The World Is Ugly Chapter 67, a fairy tail fanfic

Chapter 67:

It was the kind of dream you became aware of and were very unsure as to when exactly it started. It wasn't a subtle ease on the consciousness where one awoke with the whispers of a memory on their mind. It was the type that was just suddenly there and made the rest of the world cease to exist. It was the vivid kind, the lucid kind, the kind you remembered days afterward and could wonder the meaning of – except that Gajeel didn't wonder at what the dream could possibly mean because it was garishly obvious. Because in the dream, he was in his garage and he was absolutely naked. His skin was slightly chilled and his bass was to his side. His body felt alive. The reverent trill of a note still hung timorously in the air, vibrating each follicle in his skin as if a hum could be a living thing and was swathing him as gently as a silk sheet. It was delicate and thoughtful, burrowing into his every pore as he stared up into the most glorious pair of eyes Earthland had ever had the pleasure of being graced with.

Oh, the dream was light, and brilliant, and looking the way a romance novel reads. Like a pining mistress he didn't want it to end, wanted to bask in the glow of the god of a man that came to bless him while he slept. Perfect and strong hands held him, tilted his chin back, and Gajeel shivered at words that he felt more than actually heard.

"I missed you…"

"Same…"

Why did he sound so normal? Plain? Rugged? But Laxus didn't seem to mind, didn't seem to ever mind, just curled a strand of ebony hair between his fingers seemingly like he treasured it and Gajeel felt his scalp prickle, the ebb of it ending at the back of his neck. And then Laxus's hand was there, digging into the shorter strands of his hair and pulling so he'd tip his head back farther. Breaths landed heavily at his neck as if they'd already been intertwined and Gajeel had turned up late to his own fantasy.

"I love you," Gajeel whispered at the feeling of lips pressing against his flesh, searing heat to his calm cool. A tongue branded him and a pale knee slid between tan thighs. Gajeel grinded against it and the feeling sloped dramatically down his spine. He barely strangled a moan to an eager whine.

Something inside of him stirred.

He rolled his hips again and this time it was hungrier, more desperate, and it looked like a cloud had rolled above the sunlight streaming down overhead. The room was cast in faint shadow. The hollow of Laxus's collarbone was stark and deep and he longed to lean forward and kiss his chest, run teeth against his tattoo, but the hand stayed him, kept him, held him. It wasn't enough. He wanted more.

It wound in the southernmost pit of his stomach, coiled like a snake slipping around itself. It was waking up.

"Laxus…!" he gasped and in his mind's eye he tried to grasp him, to pull him closer, but his hands didn't move. The blonde's lips continued down his throat in a slowness that made him lightheaded and weak. He keened, starving for more than just gentle kisses. He put his body into the roll of his hips this time, craving friction and movement. He was tired of the dispassionate, of the kind, he needed something more.

His heart was beating faster, forcing warmed blood through his veins. Warm. Warmer.

"I want to make love to you…" Laxus's breath trickled down his chest and disappeared at his stomach. A wide, easy hand brushed his cheekbones. It was so sweet, so dear… and Gajeel was starting to see red. He was rolling his hips harder in his want and Laxus was touching him like he was glass. But he wasn't glass. He was iron; cold, tempered, and inflexible. He didn't need to be caressed. He needed to be handled.To have his fire stoked, to be made white hot and brazed with steel.

Hot. His blood was Hot.It danced up his spine as he rutted into the mattress. He was chasing the dream, driven by pent up lust to just let go and indulge. There was a reason he shouldn't but he couldn't think about it right now. He dared to feel. He dared to consumed… goddamn him… heneededthis…

"Laxus… please…" was he begging or was he sighing? Did Laxus understand what he was saying? He was frantic and deprived. He hadn't been touched in so long, hadn't been demanded in longer. He wanted the rough, the mean, the shameless. He craved those gentle hands to pull his hair and nails to dig into his skin. He wanted it to feel like he might hurt, like it might tear him apart, because he was tearing himself apart already. The vision of Laxus forcing him down and forging into him made some licentious noise drift from his lips.

Give it to me. Give it to me. Please. Please.

Teeth dug into his neck and his breath caught as the pain surmounted the pleasure. Gajeel clenched his jaw as ice, so cold it burned, seeped into his throat. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

"Redfox!"

That voice… that voice was… was…

Gajeel was suddenly shoving himself from his bed and for the life of him he had no idea how he'd slept past the attendance call. He was scrambling up when the collar pierced his neck and he staggered, catching himself against the wall as he cried out, still disoriented from his dream and the sudden wake. Lieutenant Serrill was at his cell door with clipboard in hand when the light of his collar flashed, indicating he was being punished, although there was no feel of magic in the air. Gajeel knew he was in the middle of writing up a citation when the Lieutenant stopped and stared, a look of disdain and a demand for an explanation on his face. Gajeel wheezed out a disgraceful noise of relief when the collar finally stopped, and he straightened, digging rough fingertips into his throat in an effort to quell his labored breathing.

"Mornin' Serrill."

"Redfox," he regarded him sternly for a moment before his eyes flashed down to the clipboard and he crossed something off. Maybe he'd decided that Gajeel had already had a rough morning, or maybe he just didn't want to deal with the paperwork, but instead of handing him a citation the Lieutenant just gave him a sharp, "Don't let it happen again," as he turned and continued down the cellblock.

"Yes, sir," he huffed and sank back against the wall.

Shit.

ShitShitShitShitShitShit!

Gajeel gripped at his collar, pulled at it dumbly as the most reprehensible noise of distress twisted in the pit of his throat, stifled before it could make it to his lips. He could feel how hot his blood was, almost feverish as it surged inside him. He wrapped his arms around himself. His calloused hands felt soft, sinfullysoft, and he bit the inside of his cheek until there was copper in his mouth. It was happening. It was finally happening.

