"Welcome to Purgatory, kid."

Ichigo blinked to see past the blood in his eyes to the figures closing in around him.

"We'll give you the full welcome." A fist had him around the neck. He gasped out, an open wound down his front spilt more blood onto the dirt crusted cement beneath him.

"Me first," someone shouted. Light burst in one eye before it went black. Ichigo fell back against the ground. Everyone cheered. Someone hauled him up again. He felt his jaw crack this time before he went down. He raised hia hands, tried to push back the men who grabbed at him but it was no good. He couldn't see anything, he could hardly hear for the ringing in his ears. They pulled him up and sent him back with one cruel punch after another, cackling every time.

His prison sentence would soon be a death sentence.

"Hey!"

Everyone froze, including the person restraining Ichigo around the throat. He was held in the strangle hold a few seconds longer before he was released and he felt the bodies move back around him. He couldn't clear his eyes enough to see. All he could do was lay there while the newcomer approached, and he tasted the copper at the back of his throat, smelt his own sweat and blood that drenched his body, his hair. His body burned from so many wounds and these blows on top of everything were pushing him into the dark. But he held on, just long enough to hear the name of his saviour.

"Nobody touches him, you hear? And spread the word, Kurosaki belongs to Grimmjow Jaggerjaques."

It took Ichigo days to recover from the wounds he'd arrived with and those he'd earned in his first moments of prison life. He wasn't really aware of what was going on around him. He just woke with blurry, swollen eyes on a cot that smelt of urine and blood and he didn't move.

He wasn't sure he'd ever move again.

No one bothered him. He heard them, moving past the entrance to the cell—he hadn't actually rolled over to see but he was sure he must be in one of the many caged rooms he'd glimpsed on his was in here. There was noise all the time—all through the night and day. The lights fluctuated constantly, sometimes dousing him in long droughts of darkness—unless that was just his waning consciousness. The only thing he was aware of, was the other person in the room. He wasn't always there, but especially in the dark he would feel his presence, never addressing him or offering him help, just there in the room with him.

It was only on the third day that something wet and cold splashed on him and he sat up sharply, wincing in pain but startled back into reality.

"You still alive?" Ichigo didn't answer. He grabbed the wall and rubbed his eyes, trying to see. He felt the swelling and cuts that still covered his face. His hand shook when he dropped it, rattling the foot of chain that bound his wrists. Eventually, though, he turned enough to see who spoke.

Grimmjow dropped what was left of the canteen of water in his lap. Ichigo stared up at him, not finding his voice.

"Hey!" He reacted to the harsh slap by drawing one handing up to his already battered face. Because of the chain his other hand was tugged up too. He looked down at the shackles and then back to the man who'd struck him.

"I asked you a fucking question. Are you still with it or did they hit you one too many times on the head?"

Ichigo swallowed, throat raw and sore. He looked back to the canteen. Grimmjow allowed him the time to take a drink before asking him again.

"Kurosaki!"

"Yes." His voice was only a rasp. "I'm still here."

Grimmjow didn't show any pleasure at the fact, but snatched back the canteen and shoved Ichigo back down on the mattress with one hand. Ichigo coughed out harshly and realized how weak he must be if Grimmjow's shove felt that strong. Grimmjow watched his confusions and a dark smile grew on his face.

"Oh, they didn't tell you, when they threw you down here?"

"Tell me what?" Ichigo croaked.

"The moment you pass through the prison gates you lose your piritual pressure."

"What?" Ichigo sat back up painfully, noting his robes were in fact gone, replaced by a simple white shirt and pants like the ones Grimmjow wore.

"I'm not repeating myself. Just know this: I'm the only reason you're still breathing, and without your spiritual pressure you're just a kid in a den of wolves." Grimmjow moved back over to him and shoved him down flat again, leaning in close with his fist knotted in Ichigo's collar. "Do not leave this room. In fact, don't leave this bed until your wounds close over. There are no fancy healers here to put you back together if you start bleeding again. Got it?"

