Barrrum...barrum...barrum...barrum...

The deep, resonant sound pounded through his head, through his neck, through his chest...

Barrrum...barrum...barrum...barrum..

What did it mean, he wondered? Why, why, why...pain, there was pain...why was there pain? Pulling, tugging, it wouldn't stop, it happened before, but why?

That was always the question. Why.

The pain stopped.

He wished everything else would stop, too.

What a mess! That's what everyone thought of him. It couldn't be helped, and unfortunately, it never would. Only hopeless attempts were an option. An option out of very few, and an option that would never, no matter how hard anyone tried, ever succeed. And yet, people still tried and it infuriated him. It maddened him even more than his already present madness, and it was because underneath his mental instability, he was conscious of the futility of it all. He knew he was mad, and that's what made him all the madder, and for once, just once, he wished for the warm, wet blanket of being blissfully unaware.

And off, far down the hallway through a cherry wood door that held a cold and steely doorknob sat a man at his desk in a very, very uncomfortable plastic chair. A mop of messy blue hair sat upon said man's head, and two piercing blue eyes were placed nicely on his face. They moved side to side as he read and wrote, his eyes beginning to tire from the constant reading and his fingers beginning to ache from the incessant writing. It seemed that this was all he did, as of late. Reading, writing, some more reading and a little more writing. No, make that a lot of writing.

Sighing and running a hand quickly through his hair, he leaned back and decided to take a small break. That's what he liked to call them, anyway. He could sleep for hours on end, but a certain brunette always made sure it was never any more than five minutes; ten if he was lucky. His eyelids became heavier the harder he tried to stay awake, but he wasn't really trying to fight it. In fact, the only reason he fought it at all was because that's what made him sleepier, as ironic as it seemed. His success in this contradicting statement did not last, however, as the door slammed open and his bulgy eyed co-worker came in panting, his skinny little hands resting on his wobbly little knees with his very large head resting in between his very little shoulders.

"There...suh...patient...need...your...muscles," said the breathless doctor as he wrinkled his white jacket against the door frame. "Room...s...six!"

Grimmjow's sharp blue eyes shot open at this, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Sorry, but that patient's just gonna have to ask for some exercise equipment if he wants a body like mine," replied Grimmjow, smirking. The bluenette, however, knew exactly what was going on and what was needed; he simply did not want to leave his uncomfortable plastic chair.

Hanatarou gave Grimmjow a pleading look, his large black eyes wavering as he began to regain the little strength he had in his petite body. He was still leaning against the door, but his speech was no longer interrupted by heaves and pants. "In room six, the patient is going absolutely wild. The doctors," an intake of breath, "they need you to hold him down so that they can sedate him." His voice had both a sliver of fear and importance, and he was finally standing on his own.

Grimmjow groaned - although it sounded more like a growl - and slowly pulled his chair out, the legs making a slight screeching noise against the hard white floor. He pulled on his white overcoat, stepped out of his white office, listened to his footsteps echo loudly across the white hallway...

...so much white.

...So much white...it calmed him. But he still yelled, he still screamed, he still pushed himself over and over against the soft white walls. Black was taking over his vision in small blotches, blotches that looked like splatters of blood, and soon he couldn't feel anything. It was like sinking, like water in a bathtub when you pulled the plug. Swirling slowly, gently, and draining everything...

"WHERE THE HELL IS GRIMMJOW?"

"Agh..!"

The door burst open and the man who was mentioned only a second ago surveyed the room quickly. Two men were bending over in pain, clutching their stomachs and gasping for air as three others were fighting and trying to hold down the struggling patient. He ran a hand through his blue hair once again, sighing and getting ready to help the others quiet down the mental spazz that was blocked from his vision.

But he could see Grimmjow.

Blue...

He always liked that color. Blue. If you said it too many times, it would start to sound funny...

Blue, blue, blue, blue...

Barrum, barrum, barrum, barrum...

And then he fell over, his chocolate brown eyes glazed but still alive. He was just not with them, the doctors, those...those..ahaha...those motherfuckerssss.

