Summary: The crayon colored page gives a father a trip down memory lane. Memories, though in time are a blessing, in the beginning are a curse.
Family Portrait
The crayon-streaked page depicted something that not many people could make out fully. Haphazard lines dashed across the worn out surface, globs of crayon coloring forced onto the papers face. Every color imaginable seemed to be on this small, kindergarten drawn picture.
She was told to draw her family.
The man sitting on the tree trunk in the back yard smiles as he remembers her bringing it home the first time. She was six, and her hands were almost always coated with color, often matching her red eyes. It was her favorite color after all. Her blue hair matched the sky, as did the childish sketch of her mother on the drawing in the man's hands. Big, rough looking hands, that when felt a certain way were actually quite soft. His hands, as held the paper like it was a delicacy, clench slightly and he starts chuckling when his eyes swish across the entire picture.
The girl was told to draw a picture of her family.
In this drawing the entire guild resides. Fairy Tail booms with life on the colorful page and the man chuckles even more when he sees Natsu. He's a stick figure, but to his respect he looks like he's fighting with Gray and winning; fire spewing out of his sharp teethed mouth, Gray looks almost helpless with his meek ice.
She always did have a soft spot for Natsu. Hell, he never understood why. Then again, he is "Uncle Natsu".
Tsk.
Following the click of irradiation from his tongue, his eyes sweep to the people next to Gray and Natsu, a smiling yellow Lucy, the flying blue cat, and a stalking, shinning Juvia in the background stands. His smiling eyes fall, his frown following suit.
Juvia.
About three years ago, when the little girl who drew this picture became a not so little girl anymore, Juvia died. On a mission, of course, leaving behind her husband, Gray and her little boy, Skye. Gray was devastated, as was everyone else. A little part of Gray died, and the man looking over the picture knows that that part will never come to life again. Juvia's little boy, Skye, is an exact copy of Gray. So, the man sitting on the trunk finds no comfort in looking at the boy- he looks nothing of Juvia, his light blue eyes the only reminder of his dear friend. They are more stormier then clear though, even now. Skye's eyes are more a combination of the ocean sea and stormy skies then Juvia's that were clear blue.
Nonetheless, he continues his trek through memory lane.
A barely deducible figure with black hair stands in a defiant pose next to a little girl with blue hair and red eyes. Hands fisted at his sides, the boy that is no more then ten smirks in a way that makes the man feel like he's looking in a mirror. Black hair, red eyes, studded ears. The little girl at his side looks noticeably more innocent, with the fragile scribbled body and big smiling face, but the man knows from experience that she was not so sweet as she lead on. The mother is behind them, almost the same height as the boy and she looks like the sun. She always has.
His eyes continue to memorize the photo he memorized year ago and stops when he reaches a mysterious tiny man to the left of Mirajane. The little man is coated in orange and his white hair is outlined with the same orange. She gave him pink eyes, but they were a warm grey, the man knows. Makarov has been long dead; died only a few years after this drawing, in fact. The girl had only the vaguest memories of him. They are warm though, the man knows; he could tell when she talked about him- the way her eyes closed slightly as she talked of the fond, small, memories she had revolving around the old man. He died of old age, no surprises there. His eyes linger a little longer on him then the others, he owes the old man his life after all, before they shift through the rest of the guild.
They don't travel far before they land on another dead person, another ghost of another story.
Lisanna Strauss. Drawn in light blue and the rarest, precious silver crayon, his eyes showed a tinge of sadness at the girl- it was unstoppable. He didn't know her very well but she was apart of the guild. She died though, and this time, she wasn't coming back. Natsu had been devastated, but this time he turned to his friends. What was left of his heart had been salvaged. He had been married and cradling his newborn child when the news arrived of her decease. Avalanche, apparently. Lucy let her husband cry on her shoulders, and their next child, that they had a few years later, is named "Liz" after his best friend. It was a sad, yet happy story, in a way.
The man sitting on the trunk was never one for stories, though.