When he got no response he shook the teen.

"I said, got it?!"

"Yes, back off."

"Don't back talk me, asshole." Grimmjow grabbed him around the upper arm where a wound sent chills of pain through him. "You're only breathing 'cause I say so. So you shut up and do what I tell you."

For a moment, because of his wounds and his spinning head, Ichigo considered laying flat and listening, but that part of him that made him the well known ass-kicking orange haired teenager, couldn't stay buried, so he did his best to shove Grimmjow back.

"Screw you."

Grimmjow scowled. Then he drew back his fist.

Ichigo saw black.

The next few days were very unpleasant. When Ichigo woke from the brutal punch Grimmjow had served him, he found that the espada had secured his shackles around one of the bed legs with a second chain. Had he been in better shape, Ichigo thought he could have found a way out of the mess of iron links, but as he was still recovering from one of the worst battles of his life and the ensuing beating he'd taken in here, he just lay on the bed and tried to recover.

The longer he lay there, the more he felt he was the only real prisoner in this prison. People—or perhaps more accurately creatures—passed by their cell door all the time, most of them pointedly stopping to stare in on him. It was uncomfortable to say the least. Grimmjow would bark at them to move along or shut his homemade curtains, if he was there. When he wasn't there, he locked the cell door behind him—Ichigo also didn't know of many prisons where the prisoners got to have their own set of keys.

It was apparent though, that this was not an ordinary prison. Many prisoners appeared to be hollows ranging from bestial to humanoid adhuchas. He saw no sign of prison guards anywhere. And where this prison was exactly was still a mystery to him. He hoped to get his answers out of Grimmjow, but the other seemed only interested in interrogating him.

"So Bach cut up your soul reaper buddies, then what?" Grimmjow pressed from where he towered over Ichigo. He kept a foot on the the chain linked through his shackles so Ichigo couldn't sit up straight or move his hands.

Ichigo bristled at the callous way he referred to his friends who were probably all dead now.

"I went for him. Hashwald intervened."

At this, Grimmjow let out a bark of laughter.

"What?" Ichigo shot up at him.

"You didn't even get to the King? You're pathetic."

"Screw you, how the hell did you get in here then?"

At this, Grimmjow stooped and clamped a hand around his throat. "I'm the one asking questions."

Ichigo couldn't retort for the pressure on his throat. Grimmjow held the threat a little longer and then backed off completely.

"So the Reapers fell six days ago when you showed up in Purgatory..." He spoke to himself while Ichigo coughed and wheezed. "So the Vandenreich win."

But Ichigo shook his head.

"Well, who else is left then? Didn't you say your girlfriend was in a coma or something?"

Yes, he had. Orihime had not woken since suffering a brutal blow to the head in a surprise attack three months earlier.

"She was the only one left with any decent power," Grimmjow concluded.

"The soul king."

"What?" Grimmjow thought about this. "What can he do?"

Ichigo shrugged. Grimmjow made a frustrated noise, then headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

Grimmjow looked up at him through the bars as he secured them. "To ask a soul reaper who knows something useful."

So there were soul reapers here too. Ichigo stood at the bars to the cell, looking out on the sea of identical cages that stretched around one massive central space. The main part of the prison—from what Ichigo could figure out—was square. That's where they were, in one of the corner cells on floor three of probably over a hundred stories of stacked cells. Beyond the cell was the walkway with only a broken wrought iron rail between you and the edge. At this height, he'd survive a fall to the pit bottom, but from the top you'd be nothing but liquid after you hit.

Ichigo could only see part of the pit floor without leaving the cell—which he could not do as he was locked in it. But from what he could see it had originally been designed to be a communal space. Broken chairs and tables were scattered all over the concrete. So much blood had built up over the floor that it was more rusty orange than grey now. That's what you got when you threw hollows and soul reapers together, he thought. The common area had become a ring, and at least once a day he could hear chanting below and people yelling bets on fights. He was pretty sure no one ever survived a fight.

