Time for part 2! This chapter has a lot more for Bickslow.

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Props to my beloved beta, C.K.

Though her voice was quiet, the words were filled with anguish.

"Please don't make me face them tonight."

The moment they passed her lips, Lucy's brown eyes widened and her mouth fell open. A cold wind fluttered her bangs into her eyes, and the ice water flooding her veins brought a sober clarity to her mind. The words echoed between the shadowed buildings until they faded to gossiping whispers. A waning gibbous moon shined down, framed by a spattering of stars that were partially covered by a thin sheet of translucent clouds. Lucy wanted to meet his gaze. With the visor covering his eyes, it was almost impossible to tell what he was thinking. All she could see was a slack jaw and a slight parting in his lips to reveal his shock.

In that pale moonlight, Lucy could just make out her own reflection in the metal shield. Could see streaked mascara underneath brown orbs pooling with tears, surrounded by tangled blonde hair. Releasing her fingers from where they had curled into Bickslow's shirt, her feet began to move backward.

"No...I…" With a shaky voice, her eyes darted around, as if searching for something amidst the darkness. Terrified that someone else could have heard her admission. Lucy turned on her heel, stumbling a bit when she started running. Bickslow gaped. He reached out, but his fingers barely managing to brush against hers. While he stood stunned, he could hear her pumps clomping against the ground and see her arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance while she got farther and farther away.

"Wha- Lucy!" Once his body could move, Bickslow took off down the street after Cosplayer. He couldn't help but admire how fast she was, despite the issue it was currently causing him. Despite his longer legs, she had gotten around a turn and was nearing the canal before he managed to catch up, wrapping his fingers around her wrist to pull her to a stop.

A sharp wind cut through them. When he felt shivers run through her, his arms reached around and held her to his chest. One of his hands moved to hold her head to his shoulder.

If there was one statement to be held true, it was that Lucy of Fairy Tail loved her spirits. There was no arguing that fact. Even if she blurted it out without thinking, to admit that she didn't want to be near them?

Something important must have happened.

Bickslow sighed through his nose.

"Listen...Lucy…" he began until her face tilted upward.

"Bickslow," she interrupted. "Tell me why."

"Why I'm so awesome? Guess I was just born this way," he teased, feeling the tiniest bit smug when she hiccuped a laugh. Her arm reached across her eyes but no more tears formed. Her lips turned down in a frown when she saw the makeup smeared across her hand.

"No, you idiot." Lucy bumped his shoulder. "What you said before."

"I recall saying many things before. Can you be more specific?" The exaggerated eye roll forced a chuckle from him.

"Earlier you said that only you could understand. Out of anyone else in the guild. Why you?"

The seith mage gazed out towards the canal, his laughter fading, watching as the flowing dark waters splashed against the stone walls.

"You've heard of Desierto, right?" Bickslow supposed that the best place to start, so she could understand, would be the very beginning. He could feel her shift against him and hum while she thought.

"It's a country to the east," she replied, her tone signifying more confusion as to the subject change and an edge of irritation at his avoidance. "I don't know much, except that it's supposed to be almost entirely desert." Back when the Heartfilia empire was in its prime, her father had been interested in trading with the other regions of Ishgar. However, Desierto didn't have much to offer and so Jude Heartfilia moved on to other investors. When she was younger, Lucy just saw it as a place that she didn't have to spend hours studying.

Bickslow nodded.

"It's a relatively poor land, despite its massive size. Without an official government, the larger cities tend to be run by the army whereas smaller villages were usually led by crazy religious zealots. Surprisingly, it was actually a relatively peaceful place...as long as you didn't cause trouble," he added. While he spoke, Bickslow led them over to a bench set outside of a local bakery. The samples in the window made his mouth water, but because of the late hour all the light were off and the damning "Closed" sign was hanging by the door.

Plopping onto the bench, he groaned from the relief of getting off his legs. Lucy lowered herself down next to him, pressing up against his side to siphon off some of his warmth.

"Why do you know so much about Desierto?" she asked, her curiosity overwhelming. Not that she didn't think Bickslow was smart, but he tended to act like an uncultured idiot.

"Because I was born there." Though he said it nonchalantly, Lucy couldn't help her quiet gasp of surprise. "I know, I know," he continued, "I'm an exotic foreigner." His arm slipped around her shoulders while his tongue fell out of his mouth. "Makes me even sexier, right?"

Unable to help herself, Lucy let out an unladylike snort. "You caught me, Bicklow. I'm head over heels now." Despite the sarcasm lacing her words, she curled up her legs and pressed closer to her unlikely new friend. "Now shut up and tell me more about your home."

Though finding her contradictory remark amusing, he couldn't bring himself to laugh. Thinking about his homeland usually put him in a foul mood.

"Okay, Miss Bossy," he began, mindlessly tapping his fingers against her arm. "Well, I lived somewhere on the west side, near the border of Minstrel." Major exporter of silks and textiles, Lucy's mind supplied. "It was this tiny farm town called Trigo Village." And it was a total dump. Everything in that village was broken down and rotting. Wooden homes were in constant need of new repair, and it was always a struggle to keep the water irrigation working properly in order to keep the fields from drying out."

