A/N: This is for the Fraxus week prompt "patching each other up." Yes, I'm actually participating in things! It's good because it's forcing me to whip this up and post it. The seed of this story has been growing ever since someone (you know who you are) made a "fifty shades Freed" comment. It's not smutty, but I kept the title because the irony cracked me up (and does make sense).

Slight TW for torture-related blood-&-gore. It's far more angsty than traumatic.

Fifty Shades Freed

Breathing deep to keep himself conscious, Freed peered across the floor through strands of hair. He was grumpy: there weren't any good weapons around. Or lacrimas. Or medicinal anything, which probably would be the most useful at this point.

He'd spent as little time as possible thinking about his hands and how much they hurt. During the fight, his opponents crushed his right hand between a heavy piece of machinery and a wall. Deformed, bloody, useless. But he switched his sword to his left and kept fighting. Duh.

Until they slowly overwhelmed him with their numbers. Pinning him on the ground, they took turns stomping on his fingers as they slit the delicate tendons in each hand.

Freed didn't scream. He'd pressed his mouth to the floor as they did it and refused to breathe, refused to make a sound. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Couldn't admit to himself how terrified he was. How utterly incapacitated.

Lying broken and alone, the pain throbbed like hell had entered his body.

He focused on the red of blood stuck to his hair, on how the strands stuck together. On how fucking annoying it was that he couldn't fix it.

Had to think of a way out. Yes, that was it.

Vague voices muttered on the edge of his senses; the few of his foes who remained in the large room were in a far corner, not paying attention to him. Magic exhaustion and and their careful dissections immobilized him; he wasn't a threat. They hadn't even tied his hands, just his feet. Probably a blessing, actually.

Trying to see his surroundings was difficult lying chest-down, so he blew half-heartedly at the green wisps across his vision. Hair fluttered and landed back where it was.

Stupid fucking hair.

Stupid fucking Freed. He should've planned better, even if anticipating what they'd encountered would've been impossible. He could've reacted better in the moment, or something. Then maybe he wouldn't be trapped here with both hands weeping blood.

He was scared to think about whether he'd ever write or use his sword again.

Writing. There were several complicated runes which would help him out of this mess if he could manage to draw them. If. That was the key. He'd only just started to build up enough magic to even consider writing runes. But he had to try.

Laxus was somewhere in this building and if Freed didn't escape…anything could happen.

It took everything in him not to cry out when he crooked a finger. Nausea twisted his stomach, a swirl of colors over his vision. But he continued, moving with infinite slowness, using every bit of the slow seep of magic into his body, determined to break free.

His whole body ached half an hour later, fingers shaking and slick and god it hurt so much. Shattered bones and fingers which didn't move. He had to do this. Had to.

He still had several characters to go in his little spell.

Freed took a break long enough to inhale and meditate, trying to force the pain away and suck in more magic. He thought of Laxus and Ever and Bicks: either they were injured ,which he didn't want to think about, or they knew something happened to him and were freaking out, which hurt in its own way.

He just really wanted to sleep. In Laxus's arms. He ached for the comfort of knowing Laxus was okay. Terror dwelt deep inside him that something would happen to his beloved while he wasn't there—that Freed would be unable to stop it or save him, wouldn't even know until it was too late. Maybe it was already too late…

As his eyes grew wet, Freed felt the world shift and tilt. It took him a moment to realize what was happening: blood loss. The threat of unconsciousness. His body was trying to stop.

No.

Refusing to panic, he crooked a finger to continue writing, and gagged on pain. Fuck no. This could not stop him.

When he finished another character, he silently celebrated, because fuck he needed all the encouragement he could get.

Eventually, I will get out of here. I will get help, and it will stop hurting. And I will save Laxus.

His teammates must've been captured. Otherwise they would've found him. The four of them stormed this place together; when he didn't show up where they were supposed to meet, they would've known something was wrong. They would've come by now. Wouldn't they?

