Archive of Our Own

I: Details only he could know

On a nice, moderate day in Spring, Freed’s hair tie snaps. A seemingly innocuous problem.

Freed takes very good care of things that are his responsibility. For one thing, that goes for his hair. He takes pride in his hair, and he takes pride in the rather common comments in how soft or silky it is. It is essentially his one outlet of vanity, he likes for his hair to look well maintained and healthy. Another thing that results from how seriously he takes any responsibility is that he never loses things. It isn’t difficult to keep track of one’s things or return them to their designated place. It’s the reason that Evergreen goes through seemingly endless amounts of hair ties that are left everywhere and Freed simply… doesn’t. Every time he uses a new hair tie, it lasts him for several months. It lives in his hair or on his wrist, occasionally on his nightstand. And he doesn’t lose it.

But his hair ties snap, sometimes, it is the only way he ever really moves on to a new one. He realizes, after taking a moment to sigh, that this was his last hair tie. “Shit,” he mutters.

He is standing in the kitchen, preparing to cook a new recipe that he is very excited to make, and his last hair tie has snapped. His hair is already falling over his shoulders as he looks down at the counter, reaching almost all the way down. Freed sighs again, more irritated, and uses both his hands to wrap up his hair again. Pulling it over one shoulder, he walks out through the dining room. He processes briefly that he passes Laxus, napping on the couch, as he makes his way to the stairs.

“Of all the times,” Freed laments to himself as opens his bedroom door. This just shows how annoyed he is with it. Freed is not in the habit of muttering to himself, mainly because he is in the habit of sharing a living space with a dragon slayer with enhanced hearing. He is comfortable in the idea that it’s a good thing to always have his things in check, but it does leave him deeply irritated when things go awry. Breaking small rules of propriety is an easy way to vent some irritation.

He searches his room for a new hair tie despite the circumstance, because even if it might be unlikely that he forgot, it’s still possible he will find one. But, sadly, it is in vain. Which leaves Freed with a conundrum, because he has open ingredients downstairs. And he doesn’t like unaccounted for hiccups interrupting his plans.

He contemplates borrowing one from Ever, she wouldn’t mind, but the thought of digging through her less-than-tidy room to hopefully find one leaves it as a last resort. He’s this close to using his magic to at least hold it in place when he spots a flash of color on his desk.

Under a stack of small books, an emerald ribbon is laid out neatly, having previously been wrapping them together. “Perfect,” Freed breathes a sigh of relief. An ideal substitute.

He carefully examines the ribbon first, but it is soft and high quality and a similar shade to his hair, truly the perfect substitute. He pulls his hair back and up again, savoring the cool air against his neck in the burgeoning heat. Every other part of his body runs terribly cold, but for some reason it is always the nape of his neck. It isn’t like his hair is warmer than his coat, so he can never understand it. But he hates the suffocating feeling.

It takes a couple of tries to tie his hair up properly, because the open ribbon as opposed to the closed shape of a hair tie is a bit more difficult. But he gets it to work without much trouble, and it actually looks rather nice. With a satisfied nod, Freed’s irritation is sated, and he makes his way back downstairs.

He’s a little surprised to see the couch empty, no sign of Laxus in the living or dining room. Freed chuckles, “He better pray he gets back soon, I won’t be saving any if Bix and Ever demolish it.” Laxus will be pissed if he misses what his friends and teammates have come to call ‘new dinner night’. They’ve always liked his cooking, so it’s become something exciting whenever he makes something new. Freed thinks it is a bit much to create a semi-regular event, but his friends aren’t the sort to be dissuaded. From anything.

He’s wasted no time at all, really, so he gets right back to it. Freed finds a special peace in cooking that he can’t really describe well. Most people think of it as a chore. He isn’t quite sure what exactly makes it so enjoyable to him, but whatever it is makes him feel a rather comfortable mix of useful and relaxed. Cooking, even when it’s stressful, is somehow also relaxing. You follow a plan, but also make it your own, and by the end you get to have something exciting and enjoyable to share.

He is in this peaceful haze for a while, not bothering to look at the time, before he hears the front door open once more. “Laxus?” He calls out. No one else should be home yet unless he lost a lot more time than he thought.

”Yeah, it’s me.” A pause, “What are you making?”

“Isn’t one of the random rules, uh… ‘no spoilers’?” Freed can’t actually mask the amusement in his voice.

Laxus scoffs, the sound of his boots climbing the stairs lets Freed know that he hasn’t taken his goddamn shoes off on Freed’s rug in the living room. Bastard. “Yeah, yeah. And here I was going to compliment how good it smells before you decided to be petty.” Freed laughs, considering Laxus’s own pettiness at not being provided basic information. Laxus can probably make out most of the individual ingredients, at least those he knows, by scent alone.

It strikes Freed, now and every once in a while, how domestic things have become. Laxus coming in and out of their home in Magnolia once more, teasing and joking, running errands. For a good portion of his young adulthood, Freed had feared something like this might be impossible. It hadn’t been until Laxus’s banishment from the guild that there had been some hope. Bix and Evergreen hadn’t been able to understand it, they’d both been scared then. But Freed’s fear was lessened. He never thought that Master Makarov would send Laxus away forever, he knew that Gramps, of all people, could see the truth of a person beneath the way they lash out when in pain. It’s what he did for Freed so long ago. Gramps knew, always, that Laxus was nothing like his father. The lightning mage just needed a kick in the ass, to be on his own for a while and figure out what the hell he is going to do. And Freed had faith that Laxus would make the right choice eventually, and find his way home.

Here they are now; group dinners, having friends over… things are different.

Freed is drawn out of his thoughts as he hears Laxus coming back down the stairs. The man in question doesn’t return to the living room, but rather appears in the doorway of the kitchen. He leans against the doorframe, watching Freed cook. He waits for him to say something, assuming he would, but for a couple of minutes he doesn’t. Freed finally turns to look at him and catches him staring, watching Freed silently. He looks a little startled, eyes tracking every minute movement Freed makes.

“Everything okay?” Freed asks mildly.

Laxus blinks a couple times, “Yeah— yeah, it’s fine, sorry. Just— distracted.” He clears his throat and looks away, almost sheepish. Freed doesn’t know what spurred it on but he can’t help but find it adorable. Laxus so rarely lets his true emotions show, and especially trivial ones like this.

Freed steps away from the counter, “You sure? You look a little… red?”

”Shut up,” Laxus grumbles, rolling his eyes. He looks over Freed’s shoulder, and his demeanor shifts a little. “Beef?”

Freed snorts, unable to help himself, “Like a bloodhound. Yeah, it’s beef.” Laxus’s lips quirk up slightly, almost a smile, and Freed has to change his mind. Like a puppy, perking up just ‘cus I’m making a food he likes.

“You are the best,” Laxus chuckles, slipping around Freed to snatch a small taste of the meal.

“Oi!” Freed shouts, slapping his friend’s shoulder. “Leechers, the lot of you! Out, out.” He shoves Laxus, who is completely unapologetic and in fact laughing, back out of the kitchen. “Unbelievable.”

Laxus looks back at him, fully prepared to make some retort, but once again he seems to pause. He just looks at Freed once more, seeming dazed. He shakes himself out of it this time, turning to retreat upstairs once more. “Yeah, yeah, real scum of the earth we are. I wonder why you chose to live with us.”

It’s Freed’s turn to roll his eyes. He isn’t all that exasperated, though, he did pick out this recipe thinking Laxus would like it. Especially the slightly more complicated part, the sauce recipe— that Freed can’t remember quite right. “Shit, why do I always act like I’ve got a photographic memory. Or that I’m organized. Might as well keep recipe books in the kitchen even if the rest of my books are upstairs.” He makes his way up the stairs just after Laxus and pauses at the landing. “Laxus?”

