Final chapter at long last!

I really let this sit for too long... Hopefully you find it worth the wait.

The sun had finally cut through the thick grey clouds. It had rained the day before, a chill mix of rain and sleet, but hadn't snowed in days. The air was still bitter cold, doubly so at night and early in the mornings, but the sun was warm enough to start sweat under the heavy winter coats they traveled in during the day. The accumulated snow retreated inch by inch during those few warmer hours surrounding midday, then froze to a slick crust at night when the temperature dropped again.

Impatient and a little stir crazy from being cooped up most of the winter, they'd left at first chance early that morning, with the sun still on its way up and breaths fogging the air. The few zombies they came across in their route were ravaged by winter, bedraggled, half frozen things that groaned hungrily at them as they skirted passed. By midday they'd left the city perimeters, unaccosted by anything they couldn't handle, and selected a particular road that ran east.

There was no guarantee that the snow was over for the season, and the nights were still dangerously cold, but Ichigo was certain that he could remember a barn or old farm house just a few miles outside of the city from his trips back and forth as a child with his parents. With all the food and supplies they could feasibly carry loaded into backpacks, that became their new destination. If they got snowed in there, so be it. They'd make do, one day at a time.

The road they walked was a wet mix of slush over top of hidden patches of ice where melted snow pooled in potholes and froze solid during the cooler hours of the day and night and, insulated by the cold slush, were reluctant to melt again. The deep irrigation ditches to either side were still banked in heavy, wet snow. The trickle of thin, cold rivulets of water as it slowly melted throughout the day accompanied their steps. The signs of wildlife were visible here and there. Bird and rabbit tracks crisscrossed the steep snow drifts every so often, proving that something more than just a handful of people was still struggling on.

Pale hands pressed flat against his stomach, Shiro pushed out a low hiss of air as he moved. So used to the subtle ways his friend communicated, the quiet sound caught Grimmjow's attention and the man glanced over. "Hungry again?"

Shiro shook his head, taking a delayed second to answer verbally, "…no." But his hands still cradled against his stomach over his clothes and his features pinched.

"No?" Grimmjow's brows furrowed as he studied the creature he walked next to.

"What's going on?" Ichigo asked, slowing to close the few paces that sat between him and the other two as they all traversed the slick road. "He need to eat again? It's been a couple of days."

Grimmjow shook his head at the same time Shiro did. "No, says he's not hungry, but-" He motioned to the way Shiro held himself.

Ichigo studied him a moment, taking in the undead's slightly hunched posture and the rigid way he moved. The momentary expression that flitted across pale features made the creature look positively miserable. "Sick?" Ichigo ventured. Was it even possible for a zombie to get sick? He wasn't sure, but then, Shiro was less and less like a zombie every day.

Shiro thought about that for a moment. He took a breath to try to reply, but the swell of it made him push out a groan instead and his features creased all over again. "Nnno-" He shook his head, looking from one man to the other while he searched for words. "Sh–arp..?"

"Sharp?" Ichigo's brows rose.

Grimmjow waved it off. "We used that word for weapon, knife. He's not asking for that."

Ichigo frowned as he studied the zombie. Given that, for a long time now, Shiro's only real moods were dull, barely reactive and hungry or angry, it was odd seeing him look so, "He looks uncomfortable."

The undead perked up, but only for a moment, before his shoulders hunched again. He pulled a hand away from his stomach to point at Ichigo. "Unn- Un hmm." He tripped over the sounds, a hint of frustration showing in his features, and pointedly brought his hand back to his abdomen.

"Uncomfortable?" Ichigo repeated, watching the zombie nod. His brows furrowed. "But you already said you weren't hungry or sick, Shiro…"

In an exasperated huff of air, Shiro started in on Ichigo with a litany of wordless grumbling.

Grimmjow grunted a laugh.

"I believe you, I swear-" Ichigo held his hands out in a gesture for the zombie to calm down. "I'm just trying to work through it." The more active and responsive the creature got, the more obvious the forced language barrier was. They'd gotten pretty good at interpreting what Shiro was trying to say, but it wasn't always clear. Sometimes Shiro simply lacked what he was trying to convey. It was hard to guess what he wanted or needed to tell them if he didn't even know what that was himself. And they weren't the only ones frustrated by it. Shiro increasingly became more animate about it when he couldn't get across what he wanted them to know. There was still something not right, not normal for a living person, going on in Shiro's brain, but he was recovering enough of himself to realize that something wasn't working right. He got frustrated, he got angry. Sometimes he'd give up entirely and refuse to interact with them for a while. The return of his personality and self-awareness was a gift, but also a curse.

With a last grumble, Shiro's miniature tirade ended. He curled fingers across his abdomen, hooking them into his sweatshirt like he could tear his discomfort away.

Automatically, Grimmjow reached over to pull pale hands away from the thread holding dead skin and muscle closed that hid below the sweatshirt. "Stop. Don't tear that-" He paused, his attention anchored on Shiro's hands and the way he held his stomach. "Ichigo? Is it possible the stitches are bothering him?"

