Chapter Text
September 22nd, 1935
There were few things, in Gajeel’s experience, that worked as quickly as a rolling snowball gathering mass. Gajeel often thought that police were like rats. Easily manipulated by their dumb laws and their desire for humanity. And if the police were rats, then his family was the snowball, growing faster as greed, necessity and corruption outweighed humanity’s belief in the laws they adored.
He supposed that if all his life he had been pushing that snowball, bowling over rats with reckless abandon, then he was heading towards the wall at the bottom of the mountain and soon his snowball would explode in his face.
He had predicted this kind of end, but he hadn’t predicted it happening because he tried to do the right thing for once. Now Gajeel sat in an empty cell, elbows on his knees, wondering if this was how the Devil punished those who tried to do good, or if this was God’s punishment for his dreadful life.
This isn’t a sentence , Makarov had told Gajeel as a blue uniformed guard locked the cell. It’s only temporary . Gajeel would have liked to believe that. But whoever was going to interrogate him was taking an awful long time. Either they wanted him to lose his mind, locked up like this, or they were already writing his prison papers.
There was a small TV, hissing news out from above a secretary’s desk. The secretary had been in and out of that chair the whole time he’d sat down, but she’d been gone for quite a while now. He only vaguely listened as the news broadcast buzzed in about every member of the Chenney clan that had been exposed by an anonymous insider. Already something close to ten hideouts and twenty state officials had been taken in.
Gajeel’s hands intertwined and he squeezed until the knuckle of his thumbs turned white as snow. This can’t all have been for nothing. He wanted out. He couldn’t remember a time after he turned ten years old that he didn’t think of himself as a prisoner. A prisoner to the man who murdered his family, a prisoner to a life that desired only to extort him.
It wasn’t until recently that he learned Rogue wasn’t just like them. Rogue was different somehow. He had always had the attitude of a Don, yet watching him care for that Evans boy...Gajeel didn’t think that part of Rogue existed. And despite everything, Rogue never treated him like an outsider. Rogue never blamed Gajeel for their mother’s death. He might have been the only person ever who wouldn’t.
Gajeel was shaken from his thoughts when the bars to his cell rattled and he looked up, startled. Slender fingers curled around the welded bars, skin flushing slightly where it pressed against the cold metal. An elegant face stared back at him, long black hair enveloped any view he’d had of the outside world. Minerva’s pursed lips and narrowed eyes greeted him with something akin to triumph, but her tone was low and sad.
“Never thought I’d see you in here?” she said. Gajeel rolled his eyes and grunted, turning away. “What? No words for me now that you’re out of business? I heard they were rounding up all your little family members.”
“Come to gloat?” Gajeel spat out, turning to Minerva with a hairy eye-ball.
“On the contrary,” she said, shifting on her feet and sticking her hip out. “I came to offer my condolences...I heard about your brother.”
“What do you care? ‘Ts not like I have any more drugs to sell you.”
“Aw, I don’t want any of those, kitten. I thought I could help you out. Y’know inheritance money gets you a long way when your dad was a chief of police.”
Gajeel snickered. “I’m not in jail, Min.”
Minerva quirked her head. An incredulous smile crept up her face and she laughed dryly. “You’re kidding right?” Gajeel stared at her until her mouth snapped shut and she straightened. “You’re not? Then how do you explain all this, huh?”
“I’m the insider. I sold out my family for my freedom.”
Minerva frowned. She lifted her hands from the metal bars. “Doesn’t look like you got it.” Gajeel sent a sneer her way. “Well, fine. If you end up needing my help though, you know where to find me.”
Minerva spun on a heel, her black curls whipping out and bouncing on her shoulder. The door opened as she left and she bumped arms with Sting as he entered. They gave each other a brief stare down, but Minerva turned her nose up and walked out.
“You know her?” Sting asked, jabbing a thumb towards Minerva.
Gajeel shrugged. “Old flame.”
Sting turned back to the door that was already closed, eyes wide. “Her?” his voice cracked with disbelief.
Gajeel waved a hand dismissively, “Don’t ask,” he said. “Can I get out of this fucking cell now?”
“Good news and bad news. Yes you can get out of the cell, but you’re coming with me to testify to the police officials-” Sting put a key into the cell door then added. “The ones that aren’t behind bars already.”
Sting wasn’t certain about this. He wasn’t certain about any of this. On the one hand, Gajeel had helped him expose every part of New York City that was corrupted, on the other...he would put one more criminal behind bars by advocating for Gajeel’s sentence.