"Fuck!" he hissed, spittle hitting his chin as he clenched his teeth.

The collar had suppressed it and it was late, but it was there. It was awake. Oh Gods, he was going to go into heat! It would be slower, with the collar pumping anti-magic substances through his body it had kept the instinct smothered, but like the embers of immortal hellfire it would sear its way into existence; the torture of an unhurried conflagration, the likes of which melts the flesh of witches far before the pyre allows them death's gentle touch.

He let himself slip backwards, dropping against the cruel cold of the concrete hard enough that his bones knocked together, a bundle of match heads being struck against the rough. His nails bit into his biceps. A swell of aggression took him over, surged up his chest and pulsed red light through his veins. He seethed a deep growl up through his lungs and the noise made the edges of his body blur as it ping-ponged against each of his ribs. He couldn't catch a break, could he? It was just one thing after another after another. He wanted to curse and scream andbreak something. Each frantic beat of his heart made the blush drive harder beneath his skin. The world was slipping from beneath his feet, aiming him for a cliff while he fought his way up slicked ground with nothing to hold on to. He was spiraling, falling, and willing himself to break, to be done, to give up.

What was he going to do now?

"Yo, Redfox."

Gajeel snapped his eyes to his cell door where Kellen stood. When their eyes met, the man seemed a little shocked and then cautious. His gaze darted down the cellblock, his head tipping back slightly in an obvious look around. Gajeel could hear the sounds of men raising from their beds and grumbling through the halls as they picked their way to the mess hall for breakfast. His heart began to beat harder as in dismay he realized he'd just lost time and he had no idea how much of it. Kellen took an easy step into his cell and crossed his arms.

"The hell're ya starin' at?" Gajeel snarled at him with vipers between his teeth, finally beginning the arduous task of pulling himself together, arranging the madness, stilling the squirms. Kellen narrowed his eyes.

"You got The Shakes?"

The Shakes, that was what they'd nicknamed the withdrawals new inmates went through after they first arrived. After getting acclimated to the collars, the body sometimes would reject the antimagic and force the body back into the original shock. Only stronger mages went through it; men with regeneration that would outpace the device until they'd go to sleep at night and their natural processes were sluggish. It wasn't uncommon for guys to just not wake up the next morning, or wake up shaking. It took a moment of silent blinks before Gajeel realized that he was collapsed against the wall, feverish and tremoring slightly from his mute panic, looking every bit as if he'd woken up afflicted.

"Need to go to the infirmary?" Kellen tried again for a response, his body language showing he was ready to take action if Gajeel didn't answer.

"I'm fine," Gajeel grunted, feeling the collar made him no more a prisoner than his own body. The focus it took to move heavy and dreary limbs to dress, to focus on not moving strangely, exaggeratedly, mechanically, under the scrutiny of a man trained to watch body language the same way an engineer reads blueprints, nearly put him under. He slid on his jumpsuit and let out a dampened sigh, raised coarse fabric up his legs to sag about his hips. He plucked at his shirt, not willing to extricate it and reveal nude skin. He felt just a touch too warm, simmering like a kettle on a slowly heating burner, and his mind was starting to space. Feet into socks, socks into boots, laces tucked instead of tied in his absentmindedness…

He'd nearly forgotten Kellen was there, and clearly the man slouched as a group of twisted coat hangers against his cell door studying him, dark eyes searching too closely into the chinks in infallible armor. Gajeel clicked his teeth. Fuck off, in not so many words. He flowed out of Gajeel's way, a shadow behind his steps, curious and vigilant. It made Gajeel's skin prickle even more. The paranoia ate at him. He knows. He knows you're different. He knows you're wrong. He knows your weakness.

He wasn't paying attention.

It was still early and there weren't a lot of inmates about in the cellblocks. The roaches had all skittered to get food and they were alone wandering damp halls filled with green fluorescent light. He didn't watch how he was walking, how he had strayed too close to a small janitor's closet that would shortly be put to use. He was suddenly a swarm of paper wasps with a broken nest, dragged with a self-silenced scream into the dark room and a heavy metal door slammed shut. His shoulders slated against shelves and the red in his veins teemed up his throat and outraged his eyes. He bared his teeth at dark eyes that saw too well.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded in a hushed whisper and Gajeel would have spat the phrase right back at him except his entire everythingwas rebelling against his skin, fuzzy-ing his lines like radio wavelengths when someone screams into a microphone. His jaw was rigid and rough as alligator skin. His mouth snapped shut without the strength to open back up again, so he hissed through his teeth like he was scared they might slice off his tongue if he let the smallest gap appear.

"Let. Go. Of. Me."

Kellen drove the question into him again, "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me!" his voice was trembling. His heart was in his throat.

"Liar."

"Just leave me alone!" his voice was in his body, or maybe it was the other way around, either way his stomach clenched as he shivered deeper into the shelves. He needed to get away. He or Kellen, it didn't matter.

"Go out there like that and you'll wishI hadn'tleft you alone."

Kellen startled them both silent.

I'm worried about you.

He wasn't supposed to say it out loud because you didn't say things out loudhere. Men didn't speakhere, not with their mouths, anyway. They did it with actions, reactions, violence and subterfuge. They bit and barked and banged like too many dogs trapped in small cages. They didn't talk to each other, they didn't make friends with each other, and they certainlydidn't help each other.

For a moment, the buzzing of hornets stopped.

"I'm fine," Gajeel lied.

"You're not," he didn't step closer, he didn't try to intimidate. He just was. "You're not allowed to break down."

That phrase buckled him. His sight was bloody again, his knuckles white, "Fuck off."

Why not? Why was he the one that had to be strong? Why couldn't he break? He had every reason to, didn't he?

"They look up to you," Kellen said plainly. The Phantom Risers. The Southern Wolves.

"D'ye think I care? I got fuckin' bigger things ta worry about than yer lot lookin' fer someone to pretendta be a leader!"