Ichigo blinked, brows rising as he retook in the zombie's posture, the way he hunched around his abdomen like it was tender. When he'd stitched the undead up, Shiro had barely even seemed to feel it, but now… well it certainly looked like he was feeling something. "I don't know. Not really, I don't think. Stitches don't tend to hurt even living humans. They itch sometimes, and the process can be unpleasant, but after they're in most people don't really notice more than a pinch and some itching as the wound heals." He could take a look, though, so he crouched in front of where Shiro stood in the middle of the deserted road, with the sun high overhead in a deceptively blue sky. "Ok, hold still, Shiro." The zombie grunted mildly, looking down at him. Lifting the hem of the sweatshirt, Ichigo grabbed one of Shiro's hands and pushed the bunched up clothing into it. "Hold this up." He instructed absently, settling fingertips against the ragged left overs of when the creature's middle had been torn open. The skin below his hands was still cooler than a living person's, but warmer than the chill of the air around them. The muscle below pale skin flexed as a shiver worked up Shiro's spine.

"Cold?" Grimmjow asked his friend.

Shiro looked up and over at him. "Mmm." He nodded a slight motion.

"Sorry," Ichigo's apology was absent, distracted. "I'll be quick–" His fingers probed along stitched up flesh. A few lengths of thread had certainly been snagged and ripped, and he plucked them free, noting the resistance of the skin around them. "What the hell?" That was normal enough in living flesh that had healed around the foreign material of stitches. But Shiro wasn't a living creature.

"What?"

The abdomen below Ichigo's hands swelled slightly with a slow breath that Shiro released to plume into the chilly air. Ichigo barely noticed the movement, though, as he knelt close, running his fingers over the ragged, puckered lines in pale flesh. With both hands, a thumb on either side of that grievous wound, he tried to part the patchwork skin he'd stitched together months ago. It resisted, stretching around a scar, poorly healed and ugly, but closed.

Shiro grunted, flinching away with a scowl that he aimed down at Ichigo.

"I- I don't know." Ichigo finally answered. He ran his fingers along the scar, checking other areas below the dark knots of thread. "He's healing."

"Healing?" Grimmjow's features twisted. The animated corpse of his best friend had ran around with exposed innards and shredded flesh for months. The concept that he might suddenly be capable of recovering from physical injury was almost inconceivable, let alone a gaping, festering pit of a wound that used to collect debris and flies. It was as strange as everything else that Shiro was becoming. "Healing as in-"

Ichigo nodded as he straightened, pulling the sweatshirt from Shiro's hand to flatten it back over pale flesh. "Yeah, it's closed. If I didn't know better, I'd think I was looking at someone who'd ended up with a majorly infected wound that was finally clean and looking healthier. It looks… Good. It looks almost ready for the stitches to come out."

"How is that possible?"

Ichigo was quiet for a long minute, before he shook his head. "How is anything about him possible?"

They started walking again, Grimmjow and Ichigo studying Shiro where he walked between them, hands still held against his stomach and a perturbed expression on his pale features. They had no answers, and no solutions for whatever discomfort Shiro was feeling. Their boots crunched and squished in the ankle deep slush covering the road.

They were shivering in the cold of late evening, coats pulled tight about themselves, when they finally made it to the building Ichigo remembered. The old barn was missing a section of its roof and the three and half walls that still stood leaned precariously, but it sheltered them from the wind and gave them a space closed in enough to build a fire and create a pocket of warmth. The wind howled through the gaps, making old, rusted farm equipment creak and rock in the growing darkness. The shadowed movement in their peripheral made settling in difficult, but continuing through the night without shelter wasn't an option. Even Shiro shivered and Grimmjow guided him a little closer to the fire as they all huddled around it and began dishing out a rationed meal.

Working open a stubborn but precious can of tuna, Ichigo paused when he caught Shiro shift out of the corner of his eye. The undead lifted pale features, scenting the air, and the hair at the back of Ichigo's neck raised as he immediately started searching for whatever had caught Shiro's senses. Seated diagonally from him, Grimmjow saw Ichigo react, quiet and alert in forced calmness, and hissed a short sound through his teeth to get his attention. When brown eyes turned his way, a questioning expression was as close to asking as he dared.

Ichigo motioned to where Shiro was still searching for the scent he'd caught.

Grimmjow nodded, frowning as his eyes coasted across the dark shapes of the barn's contents, seeking out movement or shapes that didn't belong. It set his nerves on edge.

But something was off. Shiro, despite beginning to find more of himself, was still very reactive. If something was worth his aggression, it got it . Now, however, Shiro sat calmly, his posture mostly relaxed. There was more curiosity to his actions than aggression.

Grimmjow relaxed slightly, then he too caught the smell, and the rest of the tension drained from him. A wide grin creased his features and he laughed a short sound, pointing. "You just opened that?"

Brows arching, Ichigo turned on him like he'd admonish the big man, but paused when he saw the ease on Grimmjow's features. He glanced down at the all but forgotten can in his hand, shaking his head in his confusion, "Yeah, you want some?"

Nodding towards Shiro, Grimmjow grunted another laugh, "No, I think he does."

"What?" Glancing over, Ichigo lifted the can and saw the way it caught Shiro's attention, pale features lifting slightly as the zombie scented the air. Ichigo's gaze cornered to find Grimmjow again, brows arching.

Grimmjow shrugged.

Shiro had yet to show more than passing curiosity over anything they ate, preferring raw, rank corpses. It could have just been that the strong, fishy smell was unique and strong enough to get his attention, but with the way Shiro was developing, it could have been more than that, too.

