Title: Switchblade Heart

Warnings: Violence, language.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

.

.

Shiro jerked away from the edge of the building he'd scaled, sliding down to his haunches.

Closing his eyes, he let his head bang against the air duct behind him, and when it failed to make him feel better he slammed a closed fist against the building's brick. The dull pain of torn skin burned his palm, but he ignored it.

What the fuck just happened?

Gin's people shouldn't give a shit if he and Ichigo had trashed Grimmjow's men. Yet they'd still dragged Ichigo off. Shiro had been positive that if they didn't see him, they wouldn't have any business with Ichigo, but then they'd just taken him anyway! He and Ichigo looked a lot alike, but their coloring was polar opposite. Even these low paid assholes shouldn't be dumb enough to miss that.

He shoved back to his feet and gripped his hair with both hands as a frustrated noise crawled up his throat.

Just… what the fuck?

Why had he left Ichigo down there? And why was it every time he touched his brother's life, he screwed it up?

He'd gone to him hoping—

For what?

Because he'd had some dumb notion about hiding there long enough to ride things out? Being safe. Going back? He could never go back. And there was no such thing as safe. Not from these people. They ran everything. Safety was a joke. No one was ever out of reach. He knew that. But after weeks of near escapes, only catching a few hours of sleep when he didn't think anyone would grab him, constant running, always wondering which of his supposed friends would turn him over to Grimmjow for the outrageous amount of money that'd been put on his head, he'd been desperate enough to risk it.

Grimmjow would happily cut his throat if he had the chance. Or worse. Grimmjow wasn't someone that just let you to walk away before he was done with you.

And now the prick had Ichigo.

Shiro would kill him.

He'd had a nice set up with Grimmjow. A place to sleep, access to cash, food when he wanted it. And one look at who he'd fallen in with and a lotta guys that wanted him dead suddenly couldn't make nice fast enough. Even now, the memory had an unpleasant grin twisting at his lips.

Then, he'd screwed it all up over an unexpected streak of morality. So Shiro was back to the street again, avoiding familiar faces, afraid to lead the sort of people he'd been dealing with to the clinic.

He leaned over the roof's edge as far as he dared and watched them bundle Ichigo away. It made his gut seethe to see hands on his twin's unresisting body. His white hair and pale skin were too recognizable to just strut in and take Ichigo away, but who knew what Gin would do with him? Nothing good.

He should never have gone to Ichigo.

Ichigo was soft. Too much of a bleeding heart for the kind of shit Shiro dealt with on a daily basis. He'd stopped to save a guy that'd just shot him for fuck's sake, and it had gotten him caught. Had nearly got both of them caught.

After everything that had happened to their family, Ichigo had managed to make a life for himself.

What had Shiro done with himself? Nothing. He'd sank straight down to the dregs of society where he was most comfortable.

He'd liked his setup with Grimmjow. Maybe they'd never gotten along— the first time they'd met, Grimmjow had made sure he'd need stitches and Shiro had given him a few pretty scars of his own— but they understood each other. And Shiro had learned not to be so obvious about trying to play him.

Grimmjow was smart. A lot of people didn't get that at first. He was cunning and intelligent enough to use it when he felt like it. And he was ruthless.

If Aizen underestimated him, Grimmjow would likely have his organization someday.

That was what Shiro figured.

So after he'd healed from that first night, he'd gone back.

He wasn't above a lot of things, but he'd never let anyone use him as thoroughly as Grimmjow had. Like a possession. It'd been easy to get under Grimmjow's skin, but it'd gone both ways. It might've been a cage he walked into on his own, but it was still a cage. And when Grimmjow pushed too hard, Shiro pushed back and things got bloody. It hadn't been boring, though.

Shiro hated him as much as he needed him. Grimmjow wanted him as much as he'd wanted to hate him. It made for a strange balance.

Except now that he'd crossed Grimmjow, he couldn't go back. Not unless he wanted to die. So it was time to find something else to fill that place. Only he'd fallen back on something—someone, he couldn't afford to lose.

He sprinted to the far edge of the roof, following the van carrying Ichigo only to see it turn onto a trafficked street. He leaned as far over the side as he could to keep them in sight as he moved to the other side.

