Chapter Text
Crime Sorciere end up staying in Magnolia after all. Freed needs Midnight’s help, and Jellal refuses to turn his back on a situation as complicated as this. Freed can’t help but… not be very helpful.
Jellal and Meredy specifically actually have quite a bit of experience going throughout the country and cleaning up messes others were ignorant to. They’re actually quite good at investigating mysterious situations of harmful magic. But Freed… doesn’t want to talk about it. He hasn’t talked about it for a decade. And now, knowing he can’t even trust his own mind?
It was one of the worst things that would happen in his childhood. The way reality could get warped. When they were dragged into one test or exercise after another, constantly exhausted and grabbing both food and sleep whenever they could, there was no keeping track of the days. The time that passed was irrelevant, and for that matter impossible to process even if one wanted to. And it was miserable. Freed’s sharp mind was the only asset he had. It’s safe to say, the thought of losing his sanity again makes him nauseous.
It has completely thrown him off his game. And Freed hates that too. He’s a bundle of nerves: jumpy and paranoid, increasingly tired, and very quickly becoming completely unhelpful. People are worried about him, he can tell. He hates when people are worried about him, so of course he can't ignore it.
Freed can't really stand being around most of his friends and loved ones right now. This all reminds him of the first days after he lost the use of his left eye. Everyone is looking at him like he's a child, weak and fragile and about to break. And with pity. Freed just… can't stand pity. He got more than enough pity for one lifetime from every person he had to meet when Gramps first rescued him. Every soldier and government official, Gramps himself and all the adults around Fairy Tail even though they only had a limited knowledge of what went on. He's much older now, he's an incredibly strong and skilled wizard who has felled living nightmares, he has come so fucking far from that scared child, and yet… he's still looked at the same way he was so many years ago.
"You're angry." Freed almost startles when Midnight speaks behind him, but just barely keeps a handle on his surprise. He looks over his shoulder to the stoic man behind him, wearing a simple question on his face. "You were scared, before. It scared them," he juts his chin out to the railing, looking over the main hall on the floor below, "which I'm starting to get, seeing as you're considered unflappable. It's not fair," he considers, not dissuaded by Freed's continued silence, "That you can't really express that without them all reacting in a way you don't like. But, that amount of fear isn't expression, it's just venom and poison in your brain."
Freed is a bit afraid again, but it's not the same. He knows some of what truly happened with the Oración Seis, but not all. The common understanding is that Jellal took these wayward souls in because they actually were victims of the horrors that Jellal and Erza faced in their childhood. And Erza's painful past is not need-to-know information. But Freed does know that Midnight is a few years his junior. It's funny, you don't think you'll be the type of person to care much about age right down to the year, but once you're suddenly one of the eldest of your social group, everyone else is a child. Mostly because he lives in a society that pretty much equates the acquisition of a child with the ultimate form of any responsibility, but still. He's pretty sure Midnight is Lucy's age, nineteen or twenty. And yet he speaks so intelligently, so introspectively; and with such sure knowledge.
Midnight sits down next to Freed, but leaves a buffer of space between them. "Now," he continues, "you are angry."
"I'm frustrated, more than anything," Freed corrects lightly. "That's the worst part. I'm frustrated, with them," he repeats Midnight's earlier defining gesture, "But the fear? It's still there. Strong as ever. I shouldn't be mad at them, should I? Becuase I have grown, I have changed, and I'm still a terrified child at heart. So of course they look at me like one."
Midnight's expression does not change, but the twitch in his face makes Freed think it would, if he wasn't so trained against it. "Not quite." Freed tilts his head in confusion, and he really does think the corners of Midnight's mouth twitch up in the gentlest of smiles for a moment. "They don't see you as a frightened child. But they look at you, and see that frightened child. Not as a reflection of who you are, but an acknowledgment of what you've been through. They can't ignore that child, even though you feel ashamed of him, because they care about you."
Freed is silent for a long moment, "I never thought about it like that."
"It helps," Midnight replies. "Thinking about that child, instead of you. Yourself" He glances at Freed briefly, analytically. Trying to figure out how to make his point, perhaps. "You are ashamed of your weakness, of your fear. But think of a little boy, still a child, beaten and bruised and broken. Of course he's weak, he hasn't been held in his life; of course he's afraid, he's never known peace." And like there is one swift, smooth click in his brain, Freed understands.
