AN: Another huge THANK YOU for all the amazing feedback I've gotten on this! I'm glad the way I've taken this thing hasn't resulted in complete abandonment; I like me a little angst to go with my romance, so long as it all ends well.

Warning: language, violence, mentions of torture – nothing you haven't already seen or didn't already see coming.

Disclaimer: Fairy Tail and its characters belong to Hiro Mashima; I own absolutely nothing. Cover image by Rae.

part X.

As dawn broke across the capitol city of Crocas, the fairies began their hunt.

The sun had yet to rise above the rooftops, and there was a misty quality to the early morning air that bathed the city, creating an almost eerie effect. And through the winding cobblestone streets, six shadowed figures walked, shoulders tensed in anticipation for what awaited them. Compared to the usual flamboyance and vigour they were known for, there was little that reminded of Fairy Tail in their silent march through the city streets. There were no gleeful shouts from Salamander, no banter with the ice alchemist, and even Titania had an unusual air of severity about her as they bore down on their eagerly awaiting prey.

Ahead the ravens awaited, cawing mockingly in the stillness of the morning.

Around them, the streets of the city were empty – devoid of their usual bustle in the early morning light, but Gajeel supposed it was for the best. Because with or without the Council's permission, the carnage he was prepared to unleash didn't need an unnecessary audience.

A growl pulled its way free of his lips at the thought. If Makarov had asked him sooner to go after Ivan, he'd have done so on the sheer and utter fact that the man was batshit crazy and needed to be put down. Now...now he would have hunted the bastard down even if the old man had told him to stand his ground. Because there was no forgiveness to find in his corroded heart for evil like that. Maybe she could find it in her, but not him. Because he wasn't like her – he didn't have in it him to forgive atrocities of the degree that his former master had committed. The act had been more than an insult – more than simple revenge, even. Ivan had done it because he could – because he'd known what would hit Gajeel the hardest. It was a power play – the unspoken 'I can break you' so fucking clear it might as well have been blown up on a banner across the city. It was also the reason Levy wasn't dead – dead was too easy.

Watching her fight her way through the injuries – injuries he hadn't been able to prevent – that was his punishment. Ivan's retaliation.

Studded brows furrowed above narrowed, red eyes. Helplessness – that's what Ivan wanted him to wallow in; the inability to do anything but watch and wait for whether or not Levy would make it. But Gajeel Redfox didn't do helpless. Shorty would heal, and there was no way he was going to sit on his ass and drown in a pool of self-pity. It just wasn't happening. He didn't do helplessness, but anger – anger he did very well.

And Ivan Dreyar and his band of batshit followers were about to feel the full force of that anger.

It didn't take long to find them. But then again, going by their little 'message' and their forfeiting of their place in the games, Ivan had to be expecting them.

That was fine by him.

They weren't their usual number. There was only himself, Salamander, Titania, Laxus, the ice alchemist and the old man, who'd given the others strict orders to stay put despite the clamour that had arisen at the command. Because the fairies were a righteous breed, and none had taken lightly the wrong that had been done to their own – especially three so adored as Shadow Gear. Gajeel knew better than most the chaos an action like that could set off. Ivan, however, didn't. And that would be his undoing.

So there were six of them, but they weren't going to need more. Not for this.

"Little Gajeel."

Metal-studded brows furrowed at the sickeningly sweet murmur of his name – the suffix a patronizing insult he'd had to endure with a forced grin for longer than he'd normally have the patience for. But even now he said nothing as they approached, calmly flanking the old man as he made his way towards his son. Makarov had his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in a look that was weary, but the deep lines of his face spoke of a fury that ran deeper than fatigue.

"Ivan."

The younger Dreyar's lips pulled back in a snarl at the sight of his father. "Makarov."

Tension was heavy in the air – heady, like the coming of a storm. Flanking Ivan was the rest of Raven Tail, silent as the two masters faced off. Gajeel felt his hands tremble in anticipation of ripping something off – at this point he didn't really care what, as long as it hurt sufficiently. And it would – he'd make sure of that.