He thought he recognized the driver's face, but he hadn't had a good enough look. But that didn't matter. He'd been around long enough to know the general locations, territories. The transportation schedules. Most of the nooks and crannies of Tokyo's underbelly. He knew who ran what. It was useful information.

Coming up on the other edge, he picked up speed. The roof to the next building was almost a level below, but the alley between was narrow and he'd done this before. He could make it. The car was already heading west. Gin had a handful of storage places that direction. All he needed to know was which way they turned on the main road.

He landed in a controlled fall and rolled the way they'd been taught all those years ago when he and Ichigo were kids scuffing each other up in the dojo. Being a sharp learner paid off on the streets, even if it hadn't done much else for him.

His arm burned as he found his feet and broke into a run to get to the next roof. It was a longer jump but the next row of buildings were nearly the same height. He made it, sprinting to the other side, bracing a hand on the edge to look down. It took a second, but he found them, three cars back, stopped at the light.

He let out his breath and groped around inside his jacket for the prepaid cell he'd been given for emergencies.

And if they still wanted his help, they sure as hell had better not get there too late.

.

.

Something hit him in the back of the head.

That was the last thing Ichigo remembered. Then scattered flashes of memory. A van with peeling, black-tinted windows, dirty carpet, the stink of old cigarettes and a sharper earthy smell, a pair of shoes swam in front of his face, hands wrenching his body at wrong angles.

Then he was coughing dirt.

His shoulder screamed. He rolled over to take the pressure off abused joints, dragging in deep breaths with closed eyes. No matter how many times he told himself to get up and shake off the grimy haze clouding his thoughts, his body didn't listen.

His head dropped to the ground and he tilted it toward the floating, disconnected voices.

Three blurred figures grouped around something as he narrowed his eyes to focus. There was an electric crackle and one of them jumped back, cursing as the two others howled with ugly laughter. A minute later, he heard retching.

They weren't even trying to be quiet.

He could only guess that meant yelling wasn't going to do any good. He didn't have the breath for it anyway.

His ribs ached liked he'd been kicked a few times. It was possible.

Another man dragged what they'd been working on closer to the fence that separated them. He clipped a red-handled metal clamp onto one chain link, then a black-handle clamp to another.

Turning his head, Ichigo looked around his surroundings again.

Light filtered down from a set of long rectangular windows at the top of the two-story room. Crates and pallets were stacked against a far wall, and beside them, a door. The place resembled a garage or warehouse to him, but it wasn't like he had much experience with warehouses to know for sure.

Ichigo closed his eyes and tried to figure out how injured he was.

The pain in his arm was both deeper and duller. His head seared when he tried to pick it up, and there was an uncomfortably sticky patch on the side stretching from his temple to his jaw. He thought he could function if he needed to, and since he was on his own, he guessed it counted.

Dammit, he was going to kick Shiro's ass.

Where had he gone? Where was he now? Had he gotten caught too or had he run? There was an unpalatable sense of betrayal threatening at the back of his mind, but he forced it away. It wouldn't have done any good for Shiro to be caught too. Better that he ran.

Ichigo's throat was dry and his eyes burned from the dust, but he couldn't tell how long he'd been drifting in and out. It might've been minutes or a few hours. Or it might be the next day for all he knew.

Ichigo shut his eyes again and floated, only to blink them back open to the sound of screeching hinges.

Someone came in and he worked hard at moving, rolling to try to push to his knees.

"Careful, careful..." a male voice crooned. "Touch that fence an' we won't be makin' introductions. I'd like to meet the fella that managed a get my associate's baggage in such a twist."

There were two. A male and a female. The male with wispy silver hair that fell over slit eyes, the woman with long, twisting lengths of blonde hair. They both looked as if they'd walked off a catwalk. The woman wore silk and leather, the man a long, wool coat.

The man smiled. The woman didn't.

"Let's see here…"

The man unbuttoned the first few buttons of his overcoat and reached inside, chuckling when Ichigo stiffened, only to pull out a folded sheet of paper. The light hit the far side and the paper became transparent as the man inspected it.