"That kid doesn't deserve that," he croaks out in a whisper.
"Exactly," Midnight nods. He does not say anything else. For a while, they sit. Freed's mind is reeling, but he can't seem to conjure up a single thought. It's as though his brain is sending signals, I am feeling everything and there is an overwhelming amount of emotion, but his mind can't parse through it enough to… form a thought.
Midnight, he finds, is a good company for the silence. How poetic of a sentence, how fitting. This is not the first time Freed has discovered that midnight or a full moon are the perfect company for a storm of thoughts. And, he is also finding, Midnight is more inteligent in different ways than Freed was aware of before. Enough so that he's willing to ask another question. "Should I be angry?"
Most people respond about feelings, and reactions. You should, if you are feeling angry, because being angry at the pain is caring for yourself, or you shouldn't, because getting lost in the anger will cloud your mind. Most people answer that question, and think about, well, are you feeling angry? Be true to your feelings. Midnight does not. "Yes," he says, leaving no room for arguement. "Because anger is powerful. This anger, this righteous anger, is the right kind of anger. It is a fire in your chest that will not be put out. Be angry, because you were afraid, and you still are. Be angry, because you've lived your life afraid, and now you're afraid for the lives of your loved ones, and how dare these rotten bastards threaten your family." Freed blinks at him, astonished. Not surprised or taken aback, but astonished. Midnight understands him, and understands Fairy Tail, much better than anyone thinks. "That sort of anger is what led Fairy Tail against the Tower of Heaven, thought undefeatable, and the magic counsel itself when no one else would dare. And believers of Zeref, and demons of his creation, and Zeref himself with a grand, powerful army at his command. When anger is bitter, it is a terrible poison. When anger is righteous, it is a powerful venom." He looks over again, this time maintaining eye contact where he has mostly been looking out over the balcony instead. "You should be angry. Are you?"
No, is Freed's first thought, so immediate and forceful that it hurts. He isn't angry, he's scared. Scared of the pain, which is delivered so freely, of the retribution, which always hits its mark, of watching his friends and loved ones suffer. But all of those things, they aren't only things to be afraid of. A child, waiting for pain to be delivered at any moment with no warning. Of retribution, not against wrongdoings but just doled out against whoever and whatever is seen fit by the enforcer who uses it to preserve power. The people he loves more than anything, being hunted and killed because Freed was rescued.
That doesn't inspire fear, it inspires anger. Great, overwhelming anger. It is the submission and the hopelessness that have been beaten into his skin that tell him he is afraid. But his mind, his heart? They are ablaze with fury.
~~~
"I'm going to have Midnight go into my dreams," Freed repeats, "And shred whatever magic has been cast on my mind. I need to know the truth."
It's almost familiar, the frown on Lucy's face as she puts her hands on her hips. "No, this is a bad idea." She gains traction as she goes, "You fucking with daemonic magic after what happened? Yeah, okay, I was being a little paranoid because it was just a rock and you're better than that. But you just used the words 'shred' and 'my mind' in the same sentence! You don't see a problem with that?"
"I concur," Makarov says flatly, fixing Freed with a strong look. Between the two of them, Freed is still undeterred. Makarov actually looks to Laxus for support, which would be both comical and adorable if Freed didn't have other things on his mind.
"This isn't just about a quest for truth," Freed argues. "Not a— a peace of mind, 'I deserve my memories' complaint. These people came to our home. There is something in my mind that someone didn't want me to know. Something that can help me protect my family. I don't care what happens, I'll do it."
"But," Midnight tacks on quietly, "there is a very small chance that any sort of damage or injury could occur." He just sounds bored, like he doesn't want to interject on the argument. His tired and distant persona does a lot of legwork for him when he's genuinely intimidated or shy. "The biggest 'consequence' that wouldn't be a minor miracle is just Freed being forced to relieve some of his traumatic memories. Very bad," he continues quickly, "but not, like, damage to his brain. Or his mind, for that matter. Nightmares… the same as any other nightmare we've all had before."
"Freed has a point." Jellal rises from where he was sitting behind Midnight, observing. "I know it's bad, it's a miserable experience. But he has a right to decide that he'll take it, and his reason is a good one."
"Shut up," Laxus snaps. "This ain't your fucking argument."
"It's nobody's argument," Freed interjects, "Because while you can try to dissuade me, you haven't the right to stop me. My brain, my memories, my past. My choice."
