My first Ulquiorra and Grimmjow story, the plot of which has taken over my mind. Sorry for any mistakes I miss, I proofread best I can.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warning: This will contain male/male couples, otherwise known as Yaoi. Don't like, don't read. There will be a fair amount of het couples, but nothing explicit. Violence, language, gore, etc.

Flamers beware: I love using them to roast marshmallows.

To all others: Reviews are loved and highly appreciated. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy.


Help me find a reason

And I'll help you find the way

To get rid of all your pain

Little by little, day by day

-Theory of a Deadman, Heaven(Little by Little)

Rain poured down.

It fell harshly upon the city, covering every inch of every street with the unmerciful rhythm.

He hated rain. Hated how it always seemed as if the sky was crying like a little inconsolable child. And fucking God, if there even was one, well, he hated him too. For not doing anything about his suffering child and just allowing the burden of the rain to fall onto the rest of the world.

Uncaring bastard.

Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow was by no means considered a good person. And he accepted this. Hell, sometimes, he downright embraced it.

That didn't mean he necessarily couldn't be a decent person at times. Didn't mean he felt any less than those emotional saps who could dance in the rain all night. Didn't mean he could not feel pain like everyone else.

Because he did feel it, like now, with it's suffocating black tendrils smothering him with a pillow of rage, spite, and remorse.

At the moment, he hates every freaking individual in this forsaken city. He hates how they all either ignore the rain's presence or simply complain about it like helpless retards. Christ, does anyone ever try to do anything about anything anymore?

And he knows the answer. Everyone is so damned consumed with their own lives and everyday mundane issues of those lives. With their technology, pestering romances, feeble sentiments, and angsty, melodramatic high school situations.

Okay. It was official: He was majorly brooding.

And you know what, why shouldn't he? Death gave him every right to be as cynical and hateful as he wanted.

In fact, it had not been more than week or so ago when a friend had died.

You see, he usually didn't go labeling just any old acquaintance will the title 'friend'. But, Grimmjow can honestly say that Rangiku had been his closest companion since childhood.

Now, Grimmjow has seen his fair share of terrible occurrences and grievances in his time. Growing up in the slums, you see a lot. Yes, he too can be a selfish bastard sometimes and yes, even brutal. Those are his flaws and he accepts them. He is human, unfortunately.

What he cannot accept is how a worthless, piece-of-trash robber can get away with shooting two people, killing them, and only go to jail. What the fuck happen to an eye for an eye? If that law was still around, that shooter would be dying twice over. Thrice, if Grimmjow had his way.

What enraged him most was the lack of meaning to her death. Rangiku and the other had just been two victims in a random shoot-out. A tragic article in the paper. A report on the news that made people tear up and hug their kids a little tighter that night before bed. There was no or reason or rhyme to it.

It was just, 'Oops, didn't mean to pull the trigger and ruin two lives. Sorry.'

She died for absolutely no good reason.

Grimmjow could just not accept that. Not even his warped mind could wrap around the absurdity. Coincidental? Are you saying she died because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? What kind of jacked-up excuse is that? She had a boyfriend. She had a son. Why did she have to die?

Of course, there was no answer.

Where was all that proclamation of fairness and justice spoke of all the time in court or church?

Grimmjow laughed. There was no justice.

Ever since Rangiku's untimely demise, the subject of death has never left his mind and the seclusion of grief has left him bitter and sore. All he wanted was a little meaning in this world and maybe an itsy-bitsy amount of conceivable compassion. Ya' know, just for kicks, let's add a slab of retribution to his wish list.

Let us ask these long list of graves, here, from this nameless tombstone to the marble angel atop the rock over there. Let's ask them where their comfort is. Where does their justice lie?

His only answer was the pummeling drizzle of an incessant downpour. Snarling, Grimmjow whirled away, bidding Rangiku's grave a sullen goodbye and shoving his hands in his pockets to avoid punching something with his fists.

"Awful weather, isn't it?"