Ichigo saw his own face, turned partially away. As if he'd been caught on security film.

With a smile, the man held it up for the woman.

She didn't look at it. Her feet shifted and she didn't look at Ichigo either.

"There we are. Kurosaki Ichigo. It's a pleasure."

"Who the fuck are you?" His voice sounded dry, and cracked halfway through.

"Hm?" Two pale brows lifted. "Oops. Can't have the merchandise lookin' so beat up if we wanna make 'em pay sticker price."

The man gave a wide smile— No, he hadn't stopped smiling. It gave Ichigo the creeps. "Ran."

Ichigo tried to shake his head. He'd seen him before. Outside the bathroom when he'd met Grimmjow.

The woman moved for the first time, coming toward him with a large, black bag he hadn't noticed before.

Ichigo snarled and scooted back. He didn't like hitting women, but he liked being kidnapped— and who knew what the fuck else— a lot less.

She paused and looked over her shoulder.

"Now, now, Kurosaki-san. I like my property damaged less than I care about someone else's."

He gave a low whistle and two men shuffled into the fence. They crouched low as they approached him, arms wide as if they were wrangling livestock.

He fought and kicked and bit, screaming obscenities, but they wrestled him onto his stomach anyway and one of them leaned a knee into his aching ribs. He gasped and went still with a whimper he wholeheartedly hoped was lost to the sounds of struggle.

When he was finally pinned, he saw the woman crouch out of the corner of his eye, then winced at the smell of alcohol and sharp sting.

He blinked.

She was cleaning his arm.

The woman gave a soft smile that caused the mole below her lip to lift and kept swabbing at his wound. She had the men tilt him and poured water over newly bleeding skin, and as much as it hurt, all he could think was that he hoped he didn't start begging her to give him the water instead.

He swallowed, dry tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

She caught the way his eyes stayed on the bottle and sat it down, adding bandages that ran from his elbow to shoulder. After they were in place, she motioned for him to be turned and held the bottle to his mouth.

He wished he could spit it back at them, but he wanted it more than he cared about his pride.

He choked some when it hit his throat.

The man watched without comment, arms gathered behind his back and a pleasant expression glued to his face. He tilted his head as Ichigo was brought to his feet. "All done?"

The woman nodded and he led the way, head tipped back as if they were doing nothing worse than taking a stroll, not leading Ichigo to his possible death.

"I can see why he likes ya. All that spirit. Like the last one, but just a touch more…" He tilted his head back and gave Ichigo a long once over before adding, "Naive." The man tossed an arm around the woman's shoulders, pulling her close and placing a kiss against her neck. "A man likes somethin' new and fresh. Somethin' he can corrupt and mark up just the way he wants it. Hm?" He pulled away and smacked her ass. "Go wait in the car. Don't need ya to see anythin' ugly."

He motioned and one of the men broke away to escort her out.

Ichigo stiffened.

He watched the door fan out and then swing shut behind them with delayed realization. The door's clunk broke him from his trance. He yanked back, spinning to strike high with his shin. The guard behind him went down, but Ichigo wasn't taking chances. He launched another kick into the side of his face and spun toward the man that claimed to be selling him.

To his credit, the man looked more curious than alarmed, tilting his head as he considered Ichigo.

Ichigo ran.

It wasn't a full out run. That wasn't possible with his arms tied as they were and a recent head wound, but it was close.

He went for the door, and hopefully the waiting car beyond that. If he caught the other guard by surprise, maybe he could talk the woman into cutting him loose. She didn't seem terribly happy with anything that was going on. If he couldn't talk her into helping… He didn't know.

Every step felt like he was running on rubber. The shockwaves traveling up his legs and spine, straight to his spinning head. He felt like he'd downed a bottle of oxycodone. Maybe that was why it took so long to notice that the door had opened and it wasn't because he had gone through it.

The bright daylight dimmed as a tall figure blocked it.

Ichigo dug his heels in.

Blue eyes widened a fraction before Grimmjow reached out and latched onto his upper arm, and then kicked his legs out from under him as easily as if he'd been prepared for the whole thing.