Ichigo held out his empty hand, palm up, watching as Shiro glanced to it, furrowed his brows, and mimicked the motion. With his hand held out, Shiro looked back up at Ichigo expectantly. With a smile, Ichigo pulled the hand towards himself a little further, then pulled out a small bite of the tuna and set it in the undead's pale hand. "Here," He said, "It's food, you can have some." and pushed Shiro's hand back towards the zombie.

Pale brows furrowed slightly, "Eat?"

Nodding, Ichigo pulled more out of the can and stuck it in his mouth. "Eat." He said around the bite.

After watching, Shiro looked down at what was in his hand. "Eat…" He muttered, almost to himself. His attention strayed towards Grimmjow and when the big man nodded, watching him with a smirk, Shiro's posture relaxed and he brought the food closer, sniffing before he pushed it into his mouth. A mild look that could have meant anything crossed his features, then he held out his hand again.

Ichigo ended up splitting the can with him and no one mentioned the shortage of stores they would be facing if Shiro added a third mouth they needed to feed. After eating, they all bedded down for the night, curled tight together and wrapped in all the blankets they'd managed to carry with them. Even Shiro shivered for the few minutes it took to build up a little heat in the corner the three huddled in.

That morning, too cold and too stiff to sleep any longer, Ichigo rolled over and sat up to find Grimmjow awake but still laid out, an odd, torn expression on his features. Shiro was passed out still, a pale arm thrown around the bigger man and his face hidden against the dirty old sweatshirt Grimmjow wore. It wasn't the first time Shiro had huddled close with them through a cold night, now that he was feeling the chill more, but it was the first time he'd shifted in his usually dead-to-the-world sleep to end up pressed against either of his companions. It was the first time Grimmjow had woken up to find himself tangled in the limbs of his dead, yet not dead, friend. His jaw worked, teeth clenching, before he shifted, lifting a hand to push pale, lank hair out of Shiro's face. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." He said in a parody of his usual, gruffly mocking tone.

Pale brows furrowed and Shiro grumbled an unhappy sound that turned into a mumbled, "S– leep."

Grimmjow shook his head, lifting the blanket away to let bitterly cold air in. "No more sleep. Sun's up, we gotta get moving while it's warm enough to be out."

His undead friend hissed a sharp breath, sickly eyes snapping open as a chilled shudder ripped down his spine. Shiro practically sprang upright, but only made it to his knees before he bowed forward, hands on his stomach. His features twisted.

Ichigo started working on repacking his blanket, watching the zombie. "Uncomfortable again, Shiro?"

The zombie nodded, but then shook his head. "Mmmmore. Hurts?" The word came out almost questioning, like he wasn't sure if what he was feeling was pain, or he wasn't sure what the word meant, maybe both.

"Thought you said those stitches shouldn't hurt." Grimmjow said.

Ichigo frowned, "They shouldn't. It's just skin, there's fewer nerves and blood vessels in skin. If the stitching was subcutaneous maybe-" He stopped, frozen for a second, before twisting to look over at Shiro again. His gaze flickered over to Grimmjow. "We put together a lot more than just skin… there's someone else's intestines adhered to his. And I tried to be clean, but it was far from sterile, and…" And they weren't expecting it to matter. "If the outer skin is healing, the rest of him is probably trying too." And healing flesh can get infected, can fester and reject.

A tentatively skeptical look crossed Grimmjow's features. "Why do you say it like that? That's a good thing, right?"

"If he heals, yes, it's great, but if he doesn't-" Ichigo shook his head slightly, "If his health goes south, Grimmjow…."

The big man sneered and turned away, "I know." His voice was hoarse. "If he dies again, I'm putting him down for good this time." He began rolling the blankets into bundles that could be slung through the straps of their bags.

Could he, though? They didn't have what they needed to fight infection. If Shiro got sick and didn't make it, could he really do it this time? He couldn't the first time and that was before he knew Shiro wouldn't turn out the same as the other zombies. If Shiro died again, Grimmjow would have to choose between upholding his friend's original wishes, while Shiro was still more like himself than he'd been in months, and taking the chance that Shiro would find some part of himself again for a second time. Out of no where, Grimmjow reached over to fist a hand in the front of Shiro's open coat and dragged the undead close. "You better fight whatever's going on as viciously as you fight the dead, dammit."

Shiro bared teeth, but the growl he pushed from his throat was more confused than aggressive.

Grimmjow stared at him a moment longer, then let him go and went back to breaking camp. It took some effort and ginger maneuvering, but they got the undead mostly straightened and upright enough for travel. In truth, if Shiro was closer to being alive or if such a grievous wound had been suffered before the world fell apart, Shiro would still be laid up in a hospital, in intensive care and too drugged up to feel anything, let alone be awake and coherent enough to get up and walk. But they didn't have the luxury of letting him heal up properly before moving on. The window for travel was still only a few hours each day, before the winter cold beat out the sun and they were forced to seek asylum for the coming evening and night.