"Tell me you didn't feel it yesterday in the courtyard."

Gajeel's train-wreck-of-thought slammed against the inside of his skull. In the haze of smoke left over, at first he thought Kellen meant something about himself, about a connection or something equally as insane. But he knew better and had set fire to the idea before it could do much more than blindside him. The next alternative was… well, it. The feeling in the courtyard. The unspoken. The barely bridled. The fight.

"Have you looked around lately, Redfox? Something is coming."

"Prison riots happen," he spat, planting feet on solid ground, "They end, too. Ain't got nothin' ta do with me."

"You sure about that?"

Zahir. "I'm going to call on you. Make the right choice."

The red was back and this time he couldn't stop it, although he did take far too much pleasure out of Kellen recoiling, unable to stop the impulse to protect himself. Gajeel wrenched a shelf off the wall and mangled the metal, didn't stop until it was as rent and jumbled as a wad of W's and V's between his hands. It was aluminum, as easy to bend as he was, and he threw his own rendition of a yarn ball at the corner so the noise echoed off of everything and himself. For a moment, his eyes rolled into his head at that release.

More. He felt rage flush through his body. Destroy more.

A red haze sizzled through his synapses. A frigid crimson fog enveloped his body and mind and his hands took to whatever they could find. He was blinded by it, muted by it, and only felt and heard his way through the tiny room. Something was being twisted and snapped when once again hands were dragging him down and throwing him back. It was hard to breathe, hard to breathe, and he didn't know why. Cold. Cold. Cold.

Gajeel's breathing sounded more like growls when he finally felt the pain from his collar shocking him in quick succession. Flash. Breathe.Flash. Breathe. Flash. Kellen had him forced against the door, his full weight into holding him down, and his dark eyes were wide in alarm. Gajeel was looking past him to the snapped brooms and mops, the deep scratches in the walls, the bent and twisted metal shelves, and suddenly realized why Kellen was gawking. He blinked down at his arms, alighting on glittering iron scales.

The collar was still punishing him.

"Redfox, stop," he sounded breathless, pleading, "You're gonna kill yourself, stop."

Kill yourself. At least then he'd escape.

Kellen shook him, "Kurogane."

He took a ragged breath, he held it, he let it out. He felt like a deep river after the flood, not calm but calmer, and tired, and filled to the brim with sediment and broken limbs and trouble. On the surface, one could look and believe things were better, were returning back to how they should be, but beneath the whirlpool still razed tumultuous and deadly waters. Somewhere the wraiths of strong swimmers waited with black lips and blue skin, anticipating dragging him under as soon as he waded too far back in. But at least the collar had stopped shocking him, was no longer pumping him with the frigid antimagic. He was heavy.

"Better?" the words were quiet in a way Gajeel didn't like.

"No," he answered honestly.

Kellen pressed again, this time lacking of the stinger that had pierced Gajeel's skin before, "What's wrong with you?"

Gajeel shook his head without looking at him. He stopped itching at the collar – he was suddenly aware he had been itching it in the first place – and chose instead to ruin his scalp with his fingers for a brief moment. He was set to boil again but the burner was on low. He was hot but not simmering. He could function. He could pull himself together.

"What will help you?"

Gajeel stiffened at that and chanced a critical stare at Kellen, expecting some hint of malevolence but instead looking into an honest, if somewhat distracted, face. His arms were crossed again, all sharp edges and stocky muscle against the doorframe. Gajeel let out a tense breath and only dared himself to trust the man to the bare minimum.

"To be alone."

Kellen glanced to the side, and the simplest, stupidest words flitted from his mouth like cavalier butterflies, "Hit a guard, then."

Solitary.

Solitary.

Why didn't he think of that?!

All of the buzzing in his veins suddenly cooled and he nearly staggered, his eyes widening as he considered the idea. Kellen looked a little startled and something of a smile twisted across his face.

"You seriously didn't think of that?"

Gajeel let out a wavering breath, "Fucking hell… I'm so stupid."

The other man popped his neck, feigning nonchalance, and Gajeel eyed him warily, "I ain't gonna pretend to know what the hell is going on…"

"Best ye don't," Gajeel snapped at him, but not rudely. He sighed, touched the veins that he knew would be bruised from what the collar had done to him. He'd be sluggish the rest of the day. It was a handicap he didn't need. Kellen sensed his thoughts, the ever-vigilant watchman, and he paused a moment with his hand on the door.

"I'll watch your back," he muttered, refusing to look at him as he did so. He carefully turned the nob and slipped out. Gajeel followed, thoughtful, silent as death and nearly as still. No one was around to see them enter the hallway together and finally make the trek through the prison to where they were designated to be. When they passed the guards, they were simply ignored. Gajeel at first thought it odd since usually they were quick to remind a prisoner just how far their authority extended, but whatever thoughts he had on the matter were quickly dashed.

Gajeel sensed it before they entered the mess hall, a teeming of something vile and stifling in the air. It was the way cicadas sound in the middle of sweltering August, frenetic and wild. The nervous pitch reverberated on an impossible frequency; silent but innately understood by all. Stepping into the den of men gathered together in a satire of ordinary daily routine, Gajeel felt like a sheriff walking into a saloon of outlaws… Everyone's hand was on their hip, ready to draw a weapon, eyes blazing to each and every face, unwilling to fire the first shot but knowing well hesitation could mean death. It was No Man's Land between the trenches and they hadn't been spotted yet by the sniper. Gajeel's impulse was to lay low, to slink about as close to the shadows as he could get in this heath that was devoid of hiding places, but he didn't. He rolled his shoulders, straightened himself out, and kept his eyes forward and guarded. He was forcing his senses to uncoil, picked them piece by piece out of him like shards of glass. He tried to be Kurogane, to be vigilant and ready for the brawl. His act lacked only a little of its usual potency.