His hand cramped and Freed gasped something airless as it curled into a knotted ball of fire. His fingers were all bent in wrong ways, unable to move how they should, but they could move into a painful gnarl. The pain strained him beyond the edge of his senses, beyond understanding and fuck, fuck, fuckkkkk…

"Laxus," he whispered. He had to hold on. "Laxus." Freed used his boyfriend's name as a chant.

An explosion echoed far away.

Fuck.

"Laxus." I will do this.

A second explosion shook dust from the ceiling as the walls reverberated. Wood splintered and suddenly the explosion was in the room with him, blasting air and debris across the space. Confused shouting was drowned out by the best voice in the world.

"Does this belong to you?" Laxus asked as he zoomed past Freed, dropping his sword beside him with a clang.

Freed could've cried.

Around him, people traded blows with grunts and sounds of pain. It seemed Laxus brought other opponents behind him, the room swelling with people. Freed couldn't see his boyfriend; couldn't tell if Laxus needed help. Couldn't help anyway.

Someone tripped over Freed and he grunted—and then a foot landed on his wrist. Bones snapped. He screamed.

"Freed!" Laxus shouted.

Laxus's voice hurt inside Freed's skull, broken. Hurting—he was so fucking tired of hurting. Furious, he wrote the final runes, hair tickling his nose, tears of pain streaming down his face, wishing his hands did not exist.

And…there.

The blast of air began under his body, shoving him upright and letting him go once he was leaning on the wall. The wind swept across every other person in the room, crashing people into furniture or weapons or each other. All except Laxus, who sped out of the way at the speed of light, always ready for Freed's runes.

Magic finished, Freed slumped.

For the first time, he could actually see the room. Strange machinery he hadn't gotten a good look at littered the space. This wasn't what they thought—

He crumpled, legs too weak. Unable to catch himself, he slammed into the floor on his shoulder.

Laxus reached him a second too late.

"Damn, Freed. Falling over like that," Laxus murmured gently, grasping Freed's shoulder and rolling him onto his back. "You didn't need to take out every person in the room. I can smell your blood. And you're almost out of magic."

"I…am," Freed said.

He felt lightweight. As his eyes wandered off Laxus's face, he noted the intricate patterns in the ceiling tiles. Perfect octagons and triangles, orange and blue.

Laxus snapped the bindings around his feet and set him free. And then he saw Freed's hands.

"Holy gods," Laxus gasped, "what happened?"

The sound of his voice, so scared and unnerved, finally did it for Freed. This was bad. Letting out a soft sound, he felt the first tears trickled down his cheeks. And he couldn't wipe them away.

Laxus gingerly touched his wrist. Pain rippled through Freed, excruciating. He decided dignity didn't matter and let a shriek bubble out of his mouth.

Laxus pulled back in horror.

"I'm going to get you to help, Freed. Okay? But you'll need to let me carry you."

Freed nodded, weak and mute.

Laxus reached out as if to touch him again, then paused. "What position feels least painful?"

Aching, Freed drew his hands to his chest, grateful when Laxus grasped his forearms and helped guide his shaking limbs.

"Good," Laxus said. He lifted Freed and stood. Then, "I'm so sorry."

As Laxus burst from stillness into a speed too fast for human eyes, pressure wrapped around Freed, hugging his limbs to his body. The pain was overwhelming, his fingers were shedding drops of blood, and holy shit…

Finally, Freed passed out.

Freed awoke to blinding pain in his skull.

His head felt like it was being crushed in a vice, something tight constricting around him.

He determined he was upright, but he wasn't standing. He couldn't figure out through his pain-filled senses what was holding him up.

Opening his eyes, he recognized nothing: not the room, not the light, not the people. Voices swam around him.

He fluttered in and out.

Eventually, a freezing cold thing touched his bare chest and jolted him into consciousness.

"There you are," said a man.

Freed worked his throat with effort. "Where's Laxus?"

The man surveyed him, then picked up a sword. Freed's sword.

"Where did your boyfriend put it?"

"Where…?"

