Author's Notes:

WARNING

This chapter contains a lot of heavy themes, including dehumanization, manipulation, rape, suicide, self-harm, emotional abuse, self deprecation, etc. This chapter is going to get dark, and probably next chapter as well. Please, please keep this in mind when reading.

Thank you

Chapter 88:

Gajeel really could have been in a worse mood, all things considered. He'd never admit it out loud - unless maybe Cana convinced him to take a few more drinks – but he'd actually missed these rowdy parties. The yelling, the fighting, the anarchic laughter waging war on silence, it was almost as refreshing as it was alarming. At least Grey and Natsu fighting each other was a standard he could keep in his life, and he always knew it would never get too far out of hand. The same could be said about Erza and her drunken shenanigans, Mirajane and her subtly manipulative nature, even Jet and the way he skulked and scowled whenever Gajeel would approach... it was all, in its own way, innocent. And innocence, especially on Fairy Tailers, was polished armor; adorning and defending.

It might be that Natsu and Grey would yell and wrestle and cause a scene, fire would be flared and ice spent, but they were comrades, a pair of bickering siblings that reluctantly made up and would tear to pieces the person who would try to attack the other in their stead. Maybe Cana would get carried away in her drinking, and Erza would insist on humiliating games, but it was never to a nefarious end. There's security here, amidst friendly rows and slurring words and half-asleep nakama. Acceptance. Compassion. Camaraderie that didn't stem from violence, subjugation, or having enough on someone else to take them down with you if you were forced belly-up and exposed. Cleaning up sloppy drunks could hardly be called a chore when your standard is being holed up in a pin full of men who'd want to kill you.

He'd missed this. He'd missed the feel of it, the taste of it, hell, even the smell of it. The wind was familiar and kind, the atmosphere not clogging his throat like smoke and ash. He'd missed knowing he could let himself forget the world with no repercussions. He'd missed eyes at his back that watched out of petty drama instead of malicious intent. He'd missed the ability to trust people, something most never truly understood as a luxury until they no longer had it; Gajeel was far too acquainted with that double-edged sting.

But even with all that in mind, Gajeel wasn't exactly happy about having so many people staying the night at his house the first night he was actually home. Being one of the few sober enough to deal with his piss-drunk comrades meant he had to find places for people to sleep. And honestly, he could hardly care if that meant the concrete floor of the garage or on a futon. To his benefit, most people tended to pile up in places on their own. Mirajane, Erza, and Irena all somehow ended up in his bed. Natsu and Lucy found themselves wrapped around Happy in a chair. Evergreen and Elfman were, not surprisingly, missing. Freed passed out on the entirety of the couch, the diva, muttering about how Laxus was too good for him. Bix, still somewhat sober, sat at his side with his babies on and around his lap, gazing up at the ceiling and mildly teasing him as he drifted off. Cana was passed out on the floor cradling a bottle and Gajeel had to dodge around the detritus of Team Shadow Gear where they all lay on the rug, Levy cuddled under Jet's arm and jacket, and Droy at the slim man's other side. Jet didn't even pretend to be asleep as he watched Gajeel slink about making sure people were in some sort of place, all the while staring with that silent derision Gajeel tended to associate with the tawny-haired speedster.

Lily flitted clumsily about, trying to tidy things up and groaning in response to Gajeel catching him and cradling him in his arms. He yawned and knitted his claws into the fabric of his shirt as Gajeel rubbed at his ears. He laid him on his own bed downstairs, shutting the door so he wasn't kept up by their guildmates' snores. The Exceed was out before he'd made it two steps into the hall.

Serrill was staring at the sky when Gajeel had come around to him, his sandy hair painted with the faded moon. He looked exhausted and hesitated when Gajeel offered him to come inside. It didn't take much to figure out he was in pain.

"Think I overdid it," he muttered, grimacing as he moved his prosthetic arm. He kneaded at the still-scarring flesh with his good hand as Gajeel helped him inside.

"Should you be up? T's only been a couple weeks, ain't it?"

He sank into the futon, his entire body deflating as he rolled his stiffening joint, "I'm fine. Just takes some gettin' used to. Phantom pains an' all…"

"Phantom pains?" Gajeel asked, grabbing a blanket that had been draped over the back. He was sure Lily must have put it there because Laxus wasn't quite so into homey touches.