He isn’t one to question whatever weird shit his friends get up to, they can be… spontaneous. But Laxus is standing at the wrong door, Freed’s door. He looks up when Freed speaks, starling slightly. Also out of character. “What’s— oh.” Laxus looks back for a moment and seems to realize. “My bad, I’m a little out of it. Not, uh— not thinking.”

”It’s fine,” Freed says, just to cut off Laxus’ rambling. He always finds it a little disconcerting when he sees Laxus falter, but he doesn’t have time to raise any questions. The man quickly disappears into his own room, leaving Freed standing in the hall.

Shaking off the slight oddness of the interaction, Freed just goes on to his room. Something has made Laxus a little off since he got back, but honestly that could be anything. He pushes into his room thinking this, at least, will be the end of it, but it isn’t.

Something new is sitting on his nightstand, something he knows wasn’t there before. A packet of hair ties is sitting on the table, on top of his notebook. How it got there he has no idea, there was no one home to even know he needed new ones. Well, Laxus, but he was— asleep? He seemed to be asleep, but Freed was just teasing him about his dragon senses.

Freed feels heat rising in his face faster than he can control. Was that why he went out? He went upstairs right after he got back… did he go out just to buy Freed hair ties? Did he hear Freed muttering about not having any hair ties?

But then was he going to go into my room again? What for? The only thing that changed was that brief conversation they had in the kitchen. And the only thing different about that from any other day was that Freed didn’t have a hair tie and had put that emerald ribbon that Laxus had gifted him in his hair instead. But why would that make any difference to Laxus?

Freed needs to calm down, he’s getting— very flustered. Some little act like this is one thing; it is making his heart race and giving him some very confusing thoughts. But, what? Freed wearing a ribbon in his hair made Laxus flustered? Sure, he was turning a bit red and he was dazed, distracted, but— That’s an absurd thought, there’s no way that Freed makes Laxus all shaky and confused the way he makes Freed. This is how Freed might act around Laxus, there was a time when Freed had simply pointed out a necklace, for Bixlow’s sake too, only to witness the next day Laxus wearing a leather choker. That’s the sort of thing that makes sense, Freed would lose his mind in a situation like that. But Laxus?!

“No— no.” Freed literally can not go down this path right now, he is not going to let his mind get messed up. He is in the middle of cooking a meal and he is having guests over soon. Compartmentalization is an amazing skill of Freed’s, and he is incredibly skilled at putting it to use to cover his deeply rooted feelings for Laxus. He can put it to the side.