Travel that day was slower than the day before. A few, frigid hours into their walk, with no man made structures in which to take cover in sight and Shiro struggling, they were beginning to wonder if they shouldn't have stayed an extra day in the dilapidated barn. It was too late to turn back, however. They wouldn't make it before it got too cold to travel and they'd only lose the small amount of progress they'd made, so they pushed on, shivering and shuddering, and tugging their undead friend along. After the sun began to descend, they were forced to take cover as best they could. They hollowed out a pit in the freezing snow that filled a ditch to one side of the road, lit a small fire for whatever pathetic heat it could give off, and hunkered down for a frigid, restless night. Shiro huddled in on himself the entire night and said nothing, knees drawn up to this chest and staring at the dancing flames like he didn't actually see what sat in front of him. By the next morning, however, he was more lively than ever. When the sun again began to peek over the horizon and Grimmjow and Ichigo forced themselves from their cold, stiff crouches, he helped pack camp.

"Shiro." Grimmjow asked as he vigorously tried to rub feeling back into his hands. "How you feelin'?"

"Hm?" Shiro tilted his head slightly. He settled hands on his stomach, then shrugged. "Cold… Fine."

"Painful?" Ichigo asked, breath pluming in the air before his face. "Uncomfortable like yesterday?"

The undead looked over at him for a moment and seemed confused. "Yes-" He frowned hard and shook his head when he got hung up on the sounds and it came out as another word entirely. "Yes- sterday?" Then he paused what he was doing and slowly straightened, looking around as if lost. For a long few seconds, he studied their surroundings, the snow and ice and fields, before his attention returned to the two men. He looked between them a few times. "Build-in. Build–" His hands twitched, before he raised them to gesture. "H-ouse?"

Brows furrowed deeply, Grimmjow watched him. "You don't know where we are, do you?"

Tentatively, Shiro shook his head.

"You mean… The last thing you remember is the barn?" Ichigo asked, looking perturbed.

"Barn! Yes. That's- …yes." Shiro nodded, looking pleased at finding the word for half a second before he went back to looking confused. "No barn…?"

"There was a barn." Grimmjow handed a pack over to Shiro, who took it mechanically, listening. "We stayed in it the night before last. We walked all day yesterday, you were in pain, here-" He tapped a finger against the undead's middle. "You don't remember any of it?"

Pale features twisted as the undead tried to recall what he was being told. It blurred in his mind, running together with most of his other recent memories. He shrugged. "Mmmaybe? Not straight. Sure. Not sure."

Grimmjow and Ichigo shared a glance, but it was just one more thing they didn't have an explanation for or an answer to. If nothing else, at least he didn't remember suffering the entire day. "It's fine." Grimmjow said, clapping a hand on the zombie's shoulder to turn him towards the embankment that lead up to the road. "You didn't miss anything important. Glad you're feelin' better."

Shiro hummed a sound like he wasn't quite sure he believed it, but started climbing the slippery slope of the ditch's side. Ichigo and Grimmjow followed with the rest of their stuff. They'd made it half a mile before Shiro spoke again, voice quiet. "Confusing." He murmured to Grimmjow, sickly eyes trained down at the snow covered road and a severe expression on his features.

"What is?" Their boots crunched in the snow over the subtle sound of melt water trickling in fissures warmed by the sun overhead. There were thick, puffy clouds dotting the horizon they walked toward that could have meant snow, or rain, or nothing at all.

Shiro lifted a hand to point to the side of his head. "Think." He shook his head. "Not think– Yes too, but-" His features twisted with frustration and the hand beside his head curled into a fist that he pressed against his temple with a low growl.

"I understand what you're saying, Shiro." Grimmjow reached over to pull the hand down. "Remembering. Your memories are confusing."

The undead resisted a brief moment, then allowed his hand to drop to his side again, nodding with a huffed breath. "Mm hmm." Still not looking at the big man, he moved his hand to the front of his coat. "How?"

"How did it happen? Or how did it get fixed up? Ichigo stitched you back together." He watched the way Shiro's brows knotted thoughtfully as the undead slowly nodded like he was remembering it as Grimmjow said it. "You got hurt quite a while before that, trying to help me."

"Help. Help- From mmmonsters-" But even as he said it, he shook his head. "Not."

Grimmjow nodded. "Not from zombies, no. From a very bad man. He was hurting other people too. Do you remember?"

"Others." He looked over at Ichigo with a thoughtful frown.

"Not Ichigo. Before we met Ichigo." He could see that Shiro remembered something, but was struggling to put his finger on the memory. There was enough there that he was trying to concentrate on it, though. "It's ok if you don't remember. We didn't stick around for long. I don't remember them well either."

"Hurt." Shiro grated, reaching over to tap the front of Grimmjow's coat.

Grimmjow nodded. "That's right. We match."

Shiro nodded too, slowly and thoughtfully. "Bad man. I helped-" But his head tilted in thought. "…girl?"

Grimmjow's features pulled tight, his voice going a touch hoarse. "That's right. There was a girl." The image of a redneck's abused daughter flooded his mind's eye, the layered bruises ringing her arms, the way he'd walked around the corner to find her father tugging her dress back down. "I left her there." He told Shiro quietly, regret in his tone. "She wouldn't come with us."

Brows furrowed in a poorly hid look of dawning horror, Ichigo looked between the two, his gaze finally landing and staying on Grimmjow's pained expression. He knew this story, parts of it, anyway. He knew that Grimmjow had been attacked by a man he was trying to stop, and that Shiro had been cut open by that same man when he'd come to Grimmjow's aid. It wasn't hard to put together the rest. He cleared his throat, deciding to change the subject slightly. "You remember that far back?"