"Yeah… like it's still there…" he winced, "I feel like I need to move my hand and it… hurts."

He was falling asleep as Gajeel stepped away, eyes sweeping the people laying around. He realized he didn't see Grey and Juvia, and as much as he wished they'd scurried off together like Evergreen and Elfman, he was pretty sure that wouldn't be the case. He found no signs of either of them in the backyard and sniffed around to see if he could catch a whiff of either of them on the air. Sure enough, following the damp smell of rain and salty tears, he found Juvia. She was sprawled out in the grass past the front porch, her hair splayed out around her and her body just a puddle from the waist down. She was sobbing quietly into the ground, blubbering about Grey leaving her and how she couldn't even get up by herself. He sighed and grabbed an umbrella as the first drops of rain began pattering down.

"C'mon, Juv," Gajeel spoke at her gently, the annoyance at not finding her quickly being swallowed by the pang in his chest at seeing her like this, "yer such an ugly crier."

"G-Gajeel is so m-mean!" she hiccupped into the dirt, smearing mascara down her face, "Juvia just wanted to-wanted to stay with Grey an' he-…"

"He went home, Juv, because it's late."

She didn't respond, just continued to cry and melt. Gajeel sighed, knowing better than to continue to coax her. He hated when she'd get this drunk because she always became inconsolable and volatile, like a typhoon. He couldn't just carry her in because she'd fall apart in his hands so he had to wait for her to sober up a little. He sat cross-legged beside her as she sobbed hopelessly. He balanced the umbrella in the crook of his shoulder so he could light a cigarette. He placed his hand into her long blue hair and carded through it gently, enjoying the silky smoothness of it even as it tangled with the long blades of grass and fragments of dandelions.

"Been a while since we done this last, eh?" he kept his voice low as he watched the intermittent shuddering of her shoulders, "How many times did we do this at Phantom? Hm? Should I sing you a song? Somethin' nice and depressing?"

She was down to just wretched sniffles, and she tucked her face into her arm to try and hide the makeup running down her face. He twisted one of her curls between his fingers.

"Lessee, what did ya use ta like?" he took a long drag of his cigarette, drawing out the sentence like he really had to think even though they both knew he didn't. He had memorized Juvia's favorite songs. Of course he had. How couldn't he? He'd spend hours humming to her when she was at her lowest, holding her, the only person who ever treated her softly in that godforsaken place. She'd just been like him in that damn guild. Her misery was her shield, "D'ya remember Pressing Flowers? Funeral Bell? Scarborough Fair? Mh, what was it? Oh, Daughter of the Sea, that one was a good one…"

"The Willow Maid," she whispered, water still clinging to her voice.

"Never much cared for that one," Gajeel admitted, running circles on her shoulder with his thumb. Her skin was dry and the bottoms of her knees were coming back together.

"Why?"

He shook his head, "Hit too close ta home, I s'pose…"

The pattering of the rain was steady on Gajeel's umbrella, black of course, and blotting out the sky above him like an ink stain. Not that it really mattered. He wouldn't be seeing the stars until Juvia had quieted.

"Why is Gajeel smoking?" she said softly, with just the slightest wobble in her words as if she could barely stand to say them, "Is he going to hurt himself again?"

"It just takes the edge off, Juv," he murmured.

Her eyes peeked up at him. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her face blotched like the washed-out blush that colored musk flowers. He hated seeing her cry, and she did a lot, but never over anything deeper than her contrived romance with Grey. He knew it was too much booze and her own rampaging emotions, but even still that thought didn't ease him much.

"Gajeel promised."

That was all she needed to say and his heart clenched with a sharp pain. She didn't know about the beach, of course, and how he'd desperately just wanted to drown. She didn't know about his secret thoughts in prison when he just wished he could finally shatter. But those eyes knew him, storm-gray as the sea and with half the depth, they knew him too well.

"You worry too damn much, Rain Woman." He pulled on a lopsided grin, playing the scoundrel he knew she liked even though they both knew this act.

The rain started falling again, harder, so, so much harder. He fumbled with the umbrella and her in his arms and the sheer weight of the rain. He nearly had to yell to be heard over it.

"Juv, stop. It ain't worth all this…"

"Gajeel is one of Juvia's closest friends. Gajeel promised Juvia he wouldn't hurt himself again!"