Ichigo's injured shoulder hit the ground without anything to break the fall and Ichigo grunted then hissed as stinging fire flared. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the world to resurface through the pain.

A foot rolled him onto his stomach and pinned him into place, and he didn't complain, pressing his forehead into the cement with clenched teeth. All he could do was try not to keep gasping in pain as Grimmjow and the man's voices floated around him in nonsensical garbles like hearing underwater.

"…real amusing, Gin…"

"Was it?"

"Took your sweet ass time calling. The fuck happen to his arm?"

"Looks like he went an' got himself shot..."

Ichigo coughed on dust and tried to focus on breathing.

"… not paying full price when I caught him myself."

A laugh. "—finder's fee then."

"Yeah, fine. Send me a number and I'll have someone deliver it."

A rough hand wrapped around his other bicep and hauled him to his feet. The world righted itself. Up and down started to mean something again.

Ichigo swayed, but the grip was too firm to let him fall.

"Walk," Grimmjow ordered.

Ichigo stumbled forward, forcing his legs to straighten and bend. He twisted to look backward and saw Gin disappear through the door before he was given a jerk and another push.

He grunted and tugged back. "Don't touch me. What the hell, Grimmjow. What are you—"

Grimmjow spun him around.

Ichigo had just enough time to take in an intense, blue —angry— gaze before harsh hands gripped his shoulders and a knee wrenched into his gut.

He braced for impact instinctually. Years of fighting and instruction ingrained into his muscles even if his mind took longer to process it.

The air broke from his lungs, ribs screeching under the crushing impact. Gravity tugged him toward the ground but Grimmjow was stronger, shoving him against the metal siding that covered the walls. The crashing impact echoed around the building, loud and discordant.

"I told you what would happen if you were fuckin' playing me."

Dark spots flashed and winked across his vision as his mind struggled to keep up.

Ichigo had taken beatings. A lot of them. It was nothing new.

But it still hurt.

Grimmjow wrenched his head back, forcing Ichigo to meet his eyes whether he wanted to or not. Strands of hair cracked and popped with the force, but it wasn't even a blimp on his registry at the moment. When Grimmjow spoke, it was that same mumble of sound without meaning. Ichigo could see the annoyance on his face, but he couldn't answer words he couldn't hear.

He slid a hand down Ichigo's ribs and pressed.

Agony, sharp and bright tore through him and when it ebbed, the warehouse around him was back in focus. Debris and dust crunching under his feet, his own gasping breaths, the smell of gasoline and soap, and Grimmjow's dick where it ground into his upper thigh.

Ichigo would've laughed if he thought it wouldn't get him hit again. The asshole was hard from beating the shit out of him. That was kind of pathetic.

Ichigo growled and tried to twist away.

Grimmjow sneered. "Funny how a little adrenaline'll get your head cleared up. Where the fuck is my drive?"

Ichigo stared. "What?"

The hand on his side squeezed harder, and Ichigo groaned through his teeth. "Bastard…"

"You went through my shit. What else did you take?"

He shook his head, blinking again. He had no idea what the Grimmjow was talking about. Was he seriously fixing to die over one of Grimmjow's paranoid delusions? Over something Grimmjow's drug addled mind likely dredged up all on its own?

"Is this a joke, I didn't…" he started, going back over everything in the room he could've possibly handled. "I didn't take anything. You saw me leave."

"You got in the table."

"But I didn't take any—"

But he had. Shit.

He swallowed. "I took a pill. You were fucking rough, and I didn't even take all of it, alright? I didn't take anything else."

Grimmjow gave him a long look. With their faces only a few inches apart, it was effective. "How fucking stupid do you think I am? You think I throw open my door to any little shit that walks through and climbs in my bed?" He surveyed Ichigo as though he found his appearance personally offensive and then huffed. "So what are you? Some kind of actor? A whore? What did they pay you?"

Ichigo ground teeth. Resisted the urge to spit something about Grimmjow pursuing him. "I don't have any drive. I don't know what you're fucking talking about."

"Then I've got no reason to keep you alive." His mouth curved into a vicious smile. "See how this works? Maybe I'll just take it out of your flesh."