Sensing his anger, Ivan smiled. "Did you like my present, Gajeel? A little too nostalgic, perhaps, but I couldn't help myself," he said with an almost sheepish smile, and Gajeel bristled. Something dark erupted from somewhere behind his ribs, and his vision almost blackened as the stench of blood flooded his nose. And he was back. For a split second, he was back in the alley, driven to his knees by the sheer force of the image before him – the nightmare-reality that had nearly driven him out of his–

A hand on his arm pulled him back sharply, and he turned his glare on Salamander's unusually serious face. "You okay?"

He didn't say anything, but inhaled deeply as he pushed the images back from the forefront of his mind. Sensing he wasn't going to go completely berserk, Salamander retracted his hand. From beside Ivan, the creepy-as-hell redhead grinned.

"I'll have the feisty one," she said, eerie eyes focused on Natsu, whose brows furrowed sharply.

"Fine by me. I still owe you for what you did to Lucy," he growled, to which her smile only widened. The alchemist stepped up beside them, hands in his pockets.

"I'll have the fat one," he declared. Titania had her arms crossed over her chest.

"For the doggish dude, I'll have the snake."

That left the creepy one with the hat, and Ivan himself.

"Old man," Gajeel said. "I don't really give a fuck that he's your son."

Makarov sighed, but turned his gaze to his grandson. "You'll back him up if he needs it," he murmured. Laxus didn't say anything, only nodded, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his face.

Ivan grinned, holding his arms wide open before him. "My flesh and blood returns. You know, it's not too late to change your mind," he said. Laxus snorted.

"If you couldn't convince me before, old fart, the hell do you think I'd say now?" he muttered, stepping up beside Gajeel. "I know sorry doesn't do shit for what happened," he said, voice a rumble too low to reach the ears of the others. "But for what it's worth, I've got your back."

Gajeel snorted. "What I said still stands, Dreyar. If she doesn't make it..."

Laxus only nodded. "I know," he said, turning his attention to Obra, who looked stoic as usual.

Ivan's grin widened. "You look angry, Gajeel. My guess is the little one isn't faring so well? Should have thought about that before you went behind my back," he said, voice dropping to a dark tone that would have made a lesser man shrink back. "Treachery is a sinful thing – you got what you deserved."

The redhead turned her glare on Gajeel. "I never trusted you – not for a second!" she hissed. "You'll pay for what you did – selling us out. What we did to little blue will look like child's play compared to what we'll do to you!"

Salamander snorted. "I think you need to shut up," he said. She smirked.

"Are you angry, Salamander?"

He raised a challenging brow. "You know, this is outside tournament rules," he said, casually, and now there was a grin on his face, but it was far from pleasant. Flames licked the air around him as his eyes darkened. "And you really don't want to see us play without rules."

Ivan snorted. "It won't end here, old man," he declared, eyes trained on his father. "This petty revenge you're after. Do you honestly think I'll go down before I see your end? I will have what I've come for."

Makarov scoffed. "Don't underestimate me, boy – I've been a mage since before you were born."

Ivan snorted. "Exactly. The years are starting to take their toll. I know what happened with that fool, Jose," And at this a grin broke out on his face. "You're not the mage you used to be."

Laxus shot a look towards his grandfather. "Doesn't matter," he said, hands driven deep into his pockets as he turned a lazy eye on his father. "He's still a better mage than you will ever be."

The redhead's eye twitched, lips pulling back into an ugly snarl, but Ivan held her back. "Flare."

"I'll have his head for his impudence!"

Salamander cracked his knuckles. "I've got dibs on you, Red – don't forget that."

She hissed, but Ivan didn't pull back his hand. From behind him, the rest of Raven Tail were silent. He turned his gaze on Gajeel. "And you will be the one to take my head, is that right?" he asked.

Gajeel snorted. "Nah – head's too mild for you. I've got other plans."

