A/N: Chapter Two is finally here! I was having some difficulty thinking of an interesting plot, but I've figured it out. I hope this chapter is written to all of your expectations!

Special thanks to MMagnet, and Misc. Ink for giving me helpful pointers on how to keep improving; it really made my day to see reviews like yours. And to the rest that reviewed, thanks so much!

The next few chapters, for this story and for Hold My Hand, will be delayed, but I promise to keep updating it; so I apologize in advance for the long wait! School's going to start soon, and I'm at my most crucial year, so I hope you guys understand!

This chapter follows the life of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, and starts from his early teenage years up till the day he met Ichigo.

Chapter Two

Grimmjow tossed and turned in bed, letting out a huge sigh. He was extremely exhausted and pushed to his limits. He hadn't slept in more than a day, as he was constantly being pushed around to do Aizen's work. Who gave a fuck about that asshole, anyway?

Aizen loved making a fool out of the Sexta, and made him carry out the most ridiculous orders, like making him go grocery shopping when he ran out of his favorite White Jasmine Tea; or asking him to "scare" away unwanted guests that disturbed their territory. Seriously though, why couldn't Aizen just ask his other lower ranked subordinates to do the dirty work?

"You've got that look that makes people shit their pants." Would be his excuse, but that was fairly acceptable- it was true anyway; Grimmjow smirked to himself. He would never understand why Aizen chose to drink tea; he was a fucking gang leader for Christ's sake!

Grimmjow laughed tiredly to himself as he leaned into the soft, sky blue pillows; a gang leader that sips tea and has tea parties, huh. Now that was funny; he thought, as he mentally praised himself.

He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep, as he snuggled further into the blanket. His body instantly relaxed at the sensation, and he fell into a deep slumber.

Grimm-! Don't come here, please… You… You have to-


Grimmjow gripped the sheets tightly, as his knuckles turned white. His eyes were squeezed shut, as his teeth clenched; he let out a soft whimper.

Where tha fuck do ya think yer goin'?

'm not done with ya…

Not yet…

Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, down to his neck, as he kicked his blanket off. His body twisted and turned, his face scrunched up in pain as he gripped at his chest, clawing the singlet he wore.

"N-No please! It h- hurts-" He was crying now, salty tears stained the bed sheets as he let out a scream.

The Sexta sprung out of bed, eyes widened in complete and utter terror. His heart was racing, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took in short breaths of air. Tears kept streaming down his face, and he hadn't even realized he was crying till it made a huge damp patch on his singlet.

Hastily wiping his face, he attempted to calm himself down, and rocked himself back and forth as he hummed a tune.

It happened once or twice, happening on random occasions, usually when he was especially tired or emotionally stressed.

Grimmjow knew enough from his past sessions with his therapist, what nightmares were.

Nightmares were the usual response to unacceptable, unresolved levels of stress and fear. It was to convey a message and help clear up the conflict in life. Family members were the most destructive influences on a person's life. Nightmares, as such, were the signs of inner turmoil.

It's been so long, since the last time he had that dream. His therapist had told him, that the only way to prevent them from haunting him again was to release that painful memory, to first clear his own self of blame, and then set it free.

How could he set it free if it was his fault? How could he possibly clear the blame just like that? It may have happened ten years ago, but it still shadowed him, and haunted him to this day.

Ten years ago, July 31st, 2002.

Since the age of thirteen, starting from when Grimmjow had just gone through puberty, he started to question his sexual orientation.

His first kiss was lost to a girl, one named Orihime Inoue. He admitted that she was the one who initiated it, and this proved to further confirm his beliefs. She was what every "straight" boy in school desired.

Long, luscious hair, a pretty face and huge eyes; not to mention a perfect set of assets to compliment her curvy figure, getting kissed by her was every man's dream.

However, when he felt those lips on his, it was the realization that he felt so very uncomfortable at the sensation, and the lack of butterflies in his stomach, that felt like his body was shouting to him, "Dude, you're 100% gay."

His guy friends always asked him how he was able to look at her straight in the face without even a sneak peak at her chest. He found that he was more interested in a guy's ass than a woman's chest.