He reached behind him and when his hand came back, he flicked open a knife

Ichigo jerked. "You're not serious…"

"What do you think?"

A flicker of panic started in the back of his stomach. "Grimmjow, you son of a bitch. I don't fucking have it. I didn't take anything else."

The knife moved closer.

One hand wrapped around Grimmjow's wrist by reflex, the other curled into a fist and swung.

It was a sucker punch. At the angle he'd been, Grimmjow couldn't have seen it. Or maybe he just didn't expect it. The echo of fist connecting to jaw bounced off the walls, clearer than it would've been without the adrenaline to re-sharpen his hearing, and it hurt like he'd torn his own arm off. He could feel new blood seeping through the bandage.

Ichigo wasn't weak. He'd trained for years— since childhood.

Grimmjow hardly moved.

His head tilted back, lip pulling away from his teeth in a sneer. There was a hint of blood on his lip. Other than that, he'd bruise, but nothing more. "Wanna trade love taps instead, kid? Fine."

The backhand would've knocked him down if the wall wasn't behind him to take his weight. He'd seen the movement, the drop of a thickly muscled shoulder before the world became a flash of light. The pain didn't even hit for a handful of seconds while he blinked and tried to get his hands under him. The world tipped sharply then righted itself again and he used to medal siding to stay upright.

"Ya need more than that or are ya gettin' the picture?"

He was shaking, but he made it to his knees, clutching his arm. And none of this had managed to turn Grimmjow off. He growled in disgust, as much at himself as the man above him.

"You asshole."

"Didn't say any different."

Grimmjow was waiting. Impatiently, but still. Why? Because Ichigo wasn't resisting anymore?

"I don't… have it."

"Dumbass, kid." Grimmjow scoffed at him from above, thumb sliding along his jaw. "You end up with Aizen, and he'll amputate those balls you think you've got."

A snarl worked free from his lips as Ichigo glared up, frustration and pain warring for attention. He'd never felt such a strong urge to bite someone. He didn't even know who the fuck Aizen was. "And he still won't get what I don't have."

Except Grimmjow had stopped scowling down at him to frown toward the door, and it took Ichigo a long second to realize why.

Cars. Lots of them from the sound of it and Ichigo tensed, wondering who else could show up. His head jerked back to the man above him. "Grimmjow, I didn't take anything from you. Just let me go. You're not going to get anything out of—"

"Shut up." Grimmjow still wasn't looking at him. Then, "Shit."

He backed up from Ichigo and spun just as the door slammed open and a bullhorn echoed into the building, yelling at them to stay where they were.

Figures swarmed inside.

Ichigo's eyes darted as everything happened at once.

The larger rolling door at the opposite end was forced open, thrown up as more black and navy clad police followed. It took seconds to fill the room with armored men. There was so much shouting Ichigo could only make out what came from the horn.

"All occupants, remain where you are. Keep your hands out to your sides. Don't move."

They kept going, issuing commands, but Ichigo was so swamped with relief he didn't even hear them. Couldn't have followed any of those directions if he'd wanted to. He wasn't in any shape to get on his belly unless he collapsed, and Grimmjow just sneered at the suggestion until he was forced down, eyes cutting to Ichigo with vicious promises until there were too many people between them to see.

Ichigo watched as they arrested him, disbelieving. Part of him thought he must've slipped into a hallucination. He was cuffed and questioned. It took half an hour with paramedics and seeing them drag Grimmjow through the door before it sunk in.

His eyes tore from the car Grimmjow was in to the officer speaking to him.

Except it wasn't. The lack of uniform announced a higher position than beat cop, and the man produced identification. It was so surreal, Ichigo could hardly force himself to read it. Chief Inspector Urahara Kisuke.

He'd had run-ins with the police, but never to this degree.

The man stepped beside him where he sat on the ambulance and released the handcuffs, shoving them into his coat pocket.

"My apologies, Kurosaki-san. It took me longer than expected to arrive. You're a fortunate young man."

Something about that statement pricked at him.

"How?"