A body pushed through the waves of agitation that had turned the air into a tumultuous sea, settling at his side. He didn't have to glance back to know it was Ezal. The kid was loud and borderline clumsy, or maybe he was purposefully ignorant of how much of a lout he was; of course, that didn't stop him from seeking and finding shelter amongst stronger men. Gajeel noticed that he closed on Kellen's heels as if unconsciously he could sense Gajeel's plight and gravitated naturally to the one of them that was more sound of mind… but then, Gajeel doubted the kid could be so perceptive.

The three moved in a herd along with others headed to the scrapyard. The swelter of so many bodies in the oppressive cement halls was unbearable. Everyone felt like an enemy, bumping and smothering the men around them as they moved contiguously for the exit, for fresh air, like so many rabbits trying to dig their way out of the stifling earth. Gajeel recognized faces and groups of men, Wolves and Phantoms sticking close to the familiar, ready for something, something, although they didn't know what.

Outside was a blessed reprieve.

"This way, kid," Gajeel grunted and Ezal tromped along after him, crunching the ground loudly beneath his boots. The kid had never been taught to walk quietly or be furtive. He didn't understand why the two older men were suddenly tense and wary being so close to something so loud. Gajeel had thought it was a good thing because it meant the kid wasn't like him. He hadn't ruined his life yet. He had far too much growing to do and that growing could be in any direction he chose. Right now, though, he wished the teen had some subtlety about him even if it did them no real good. The only threat right now, after all, was in the waiting.

He worked with the same numb disinterest as ever, hands caressing metals and throwing them into piles to be melted and reused. It was always things that weren't of much use: pieces of wire that had been stripped, bottle caps and empty cans, bent and dulled silverware, buckets, scraps of siding or the inner workings of machines. He happened across a sheet of iron and set it aside while he munched on a couple of bolts he'd picked up through the wreckage. He had decided on hiding it somewhere near the smelter to break pieces off of and eat for the next few months but for some reason, his attention kept gravitating towards it. He was hefting some sheathing into his arms, his nose telling him immediately that it was lead, when the idea of a lead pipe, the sort that you see in old mafia movies, flashed into his mind. His eyes lulled to the iron siding and a thought took root and bloomed.

He felt a steely gaze on him at his sudden quiet. He met Kellen's stare. The man followed Gajeel's casual glance and raised a brow at him. Gajeel shrugged and Ezal took notice, flashing back and forth at the two as they spoke silently. In an action that was not at all subtle, Kellen ripped the edge of his glove and then shed them. He tossed them at Ezal.

"Good ol' Ember Island, never buyin' anything of good quality."

"Ya think they're gonna waste their money on us?" Gajeel replied coolly as Kellen shrugged as if exasperated.

"Be a good lad and get me some more."

Ezal started and narrowed his eyes at the two, "What do I tell the guard?"

Kellen rolled his eyes and Gajeel scoffed, "Yer dense as hell, kid. Go."

Begrudgingly, he did as he was told, stomping through the yard as he went and muttering beneath his breath. Kellen stepped up next to Gajeel, rolled a massive iron drum up and leaned on it, feigning being tired and patiently awaiting Ezal's return. Gajeel took to the iron siding, feeling the frigid cold of his collar flash as he worked to quickly bend it in half and smooth it flat. He could mold it later, but now he needed to make it transportable. He slipped it beneath his pant leg and forced it flush against his skin, casting it to his muscle. When he stood again, Kellen gave him a shrewd onceover before turning as Ezal approached, throwing the new pair of gloves at him as if they were something offensive. He crossed his arms.

"Mind tellin' me what that was for?" he snapped.

"Don' know what you're talkin' 'bout, kid," Kellen smirked knowingly and Ezal turned his eyes to Gajeel who merely shrugged.

"Sharp edges, shitty gloves."

Ezal steamed but could tell the two were determined to remain tight-lipped. They worked in silence until the bell rang that the shift was over, the next set of guys were coming in. A feeling of dread settled about the entire group as they worked their way to the metal doors that would lock them back in the prison. What had disappeared like smoke in the night now clung to them as they all pressed in on each other, entombed and suffocating now that walls held them in. Even the guards felt it and any nervousness at being caught was immediately abated. He stepped through the detector, the alarm went off, but the guard nodded him through with a look that said don't make me regret my decision. Gajeel almost felt bad. Kellen and Ezal both stuck close to him, one silent and the other not, a strange right and left hand.

"What's your plan?" Kellen asked quietly as they stepped through the grey corridors. Gajeel glanced at him impassively.

"Let ya know when I have one."

"What plan?" Ezal whispered in a way that was not at all cautious and both men shot him a silencing look.

"Ya don't know how ta be discrete, do ya, kid?" Gajeel snarled. Ezal glanced to the side, scratching at his scar. The eerily familiar show of vulnerability made Gajeel pause. His heart beat harder, making his blood feel warm again. Something tight settled in his throat, "T's fine. When it's important, we'll tell ya."

Kellen studied his face and Gajeel hated it, but the man could tell it was time to separate. He nudged Ezal and nodded towards the mess, muttering something about getting the kid to meet his Southern Wolves buddies, and Ezal shot Gajeel a questioning look when he wasn't invited. Nothing was said because Kellen had grabbed the kid by the arm and was directing him elsewhere. As soon as Gajeel turned in the direction of his cell, he set his mind to work.

Molding iron, especially iron that wasn't of himself, was easy. It didn't even really require magic unless he was doing something complex like smoothing or detailing. Intricate work required concentration, like when he'd weave long, delicate iron chains to keep his mind focused, and magic would spark from his fingers as he worked because activating his magic made the action easier, the material more pliant. But he didn't have to. It was similar to how Natsu could walk through flame without getting a single burn or on a dare stick his hand into the bowels of a campfire just to prove he could shape it into any figure he so chose. At some level, Gajeel's body was iron and so he could move it as he chose. What took magic was how much effort he was putting into it.