And surprisingly, to some of the others, not at all Freed himself, it's also Laxus who first says, "I know." Because Laxus is the one who called him Captain. Who made him a leader, and a right hand, and someone with responsibilities and recognition in turn. Laxus has always seen Freed's strength, always believed in his worth.
"It will be difficult," Makarov says plainly, not necessarily discouraging.
"If I can't face my own demons," Freed sighs in response, "What hope do I have against anyone else's?" He needs to do this. It isn't just some personal test; these people are attacking his home, and they're going to come for him. There is something locked away in his memories that they need, he's sure of it. He once lost an eye to fight a daemon, what's the harm in losing a little sleep?
"Midnight knows what he's doing," Jellal assures gently. Midnight himself doesn't add anything to display his confidence in his own ability. He seems focused on Freed, something distinctly knowing in his gaze. Usually, something like that would set Freed on edge. He's been told that this is how he looks at others, sometimes, but he doesn't like having himself laid bare. But after his conversation with Midnight, he does have some idea of what it is that Midnight is seeing. It's strangely comforting to have this man being the one dropping him into his self-made nightmare scape. Though, it's not really self made, that's the problem.
"You will be able to communicate with me to some capacity, yes?" He probably should've checked sooner, but he was distracted by knowing everyone and their mother would fight him on this.
Midnight hums his affirmation, then adds, "Although…"
"Not a good time to say that," Laxus snaps irritably.
Midnight just shrugs. "I mean, you'll have to communicate with me in order for that to happen. Dreams tend to distract people."
"So keep my wits about me," Freed summarizes, "And remember to focus on the fact that I'm in a dream. Par for the course." Midnight nods, apparently not bothered by the simplification.
Jellal steps forward, nodding solemnly to Freed, "Then lets get started."
They give him the option of doing this at home, in his own bed; to Freed, that just sounds like trying to make negative associations. They go to the infirmary instead, which he feels like is the sensible choice although the others seem slightly perturbed that he makes that choice. It's not like he thinks he'll get hurt, but it pays to be prepared.
Freed lays down and forcibly unclenches his jaw. He folds his hands over his stomach, which he regrets just a bit when Lucy reels back slightly and Freed realizes it probably makes him looks like a corpse. But fuck it, he's just trying to be comfortable. Suddenly finding his mouth unreasonably dry, he just nods sharply to Midnight.
Midnight reaches out and places a hand on Freed's forehead as Freed closes his eyes, and he falls asleep all at once like the snap of a finger.
He's in the same place the other nightmares started. They had been different, but the same. He's small, and cold and aching all over, and he's in some sort of cell. He's alone, he's so alone, and it hurts. But there are steps coming down the stairs.
He doesn't want to be alone, but being alone is better than this. He doesn't want to have to face this alone. He yearns for someone by his side, just to be there with him.
Is it evil to wish that on someone else? He was only a child then, and he wasn't really thinking about that. Someone being with him was the same as wanting one person who is kind to him, which was the same as wanting to be saved. It didn't really occurred to him that thinking 'if I can't be saved, at least I wish I wasn't alone' was the same as wishing someone else was condemned to his fate.
No.
Freed, that's not how it happened.
It sounds like Midnight. One of Jellal's wizards— the one guiding him through his distorted memories. The reason he's so much more detached this time. 'This isn't how it happened', does that mean this is one of the changed memories.
But then what happened? Freed just remembered not being alone, and wanting to be alone, despite how fucking much he didn't want to be alone, he wished he was alone in here— "It's gonna be okay, Siegfried." Because at least if he was alone, then Trau wouldn't have to be here too.
And he blinks, and it is different. "We're going to be okay," Trau promises in a harsh whisper. He's kneeling next to Freed, his blazing red hair is trussed up and tangled, but his eyes are steel.
Traugott. How could Freed have forgotten about Trau? His brother. That's what Trau always said, they were brothers. They would survive it all, they'd be better. They'd come out the other side because they were stronger than anything the preists throw at them. Freed reaches out, his hand shaking — his hands are so small, dirty and fragile and he was so, so young — and cups Trau's in his own. "Trau," he chokes out, voice weak and broken.
Trau smiles, his eyes sharp and smart, "We're going to be okay."
Everything turns black.