His eyes were more alive than ever, now.

"What the fuck?"

Grimmjow stood at the doorway, completely confused and slightly pissed. But he was always slightly pissed. That wasn't the point, anyhow, the point was, simply, what the fuck? What happened? And most importantly, in his mind, could he leave now? He wanted nothing more than to take a nice nap in his plastic chair and have his ass fall asleep from sitting on it too long.

"Well you came right when we needed ya, huh?" groaned a large, burly hunk of muscle. Bright and spiky red hair was tied securely on the top of his head, a large calloused hand holding onto a bruised shin.

"Well sooorry, Renji, it's just that my office is five fucking halls away and I had to take a piss," snapped the teal haired doctor, his eyes narrowing.

Tattooed eyebrows furrowed in frustration as Renji slowly tramped over to the patient who had just been going berserk and who, for reasons unknown, was completely placated now.

"I really regret applying for a job at this loony bin..," the redhead mumbled.

"Same," groaned a long, lanky body lying in a fetal position on the floor.

'The patient took down Nnoitra? Damn, motherfucker must be strong.' And that was when Grimmjow decided to take a look at said patient, curiosity poking and prodding him forward.

Immediately, he knew that curiosity had killed the cat. He couldn't move an inch further, because he was completely and utterly stupefied. He wasn't sure why, but it either had to be how pitiful it was to see a person like that, or how amazingly good looking the guy was. Grimmjow then slapped himself mentally. It was normal for him to think that, right? I mean, it didn't mean he was gay or anything..dammit.

There was a slow ache in his chest, and he immediately assumed it was pity. 'Poor kid.' The patient looked like he should have been on the verge of starting his life, hanging with friends and having fun. Going to college and getting his first job...Grimmjow could half understand what the orange haired patient was going through.

"What's the kid's name?" he asked, his mouth pulled into a small frown.

"Ichigo."

Everyone stared in shock.

"D-did he..?"

"That's the first thing he's ever said since he's gotten here.."

"..."

"Should we sedate him in case..?"

"No," Grimmjow stated firmly, his eyes steady and filled with authority. "Has he eaten yet?"

"Well, that's how this happened, actually, we were bringing his lunch when he started going crazy.."

"Bring the food," ordered Grimmjow. "Now."

"Okay, okay!"

Renji limped back into the room, a brown plastic tray with food on it clutched in his hands. "Listen, that kid might start going nuts any second, and my shin already hurts like hell.."

"Fine," huffed Grimmjow, "If you're gonna be a damn pussy, I'll feed 'im."

"I ain't bein' a pussy, you asshole, I-" was all Renji could manage before Grimmjow snatched the tray of food out of his hands and stomped on the redhead's foot.

"MOTHERFU-"

"Renji!"

Slowly, he turned his head towards the direction of where the stern voice was coming from. Just as he feared...Rukia. She seemed all nice and innocent and sweet and shit on the outside, what with her small frame and large blue and purple eyes, but to Renji she was the devil in a human's body.

"Yes?" he hesitantly replied, unknowingly wringing his hands nervously. His eyes had gone wide, and his smile could be mistaken for creepy instead of what it really was: fearful.

"Don't use such foul language! And stop hopping around while holding your foot! And help me hand out these medications, and-"

"Okay, okay, dammit, slow down-"

"And don't interrupt me! And I just said not to use foul language! I swear, Renji, you are such an idiot...," and on and on it went, like a lizard running a never-ending road across a wide desert. Renji sulked and limped after her, his lips in a pout and his arms crossed.

"That woman...," muttered Grimmjow. He felt kind of bad for Renji, but not much. His amount of pity for his "friend" was about the size of a piece of dust...mite. Yeah. And not even an entire dust mite, just a piece of one.

"Well, we'll leave the feeding to you," said Ishida, his glasses crooked and his short black hair tousled. He looked very disgruntled, and his frown was wider than usual.

"Kay then, bye fag," said Grimmjow under his breath. Ishida glanced at him for a moment, his rectangular glasses flashing and his sharp eyes set in a glare.

