Chapter 9: Sadist and Father
Freed turned over to press his warm side to Laxus, the other side of him almost numb. Laxus's skin was icy.
Freed was exhausted.
After Makarov and Porlyusica had left, Freed rewrote his runes to grant them and the Raijinshuu access, clothed Laxus in warm garments, fixed his own tangled hair, washed the bedding… Busyness kept his mind occupied, but his body couldn't keep up. So Freed had curled around Laxus to offer him body heat, and fell asleep.
In early afternoon, he woke to a dark, unfamiliar mutter. Jerking up, Freed reached for his sword, but pain split his head and he groaned.
Porlyusica raised an eyebrow at him.
"Shit," he muttered, pressing palms over his throbbing temples as he sat up.
"You're dehydrated," Porlyusica said. "Sexual activity, plus significant blood loss, plus the magic of being healed. Take care of yourself, Justine. It won't help him if you don't."
He was grateful for the absence of her glare.
After a moment, Freed rose, got water, and hovered in the kitchen.
He didn't want to walk back into that room.
If he stood here, it felt like Laxus might walk out, all better, and life could go on. He couldn't conceive of any future except the same one he'd taken for granted when he woke up this morning. That Laxus would be here, at his side, awake. Alive.
"Justine," Porlyusica called.
When he entered, he saw a lacrima strapped to the middle of Laxus's chest. Ethernanos were being forced into his body now…he would live. That was what Freed told himself.
"Any change," Porlyusica stressed, "and you call me."
"Thank you," Freed said, settling by the futon again. "And thank you for treating him here."
"You're not bringing him to my place," she growled. "You and that old whiner wouldn't have left me alone. I need to study, dammit."
Freed snorted.
A scuffle in the hall and Makarov wheeled in, nodding to them and going straight to Laxus's side.
"Speak of the devil and there he appears," Porlyusica muttered.
"Any change?" he asked.
She sighed. "No."
Deep thought creasing his face, Makarov turned to Freed.
"I don't want you to take this as an accusation. Why didn't you and Laxus tell me about Ivan's attack?"
Freed blinked.
"We would've. Yesterday we were more focused on recouping."
Caressing Laxus's passive face, Freed wondered. Laxus might've wanted to forget it had happened. Maybe he wouldn't have told Makarov.
"Does he ever talk to you about his father?" Freed asked.
"No."
Freed winced at his tone. He wondered when either of them last said Ivan's name to each other.
"Ivan threatened to cut out Laxus's lacrima," Freed said quietly. "Said he would take away everything from Laxus, and that he didn't need freedom to do so. And," Freed realized, "he called him an inadequate lover."
The comment made sense now, if Porlyusica was right (and she usually was) that swallowing cum initiated the curse in Laxus's body.
Freed's fingers curled, shaking. It was fucking sadistic. To put a moratorium on your child's intimate acts, on their sex life. Torturing your child to force magic into them, then throwing them into a coma if they stepped out of line. If they dared to love someone.
Ivan was a special kind of depraved.
"Sounds like the son of a bitch was gloating," Porlyusica spoke up. "He was just waiting for this to happen. Motherfucker," she added.
"It sounds like it wasn't a satisfactory meeting," Makarov said.
"Actually," Freed said, "in a way…it was cathartic. He…"
Stood up to Ivan. Defended himself. And Laxus looked happy afterward.
"Have you gotten a chance to look up the rune?" Makarov asked.
Freed looked down. "Not yet. But I wrote down all the runes I could remember from the other shikigami. Before I forget."
"That's fine. Take your time," the guildmaster said quickly. "Freed, are you…okay?"
"I'll be alright," Freed said instantly, before his throat could close around the lie. He would be. For Laxus he would do anything.
"Okay," Makarov whispered in relief. "You'll be okay."
Ten-year-old Freed watched Laxus sleep in the hospital bed, bandages across Laxus's chest rising and falling.
They'd played a dozen hands of cards, which Freed had let Laxus win the first three times before Laxus figured it out and demanded he really try. At which point Freed won seven out of nine, but Laxus didn't seem to care. He liked the challenge, something Freed was learning through all these afternoons at his side.
Freed supposed Laxus hadn't gotten much mental stimulation since waking up in the hospital. Everyone treated him like he was broken.
Laxus inhaled thickly and twitched in his sleep. He was drooling, and Freed strongly wanted to wipe his cheek, but wasn't sure it was okay. Laxus didn't like people touching him.