But, in the name of curiosity, with courage he can’t quite place, Freed grabs his recipe book and leaves, without picking up a new hair tie.

~~~

Freed concludes, after a lot of internal struggle, that it has got to be the ribbon. Mainly because he returns to his normal appearance when they have dinner, and it goes smoothly, and everything is fine. But he comments, later, that he should wear the ribbon more often, that he decided he likes it. It’s not much, but he definitely catches a stray look; then another, and another. And a soft, wine red silk ribbon appears in his room soon after.

II. Witness reports

Freed catalogues everything in his body with a detached sort of calculation. He feels very hot and sticky, and his head is foggy. His leg is throbbing—no, searing, really, it’s just also coming in waves. There is next to no weight on his body, none of the heavier clothes he tends to wear, only the feeling of cloth. Which adds to the strangeness, because even in what must be much lighter clothes than usual he feels hot.

Injured, he decides, between the pain and the light clothes and the sweaty feeling; likely a fever, too. An infected injury, then. No real need to worry, though, he always thinks this when he’s injured; honestly, the guild is probably a better place to be than a hospital. But is he at the guild? That’s the most important question.

So, despite very much not wanting to, he peels open his eyes. And slowly, once he goes through the process of blinking them closed again and again to get used to the light, his eyes start working again. He sees wooden planks making a peaked ceiling, and closer to him, metal railings holding up white curtains. He feels soft sheets curling up beneath his fingers, and he hears footsteps.

“Where—?” He chokes out, mouth terribly dry. It’s enough to get the ‘someone’s’ attention, because they come rushing over. The head that pops up next to him is familiar, and a great comfort. Porlyusica might be terrifying to face and always made of steel, but there was no better provider of medical care.

“Be calm,” Porlyusica instructs, “You’re at the guild. Do you remember what happened?”

Freed can recall bits and pieces with a bit of strain. He remembers going on a job and quickly realizing there was more to it than the description provided by the client. They spoke to rune knights in a military fort in Marguerite Town and learned of the ongoing threat, a dark guild luring in official wizards. They weren’t going to back down after hearing that.

The fight was rougher than they expected, though. None of the previous wizards had actually been killed, all had been severely injured. The dark wizards were strong, and the hostages needed to be protected. There was a maintained area-of-effect spell, sapping magic energy. It was an incredibly sophisticated piece of magic. Most of the rune knights could only provide some help, it took wizards of Fairy Tail’s caliber to be influenced by the spell and still maintain enough strength to battle.

But there was something wrong, the dark wizards weren’t affected by the spell at all. It shouldn’t have been discriminatory, not when it already had such a powerful effect. He remembers… “They were… experimenting with curses. I think,” he trails off again, but that part felt important to say aloud.

”Ah, I see,” Porlyusica pauses her assessment of him. “Bixlow and Evergreen were quite insistent on sharing your theory with the authorities before they went in there investigating. You are correct, by the way, and you probably saved some poor government goons.”

Freed smiles a little, even though the muscles in his face feel tight. “I remember, their magic was weird; their research was detailed, they had crafted some of it themselves.”

Porlyusica hums in affirmative, “So that much you remember?”

”Yes,” Freed tries to take in more of his surroundings, but a firm hand on his shoulder stops him from rising. “Right— uh, I remember fighting them, it was a… cliff side. It was hard, covering all the hostages. I figured out their trick but— I didn’t figure it out in time.” He refocuses on the ache in his leg, groaning his neck up to see his leg heavily bandaged and in a brace, his thigh completely blocked from view. “That weapon, it was imbued with some curse, wasn’t it? It must have been, that’s why it threw me off so much when he stabbed me.”

”You know, for most people, getting stabbed in the leg with a spear is what would throw them off.” Porlyusica sighs, “But, yes, they found many enchanted weapons in the dark guild’s headquarters. Although, I suppose there might be a different word for it if curses are used instead of magic.”

”It made me dizzy,” Freed recalls, “Horribly nauseous. My balance started going, my senses too. Someone was coming toward me, trying to help… Laxus? Yeah, Bix and Ever were nearer to the base than we were. But, ‘cus of me, he got distracted. Someone got him too— is he okay?” Freed suddenly tries to sit up again, this time fast enough and with enough effort that he does so successfully. And indeed, Laxus is in the next bed over, still unconscious, his torso heavily bandaged.

But Porlyusica responds before he can speak again, “He’s fine. Just like you are. He woke up already, I just put him back under because he was one restless bastard who wouldn’t sit still.” She tries to move him down again, and he puts his arm out behind him to hold himself up, and there’s an ache in his arm. He looks down and notices, among the scattered bumps and bruises, a large, distinctive bruise.

”What the hell?” He can’t move his arm around well enough to get a view of it all the way around, but the marks make it very obvious what he is looking at.

“Can you think of anything else?” Porlyusica presses. For a moment, Freed thinks she’s changing the subject, but when he looks up the stare he’s met with is full of meaning.

Freed squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think back to the worst part of it. He was losing consciousness fast, and he remembers distant pangs of pure irritation because he figured right away the blade must have been poisoned or something, because it was taking him out far too quickly. It was having a powerful effect on his body, and he couldn’t really fight against it to remain awake.

Then there was a blast, a wave, of beautiful and familiar light. Laxus lashes out in every direction; just by what he can feel as the magic strikes those around him, Freed can tell it’s more powerful than what Laxus usually allows himself to release. But something is behind him, he thinks now that maybe they saw each of their friends getting taken down with deadly precision and used Freed as a shield. And Freed is far too out of it to notice them.

The enemy grabs him, wraps his arms around him, more noise. Threats, probably, the unknown man is still using Freed as a shield, but even in this state Freed is not one to back down. He’s fighting the hold on him; he can hear more shouting right in his ear, the annoying bastard. He remembers thinking that Laxus was weak too, he got hit by one of these weapons too and released a massively powerful attack. He stumbles, but there is more weight than he’s used to and he’s completely off balance. He takes one off-center step after another, but then he takes a step and the ground… isn’t there.

And he remembers thinking I’m falling.

It was a cliff, a high cliff, it wasn’t a fall he could’ve survived and he had no more magic power in him. He’s sharply dropping, and then he’s sharply not. There’s a painful pressure on his arm, squeezing so much and it hurts.

But he hears something that once more he can’t make out but he certainly knows. Laxus is above him, he’s yelling… he’s almost begging.

“Oh,” Freed mutters. Laxus must have been as exhausted as he was, they’ve been fighting for so long and everything was stacked against them. And reinforcements were far away. “How long did he hold me there?”

“We aren’t exactly sure,” Porlyusica explains, defeated. “He didn’t have a great sense of time, the curse on the weapons are terribly powerful. He couldn’t lift you back up, but he didn’t let go.” And now there’s a massive, hand shaped bruise on Freed’s arm.

Freed sags back into the bed, “Shit.” He takes a deep breath and thinks back, clinging to the memories he can scrape together: Laxus looking down from above, his grip painful but single handedly keeping Freed from falling. “God, that turned into a mess.”

”If it makes you feel better, you’ve got the royal military kneeling at the guild’s feet. It comforted the old bastard a little.” Porlyusica’s expression doesn’t change, but she is extremely careful as she messes with the treatment on his leg.

“I suppose that helps a bit,” Freed chuckles. The government being held a bit accountable for leaning so heavily on the guilds is a little refreshing.

Porlyusica spends some time carefully examining and updating everything to do with his treatment, and instructing him repeatedly to stay in bed and get some rest, and offers in exchange that next time he wakes up he may have visitors.

Left alone with his thoughts, Freed looks over to Laxus once more. He can only imagine him, exhausted and injured, clinging to Freed. And holding onto him. Not letting go no matter what. Laxus’s strength should have failed, it should have been too much, he should have gotten attacked by some stray wizard that he missed in his previous attacks. But none of the odds paid off. He just held on, through everything, for who knows how long.