The trick about this was going to be less molding a piece of iron into a weapon, however crude, and more about being discrete. There were recording lacrimas everywhere, pointing into each cell. There was a blind spot, yes, though the fact that it was in direct line of sight from the door usually acted as a natural deterrent for anyone willing to exploit it. He couldn't use it for very long without guards being sent to check out what he was doing, but it was there in the back portion of his cell near the corner conveniently where a small desk sat – one of his few luxuries. He took a deep breath as he entered his cell and cast his eyes about the space. How could he make this work without being disturbed?

His eyes dropped to a few books sitting on desk. He'd read Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and a few collections of old myths in his stay at the prison. To Gajeel they were just stories, but Laxus would talk to him in depth about the symbolism behind Dracula coming to Lucy in the night and the dualities of man and how one book can shape gothic culture for centuries afterward. The blonde was unbelievably astute when he wanted to be and it was no small mystery to Gajeel as to why he acted as if he wasn't. He just preferredhis silent, apathetic façade, he supposed, or maybe it was just a part of his raising that he'd decided to reject in order to shape an image apart from Makarov and Ivan. Gajeel really wasn't sure. Whatever the reason, it didn't stop Laxus from joking that out of every convict in Fiore, Gajeel must be among the few who decided to get cultured while in prison. Maybe someday Gajeel would tell him the only reason he'd even decided to read the classics was because Laxus had this infectious energy about him whenever he could explain things Gajeel hadn't noticed before. The blonde really had no idea how much light he brought into Gajeel's life, always the unwavering sun to his fickle moon…

All warm skin and yellow hair… and a regal stance… and gilded eyes…

Gajeel blinked. Focus.

The desk was bolted to the wall and the floor, so there wasn't much he could do about that. The light aluminum chair, though, he slid so its back was to the wall and consequently facing the door of his cell. His movement was casual but the action methodical when he centered the chair so that half of his body wasn't in the blind spot. If watchful eyes were to fall on his cell, they probably wouldn't send anyone as long as they knew he was there and wasn't suspicious. He figured, too, duties would be enforced more than a little laxly since the Major wasn't on site.

He shivered and stomped his foot, jarring the piece of iron free as he sat in the chair, legs spread in a wide lounge. He picked up one of the books that had been left for him, Narcissus and Goldmund, the latest one Laxus had recommended. If the confused up-and-down glance of the inmate assigned to be the librarian for the day was any indication, this would be hard for him to get through. But for now, this was more for show than anything, as he held the book in one hand at his lap facing the recorder whilst his other travelled down his pant leg. He slouched so prying eyes glancing into his cell would strictly see the side facing them and nothing more. No one tended to want to look at him long enough to gain his attention. They were all big cats that way, as if something so simple should warrant violence. It was protecting him now, though, as he idly flipped through pages every few minutes so as not to stare at a page for too long as he worked.

His other hand bunched around the bit of metal and crumpled it beneath his fingers, an action Gajeel knew shouldn't have taken as much effort as it did. He rolled it, shimmying the piece up his leg as he slowly turned it into a baton. He flipped through pages and eyed the door.

"And was it not perhaps more childlike and human to lead a Goldmun-life, more courageous, more noble perhaps in the end to abandon oneself to the cruel stream of reality, to chaos, to commit sins and accept their bitter consequences rather than live a clean life with washed hands outside the world, laying out a lonely harmonious thought-garden, strolling sinlessly among one's sheltered flower beds…"

He was thinking to himself that maybe the main character was a tad too free-spirited and that there was probably a point somewhere in here he was missing that Laxus would explain to him in vivid detail, when the sudden shock of the lateness of the day really set in. He glanced up, blinking through the haze of his tunnel vision and looking pointedly at the empty hall, focused on the lack of noise. He'd been working longer than he'd realized, a few hours probably. It had to be time for dinner, a thought confirmed by the demand in his stomach. He remembered he'd missed breakfast, worked through lunch, and was now about to miss dinner. He clicked his teeth.

It was late.

And he hadn't heard anything from Laxus.

He straightened for the first time and his body ached with the feeling of limbs waking up. He righted himself, shifting so the mostly-done baton slid back down his pant leg and hit the floor with a resonant clang. He clenched his teeth as the sound seemed to bounce all around him and he cursed under his breath. Thankfully, no one had seemed to be around to hear it and hiding it could wait because disquiet was beginning to turn Gajeel's stomach. He fumbled the receiver out of his pocket and with a light squeeze from his hand it was activated, lighting up as it began to ring…

And ring…

It deactivated and Gajeel's jaw and throat became rigid.

He tried again.

One moment passed. Another.

Still there was no answer.

He growled and snapped the book back open, telling himself that Laxus was just tied up with something. It happened, more often than not, that he or Laxus would reach out to one another and they were otherwise predisposed. There was once, even, when Gajeel was reading about Icarus flying towards the sun, that he'd completely missed Laxus calling him three times. Laxus was a strong wizard and he was in no real danger… skulking around Bianca's lair… with Major Bishop… over two hours' hike from the nearest town…

Laxus was fine. To assume anything else would just be to get himself worked up over nothing. He glared down at the page in front of him and picked out his place once again, forcing his attention to the words:

"Perhaps it was harder, braver and nobler to wander through forests and along the highways with torn shoes, to suffer sun and rain, hunger and need, to play with the joys of the senses and pay for them hunger and need, to play with the joys of the…"

Shit… that didn't make sense. It took him a moment of rereading the line, and rereading it, and rereading it, before he realized he kept just reading that same line over and over. He clicked his teeth, angrier and even more nervous. He glanced at the receiver again, lifted it, felt how truly heavy it was in his hand. How much did it weigh? Surely not a pound. But it felt heavy, heavier now that he was thinking about it…

He tried calling again.