Before Freed's vision, the sword wavered. Was he going insane? This was a hallucination: he'd lost so much blood he was having fever dreams.

But no, the man was bending it, the metal giving way before some kind of magic.

"Where did he hide it, wizard? It's heavy. He can't have gotten far. Tell me where he took it, or I'll do this to your precious Laxus Dreyar."

With a wrenching show of strength, he snapped the sword, placing the warped pieces on the table.

"Tell me."

Freed tried to draw on his magic. Nothing. Not even his muscles were responding. He couldn't feel all of his fingers. When he moved wrong, pain erupted in his hands.

"You are held quite securely—oh, none of that now," the man added, jerking Freed's head up and dragging him back from the edge of sudden darkness. "Where. Did. Your. Teammate. Put. It?"

Freed groaned: the pain beat a pulse in his skull.

"How about this, then: how did you hear about it?" the man asked.

Slowly, Freed's brain worked. These were magic-sealing stones; that was why Freed felt nothing. Freed was clamped to something, frigid air swirling around him. Helpless.

"How did you find us?"

Freed's eyes wandered dizzily. Helpless, yes, he was. Damn…

"Eru, wake him up so I can actually talk to him."

"You're a pansy," a woman snorted behind Freed.

Something icy touched his side. From that spot radiated energy, Freed coming more awake against his will. He made an involuntary groan. Now he could feel every individual rent and sting in his fingers, every bruise where he'd been kicked.

And he felt in rigid clarity when a gauntleted fist slammed into the soft flesh just below his ribs.

He gasped.

She'd crushed his organs. No, surely— The world swirled, and he couldn't tell what he was feeling. Couldn't evaluate. Evaluating things was Freed's job. He was the analyzer. He was supposed to solve problems.

Fuck.

He was still recovering from the blow, still dragging in air, when sharp pain lanced into the same spot. Now it wasn't just crushed—it was speared, exploded, ripped apart.

Something was shoved into his mouth against his scream.

"Oops," Eru said, "guess you can't answer questions now. I'll have to punish you."

Freed had no idea how long it had been, how many times he'd been forced to consciousness. Pain took away any concept of time: there were only the excruciating sensations and the vague awareness as people came and went.

He couldn't answer their questions. Maybe they'd figured that out by now. He did not betray Laxus. Not for his life.

Which was leaking out of him from the places where metal stuck out of his body. They hadn't actually taken any of the metal out when putting new bits in. There were sharp, stabbing wounds everywhere, and it was taking longer and longer for the people to make him coherent.

"Laxus," Freed gasped, hoarse and dry, his first words in a while. "You told me not to die…"

"You're in no place to keep that promise," the man said, though he sounded eager, probably excited Freed was talking again.

"I'm sorry, Laxus," Freed whispered, feeling a tear slide out from somewhere. Laxus could hear the smallest sounds. Maybe he could hear this in whatever room they had him. Maybe he was already dead. "I love you. I'll always—"

"Oh, fuck it."

Another blow landed. Freed grunted and fell silent.

He heard the soft sound of cloth and movement and his mind embraced the next pain that was coming, accepted it. He had accepted this.

Everything came apart in a roar.

There was a blinding light, air pressing into his body like fingers. Maybe dying meant going crazy, his nerves no longer making sense. And now he was flying…

Would he get to see Laxus when he died? The thought made him giddy. Nothing would hurt anymore. If death meant seeing him again—

"Gods," came a familiar voice.

Laxus.

Freed tried to bring air into his body: he couldn't breathe and fought the suffocation instinctually, even while he was relieved it was going to be over soon.

"You fucking idiot," Laxus said, much more clearly. Like he was in Freed's head.

"I…" Freed croaked. Why was he an idiot?

"Not you." A hand brushed Freed's cheek. Then Laxus pulled away again and his voice turned to cold anger. "You all are fucking idiots."

When the blinding light flared again, Freed relaxed.

This, he realized, was real.