Purgatory. He'd been lucky to get that much information out of Grimmjow. He must have been bored because he explained to Ichigo where their prison was located.

It was made by soul reapers. He supposed Grimmjow could be lying, but when Ichigo remembered back to his first foray into Soul Society he recalled massive pits where hollows were once thrown. They were no longer in use. Grimmjow informed him, it was because they had created this place—a pocket dimension, accessed through a special portal, and only containing this small prison world. There was no outdoors. You were simply sent through the portal to land on the main floor and fend for yourself from there. If soul society then needed information or experiments, they had option. But most of all, the moment you stepped through, the world started gathering your spirit energy, leaving you no more than human and giving the soul reapers a wealth of extra spirit energy—now being used by the Vandenreich.

Grimmjow wasn't sure if it had first been a prison for traitor soul reapers or for advanced hollows but in either case it was now a home to both. Some had been here for years, decades, even centuries. But many had just arrived, and they had not been sent by the Soul Reapers. They'd been cast here by the Vandenreich. The fact that the quincies had not killed them meant they might be made use of later, but the fact that they also never checked up on them meant they probably didn't have a vested interested in any of the souls here—if you died, you died and they wouldn't care.

That's what confused Ichigo. He thought they cared about him. He thought they wanted him for one dark purpose or another. And if that was not the case, then he was certain they would have killed him.

Ichigo backed away from the bars and sat back on his cot. Grimmjow had let him up so he could try to regain some strength by walking a bit. His hands, however, remained shackled to one another.

The espada had been busy and so had not paid him too much attention. He seemed very intent on finding out just what the Vandenreich were up to and the current status of the war, so he had started seeking out all the soul reapers still breathing in the prison and interrogating them about the Zero squad, trying to figure out who they were and if they might still have a part to play.

Ichigo was eager to get out of the cell and find these soul reapers as well, but part him also guessed they had been here for a long while, and if that was the case, they were traitors and likely wouldn't make good allies.

Grimmjow seemed to be his only option right now, especially in his current state. He still couldn't figure out the other's motivations and he couldn't say it was pleasant being his prisoner.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked when he guessed Grimmjow was in a reciprocating mood. He must have been wrong because he got a snarl of an answer.

"I already told you."

Ichigo thought this over, fairly certain he hadn't, then it dawned on him.

"Oh, because I don't have spiritual pressure."

"Obviously. That's why you were naked when you arrived here."

"What?"

At this, Grimmjow spun in his chair where he'd been leaned back, feet on the desk that was in the room, reading something in a language Ichigo didn't understand. He had a wicked grin on his face.

"You don't remember? That's how everyone arrives in Purgatory, everything you have with you, including your spiritual pressure and your clothing—is taken away. The shock alone kills some, and then most of the rest get eaten by those vultures down there."

"You don't mean literally eaten do you?"

"Of course I do—and some like to play with their food too—though it's not like you can get any power from other souls in this place. So there's really no point."

"But you survived coming through—did you have allies here to help you?"

At this, Grimmjow turned back to his desk. "Didn't need 'em."

"Oh." Ichigo held the silence for a moment, then, "But where did these clothes come from?"

Grimmjow let out a sigh of frustration at being bothered, but he responded. "The laundry room."

The unanswered question hung in the air. Grimmjow made another noise and turned back.

"Look, here's how it works. The weaklings who can't survive without protection work all the shit jobs in this place and keeps it from becoming a literal shit hole. They clean the clothes, they stir up the gruel, and get rid of bodies any other housekeeping that's needed. In return, they aren't killed. Maybe when you're better you can join 'em."

"It's not up to you what I do."

"Yes it is."

"Grimmjow what the Hell are you doing with me anyway? Why did you save me only to keep me locked up?"

"I think I'm regretting it." He turned dangerously. "Enough talk, shut up and let me read."

