Homeward Hours

By CrimsonStarbird

Chapter Four – Waking Dream

For a long time now, to him, the colour of life has been gold.

Spring bedecks the world in a wealth of green, emerald to peridot to jade; summers bring it alive with flowers of rainbow hue; even the fireworks of autumn burst red and orange amongst the trees – and when the cursed black wind invariably awakens, consuming every colour, every spark of life, everything that is beautiful in the world and in himself, somehow, gold endures.

The gold of her hair trailing out behind her as she skips through the twisted forests of his home, the twisted darkness of his heart.

The gold of the sunset filtering through the branches, a blessing of light upon the world that belongs only to the two of them.

The gold that is his curse in that final moment, when he understands at last that the answer was always to love and be loved, with her arms around him and her tears like quicksilver on his cheek.

The golden meadows of another world, a better world, a light which for four hundred years has been out of reach, now right in front of him as they stand hand in hand.

"Let's go together," Mavis whispers, and even her words are gold, the only precious thing he is truly able to call his own, and as she steps towards the light-

Zeref woke with a start.

It would have been wrong to call it a familiar nightmare, for that phrase implied a familiarity with the concept of sleep. In truth, even the act of waking up was strange to him – a snap between being and not-being; a clear demarcation between dream and thought.

No, this nightmare was one which cycled and spun, and offered no escape asleep or awake. A half-life. A waking dream. Ever in the back of his mind.

Mistakes and mistakes and mistakes.

He felt… nothing.

Empty.

Unreal.

And yet he could not remember the last time reality had been so insistent. He could… hear things. A ticking clock, a mechanical hum with some unknown purpose, the call of a pigeon. Lines, colours, sensations. There were shapes gradually resolving in his vision; he must have opened his eyes without realizing, for he was so used to it making little difference that he had taken to not bothering.

Wherever he was, it wasn't where he had been before.

That certainty was only compounded when he tried instinctively to draw away from it all, to curl himself into the ball that had huddled in the corner of a white room for eternity, and found something impeding his movements.

A duvet. He was lying in a bed. Softness below him, faint pressure around him, no shackles at his wrists or ankles, no collar around his neck.

He felt nothing about that, either.

Pain and weakness and a throbbing exhaustion somewhere in his skull, yes; those sensations had been with him for as long as he could remember, and comfortable bed or otherwise, they weren't leaving without a fight.

But emotions?

They were the purview of someone more alive than he.

There was a note on his bedside table.

It read: Zeref, please call me on this lacrima when you wake up. I will explain everything. From, Lucy Heartfilia.

Although he did eventually get up, he did not so much as glance at the lacrima.

It took him several attempts to stand – his body was far from whole – but he had nothing better to do, so he persevered. He didn't know where he was, and whenever he tried to remember, white pain flashed through his mind, so he stopped thinking about it. He was sure, however, that he was supposed to be somewhere quite different.

This place was… quaint. A small bedroom full of muted colours. A range of inoffensive decorations, without common theme. More blankets than anyone needed, all the shades of autumn rolled up and secured with ties, as if someone hadn't known what else to put on top of the chest of drawers.

Curtains were drawn imperfectly across the single window; a crack of gold-tinted light promised sunrise or sunset somewhere beyond. He didn't open them. He had had enough light to last a lifetime.

There was no age here. He knew age. Magic swirled and shifted around him, and it was the magic of the woodlands, confused by the presence of walls and floor and windows. This building hadn't been here much longer than he had.

Beyond the door lay yet more of the quaint building: a small bathroom, a living room in pastels and greys, kitchen surfaces that looked too shiny to have ever been used. An empty fruit bowl. The odd painting to break up the wall, always landscapes, nothing personal.

It did not seem as though anyone had ever lived here.

He knew life, too, much as he might wish he didn't.

There was another note taped to the fridge. This was written in a different hand-style – the impatient, clipped letters of a professional. He skimmed the first few lines, starvation and body can't handle and slowly and protein-rich foods, before losing interest. Inside, someone had arranged the contents into piles, the first labelled Day One, the second Day Two…

He took a chocolate bar from Day Five, ate it, and promptly threw up. He marvelled at it, at his ability to choose; at the raw, dynamic reaction of a body that seemed increasingly reluctant to give up. He spent an immeasurable amount of time lying on the kitchen floor, shaking, thoughts whirling just out of reach and emotions far too close for comfort.

The surrealness of it frightened him.