"You're getting us fucking soaked, Juvia," he growled.

"Juv-Juvia doesn't know what she'd do… if, if Gajeel…"

"Juvia, I'm fine."

"Gajeel isn't fine! And if Gajeel isn't fine, he has to tell Juvia! Because how can Juvia help him if he doesn't tell her?" she drew back from him so she could look him in the face. She was all swollen eyes and red cheeks, distress making her shoulders hunch and her knuckles white.

"Juvia…"

"Gajeel is Juvia's friend," she whispered, her lips trembling, "Does… does he think Juvia would, would use it against him?"

His throat was starting to throb from tightness, and dammit if he couldn't hide how devastated his voice was from it, "No… no, Juv, of course not."

"Then why-? Then why-?"

"Juvia…" he swallowed, his chest getting tight like maybe his ribcage was pressing against his insides, "…it ain't like that…"

She fell silent. The torrential downpour eased, sheets of rain turning back to a withering patter, but it wasn't because Juvia was at ease. She pursed her lips and became hard, rigid, and Gajeel knew that look instantly. He was about to lose this argument.

She sniffed, "Juvia depended on Gajeel so much… why doesn't Gajeel depend on her?

Juvia can be there for Gajeel, too. Juvia wants too…"

His chest was burning, "I don't need-"

"Juvia is sorry," she muttered, resting her forehead against his chest. He could feel the sapphire waves of her hair clinging to his dampened shirt.

"Sorry?"

"Juvia makes Gajeel feel guilty… she doesn't try to. She knows it wasn't Gajeel's fault."

Something black squeezed around Gajeel's heart as he held her. Guilt. Shame. Feelings he definitely hadn't been feeling began bubbling up to the surface, "Juvia don't."

"Gajeel doesn't depend on Juvia, because Gajeel feels guilty… but it wasn't Gajeel's fault."

"Juvia, stop."

"It wasn't Gajeel's fault Juvia didn't listen."

"You think that because you're supposed to. Because that was the point, Juvia. That was what Jose wanted," he growled down at her darkly. Red was edging into his vision, breaking through the cracks of his teeth, sifting into his blood.

"It wasn't Gajeel's fault Jose decided to use him against Juvia. It wasn't Gajeel's fault that Juvia was more scared of what Jose would do to her than Gajeel."

"Juvia! Stop it!" His chest felt unbearably hot and tight, like he was going to melt into something black and sticky.

"Jose made his victims feel responsible. Gajeel isn't different."

"I wasn't the victim, Juvia! You were!"

She was clutching at his shirt, digging her nails into him so hard her hands were shaking. She was steady, determined, not angry and harsh like him. She pressed her face into his chest, her voice became steel, "Gajeel. Isn't. Different."

He gritted his teeth, tried to pull together some argument that wasn't yes I am, but he couldn't. It was just frenzy and fog and memories steeped in black smoke anytime he thought about it. He didn't think about it, because the image was one that made him want to throw up. He couldn't handle this. Not right now. Not without more alcohol and another cigarette and someplace dark and quiet for him to self-destruct in.

Juvia's grip on his shirt loosened. Her forehead pressing into his chest turned into her body slumping into him. The rain stopped.

"Juvia… is tired," she whispered.

"Maybe Juvia should go to bed," he replied tensely.

She turned her face up to him, her eyes shallow and exhausted, "Don't be angry… Juvia's sorry…"

"Don't… don't be," he tried not to scowl, to relax the stiffness in his jaw. He snuffed out his cigarette in the wet earth, "I'm gonna take ya inside now,"

She nodded and slipped her arms around his neck. It took some balancing and it wasn't at all graceful, but somehow he managed to close the umbrella and lift her up. He felt like the loud thump of his boots could have woken the entire house if all of their uninvited guests hadn't been drunk. He got her out of her wet shoes and stockings and helped her into Lily's bed, the later of whom curled up into a tight ball against her, snuggling into her warmth.

"Gajeel... Gajeel is mad at Juvia..."

"No, Rain Woman, I'm not," he replied softly, brushing her hair from her face.

"Juvia wants to help."

"I know… I know…"

He waited patiently for her to fall asleep before trudging back out into the living room. As far as he could tell, everyone was passed out or sleeping. The snores and mumbles and deep breathing of so many people made his skin crawl, like he was about to be caught awake after the wardens had made their rounds, and that just didn't sit well with him. He glanced up at the stairs to the room where Laxus was no doubt asleep and decided he wasn't ready to retire to domestic bliss. Juvia had already drudged up unwelcome memories.