"No, this is ridiculous. I want answers and-"

Grimmjow rose, Ichigo stood to meet him, but without his spiritual pressure he just wasn't a match for Grimmjow's strength. Even if he'd grown since the last time they'd met, Ichigo was just eighteen, hadn't had the chance to fill out and build up the thick muscles that defined Grimmjow's physique. So he hit the wall hard, Grimmjow's hand in his hair and breath on his neck.

"You don't get it. This place is my domain now. There's no Aizen, no anyone, and I took control the moment I arrived. I don't put up with shit from anyone, least of all you."

"Then why keep me in here? If I'm so annoying let me go."

"You dumb or something? You think they wouldn't kill you the moment I cut you lose? You think they wouldn't do terrible things to you?"

"I can stand up for myself."

Grimmjow's grip tightened in the teen's hair but then he suddenly relaxed. "You know what, never mind. Go."

He steered him by the back of the neck toward the door and shoved him out. Ichigo stumbled to a halt by the railing. He was suddenly struck by the cold—he hadn't realized how much the cell walls had cut down on the damp draft that now washed over him. His bare feet squished in a viscous liquid. He looked down and regretted it.

"Well." Grimmjow leaned in the doorway, making it clear there was no going back inside. Ichigo straightened, not daring to show hesitation or let the opportunity to escape get by him. He moved at a quick pace down the stairs that were right next to the corner.

He should have gone up instead.

He remembered at once that the central square was were the 'vultures' lurked for easy prey. It was also where the fights and betting took place. No doubt this had something to do with Grimmjow's location three stories up on the corner—close to the action, but just up enough that he didn't catch the stench of this place. Ichigo wrinkled his nose as he walked around the perimeter of the second floor. He didn't want Grimmjow to see him go up again so he intended to find another stair case where he could ascend unseen.

He didn't make it that far.

"You're the newbie right?"

Ichigo came to a dead halt when the large man sauntered out of his cell. Ichigo spotted his hollow mask at once, a bridge of bone between his eyes and turning into a full helm above his head. A hollow hole cut through his chest.

"What difference is it to you?"

"Shut up and get in here." Ichigo gave pause, looking between the man and his cell.

"Um...no."

"It wasn't a choice." The man made a grab for him. Ichigo stepped back lightly and the hollow missed. He ducked another blow and skirted by him even in the narrow space. He thought he'd been quick enough but his shoulder was caught and he fell hard against the bar. It groaned, old and long abused the metal bent out as if to help tip him over the edge but the back of his shirt was caught and he landed back on the mucky walkway. A thick, filthy foot landed on his shackles and despite his yank his hands were caught.

"Did Jaggerjaques cut you loose?"

"What difference does it make?"

He couldn't raise his hands to block the punch and so he took it hard to the side of his face. Then his hair was snagged and his head forced back.

"DID HE?"

"Yes!"

A smile. Ichigo regretted answering.

"Good." His head hit the steel grating beneath him. He felt the burning pain in his face, the swelling of his lip, but his head swam and the pain was a distant throb. He was dragged back up by the back of his neck and he saw that he was being steered into the hollow's cell.

He fought. Maybe it was adrenaline—he couldn't be sure—but some last reserve burst forth and he caught the bars, manoeuvred free and ran with all he had. Unfortunately, it was more than just this hollow interested in him and his path seemed to narrow to only one destination: over the bars and headlong into the barren arena at their feet. He soared over the bar when he realized it was his only choice and crashed hard into the muddied concrete where he'd first made his entrance. He only realized it was probably the worst place for him to be when he was already sailing over the bar.

He did his best to tuck and roll but one foot still hit at an awkward angle and then he fell hard on his fast, his hands scraping over the dirt and driving into his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. It was while he was gagging and gasping and trying to sit up again that he saw the swarm of feet headed his way and knew he'd just thrown himself into the lion's den.

"Shit."

"He's mine!" The bellow came from above. His initial attacker jumped down from the ledge but no one backed off. Ichigo was still recovering from the fall and it took little movement to tell him his ankle was busted.