At first Sting wasn’t sure he could do it, Rogue would be rolling over in his grave if he knew. But Rogue wasn’t here anymore, and Sting had a gaping void left in his heart. What was the point anymore?
All that he had left died with Rogue in the hospital. The least he could do now is erase any trace of the world Rogue came from. Because it was from that world that Rogue found his end. It was that world that Rogue spent every waking moment of his life agonizing over. He had often complained about the demands of his family business, little did Sting know just what that business was.
Now that he knew, it was his civic duty to bring it to justice. The way he saw it, they had killed Rogue. Not Weisslogia. That old man didn’t deserve another name added to his hitlist. No, it was discrimanation and the fear to do anything other than what you’re told that led to them both being there at tent city that night.
Sting clenched his fists as he walked with Gajeel down the corridor that led to the interrogation room Makarov wanted him in. “Here,” Sting said at last, opening the door. Gajeel gave him a side-eye as he walked through, still handcuffed.
Sting closed the door and told Gajeel to take a seat. There was only one table in this room, two chairs on opposite sides and a bright light hung from above. Gajeel did as he was told. “You’re info panned out correctly. Every name on that list was found connected to a crime we had pinned on an innocent man or had been classified as a cold case.”
Gajeel smirked and leaned back in his chair. “I never said I was kidding around did I?”
“I guess not,” Sting said as he stood behind the opposite chair. “But you still have to be interrogated. I’m too close to this case, so the headquarters says another officer has to do it.”
Gajeel narrowed his eyes at Sting. “Who?” he hissed out, barely moving his lips.
Sting didn’t say anything as he let the door open and his partner walked in. Dobengal stared daggers at Gajeel as he entered. Dobengal had lost his family to the mafia, or so he had confided in Sting once.
Regardless of who he was, Gajeel hadn’t left Dobengal’s name on the list of mafia members to track down. Maybe he should have because in the time Gajeel was in that cell, Dobengal had approached Sting and admitted he was assigned to the interrogation. Sting wondered if that was a coincidence, but he doubted it.
“That fucker’s family killed mine,” he had said. “I don’t care what’s happening to them now, but I can’t let him go free just because he ratted us out.”
Sting thought for a moment. Then Dobengal continued. “I’ve never asked you for anything, Eucliffe. Don’t let them know who I was before. Let me have this justice.” It was the sincerity in Dobengal’s eyes that made Sting reconsider. He had known Dobengal for years, strangely, he trusted him.
Gajeel’s eyes widened as Dobengal walked in. He looked terrified, and then relieved, then a mixture of the two as his brows kept furrowing and unfurrowing. “What the fuck is this, Eucliffe?” Gajeel asked.
“Procedure,” Sting said and walked out of the room. Gajeel called out to him, a sharp cry filled with urgency and the slightest hint of fear. Sting didn’t stop.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Gajeel asked. Of all the people to handle interrogating him, he hadn’t expected it to be Dobengal. At first he was relieved to see a familiar face, but the look Dobengal gave him was nothing short of murderous. Did he harbor ill feelings for the actions Gajeel took against their family? It was just Gajeel’s luck to find himself in a situation like this.
“I’m here to interrogate you,” Dobengal answered coldly.
“Bullshit,” Gajeel countered. “It’s no coincidence they made you come in here. So who did you pay off? A higher up or Eucliffe himself?”
Dobengal laughed without any humor. He sat down in the chair opposite Gajeel’s and opened a manilla folder he’d been holding. “Ready to confess?”
Gajeel narrowed his eyes. “Only if you are, traitor.”
Dobengal laughed easily. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “Interesting word choice for the man who sold out his family business.”
“Not enough of them apparently.”
“Relax, Redfox,” Dobengal said. He leaned back and put an arm over the back of his chair. “What if I told you I was here to argue your freedom?”
“Either you’re here to kill me yourself, or to save your skin by making sure all your crimes get blamed on me, so which is it?”
Dobengal took his time answering. He chose to stare down Gajeel instead. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I haven’t come here to help you argue your immunity. Seeing as the family’s done for, it’s time I toss my chips in with the winners.” Dobengal inclined his head and sneered. “It is a coincidence I’m here now, interrogating you. And whatever I tell them they’ll believe. Of course, you’re allowed a trial. But after the dirt I pull up on you-” he leaned forward, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “They’ll be nothing left to argue against.”