It seemed almost like a dream, but his mind surely could not have conceived of such a haven. He could barely comprehend that this wasn't agony, wasn't humiliation, wasn't waiting waiting waiting-

Maybe he'd waited long enough.

Maybe he'd done it, his penitence, his suffering, his redemption.

Maybe he was finally free.

Maybe, behind those closed curtains, it was time for the gold of life and death and the next great adventure to take him to where she was.

(The words two months flashed through his mind, bringing with them an inexplicable sense of horror, but interrogating that feeling felt like leaping into a void of madness. He shied away from understanding, let it remain as meaningless blurs on the shores of memory, and the feeling faded back into the quietude.)

He lay there on a floor that was hard without being uncomfortable, in a room that was gently dim and not at all white, enveloped by sounds that murmured to him of four hundred years of solitude rather than a brief infinity of deprivation.

The longer it persisted, the more he found himself starting to believe in this perplexing world. His ordeal was over now. This strange place was where his story began anew.

Let the hazy memories of his first life fade. Walk out into the next. Be, finally, free.

Unsteady on his feet, but determined, he stood and walked towards the door.

And outside was the truth.

And the truth was an artificial clearing in a grumbling forest, trees hastily removed, foliage burned away, grass forced by magic to grow over the baldness in a rushed mockery of nature.

The truth was a holiday home that looked like it had been lifted from some luxury caravan park and set down in said clearing with all the brashness of an entitled tourist, so bold in its abnormality that even that looked natural.

A secluded place to mark the beginning of his freedom.

Except he wasn't free.

Never would be.

The gentle golden light that should have welcomed him into the afterlife belonged to a dome of energy that enclosed the house and part of the clearing, with him trapped inside.

He didn't need to see the symbol on the side to recognize Fairy Tail's ultimate protection magic, Fairy Sphere.

Protecting the world from him.

And, like a match lit in a gunpowder store, memory after memory blasted through the barricades behind which his sanity had been sheltering. The war, the Magic Council, the guards. Hunger. Impotence. Agony. Whiteness. The deprivation of sound and sensation and dignity.

The thought that had got him through it: I have to stay.

Then, suddenly, he was here: a place where he was safe and sheltered and alone, where he could choose what to eat and was in control of his own pain, where he could draw the curtains and close his eyes and sleep…

But it was just another prison, after all. Another place to be cursed and humiliated and horribly alive.

And it was worse, this time.

Because they'd gone and given him hope.

For two and a half months he'd managed to feel nothing at all, and now it hit all at once. The despair. The rage. The devastating loss.

He screamed. The echoes from the golden dome sounded like laughter.

If Lucy had looked around at any point over the last three days, she might have noticed something strange about the guildhall.

It wasn't that anything unusual was happening. Even in her distracted state, would probably have noticed that. Rather, in the guild's main hall, it seemed that everything usual was happening all at once.

Erza eating cake at the counter. Someone starting a brawl in the corner. Mira and the others serving food and drinks non-stop. Gajeel tuning his guitar. Levy pretending to be interested in his awful lyrics while surreptitiously reading her book under the table. Laxus and his team in their usual spot. Cana in a drinking contest with Macao and Wakaba. Nab staring at the Request Board without much enthusiasm.

It was the height of normality, and yet it was only made possible by something very abnormal indeed: with the exception of Gildarts, who had vanished after the Alvarez War, and Natsu, who seemed to be following in his footsteps all too literally and had been on a solo mission for over a week now, every single mage of Fairy Tail was inside the guildhall.

No one was out doing jobs. No one was visiting relatives. No one had taken a day off.

They filled the guildhall with all the normality they could muster, waiting together for the storm to hit.

But Lucy did not look around to see it.

She sat at the centre of the guildhall and stared in silence at the crystal orb on the table in front of her.

"Still nothing?"

Lucy started. Opposite her, Levy offered a smile that was sympathetic but not apologetic, for if she hadn't spoken, it could have been another hour before Lucy noticed her presence.

"Nothing," Lucy answered glumly. "Anything from the Council?"

"Not yet."

Both of them stared at the lacrima for a moment, but the crystal remained dormant, and the future was still thoroughly unknown.

"It's been three days," Lucy groaned. "Why hasn't he called me?"

"Maybe he's still resting," Levy suggested.

Unfortunately, everyone in the guild had tried to reach out to her over the last three days, and Lucy had a response ready for every possible attempt at consolation. "Porlyusica said he would only be out for forty-eight hours maximum. It can't be that."