"You were a farmer?" Lucy inquired in disbelief.

"In a way. Me and the other kids from the orphanage were sort of like free labor to help out wherever we were needed," Bickslow explained. He closed his eyes as he thought about those days. Free labor is a nice way to put it. They were more like slaves to do whatever dirty work the adults didn't want to do. From spreading cow manure around the fields to lugging heavy crates of grain to and from the silo, they would start working before the sun rose and long after it went down.

"What kind of things did you grow? Fruit? Vegetables?"

"Have you ever been to a desert?" he chuckled. "Nah. We were a wheat town. Not as glamorous, I know, but I hear it pays the bills."

Bickslow smiled down at the sweet blonde who gazed up at him, her eyes squinted in what could only be concern.

"Something bad happened...didn't it?" she whispered. The corners of his lips lowered, and he looked away.

After a long moment of silence, he responded, "Yeah. You could say that."

It had been a typical night. He and his friends were pulling the last bags of grain into the silo for storage until the village needed them. They had almost finished when the lantern got knocked over and shattered, sparks catching the dried wheat on fire. Being the oldest at 12, he tried to find the others and help, but the fire spread so quickly across the old wood, and smoke was already clouding the air. Coughing against the ash, his eyes started to burn from the smoke when a small white light bounced around in the air beside him.

It told him to get out. Burning wood fell from the rickety structure. There was a second and third ball of white light. A falling plank clipped his shoulder, sending him to the ground. Forced to pull himself along the ground, tremors ran through him when the door to the silo had collapsed, trapping him inside. The burning in his eyes grew stronger, and each of the glowing orbs emitted a green light that shot out and cleared the way.

Dirt pressed into his fresh cuts and burns as he crawled from the burning silo. The flames rose high, dark smoke coating the sky, burning the night with light. His injuries hurt, but the flames licking behind him pushed him to drag himself away. The strange floating lights that now followed him, two more having joined the group, cheered him on. They wanted him to make it.

"H-help," the boy coughed. Trying again, but louder, he yelled, "Help!"

He could hear shouts, feel the earth quiver as feet thundered towards him. When he attempted to look, his eyes flinched at the bright orbs he saw. One for every person. His skin felt hot, as if the blaze behind him was still licking his flesh.

While people went to put the fire out, hands grabbed his arms to drag him further away, scraping his bare legs against the dirt. His eyes were shut against the brightness that he could see within everyone around him.

"Bickslow!"

"They're still in there," he rasped. His friends. He hadn't seen them get out. Were they okay? Where were they?

"Is he okay?" His body was propped up, the movement jarred him, and he broke out into a coughing fit.

"Open your eyes." Shaking his head, fingers grabbed his jaw and forced his head up.

"What's wrong?" the voice demanded.

"The lights. They're too bright," he whined. The hand tightened almost painfully.

"What lights? The fire?"

"No, the lights inside you! The ones around me!" There was a crack when a hand made contact with his cheek. When he still wouldn't open his eyes, he felt fingers pry open his left eyelid.

Bickslow tried to flinch away from the shining light that assaulted his vision and from the angry shout when the man saw the gleaming green eyes.

Even with his eyes shut again, his eyelids glowed red from the fire. There was shouting around him. Suddenly, something grabbed his upper arms and pulled him up.

"Take him to the church." Smoke clogged his lungs as he was dragged away, screaming in confusion because he couldn't figure out what was wrong. The air was filled with cinders, and the roaring fire was deafening to the young boy who refused to open his eyes.

The church was one of the largest buildings, placed in the center of town. Bickslow felt his bare feet drag along the dirt road and then against a wooden floor, the old doors creaking as they were thrown open. He was dropped before the main altar, landing on his hands and knees.

The whispers of the villagers assaulted his ears. They were called Figure Eyes, they said, but were considered to be the mark of a demon.

When the young boy tried to get up, a hand landed on his head, shaved due to the unyielding sun and the religious traditions of the town, and shoved him back down.

"Pray for your sins," the harsh voice of the Village Elder commanded. His eyes burned and his body ached from barely escaping the fire, but Bickslow kept his head down and remained on his knees, tears dripping onto the wood below him.

He stayed there, praying until the sun began to creep through the church windows.

Then the hinges of the large double doors whined as the villagers entered the building. Yanked to his feet, Bickslow was turned so that he faced the large crowd shuffling into the pews. Tremors ran through him, but also sweet relief that his vision had returned to normal and his eyes no longer hurt.

An elderly man with a bushy gray beard and watery blue eyes, the preacher, stalked up to him. His cold, gnarled hands framed Bickslow's face, and his thumbs lightly pulled down the lower lids of the boy's red eyes.

"Such a curse cannot be cured," he stated in a withered voice. "We must take precaution so that all who see him will know of what possesses him." As he spoke, another man walked forward. In his hands he carried a short metal rod with a rounded end and a large burning candle.

Eyes widening, Bickslow struggled against the strong arms that held him.