Gajeel clenched his fists. He had come so far. He had lost so much already. He thought he’d hit rock bottom years ago, but this was it. As soon as he thought he’d come as low as he could there was one extra level ready to drop him through its trapdoor.
And what of Frosch? Gajeel’s mind raced and his blood boiled. Rogue trusted him with taking care of their family in his absence. He had trusted Gajeel to be his underboss and at the first sign of grief Gajeel had thrown it all away, for this?
He heard the door creak open and the click of the latch as Dobengal released the handle. Gajeel wasn’t sure what he was thinking, maybe he wasn’t thinking at all, but a fiery rage took over him. He got up and tackled Dobengal into the door frame, bashing his head into the wood with an unforgiving thud.
Gajeel threw Dobengal to the ground and landed on his ribs, making sure to kick them in for good measure. He threw a few punches to Dobengal’s face before he swiped the gun off his left holder and ran for the door.
Sting sat down in a chair. Frosch sat next to him, closer to the door. The owner of an orphan asylum sat looking at them both in disdain. It pained Sting how little else there was in this room. It left him feeling isolated, swimming in the dread that was quickly rising out of Frosch.
“Frosh, this young lady has some questions for you. About the Chenney house,” Sting said patiently. Frosch didn’t look at him. Instead the boy was staring at the ground, his lower lip fixed in a pout, fists shoved between his thighs.
The asylum owner cleared her throat. “Frosch Evans?” She asked, her voice old, high and shrill. “How did Rogue Chenney come to adopt you? Was it because he killed your father?”
Frosch shook his head violently and thrust his eyes shut so tight the skin around them popped with veins. “NO!” he shouted, turning his head down more.
“No what, Frosch?” The woman asked. “No he didn’t kill your father? Were you there the night it happened?”
Again Frosch shook his head. Sting almost worried the boy had given himself whiplash. “ NO! ” he repeated, shoulders curling into his body now.
Sting put a hand on Frosch’s back. “Frosch, we just want to help. We think you might have some answers for us about your dad. After this we can talk about finding you a place to live permanently.”
Frosch turned away roughly, shaking Sting’s hand off him. “ I want Rogue! ” he screamed and crossed his arms.
Sting shared an apprehensive look with the asylum owner. She deepened her frown and opened her mouth but Frosch kept going. “ I want Rogue! IwantRogue! ” He repeated his words until he was breaking down in a sob, curling into himself.
Sting took a deep breath, torn between comforting the boy or just letting him cry. His hand hovered over Frosch’s back, unsure of if he should try to sooth him again or if Frosch would shrug him off once more.
Frosch’s wails continued and eventually the owner of the asylum seemed to get bored. She rolled her eyes, sighed and leaned back in her chair to write down some notes on her pad.
Over Frosch’s cries Sting heard something slam into the wall down the hall. Sting looked at the closed door. That sound had come from the room he had left Gajeel and Dobengal in. As Frosch continued to cry, shouts came from down the hallway followed by a single gunshot.
Sting was out of his seat faster than the asylum owner could snap her head up. When he opened the door Sting ran face to face into Gajeel, cop’s pistol in his hand, a crazed look of rage on his face.
He didn’t have time to react as Gajeel pulled him into a chokehold and pointed the gun at his head. There were two other cops who stopped as soon as Gajeel held Sting captive. Their guns were still pointed at Gajeel, but they hesitated, sharing a look of uncertainty.
Cold metal sunk into his temple, Gajeel’s beefy arm crushed his windpipe and there was little he could do to stop it aside from scratching at the course skin.
“Here’s how this goes down,” Gajeel hissed. “I’m going to walk out of here. And you’re going to let me.”
“Gaje-” Sting tried to speak but Gajeel flexed and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. All he saw was white until Gajeel released his hold again.
“You shut it!” Gajeel ordered. Sting coughed, but held his tongue. “Frosch,” he said, his voice more evenly paced now. “Come with me. We’re leaving.”
Out of his peripherie Sting saw Frosch get up from his chair and walk over to them. All of a sudden he didn’t look confused anymore. He didn’t look sad. He only looked determined as he grabbed onto the other side of Gajeel’s ripped up coat.
Gajeel took a step back, forcing Sting back too. The other cops trailed his steps but Gajeel cocked the gun and they paused. “No one is going to follow me.” A guttural growl left Gajeel’s throat. “We’re leaving now.”