Shiro looked over at him, then shrugged. "Some. When-" The words caught and he gestured over at Grimmjow, "When sss- Hm." A look of frustration twisted his features and he brought his hand up to his mouth.

"When he speaks. You remember it as he's saying it." Ichigo smiled when the undead nodded. "I know it's hard, but try not to get so frustrated with yourself. You're doing really well, and we understand you better than you think."

Pale brows furrowed over eyes that cornered out toward the horizon, away from whom he spoke to. Again, Shiro shrugged. "Ssometimes… I can- T find," He took his time, trying hard to say what he wanted to say. "Can't find words. -Times I…" He trailed off with a deep, wheezing breath and tapped a finger against his head again. "-know but can't-" It was always easier after he'd already heard what he was looking for, so he paused again, trying to think about what had already been said to find what he wanted. "Sayin'. Say. Know but can't say."

A sympathetic expression settled on Ichigo's features. He glanced over at Grimmjow, before turning back to Shiro again. "I know. We can tell, but it's ok, you'll–"

"Not!" Shiro snapped with a surprising amount of heat in his voice, spinning on his heal toward Ichigo. "Not ok." He said more levelly, turning to keep walking again. "Doesn't– d…" He brought his hands up to lay against his chest. "Me- I don't w-work right."

Having froze when the undead had turned on him, Ichigo hesitated a moment, then kept walking as well. Maybe this wasn't going to be an easier conversation than whatever guilt Grimmjow felt over the girl he'd left behind. "You'll get there, Shiro, healing takes time."

The undead hummed a noncommittal sound and didn't seem convinced. Some time later, he cocked his head slightly and spoke up again. "Barn?"

Grimmjow frowned. "We already told you about the barn, don't tell me you don't remember that conversation."

Yellow eyes cornered to shoot a mild glare at the big man, before Shiro pointed. "Different."

"Different barn?" Both Grimmjow and Ichigo followed that pointing finger. Off in the distance, almost lost in the unbroken vista of white, a building loomed over the road they walked. The peaked roof was either missing or engulfed in clouds that were lower than they looked, and from the distance, it was difficult to tell what state it sat in, but that was hardly a concern. If it was unoccupied, it was a good place to spend a frigid night. "Still pretty far away." Grimmjow observed.

Ichigo nodded. It couldn't have been more than a couple miles off, but the walk already wasn't an easy one, between the slick slush and wet snow they walked through and the strength stealing temperature. "We should try for it."

A verbal agreement wasn't needed. They all started trudging on a little faster and with a little more determination now that a goal was visible. The prospect of spending a frigid night inside closed walls made for a tempting lure.

A while later, with the feeble sun on its way down and casting long, gloomy shadows that made the house and its surroundings look fuzzy and without definition, they neared the driveway. Snow packed what had probably been a gravel drive, outlined and visible now only because of a row of overgrown evergreen hedges to either side. Twisted, brown gnarls of vining plants clung and creeped up one side of the house, little roots sank into the weathered wood of the siding.

Shiro grunted a wordless sound to catch the attention of his companions. Covered by a dusting of snow, a leg -just the leg- lay along the side of the driveway. The foot was covered with an old, worn work boot, a holy but thick sock peeking from under it. The pants were gone entirely, revealing gnawed, bloodless flesh.

"You want that?" Grimmjow asked. His answer was a disgusted look from his undead friend. "Damn. Ok, never mind. Only fresh meat for you these days."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "More." The expression that crossed his features was enough to tell the other two that that wasn't what he was trying to get out. "Mmmm– Rest- The rest?"

Grimmjow hissed a breath through his teeth, but nodded. "We'll have to keep an eye out." If there was a legless zombie dragging itself around, chances were that it wasn't much to be worried about so long as it wasn't jammed somewhere surprising and unexpected, but it also meant that something or someone had cut or ripped that limb off. And whatever it was could still be around.

Motions entirely automatic, Grimmjow pulled a knife from his belt and passed it over to Shiro before he grabbed one for himself. Ichigo pulled out a weapon of his own. They crept down the snowed over driveway, listening for anything that wasn't the whistle of wind or the crunch of their steps in the snow that was slowly freezing over again with the decent of the sun. All seemed quiet and still. No tracks, save for the slight prints of a few birds just barely heavy enough to mark the crust of the snow's surface, marred the white around them. They found no obvious evidence of anyone or anything that could be a threat. Yet still there was an uneasy feel about the air as they approached the house.

Shiro's sound was as much a groan as a growl as he gave voice to that unease. Still looking around for anything untoward, Grimmjow nodded his agreement.

The front door was unlocked. Such a thing could have meant anything; occupied, unoccupied, dead, undead, living. It was impossible to gauge a building's safety based on a lock anymore. Ichigo pushed the door open wider, listening to the chill wind whistling into the previously closed off space.

The shadowed interior looked abandoned, with old furniture scattered around, some of it whole and other pieces broken or ripped. Hearts and names and other less savory things had been carved into the crumbling drywall long ago. The door creaked as it was pushed closed behind them.