"So he's up for grabs again? The Sixth ain't interested in him?"

"Must have had his fun already," someone jibed.

"No good meat on him anyway," another sighed.

"Meat ain't what Jaggerjaques was after—and neither am I." Another shoved forward but was met with the first hollow to attack Ichigo. Ichigo looked up at the two figures who towered over him. They stared one another down, as did many others in the swarm of people, and it was seconds before the building tension erupted into violence.

In the crowd, he spotted one or two faces without bone, bodies without hollow holes. He looked to them with hope, only to find them staring back at him with cold hard eyes of dark desire. He looked away and back to the pair over him just in time to see the first strike.

Blood splattered down on him. The first hollow had hit was such force the other's whole face was a mess of blood and loose teeth. Ichigo recoiled from the spray a second punch caused the man to fall back in a dead heap.

The two man fight became a brawl and Ichigo was in the middle of it.

He got knocked around and grabbed. His clothes tore. His hair was pulled. He took a glancing blow to the side of the head and fell flat, everything spinning. Someone grabbed his ankle and dragged him one way, someone else grabbed his chains and tugged in the opposite direction. He was sure he would be ripped in half when someone else intervened and a large hand pulled him by the neck. He gasped out in pain from the pressure on his ankle but his feet soon left the floor.

"I said he was mine." It was his original attacker. It was clear he'd come out on top and the others were considering backing down. Ichigo struggled in the grip. The giant looked at him before dropping him and stamping down on his wounded ankle.

"Gha!"

"Stop squirming."

"Fuck you! I'm not a piece of fucking property!" He shouted even from his helpless position on the filthy prison floor. He only noticed now that many spectators had gathered on the stories above—interested to see how it played out but not enough to participate themselves. The sight angered him more and made his defiance all the more powerful—but not powerfull enough.

"Shut up." The fat hand stole his vision for several long seconds. He'd been slapped—a punch undoubtedly would have killed him—but the hand was so big it was like getting a steak to the face. His ear rang and more blood ran out from the cuts he'd already sustained on his face. He dragged himself back up into a sitting position even though the room spun. "You're nothing more than meat and you're mine."

"No."

This time the blow came to his gut. Again, the hollow held back, or he'd be dead, but as it was he spewed vomit and this time he did not get up again. He convulsed again, blood coming up with his stomach acid. His shackled hands wrapped around his stomach and tears stung at his eyes. He was beaten. He couldn't win when he was like this, drained of his power, out-sized by his opponents, still wasted from his failed attempt to stop the Vandenreich and save the world.

It hurt all the worse knowing all those eyes were on him, that they watched with cold passivity as he failed again, as he lay in his own mess of blood and vomit on the pit floor of an inter-dimensional prison.

He lay panting and fighting the tears that streamed hot from his eyes with every gag but threatened to morph into something emotional. But they didn't—he wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

Then the beast had a hand on his shoulders and was pulling him up.

"Okay, fun's over."

The hollow's movements ceased. Ichigo came to a stop, half way to his knees. He dragged his head up enough to see who it was.

"Grimmjow..."

"Shut up," the espada barked at him, but then turned his attention back to the hollow. "I said it's over."

"And I said he's mine."

Grimmjow straightened his stance. Ichigo's vision was terrible but he was pretty sure everyone above leaned closer over the edge, maybe even one or two of them gasped—at the clear words of challenge.

"You're defying me?" Grimmjow flexed his knuckles. Someone clanked a metal cup against a rail and the sound was repeated far above, then it spread like a building rainstorm, until the watchers were chanting for a fight, for the challenge to be accepted.

"Drop the kid," Grimmjow ordered.

The hollow did, but Grimmjow didn't come to Ichigo's side. They both moved toward the middle of the floor and anyone else nearby backed off. The hollow was massive, he sort of reminded Ichigo of Yammy. In here, there was no spiritual pressure, only physical strength. So despite Grimmjow's arrogance, even his skill, he really stood no chance.

