what we choose to become

chapter 29

Sting apologizes to Laxus. Freed teaches Rogue something new. There is a BBQ.

TW for flashbacks to abuse

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"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will incinerate you, then find a way to resurrect your corpse and murder it again." Laxus' words held threat, but his tone was serene. Sting also found it difficult to take the man seriously in this position. Laxus sat cross-legged, with his hands resting palm-up on each knee. He was facing the river but his eyes were closed, his face tipped up toward the sun.

"I...wont?" Sting said shyly. Laxus grunted, then ducked his head, indicating the ground next to him. Sting shuffled awkwardly over to him, then flopped to the ground and attempted to copy the larger man's stance.

"Relax," Laxus rumbled, and Sting flinched. "Find where you're comfortable. Take deep breaths." The younger dragon slayer inhaled sharply, then blew out his breath and wriggled into a more comfortable position. He sat there for several moments, one eye half-open.

"What are w--"

"Meditating," Laxus replied, voice softer than Sting had ever heard it. "Just breathe. Try to...be present. Think about where you are now." Sting frowned at Laxus' uncharacteristic openness, but closed his eyes and tried to follow the instructions. He could feel the grass brushing his bare feet and the sun spreading warmth across his face; hear the river flowing and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. He breathed deeply, feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders loosen.

This is nice, he thought. His mind felt free and it began to wander, picking its way through the difficulties of the recent weeks but not delving into them. His thoughts skipped to Rogue, the crooked half-smile he gave when he wasn't sure what was going on, the way he cocked his head now to listen to someone speaking, his oddly endearing new patterns of speech.

What do you think you're doing? A gruff voice echoed in the back of his mind and Sting felt the breath rush out of him like he had been punched in the stomach. I don't keep you around so you can moon over some weakling. Jiemma's voice, then. Sting remembered this conversation. It had been several months after Rogue joined the guild, and Sting had been watching him train with Orga. Rogue's movements had been so fluid, so graceful, that Sting hadn't been able to do anything but stare at the other boy. A heavy fist to the side of his face had been the price to pay for those moments of bliss. Keep that up and you'll be looking at his bruised face, boy. Sting flinched. He's not yours, he's mine. And so are you. Another fist followed, then a knee to the stomach, and Rogue had given him a pleading look but Sting had shaken his head oh so slightly and taken the beating.

"You're not present." Laxus' voice echoed in Sting's skull, and he took a shuddering breath. "Let go of those memories."

Blood. Bruises. Split lips and broken bones. Coming back to Rogue; beautiful Rogue; innocent, sweet Rogue who kissed his face and bandaged his wounds and held him through the night, whispering sorry, sorry, sorry in his ear.

"What can you feel, remember?" Laxus' voice again, jolting him out of the memory and into the present.

"Um...grass on my feet. It tickles." He tried to focus on the sensation, but the pounding in his ears wouldn't let up. Worthless. Useless.

"Good. What else?"

"Th-the sun. It's warm on my face and my hands." The heat prickled his skin and he slowly began to breathe easier. "The wind. It's making the leaves rustle." He took another deep breath, then opened his eyes. His hands were trembling, and he tucked them under his legs. "I don't think I'm ready for this," he admitted softly.