Again it rang until the receiver quit. He let a breath wheeze through his teeth and snapped the book open again, tapping his foot. It was hard to swallow.

"At any rate, Goldmund had shown him that a man destined for high things can dip into the lowest depths of the bloody, drunken chaos of life, and soil himself with much dust and blood, without becoming small and common, without killing the divine spark within himself, that he and common, without killing the divine… killing the divine… killing…"

His breath shuddered to a stop. He closed the book.

"He's fine…" Gajeel spoke it aloud as if it were a spell, as if saying otherwise would somehow bring harm to his love, as if he were terrified down to the pit of his core, "He's fine…"

With his rise in heart rate came the rise of warm blood. He felt his lines fraying again, so many strings on unprocessed fabric, never seamed and left to unravel. And he was unravelling so quickly. With each agitation, more and more threads were pulled apart and soon he'd start losing himself entirely if this didn't let up. He pressed his ring to his lips and whispered a curse against it before shooting another accusatory glare at the receiver.

"Last time… last time and that bastard better not fucking call me in the middle of the night-" he was activating it and it was ringing; his blood was beginning to boil, "-or I swear to Mavis and whatever fucking else Laxus just pick up the goddamn-!"

"Hey…- yeah. Shit!" Laxus's voice sounded like it was echoing and Gajeel collapsed back into his chair like the steeple of a church that had just been burned from the inside, falling a hundred feet in on himself, "Sorry, sorry, hold on!"

"Laxus?" he asked tentatively and suddenly Laxus's face appeared. He let out a tight breath, "What the hell…?"

It was dark and his face was only lit up by the light coming from Gajeel's image. The florescent lights were good for something, it seemed. A beam of light was flickering in and out of frame behind him and Gajeel caught the distinct color of yellow eyes. He found he couldn't suppress his snarl.

"A pleasure as always, Mr. Redfox," the Major's voice was clipped, though, and held something that gave Gajeel pause.

He centered his gaze on Laxus, noticing now that his pupils were dilated and he looked pale, shaken, and the phrase 'as if he'd seen a ghost' came to mind. Slowly, the rise of his trepidation began to sink into something darker. For reasons that he wasn't willing to admit out loud, he suddenly felt sick.

"You alright?" he asked it outright, not feeling a need to dance around the subject. Laxus looked absolutely wrecked, like at any minute he could lose his cool. His eyes were dark in a way Gajeel hadn't seen since the day he'd held Gajeel as he'd cried after they'd been rescued. There was a slight sheen of sweat on him and his hair was sticking up in places. His lips trembled slightly and his eyes darted to the side, his jaw clenched as he refused to speak for a moment. Gajeel's stomach pitched as he mustered up as much of his bravado as he could and hastily plastered a grin to his face, "I was worried."

"Yeah… sorry. I promised I'd call…"

"T's fine. You were busy," he could hear footsteps echoing off the walls, two sets. He couldn't make out much around Laxus's face. Everything just faded to pitch darkness. Every so often he thought he might be able to make out something but the signal was poor and quality worse, "T's dark where you're at?"

"Yeah… no electricity…" Laxus muttered, head flashing to the side to glance at something as they passed. He was absolutely rigid, his movements choppy and agitated. Gajeel wanted to ask what had happened, what they'd found, but he couldn't. The muted horror in Laxus's gaze kept him silent. He desperately wanted to clear that look.

"Guess they would turn the power out with no one payin' the bill," he mumbled and Laxus shot him a look. He shrugged, glancing down at the book in his lap, "Hey… uhh… started readin' that Narcissus book. Ain't gonna lie, it's straight over my head…"

"Narcissus…?" he hummed the name, thinking, and it took him a moment to remember, "Narcissus and Goldmund? Over your head?"

"Well he's not exceptionally bright," Davian snarled in the background.

Laxus snapped at him, nearly baring his teeth, "You sure about that?"

There was a pause and Gajeel wanted to ask what that meant but Davian was already correcting himself, "Learnedthen. Scholarly."

Laxus was scowling, "What're you hung up on?"

Gajeel shrugged, letting the conversation die. He didn't really have much to say. Mostly, he was just glad Laxus had answered the phone. He felt like a lost puppy.

"I, uhh… when are ya gonna be back? Done? Whatever," he feltnervous. His heart had never quite slowed its pace. He recognized this feeling but wasn't associating it with Laxus or what was going on. His fears were abated, he shouldn't be feeling this way anymore… and yet he did.

"We're leaving now," Laxus said it with finality and a look that said he'd be glad to never be back. Again, the question was perched on Gajeel's lips before he stayed it. He couldn'task. He didn't want to know.

"You… uh… ya look like hell… Sparky…" the pet name sort of died in his mouth, like it didn't want to leave the safety of between his teeth. He cleared his teeth, compelling himself to continue, "Are you ok?"

Silence followed, the complete kind. Even Davian didn't offer a reply. It throbbed around him, suffocated him. What did they find? Gajeel had to look away, a feeling like guilt eating at him as he glanced at the cell door. His neurons weren't firing properly and he felt that red haze beginning to ebb through him again. He needed to be careful, he knew, he needed to calm down. The collar would go off again and then where would he be? Much more and he'd definitelyhave the Shakes. Something about the atmosphere of the prison told him that wasn't an option and so he took a deep, shivering, near-sob of a breath. When he was able to look down on Laxus again the blonde was giving him the deepest, most remorseful look he'd seen from the man.

Pity.

He it's at his throat, his fingertips catching the collar. The look in Laxus's eyes was dismantling him, piece by piece. More than anything he wanted to just break down, to fall into… hell, he didn't even know. Sobs, maybe, or screams. His blood was still hot, hotter, flooding his sight with crimson. Why was Laxus looking at him like that? Why did he have a look like… like he'd seen… be-because he couldn't, could he?