Eyes continuing their tour of the picture, they freeze at the sight of the fat man in the corner. He allows some hate to seep into his heart again, not at the fat man, but at himself. He remembers it all, and lets the hatred gnaw at his heart a little. Lets the dispising animals in him grind his heart for a moment. Droy died by an incurable disease last year. His heart gave out, for it became quite weak somehow. He remembers her cries, her tear streaked face, her round olive eyes horror sticken, and her soundless words. She was like that for weeks before she allowed the curtains of the house to open again, before she went outside to bask in sunlight, before she let herself move on. Her daughter was no different, except, like her father she chose to distract herself instead of wallowing in the pain like her mother did.
The man with black, spiky hair cascading down his back like a waterfall let his eyes move on. A smiling Jet, a tough looking Elfman, a scowling Laxus, a flirty eyed Evergreen, the Alcoholic with a tankard at her side, Pantherlily with a mischievous smile; everyone was painted carefully, yet hap-hazard on this little sheet of paper.
It's been folded for a while, the creases present even when they were unfolded due to the amount of times it was looked upon, and then tucked away repeatedly.
The sun shinned through the tall tree leaves above that surrounded the man sitting on the trunk. It was a small clearing he rested at, but he sat there like it was a second home. Laughter echoes in between the trees, but it's the memory that makes the sound, not the person. The person, of course, could not make a sound anymore.
Gajeel remembers a little girl with shining red eyes that held a suspicious back light to them. He remembers her sky blue hair, her childish, loud laughter, her smiles that looked only of her own, and her smirks that looked of his own. She was a mix, but then she was entirely her own person- Alexi. She was such a cute, beautiful little girl. Strong too, almost as strong externally as internally. She was in between the heights of her parents, the perfect mix, really. She loved reading and magic. She had seven piercing: three on each ear, one on her eyebrow, another on her arm, one on her tummy (much to her father's disdain) and lastly, a matching one with her brother, and father on her tragus.
Alexi died six months ago.
She went gloriously, they told him. She saved the village, many innocent lives, futures- they whispered after his wife crumpled into his arms in the doorway at the news they received on a sunny tuesday morning.
Her body sent to him in a wooden casket. Levy cried for weeks, still does, actually. Only though, on those nights were the memories that will be a blessing one day, become a tantalizing curse.
He did not.
Gajeel has not yet cried.
Not till now.
As his eyes land on his own form in the portrait her remembers her words when she handed him the picture and he asked of his size.
"Daddy's the biggest cause daddy's the best!"
Gajeel's form towers over the rest. He's black and gray, so he stands out on the colorful, lively page. He's as tall as Fairy Tail's building in the background. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the girl had somehow captured his stance perfectly. Smile/smirk cocky on his face, eyes glaring yet gentle, the red eyes pierce his heart. Red eyes.
Her gentle red eyes look into his, only this time in a memory.
"I'm gunna be stronger then you ever were! I'ma kick your lousy ass!" She screeched as she fell to the ground,at the bully who beat her one day. Gajeel saw becuase he ran into the aftermath and Levy restrained him in the shadows of a building. He remembers the scolding Levy gave to him for teaching her swear words, and Alexi for swearing, and the secret smile he gave her later as they walked home. A thumbs up accompanied his rare smile. He knew she would keep the promise.
"My dad's the strongest of them all! Don't speak bad about my papa!" This was also accompanied by a beat down, that time with her heavy fists falling down on the oppressors of her elementary school. Being defended never felt so good.
Her and her brother, Kei, were kicked out of the public school system of Mongolia before they turned eleven.
"Excessive violence" they said.
Gajeel allows a smile to crack on his face as he remembers.
Her face flashes through his mind though, giving him a pleasant headache in the process.
All teeth and smiles, all red eyes and blue skies.
"Don't worry, dad, I'll be fine! Besides, Kei's with me." This was said on her first mission without him. Gajeel never expressed his worry openly, Alexi must have naturally known.