"But-"

"What if he's more ill than anyone thought? What if his immortality is failing and he's dying and it's all my fault? What if the lacrima rolled off the cabinet and smashed, and now he's stuck in there, alone and confused with no way of communicating with the outside world? Or what if the Fairy Sphere failed and he's already free? What if he's out there in Magnolia right now, massacring the citizens in revenge-?"

"Lucy!" Levy interrupted, in a shout that carried across the murmuring of the guildhall. Attention turned towards them, and then, upon seeing that Lucy was the source again, turned away once more. "Calm down. The Master said your Fairy Sphere was perfect, remember? You'd know if it had failed." She nodded towards the elegant tattoo of light, throbbing painlessly on Lucy's forearm. "And if Zeref doesn't think reaching out and understanding his current predicament is important, well, that's on him, not you."

"I know." Her tone of voice suggested that she really, really wanted to rest her forehead on the table, but that would mean breaking eye-contact with the lacrima, and then she might miss something. "I just… I need to know that my stupid decision hasn't doomed the guild."

"No, what you need is to go home and get some rest."

Lucy gave her a sharp look, which Levy ignored. "Seriously, Lucy, you've not slept for three days, have you? What are you going to do if he finally contacts you and you're too tired to deal with him?"

"I can't sleep, Levy."

"Oh, Lucy." She patted her friend's hand fondly. "When are you going to learn that you mustn't try to take everything on by yourself?"

Before Lucy could deny it, the doors to the guildhall burst open.

Swords leapt into hands, magic flared to life. Half the guildhall was prepared to face an army of Rune Knights, and the other half was ready for a vengeful Black Mage – much to the astonishment of a certain Fire Dragon Slayer, who stopped in the doorway, taken aback by this unusually aggressive welcome.

Natsu's gaze flickered around the guildhall. Despite everything, Lucy found herself raising her head from the dormant communication lacrima, wondering if he'd come over and say hi, if he'd sit beside her like he used to, if he'd start a fight with Gray or wonder why the guildhall was so busy…

But, no. As he had ever since the Alvarez War, he strode right up to Master Makarov at the counter and handed over a job flyer. "Mission complete."

"Good job, Natsu," the Master said, but Natsu did not move away.

"I want to go on an S-Class job this time," he demanded.

"No."

"Why not? You know I'm strong enough! Hell, I beat Acnologia, and even Gildarts was afraid of him!"

"Natsu-"

"The only reason why I'm not officially S-Class is because you've not bothered holding any S-Class Trials since the end of the war!"

"Natsu!" the Master interrupted. "It's a moot point. I'm not approving any jobs at the moment, S-Class or otherwise."

"Why the hell not?"

The Master arched one frightening eyebrow at him. It was enough to get Natsu to look around the guildhall for an explanation, but not, it seemed, to connect the presence of so many friends – if the new distance he'd established between them allowed for the concept of friends – to the Master's declaration.

But all Makarov said was, "Why don't you go and ask Lucy?"

"Because Lucy is sleep-deprived and grouchy and convinced that she's doomed the entire guild," Levy muttered under her breath.

Fortunately, Lucy didn't hear. Her attention was locked on to those onyx eyes, looking her way for the first time since the war had ended. Even the lacrima lay forgotten on the table as he dragged his feet over to her.

He didn't sit down. Not opposite her, flashing that cheeky grin; not next to her, sharing the warmth of his body and stealing her food. He stood, waiting, the distance of a stranger, the face of a truant waiting to be scolded by a teacher he didn't respect.

Lucy tried anyway: "Hey, Natsu. Glad you made it back from your mission safely."

Natsu didn't move. "Why isn't Gramps letting anyone do jobs?"

"Because," she sighed, wishing the Master could have done this for her, "three days ago, we broke Zeref out of prison. No one is allowed out on jobs because we're waiting to see how he – and the Council – are going to react. As things currently stand, the former is ignoring me, and the latter is being weirdly quiet. They're probably both planning their revenge."

All the colour drained from Natsu's face. "You did what?"

"Broke Zeref out of prison. He's currently – or so we hope – hidden in a safe location in the forest outside Magnolia."

Natsu's flaming fist smashed down onto the table. "Why?" he shrieked. "Why'd you set him free?"

"He's not free, Natsu," Levy interjected, alarmed. "He's sealed inside a modified version of Fairy Sphere that not even the death magic of his curse can penetrate. It's completely safe."

"It was safe where he was!" Natsu roared. "He couldn't hurt anyone there! Why would you risk that?"