Ivan grinned. "I'm looking forward to it," he cooed. "I'm assuming the girl isn't dead, then. You'd never be this calm if she was."

His fist clenched – anticipation brimming to the point of bursting. He inhaled deeply, pushing the urge to charge forward in mindless rage to the back of his mind. "You're right. And count yourself damn lucky for that."

Ivan only smiled, and Gajeel felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in sheer and utter disgust at the sight. He'd revel in physically wiping that grin off his smug face. Behind him, Makarov's voice reached his ears – tone hard and lacking its usual warmth. "Leave no evidence. If Doranbolt cannot convince the Council, this will not be traced back to us."

Salamander cracked his knuckles, but there was no grin splitting his face. "Fine."

And so their hunt recommenced.

He'd known Ivan was a quick bastard, but the time spent in his company had taught him more than a thing or two about his magic. It was quick, yes – and had a force behind it to cut even the scales that encased Gajeel like a bodily shield. He was also strong, and had meddled with dark arts long enough to be considered a right dangerous bastard.

But whichever way you damn well looked at it, flimsy paper was no match for wrought iron.

The first connecting blow sent a shiver of perverse pleasure shooting through his system, and he spun around without preamble, driving his sharpened elbow into the man's stomach with enough force to crack a wall. The blow sent him skidding back a few steps, but the grin on his face spoke volumes of the effect.

Tch. Whatever. He was only warming up, anyway.

Around him, the others got down to business with a sharp efficiency that brooked no argument. It was unlike them, but they didn't have time for flashy performances – the sun was about to rise, and they needed to be done and gone before the city awoke. Arrows of ice sharpened to the point of blades whizzed past his ear, and somewhere behind him, the scorching heat of Salamander's fire was a sharp contrast to the gathering frost. A crack of lightning split the earth, and the air hummed and crackled with electricity as Laxus threw himself into the fight against his opponent. At one point, he ended up back-to-back with Titania, but he had little attention to spare for anything other than the grinning fucker in front of him.

Breathing in, Gajeel gathered his powers – feeling it simmer in the pit of his stomach, an internal forge awaiting his command to create.

"Ready, Gajeel?"

He didn't bother to answer the remark, and a split second later, he charged, iron scales gleaming grey and silver in the light of the early morning, fists hardening to sharp iron maces that drove forward with the intent to harm. His opponent retaliated without pause, sending a torrent of paper dolls that had him ducking out of the way, before spinning sharply on his heel. Inhaling deeply, he gathered his powers, lungs expanding with air like a cup filling to the very brim.

And then he roared.

This was no howl – there was no agony behind his attack, only unconstrained fury. He had no need to intimidate his opponent – no need to perform. No, this was pure, unashamed power with the intent to destroy everything in its path. Unheeded, untamed, it cut through the air – a cataclysm in its own right. And before his enemy could duck out of the way, Gajeel shot forward.

He'd always had a driving force behind his power. His general stubbornness and unwillingness to die had gotten him through life since he'd been a kid, and long since joining Fairy Tail had it been the source he turned to when an obstacle proved more challenging than first expected. He was stubborn by nature – adamant in his conviction to win, to succeed, to live.

The desire to avenge, he came to realize, as his fist came in contact with the smug face of his former master, outclassed everything.

Because as he drove forward, bloodlust sharp on his tongue and vision dark with the need to hurt like she'd been hurt, his driving force was a head of blue hair and a smile he would go to the ends of the damn earth to get back. And as his roar uprooted the ground beneath them, the source of his power – the overflowing well of energy which he pulled from with all his might – were the brown eyes he'd give his black heart and cursed soul just to see again.

The battle wore on, the clash of steel and the simmering heat of fire, but the sounds faded into the distance – a drone in his ears, joining the steady thrum of blood and adrenaline. Metal spikes materialized in his hands at a simple command, a replica of a pair he'd just hours before pulled out of another pair of hands – small, soft, fragile things that were meant to write and flip pages of old, dusty books in languages he'd never understand. The memory of a small lifeless form falling forward and into his arms, usually so warm but then so cold...