Freed sighs, long and heavy, ignoring the aches in his body. He imagines Laxus throwing himself at the edge of the cliff, reaching over just in time to snatch Freed out of a free fall. Was he just laying there, battered and bruised, terrified and praying that someone makes it in time before his strength fails? Was he just gritting his teeth, repeating to himself that his strength wouldn’t fail?

Freed can only imagine the situation, can only guess at what happened. He’s sure that when Laxus wakes up, he won’t say a thing. Maybe with time, with a bit more time, Laxus will learn to open up about things like this. But Freed knows he’d rather protect Freed from fully knowing the strain of the whole situation. He always puts protecting them first.

III. Circumstantial evidence

With the power and mystery behind the curse used to enchant the weaponry that the dark guild uses, Freed’s injury lingers. They’re careful with treating it, and it is being treated pretty well, but it means that he has to deal with an injury. And in his leg, of all things. It is a miserable experience.

And everyone is so damn worried about him because he’s a little bit immobile. His friends had tried to get him to sleep on the first level to avoid the fucking stairs. He almost socked Evergreen in the jaw for that one. He is perfectly fine going up and down the stairs, he just needs the railings. But no one seems to give a shit about his opinion.

Not at all, and the worst of it was Laxus. Freed… understands it, he does. Laxus was the one who caught him, the one who held his dead weight dangling over that damn cliff for god knows how long. And, sure, having Laxus hover around him, constantly keeping an eye on him and giving him a terrible amount of attention in the days since his injury hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. But still!

Or maybe it’s because of all of that. Freed just isn’t built to handle this much attention; he plans and lays traps, he uses shadows and secrets and the darkest parts of the mind, he isn’t— meant to be observed so much. But Laxus is always watching him.

Freed can feel Laxus’s gaze on him all the time; whenever Freed has to push himself up from his seat, or every time that he takes the stairs, or when he’s ambles around the kitchen, Laxus lingers. Like a guard dog that’s been put up to attention and is waiting for duty, following its master from room to room with its ears perked. It’s been driving Freed nuts because— it’s like a fantasy. And he can’t make sense of it! He knows that Laxus cares about him, and worries so much, but it’s killing Freed.

Especially at times like this.

”Here, just let me help you,” Laxus sighs.

Freed looks over his shoulder, glaring, “I can walk down the damn stairs, I swear to god.” Laxus is wearing an amusing mixture of exasperation and concern, and does not stop his approach. He isn’t put off by Freed’s glare at all, he steps right up next to Freed’s injured side. One arm loops around his waist and the other wraps around his arm, and Freed dies a little inside.

The warmth of the larger body, the pressure of his arms, the firm muscle making up every fucking part of Laxus body; Freed can not handle this. He struggles in Laxus’s grip and the man growls, a sound that does funny things to the thoughts running through Freed’s head. “For fuck’s sake, Freed. I can throw you over my shoulder or you can just let me help you.”

“I just—”

“Don’t want to be a burden?” Laxus guesses. “Don’t need help? Barely even feel it? Bullshit.” He tightens his grip on Freed’s waist and Freed panics.

”Okay— okay, Laxus!” Freed struggles in his grip again, just to stop the larger man from picking him up. “Goddamn it, you crazy—”

Laxus grins devilishly when Freed throws his anger in his face, ushering him forward. Considering Laxus is way physically stronger than him and has no qualms about following through on his threat, Freed has no choice but to comply. And sure, it’s easier to get down the stairs, and move around in general, with someone carrying him every other step and essentially acting as a crutch, relieving the pressure from Freed’s wounded leg, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. He refused a crutch for a reason.

Absently, he looks over at Laxus again, and razor-sharp eyes are fixed on him, calculating. This is why Freed is so hesitant to let his guard down! Really, he’s sure that Laxus can see the relief in his body, even if it doesn’t exist in his mind, when someone stubbornly refuses to not help him and every muscle in his body doesn’t have to tense, his face doesn’t screw up as he strains his leg. Freed is sure that Laxus catches it every time, because Laxus is always watching, and he’s been helping more and more.

Freed pushes Laxus away as soon as they hit the landing, limping slightly but not even thinking of the pain. Laxus groans loudly, happily exaggerating his frustration just to make sure Freed gets it. “Where are you even going, Freed? You shouldn’t be moving around like this— aren’t you supposed to be on bedrest?”

”If I was on bedrest, I would be at the guild,” Freed huffs. “And I’m going to the bookstore, my order should be here any day now—”

”No,” Laxus says flatly. Freed whirls on him again only to see the annoyance on his face and realizes that perhaps he was allowed to get even half of that sentence out purely because of Laxus’s shock. “Absolutely— no fucking way, Freed, I—” He runs his hand through his hair, clenching his jaw. “I can’t tell, anymore, if you’re being purposefully obtuse to get away with what you want or the only force powerful enough to render you, of all people, stupid is that of your own stubbornness!”

That’s— rude. That was a rudely accurate unwrapping of a lot of the poor decisions Freed makes. How dare Laxus know him that well? How dare he, when it makes Freed’s heart pound and his skin flush and it probably means nothing at all to Laxus? And sure, he’s being more than a bit pissy right now, but he’s not feeling a hundred percent. Why is Laxus being such an asshole?

”Excuse me?”

Freed blinks at his friend, his leader, “Did I say that out loud?” Laxus narrows his eyes, blatantly suspicious. He closes the gap between them once more, grabbing Freed’s jaw in his hand, which is also very distracting—

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Laxus asks. He’s looking all calculating again, like he can see Freed’s soul if he stares hard enough. It’s terrible, and the pain in his leg sucks really bad today so he’s already pissed, and Laxus is making it worse. “Your face is red—”

“Stop it!” Freed snaps, trying and failing to shove Laxus away. Like he needs Laxus recognizing how stupidly flustered all this caretaking makes him.

“Oi, cut it out,” Laxus complains, still trying to maintain a hold on him. Freed finally gets away and he takes a step back and it goes wrong and he yelps without meaning to. “Fuck!”

Laxus catches him as he crumples, so he doesn’t hit the floor, but that would probably hurt less. “My leg— goddamn it,” Freed mutters endlessly. “Fuck, why is it burning—?”

”I’ll buy you new ones,” Laxus says suddenly. Freed does not even get to raise the question of huh? before Laxus literally tears off his pants, ripping away the front of one leg. He is a bit more careful in peeling back the layers of bandaging, and Freed is glad for that, because the last few layers coming off feel like a waxing salon in hell. “Shit,” Laxus curses. Freed can’t really make sense of what he’s seeing, because skin… isn’t supposed to be that color. Freed has nothing against dark skin, but his own has always been laughably pale. And it definitely shouldn’t be cut with such a bright shade of purple, branching out like violet lightning from his half-healed wound.

“That’s not good,” Freed murmurs slowly, “What’s— woah—” He winces as Laxus suddenly scoops him up, jostling his injury a bit.

”Hold on,” Laxus comforts, voice much softer than anything Freed has heard from him before. “Just one second, you’ll be fine.” Freed can’t fully process what he means, maybe because his head is all fuzzy, but he doesn’t really need to. Once he finishes speaking, Laxus changes, and Freed recognizes belatedly what he is doing.

For the most part, travel by lightning is a one-wizard trip; Laxus can melt his body itself into powerful magic energy and lose almost none of his motor control, but it’s not conducive to transporting multiple people. There is one way to change that, though, the most cumbersome and least effective method of using his lightning magic to travel: not changing his body, but rather simply using his magic as fuel. It’s most similar to what the other dragon slayer’s can do with their gifts.

It still gives Laxus quite a bit of speed, though, and there is also the factor of sheer force of will, something in which mages of Fairy Tail excel. In other words, they do manage to reach the guild hall rather quickly. Freed is barely awake by that point, though, and if they weren’t arriving at such a familiar place he probably wouldn’t realize it. And now, of course because they’re at the guild, there’s a bunch of shouting and jostling and general chaos. It’s enough for Freed to allow his consciousness to slip away to peaceful slumber.