Grimmjow paused dead in his tracks. Without moving a muscle, he glanced to his left and then his right, trying to construe where the voice-out-of-nowhere had appeared from. Realizing it could only have been from behind, he whips himself around, and is dismayed to find only air.

Annoyed, he scowls. "Che. Damn rain. Must be messing with my hearing now."

He continued his trek to exit the graveyard. It must have been his own conscience just expressing more disdain for the rain. Still, it would have been nice to hear another share his hatred for the sorrowful weather. It would have been a tad placating, at least.

"Getting closer."


No one was around! Only him, the rows of graves, that alabastar statue of an angel glaring down at him with glowing green eyes...!

Hold on.

"Ah, figured it out?" Grimmjow could only stare. Not his fault. He had never been in this sort of situation before. He doesn't know what you're supposed to do when you're confronted by a talking statue. He skipped that class last semester.

"You...are...talking?" He managed to rasp out, eyes bulging out of their sockets. "'re...N-no way! This is crazy!"

The angel sighed. Long, flowing black wings protruded from his back. A pale outfit donned his slim body, blending with his already ivory-colored skin. His ebony tresses contrasted greatly with this, silky strands matching instead his obsidian wings. His entire appearance was bathed in black and white; all except the twin emeralds blazing through Grimmjow's very core as the creature before him stared back.

He could not help but be enthralled. Even if he was imagining this - yes, that has to be it, has to be fantasy - it's one hell of an imagery.

"I know you think I am fictitious," that deep voice drawled again, causing a shiver to ripple down his spine, "but do not be fooled. I am an angel. I am as real as the hair on your head."

Yeah, thank God his hair wasn't abnormal or anything, ya' know, being blue and all.

"I don't believe you," he deadpanned. Glaring, he went on, "Now go away. I have things to do."

"Hmph." The self-proclaimed angel acted as if stung. "How rude. Most people would have the common courtesy to say hello."

"Excuse me, then. I'm not known to be a very courteous person."

"I know," was the infuriating reply. "I'm Ulquiorra, by the way. Cifer Ulquiorra."

"I didn't ask."

"So it would seem."

Grimmjow snorted, clasping his head in annoyance. "You are one irritation illusion, you know that?"

"Why do you not trust my word?" asked the angel, tilting his head to the side in wonder.

Grimmjow scoffed, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'cause there ain't no such thing as angels!" He shook his head, muttering, "Must be having a bad trip. Probably went home and drowned my sorrows in some whiskey before coming here and I just don't remember."

"No, before you came here, you were finishing an essay for your homework assignment due tomorrow. However, you unable to focus and managed to pop out a mediocre C at best. And so you came here to visit the source of your distraction."

Grimmjow whipped around and glared in amazement as the stoic voice described a very detailed, very accurate, account of his whereabouts. Ulquiorra failed to mention it, but he had been alone through the duration of all those events. How could he have possibly known all of that?

"How did you know that?" he demanded aloud, hissing the words out in a rush.

Pale-dressed shoulders shrugged. "I told you, I'm an angel. Weren't you listening, you idiotic brute?"

Grimmjow immediately bristled. "Shut the fuck up, ya' creepy...winged...thingy!"

Even he has to admit, that was pitiful.

"Your wit continues to astound me," Ulquiorra comments dryly. In favor of keeping whatever dignity he has left, he does not reply. Just stands there as the water continues to pelt them.

"Are you a ghost?" Grimmjow questioned suddenly. Ulquiorra rolled his eyes.

"You teenagers and your ghostly delusions," he sighed, shaking his head.

Not one to be taken as a fool, Grimmjow huffed indignantly. "Well, what is it then?"

"As humans, when you die, if you are free of punishing shackles and have led a decent life, you are granted white wings," Ulquiorra elaborated in an intellectual tone. "White signifies the ascent, the acceptance of death and the peace it grants you."

Grimmjow, not an oblivious drone, noticed the obvious difference. "Your wings aren't white," he pointed out.

Ulquiorra nodded, for once deciding not to chide him for being an idiot. "When a human dies, there is not always the sweet release of serenity and bliss...For sometimes, there is interference of sorts."