The spikes drove home without a second thought or hesitation, embedding themselves in hands much larger, coarser, uglier, but the force he put behind it would hurt all the same, he knew. Because he's the wielder of iron. It acts at his command, and his alone. Any other half-assed attempt would always be pathetic, because he is the iron dragonslayer of Fairy Tail, and if he wished to do a crucifixion properly, he wouldn't stop at metal cuffs.

"Enjoying yourself?" Ivan asked with a cough, blood forming at the corners of his smug mouth from where he hung, rooted to the wall behind him.

Gajeel snorted. "Are you?"

He grinned. "Oh, immensely. Although I must say I was disappointed by your girl," he coughed. "She's not much of a screamer. Must be dull," he grinned, raising a brow in challenge.

Gajeel sneered. From the corners of his eyes he caught the glint of Titania's blades, and the lapping flames of Salamander's fire catching the end of a long trail of red hair. The infuriated scream that erupted had a satisfied smirk tugging on his lips. From beside him, the form of his current master stepped up, arms crossed and an unreadable look on his face as he took in the sight of his son.

Ivan smirked. "Disappointed, old man?"

With a silent command, the nails nudged themselves further into the wall, eliciting a hiss from the man. Gajeel didn't flinch.

Makarov sighed. "More than you will ever know, Ivan."

Ivan snorted. "Don't give me that crap – like you're without blame in this!"

Gajeel snorted, diving the nails even further in. He didn't give much of a fuck about the history or whatever unresolved business Ivan had with his father, but pulling the rest of them into it – pulling her into it – had made it his business. It'd be almost too easy – a nail through the heart. A finishing touch to his grotesque masterpiece.

"Gajeel Redfox."

He didn't bother to turn at the sound of his name, but recognized the voice of the newcomer – Doranbolt, or Mest or whatever the fuck his name was these days. On behalf of the Council, no doubt.

But he was surprised when, after casting a quick glance across the battered members of Raven Tail, the man only jerked his head in direction of Honeybone. "The sun is rising. I'd suggest you retire before someone catches you."

Makarov raised a brow. "And what will you tell them, when they see this?"

Doranbolt didn't flinch. "That I stumbled across them this morning. More than one guild in this city has an issue with Raven Tail. I cannot possibly know who did this."

Makarov nodded, before turning his gaze on Ivan. "Your courting with darkness will be your undoing, Ivan."

Ivan sneered. "I will find it, old man. Lumen Histoire!"

Makarov only turned his gaze away, turning to walk back to the guild. "Gajeel."

And casting one last look at the man before him, arms spread wide and nailed to the wall like a sacrificial figurehead, Gajeel turned to follow.

He'd wanted death – desired it so much it'd driven his mind dark with bloodlust. He'd wanted nothing more than to drive so many damn spikes through the man's body he'd look like a fuckin' hedgehog, but he was the old man's brat, and Gajeel already owed Makarov for hurting his children. The Council could deal with Ivan's ass – he'd had his blood and his revenge.

"He'll come back," he muttered as he brushed past his master. He didn't know how, but people like Ivan never stayed down for long. Makarov nodded.

"I know."

Gajeel snorted as he picked up his pace, catching up with Salamander and Titania as they waited for him, not looking back where the three generations of Dreyar were gathered. Upon his approach, Salamander nodded.

"The old man will deal with him," he said, before falling into step with him.

Gajeel didn't say anything. Because strangely, he couldn't make himself care. Couldn't make himself give a single flying fuck about the sadistic bastard pinned to the wall behind him. Because there was a bed somewhere, and his heart was on it. Black and corroded as it was, he'd handed it up the moment a pair of large brown eyes had looked him straight in the soul and forgiven.

Ivan could rot in hell. Gajeel had better things to do.