So Freed sat back and kept watch.
Makarov called Freed here every time he needed to go to a meeting or address an issue elsewhere. Though he said it was to keep Laxus from being alone, the guildmaster always made sure Freed's magic wasn't depleted, that he was armed, and he breathed easier when Freed agreed to come.
It was an honor to Freed. Here at Laxus's side, Freed had found something to fight for. He would stay at Laxus's side as long as they wanted him.
Which could be a while—no one knew how long Laxus needed to recover. After Laxus told Freed the secret that he had a lacrima inside him, Freed did research and found it was an extremely rare procedure, only attempted a handful of times and almost never successfully.
Usually the patient died.
Freed didn't understand how someone could do that to another human being. To Laxus. Why anyone thought Laxus needed it—why Laxus thought he needed it. He had amazing control, knew many spells, and had a high level of skill with magic. That was powerful.
The drool was now making a wet spot on Laxus's pillow. Brow drawing down, Freed carefully wiped his cheek.
For a second, Freed's perception of magic spiked. Though Laxus hid it, he stocked a huge amount of magic power these days.
Having dealt with the drool, Freed felt less shy about pulling the edge of the blanket up over Laxus's shoulder. Laxus trusted him enough to fall asleep with him in the room: maybe this touch was okay.
As far as he knew, there was nobody else like this in Laxus's life. Laxus didn't have consistent friends. Except for Freed.
Freed would never betray that trust. He would never fail Laxus.
Pausing in the hospital doorway, Makarov watched as Freed straightened Laxus's bedside. Ensuring Laxus was comfortable, Freed moved on to the side table and straightened the untouched food there—Laxus had had trouble eating again.
As Freed frowned in focus, the old man smiled.
He worried that this was using Freed, asking him to sit with Laxus. Freed was barely ten. But Makarov needed someone who would protect Laxus at all costs, and he could tell clear as day Freed cared about his grandson. Freed would hurt himself before hurting Laxus.
Makarov cared about Freed's welfare, too—Freed was one of his guild-children. Makarov half-raised him and knew him well. Knew he disliked sleeping in strange places, knew both his brothers had died in the war, knew his intelligence quotient was a terrifyingly high number (a fact he had not yet told Freed) and that he was voraciously curious.
He cared about Freed, who was so serious for being so young. He would do everything in his power to take care of Freed. But as long as Freed wanted to be by Laxus's side—as long as this boyhood crush or whatever it was continued—Makarov would encourage the pair to be together.
Freed had stopped fussing and now sat with chin on his knees, watching Laxus with gentle eyes.
Makarov hoped Laxus recognized Freed's trustworthiness. He hoped they would have each other's backs, and he wouldn't have to worry for either of them so much.
These memories came back to him when Makarov went to Laxus's flat the morning after Freed's panicked entrance at the guild and Porlyusica's terrifying diagnosis of magic deficiency. Making sure Laxus would live took up all Makarov's mental space.
He only belatedly recognized the terror in Freed's eyes.
Receiving no reply after knocking for several minutes, Makarov let himself into his grandson's flat. Freed's runes parted for him as promised.
He wheeled to the bedroom and stopped.
The first thing he saw was Laxus, pale and unmoving on the futon. Looking so much younger than usual—more vulnerable.
Next to Laxus, books ringed a lump on the floor.
Freed had fallen asleep with his fingers tucked between several pages, legs curled under him, head on Laxus's chest. His hair pooled over the comforter, protective, proprietary. Like it could keep his boyfriend covered and safe. Freed had always been like that.
It was quite possible Freed had spent large portions of the last decade in love with Laxus.
Makarov was so glad they were dating—happy his grandson finally figured his shit out and recognized the strength of Freed's loyalty. But now when one of them got hurt, he worried about both of them twice as much.
When Freed nearly lost his arms and his life, and Laxus looked ready to electrocute someone, Makarov wanted to hit a wall, or hold Laxus, or something—he'd actually shouted at Porlyusica when she got snippy. Now he was begging the gods to give him Laxus back, while praying Freed would not crack into a thousand pieces in the meantime.
Smiling sadly, Makarov wheeled out to let Freed sleep.
A/N: Sad things. ;w;
I'm back, thanks for the patience. I'm not caught up on reviews but I read some while traveling, and thank you so much to everyone who left comments ^^
I love the idea of Makarov and Freed's relationship after Freed starts dating Laxus. Makarov is the original Fraxus shipper.
