow himself did, but... but.. the shinigami seemed to have a different motivation. Grimmjow's had been to become the strongest. Because honestly as the strongest.. you could protect everything you wanted to.. you could control the kinds of lives those surrounding you lived.

You could be in control of your own life for once. It took him too long to figure out he's own reasoning behind his desire to be the strongest, and when he did it took even longer for him to admit, to himself at the least, that the desire stemmed from anything other than wanting to be king.

Kurosaki's motivation seemed to be the ones surrounding him. Grimmjow wasn't sure what Kurosaki felt towards them.. he never had any of what the shinigami called 'friends' or 'family' but the orange haired teen never seemed... alone.

Dispute how much he denied it.. Grimmjow craved to be able to interact with someone without them expecting him to start a fight, but it was so much easier, and probably his natural reaction, to just do what someone expected him too rather then trying to put in the effort to form a bond with someone who didn't want you around. Besides he wouldn't have even known where to start besides starting a fight with them, not a deadly fight that was the norm in their home but something else... something less feral. No one seemed to get that, and every time he tried he ended up fighting for his life. He gave up.

During the fight he was sure Kurosaki had seen something in Grimmjow. He wasn't sure what but whatever the shinigami saw made him offer what he did.

Kurosaki's offer had been a thing straight out of a fantasy. And for a moment... his future didn't look so dark..

And then he felt Nntoria's blade dig into his shoulder. He had been frozen in stunned agony as the blade cut into him, staring at Kurosaki's face as the teen's eyes went almost impossibly wide. He saw Kurosaki's mouth move but he didn't hear anything come out.

He remembers hitting the sand and skidding, feeling small grains scratch against his face and his neck, sparking an almost unbearable burning around the area the sand touched him.

He had gasped for breath, unable to breathe, the slash across his throat pouring blood, as he laid there paralyzed in pain. And then he didn't feel much after that, nothing besides the pain.

He had thought he died.

After all not many people survive being almost cleaved in two, and having their throat slit in the same go.

Hollows may have had some regenerative abilities but not everyone was as lucky as Ulquiorra, who could grow back full limbs and half his body in almost an instant.

That didn't mean Grimmjow didn't have any at all, he guessed that maybe he was alive by pure luck, that the regenerative ability he did have had worked itself dry to heal the life threatening damage.

That fact didn't make his body hurt any less.

As he laid there his head started to simultaneously clear and grow even more clouded at once from the pain, a brief flicker of a memory cane to him slowly.

He remembers opening his eyes to a forest. An alive forest nothing Life the one Huecho Mundo. He had been on his feet already, he briefly registered that he had more limbs than his Espada form was supposed to have and that the ground was higher than it should be , that he had changed back into an Adjuchas, but the clarity of that though escaped him before he could grasp onto it and he sluggishly refocused on what he could keep hold of.

He had been led upon a hazed, desperate, and instinctual hunt. A hunt for something, anything, to lessen the pain. He had felt spiritual pressure and gone towards it with no regard as to if the source was friend or foe, just hoping that they'd make the pain stop.

He had lunged at the source, which was evidently smaller than he thought and accidentally pinned the creature. His eyes where glazed over and blurry from pain but he forced himself to look down, and he mentally reared at what was under him.

It was boy. A small little human boy.

He hadn't known what to do at that point. A boy couldn't help him, probably couldn't even see him, and he was in agony. He gave up hope and felt his head instinctually lower in an attempt to curl into himself, around his wounds.

The world around him had hazed out of focus and the next thing he remembered was the boy screaming for someone. All he could really focus on was that his head was in the boy's lap and his hand was running along the back of Grimmjow's neck, away from the wounds. That hand was soothing.

At that point he didn't really care for all his pride, his strength or much of anything else. All he knew was that he was in agony, was probably gonna die soon from bleeding out, and...he at least wasn't alone.

That boy's hand was more of a comfort than he wanted it to be.

He closed his eyes in resignation to his fate. It wouldn't be so bad. He wanted to just close his eyes and go to sleep, never to wake up, to the soothing hand of someone who cared about him for the first time ever. It was such a foreign feeling. But it was one he didn't find himself too apposed to.

He was drifting in and out of unconsciousness when he felt the boy throw himself over Grimmjow, who wheezed at the sudden weight as it sparked a new painful fire into his body.

Once his head cleared enough for him to get his hearing back the first thing he heard was a crying voice, frantically asking for whoever the two newcomers where to save...the big cat...him...Grimmjow.

Their was a moment of silence and then another voice mentioned something about blankets, he heard a quick thundering of feet moving away and muffled words of how he wasn't likely to survive.

He had to force his eyes open to at that point. To much was going on around him for him not too, but he closed his eyes a few minutes later when all he saw was blurs of color stacked onto one another.

He heard a weary voice and something about helping him, he doubted he'd live even with these beings help, but he gave them better access to Nnotoria's handiwork.

He felt cloth on his a second later and grimaced in uncomfort. A hand, that same warmth from earlier rubbed his head and he forced his eyes back open, it was the same small human boy he had pinned. What was the deal with this one...? Why hadn't he run away from what tried to kill him..?

The boy spoke again in words that sounded like comfort and he chuffed in indignation.

A few minutes later he felt himself sinking into darkness again, and embraced it, welcoming the temporary release to the pain.