Might as well bask in his own self-loathing after he'd just made the promise to stop doing that.

Since he couldn't convince himself to be guilty enough to actually stop, he walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass. A drink would get him back to where he'd been earlier; half the bottle might actually have him out of his mind enough to go to bed without nightmares. He didn't want to wake Laxus up poorly in the morning, if at all, not on their first day back home. He stole out the back to the yard, still torn apart and littered with the remains of a fight and a dance and a large group of people in a small place. For a minute, he just stood and took it all in, let himself enjoy the simple repose of the smell of the wet grass and liquor. The wind was making their tall fence creak and the limbs of the trees sway. The leaves were whispering to each other. He ran his eyes across the empty yard and into the stillness of the surrounding night. He couldn't see as many stars here, not like in the county, and instead traced his eyes across the yellow haze that clung to what he could see of the horizon, broken by trees and houses and littered with winking lights. A dog barked far away before abruptly going silent. The world was steeped in tones of navy and pitch, speckled with orange. Night, or early morning, was always one of his favorite darkest times, though it rarely gave him solace anymore.

He grabbed a toppled chair and made himself comfortable at one of the few remaining tables. Natsu and Grey had done their due diligence in breaking two clean in half; Gajeel could smell the charred wood even from where he sat. He poured himself a drink, threw it back, and poured himself another. He poked at the dark thing in his chest in the same way one might attempt to wake a sleeping beast: carefully, calmly, and with every nerve in his body ready for this new bad idea to unfold.

He wasn't guilty, or he hadn't been, not until Juvia had said something. He tried not to think about Phantom Lord much, not since Laxus had talked him down from the bluff. When he did think, it was always out of necessity, out of being forced to, or because he couldn't avoid it any longer. Juvia brought it all back, though, as she did, inadvertently. Of course, he didn't blame her. It wasn't her fault.

She'd been the victim.

"Ah… fuck," he muttered, throwing his new drink back hard enough it made him dizzy.

It all came rushing back. The smell of her, the taste of her, salt water and confusion and hurt and miserable acceptance. He'd sworn he would never let her feel that way again; raided and devoured and left to pick up her own pieces. He remembered how it had felt to listen to her cry in his room, how it felt to have someone so close to him who could no longer take comfort in his presence. Touching her had made her flinch. He felt dread claw up his throat.

No one had known just what had happened except Jose Porla, and that was how Gajeel had known it had all been orchestrated. He'd walked up to Jose with fear and misery making his head spin, summoned to report why he'd kept to himself for so long. After Hajime, Master Jose didn't have room for insubordination, for disappointment. And Gajeel had been a disappointment lately, hadn't he? He'd walked up to Jose expecting a scowl and found himself face-to-face with a wide, split-open smile. There were no witnesses, and those pointed eyebrows and knife-blade angles were drenched in the shadows cast by the stained-glass windows in Jose's favorite execution hall, The Cathedral.

"You wanted me, Master?"

"Oh, I was just curious…" he'd said in a smug way that turned Gajeel's gut, "How was it?"

He'd felt red like a lightning flash light his entire body on fire. He'd almost choked on it, the fury and the hate and the shame. And then he did choke on it, and his own blood, when Jose had decorated the place with his screams for the offense. How had he even known? Gajeel had always been so careful to never show weakness, to never be allowed to be exploited. And at the end of it all, being stared down at with those disdainful eyes and contemptuous snarl, shades swarming around them and their sharp nails shredding apart his very soul, Jose put him right in his place.

"I could kill you now and not a single person in Earthland would miss you, Gajeel. You have no idea how much easier my life would be… but I'm not going to do that. Do you know why?" his eyes had been glowing, the air saturated with hate and violence and iron. Gajeel had been shaking, weak and probably dying for all he knew… it sure felt like he was, "I gave you a gift. I gave you a life. I gave you freedom. I gave you a home."

"I didn't ask for your charity…"

"No, you didn't… but you took it anyway, didn't you? And do you know what that means?"

He couldn't respond because he was down on his knees fighting to breathe. The phantoms Jose employed raked their claws into his lungs and tore out the oxygen. Everything hurt.