Freed's mind is reeling. Is that why everything is spinning? But he just can't— help it. Trau; he forgot Trau. And, it wasn't his fault, but then why? Why would someone make him forget that Trau ever existed?
Freed.
Unless Trau survived the annihilation of the compound.
Freed.
Is that even possible? Freed doesn't want to hope, doesn't dare… but he does. He has to at least consider the possibility. But what does it all mean?
Freed!
Midnight's voice breaks through his distraction so forcefully that he jolts. Or— he feels like he does. He startles quite violently, but he doesn't exactly have a body right now. "Focus," Freed says, or tries to say, or thinks into sound. "Focusing. What should I be focusing on?"
You broke through one barrier. Try and find what else is wrong.
Right. If Trau was blocked from his memories, then he needs to find other things to find out why. It's easier said than done, though. He has a lot of memories with Trau.
But it's too early to lose hope or focus. Freed's mind is his greatest asset, and he will not be bested in the midst of it. He tries to focus on being older. When they were close to the destruction of the church, what was Trau like then?
Could he have known? Trau wasn't like some of the children, Freed included. In fact, there were two distinct groups. The children of the cult, and those brought to the cult. Trau was born to… a priest, maybe? Someone important. They had homes, within the cult, that they were sometimes allowed to return to. What the actual criteria for being one of those children, how long your parents had to have been in the church or whatever, is unknown to Freed. And it wasn't like Trau was a prince and Freed was a peasant.
Child abuse is a staple in cults that aren't trying to use magically gifted children to harness daemonic magic. The children who were already 'members' of the church weren't actually much better off than the rest of them. It's just that sometimes they'd go home, and they'd come back well groomed, and they maybe had more hope because they believed what the priests said. They were sometimes better behaved if they were strong believers too, but sometimes the 'trials' broke that faith instead of making them need it viscerally.
Trau didn't actually like his parents much. Not by the end. At first he did, because he talked about Freed being his brother and how they'd be together. But Trau was still put through all of the glorified torture, and Freed was too, and they were both very clever. When Freed got the courage to admit in horrified whispers that he was pretty sure the priests were just using them, that they just wanted power and it had nothing to do with faith, he watched the last piece of the puzzle slide into place in Trau's mind.
For a moment, the memory starts to solidify around him. It's as though Midnight is providing a steering wheel, where being lost in your mind is usually just speed and attempts at choosing a direction. His presence, and the magic that he's casting, is giving Freed the ability to navigate. He tears himself away from the memory of that night. It's too much to bear, for now.
They had more conversations in similar ways, though. They were separated more and more, the preists didn't like them having one another, but it was too late when for years they were grouped together by their extraordinary ability.
"We're going to be okay," Trau says again. His voice is different now, changed by age. He's still young — they were so fucking young — but older than before.
"We're not." The words are torn from Freed's throat as a sob. Ah. This day.
Blood flows sluggishly over his skin, in places he can't reach and places he could if he could move his body much at all. That's why Trau is here; even under threat of harsh punishment Freed isn't capable of caring for himself, and the priests, though they claim its a matter of purity, are too afraid to get close.
"We are," Trau snaps. Freed can see the fear, the devastation, in his eyes. "I'm going to get us out of here." Freed doesn't even bother looking up. "Siegfried," Trau begs, "I— I have a way."
What.
"What?" Freed bites out, voice barely even there with how quietly he says it.
"There's—" Trau cuts himself off, looking around wearily. There's no one here — again, they are far too frightened of the monster they created — but they're both too hesitant that there might be eyes and ears everywhere. With their heads bent so close together their foreheads are pressed together, Trau mutters, "I have a way. It's going to work eventually."
"Don't say anything else," Freed snaps.
Trau shushes him. "I know," he nods, "I won't put it on you." They don't share secrets in this place. There's too much to want, too many times when they're desperate for mercy at any cost. "But they are fools," Trau whispers, like venom, "They gave us more power than they could ever hope to wield, then used chains and whips to contain us."
Maybe, just maybe, Trau has a point. But Freed is not in a place that is vulnerable to hope. "Take it," he begs weakly. "It hurts so much, I want it to stop. Take it back or I'll tell them."
"I will," Trau promises gently. "Sleep now. You need your rest, and when you wake up, you'll never know my plan."
Freed startles awake so violently, he fears for a moment he's been attacked. There's someone near him, so he lashes out explosively without even thinking twice.