The two cops shared a look, then slowly put down their guns. They motioned with their hands, a gesture for Gajeel to step back towards them. “You don’t have to do this.”
Gajeel moved the gun from Sting’s temple to point it at the cops. “Like hell I don’t,” he said, backing away.
With painfully slow, tense steps, Gajeel walked them out of the building. He found a random car on the street, smashed the window in and unlocked it. He instructed Frosch to get in before he threw Sting into the driver's seat. Gun still held to his head, Gajeel ordered him to drive.
“Where are we going?” Sting dared to ask as soon as the car got onto the main roads.
“Just keep fucking going.” Gajeel said, holding the gun higher until it rested right above Sting’s eye.
Sting resisted the urge to squirm, the urge to open the car door and jump out. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and grit his teeth.
“Take a left,” Gajeel ordered, his eyes flicking from the road back to Sting again. Sting did as he said. He had to find a way to get out of this, but with the boy in the car and a gun to his head Sting couldn’t see an obvious way to do that.
Eventually they were travelling on the outskirts of the city, close to the cliff sides where just yesterday Sting had watched Rogue confess to him while he bled out.
A pit grew in Sting’s stomach and all he wanted to do was throw up. Instead he distracted himself. “Why involve Frosch in this?”
Gajeel turned to look at him with a sneer. “And let you rat bastards have him? The kids innocent but your fucked up system would find a way to keep him on trial for ten years. I ain’t about to let that happen.” His fingers tightened over the trigger. Sting swallowed.
“Funny. You didn’t strike me as the kind to care for other people.” As soon as Sting said it, he knew he shouldn’t have. Gajeel pressed the gun’s tip into Sting’s head again, the cold metal beat against his hot pulse.
“Shut up and drive,” Gajeel growled, turning back to the road. “Right.”
Sting turned right and the car bounced onto dirt roads leading up to the cliff sides. Sting gripped the steering wheel tighter, a horrible idea forming in his brain. He didn’t want to act on it, but the irrational part of his brain took over.
Without warning, Sting jerked the car into a tree. The force of the turn threw them all around the cab. The tires hit a ditch and the hood crumpled. Sting’s body rushed forward out of his control.
When he opened his eyes again he still felt like the world was spinning. Vaguely he reached around for the door handle and forced it open. Sting’s head pounded with the effort and he brought a hand to clutch at it. Liquid was running down from underneath his hairline. Sting’s hand came away covered in blood.
He groaned and stumbled out of the car. Sting tried to shake his head to clear it, but the movement made him see stars. He blinked away the pain, smelling smoke and gasoline. As his sight came back to him he saw Gajeel. One hand on the hood of the car to steady himself, the other still holding the gun.
Sting’s eyes widened. He acted quickly, tackling Gajeel to the ground. Luckily the surprise made Gajeel drop the weapon and they tumbled down the ditch slightly.
They landed two feet from each other. Gajeel was up first, a fire in his eyes. He sent a quick left hook that hit Sting square in the jaw. Sting recoiled. He headbutt himself into Gajeel’s torso, knocking him into a tree.
They traded blows. Gajeel was tough and strong, but Sting was quick and cunning. He got a few blows in before Gajeel grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground. Gajeel landed on top of him, rearing his fist back for another punch.
Sting rolled, taking Gajeel with him. He was sure that without his years of police training Gajeel could’ve easily taken over him. But he still had a trick up his sleeve. Sting rolled on top of Gajeel, knees pinning his arms in place while he whipped a tiny gun from his left sock and held it to Gajeel’s forehead.
Sting panted wildly. He cocked the gun at the same time a shot rang out.
For a split second the world fell away from him. He blinked. Pain blossomed in his chest. He tried to breathe but the action made everything hurt. He wheezed and coughed as blood came foaming up his throat.
Gajeel, shocked, pushed Sting to the side. He hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him, wind that he couldn’t get back. His entire body felt like it was on fire. From the ground he could see his white shirt glistening with blood.
Ten feet away, above the ditch, Gajeel knocked a gun out of Frosch’s hands and yelled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” It wasn’t a question. The tension in the words made tears well up in the boy’s eyes. Frosch began to hyperventilate. That’s when Gajeel got down on one knee and took Frosch’s shoulders in his hands. “Why would you help me?” Sting barely heard Gajeel whisper. His heart was pumping in his ears, sending new shockwaves through him that froze him to the core.