"You owe me. You don't get to walk away, you don't get to surrender. You lose when I say you lose, you win when I say you win, you die when I say you die. Do you feel like you're going to die, Gajeel?"

He had. He had thought he was going to die, he'd hoped… no, no he didn't. He didn't want it to be his Master that killed him. That was… that wasn't right. Master Jose didn't like to get his hands dirty.

"All you ever were, all you are, and all you will ever be, is an animal that I found out in the woods. Do you understand? Your little rebellion, Gajeel, your little bite, it didn't hurt me, did it? It hurt you,"

The screaming of the phantoms stopped. The pain, the agony, stopped. He nearly collapsed on the ground but he just couldn't do that. His arms were shaking, his body bleeding. Jose knelt in front of him, grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. He could hardly see anything aside from him, from those violet eyes and twisted smile, everything else just looked black. He realized later that it was his phantoms standing by, hovering over his shoulders, waiting to completely tear him apart at their master's command.

"You try to bite me one more time, and I'll rip your teeth out. Do you understand?"

It hurt to speak, "Yes."

"Yes, Master Jose."

"Yes, Master Jose."

He smiled, thank the gods he'd smiled. Because that meant it was over. He let him go and Gajeel could finally breathe. The wraiths vanished and the violence in the air faded. He was trying not spit blood onto the floor, but it was rolling down his arms, soaking his shirt. Gods, it was everywhere. He was going to bleed out.

"I feel like you should have been able to handle that better," Jose mused, staring down at him, "you're not losing your touch, are you?"

He'd pulled himself to his feet, somehow. He still wasn't sure how. He'd always been good at it, though, pushing himself forward when everything in his body screamed to stop. Through the black spotting his vision, through the aching pains in his limbs, the fire that seared down his back from fresh wounds being stretched and torn, he stood in his own blood so that his Master would smile at him again.

"Good lad," he'd said, his voice as proud as a viper's after it had bitten its prey, "You're strong. Don't ever forget who made you that way."

That was… that was when things started getting rough, wasn't it?

He placed the half-full bottle on the table, an arm's length away. He really wasn't as drunk as he'd thought he'd be. Damn him and his fast metabolism… and his life of alcohol dependence. He swirled around what was left in his glass and pulled out the pack of cigarettes Bix had given him, took one out, lit it. His hands were trembling just a little. That was fine. He could still calm down… with a little help.

Take a deep breath. Let the smoke fill your lungs deep, deep down, until it burns. Hold it there like a secret. Let your body realize you could suffocate but know it's been trained not to do anything about it. The first time Hajime had taught him to breathe it out his nose, he'd remembered it had burned like fire and he'd turned green. How old had he been? Old enough to know that sometimes the things that were fun also hurt. So probably thirteen. Now here he was, twelve years and three dozen cigarette burns older, and it didn't hurt so much anymore. Breathe out. Feel the muscles you didn't realize were coiled through your back and shoulders as they unwound like the spring in a music box. He leaned back into his chair, took another drag, told himself he'd slow down after tonight.

He'd said he'd get better. He meant that. Honestly, he did. But just not tonight. He was too stressed, too tired, and Juvia had got his mind on the rusted-out tracks back to Phantom Lord and the memories of faces that haunted him. Most of them looked the same now; featureless, eyes of varying shades of color, different concentrations of defiance. He'd been good at his job, which was catching people unawares and making their death look like an accident. He never killed someone from behind, though, always from the front, because he wasn't a coward and if they were a coward he'd make sure they would look him in the eyes when they died.

There was something cathartic about killing, once you got past what you were actually doing, and Gajeel did get past it. Watching the life fade from a man's eyes always brought him back down to reality. This is what you can't have but want. When will this be you? But at least he could see it. He knew it still existed. It was strange because Hajime had always led him to believe that the worst thing that could ever happen was dying. No matter what, you always came back. They can take everything from you, but if you still have your life, then there's still hope… and Jose wielded that prospect like a weapon. Because he owned your life, and he could ruin it or end it. So you did whatever you could to make him happy because if you didn't… you lost your hope. You lost your life. And his phantoms would tear your very soul apart so that you couldn't even rest in peace.