"Dad, teach me. Teach me to fight even better." She came home ragged one day, when she was around fourteen, Lily had her propped up on his arm, and she said that so easily. She was a mess; her father's heart stopped and she spoke as though nothing was wrong.
"I love you too dad" Sarcastic, but truthful remarks ran in the family, especially after disagreements.
"Don't bother, I'll just sneak out anyways." Ahh, the rebellious years. Actually, that rebelliousness stuck.
"I'm off!" The common house goodbye he has no pleasure of hearing anymore.
"Hey dad, guess what? I've fallen in love." Those were the last words she said to him, at the ripe age of nineteen, before she set off for her three-month quest. Gajeel had an idea who it was, becuase she never clearly said. However, Gajeel thinks it was Lee, the boy who came to the guild a few years ago, orphaned from battle and misjustice. He was a good kid, a shadow mage. He's been so depressed lately. Something deep down tells Gajeel that Lee loved her back.
She was on her last week of the quest when she died in battle.
"Glorious", they said.
Fuck glory.
The light dimmed, the angelic toning that ran through the leaves and branches which cast a spot light on the man, faded. It turned dark all of a sudden, and Gajeel had no chance to remedy it.
The trunk he sat on was the trunk they played around.
You'd think that Levy was the one that played with the children, but more often then not, it was Gajeel. Kei, Alexi and him always played here. Hide and seek, tag, everything, anything. And, as time grew on, it became a training ground. Both kids used iron as their magic, and they practiced and learned techniques here.
Gajeel sat in the center of it all, and her tries to keep his smiles, but fails as the forests darkness consumes him, along with tantalizing memories.
/
Red eyes watch him in the darkness through the trees.
Finally walking into the clearing, he freezes as he stands in front of his father. His father, looking older then he should, looks up at him. Kei sees himself, (except he's twenty-two, not forty-four). However, he sees himself and his father and a broken man and for a second the dots don't connect.
And then his father's lips quirk upwards.
The thing about his dad is that it doesn't look like he's been crying. For his mom her face turns red, her eyes become puffy and her nose gets all stuffy and runny. For his old man though, it looks as though he is sitting down eating, drinking, singing- he looks completely normal, totally unfazed... Except for the water streaming from his pain filled red eyes. So painful, they look, staring into his own, ablet, younger red irises.
"Come here, kid" His voice is gruff and hoarse, and Kei truly knows he's been crying for a while.
His father scoots over, the trunk is big enough for two, he supposes. Kei joins his father on the trunk. The feel of warmth radiating off his fathers body next to him supplies him with ample amount of comfort, that of which he cannot describe.
Kei looks at the paper that he notices now in his father's hands.
He does not recognize it, or its significance at the time.
"What's that?" He asks, sounding like a curious child again.
His father doesn't answer, only smiles a little smile, halts his tears, and says: "The family portrait."
He folds the creased, colorful, paper and tucks it in the pocket he has near his heart in his grey shirt. It feels heavy against him, but it's reassuring too.
He feels the weight, at this time, more then the comfort though.
"Where's your mom?" His father asks.
"With Aunt Lucy, I think."
He pauses, and the chilly silence fills them. It's a common silence and it does not bother them.
After a few minutes of the quietness, Gajeel lays a heavy, rough hand on his sons shoulder.
He stands then, and so does Kei.
They are the same height, almost carbon copies.
"Let's go to the guild, kid."
And so they set off to see their family.
/
They get picked off one by one.
One day Mirajane is gone, then Gray, then Lucy, then Happy, the Jet, then everyone else.
Gajeel goes too.
The little drawing somehow lands in the Kei's possession.
Sitting on the trunk in the graveyard of memories, as an older man, he smiles while he looks onto the paper full of scribbles.
"The family portrait" His fathers voice echoes with the wind.
Light hits him, making him wince, but then the red eyes gleam: it's sunrise.
With the rising sun, he folds the paper neatly, carefully, and tucks it always in his specially made breast pocket.
"For now", he whispers, after he says, "Goodbye"
A/N::: I think i'm not all bad at writing sad fics, which kinda makes me sad.