"He must be revealed as the soul stealing demon he is." The elder took the metal pole from the man and set the rounded edge into the fire. The boy fought, kicking out his legs to keep the old man away from him.

"Please! You can't!" The white hot metal exited the flame. A wrinkled hand grabbed his jaw to hold his head still. "I did nothing wrong!" Tears pooled in the red eyes that refused to close as the burning rod grew ever closer. "I didn't do anything!"

He didn't know whether he felt his skin smoldering or smelled the burning flesh first.

He screamed until his throat turned raw.

Lucy's eyes filled with tears. As he spoke, the arm around her had begun to shake, and a small tear had appeared from under his visor. She placed a hand over his. It was the only comfort she could provide, as she had no words left to speak with.

With slow, measured movements, Bickslow moved his limbs to begin unbuckling the straps that held the metal shield on his face. He placed it in his lap and slowly turned his head to his companion. There was so much anguish swimming in his eyes. Her own dark honey eyes couldn't help but glance at the black human figure that sat between his eyes. She had never imagined its origin had been so...cruel.

He sniffled and forced a bitter laugh. The wink he gave her had no feeling behind it as he tapped the mark.

"Bet you thought I got this for shits and giggles, huh?" His grin was strained, showing too much teeth to be sincere.

"Well...yeah," she admitted, putting a fake smile. "Kind of." Lucy twisted and sat up on her knees so that she was at face level with the other wizard. Her pale fingers inched toward the brand with trepidation, her face moving closer to his so that she could see it clearly even in the darkness of night. Bickslow moved his head back and clenched his jaw. Her hand faltered, pausing in the air, and waited for his assent.

Even though he was white knuckling his helm, he pressed forward until her fingertips lightly began to trace the figure. The mark itself hasn't hurt since he was a child, but Bickslow's face burned as he felt her chilled touch trace softly along the straight bridge of his nose. It was a pleasant heat in his cheeks.

Lucy could see the strain as he tried to relax and let her touch him. It was hard to tell just from looking, but now she could feel the slightly raised scar tissue along his brow and nose. Being this close to him also gave her the chance to notice tiny details. Moving from the mark, her index fingers traced along his eyebrow as she observed the long lashes framing his eyes, then sliding along his hairline where there was a spatter of nearly invisible freckles.

The finger trailed down, bumping on the rough skin along his nose, down to trace his lips. In traditional Bickslow fashion, his tongue lolled out. Lucy pulled back her hand, giggling slightly which he responded in kind with a light chuckle, but then poked his Fairy Tail guild mark on the wet muscle.

Then her growing grin dropped, and Bickslow knew instantly what she had felt.

"They…"

"Yeah."

"But, why?"

"This mark reveals your demon nature, and this one shall ensure that none will believe the lies you speak." The boy's skin was red and smoking, the pain unbearable, but he managed to remain conscious as the preacher slipped his fingers into Bickslow's mouth and pulled out his long wet tongue.

He tried to shake his head free, but there was no fight left in him. His muscles too weak and tired from trying before. All he could do was yell as the hot metal pressed against the fleshy muscle in his mouth.

Thunder clapped in the distance. While his thoughts had been lost in the past, darker clouds had gathered. There was a pitter-patter as raindrops started to hit the ground. He watched as Lucy's gaze softened and her eyes became half-lidded. Her jaws parted in a huge yawn.

"Come on, Cosplayer," Bickslow said, rubbing her shoulder. "Let's get you home."

"Dun' wanna go home," she mumbled, slumping against his shoulder as exhaustion finally slammed into her.

"Alright then," he sighed. Bickslow strapped his visor back over his eyes and stood up. The rain was falling harder, hitting cold against their skin. Grabbing an offered hand, Lucy pulled herself to standing but leaned heavily against him. "Guess you're coming home with me, beautiful."

The half-asleep girl nodded against his shoulder. Knowing she wouldn't be able to walk quickly and not wanting to spend any more time in this weather as necessary, even though they were both already getting soaked, Bickslow knelt down and assisted her in getting on his back.

Even though the shared heat was nice against his back, it didn't help with the cold, wet nose pressing against his neck. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, but he was holding up most of her weight with his hands gripping her thighs. His mask helped keep some of the rain from dripping onto his face, though Lucy resorted to pressing her face into him in a failing attempt to keep hers dry.

Since the drunk female mage had chosen to run off in the exact opposite direction of his apartment, Bickslow was forced to retrace their steps a couple of blocks before setting off towards the not-so-bad-but-not-good part of town. One of the few places he could find that would rent to a seith mage or to a Fairy Tail wizard. At least the latter was reasonable, considering their penchant for destruction.

He set a brisk pace, feeling his human package's warm breath against his neck as she muttered in her sleep.

He smiled softly.

"Bix," she breathed.

And here I thought I'd have trouble getting this chapter to 3000 words.

If it seemed like Bickslow didn't actually answer her question, there's a reason for it. I've got it set up in my mind for the next chapter. Promise!

Poor Bickslow! I'm sorry, sweetie!

I have somewhat of an idea of what's gonna happen in the next chapter, so I'll be starting to work in the next couple days.