It came out sharper than he'd intended. But he sure as hell hadn't been fortunate. Everything ached and they were likely going to force him to a hospital. There was no way his old man wouldn't hear about it after that. A mad man wanted him dead. Had heavily implied that other people would like to cut off vital parts of his anatomy. And it was all over something he hadn't even done.

Calculating gray eyes examined him, then a shrug. "You're alive. Not many people can say that after a confrontation with that man. Do you know who he is?"

Ichigo frowned. Was Grimmjow that dangerous?

"He wasn't going to kill me."

"Was he not?" That look again, but this time a raised brow to go along with it. "He did attack you. Isn't that correct?"

Ichigo didn't answer. The look Grimmjow had given him had etched into his brain.

When he failed to comment, Urahara studied him. "If you're concerned about retaliation—"

He shook his head.

He wasn't afraid. Though, it was damned inconvenient. But if Grimmjow came after him, how long until he found out Shiro was with him?

There was some sort of connection between his twin and Grimmjow. Grimmjow had been after Ichigo, but Shiro had obviously thought Grimmjow was after him. And maybe Grimmjow was.

He couldn't stop picturing that damn necklace in Grimmjow's room.

"Kurosaki-san?"

Ichigo glanced at him, but moved his gaze to follow a car along the main road with a shrug.

"It wasn't him. Someone else did this."

It wasn't a lie.

Urahara frowned. "You realize that if you aren't willing to file formal charges, we won't be able to hold Jaegerjaquez on anything other than possession of an illegal firearm? Think carefully, he could be out in as soon as a few days."

Ichigo ground his teeth, but nodded. A sharp motion that was as irritated as the rest of him.

"I see. Well, at any rate, I have a few additional questions for you." He waved off the paramedics, speaking with a succinct tap of his notebook against Ichigo's shoulder that made him flinch then scowl. "He's not falling over or delirious, so I think we'll take my car." He glanced at Ichigo when he seemed to realize that should've been a question. "If that's alright with you?"

Ichigo nodded, gaze flicking back toward the ambulance and wondering what his chances were of getting out of a hospital trip altogether.

The man looked him over. "Wheelchair? Crutches?"

Ichigo pressed his lips and stood, ignoring those suggestions, starting toward the line of police cars.

Urahara let him get at least ten paces away before announcing. "This way, Kurosaki-san."

.

.

Gin wasn't particularly fond of tea, but it was a fact he failed to mention as he lowered into a plush chair and crossed one leg over the other. A tray was placed on the table between them. The woman serving was ancient and she painstakingly followed equally ancient procedures. Pouring and straining. Soaking and steeping. It was a monotonous ordeal, but he amused himself by gazing out over Tokyo through floor to ceiling glass.

When she finally exited, closing long doors behind her, the man beside him reached out and lifted his cup, taking a delicate drink.

Still, he waited.

"Do you know the story of The Blind Man and the Lame, Gin?"

"Can't say I do. Doesn't sound much like Mother Goose."

A brow rose, but his comment was otherwise ignored in favor of tracing the edge of a cup.

"It's a Greek parable engraved in the Emblemata Saecularia. In the story, a man that cannot walk rides on the back of a man that cannot see. At first, all is well, but eventually, the blind man decides he can rely on his own means to find his way. Though the other warns him, the blind man runs them into a tree. Then a stream. And eventually, he walks them both over the edge of a cliff. Whose fault do you think that is?"

A pale brow rose over slit eyes. "I'd say the man that stayed on after his mount stopped listenin'."

"I have a man that won't follow instructions, Gin."

There is was. He'd been wondering when the order would come. "I'd suggest sendin' flowers ta the family, but I hear he ain't got one. Shame."

Another sip of tea as his host gazed out over his domain with half-lidded eyes.

Gin tilted his head.

"Turns out, I got an interestin' story too." He brought a hand to his coat, pulling a photograph free to place on the table between them. "Our Grimmjow found a new friend. Now is it just me, or is there some kinda resemblance between this one and the last?"

He waited until the beginnings of a smile could be seen over the rim of the other's cup as it lowered. Only then, did he pick up his own and take a long draw.

"You're right. That is interesting."

.

.