"You reckless smartass," Laxus snorted, entering their bedroom a week later and seeing what Freed was doing. "How's that working for you?"

Freed, in the middle of trying to flip a page, made a face.

With his hands currently in balls of bandage, nearly everything was impossible. Freed had managed a sloppy rune for stickiness, stuck a chopstick to one paw, and was using it to turn pages so he could read. Sort of.

"My arms are tired," Freed admitted as Laxus sat on the side of the bed.

"You have five extra pounds on the end of each one," Laxus teased.

"Tell me about it."

Freed huffed in frustration and Laxus placed a tender kiss on his temple.

"I'm just glad you're in one piece," the Dragon Slayer said for the thousandth time.

Freed looked away out the window. "Stupid of me to get caught."

"No, it wasn't. Bickslow got caught too."

"I'm their captain," Freed said, unwilling to cede this point. "He got caught for a couple hours; I worried you all for a couple days."

Eyes down, Laxus asked, "How many people were you up against, Freed?"

They hadn't discussed the particulars before, with Freed unconscious for several days and barely able to talk or focus for several more. Laxus hadn't brought up any deep conversation: he'd barely moved off the topic of how are you feeling and what can I do. Now, with Freed out of danger, apparently there was room for the true story.

Freed sighed. "I don't know how many there were. A lot."

"Estimate."

"Couple dozen?"

"Just a couple?"

"Maybe…four dozen?" Freed admitted.

"Mages? Goddess, and you're not going to give yourself some grace?"

Freed lifted a shoulder. He saw Laxus's point, but he hated losing, including arguments with Laxus. "I still lost."

"Against fifty opponents."

"I still lost," Freed teased.

"Goddess," Laxus grumbled, swooping in and stealing kisses along Freed's neck.

Freed burst out laughing, unable to fend Laxus off. Laxus seemed to realize this, and continued to torment him, biting lightly and swiping his tongue along ticklish places.

"Wait— Stop: breath!" Freed warned between laughs, and Laxus pulled back immediately.

They were both smiling and flushed, Freed panting hard.

Laxus put a hand on Freed's chest as if trying to slow his frantic heartbeat. "Sorry."

"'S fine. Most exercise I've gotten since I woke up." Freed grinned at him.

Mood somber, Laxus kissed his cheek.

"I was so grateful," Laxus murmured, "when you whispered my name in there. If I'd just been able to hang onto you, I would've gotten you out that first time."

Freed blinked.

"Was that why you came? You heard me?"

"Yeah, both times. Couldn't smell you with so many people in such a large place—the trail gets blurred so quickly. It was driving us insane not being able to find you. But I was able to follow your voice when you spoke up. Not that I'm encouraging you to sound so…desperate," Laxus added. "But I'm grateful. I wouldn't have found you otherwise."

"Laxus," Freed hummed. "You miracle of nature."

The Dragon Slayer smiled.

"I have another confession," Laxus said, snuggling closer. "The first thing I noticed when I arrived that first time was your cute ass."

Freed snorted.

"You're really hot," Laxus said defensively.

"Lemme guess: then I screamed and ruined the image?"

"…Something like that," Laxus sighed. "I didn't see all the blood at first. I'm so sorry, Freed."

"Don't be."

"Well, I am. If I knew what they'd done to your hands, I would've gotten you out first and fought later."

Freed suspected that would've changed nothing. Someone managed to attack Laxus while he was speeding out of the compound; it knocked Freed out of his arms, and when Laxus tried to grab him, a dozen mages mobbed him. Only Evergreen and Bickslow had been able to get him out, while Freed had been whisked off as a prisoner and hostage.

"Laxus," Freed began, reaching for him before realizing he couldn't. His bandaged lump of a hand hovered by Laxus's cheek before dropping. "Dammit. I hate not touching you."

"You can still touch me," Laxus said, scooting up and pulling his feet onto the bed. "Or I can touch you."

Freed made an indecipherable noise. Laxus was curled against him in the bed now, lips pressing to Freed's shoulder.