They stood quietly in the main room for a few long, tense moments, listening. Grimmjow and Ichigo shared a look, before the former nodded slightly and the three of them began quietly combing through the old farm house. The main foyer opened up into several rooms, each of which held an arched doorway as its entry. The kitchen's arching doorway was double wide, giving a peek of what used to be a nice dining space, longer than it was wide. The long table, meant to seat a large family, was absent, leaving an empty, somewhat awkwardly long room. The other doorways, forming a semicircle across from the main entrance to the house, were too dark to make out much more than shadows.

Going room by room, they had just left the kitchen and were stepping through the next doorway when Shiro stopped dead in his tracks to spin. The floor creaked quietly as he did. The other two, upon hearing the low sound he made between his teeth, turned as well, to find nothing.

"What is it?" Grimmjow asked quietly.

"Mm." Narrowed, yellow eyes scanned the yawning, arched doorways. "Sound." Shiro shifted his weight, deliberately making the floor creak, and pointed into the darkness.

Grip tightening on the handle of his knife, Grimmjow headed in the direction Shiro was staring.

"Do you see something?" Ichigo asked in a whisper from beside the undead. His answer was a shake of the head, but Shiro's sickly eyes didn't stop searching for the source of what he'd heard. With a deep but quiet breath, he started off after Grimmjow. With as sharp as Shiro's senses were, it was hard to discount when he said there was something worth their attention. Before he'd fully crossed the space of the foyer, Ichigo stopped when he saw Grimmjow's head whip around and the grip of his knife reverse, readying. He froze, listening as he tried to see into the gloom.

Grimmjow, after a moment, started to turn to look back at Ichigo and Shiro, wanting confirmation that they might be being toyed with, except instead of asking a quietly spoken question, the air caught in his lungs and his eyes went wide. "Shiro–!"

The once-zombie spun at nearly the same time as the warning, only to be yanked back by a hand in his tangled hair. A blade came to rest against his throat and he froze, fingers clenched tight around the handle of his own knife. Eyes wide, his gaze cornered to try to get a glimpse of his attacker, before finding and staying on Grimmjow. A heavy breath made his chest swell.

Still in the middle of the room, between Shiro and Grimmjow, Ichigo dropped his weapon to the floor and held his hands out towards the stranger hiding behind their friend. "Please! Please don't hurt him."

Shiro's head was tugged back further and he bared teeth, snarling, but otherwise didn't move.

Behind him, Ichigo could practically feel the tension that settled into Grimmjow. "He's not like the others-"

The figure huddled behind Shiro shifted and came into view; a boy that couldn't have been older than his teens. "You're dead!?" He all but exclaimed.

"No!" Grimmjow's voice was raw, sounding every bit as much a command as a plead.

And then something strange happened. The boy lowered his weapon and used his grip on Shiro to turn him around, looking the zombie up and down. "I thought you were alive. Oh! And look what good condition you're in, amazing." It was as though he spoke to himself more than anyone else in the room. "Huh? Why aren't you growling and trying to eat my face? Aren't you hungry? They're always hungry-"

Shiro growled.

"Ah! That's more like it-"

"What the fuck." Grimmjow's voice was confused, but there was a tremble to it.

The kid flinched, finally looking passed Shiro to find the other two, who stood rooted in place to stare back at him in confusion. He brandished his machete, pointing the tip at them, yanking Shiro's head back again like he expected teeth to come at him. "This one's mine, back off! Get out. I'll treat him better than you will. You living people, always killing them."

Shiro snarled again and the teen jerked away, but instead of a lunge and snapping teeth, it was Shiro's hand that shot towards him. The boy gasped, shocked, when an iron grip tightened around his wrist. He tried to swing his machete, but couldn't overpower the undead enough to get it into motion. "Drop." Shiro demanded through bared teeth. "Now."

Eyes growing wide, the boy stared at Shiro for a long minute, before his features crumpled into an outraged expression. "What did you do to him?!" He demanded, attention shooting to the other two living people. He tried throwing himself at them, jerking in Shiro's grip enough to free himself. He crashed to the floor, the machete skidding under him.

In the dark space, they heard more than saw as the long blade's handle caught against the uneven planks of the floor. The boy let out a wet, gaging sound as his knees thudded to the ground. Frozen in their shock at the odd and sudden turn of events, they listened and watched as the boy coughed blood onto the floor.

After a long few minutes, Grimmjow muttered a heatless, "Fuckin' zombie sympathizers." as he skirted around the body to reach Shiro. "You ok?"

Pale fingers feeling along the welted but shallow scrape across his throat, Shiro nodded. He spared the dead teen in the middle of the floor a single, confused glance before they finished their sweep of the house. The rest of the search was quiet. Out back, behind the house in a ten foot long, chainlink dog run, four and half zombies milled about aimlessly.

They dragged the body outside, leaving it by the pathway that the front door opened up onto. Off in the distance as the sun finished its decent, the yips and howls of a coyote echoed through the dark shadows.

With broken furniture and the risk of burning the entire house down, they lit a fire in the middle of the floor, portioned out a meal, and huddled around the warmth before laying down, weary and exhausted.

Some hours later, with the moon high in the sky, casting feeble light that wavered as clouds drifted in front of it through a window in the large kitchen, Ichigo frowned and slowly opened his eyes. After all he'd been through, all any of them had been through, one of the things he'd learned fast was that if something woke him up in the night, he woke up fast but calm. The extra movement of startled thrashing or jolting upright drew too much attention and if whatever woke you up didn't know you were there before, it would afterward.