Frosch sniffled. “Rogue said y-you’re family. Family protects each other.”
Sting groaned and tried to move his stiff body. His arms curled into his chest and he spit blood on the ground. A puddle quickly forming in the soil underneath him. He tried to roll but it his body wouldn’t respond. His eyelids were growing heavier.
Sting wasn’t sure if he was seeing it in real time, the world faded and came back into view like a stop motion film. He saw Gajeel turn Frosch around and push him towards the forest. Gajeel’s form stared down at Sting, cold and dark.
Police sirens sounded in the distance and in the blink of an eye Gajeel’s shadow was gone. Sting couldn’t get his breathing under control. He couldn’t think. He was going to die here.
His lungs heaved with the effort of breathing as the sirens grew louder. His mind screamed at him to get up and move but his body refused. Blue lights filled his vision and Sting allowed himself to breathe it all out. If breathing hurt too much, then he would just stop trying.
The blue lights were all around him now, but he gave into unconsciousness.
Sting woke up in a dark space. There was nothing but black as far as the eyes could see. At first, Sting was certain he was still unconscious. Then he thought that his eyes must still be closed. He used his fingers to pry his eyelids open and realized they weren’t closed. There was just nothing but a void surrounding him. His senses came to him too quickly. The force of his own awareness made his knees buckle.
“Sting?” A voice ladened with a thick Italian accent sounded from behind him. The voice was familiar enough to make Sting’s heart ache and his fingers twitch. It was husky, saddened and speaking Italian yet Sting could understand every word. “You should not be here.”
Sting turned around. His jaw dropped. Standing before him, pristine as the day they met, was Rogue. If Sting had any breath left it might have gotten caught in his throat. He took one precious step forward and reached out for Rogue’s cheek.
Rogue looked shocked, but he let Sting touch him with gentle eyes. “Are you...real?” Sting asked.
Rogue cupped a hand over Sting as it rested on his cheek. The touch sent shivers down Sting’s spine. “I do not think anything is real here, my love.”
Hearing those words took everything from Sting. A broken sob escaped him and he collapsed. Rogue caught him, rubbing soothing circles over his shoulders. Tears blurred Sting’s vision, grief and anger and depression and relief overtook him too quickly to process.
“I wanted to hate you-” he blubbered out, slurring into Rogue’s shirt. His words were watery and torn. “I wanted to hate you and him and everything you came from. That’s why...your brother-I-” Sting tried to look up but the sobs crawled out of his chest where he’d kept them hidden all his life. He lost his ability to speak.
Rogue curled his arms around Sting, forcing him back into an embrace as his breath hummed into the hair over Sting’s ear. “None of that matters anymore. You are here with me. We can let the past go.”
Sting shook like a frightened kitten, burrowing himself into Rogue’s comfort. For a moment he caught a whiff of Rogue’s scent, but it was gone so soon Sting thought he had imagined it. The more he cried the more he realized that the things around him weren’t real. Rogue’s warmth faded, the feeling of his arms around Sting ceased but he could still see Rogue standing clear as day, holding him close.
“Are we…” Sting paused, unwilling to say the word out loud. He pulled away from Rogue and sniffed. “Dead?”
Rogue stared him in the eyes with an intensity that burned his soul apart. “I do believe so. I’d been alone here for so long I almost forgot what that word meant.” Rogue looked around wistfully, yet there was nothing to see but black. Sting wasn’t sure whether they were really standing or just floating. Rogue turned his attention back to Sting. “But you are here now. We are alone together.
They were still holding onto each other, though Sting couldn’t feel anything. He looked around as well, convinced he’d find some sort of white glow on the horizon that would give them any idea of where they were.
“I don’t understand. Where’s heaven? Where’s hell? What is this place?”
Rogue shook his head. “I do not think any of that exists here,” his voice started to echo as if the void itself were agreeing with him. “Maybe this is a purgatory. We are brought here to be punished for our sins.” Rogue let out a sigh. Sting stared at him again. It was easier to focus on him when everything else was too dark. Too open. Too endless. “Whatever punishment lays beyond, I will face it all with you beside me.”
Sting blinked sadly at Rogue. His frown deepening. “What if there’s nothing out there? What if this is all there is?”
Rogue smiled slightly as he wiped a stray tear from Sting’s cheek with his thumb. “Then we walk into it together.”
Sting took a deep breath. They pulled away to intertwine their hands. Sting walked, or floated, with Rogue into the dark.