"How on earth did you manage to get a shirt on?" Laxus asked.

"With great difficulty."

"Freed. Silly, silly Freed."

Laxus kissed his collarbone long and slow.

"What's—silly about that?" Freed managed.

"Because I'm just going to take it off of you." Laxus slid his palm over Freed's stomach, careful to avoid the wounds there. "You'd think that would be obvious."

Freed couldn't help another laugh, and he looked down to meet Laxus's grinning eyes.

"You're the most ridiculous and adorable man there is," Freed said. "I love you."

"Cuddle with me?" Laxus asked.

"I thought you wanted to take my shirt off?"

"Yes. Cuddling is better the more skin I can touch."

Laughing, Freed kissed him.

Freed shifted and let Laxus pull his shirt over head. As Freed lay down, Laxus removed his own shirt and rolled up against him so they were facing each other chest to chest.

"Much better," Laxus murmured.

Scooting down a bit, he pressed his ear over Freed's heart, even though he didn't need to in order to hear the constant rhythm.

"Freed," he murmured after a while, "I need you to promise not to die."

Freed looked down at him.

"What?"

"The second time I found you, you…apologized."

"Ah. For dying. Well, I thought I was."

"Promise me."

Laxus's eyes were so wide, sad, scared. Freed gently brushed an unbandaged forearm over his cheek.

"It's okay," he murmured.

"It is not."

"Laxus, my word is steel. I won't make a promise to you I cannot keep, and I can't keep that one. When I do die, as all things do, I would be breaking my word. It would be my last living act to fail you."

"Then swear you'll do everything to stay alive. Promise me you won't ever give up. Please."

Laxus had stopped wiping his face, letting the tears sit there.

"I promise."

"Good," Laxus rumbled. "Thank you."

He kissed Freed's chest, then stretched up and kissed his neck, planting another on the underside of his chin as he scooted back up the bed. When Laxus stared intently at him, there was something beautiful and inexpressible there.

"Freed," he said, "you haven't gotten much…exertion since you came home."

Freed made a face. "Unfortunately not."

"Would it hurt you," Laxus asked, "if, say, your heart rate increased a little?"

"Why do you ask?" Freed said, raising an eyebrow.

"Just wondering."

Freed gave him the I'm-smarter-than-I-look look and kissed him lightly.

"I think I would like getting some of that kind of exercise."

"Mm, good," Laxus rumbled, closing in. "Because I had a thought…"

"Did it have anything to do with my mouth and its compatibility with yours?"

Laxus laughed, breaking off as he nosed at Freed's neck. The pinpoints of sharp teeth touched Freed's skin, nipping and nibbling while Freed's heart did as promised and began to race.

Laxus's hands following his shoulders and massaging over the muscle were wonderful, and it made Freed jealous. His own useless cotton balls draped around Laxus's neck. When Laxus's mouth traveled up his neck to his lips, Freed kissed him hard.

"That's in retaliation," he muttered.

"What for?" Laxus protested.

"That you get to do all the cuddling."

Laxus grumbled indecipherable things and smoothed a hand over Freed's chest—and then his face darkened.

His palm had come close to one of the wounds on Freed's torso.

"Clean through," Laxus growled, staring at one puncture just above Freed's hip. His voice was low and sick. "Porlyusica said there were bits of wood in the 'exit holes,' because they'd pinned you to that wall, and when I pulled the metal out… Fucking goddess."

"Laxus," Freed said, voice commanding, forcing Laxus's attention back up. "I'd really just want to be with you right now."

It took a second, but Laxus's expression refocused.

"Sorry," he murmured, eyes soft. Freed brushed his arm across Laxus's cheek.

"That's the look I love," he said. "I know that what you saw and had to do was awful for you. Right now…I'm tired, and thing still ache. I just want to lie here and get better with you. Is that alright?"

"Of course." Laxus kissed his cheek. "That's exactly what I want, too."

A/N: I am the angst fairy.

Comments are much appreciated. ^^