"There's a button over on the left in case Ichigo starts having another fit. Just press it once and it will alert the...brute squad," Ishida said the last part slowly, as if he considered the brute squad a bunch of muscular gorillas with no brains.

Ishida, Nnoitra (who was holding his stomach), and the two other doctors left the room and shut the door. The clicking of the doorknob reminded Grimmjow of the sound of a gun's trigger being pulled.

"Alrighty, Ichigo," a small shiver went down Grimmjow's spine, "time to eat."

The carrot top didn't move.

"Hey, Strawberry, I ain't got all day."

Still no movement. Maybe a blink.

Grimmjow was sighing too much that day. He rubbed his face with his hands and tried once more. "Hellooo? Anybody home?"

"Heh...hehehehehehehe! Are they gone?"

Blue eyes widened as Grimmjow's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I thought they said this kid wasn't talkative," he thought as he walked closer towards the boy, the straitjacket ripped and torn so that his left arm was laying out on his side.

"Ne, ya' don't think ya' can take this lil' contraption offa me, do ya?" asked Ichigo, nodding his head downwards to show that he was talking about the straitjacket.

"Sorry, no can do," replied the baffled doctor, wondering whether he should press the button that Ishida told him about or not. "I'm not sure if those brute monkeys can help in this situation, though.."

"Tha's a shame," the carrot top said, turning his head to the side and faking a sad expression. He was still lying on the floor, his legs far apart and the back of his hair flat against the soft, cushiony floor. "I mean, I already have ma' left hand out, so what's the big difference if my right one comes out, too?"

"The difference is you can already take down five guys with one of your arms out, so I'm not letting the other one get freed so you can kick my ass, too, that's what."

Shiro smirked; those pansies were nothing. But this guy, he looked pretty tough...still not tough enough to beat him, of course. No one ever was. And it was a rare occasion to be free of his usual restrictions, so he really felt like kicking some butt. He could feel his fingers twitching with anticipation, and his legs felt restless and frustrated, but he could feel Ichigo pushing against the barrier that was letting Shiro take control, and he couldn't risk trying to fight when Ichi-chan was struggling.

The door to the room opened once more, making a small squeek. Ishida sauntered in, carrying a new straitjacket and pushing up his glasses.

"I tailored these specifically for Ichigo so that the sleeves won't rip again. Has he been showing any strange behavior?"

Grimmjow remained squatted near the caramel-eyed mental patient, thinking. "To tell the prick or not to tell the prick, that is the question." Well, a little secret wouldn't hurt.

"Nah, he's just been lyin' there doin' nothing."

Rectangular glasses were pushed up yet again as Ishida nodded and walked over to Ichigo, unfolding the new straitjacket as he strode across the room. Ichigo made no movement and remained completely still besides the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Shiro replaced his maniac smile with a small scowl right before Ishida could see his face.

Ishida squatted next to Grimmjow, the legs of his pants going up as he did. Ichigo did not struggle, and as the black haired doctor moved Ichigo's arms around and propped him into a sitting position he did not show any emotion. His face was blank, and his eyes were cold and empty.

"Well, that should do it..," Ishida stated, his arms crossed like he was satisfied with his work. And yet..and yet, he still felt that something was off, and to him, even thinking for a second that something was wrong with his work was off.

"Yeah, so you can get goin, ne' fairy?" growled Grimmjow, his arms resting on his knees. "Did I just see one a' the veins in Ishida's forehead pulse?" the bluenette thought, smirking, one of his sharp canines showing and making the rest of the room look off-white.

The 'fairy' stalked out of the room, fists clenched and looking more grumpy than ever.

Shiro glimpsed over at the blue-head, curiosity gleaming in his deep brown eyes that now had a small tint of gold in them.

"I think I'll have fun with this doctor." And he was grinning once more.

This is my first fic, so it might suck = v =;;; lots of love to my miku, who helps me with it 33 Q7Q heavily inspired by Racey's "Thriller" and xXsnowfeltXx's "Taming the Red Queen," you must look those up Q _ Q so amazing.