"Because they were treating him appallingly!" Lucy shouted back suddenly. "Like he wasn't even human!"

"Yeah, well, maybe he deserved it!"

"No one here thinks he deserved it, Natsu. Every one of us agreed that getting him out was the right thing to do."

"Well, you didn't ask me, did you?"

Silence settled over the guildhall as their colleagues stopped even pretending not to stare.

Slowly, Lucy got to her feet. Natsu was the one who had beaten Zeref and Acnologia and ended the Alvarez War, but she was the one whose response they were waiting to hear.

"We tried to ask you," she spat. "Gajeel and Wendy spent half a day at the address on your last job request, trying to pick up your scent trail, all so that we could ask for your opinion and your aid. But as usual, you were nowhere to be found."

"I was-"

"We have been trying to reach you for the last two and a half months, Natsu. You're the one who pushed us away without telling us why. You have no right to suddenly be upset that we did something without consulting you!"

"You don't understand, Lucy." His hands gripped her shoulders. Once, they had been comforting; now, they were far too warm. "You weren't there. You didn't see how close he came to taking away everything I care about!"

Never before had Lucy heard him sound so desperate. There was horror in his eyes – the same horror she'd seen as pitch-black eyes had widened in a room full of white.

And it was anger that flared through her: that the desperation of one should be expected to justify the desperation of the other.

"And what do you care about, Natsu Dragneel?" she snapped. "Becoming S-Class? Proving you're the strongest? Earning more reward money than anyone else?"

In that moment, he seemed almost perplexed. "Course not. I care about you and the guild-"

"By pushing us away? By not having a proper conversation with us since the end of the war, not even to check that we're alright? By acting as though we're not good enough to take jobs with you any more?"

"You don't understand-"

"Natsu, we know you went through a lot during the Alvarez War! You're the one who refuses to talk about what happened to you, and that's fine, but you can't then turn around and accuse us of not understanding when you won't even give us a chance! We have tried so hard to be here for you, but you're not letting us!"

He tugged his scarf up around his neck. "I've gotta become stronger. For all of you. Even more so, now that you've let him out."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Lucy told him. "You of all people should know that you don't become stronger by rejecting your teammates. How many times have you yelled that at our enemies, right before beating them with our help?"

He glanced away. His bared canines were the only things that spoke.

"And you know what, Natsu? If not for that, you'd have been the first person I told about my stupid idea. You could have nipped it in the bud. But now? You're just going to have to live with it. Go off on your next great solo mission, Natsu. We'll face the Council without you."

"Fine."

Natsu turned on his heel and marched out of the guildhall.

The sound of the doors slamming shut behind him snapped the tension. Immediately, everyone in the guildhall pretended they'd been too busy doing other things to have noticed the confrontation.

Lucy sat down suddenly. Levy was regarding her with the kind of wary expression Lucy herself usually held around Erza, and it made her sigh. "I shouldn't have said any of that, should I?"

"Probably not," Levy agreed amicably. "On the plus side, at least you lost it with a comrade and not any of the factions who want to murder you in your sleep."

Lucy's forehead finally hit the table. "Okay, you're right, I need to get some rest before I make things even worse. Wake me up if anything changes with the lacrima."

She was already staggering in the direction of the doors when Levy called her back. "Lucy? I don't know what's going on with Natsu either, but I think he needed to hear that – and I think you needed to be the one to say it. His friends have always been precious to him. He'll be back soon enough."

"I hope so," Lucy muttered, because having doomed the guild to disbandment or obliteration was enough to keep her up at night without the guilt of having pushed Natsu further away sinking into her stomach.

Oh, but he hated them.

For so long he'd buried it deep within, the hate and the spite and the vengefulness, not despising those who imprisoned and abused him, not caring for the nothingness of his own life, a tide of darkness held back from the world by the dam of his own apathy.

No longer.

He was awake, now. He was alive. Every breath felt a little more real in his lungs as his body slowly repaired the damage suffered in captivity.

His enemies, who thought they had defeated him – how arrogant they were in their victory! How naïve, to think that he was so easily broken, that he could be captured, held, tamed.

They were fools to think Fairy Sphere would hold him. This time, he would not leave a single one of them alive.

The barrier of light hummed gently where his forehead rested against it.

Somewhere on the other side, where his curse could not reach, the birds were serenading the setting of the sun. Wind rustled gently through his hair. His bare toes curled in the grass.

Well.

Vengeance could wait until tomorrow.