A/N: im. crying because im in love with laxus dreyar. And I'm also crying because i was able to use my own experiences to write this chapter, because, like Laxus as a kid, I have a lot of medical issues and things wrong with me, so I was able to use my own experiences to write this chapter and it made me sad.

i love that boy


Laxus had never met his mother, though people were always abuzz about her when he was around. She was a gorgeous girl with warm brown skin and pale blonde hair, orange eyes that could electrify you. Nobody talked about her personality, what she was like- just about her apparently dazzling good looks, and nobody really talked about how she went out of the world. Apparently Laxus was much too young for those things.

Except to his grandfather, who would speak of his daughter-in-law's good qualities constantly.

His mother was a magnificent mage, even better than her husband, or most anyone in the guild, actually. The wind met her every command and she handled it with grace and elegance, but apparently she was clumsy outside of a battle. She was kind and high-spirited. She drew people to her with her sugary sweet presence. She liked birds better than dogs or cats. She had a special talent for puzzles, but was bad at even the simplest of cooking. And she had died in childbirth, leaving behind a hollow man, a shell of whom he had once been, a newborn son, and an entire building of grief-torn people.

His grandfather apologized after he said anything about his daughter-in-law. Laxus learned from older members of the guild that Makarov had been in the same situation when he was born, left without a mother shortly after. He felt particularly closer to his grandfather after that, perhaps even a bit glad that there was at least one person who could understand his situation.

His father, on the other hand, never said a word about his deceased wife. Not a word. He liked to be quiet, and sometimes Laxus could appreciate that. He liked the quiet as well. But it was unnerving when he asked where the pictures of his mother were and he only got an annoyed grunt and a smack on the head, asked if they could go out, tried to talk about his day.

Maybe Ivan wasn't even his father. He sure didn't act like one. Most days he would simply drop him off at the guildhall, give him a halfhearted warning to behave, and leave, maybe even for days on end. People around him whispered about this and that, and by the time Laxus was six, he knew just what his father went around doing.

He was looking for a way to bring his wife back to life.

His grandfather mumbled about it constantly and never spoke to his own son kindly, always scolding him and muttering about taboo. How bringing the dead back was impossible, and even if it wasn't, it was blasphemous. The dead had to stay dead. They had lived as long as they were meant to. They even fought, just one time. With screaming and shouting and scraps of cutting paper flying throughout the guild, slicing across tables and the flesh of a few unfortunate people who got in the way.

Ivan went away for entire months after that.

People became increasingly worried during those months as Laxus' health deteriorated further and further. He had always been sickly, but he seemed to be catching a cold every two weeks, running out of breath after walking for just a short while, and they cursed Ivan for leaving his too-young son in such a condition. Macao and Wakaba constantly pointed their fingers back towards his guest room in the guildhall, tapping their feet and warning No no, young man. It's raining outside. Back to bed.

He felt awful. His body itched, it ached, he always felt like he was going to explode or throw up or implode. He sweat much too frequently to the point where he had to bathe at least twice a day to get the stench off and rest his body in boiling hot water. His grandfather checked on him constantly, sat in the room and read him stories in silly voices, and the guild members would come back from jobs with sparkling souvenirs in their hands and adventure on their lips for him. The company made him feel happy, much less sick.

There was a night, shortly after he turned nine, where he didn't feel quite so ill. His grandfather was not at his side, did not come when he weakly called for him, so he got out of bed with the intention to simply get a cold compress and snuggle back underneath the boundless blankets.

He walked out into the main hall, but quickly edged back towards the doorway when he saw his grandfather furiously speaking to a communications lacrima. The image in it was blurry- the technology wasn't that great. Laxus didn't find himself nearly as impressed with it as most of the adults were.

Makarov turned from fury to begging in a second, leaning towards the lacrima with a tight voice. His shoulders were hunched forward. He looked like a frail old man, and Laxus felt a tight knot start in his stomach. His grandfather was old. Fragile. He had never quite realized that before and it frightened him. What if, sooner rather than later, Grandpa left him, just as his father did? What would he do then? He would have no father, no mother, and no grandfather. Just the guild. Just himself.

Makarov was pleading, begging whoever it was on the other side to come home. He carried on, his voice warbling as he spoke. A few times it cracked, a few times he had to stop, but he kept going, begging and pleading with who Laxus eventually made out to be his father and who said nothing.

He didn't even flinch when he told him that Laxus was dying.

When people visited him from then on, it made sense. Why they were so kind. Why they had cakes and treats and fun baubles. The master's grandson, barely nine, was already inching towards death and there was nothing they could do about it. He found his medical file under his bed, carefully hidden by Porlyusica, and pored over it all night.