~~~

Once more, Freed wakes up in a hospital bed at the guild hall. It isn’t too rare an experience, but twice for one injury is upsetting. He lets out a long sigh, “…why?”

He pushes himself up, this time much more easily than the last given that he feels a bit ill, not like he got a building dropped on him. Braced up on his hands, he notices the new dressing on his leg. Another difference: this time he doesn’t need to strain himself to remember. “Either a lingering curse or an infection,” he mutters to himself, “Or some combination of both. Okay then.”

No wonder he felt so off… this morning? Yesterday? Unclear. But still, he’s only surprised he didn’t recognize the sign of the fever more easily. Maybe Laxus had a point, he was so caught up in the maddening experience of being on lockdown for almost a week that he fully intended to power through any bad feelings without regarding them. Freed is never going to hear the end of this, especially from Laxus.

But just in time to distract him from annoying thoughts, the door creaks open and Wendy peaks her head in. “I knew I heard you,” she grins widely, coming fully through the door and carefully closing it behind him. “How are you feeling?”

”Not too bad,” Freed assures her. “Was it an infection, or a lingering effect of the curse?”

”We think it was a little bit of both,” Wendy explains. “The curse made the injury heal very slowly, and made you vulnerable to infection. Not to mention that the curse made you feel so generally bleh that you didn’t recognize the signs of illness.” She leans up to examine his eyes and poke at his face, briefly pausing to check his head for a fever, before focusing on the main injury. “The big issue here is that you’re almost… a guinea pig. There’s no medical records for this sort of injury.”

”How is it that Laxus has recovered so much faster than me?” Freed complains, because this is one of the few situations where he’s ever going to be willing to express that slight annoyance.

Wendy smiles sympathetically, “There could be a couple of reasons for that. It could be chance: his body is reacting better to the curse or is finding the right way to dispel it while yours isn’t. It could, as always,” she sighs as she says that, looking haggard, “Have something to do with something about dragon slayers.” Ah, the sore spot. “Or it could be another normal medical thing. Can you think of anything in your medical history that might exacerbate this unique problem?”

”No,” Freed supplies quickly, before he can even really think. “I have a bit of a history, don’t get me wrong. I got sick a lot as a teenager. But it’s just… a scrawny kid leaving his isolated small town for the first time and promptly getting hit with a dozen things he’s never seen anyone actually have before.” It was a lot when he first got to the guild specifically, he came down with about four things one after another. Poor Gramps was on the verge of a heart attack the whole time, worrying if he was ever going to recover. Thirteen was not a great age for him.

”That could be something too,” Wendy shrugs, “A history of a weak immune system. This is what is so bad about all this.” When she does eventually reveal the wound, the glowy, purple lightning is mostly faded. Other than some faded, wine-colored lines almost resembling veins branching out from a messed up, yikes, definitely infected, wound, nothing is out of the ordinary. “Okay, that looks much more like a normal stab wound now. That’s good.”

”I concur,” Freed says dryly, “Can I go home n—”

”No,” Wendy chirps. She sits up on her knees on the hospital bed and plants her fists on her hips. “Laxus told me what you were up to, you know.”

”I’m going crazy here—” Freed tries, knowing somehow that it’s useless. Oh right, she’s being mentored by Porlyusica. That’s why.

Wendy crosses her arms, speaking firmly. ”And that sucks, I know, but I’m mandating some damn bedrest for you.”

Freed raises an eyebrow, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with my practitioner using that kind of language.”

”I’m not a kid, I’m a teenager!” His barb makes Wendy a bit grumpy, but she wasn’t going to repeal the bedrest order either way. She insists that he not move from the bed at all, or he won’t even be allowed to go home and get bedrest in his own bed, and that is a threat that Freed takes seriously.

It isn’t much later, though, that he gets more visitors. Namely, it starts with Bixlow and Evergreen, obviously. There is yelling and scolding and bitching and a prompt response of putting them in their place and reminding them that they have no place to reprimand him over something like this. From there, it’s a revolving door of guild mates, with intermittent appearances from Porlyusica and Wendy. The only noticeable absence is Laxus.

Freed wonders if he spooked him. He had collapsed from a formerly serious injury right in front of Laxus, the man would obviously be worried, but this is more than that. What would prompt Laxus to stay away completely? If he feels guilty. It’s always the fucking guilt complex with him. As if he’s meant to be Freed’s designated caregiver or what-fucking-ever. Wow, this whole situation is really pissing Freed off, huh?

Freed takes a long, deep breath and tries to pull himself together. After two full days, he finally gets to go home, he doesn’t want to show any sort of behavior that might jeopardize that. The thing that matters most at this very moment is just getting to return to his own house, his own room, and the small degree of additional freedom that will allow him. When he’s fully healed, he’s spending a month taking solo jobs.

“Okay, so, have there been any changes in your pain level?” Wendy asks seriously.

Freed shakes his head, “It’s been fading bit by bit. It definitely hasn’t gotten worse again, I promise.”

Wendy nods, thankfully not still suspicious that he’s trying to hide the severity of his injury. “Alright, your infection has cleared up and your fever has gone down. The wound is finally starting to heal, too. You should stay off of it for about a week, and it should heal up very well. But I or Porlyusica will be the judge of that, alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Freed sighs, brushing his hair out of his face. “I know. I wasn’t trying to be irresponsible, you know that? I’ll rest until I’m fully healed, I’m not foolish.”