"Gajeel… listen…" Laxus cleared his throat and his mouth opened, something weighty on his lips for just a split second, "I… you…" he clicked his teeth and his eyes became suddenly hard, "You write anything? Lately?"

Gajeel's eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, "No… no, I haven't."

"Nothing? How long has it been?"

"You know how long it's been, Laxus," Gajeel muttered but Laxus just blazed right through his words.

"Still no love songs, yet?"

"Oh, pleaseno," Davian's voice cut into the background, "Anytime when I'm not here."

"He's a fuckin' good singer," Laxus defended, a shadow of a smirk on his features, "writes his own songs."

"Yes, well, I'm sure love can be deaf as well as blind."

"Remember when I said caged birds don't sing?" it was harsher than it needed to be, but Gajeel was not in the mood for singing. He wasn't in the mood for much, but singing was probably lower on the list than it had ever been in his entire life, "'Sides… I don't write love songs."

Laxus blinked, completely undeterred by his dark tone, "I've heard you sing love songs before."

"I didn't write 'em,"

His lip quivered just slightly, something of a real smile trying to bubble up, "Why not?"

Gajeel unclenched his jaw, "Well… I sorta thought I'd only ever write one."

"One?" his brow furrowed, "What for?"

Gajeel raised a studded brow to try and seem cool but he knew he was starting to blush. He combed his fingers through his black locks, pulling them over his shoulder, "Ya know… assumin' I ever actually… askedsomeone ta marry me…"

Laxus laughed and the corner of Gajeel's lip pulled up slightly in response, "You're serious?"

"I mean… yeah," he shrugged.

"That's so fucking cheesy… and flashy."

"I'm a flashy bastard, what can I say?" Gajeel smirked at him, daring to wink, and Laxus settled a bit.

"What have you got so far?" Laxus purred at him, dropping only a touch of the darkness that still lingered in his eyes. Gajeel's pulse dared to jump a little faster.

"Tch… what makes you think…?"

"I'm the light of your life, obviously," he sneered in reply, "and I'm getting you out of prison. I deserve it."

Gajeel would have argued except that he could tell Laxus was broken. Something had happened. He'd seen something that Gajeel could only guess at and it had dimmed his light. His sun, the thing that kept him going, was fading and Gajeel had no way of knowing whether this was the waning of an eclipse or the snuffing out of light completely. So, his smirk faded into a look that was more sober and a touch more tender. He pressed his ring to his lip.

"Ya know if I tell ya… I'll have ta write somethin' different… ya know, later."

Laxus blinked at him and something sparkled in his eye, "I mean… you don't have-"

"I also don't have music… so there's that," Gajeel couldn't look at him. He felt too bare, too vulnerable, "and it ain't finished… obviously. It's just somethin' I've thrown around. So it's shit… really."

"I don't think you canwrite shit," Laxus breathed.

There was a long paused before Gajeel worked up the courage to actually go through with it, an even longer pause to remember the words. He wrapped his fingers on his arm as if to keep time, glancing at the door as he spoke rhythmically words that he hadn't been sure he'd ever say aloud.

"I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet

Who would trade that hum of night

For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

But whose heart would not take flight?

Betray the moon as acolyte

On first and fierce affirming sight

Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight…

Gajeel had chanced a glance at Laxus and realized he'd stopped walking. Wherever he was, it was light again. He caught glimpses of trees and grass. His heart squeezed at seeing him standing in the dying light, sunlight, framing around his shoulders like a coat of the most glorious colors.

Damn… he missed him… so, so much.

I had been lost to you, sunlight

And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight

Oh, your love is sunlight

Oh, your love is sunlight, oh

But it is sunlight

All the tales the same

Told before and told again

A soul that's born in cold and rain

Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

And at last can grant a name

To a buried and a burning flame

As love and its decisive pain

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight…"

He skipped to the end. There wasn't much of a point for repeating a chorus if you weren't even singing to begin with. The sound sounded more like a lyrical poem than he'd ever pictured it in his mind. Ringing between his ears he heard a choir singing behind him, pianos and his guitar, and a tribal beat that would have finally drowned out his own heart.

"Each day, you'd rise with me

Know that I would gladly be

The Icarus to your certainty

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

Strap the wing to me

Death trap clad happily

With wax melted, I'd meet the sea

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight…"

Laxus's lips were parted slightly, as if at any minute he'd say something but for some reason never did. Gajeel, too, couldn't bring himself to break the silence that followed. It was actually the Major, in all his articulateness that decided it was time to get things moving again. Gajeel didn't hear what he'd said but a sly smile broke across Laxus's features suddenly.

"Eh? Told you he could sing," he simpered and Gajeel felt his face become overtaken with blush. Golden eyes turned back to him and they were softer, lighter, and Laxus didn't seem as exhausted as he'd looked before, "I'm sorry, though, I didn't like the end."

"Mm? Why not?"

"It's Icarus, right? Flying too close to the sun and dying in the sea?"

"That's right."

Laxus shook his head, "You're not allowed to die at the end."

Gajeel smirked, "It's a metaphor."

"Well, you gotta rewrite it anyway so… you're not allowed to die at the end of the next one," Laxus muttered, his cheeks flaring slightly.

"Right, right… I got it. I'll just-"

The florescent lights flickered above his head and died.

Immediately, he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the clamor of metal as he fumbled his weapon from its hiding place. He stood, lacrima in hand, waiting… The backup lights came on, one by one relighting all of the corridors. Gajeel took a slow breath and held it as the backup lights went out.

"Gajeel? Gajeel what's going on?"

Gajeel didn't respond. He was waiting, listening. He could make out the grumbles of the few that had stayed in their cells as they came to life in the darkness, questioning what had happened and why. He shut his eyes and focused, catching the sounds of footfalls… running. People were running.

"Yo, Gajeel… answer me."

