Radiance Kills Angels (Laxus/Natsu)

Chapter 11: The Angel

Okay, I need to make this extremely clear in this chapter; this story is not for the faint of heart, it is INTENSE and it deals with quite extreme themes.

This chapter sets up a lot of stuff for the plotline, so it is necessary and skipping it would be a bad idea; it is in fact rather light in comparison with other things in the book.

.o0o.

"Laxus, why are you staring at me?" I cannot claim full memory, for fact that I know most of it was gone from my mind- not from time, but in lack of want; I do recall that I had been sitting reasonably comfortably on the carpeted flooring of my parents home -back when they still had it. Not a comfortable surface by standard, it was corce and without pants to cover your skin it had been irritating as it gradually began to itch. My hands had been hovering rather calmly over a small object, though I cannot remember what, it was floating as I had wanted it to and I had found it amusing at the time. Though, my attention had drifted from the toy and my eyes were resting firm on the face of my father as he read from some random paper and sipped from a near empty can. His voice had been edged rough with the alcohol and his tone was plain with obvious disinterest. Everything around me was distorted in memory, except my father's figure, his paper was blurred, the room was off kilter, even his can of beer on the coffee table had little structure to my eyes. I know I had been staring at him for a long while, least before he said anything and my hand stopped hovering- the object continued floating however, it did not drop, but at the time I paid no notice to that fact, I had been curious a slight bit self conscious, eager for answers that my dad could give.

"Daddy, mommy said she loves me more then you today." I could recall being so invigorated to hear it, but I did not fully comprehend what she meant, after all I had been so young that I was scared of monsters in the closet. Certainly, I did not understand that saying so might be hurtful to my father, I'd been grinning actually at the time. Though he did nothing to it, in fact he only shuffled his paper slightly before smiling somewhat melancholy to himself in a way that I could not interpret as pained at the time. He did glance up at me though, and I know he smiled, it had been genuine too.

"Of course she does son, parents love their children more then anything." His eyes then turned back to his paper, I cannot say the sight is clear, but I do remember just staring at something floating instead of my father's dark figure sat on the sofa just above me.

"Mommy said that I'm her's." My hands had been on soft ball, moldable to the touch, a stress ball they sell so often in all the little shops. It had been calming, though I do not think that so young I would have recognized that. I cannot say in any certainty, in truth the action may have done nothing- or it could have changed an abondance of things; if I'd given my dad the stress ball he may have calmed down, his demeanor might've shifted and he might've ignored my words. At the time, young, sitting on my house's living room floor and playing with an object I cannot remember with a sickness I could not name and entirely oblivious- at the time, I would have wanted him to calm down. Now however, I am forever glad that I did not give Ivan a method to calm down.

He had stared at me with furrowed brows and a type of scoff coiling on his lips that simply indicated a profound confusion and amazement at my seemingly ridiculous statement. Because he had laughed, a type of nastal sound that was through his nose and shook his frame, but he folded away his newspaper and tossed it onto the table- arm thrown over the back of the couch as he smiled at me in mild amusement. "Of course you are, you're her son." It had been made a statement, and I know that even then I had responded by rolling my eyes just as I'd seen both my parents do when irate.

"No! Daadddd-" Easily annoyed, I had pouted at him. Our voices began to echo in the seemingly entirely distorted room, the only clear things other then my and his voices was Ivan himself. "No! I went to see Grampa today!" I know I was grinning, I'd adored him back then. "And Grampa gave me new socks! And then hugs!" I remember I had been a very tactile child, always wishing to touch things or people in an attempt to understand, though, I know that I often simply craved attention. "Mommy got angry..." It had made me sad to think at the time, confused mainly however, as I could not understand her annoyance. "She yelled at him, and then when we left the guild said that he shouldn't touch me." That was when I saw my father flinch a slight, rolling his shoulders back and peering at me with narrowed eyes.

"Why?" He asked, but I shrugged, mainly because I did not understand, but he did.