Today, at fourteen years of age, he, after one whole year of pondering, came to the confirmation that he was, indeed, gay. It was not "just a phase", nor did it pass, it was real, and he was scared. He had decided to keep it a secret, fearing for his own self, should his father come to know of this.

His father was lost high up in the dark and shady "night life" of Karakura, often coming home when the sun began to rise, and left when the sun had set. His "job" rendered him never being at home for more than enough time for him to sleep.

When he wasn't sleeping, he was yelling and cursing. Just as Grimmjow turned out to be, his father was an arrogant, loud and rude bastard. Never paying attention to his wife, but expected her to stay loyal nonetheless.

Once when Grimmjow defended his mother when the bastard called her a "useless whore", he found himself limping for the next two weeks, as his father had kicked him to hard it fractured his kneecap.

His father absolutely hated homosexuals, and everyday that he lived, was a constant reminder of that. Grimmjow sat in silence as his father went on and on about the wrongs of being gay, and had warned him that if his son every turned out gay he would kill him.

Grimmjow decided not to test the waters for this one; his father was, as much of a bastard, a man who kept his word. Everything he said, he said it with a dangerous tone lingering around it.

He never learnt his lesson though; time and time again Grimmjow found himself neck to neck with his father, both cursing each other into the depths of hell. Most of the time, his father would turn out the victor, as he saw violence as a means of solving problems.

This, obviously, landed Grimmjow in the hospital a couple of times, when his father had "forgotten" he was holding a cigar, and it had burned through the flesh of the poor boys forearm, or when the knife "slid" from his hands when he was cooking, and left a nasty gash across his thigh.

Such poor excuses were just made up to save his father's own sorry ass from being accused of child abuse. Of course, his father paid the hospital bills, but made sure to force his son to "work" for him to pay it off.

"Work" meant scouring dark alleys at night, and beating up people that owed money. A black shirt with jeans, slip on shoes and a fitted cap was the usual attire, sometimes complimented with a gun and silencer, or what Grimmjow preferred to use; an army knife that had a midnight blue handle, with jagged edges.

He had so lovingly dubbed it "Pantera", as the steel blade shone in the night, and it held the grace and elegance of a feline, and how it was so beautifully deadly. It was midnight blue, a somewhat soothing color, ironic, considering its purpose.

Playing with the knife in his hands, over time he had mastered the art of throwing it, and he almost always hit his targets. One single throw was lethal, a single blade delivered the fatal blow, and it outmatched any gun.

The downside was, he had to retrieve it after every throw, so he made it a point to invest in smaller daggers that he kept hidden, saving Pantera for those who really sparked his interest in killing.

His mother was the absolute opposite of his father. Quiet, soft-spoken and timid, she was a petite woman. However, over the years, she had picked up drinking, and was usually drunk or hung-over, come to think of it, Grimmjow never really saw his mother completely sober, without some form of alcohol in her system.

He guessed her reason for drinking was to escape the harshness of her life, her own parents sold her off to "pay a debt", and ended up marrying this bastard and having his child, she lived a hard life.

She hardly ever stayed home, she was always out and looking for men to satisfy her "needs". His father was never home to stop her, and what could Grimmjow do? He was just a mere kid.

She had changed, from the once quiet and naïve woman, to the outrageous and obnoxious bitch she is today. She's always hanging around men ten years younger than her, and sometimes to the extent of bringing them home.

Grimmjow never once said anything, he just let it be.

He was made to live this lifestyle for the next three years of his life, up till he was seventeen. On his seventeenth birthday, July 31st, he was at home, and his mother was preparing dinner, the only time she was cooking was on his birthday.

The sweet aroma of sugar and vanilla wafted around in the air, his mother was baking a cake. As much as she slept around and drank, she loved her son very much, and that was why the only day she never drank was on Grimmjow's birthday.

Grimmjow was lounging in bed, the light flickering above him, as he heard the sounds of two cats fighting outside. A loud bang was heard, which he recognized as a car door slamming. His father was home.