“Well, that’s the impression I was under,” Porlyusica snaps from the side of the room. “Until this happened.” Wendy chuckles quietly before looking at him sympathetically. It isn’t like Freed is surprised by Porlyusica’s demeanor anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. Porlyusica had sent away Bixlow and Evergreen as they hovered anxiously, so she has Freed’s positive opinion of her.

“Please use your crutches,” Wendy adds as she helps Freed sit up, handing over the walking aids. Freed isn’t going to argue with either doctors after all this, and he would like to just allow this stupid injury to heal.

The crutches are not too uncomfortable or difficult to get used to, so he manages to walk quite alright on his own without Ever hovering constantly. It takes quite a few blocks to convince her that he doesn’t need a wheelchair or someone to carry him, but she gets the message eventually. He’s very glad that he sent Bixlow away earlier, the both of them would be unbearable.

”Oh,” Ever pipes up, “Careful, the sidewalk here is busted up—”

”Like it has been for the past five years,” Freed interrupts, lifting his crutches over the uneven ground and pulling himself over with ease. “The entire duration of which I’ve been taking this street to get between home and the guild.” Evergreen withers slightly under his glare, and he walks on ahead of her. He isn’t anything other than a bit annoyed at the fawning, and he knows she knows it.

When they finally get home, Ever opens the door for him, which he can’t scold her for because he’d need to do some awkward acrobatics with his crutches to open it himself. She grins at him smugly.

”What? Bragging to the crippled?” Freed asks dryly.

Ever frowns, “You’re the one— ugh!” Freed holds back his laughter as he limps inside, thankfully not struggling at the threshold. He turns and looks to the stairs, just watching for a bit. ”No,” Evergreen says.

“I need to go to my room,” Freed points out.

Ever crosses her arms, “The last time you tried to use the stairs, you collapsed.”

”It was unrelated,” Freed fires back. He stares at the stairs a moment more, “…help me up.” Ever drops her arms, smiling softly. She takes one of his crutches and leans it against the wall, getting under his now free arm. He puts one crutch up on the next step and Ever helps him lift himself each step.

It’s a nightmare to drag himself up to the second level, he always tried to ignore the pain before but… goddamn, this is painful. Evergreen runs down quickly to grab his other crutch and bring it up to him.

He tries not to admit to himself that this is a pretty miserable situation. His leg is radiating dull pain, it’s gotten noticeably worse, considerably so, in climbing the stairs. He can feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones. This whole thing has been several draining, upsetting days of observation and people worrying about him. He’s tired, in pain, and sick of having people watch him constantly.

Freed adores his friends, and having this many people to look after him is incredibly comforting, but he just needs to weather this storm and deal with it himself. He just wants to deal with all his loveable, idiotic, insane friends when he’s feeling better.

He shoos off Evergreen, with the help of two full crutches to wave threateningly at her, and all but flees to his room. As the door closes behind him, Freed is enveloped by silence. Warm, peaceful, quiet silence.

He limps over to his bed and slumps down, letting his crutches drop to the floor. Being still and stable without crutches or burning in his leg. He stares at the ceiling, breathing deeply. He knows that he isn’t going to sleep.

He didn’t say anything, despite wanting the chance to lament his exhaustion, but he knew it would just be another issue that they couldn’t solve that they wouldn’t leave him alone about. But Freed knows his body very well, and he can tell when his body is barely holding itself up, but his mind is far from sleep.

Just as he is about to throw himself back anyway, just to wallow in his misery because he isn’t dragging himself up to get any sort of dull entertainment, he looks to the side randomly.

On his bedside table there is a stack of three thin, leather-bound books, wrapped in a long, soft looking emerald ribbon. On the top cover, even obscured by the tied ribbon, there is an image of a sleeping dog and a setting sun carved into the front cover. One that he recognizes, because he ordered the goddamn book, and that image is on the cover of every stupid, cheesy, amazing collection of detective novels that have quickly become his favorite throw away guilty pleasure.

“Did he pick up my fucking books?” Freed mutters to himself. Because no one else even knew about him ordering this or it being due. Because it is so random, and so thoughtful, and this asshole has not even shown up at the guild once. Because Laxus is unbelievable, and a moron, and so, so sweet. “God-fucking-damn it.”

IV. His distinct clothing at the scene

Freed knows that he needs to keep his shit together after all the things they have been through, because his bursts of anger can, and often are, misunderstood. But his teammates get on his nerves sometimes. It’s why he’s stewing in the guild right now, too.

“Come on,” Lucy smiles sympathetically, “Don’t be too hard on them.”

”They almost got every single one of themselves arrested for no reason!” Freed says, or really repeats, because he’s been echoing this sentiment over and over again for the better part of an hour. Sitting at the guild, nursing a pint because he prefers having a drink as company as opposed to consuming as much as possible to get wasted, he’s been lamenting his fate for almost an hour. And he’s barely less pissed.

He doesn’t know how Lucy sniffed him out; he’s sitting upstairs because he’s stewing, but when she arrived at the guild she just found him. He wonders if she regrets it now, considering the state he’s in. But her patience seems to be holding, “Is that irregular? Sure, they aren’t as recklessly stupid as the worst of our guild— those are my teammates— but come on. It’s Fairy Tail.”

”Is that supposed to make it better?” Freed knows that, obviously. Like, he’s been on his team for years and they are stupid and reckless. But that doesn’t soothe his anger any more than any other approaches at calming him have. He just can’t believe—

They had been on their way by the time things went south. The clients were assholes, for sure; it’s why they sorted out the issue in a completely different way than the client demanded. But Freed thought that they had all settled on hating the bastards and being done with it. Not starting a whole other fight while they should have been leaving, and creating a new mess. Lucy doesn’t seem to appreciate just how unbelievable this shit is, “And do you know what set them off?”

Freed freezes. That is a suspicious question, a very suspicious question; how the hell could she know? Lucy, of all people, shouldn’t assume that something ‘set them off’ because that’s what you should think about normal people, not members of Fairy Tail. She shouldn’t know about the client’s poor behavior or that they did deserve it, even if Freed’s comrades should have known better than to respond. ”What do you know?” He demands immediately.

Lucy blinks, her face dropping guiltily but she doesn’t even stop smiling, and shrugs, “We may have run into Bixlow on our way into town.” Ah, that explains all of this.

”And he tried to justify his own stupidity,” Freed hypothesizes, “And you’ve been worn down by years of listening to your own team do the same.”

Lucy rolls her eyes, smacking his arm, “Okay, yeah. You’re really pissed about this one, huh?”

”It was just so— dumb!” Freed growls, unable to suppress his frustration. Everything has just become a bit too much, this entire, idiotic situation. He was the one who should be mad about it, and he didn’t even get to be because he had to be the one reigning in his friends.

He didn’t want to find any sort of recognition with people so disagreeable, but he should have known that people like that would sniff out a ‘proper’ upbringing from a mile away. Especially one that failed. The whole interaction was always going to leave a bad taste in Freed’s mouth, but he didn’t even get to deal with that because of the riot that his teammates started.

“Alright, okay,” Lucy soothes, dropping some of her teasing tone. “Take some time to cool off then. I get being fed up with having to be the responsible one.” Freed narrows his eyes at her change of heart, so she sighs. Standing, she plucks the now empty pint from his hand, “I’ll even get you some tea, as a show of good faith.”

Freed smothers his amused grin, because he still wants to be petulant with Lucy for taking Bixlow’s side. He allows himself that amusement of privacy and shifts in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. He is exhausted, more than anything, after dealing with arrogant small town oligarchs and the resulting drama. That’s why he’s here; ironically, he came to the guild for some peace and quiet.

He produces a novel from his small bag and leans into the corner made by the booth and the wall. All he wants is some time to rest and just push everything out of his mind, the disastrous mission is taking up too much mental space. Slipping into a fun, mysterious detective story makes it so much easier to relax a bit; it allows time to fly. He takes the tea that Lucy offers with a silent smile, prompting a snort for the woman, who simply provides it and leaves with a wave.