When he entered the bar, it was to a eerily solemn guild, but upon their entrance a chorus of chatter and questions broke out amongst the remaining members of Fairy Tail, eagerly wanting to know what had happened – what would happen, with the guild and the Council and Raven Tail and the tournament and–

Gajeel ignored it all, closing his ears to the madness around him and heading straight to the door at the end of the room. He'd leave the details to Salamander and the others. No one would question him anyway – not with things being what they were. He met Lily's eye as he crossed the room, and nodded once, brusquely, knowing his partner would understand. The Exceed nodded back, small arms crossed over his furry chest, before he turned his gaze to the others who had entered behind him. Beneath his heavy footfalls the floorboards were black with dried blood, but he pushed the fact to the darkest recesses of his conscious as he grasped the handle to let himself in, breathing in the quiet solitude of the dark room as the noise from the common room died out behind him.

The old hag rose at his entrance, giving him a sharp look that warned him not to make a mess before she headed towards the door, ushering the kid with her. As Wendy scampered past him, Gajeel placed a hand on her shoulder, gripping it gently but with enough force to make his intentions known.

She blinked at the gesture, then smiled at him, small canines flashing in a fanged grin full of confidence. "She'll be alright," she whispered, then went to follow the hag.

The door closed behind them, leaving him in the silence and semi-darkness of the cramped room, and his eyes drifted over to the bed in the corner and the small form resting upon it. The other two had been moved to the infirmary, not having been in quite the serious condition of their companion. They'd move her later, when her body had had enough time to catch up to the healing spells the kid had been dosing her with, but for now she'd be left as she was.

His feet took him across the small distance that separated them, and then he was standing next to the bed. He was a mess – blood and sweat and dirt caking his torn shirt and trousers, and he would have a shower and change of clothes before the next fight, but right now he just wanted to sit down.

The bed creaked slightly with his weight, but Levy didn't move an inch. Reaching out a hand, he nudged one of hers, bandaged and peeking out from the sheets that covered her. A dark frown pulled his brows down and his hands clenched against the mattress, shaking still from the adrenaline of battle. And taking in the sight of her, he almost felt like going back to give the man an extra few nails for decoration, but he shook the feeling off. He could have stabbed Ivan through the heart as many times as he'd pleased – it wouldn't make her wake up any faster. It wouldn't remove the bruises and the cuts and the healing holes of her tiny hands.

It was something, but it was far from everything. It was far from enough – but he knew that it'd never be. He'd left the bastard alive for Makarov's sake – he was no longer Gajeel's business. His business was the bookworm, and that she recovered. The tournament could go to hell – the fuck was the point of showing off if the one audience he actually gave a damn about wasn't there to see it? But he'd compete for the guild, and for the old man, and for her, even if she wasn't there to see.

She didn't stir. Not an inch. Her eyes were closed, one a little more swollen than the other, and there was a cut in her lip and a bandage across her small nose that made her look a little ridiculous. He wondered briefly if this was how she'd looked after they'd found her all those years ago, pinned to the tree in what now looked almost humane in comparison to what she'd been through. Bandaged from head to toe and lying so still, if it wasn't for the beating of her pulse and the steady but faint sound of her breathing, she might as well have been dead.

But she wasn't. Not yet.

"You're stubborn," he muttered, nudging her hand beneath the sheet, feeling incredibly awkward and way out of his depth, but damn it, he had to say something, didn't he?

He glared, as though that would make her wake up. "You're more stubborn than me sometimes, and that's sayin' something."

She didn't respond, but honestly, he hadn't expected her to. Not yet, at least. Turning his gaze back to the bookworm, Gajeel inhaled sharply. "Don't stop being stubborn," he grumbled. It didn't matter that she couldn't hear him. It was more for his sake, anyway. He just needed to say something – anything – to make up for the suffocating silence in the room. It was almost enough to make him crack a smile – she'd gotten him so damn used to her chattering, he was actually missing it.

Not that he would ever tell her that. He wasn't a complete pansy.