So when muted, hushed sounds seeped into the space around him, he took a deep but calm breath and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness around him. He didn't find a dead walking around though, or a threat at all.

Instead, Grimmjow sat in the middle of the floor with his once-dead companion. Shiro practically sat in his lap curled in on himself. Every shred of muscle on his figure was rigid and tense. His breathing was ragged and fast and shallow as he huddled against the bigger man's chest.

Ichigo shifted, about to get up to see what was going on or what had happened, but his movement caught the attention of blue eyes and Grimmjow shook his head in the slightest motion, before dropping to focus on the man in his lap again. He wrapped his arms tighter around his companion, whispering quiet, soothing sounds as he squeezed hard enough that Ichigo was sure it would have been hard to breathe.

Then Shiro pulled in another desperate breath and no sooner had his lungs filled with air than did the exhale push out as a pained, wordless whimper. His whole body trembled, half rocking against Grimmjow as he all but writhed where he curled.

A heart-broken wince pulled across Grimmjow's features, "Shhh… It's ok. It's gonna be ok." He soothed against pale, dirty hair.

In that broken, half groaning way of his when he struggled to put words to his thoughts, Shiro whimpered, "H-huurtsss…"

"I know…" Grimmjow whispered back, "I know, I'm sorry…"

In the dark, Ichigo's features pulled into a regretful scowl, but there wasn't much he could do to help, so he laid there and tried to be as unobtrusive as he could be. Going back to sleep, however, was out of the question. He watched the way the zombie struggled to breathe around his pain, the way one arm cradled the ruin of his middle, where too much damage had carved flesh and muscle away long before Ichigo had even met the two. He'd done his best to put the zombie back together, but it had been more for his benefit than Shiro's at the time and now he had to wonder if he'd done the right thing, or if he could have done a better job.

The problem with living flesh was that it could feel pain and after months and months of feeling next to nothing, Shiro had much to catch up on as his body, presumably, tried healing itself and fought against the damage done to it.

The pale creature's body constricted, doubling over even tighter, as Shiro grit out a sharp, quiet sound through bared teeth. It was clear he was trying to keep his agony quiet and contained, but one of his hands was so tightly clenched along Grimmjow's arm, where Grimmjow held him close, that his nails were biting into golden skin. Red oozed to the surface, a few drops of blood welling where black nails cut through, but Grimmjow didn't seem to notice and if he did, he didn't say anything about it. He just kept holding his friend, rocking in a subtle, unaware way as he did what he could to offer comfort.

Severe brows creased and Grimmjow closed his eyes, half burying his features against Shiro's hair, but a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips, as strained as it was. In the dark, his grating voice was strong but calm and relaxing. "Do you remember when we first met?" He asked, looking up just long enough to glance at Ichigo before concentrating on the barely there reply he got. He couldn't tell if it was an affirmative or a negative, but it didn't matter. It only mattered that Shiro was paying attention to what he said, to his words and his voice and the story he was using as a distraction. Grimmjow cracked a short, grunted laugh at the memories, "Remember when the teacher asked you to introduce yourself to the class and you didn't say anything, just stood at the front of the room and looked unimpressed at the rest of us? Heh. She had no idea what to do, so she said she'd start with herself first then and you told her you couldn't care less. You were just passing through."

Ichigo thought he heard a wet chuckle, muffled against Grimmjow's shirt. It could have been something else, though.

"She knew." Grimmjow continued, a little more of a smile on his face as he continued his subtle, soothing motions, "She moved her favorite student out of his seat to put you on the opposite side of the room from me. She knew we were going to be a handful right from the start. Oh, man, and then that same day at lunch…" A short laugh interrupted the story, "At lunch, I called you cream puff…"

This time, Shiro's laugh was more obviously a laugh. He tightened his arm around his middle, the extra movement to his diaphragm painful, but he pushed out hard fought words all the same, as slow and broken as they were, "Bro-oke… y- 'r nnnn-nose…"

Like he usually was with the zombie, Grimmjow was surprisingly patient and when Shiro finished, his smirk widened and he nodded against his friend, purposeful about making sure Shiro could feel him since his face was hidden. "Yeah you did. I probably deserved it…"

Shiro interrupted him with a wordless sound they'd long since associated with the zombie disagreeing with something being said. Even when he couldn't really argue, it was an argumentative sound all the same.

"Fine, ok," Grimmjow conceded, "I definitely deserved it." He soothed a hand down Shiro's bowed back as the nails anchored in his arm slowly let up a fraction at a time. In his lap, the zombie was beginning to lose some of his rigidness, so Grimmjow continued with his retelling. It was something from their old life they shared, something Shiro could try to recall and remember from before his death, something he could distract himself with while he pushed through this bout of pain. "Ruined my favorite shirt with my blood. That had never happened before. The nurse called my old man and he laughed at me, said it was about time I found someone to put me in my place, then asked if I wanted to invite you to dinner." Grimmjow laughed again, recalling another memory, "Remember that time that freshman tried to pay you to beat me up because I stole his lunch money the day before? And you walked up to me and told me about it. Poor fucker. We stole his lunch money together."

A few meters away, Ichigo listened to the childhood stories and the fondness they held with a small smile.