"I don't know. When mommy puts me to bed at night, she tells me that I'm her's and then!-" Because I was young and excited at all the attention, not confused or conflicted. "She hugs me before I put on my jammy's and puts kissy's on my hair, and my nose, and my cheekies! And my lips and my neck! And even on my back! Hehe- she kisses my bum-bum too! She always kisses my bum-bum and my pee-pee!" I hadn't understood, nor had I cared. I do however remember, my father's expression- it remains a firm stone inside my thoughts, not even as a mockery of how he looked, but simply because it is actually a rather pleasant comprehension of mine to understand that he had cared: He had gone a sickening white, nye translucent his green tinged veins could be seen through his skin, and he hadn't been blinking his chest hadn't moved, and his eyes were blown wide, his body had been frozen in place. If merely for a fraction of a moment, before he had jumped up, his force in movement spilling his remaining drink and I know he had hit his leg hard on the table, but no reaction came from him.

Blurred really, because he had been breathing heavily- and I know he had been close to hyperventilating, he was mumbling scrambled words to himself and his hands, arms and legs were shaking so much that I had been worried. But in calling out to him no response came, Ivan had forcefully hauled me into his arms and spead out the front door with almost a run. "Laxus son- sweetie-" My father never called me that, well, perhaps when I had been an infant. "-you're going to be staying with your grandfather for awhile-" he broke in the middle of his sentence, he was entirely quiet, but even I could notice he had been crying. I was young, so it just made me more scared in addition to how he was acting, and I just cuddled my face into his neck with his beard brushing against my cheek. Finally, he continued, "- I just remembered, Mommy went on a long job for awhile and I will be too, so grandpa is going to be watching you." His breathing had been soothing down, something more placid coming forth as we neared the familiar guildhall. It was meak, very weakly done but; "yay...!" He had attempted to make it sound a slight exciting, it had almost been comforting.

The memory fades after that, I think I had fallen asleep on my dad's shoulder though. I know he did not tell grandpa of anything that day though, as I was told later on; he had merely asked his father to watch me, muttering about confirming something before he'd rushed back home and was then gone for a week, only returning when my Mother did.

My father is a complete asshole, but even I, with all the begrudgement in the world I can place unto the man- even I can acknowledge; he had tried in the beginning.

.o0o.

I wake to myself, in my hand the handle of a spatula, lax in my grip, hovering over the simmering pan. Though my vision is a slight clouded as I come to reality's harsh grasp, my fingers are unreasonably tight as I turn off the stove and throw the tool down. My mind is uncomfortable and I can feel a panic in my chest from remembrance, it prickles at the forefront of my mind in taunting fragments of long shoved away thoughts I have no qualm throwing into the abyss that represents forgetfulness and despair. It itches in my chest in a stem of panic, itching like the fabric of a dirtied carpet on my skin, I have a profound want to rid myself- free from it all and continue living as a man with blissful ignorance; yet, should I forgo my memories of those encasing, crumpled years, I would not be the man I am today, and that in itself is a burden to comprehend. Its a sigh that leaves me as I turn back to my muted plate of scrambled eggs on the table, to see Natsu contently shovelling food into his mouth with hands covered with yoke and grease from the bacon I had cooked in addition. He is paying no attention to me or his surroundings, and obviously, uncaring of his manners being the same as a three year old- though I imagine a three year old would be more graceful.

My eyes roll, and a sickeningly sweetened thought races through my head at such a breaking speed, I can only fathom that my lightning magic -so to speak,- had been the cause; if I hadn't the memories fogging, clammoring, scratching and biting at the back of my mind for so many years. Then at the cathedral my head may not have been ransacked with the indesire to fight, indeed I may not have been there at all- half incomprehensive of my own actions and partially blinded by my own fearful want of power, if I had not all the terrorizing glimpses of history, then I would not be the man I am now- and I doubt, deeply, that I would love Natsu as I do now. So if only for that, I can grant they were -are?- useful. I sit beside him at the table, where I haven't before, the bottom of the seat undoubtably smaller. His cheeks are bulged with food, as if he's storing it away as a squirl or hamster might, honestly in appearance he has no resemblance to a Salamander, nor in fighting truly. I cannot ever find placation with my memories, but if they were forgone; then I would never have seen his ridiculous contented expression, with cheeks full- bulging with food and eyes closed in happiness.