He'd seen one man die that way, and his screams had echoed around The Cathedral even after his body was nothing more than a bloody mass of human tissue on the ground. Couldn't even tell he was a person anymore. It was just… meat. And then Gajeel had to help clean it up. Of course, he'd been far past being queasy at the sight of gore by that point.

Death is such a strange and hollow inconvenience when you think about it, and Gajeel never really understood why people would fear it. He certainly didn't. In fact, the prospect of it was just as romantic to him as any poetry that he could think up. It was such a beautiful release from the cares and worries that dragged him down into his own bottomless pit of despair and anger and hurt. To think, with just a simple action every harsh string that tied him down could be cut and he'd finally be free.

Aye, but it wouldn't be very kind if someone you cared about found you…

It wouldn't be fair to a stranger either.

"Yer supposed to be gettin' better, Gajeel, you had a good night."

He'd had a good night. He'd had a good night. He'd just been a little… high strung. It wasn't his fault everything seemed like a threat. It wasn't his fault his guildmates liked to fight. It wasn't his fault he caught himself thinking he was back in prison and he needed to prove himself so no one would try and put him in his place. Because he didn't need to be put in his place. He'd earned his place already…

"Fuck," he scowled, took a drag.

Don't start that. This isn't prison, this isn't Phantom Lord. You don't have to follow rules, you don't have to keep yourself safe…

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Stop scratching at your wrist you know what it is you want to do. He was supposed to get better. He told Laxus he wanted to get better. He wanted to live for him. He was loved, he was wanted. He knew this and it was a far cry better than when he was in Phantom. But it was in Phantom that he'd found meaning in fighting to live, in fighting to be the best, because even as fucked up as it was he wanted to be the best, to make his Master smile, to make the guild better. That was purpose. It was movement. It was rage and bloodlust and emotions he shouldn't have wanted to feel that kept him going. Retribution. Seeing the world suffer along with him and looking at someone, something, and saying yes, I see you're ugly too. He was divorced from that here and sometimes it was too much to stand.

By comparison, Fairy Tail was paradise. People welcomed him home, people missed him, people wanted him to be safe. What should have been the thing that showed him meaning to life only served to remind him that he'd taken that meaning from so many people. How could he deserve this when he used to take solace in watching the light flicker out of someone's eyes? Not joy, mind you, not delight. Just relief. Just release. At least he had control. At least it was familiar. People didn't bleed out a different way every time. If you damage an integral part of a machine, it will cease to work. How was it his fault he knew exactly what to break? He'd had to be taught by someone, hadn't he? But he still felt responsible. He still felt ugly and tar-filled for it. How do you look at someone in the face who's never seen that side of you, look at them smile and say how much they enjoy being around you, and not think of every horrible thing you've ever done? How do you not think about what they said about everyone else who was just like you? You don't deserve this. You never deserved this.

Gajeel snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and pressed it into his hand. The red hotness seared into his skin and into his mind as he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. His mind couldn't concentrate on depreciating thoughts with the ember burning into him, so for a wonderful, blissful moment he was just wrapped in the silence of the night and the smell of his skin burning.

He pulled it away and tossed the butt into the wet grass. His flesh was livid and red and raw and screaming up at him in offense. His hands weren't shaking. He clenched his fist and released it, stretching his fingers, testing the pain and the burn, and decided he could have done worse.

This… this was a control thing. He was big on that, now, wasn't he? Maybe not when it came to emotions, not when it came to controlling other people, but he had to be in control of himself. Only he could to this to himself. He decided what pain he was going to feel, no one else would. And neither would their memory.

Oh, if only that were true, eh?

"Don't go there. You won't like it."

Too late.

Jose and Bianca were awfully similar, when you boiled it down. Don't go there. But they were. Jose and Bianca both kept everyone underfoot with fear, and what greater fear was there than when you lost control? When you were subject to the unknown? To insecurity? When everything that was necessary and innate and a part of you was stripped away and you were left naked and tied down and-

"Fucks sakes…"

You're strong, aren't you? You can handle it.

He couldn't handle it. Gajeel couldn't handle it, but his thoughts were running away from him even as he took his next drink, as he rolled his feet under the table and felt the hilt of his knife pressing into his ankle. Because that's a thing you think you need again, your knife. When was the last time you carried a knife? You sorry piece of-

If he'd had a knife he could have killed that bitch when he got free the first time. He could have killed her the first time she came into his cell under the guise of Laxus. He could have killed her when she-

Don't think it. Don't even think it. Stop. That doesn't happen to men.