"Interference?" repeats Grimmjow.

"An unmarked grave, an improper burial. It could be as simple as that. Sometimes the disturbance is deeper; an unsolved murder, a conspiracy, an evil deed or two draped with scum and sin."

Despite his usual demeanor, Grimmjow listened intently, with such uncharacteristic interest it was...bizarre.

"When you die like that, you are not shown the light," Ulquiorra continued gravely. "Instead, we are given black wings like these and forced to wander until eternal rest or something better comes along. Black represents difference and restlessness. "

Grimmjow mulled this, looking towards the ground, mildly vexed. " how many people are out there who...end up like this?"

Without looking at him, Ulquiorra shrugged, green eyes seeking out the horizon. "Thousands," he guessed softly. "Perhaps millions. All lingering black-wings searching for what is called 'their requiem.'"

Grimmjow swallowed past the thick lump forming in his throat. "And do most of them...ya' know...?"

"Find it?" Ulquiorra finished. Sadly, he shook his head. "No. Most end up being restless forever."

A quiet atmosphere decended. Grimmjow took time to digest all this, and the angel gave him the time to do it.

"Your friend has been dead for some time now," Ulquiorra said matter-of-factly. "Yet you still linger. Why so? That is not usually in your gruff nature."

Grimmjow growled deep in the back of his throat. "None of your damn business!"

"Perhaps," the angel shrugged, intertwining his hands behind his back. His dark wings spread as if to stretch, releasing a short shower of black feathers to lash out in the damp weather.

Mesmerized by their descent, he watched as the miraculous feathers turned to ash upon coming into contact with the soggy ground. He opened his mouth to say something, but dumbly shut it upon seeing the angel's calm composure as he too watched their descent.

"Perhaps not." Ulquiorra gave him a leveled look. "I've been sent here for a purpose, you know. From here on out, I am to be your guardian."

A 'guardian angel?' How cliche.

"And why exactly should I listen to you?" Grimmjow barked, crossing his arms. "Why should I do anything you say?"

"Because," the black-winged being explained simply, "I can show you the deeper meaning to life you so desperately seek. I can help you find the reason you want."

The proposition this angel was offering him both appalled and intrigued Grimmjow. How had he known of his doubts, of all the dark ponderings roaming about his dreaded mind lately? He didn't talk to anyone about it, which according to his friends, was half his problem. So how could this guy have known...?

There was only one logical conclusion. And the ironic thing was, it meant this Ulquiorra was truly an honest-to-freaking-god angel.

Well, angel or not, Grimmjow mused, his offer was inexplicably alluring. It was, after all, what he sought most of all. And it was indeed a wonderful distraction from life's otherwise dull misgivings.

But one thing still daunted him, and being the jerk he was, Grimmjow was not so easily convinced. He still certainly had his suspicions. He was the kind of animal to bite the hand that fed him if the situation deemed it necessary.

"What's in it for you then?"

"Me?" questioned Ulquiorra, as if he had not heard, when Grimmjow knows damn well he had. He feels as though this might be a problem later on, but to think as such would provide the pretense of this 'angel' being around a while.

So in favor of getting his answer this instant, instead of more preluding riddles, he pressed, "Yeah. What are you getting out of this?"

Ulquiorra glanced at him, expression cold and apathetic.

"I believe that would be obvious." Oh yes, he can see it now. They would get along smashingly, so long the blue-haired maniac could keep himself from getting pissed every ten minutes.

"Indulge me," he grunted. The angel turned away from him, dark locks swaying to and fro as his wings spread again, soaring through the twilight as his elegant legs swept into the air, latching onto a tombstone a distance away. Grimmjow waited, brow furrowed and eyes uncertain, as the mystical being balanced on top of the granite veered to face him once more.

Looking into those unreadable eyes of jewels, Grimmjow wonders what he's gotten himself into.

"Why, my freedom of course."

I hope that was okay. This isn't one of my best chapters, but the story gets way better in later ones. I already have second chapter done. The more reviews I get, the faster I'll post it.