The key turned with a click, as the door unlocked. His father stumbled into the house, the stench of hard liquor and tobacco instantly filled Grimmjow's lungs as he walked out to greet his father.

He stopped in his tracks, instantly taking in the blood soaked shirt his father had on. "D-Do you need the first aid kit?" he stammered, his father had a different look in his eyes today; something seemed off.

Grunting something along the lines of "Not my blood", he watched his father step into the kitchen, his mother having no reaction to his appearance.

His father pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket, and as he unfolded the crinkled, bloodstained sheet, he towered over the small woman's frame easily.

"Th- These 're legal docum'nts fr'm wh'n ya gave birth ta tha' shitface o'er there." His voice slurred, as he said, his voice void of emotion, as he turned to look at me for a brief moment, and I swore I saw a look of disgust on his face. "An' lookie 'ere, says tha' 'm not tha' fath'r."

"W-What do you mean? O-Of course you are!" His mom had said, trying her very best to convince him, but everyone knew how terrible her lying skills were.

"Don' lie ta me ya f'ckin whore!"

It happened in a blink. One minute they were just standing by the kitchen countertop, with his birthday cake and a candle on it, ready to be lit.

The next moment, the cake was smashed, the ingredients were toppled over and his mom was on her knees, with fear and hurt slapped right across her face.

Grimmjow's eyes travelled down, as he felt his legs tremble, then give in to the weight of his body. He fell forward, landing on his hands, as he took in the sight in front of him.

His mother lay on the floor; eyes open in terror, with his father grinning at him maliciously, the cake-cutting knife in his hand, and a gaping hole where his mom's heart once was.

"Grimm-! Don't come here, please… You… You have to- " She gurgled, as blood poured out of her chest, and filled her lungs, she felt her life seep through the hole, bit by bit, as it escaped her body.


Those were her last words, as she lay there, lifeless and unmoving.

Grimmjow scampered to his feet, as his eyes were wide in horror, his lips trembled, and his eyes stung with salty tears. His mind was horrible numb, and he backed away from his father.

"Where tha fuck do ya think yer goin'?"

His father was approaching him, and Grimmjow turned around and ran for the door, only to be pulled back by his ankle, trapped under the shoe of his father. He cried out in pain as he felt a bone crack under the pressure.

He gripped his foot in agony, as he was pulled to his feet by forceful hands. Grimmjow bit his lip, and drew blood as he fought to overcome the pain, and swinging his fist with as much strength he had, he struck his father on the temple, and Grimmjow used the chance to get away.

He limped his way to the bathroom, and barricaded the door with a chair. He pulled out his phone and dialed the cops, as he let out a sigh of relief. His body was on an adrenaline rush, and he jumped when the door was hit with such a forced it cracked the thin, cheap wood.

"'m not done with ya!"

Grimmjow braced himself as he heard the door crack, as it gave way to the force. The chair he used to barricade fell backwards, barely missing his shoulder, as his father slashed forward with his right hand, aiming the knife at Grimmjow's heart.

Silently thanking his years of work for his father, which honed his reflexes and skills, he quickly ducked and ran past his father and into his room. Grabbing Pantera, which was lying on his table, he gripped the weapon tight, as he prepared to face the man.

His father was strong, and slashing down once more, with more speed, he managed to get a deep gash across Grimmjow's chest, leaving torn bits of flesh hanging about.

Grimmjow stumbled backwards, his back hitting the wall as he realized he was cornered. He raised his weapon in defense, he only hoped the cops would hurry, because he didn't think he had it in him to actually kill his own father, as much as he hated the man.

With a shout, his father lunged at him full force, and Grimmjow shot his arm forward, and he heard a sickening sound, a squelch, and then his father coughed up blood.

"N-Not done wit' ya, not yet…"

He had stabbed his father in the chest, and the cake-cutter was barely an inch from his heart. He gasped in shock, as he realized what he just did.

"O-Oh god…" Grimmjow felt like his insides were twisted and torn apart, as he fought the urge to puke. His father was staring at him; body slumped forward, his forehead touching Grimmjow's.

His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, as he choked on his own blood. Grimmjow was pinned under him, back against the wall, as he watched with his own eyes, the final breath that his father took.