He waved his hand, refusing to speak or move. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the musty air of the prison, and shook his head. Again, this time tasting it on his tongue. His eyes flew open. The smell that assaulted him was unmistakable. It was the iron-y scent that touched him first, followed by the smell of burning hair and flesh. Bodies.Burning bodies.

A low growl started from the base of his chest and ripped its way through his jaws as he lunged for his blanket and made for the small sink next to his toilet. He threw on the water and stuffed as much of it in as he could, trying to soak it, but the water was slow and the blanket long. It would take time and he didn't know how much he had. He rushed back across the cell and ducked under the bed, wrenching pieces loose as he smelled them. The screws and nuts that were bolting his bed to the wall were swallowed before he'd drawn himself back up, crunching the bits in his teeth like hard candies.

He could hear footsteps running closer. Men were passing his cell, some clutching injuries as they went. Prisoners and Rune Knights alike were fleeing through the halls, scattering like roaches at the first sign of light. Approaching feet made him pause just long enough to draw up his fists but it was Ezal that ran in, drenched in sweat with eyes like a frightened deer's.

"Th-the courtyard… they're coming!"

"Who's comin', kid?" Gajeel growled, dragging him into the cell and setting him down on his bed. He was scrambling as he began to hear water pattering on the ground. He grabbed a shirt, a jumpsuit, yanked the blanket out while still sopping and shoved the clothes in.

"Hellebore… f-fire… he had purple fire…" Gajeel stopped and looked at him, at the eyes that were distant and the lips drawn in a slim line, "…there's nothing left… nothing left…"

The blanket had be meant for him, but he could tell Ezal needed it more. He draped it dripping over his shoulders, wrapped him up and knelt down before him, forcing him to make eye contact. He was spacing out, not able to handle whatever he'd just seen. Gajeel swallowed. The kid was shaking.

"Ezal…" he prodded gently, "you ever see someone die before?"

He shook his head dumbly and Gajeel looked away from him, finding himself staring into wide golden eyes. Davian was behind Laxus and he looked rigid and furious. He turned his attention back to Ezal.

"Kid… ya got plans fer when ya get out?"

He didn't respond.

"Out. Ya know, outta jail? What are ya in for, anyway? Theft? Battery? Ya ain't killed anybody, right?"

He shook his head.

"So, ya got what? A year? Two? What do ya wanna do? Tell me, kid, it's important."

"I… I wanted… I wanted to join academy…"

"Knight? Ya wanna be a Rune Knight?"

"It's stupid."

"Ain't, no, it's good. Good," he glanced over at Laxus and the Major, frantic, throwing his mind into thought, "Listen. Ya see them?"

Ezal glanced over.

"Laxus Dreyar, ya know who Makarov is right? Wizard Saint? That's his grandson. Ya know Major Bishop, eh? Great asshole, probably showed you around?"

Ezal nodded.

"Rune Knights, they take orders, right?"

Ezal nodded.

"Yer gonna take orders from me and only me, ya understand? See the Major over there? He sees ya. Do a good job and when ya get out, he'll give ya a good word, eh? But ya gotta listenand listen well," Gajeel's voice dropped as he spoke. He could hear more footsteps, these more purposeful than the last. Three sets. He gripped Ezal's arms, "Ya hearin' me, kid?"

"Mr. Flores," the Major called from the receiver and Ezal glanced over cautiously, "Did you run all the way from the common area? That must be at least five hundred yards, I can't imagine how you managed it. How old are you?"

"Nineteen… sir."

"Nineteen? Hardly a child, Mr. Redfox, honestly," Major Bishop nodded his head towards where the sink was overflowing and Gajeel moved, taking his cue to try and give himself the best advantage while he talked down Ezal, "Now, Mr. Flores, you do have my word that at Mr. Redfox's good commendation I would write you a stunning letter to any academy you like. Did you have one in mind?"

Gajeel pulled on the soaked shirt and pants, counting his breaths and trying to remain calm. He could smell the burning flesh, hear screams. A blast of heat seared through the halls and settled in his cell. He could feel the swell of magical power, the aura mounting, blistering until Gajeel felt he could choke on it. He was painfully aware of how weak he was… he had no magic. He was low on strength… and the collar… there was no way he could win. Not in a one-on-one fight.

He left the water running and converged back on the bed. Whatever the Major had said to Ezal, the kid was responsive again although still wrapped tightly under the heavy sheath. Gajeel grabbed his makeshift weapon and stood, his knuckles white on the iron club. He looked down at Laxus as he popped his last iron scrap into his mouth.

"Gajeel… don't…" Laxus snarled and Gajeel winced at the hopeless look set across his face.

"I love you," he hummed.

"You're gonna be fine," there was something surging up into his eyes, something livid, "You're a goddamn Fairy Tail Mage."

"Whatever the odds, eh?" Gajeel grinned, showing his fangs and knowing too well that they shouldn't be so long, he shouldn't be showing them because it would only make Laxus worry more, but he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm coming for you," Laxus bared his teeth but it didn't look threatening. It looked desperate, "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't keep me waiting, then,"

He leaned down and turned off the receiver. When he pulled himself back up there were three men in the doorway and Ezal was whimpering at his back. He placed a hand on his hip and brandished his iron club lazily in the other.

"Zahir," Gajeel regarded him and the twisted black mockery of a crown that adorned his head. His eyes were blazing violet and his veins pulsed as if they were filled with plasma. A wide, slow grin cracked across the man's pale face.

"Please… call me Hellebore."

Author's Note:

Quotes were taken from Narcissus and Goldman By Herman Hesse

Song was Sunlight by Hozier (god I love that man!)

Don't ask me how London, Medieval German, or Greek/Roman manuscripts got into Fiore. Your guess is as good as mine lol

Thank you so much for your reviews! I always enjoy your kind words!

Sorry this chapter is a tad late! Have a wonderful week, beautiful beans!

-Your Friendly Neighborhood StevMara