"I'll be headin' to the arena soon," he muttered. "You'd tell me to be careful or some shit like that, but I won't." He snorted. "You'd glower now, if you were awake. Hell, you'll glower when you wake up, 'cause I'll probably be a mess." She didn't move, but that was alright. She was breathing, and for now, that was alright. For tonight, he'd settle with breathing.

Tomorrow, he'd settle with a response. And then she would wake up, because she was a stubborn wench if he'd ever met one. And there was no way he'd let her go into a coma if he was going to be kicking ass in the arena.

Leaning back against the mattress, he allowed his body to rest, a heavy sigh pulling itself from his lungs as he stared up at the ceiling. He had to be ruining the sheets now, and the hag would have his head for that, but he honestly couldn't give a damn. All the fatigue that he'd ignored for the better part of the night was creeping in on him, but he refused to cave, blinking to keep his eyes open. The tournament would start soon, and he needed to be up and ready if his name was called for a fight. Somehow, he had a feeling it would.

He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point, because suddenly there's a paw on his shoulder and he's jerking awake.

Lily regarded him with a knowing smile. "Sorry to wake you, but the competition is starting."

Grumbling under his breath, Gajeel swiped at his eyes, cursing under his breath at the crick in his neck. When he turned to his partner, Lily's gaze was firmly trained on Levy's still form on the bed. "Wendy says she's recovering," he said, his deep voice a quiet rumble in the room. Gajeel nodded, eyes also landing on the bookworm.

"Aa."

"Master says the games will continue like normal. There's rumours going around at Raven Tail's disappearance, but if anyone knows anything, they've not ratted us out."

Gajeel snorted. "Got too many enemies, the idiot." Pissing off an entire alliance of legal guilds was bad business – even for a man as crazy as Ivan Dreyar.

Lily smirked, nodding his head towards a pile of cloth at the foot of the bed. "Juvia brought them over a little while ago – said you might need a change of clothes."

Reaching over to rifle through the fabric, Gajeel snorted as he pulled out a piece of printed cloth. "Unbelievable. The hell does she want this to say?" he asked, dangling the headband in front of his partner. Lily grinned.

"Said something about knights carrying tokens for their ladies in fairy tales," he said with a shrug. "She was really excited about it. I think she hopes Gray will take a hint from it or something."

"Damn weirdo," Gajeel muttered as he took the pile. Lily jumped down from the bed.

"You should get cleaned up – you look like you've been through a bloodbath," he said. Gajeel grumbled.

"Close enough," he muttered, gaze shifting to the bed.

Lily's gaze softened. "The Master's got people watching her during the tournament. Porlyusica wants to have her moved to the infirmary during the break, in case she has to treat injuries there after the first match," he said. "I told her you'd help." Gajeel only nodded, rising to his feet.

Catching the cue to leave, Lily padded away. "I'll meet you in the arena," he threw over his shoulder, before sliding the door shut.

Gajeel watched him go before his gaze shifted back to the bed and the small form that hadn't moved. He wondered what she'd expect him to do. Not some sissy shit – she knew him better than that. But...he felt like doing something.

Looking down at the clothes in his hands, his gaze lingering on the headband peeking out amongst the shirt and trousers, and he snorted. "You're a fucking weirdo, Juvia," he muttered as he fished it back out, turning it over in his hand. A smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes shifted quickly to the bed, before he turned towards the doorway, fingers closing around the fabric as he made his way outside. The common room was almost empty save a few guild-members who greeted him as he passed through, but it hardly registered as he made his way outside and into the sunlight.

Token, huh?

The smirk on his face grew as he made his way towards the arena.

Hell, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

AN: Sorry, Laxus – you got your moment of glory in the manga. We all know you're one bad mother seal, but I couldn't deny Erza a thorough whooping of Kurohebi (it's for the doggish dude). And I apologize for the lack of super-descriptive fight scenes – they're not really my cup of tea, but I tried to make them as natural for my style of writing as I could. And on a completely unrelated note, ALL HAIL THE LOVE!HEADBAND.