Honestly, Freed isn’t proud of how everything ended up happening, and it’s been almost haunting the back of his mind. His teammates are going to have questions, they already do, that much he knows for certain. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, he is not in a place where he can justify his behavior. He is completely done with dealing with this dumb, strange situation.

It’s nice to just relax with his story instead. Finally, his nerves start to be soothed. He rather enjoys losing himself in a story; he deeply enjoys his research, but it leads to people assuming he’s more of a non-fiction person. He thought this was sort of a bullshit assumption until he talked to Lucy and Levy about it, but apparently it’s just a him thing. Research and studying are just… a different hobby from reading for pleasure. His detective novels are just a different thing.

It’s probably how he ends up slowly feeling his eyelids slowly getting heavy. He doesn’t love falling asleep in random places, but like most of his comrades and guild mates, he can sleep anywhere. That’s what happens when you’re always in and out of battle, you learn to adapt. With his mind fuzzy and warm and not entirely working, he doesn’t have the forethought to go home or even to a bed in the guild, he just wants to let his eyes fall shut.

~~~

At some point, Freed feels himself enveloped in warmth. Contentment blooms in his chest, and that’s all it is. He doesn’t sleep that deeply, that’s how he notices the change at all, he mostly dozes… just for longer than he realizes. He also eventually hears some movement around him, but he doesn’t want to pay that much attention; he’s tired.

“C’mon, wakey wakey,” Lucy sing-songs, gentle but amused. Freed grunts, purely just hoping she’ll leave him alone. “What? Nice and cozy just because you’ve got a nice blanket?”

What does that even mean? Begrudgingly, he stretches out his shoulders and pushes himself up a little. Something heavy shifts around him as he reaches up to rub his eyes. His neck is a bit stiff from the way he leaned against the wall, so he starts to knead the muscle, but as he blinks open his eyes, he freezes. Stares at the ashen gray, fluffy material in the edge of his vision.

As he pushes himself up a little more, he notices it. A not unfamiliar weight and warmth is wrapped around him, characterized by a washed out black. This has happened a couple of times, mostly when they were younger and Freed was injured or ill in the field, but Freed… has not worn Laxus’s coat in a long time. Yet, here it is, draped over his shoulders at some point while he was nodded off. Laxus rarely separates himself from the piece of clothing, and the mental image of Laxus himself coming across Freed napping at the guild and wrapping him up in his coat—

Nope! Nope, not going there. He’ll lose it if he thinks about that here and now. Laughing brings him back to the present, Lucy valiantly attempting to stifle it but completely unable to do so. “Awww,” she coos, sliding into the seat across from him once more. “Why is it he’s only even sweet when no one’s looking?”

Freed pointedly looks away, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No,” she snorts, “Of course you don’t.” He does not want to, and frankly isn’t able to, deal with this information right now. In front of Lucy especially, because she’s a terrible, evil person.

But he isn’t getting up, either. Not when he feels so relaxed, so unburdened. So he just pulls the coat back around himself, almost cocooning himself inside, and picks up his book once more. Lucy chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. And Freed stays like this for a while.

V. Magic traces

Freed doesn’t often do these solo missions, but this isn’t really a mission. There was no request, no reward, no official channels of any sort. Unless you count guild gossip as an official channel, which, in cases like this, it truly can be, at least in Fairy Tail. Most of the members are trustworthy enough about it, especially Gildarts. Hell, Gildarts would never lie about something like this, not to Gramps and not to Freed. And Freed has read the letter a dozen times over anyway, and it shows every sign of being a genuine account.

Still, Freed is hesitant. He knows that the population of this town has been almost entirely turned over since he was a child, and yet he is hesitant. He pulls his mask up more securely, uncaring of how suspicious he might look with only his eyes visible. The dark cloth wrapped around his face is the only thing protecting him right now. He really wishes he didn’t have to do this alone.

Well, he didn’t. He could’ve asked someone, anyone to come. Most of them wouldn’t have even asked questions if he told them not to. Bixlow or Evergreen would have done just about anything to get him to let them come if they knew what he was doing. But they don’t, by design. Because he has never told anyone about where he came from. Not even Laxus.

But Laxus was there, as a nosy, upbeat child; he already knew his grandfather and the strongest wizard in the whole guild aside from said grandfather were dispatched to assist in dismantling a particularly crafty and troublesome dark guild. And he knows they came back with a meek, sickly thirteen year old in tow.

None of that matters, though, because Laxus isn’t here anymore. He’s gone, away from Fairy Tail for the first time in his entire life. It’s probably what he’s always needed. Freed misses him dearly, he hates the cloying thoughts that show up at the worst times that say Laxus will never return, but he has never fully regretted his decisions. Until now. Because he would really, truly like to have a dragon at his side at this moment.

He skirts around the edge of town even though he knows, technically, that there’s very likely no threats around. No one would recognize him by now, and no one hostile would still be here at all; and whoever the perpetrator is, they’re long gone, the rune knights’ half a dozen sweeps had made sure of that. But empty streets are full of ghosts, and he does not have the power to fight his demons today. He never has.

So he traces the edge of town, he keeps his head down and his senses on high alert. Even separated from any of the actual roads, Freed knows exactly where he’s going. It isn’t difficult. He only has to circumvent the town entirely to get to the hill that overlooks it.

And, indeed, his childhood home is reduced to ashes. The grand manor is turned to rubble by an attack he can only imagine.

The higher floors of the large building are strewn far away from the crumbling base. The grass is singed away, the air still smelling of smoke; most likely, there are still small fires inside the rubble, protected but not smothered by the collapsed walls. Freed is in awe.

He approaches slowly, and the first piece he actually reaches is the large, embellished nameplate that stood proudly on a sign not far from the front door. It’s a name Freed bears no longer, but is carved into his heart. He has tried to heal it for years, but he is starting to fear it is impossible. He tosses it aside with more force than he intends, it clatters sharply against stray stone.

He walks up the now foreign path, stepping over anything in his path. A large, ornately carved door lays in two pieces, surrounded by splinters. It was about a century old; the vindictiveness of his schadenfreude is not lost on him, but he can’t find himself to care. His father loved that door, Freed hated it.

He takes a long, deep breath and continues on. He picks his way through the wreckage searching for something familiar. There isn’t much. The valuables are long stripped away, many personal possessions already confiscated and removed after everything that happened. Anything of purely sentimental value is buried under tons of stone and wood; and his parents weren’t very sentimental people.

He enchants himself with wings and takes to the air, searching for any sign of the attack. He isn’t sure why he wants to know, but he is aware that he can’t let this, of all mysteries, go unsolved. The potential danger is too great. But he doesn’t find much of anything. Blocks of sheer stone scorched and split in two, the sturdiest parts of the mansion blown to bits, but no magic signatures or traces of evidence.

Everything about this is confusing to him. Everything about this made Freed assume it was some sort of revenge, these people had plenty of enemies, but it is so calculated. Freed has to assume that this was an incredibly skilled wizard who knew how to cover their tracks while still having some personal vendetta against his parents, enough to destroy an empty, abandoned home. Perhaps someone hired someone else to see their revenge through?

Freed sighs, pulling down his face covering, only to get a face full of the smell of burnt. It is intense. Freed is sort of… angry. Who the hell, other than him, could hate these people so much? Could hate this place so much? None of his biological parents’ enemies would give a shit about this fucking place. Who could possibly have a vendetta even close to his own? Who the hell could have more of a reason to despise this all than himself?

“Calm the hell down,” he mutters to himself. He rests a hand on the hilt of his sword, slowly setting down in what was once his yard. It’s a field, really, a massive expanse of land that still no one dares touch. It had once been immaculately maintained, now many of the plants are overgrown. Well… overgrown and then scorched.

One tree stands tall and somber on the horizon, like it always has, although it doesn’t look quite right. It was probably destroyed too, as all the land seems to have met the same fate as the main house. But Freed can’t resist going to take a look. The farthest piece of land, the farthest he could get from his parents and his home for the first thirteen years of his life. It means everything to him, the massive, green tree that was the only sign of true life.

Except it isn’t anymore. The trunk alone is still standing, a thin part of it jutting up into the sky but the rest shattered into pieces. And Freed recognizes this, he can’t help but see it clearly. The resulting destruction of a tree struck by lightning.

Breath caught in his throat, Freed tries to think. How did Gildarts find out about this incident again? If the government didn’t say anything to Gramps, they likely didn’t say anything to him. The letter didn’t actually say who tipped him off, or include any warning of danger or possible threats. And maybe that would be implied if Freed was coming here, which Gildarts surely predicted, but the greater goals of someone like this could be devastating. And yet there was no speculation as to the possible threat.

Freed takes a couple of steps back, walking away from everything around him. He plants himself in a small, half-clear area much closer to the building itself and sits cross-legged on the ground. Freed closes his eyes and he searches; far deeper than anything he was attempting as he made his way through. The smallest, slightest thing is all he needs, the sort of thing that even if the Rune Knights managed to use a powerful technique or device to pick up, they wouldn’t be able to make any use of it. Freed just needs a scrap, nothing more; he would recognize this magic without any senses at all. And he does, he feels it in the vast swamp of all living things and magical properties in existence.

Laxus was here. Laxus did this— but why?! He knows that Laxus can make the connection, that Laxus probably knows about where Freed came from. He could do any sort of research into the public version of the incident and make whatever assumptions about Freed’s involvement.

Laxus had been around the guild when Freed arrived; Freed had been sickly, struggled to eat properly, had long term injuries, was completely untrusting of all adults aside from Gildarts and Gramps. He had spent a long time getting one random illness after another as a result of his previous lack of exposure to most things. He can only guess what assumptions or theories Laxus had about his past. But how could he have possibly garnered enough information to summon this sort of rage; Freed was not named or explicitly shown in any publicly or even most private reports. The most Laxus could do is research whatever terrible things these people were responsible for and figure out that, yes, they were responsible for whatever Freed’s previous trauma was.

That’s not the same as understanding what it was that they did to Freed. It wouldn’t create so much rage. And did Laxus come here anyway? Did he just pass by in his exile and realize what it was, and do this in Freed’s name?

“What did you do?” Freed murmurs to himself.

“Siegfried?” A high, warbling voice calls out. Freed shoots up, looking around wildly. But then he sees her, short and wrinkly and with soft, gray hair, smiling sympathetically. “It is you. I thought you might arrive after hearing what happened.” Gillian, much older than she once was. The only person remaining here after what happened. She was always a bit kinder than the others when Freed was young; it turned out that she was a government agent, infiltrating after rumors about child trafficking arose. She probably saved his life.

“I was wondering what happened here,” Freed forces out weakly.

She raises a brow, smiling a bit more, “They didn’t catch him, couldn’t find a thing, didn’t you know? Oh! And did you know that Makarov Dreyer’s grandson passed through here not long ago?” Freed’s heart stutters, and it clicks.

If she saw the guild mark, something Laxus proudly shows off despite everything that happened, she would have approached him. He knows she would, she still reaches out to Gramps occasionally, just to make sure Freed is alive and okay. She would have asked, and as soon as she realized Laxus was Gramps’ grandson, she would have opened up a bit. And Laxus, in turn, would have found out much more than he could have otherwise. “You told him about what happened here? To me?”

Her face scrunches up, a bit concerned “He talked about you; he was truly your friend, he was so genuine.” Even now, she hasn’t lost her keen mind. She can read people better than anyone.