Grimmjow kept it up for the better part of an hour, cradling his friend while he tried his best to keep Shiro's mind from the agony neither of them had a solution for. It must have worked. Eventually Shiro stopped chiming in, even his less strenuous, wordless sounds ceased to add parts to the memories. He relaxed further with each passing minute and by the time Grimmjow quit talking, he was entirely unresponsive in the bigger man's arms, resting in exhausted sleep.

Ichigo finally sat up when Grimmjow started to shift his hold on their zombie companion. He didn't say a word about any of it as he helped carefully, quietly move Shiro to the floor where he could sleep more comfortably and hopefully peacefully. When they'd made him as comfortable as they could with what they had, Grimmjow sat back with a sigh. He looked nearly as exhausted as Shiro, but he managed half a smirk when he was asked if he was alright.

It was good enough, as good as any of them had.

That next morning, Ichigo woke up to find both of his travel companions out cold. Grimmjow had moved over next to the undead, curled on his side to face the smaller, a muscled arm thrown loosely but protectively around a lithe waist. Shiro hadn't moved an inch throughout the night.

Eventually he woke Grimmjow up for lunch, but they let Shiro sleep. He woke up sometime during the evening, just long enough to mumble a few wordless, grating, half-aware sounds and when he got confirmation of his friends, he went right back to sleep. He slept through the whole of the next night too.

That coming morning, they ultimately had to wake him up. As much as they would have preferred to let him rest, let him recover, they had to get moving. Food was scarce and what they had with them was dwindling. They couldn't stay any longer.

Shiro woke up with hardly a sound when Ichigo gently shook his shoulder. He stared at nothing for a second, and climbed to his feet and off they went. He was entirely unresponsive for half the day. It worried his companions, seeing him act so much like he had before he'd re-learned to speak, but they had to keep moving.

Eventually they stopped for lunch, which really just consisted of a rest period and a drink of water. There wasn't enough food for three meals a day. But as Grimmjow was guiding his friend down to the ground with him so they could all sit and take a break, much the way he had before, Shiro froze for a second, before continuing to sit. He looked around for a second and frowned and after a few minutes, Grimmjow frowned back at him. "…you ok, Shi?" He asked hesitantly, like he thought he wouldn't get an answer.

Shiro started to nod, but then shook his head. "I… Wh-whenn 'd we leavve? I don't remem-member gettin' all the way out…here…" He explained in his broken, still adjusting way. A shaking hand lifted to find its way to his dry, struggling throat.

Half a smirk twitched onto Grimmjow's features, "Glad to have you back. We were starting to wonder."

The undead snorted, scrunching up his features, but a smile rested there too. Then, " 'm starvin'. I f-feel like I could eat-t a person."

Blue eyes widened and glanced over to meet Ichigo's equally surprised look, before a bout of laughter escaped him, the sound both relieved and amused. They didn't even hesitate to portion out a small meal for him, dipping into the rations they were saving for that evening's break.

He ate with more enthusiasm than either had seen in a long time.

••••••••

Ichigo paused in the middle of the small, residential street. The buildings all looked long abandoned, but he was used to that. Cars had been towed or driven into a rough perimeter, ringing the house and yard. Pikes had been fashioned and jammed into the gaps between vehicles, where bumper met bumper and the hoods caused lower spots in the makeshift wall. They angled outward, sharp and ominous. The barrier rounded the entirety of the house, disappearing between neighboring houses to circle around the back. As far as he could tell, the back yard had been fenced as well. It must have taken a long time and a lot of work.

"Well." Grimmjow ventured, taking it all in. Sheets of metal had been welded over broken car windows and used to help fill spaces that might have been large enough for a body to squeeze through. "Someone's certainly been living here."

Ichigo nodded, his heart in his throat. "You guys hang back. If they're here, I want to explain before they see you, Shiro."

Beside him, the pale creature turned his head to glance at him, then nodded and went back to studying the fortifications. He edged a little closer to Grimmjow, who, used to reading entirely unspoken language from the once-dead, knew exactly what he was getting at.

"Good call." Grimmjow agreed, motioning him over, "Stay behind me when they first open the door. Just to be safe." Grimmjow's life couldn't so easily be missed.

With a deep, fortifying breath, Ichigo crossed between the vehicles that had deliberately been left a few feet apart at the path leading to the front door, as good as a welcome mat. Belatedly, he pulled his hand away from the knife at his belt.

Halfway there, the curtain in the front facing window shifted and he froze, eyeing it before his attention slowly swung to the door. Ten paces behind him, he heard Shiro's sword slide back into its sheath, the hilt clicking into place as the weight of it was allowed to guide it. Half a smirk twitched across his features, just before the door was thrown open.

He hardly had time to react before two teenage girls were on him, nearly rocking him from his feet. Tears welled in his eyes, streaked down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around his twin sisters. He laughed with heady relief and pure joy amidst cries of his name that carried the same emotions, his legs nearly giving out under him.

A man looking older than his years stepped through the doorway, but paused to watch the moment. His faith in his son had been unshakeable and the expression on his features showed exactly that, before his attention traveled passed Ichigo, to search the two lingering just outside the barrier. "Son," He called, waiting until the young man looked up, "Invite your friends in."

Ichigo grinned, turning. "I told you, Grimmjow, my family will welcome both of you."