Or so Ichigo thought, until the fight began.

Then he understood why Grimmjow was King of Purgatory.

It took him three strikes to kill the hollow. He was smart. He was fast and he was brutal. He snapped one kneecap with a well placed kick. He hooked his elbow around his enemy's neck as he fell, and he jerked his whole body in a sharp downward thrust as he squeezed his head tight. And the man dropped with a broken spine and eyes still wide open.

And everyone cheered.

Long live the King.

Ichigo couldn't stand to meet him as he came to claim his prize. He could hardly stay conscious when he was pulled up harshly and barely given enough support to keep him upright, causing him enormous pain in his ankle and other body parts. He was shaking head to toe from his wounds, and perhaps also from the startling revelation of just how weak he was. But Grimmjow didn't take him back. He steered him down a corridor Ichigo hadn't noticed before, right on the ring floor, and when he heard the rain of water he understood.

"Get out!" Grimmjow barked at those showering. No one protested. Ichigo fell hard to the wet floor of the shower room which was nothing more than a barely lit cement chamber with streams of water jetting out from different places on the walls and ceilings.

"Ah, Grimmjow stop!" he protested when his shirt was ripped clean off his back.

"Shut up!"

"Grimmjow don't!" He tried to kick his captor when he went for his pants but Grimmjow crippled him when he kicked back in his injured ankle. Ichigo recoiled but he was still stripped against his will. Then he was roughly shoved under one of the streams of shockingly cold water.

"Let go." He struggled, wanting to get out from the painful cold and the bruising grip of the other man. "Grimmjow..." the espada was all that was keeping him up now and he stood with his arms out straight, keeping himself out of the cold water while holding Ichigo directly in it. His jaw was set, he stared straight back in brown eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" He dragged Ichigo back out and held him closer. "You realize how much shit is on that floor out there—and I mean literal shit. Plus you fucking puked on yourself."

He forced him to move back toward the entrance.

"My clothes-"

"Are disgusting."

"Grimmjow don't," he protested when he realized he was going to be dragged naked out into the prison. "Grimmjow just stop!"

"No!" Grimmjow pulled him all the harder toward the entrance. "If you don't like it, you should have shut the fuck up and did what I said." The light of the main prison struck them along with all those eyes. He caught many jeers, cheers and filthy comments as he was forced along the floor and then up the metal stairs. Grimmjow practically threw him onto his bed when they got back into the cell and came to lean over him where he lay in both physical and mental shock.

"Remember today, before you go back-talking me again. And remember what those animals want to do to you, before you ever think of disobeying me. I'm all that stands between you and them, and trust me, protecting your ass is the last thing I want to do."

"Then-"

Grimmjow raised a warning hand. "If you fucking ask me why I'm doing this one more time, I'll leave you out there as is and watch them tear you apart."

Ichigo knew it was a lie, because there was no way Grimmjow had gone to these lengths to keep him safe just to turn around and let them have him. But after what just happened, he was shaken. So for all his hot headed anger, his pride and arrogance—he remained silent this time.

"Good." Grimmjow backed off from the soaked, shaking teen and tossed a blanket at him to cover his nakedness. Then he lay down on his own cot and went to bed.

Ichigo couldn't sleep.

I am publishing this earlier than I meant to as I like to get close to the end of a story before I start uploading it-but after seeing that Bleach will be on hiatus until the fall, I thought I would publish this as an attempt to help pass the time. Here we go with another lovey up-beat, cheerful Ichigo and Grimmjow story (cough, cough, no sarcasm at all...) Prison life presents an interesting dynamic for the duo, stay tuned to see how things play out in the dark dimension of Purgatory where Ichigo is powerless and stuck under Grimmjow's iron rule.

Would love to hear your thoughts, as always,

Riza.

*Woops, thanks for catching my mistake Wrecker, I have fixed it!