”He— he was,” Freed assures her. He did say he wished Laxus could know, and could comfort him. “He never truly knew much, he just knew that I came from this place. I threw away their name, I put it all behind me, and I never really talked about it.” He lowers his voice, looking around, “I know he did this, I can feel his magic. But I wasn’t sure what could have set him off to this extent.”

She tilts her head, taking in the damage, “Are you upset?”

Freed huffs out a laugh, “Upset? No… not at all. I couldn’t imagine what anyone could have done that would make me feel better. That he— did all of this for my sake.” Gillian chuckles, reaching out and patting his back, as high as she can with their considerable difference in height.

“Oh, he was enraged,” she explains. “He tried to be polite, I could see it. But I know what it looks like when something clicks in the mind of a bright young man and their world changes. I saw it with you, back then, when you first saw the mark of the fairies. I saw it in him, once he understood. And he could not have contained it, not that he wanted to.” Laxus is gone, Freed hasn’t seen him in months, they haven’t had any communication and yet— all of this has happened, and Laxus did all of this for him. “You should come over to my home,” Gillian smiles, “We’ll make some tea.”

Freed smiles slowly, looking over the wreckage once more. And it is probably not the right thing to feel, but it’s comforting to feel this… protected. Taken care of. ”That would be nice.”

+I. Coerced confession

Freed hadn’t meant to pick up a bad habit, and definitely hadn’t meant to give his friends any more reason to call him a housecat, but ending up lounging on their large couch in the afternoon when the light streams just right through the window? It’s just something that happened. But it… did end up becoming a habit, and has gotten him called a housecat.

But he can’t help it, he likes to sit in this spot for tea or to read, and then he falls asleep. It’s Laxus who wanted to change the living room and Bixlow who brought this, admittedly amazing, couch. It’s not even Freed’s fault.

When his body starts shifting, he groans petulantly. It’s a bit more immature than usual for him, but one of his friends shoving him around just for falling asleep on the couch is very irritating. Except the movement keeps up, and it’s a lot, and Freed is starting to get confused.

He blinks his eyes open, squinting up at the shifting light and colors and… he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. He realizes, belatedly, that he’s moving, and he curses how out of it he manages to be when he’s actually sleeping in a safe space. But there are strong, steady arms holding him and he is engulfed by warmth and it feels great. Really great.

It’s just hard to fight against, you know? He’s so comfortable. But it’s just that, as he’s gently settled into his comfortable, warm bed properly, something else happens. A light touch of rough, cool skin brushes lightly over his forehead. It arches up and tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear and it is painfully gentle.

And Freed knows that reserved touch.

He reaches up and snatches his friend’s wrist, although he can’t fully wrap his fingers around it. Sitting up on his own bed, clothes and hair both messy, he finally manages to fully pry his eyes open and squint up at Laxus. “Jesus, you could have just woken me up,” he mutters, voice a bit raspy from sleep and doing nothing to hide his embarrassment.

Laxus smiles a little, looking very pointedly caught, “Why would I when I don’t need to?” Something about this rubs Freed the wrong way, something just ticks at him, but it takes him a moment. But when it clicks for him, he realizes… a lot of things all at once.

“Why do you only ever do these things when no one is around to see it?” Freed laments softly. Laxus stiffens, eyes widening, but he can’t really have no idea what Freed is talking about. “Would it be so wrong for me to notice when you do something good?”

Laxus turns back toward him so that Freed doesn’t have to hold him there, looking at him carefully, but slumps. A bit defeated, he sits hesitantly on the edge of the bed. “What? Are you upset with me?”

“Yeah, a little,” Freed half-laughs. He pulls his legs up, curling in on himself a bit. “I’m just sick of it. Why are you so careful to never get caught looking at me?”

Laxus blinks, like a deer in caught in headlights, “I— what are you even—”

”Talking about?” Freed sighs, crossing his arms around his chest. This isn’t exactly something he’s prepared for, but it’s already started, and he— is sick of it. “Come on, you know by now that I’m always looking at you. But you always try to look away; is it really so bad to let me know that you care?”

”You’ve caught me looking at you?” Laxus asks, not disbelieving or offended, actually bashful. It’s a funny look on someone like him, looming over Freed and yet unable to make eye contact.

Freed can’t help but smile. He leans forward a little, quirking a brow. “You know, the ribbon thing wasn’t on purpose at first, it was just convenient. But having you go get me hair ties without saying anything only to try and get rid of them again—”

”I wasn’t trying to—” Laxus starts desperately.

”So maybe I ran a little experiment,” Freed continues, ducking his head to the side to try and catch Laxus’s eyes once more. “And, yes, I caught you looking. And, on the topic of that ribbon, going to get me those books when I was hurt before?”

Laxus folds his hands together and finally looks up, not quite looking at Freed but trying to address them nonetheless. “That was just— you tried to go get books while almost keeling over from an injury. What are you even trying to say?”

Freed chews his lip for a moment, “It’s not just little things, is it? That day with the dark guild, when I got that injury. You never once talked about what happened. And what about a few years ago?” Laxus tilts his head, already overwhelmed by the information Freed is throwing at him and not quite catching on. “You know, I went to investigate. I figured out it was you who destroyed my childhood home while you were exiled.”

“Oh.” Laxus looks up at Freed, meets his eyes properly. A cycle of expressions pass over his face in quick succession, but as he tries to read Freed in turn, he almost seems to calm. “And you’re not mad that I leveled the place?”

Freed finally reaches out again, unable to resist grabbing Laxus’s hand. He smiles gently, “I don’t know how much you know about my childhood, but you did all of that… I have to assume, for my sake.”

”Of course it was for your sake,” Laxus bursts out. “You were stuck there for your whole life before that raid with the old man, right? I was just— That woman, Gillian, only told me so much. Neither she nor I were interested in invading your privacy, but what I did know and what she could tell me, I— just couldn’t control my anger.”

”I hated that place,” Freed easily admits, “And, believe me, I was vindicated just by seeing it blown up. Knowing you did that because you felt so much rage just for the things I went through— I’m losing my point. Laxus, I still want my answer. Why are you so determined to not let me know that you’re looking my way? I can’t hide the fact that I’m looking at you, no matter how hard I try.”

Laxus winces, “Freed, I know you look at me, but that’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Freed scoffs, a little desperation creeping into his voice.

“Because I know you would have me and you shouldn’t,” Laxus snaps, a bit too forcefully. He immediately bites his lip, trying to reel it back in, but Freed himself is reeling.

“I shouldn’t have you,” Freed repeats slowly, trying to process the meaning of the words. If they really mean what it sounds like they mean. “You’re…” Laxus looks away, and he starts to flee from the conversation, and Freed shoots out his hand to grab him once more. “No, no. Explain yourself, right now.” Laxus hovers, frozen in place. “I mean it, Laxus Dreyer,” Freed demands.

Laxus looks at him sideways, obviously uncertain, but he withers a bit under Freed’s fiery gaze. There is no getting away from this. Freed has been in love with his friend and leader for a very long time, but what the man is saying now implies… “Freed, it’s like you said, I know you’ve been looking at me. For a long time. And I know it is selfish to bask in it, but it’s so hard to resist, especially when I’m already holding back. But I can’t look at you, I don’t have the right.”

“But you have been looking at me,” Freed points out. “You’ve been looking for me, and you don’t think you should.” His voice is raising now, unable to control it as he starts to understand what he thinks is going on here.

”Freed, you’ve always been my better half,” Laxus growls, the frustration in his voice mixing with something more. “When I was at my worst, when I was a terrible fucking person, when you should have left me behind, you didn’t. You tried to steer me right, you stood up for me when I didn’t fucking deserve it and stood up to me when I almost threw everything away. You’ve been at my side and cared for me, you spent our whole relationship seeing the good in me when I didn’t see it in myself.” By the end of it, he is breathing heavily from the intensity he has taken on in his impassioned speech.

But Freed doesn’t care, he doesn’t care how much Laxus thinks he’s undeserving, he just heard, “You’re looking at me, you’ve been looking at me.” This can’t be real. “Laxus, if you’re being serious, tell me the truth—”

“Being serious?” Laxus scoffs. He stands, this time too fast for Freed to stop him but he only moves forward, leaning down over Freed. He rests his weight on one hand crossing Freed to rest on the bed, not leaving much distance between them. “Freed… you’re everything to me. Since I was exiled, I’ve had to live with the memories of you going along with my worst actions then turn on me to try and save me when I was nothing but cruel. And I’ve been trying to be a better man ever since. But I’ll never be a man worthy of you… it might be my own selfish jealousy, but I don’t think any man could be.”

Freed can’t fully believe what he’s hearing. Except, he can. Looking back at all the subtle, secret things Laxus has done for Freed, this explanation logically makes sense. But, still… Laxus really did it all because he has feelings for Freed? Because he reciprocates Freed’s feelings? “Laxus,” he doesn’t know what to say. He needs to be as straightforward and effective as possible, or Laxus is going to self-sabotage. “Do you think that’s your choice? You know I chose you a long time ago, and it clearly hasn’t gone away. If you really mean this and you just leave me in limbo, it won’t—”

Laxus surges forward and presses their lips together, shifting his balance and using his arm to pull Freed into him, pressing their bodies together. Freed makes a small noise, one that is frankly embarrassing, but he feels the shift of Laxus’s lips as the man smiles against his lips. He pulls back just far enough to lock eyes with Freed, “I have wanted you for a long time. Tempting me was the wrong choice.”

Freed’s eyes glimmer with amusement, “I’ve been tempting you for a very long time.”

“Don’t remind me,” Laxus chuckles, swooping down and kissing him again. With the intensity with which he acts, Laxus presses him into the bed below him. Freed swears he is in the clouds, unable to help himself from keeping up with the teasing. He is always at his most relaxed when he and Laxus are on the same wavelength and this? This feels so right.

“You really planned on hiding from me forever?” He grins, reaching up to wrap his arms around Laxus’s neck so he can keep him close, even as he pulls back to speak.

Laxus actually pouts a little, “It wasn’t a perfect plan, I admit. Mostly because I’ve never thought I deserved you, but I don’t think anyone wants to see what would happen if someone else tried it on with you.” That is an… unfairly attractive threat. Releasing a slow breath, Laxus starts to smirk again, a teasing question in his eyes, and Freed quickly turns his head away.

But Laxus grabs his chin and pulls his head back to look up at his, “O—oh,” Freed stutters out, too late to catch the surprise before it passes his lips. This time, he leans up and captures Laxus in a kiss himself. Which is what truly sets this into place in Freed’s mind, that he can do this too.

“If you’ve made this choice,” Laxus murmurs into the charged space between them. “Then there’s not much I can do. I couldn’t choose somebody else even if I wanted to.” Holy fuck, since when is Laxus a romantic?! How is Freed’s heart meant to handle this? His face must be overcome with how flustered he is, because Laxus becomes completely smug, “God, you’re so adorable.”

”I am not adorable,” Freed mutters.

Laxus kisses his cheek, chuckling lowly, “You’re very adorable. It doesn’t mean you’re not incredibly handsome or hot, but you’re also cute.” And now Freed is definitely flustered, and turning red, and completely unable to function properly. “And if you’ve taught me one thing, it’s that I shouldn’t just lament my fate or wallow in misery. I would do just about anything just to become someone worth your time.”

“I don’t like that sentiment,” Freed frowns.

“I know,” Laxus replies easily, “But it’s how I feel, and it’s true. And the point is that if we’re doing this, I swear I’ll do it right.”

“That’s what I want you to do far more than try and protect me from yourself or whatever.” Freed slides one hand back down, cupping Laxus’s face. “I spent so long wondering why you were always hiding.”

Laxus hums, searching for something in Freed’s face, “I don’t really know why I thought I could hide from those keen eyes of yours anyway. You’ve always been able to see right through me.”

Freed chuckles once more, remembering all the times he’s been the only one who could see Laxus’s true intentions. He has always cherished those rare, vulnerable moments that have become exceedingly less rare in the past couple of years, but this is more than vulnerable. This is love; Laxus’s love, cascading over him, and he is basking in it.