He was dying. His muscles were failing. His bones were practically paper. His lungs could barely hold air. His organs were all wrong. None of the medications were working. He had never been expected to have a long lifespan. His mother had gone into labor three months far too early, and that was why she had died and that was why he was going to die.

But Laxus was finally going to get to see those striking orange eyes.

Porlyusica began to come every day. She did not know that he knew he was dying. She gave him with the same contempt and gentle treatment as she did every time she visited. His grandfather did not tell him that he was dying either. The knot in Laxus' stomach grew and tightened every time he looked at him and knew that he was going to go before his grandfather. It wasn't fair. But, if what he'd said back then was right, Laxus had lived just as long as he was meant to.

Conscious of his situation, Laxus grew more keen of his pain and just how excruciating it was. Just how hard it was to hold air in his lungs. Just how hard it was to eat, to walk, to heal after bruising from shots. Meanwhile, children from the city played outside on the lake's edge, happy and healthy as could be, completely unaware that a boy their same age was curled up on the porch of Death's Door.

A month later, he could not walk anymore without the use of crutches. Macao took him into town in a wheelchair, but it was too embarrassing; he refused to go the next time the opportunity was offered. He had a hard time thinking and had to be asked by Porlyusica at least three times how he felt before he could understand her and respond.

Sadly, he realized he was oddly at peace with his death. He was desperate to see his mother, after all. They could spend a lot of time together.

Another month after his legs severely weakened, the guild doors slammed open and in walked Ivan, with greasy hair that hadn't been cut in months, a crooked nose like it had been broken and messily healed multiple times, and a small orange stone the size of a child's fist gripped tightly in his hand. When he presented it to his son, Laxus could see light flickering inside of it, little bolts of lightning and clouds misting inside of the orange orb. His father snatched it back after letting the boy admire it for a second and dragged him from the bed, ignoring the boy's yelps and screams.

The next while was a blur. Laxus had a hard time focusing on anything anymore. If he looked really hard, he could see his grandfather yelling at his son, hear words like psychotic and evil, hear his father laugh. There was a train at some point, and though the time slipped by in his half-conscious state, he knew it was a very long train ride. His legs were numb and his father had to carry him to the next location, where a doctor inside lurked. When he loomed over Laxus, he looked like a monster in his surgical mask and with his waxy hands, and when Laxus woke next, there was an intense pain in his temple and he could not remember what had happened after the doctor had reached for him.

But he could walk.

He could hear people properly.

Laxus did not know anyone could breathe so deeply.

There was an odd lightning strike scar across his right eye, but he could see just fine, so he did not pay it much mind. The guild members were elated to see him up and walking and talking when he came home, and his grandfather's eyes were misty. Whatever Ivan had done to him, it had worked and Laxus definitely was not going to die. He had never felt better. Stronger. Perhaps Ivan did love him after all.

Only shortly after their return, Makarov took him away from his father. The guest room became his permanent room. They moved all his things there. Ivan did not seem to care about the absence of his son from the house and instead almost seemed to relish his freedom. He took more jobs, read more books, and spent a lot more time feeding the mangy crows that always seemed to be so attracted to him.

Nah. Ivan didn't love him. Though Laxus was grateful for his newfound strength, he knew he could never love his father back, no, not after the cold shoulder all his life, after the year-long abandonment, after he had had a magical dragon stone surgically placed inside his son's skull for the sake of money.

His grandfather hadn't held any of it back, despite his young age. He explained it all. That Ivan didn't love him. That he had gone out looking for a way to bring back his wife but had been swallowed by greed in that time. That the stone was a Dragon Lacrima and that he'd had it placed in his son's body not for his health, but for the future profit. That Ivan did not care about his family, Fairy Tail, or anything anymore.

He cared about resurrection and money.

The years passed- his father became more engrossed in his alone time. Laxus developed his lightning magic, and Makarov boasted that it must be hereditary, that it must have come from his own father. To anyone who would listen, he would brag that Laxus would surpass everyone, because he was such a talented boy with such a kind heart and good spirit, and those things triumphed over everything else.

Some shadow loomed over Laxus, though. Tall, dark, heavy. People whispered, of course they did, whenever he came around, but it was not because of his "kind heart," not at all about his "good spirit." It was about his family. He was the grandson of the prestigious Makarov Dreyar. Of course he would be great. He was the grandson of Makarov Dreyar. Not because of his skill, not because of his dedication, but because of his heritage.

His heritage tasted like a mouthful of bitter herbs.

After a while, he found people who looked at him, not at the Dreyar name. A boy with glaring eyes and a hard heart. A weirdo kid with a tattoo across his face and a fake grin oozing mischief. The skinniest girl he'd ever seen in oversized clothes and cuts up and down her arms.

What a bunch of weirdos to make a family with.