That was how the police found him, he stared in to the air, void of emotion, and his eyes were empty. He refused to talk or eat, for the next week, until they had to stick an IV up his wrist, to ensure he was alive.

He just lay in bed for the next month, refusing to speak to anyone, even lawyers and police. They had never seen someone so broken, so completely empty inside, and so hollow.

He would sometimes murmur in his sleep, but it was too low for anyone to decipher it, although sometimes the nurse that watched over him heard him mumble words like "Help, mom, don't die."

That just broke her heart; it pained her to see such a young boy, having to face such terrible things at a tender age like his. She always sat by him, and talked to him in the day, hoping that he was listening, and maybe respond.

He spoke his first words, after two months, the nurses at the hospital were pinning him down, after he refused to take a sedative. He had screamed out his mother's name for the first time in years, he never called them by name, and he always referred to them as bitch and bastard.

But for the first time, he called out her name. He shouted it with all the anger he had in him, with all the despair that clouded his heart.


It was like he suddenly woke up from a coma, he started talking, eating and he even smiled sometimes, and he felt his old self returning to him.

His nurse was named Unohana Retsu, and she had this gentle aura around her, her presence seemed to calm him down, and her voice was soothing to the ears.

She was his first friend that he made after the incident, and he would talk to her everyday. He trusted her enough to tell her he was gay, and that made her the first to know.

He was initially afraid she would be repelled by it, and find him disgusting, but she had taken it well, ruffling his hair and winking at him, saying that she had met some cute boys in the room opposite, and could introduce him.

Grimmjow never felt himself blush so red because of a woman before.

Those three months at the hospital flew by, and he soon recovered.

He was discharged, and gave Unohana his number to keep in touch. He waved her a final goodbye, and walked out those doors, feeling like a bird finally stretching its wings after being locked in a cage for years.

He stayed at a temporary home provided by the police, just enough for one person, maybe two. It was for him to use until he had a stable paying job.

The next weeks went by at an agonizingly slow pace, the police constantly hounding him for interrogation, did they honestly think a seventeen-year-old boy was capable of murder of his own parents?

The case was soon closed, when the autopsy reports came in, the evidence of traces of marijuana, cocaine and vodka in his father's system, barely an hour before the incident.

That was why his father had that stoned, emotionless look. He was high on drugs, and alcohol further worsened the effects. His emotions were heightened, which caused him to overreact so much. His mind was jumbled, and he probably couldn't even think straight, anger meant rage, and that led him to kill without much thought.

Grimmjow was not charged, and it was proven that he had acted in pure self-defense. His acts were justified, and thus proven innocent and a victim.

The legal documents were, in fact, very much true. Grimmjow's father, as he had known since birth, was not his biological father. His mom slept around too much, and he was the son born from an affair.

He chose to not pursue the matter, he didn't really care who his "real" father was, and to him any man that raised him was just as good enough of a father.

It was mid June, year 2008, Grimmjow was eighteen when the court case was finally closed and left to rest. Grimmjow had gone through countless sessions of therapy, and they deemed him "mentally fit'' enough to be placed back into society.

Since he was insistent on living alone than with adoptive parents, they allowed him to rent a room, but made sure to check on him regularly.

His life went on, and he pushed the past behind him, refusing to even think about it. He took up a part time job at the bar, "The Hollow", with an average paying salary, but tons of cute guys on a daily basis. And there was where he met his first guy friend, Ulquiorra Schiffer.

His dirty past with his father's gang had earned him a reputation, and it was not like there were a lot of blue-haired men going around beating the shit out of people.

Ulquiorra had taken a liking to him instantly, although he didn't show it, he liked Grimmjow, and they became best friends. Ulquiorra was an Espada, meaning he served under the leader, Yammy Llargo.

Yammy recognized the boy's potential fighting skills, and fast reflexes, as well as his blood lust, which grew and grew over time. Yammy had him trained under Ulquiorra, and he eventually rose up the ranks to become the Sexta.

