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Asphyxiation

the state or process of being deprived of oxygen, which can result in unconsciousness or death; suffocation

Gray volunteers to be the bait and forgets how to breathe.


Gray volunteers to be the bait.

"Wait," Lucy says, doing an impressive double take that might be exaggerated for effect. "Someone besides me is going to be bait for once?"

Gray shrugs. "These aren't some petty thieves. They're killing people under mysterious circumstances. Not worth the risk."

"Well, I'm glad someone's gentlemanly enough not to let me die, even if I'm fair game to be robbed."

"Uh, do we really need anyone to be bait?" Happy asks. "I mean, people are actually dying, and we don't know how."

"It'll be fine," Gray says dismissively. "You'll be around to grab them if they manage to nab me. It's not like they're one-shotting people. There have definitely been signs of struggle, even if there's not a mark on the bodies."

"Great," Happy mutters. "So you can die in agony."

"No one's going to die," Erza says. "Let's find a likely spot for an ambush. Natsu, pay attention and let us know if you hear anything or sniff them out."

They set up camp along the road where the bodies have been appearing, half a dozen in the past month. There's no indication of any motive or anything the victims have in common, so it's a shot in the dark. But they have already searched high and low, questioned everyone they could get their hands on, and still come up empty.

Gray is not used to being bait and playing helpless, but he wanders along the road in different guises, hoping something catches the perpetrators' eye. It takes three days, and they're nearly ready to give up and try something new when something hits him from behind.

He staggers forward, sucking in a wheezing gasp and clutching at his throat. He can't breathe. He gulps at the air, but something is tightening around his lungs and squeezing his throat. After a few dozen unsuccessful breaths, his vision tunnels and fades in and out alarmingly. The blood roars in his ears, drowning out the sudden furor around him.

He staggers and falls to his knees, shaking and frantically gasping for air that doesn't come.

Sherry's wooden vines wrap around his chest, snaring him tight and cracking his ribs as Nirvana darkens her heart. The breath is driven out of his lungs as he sights Deliora looming high above and an unstable house collapses on top of him. He sucks in a lungful of water as he slips under the waves in a swimming lesson gone awry. He wakes from a nightmare, hyperventilating and gasping shallowly until he goes lightheaded.

He writhes on the ground, fists scrabbling at the dirt and nails clawing at his throat. His vision fractures into dancing black particles like static, and the pressure builds in his chest.

Something grabs him by the shoulder.

"…ay? What…with him?"

Red smears across his field of vision, mixing with the black, and something flips him onto his back and slams into his chest with enough force to drive the nonexistent air from his lungs. He makes a sound somewhere between a whimper and a wheeze that he barely hears over the ringing in his ears and flails wildly. Something grabs his limbs and holds them down and then slams into his chest again.

"…even know…CPR…?"

"…help or…?"

"Breathe, Gray!"

He's waking from a nightmare, wide black eyes looking back into his own as he shakes and gasps at the air.

"Breathe, Gray," Ur says. "Deep breaths. Nice and slow. In and out. In and out. Just look at me. It's okay. One breath at a time."

He sucks in a lungful of air, pulls it deep, and holds it a moment before exhaling and drawing in another. The air is cold and sharp and needles at his lungs like small knives, like his body has forgotten what air is supposed to feel like inside his body.

Something slams into his chest again, driving the air back out. He wheezes, panic building up inside him again, but Ur shakes her head and whispers, "One breath at a time."

He breathes.

The spots tap dancing along his visual field recede a little at a time until they hover at the very edges, and he spots the blur of motion as the hands come down on him again. With a sudden burst of strength, he rips his arms out of his restraints and shoves upwards, protecting his chest. The impact jars up his arms, and he catches sight of Erza's wide eyes before he rears up and pushes her off.

He folds over himself onto his hands and knees, gasping into the dirt. Every breath is an effort, like he has forgotten how and has to coach himself through each one.

He doesn't strike out again when Erza pulls him to her chest and tangles a hand in his hair, whispering encouragement he can't hear into his ear. It takes longer for the cotton wool in his ears to clear enough to make out words. He works through more deep breaths, until he is feeling more like himself again. His hands still tremble and his chest aches, but his heart begins to steady itself.

When he leans away from Erza, he sees everyone gathered around.

"Are you okay now?" Lucy asks anxiously.

He nods once.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he rasps. "Sorry. Just needed a second."

His throat feels bruised and scraped raw, each word a shard of broken glass.

Half a dozen men lie sprawled on the ground around them, unconscious. Their mysterious killers, he assumes, although he never even saw them coming.

"Sorry it took so long," Erza says. "There were more of them than we thought. What happened?"

"Couldn't breathe."

"Yeah, we got that," Natsu says. He scowls, but he looks shaken too. "You were flopping around like a dying fish. But you were still doing it after we knocked them all out. Their magic shouldn't have still been affecting you."

Gray looks down at his trembling hands, his mind dancing along all the memories that had flooded him all at once and paralyzed him. He doesn't know how to explain what it's like to suddenly forget how to breathe.

"Dunno," he says. "But at least we got them."

His friends exchange looks before helping him to his feet. He looks at none of them and ignores their hesitant overtures as they begin tying up the men. He still has to remind himself to take each breath, like his lungs haven't quite gotten back into the rhythm of it yet.

One breath at a time.

When they head back for town, his hands are still trembling.