"It happened to me," he bit out the words and then flinched as if they were painful. They were painful. They were true. If he was strong, then he could say it out loud. If he was strong, he could admit it happened out loud.

You can't even say it out loud when you're the one who did it. Maybe you should focus on admitting you did it to Juvia first.

"It wasn't my fault," he whispered, taking another drink. The bottle was shaking as he filled up his glass, "I didn't want to."

But you did. You did and you enjoyed it. Because that's what you are. And you haven't changed, have you? What was it that you thought about when you hunted Bianca down? Ruin her? Make her like you? That's what you wanted, you wanted to be just like her.

Someone else was there, he knew someone else was there. It could have been them.

But it was probably you. That's the sort of fucked up you are. You used to love watching people suffer, watch them in pain, watch them become just like you. They got something you didn't, though, because you didn't get that luxury. You weren't allowed to die because your Master didn't want you to.

I'm going to get better. I'm going to get help.

You know the sorts of things that have masters, don't you? Animals. You're an animal.

I'm not doing this. I'm not doing this. I need to stop.

He swallowed through the burn of whiskey.

You're still an animal, aren't you? Never changed and you never will. It's too late for that. Metalicana taught you what it was like and Jose refined it, and when you thought you'd moved on, Bianca showed you you'll never really move on. You're more dominated by instinct as a man than you ever were as a child. And what more proof do you need than the week you spent with Laxus in the safe house? When he had tears in his eyes and told you he couldn't anymore because it hurt and you bit him anyway because you couldn't fucking stand to have your skin crawl? You selfish piece of shit-

I need to stop.

Everyone would have been better off if you'd died out in the middle of nowhere, if you'd gone north instead of south, if you'd stayed in the forest and ignored the city. At least you wouldn't have hurt anyone. At least you wouldn't be in this mess. At least you wouldn't still be cleaning up after yourself. At least you wouldn't be hurting the people around you, hurting Laxus-

"Goddammit…!" he growled.

You want to move on, you want to be better, but you're only happy when you're miserable. Why else would you do this to yourself? Look at you, you could be inside shagging the man you think you want to spend the rest of your life with, but you're out here drinking yourself into misery and contemplating suicide. You dense motherfucker, you'll never be more than a murderer and a liar and a fucking disaster. You're too fucked up to be anything else-

He snatched the knife out of his boot and pressed it into his wrist and felt like everything about his body was fraying apart. He was supposed to be better. He promised he'd be better. He was going to be better, tomorrow, a week from now, after therapy started, he could be better. He could! He would! But right now, he needed this, just for tonight-

A hand clamped onto his shoulder and everything in Gajeel's body went rigid. Something about his mind snapped into alignment with someone else's and he didn't have the wherewithal to fight it because he'd already exhausted himself on his own detriment. He heard a hiss and a growl, and the knife dug into his wrist. He closed his throat around a whine as he watched himself draw the blade up his arm, up, up, and then across to slice open the vein. His heart started to race as the blood streaked down his arm in rivers, flooding the table, dripping to the ground, the patter of it as gentle and steady as the rain. The pain kept his mind quiet and he was mystified by the way his arm looked flayed open, the crimson wine beneath his skin spilling out as he slowly felt colder. He made a noise that sounded like garbled consonants and his teeth grinding. It hurt and it was exactly what he'd wanted, to just bleed.

...he hadn't really meant to do all this, had he? Fuck… what would Laxus think?

The hand on his shoulder vanished, and just as suddenly Gajeel found himself staring at his unblemished arm, the knife still pressing to his skin but not breaking it. Davian faltered as he leaned against the table, falling onto a knee as he gasped and clutched at his arm, as if it were actually his arm that had been sliced open instead of Gajeel's. He was breathing heavily, far more heavily than Gajeel was. His nails were long and black talons that clacked against the hard wood as he tried to keep himself steady. He didn't look at Gajeel, but he could hear the Major's hiss where it started deep in his lungs and slipped out of his nose. A long tongue lashed out and back in again and something like black ink dropped onto the table.

"Let that be enough for one night," a voice overlapped with the one Gajeel was familiar with, and that was when he felt the table creak beneath his weight, "If I smell another drop of human blood, I will kill everyone in this godforsaken house."