Ulquiorra taught Grimmjow some basin knowledge about gangs, and that was that there were three rules. Obey your boss. Kill with no mercy. And the last was to void yourself of all emotions when on "duty".

Which basically meant that if Yammy ordered someone to kill their wife or child, they were to do so, or they would have all died.

Grimmjow killed and killed, staining his hands with the blood of many. He realized that the more he killed, the lesser nightmares he had. The bloodlust and adrenaline served as a drug, to rid him of those nights he spent waking up screaming.

He continued his uncontrollable urge to kill, and Yammy was more than happy to send him out on missions to eliminate any potential threats.

Yammy prized the three assassins, Ulquiorra Schiffer, Coyote Starrk, and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Ulquiorra specialized in sniper rifles, Starrk preferred to sleep, but when you annoyed him enough, he was found to be good with hand-to-hand combat, but was just as good with swords, and long objects of the like. Grimmjow retained his passion for knives and daggers, as he still kept Pantera.

Then came along the mysterious Aizen Sosuke, who single handedly brought down Yammy Llargo. You could challenge for the title of leadership, and in the Espada, the rule was that you fight the current leader one-on-one and no one was allowed to interfere.

The only weapons allowed were metal pipes. Thus, it was a difficult match, and with Yammy's 300-kilogram body mass, it was an even tougher battle. However, when it came down to Aizen, it was on a whole new level.

Aizen was formerly a Shinigami, the rival gang of the Espada, and he left, choosing to try his luck with the leadership title of the Espada.

The battle was short, Aizen having thrust his hand so far into Yammy's neck it almost decapitated it. After that, Aizen turned around and he spotted the widest smile he had ever seen on the man, with a look in his eyes so crazed, it was the most gruesome, sick, and disgustingly splendid death Grimmjow had ever seen.

Right then and there, he decided to serve Aizen. No one could make him grin so feral as he did when Yammy died. Sure, Yammy was good, but Aizen seemed to share the same bloodlust, that passion for killing.

It was like he saw himself in that man.

Current day, 7 October 2012

Grimmjow washed his face with ice-cold water, the iciness instantly shocking him. He wiped his face dry and placed two hands by the sink, leaning forward and looking at himself in the mirror.

His face has gotten paler, as the shadows under his eyes worsened. His hair seemed to have lost its "life", and was just dull and flat.

The nightmares were even more often now, he had already experienced it three times this month, more than his body was willing to handle, it seemed. He found himself losing his appetite, getting sick easily, and emotional.

He had just finished a kill order from Aizen, to take out some guy called Shusuke Amagai or something of that sort. It was a clean kill, a dagger to the heart, and it hadn't stained Grimmjow's clothes, thankfully.

The initial adrenaline rush from the kill had calmed him down a little, but it did little to suppress the inner war he was having with himself.

He felt like it was his fault, that his mother got killed. If only he wasn't born, then maybe things would have been better for his mother. There was nothing he could do now; she was dead, as was his father.

That guilt constantly followed Grimmjow everywhere, it tailed him like a shadow, but felt like a thousand pound sack he had to shoulder everywhere he went. The bloodlust was like cutting a hole in that sack, and letting the weight just empty itself out.

Sometimes he didn't understand himself, if he blamed himself for their deaths, why was he killing other people? Because they deserved it, they're not exactly good people, they are gang members, drug dealers, they all deserved to go to hell.

Then again, he'd argue with his self, he was a gang member too. What difference did it make? He was just as impure; he deserved hell just as much as the rest.

Sighing, he slumped onto the couch, dialing a number; he raised the phone to his ear.


Ulquiorra was curious as to why Grimmjow was calling at one in the morning.

"Meet me at the bar, I'm bored."

Grimmjow yawned into the phone.

"Sure. Be there in fifteen minutes."

Grimmjow stood up and walked to the mirror, deciding what to wear. He fingered the gothic black number 6 on his lower back, the tattoo that Aizen had made the three assassins get, just last week.

He was the Sexta, thus the number six. He didn't mind though, it was cool. Starrk, however, made protests about being "labeled" and how he didn't want to be "owned" by someone. He was fine with it after the tattoo artist guaranteed he could get a two-hour nap in the armchair while he got the tattoo done.

Grimmjow unlocked his phone and typed a brief text, "Bring Starrk along too, you ask him."

His phone beeped, and it read "K. be there in half an hour."

He laughed, Starrk was just about as lazy as a sloth, he loved sleeping, anywhere and anytime. He preferred to stay home, and rarely went out… except when Ulquiorra was the one who asked.

Those emotionless eyes tha he had, and how he never smiles for anyone, Ulquiorra was the epitome of death itself. Starrk could never refuse Ulquiorra, not that he liked him, but there was once he said no, and there was a bullet hole in the wall, a centimeter from Starrk's head.

Starrk decided today was not the day to say no, and he grudgingly agreed. Ulquiorra meant him no harm; he knew that, it was just scary how his face was so emotionless. Starrk shuddered at the thought.

Half an hour later, they found themselves sitting at the bar, The Hollow, Grimmjow having gotten a day off today, since he worked his ass off the past week.

Toshiro gave them the usual, and chatted with them for a bit. Toshiro Hitsugaya, he was a short, white haired boy, with a constant scowl on his face. Don't ever call him short, or you'll be kissing the floor.

Grimmjow laughed at one of Starrk's jokes, and caught a glimpse of orange in the crowd.


That's right! That asshole that humiliated him, Grimmjow felt his face heat up in anger as he remembered how Ulquiorra had found him, passed out with a hickey on his neck, courtesy of carrot top.

Not to mention the very striking bright red 'V' on his chest. He swore he saw Ulquiorra's lips twitch, as if trying to hold back a smile. His eyes even lit up a little.

Grimmjow was out for that boy; he was going to claim him.

"Yo, Grimm, you alive?" Slender fingers snapped in his face, and Grimmjow blinked a couple of times.

"Yeah. What?"

"Nothing, you looked out of it." Toshiro said, as he went to make another drink for a customer.

Starrk had gone off to nap in the corner, Grimmjow rolled his eyes at that, and another hot male, with white hair, that looked familiar, was hitting on Ulquiorra.

Too familiar.

Grimmjow pushed that thought aside for now, and he got out of his seat and finished his drink in a gulp. He looked around and saw that flash of orange again, and followed it.

Pushing his way through the crowd, he found the strawberry dancing alone, and Grimmjow took the chance to grind himself onto the boy. He heard a yelp, then the boy turned around, and jumped away in shock.

"Miss me, berry?"

Grimmjow grinned feral, as he placed an arm around Ichigo once more, dragging him off to a secluded area. The berry quirked an eyebrow, and looked at him questioningly.

"What's with that look?" Ichigo asked Grimmjow, as he continued to smile at the boy, dangerously.

"Nothin' " Grimmjow murmured, pulling the berry in for a kiss. Ichigo gasped, and Grimmjow's tongue traced his lips. Ichigo moaned, and pulled away, kissing the same spot he had left a hickey on, the last time.

Grimmjow growled, low in his throat, as he felt Ichigo suck at the tender spot, and as he bit down, hard enough to draw blood. Grimmjow shoved the boy off, as he yelled at him.

"What tha fucks wrong wit' ya!" He growled, wincing as it stung when he touched his shoulder.

"Heh. It looks good on you." Ichigo teased, as he turned around, giving the Sexta a good view of his ass. "Bye, Kitten."

The orange head disappeared into the crowd once more, leaving just as quickly as he had found him. Grimmjow pulled his shirt up a little, hoping to cover the mark, so Starrk won't laugh at him.

He already felt so humiliated, since when was Ichigo the seme?! No freaking way.

Wait. Did that strawberry call him "Kitten"?

Oh no. Oh. No. He was not going to get away with that. Grimmjow licked his lips; he was going to teach the boy a lesson he will never forget. Nobody calls Grimmjow a kitten.

A/N: Done! I focused this chapter more on Grimmjow; I actually had to do some research on how nightmares were caused and such. It was interesting! And I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing! Thank you all for reading and reviewing! :* I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, I've been really busy, so it will take longer to get a good quality chapter written out, so please be patient with me!