Chapter Text
This is a fine mess to have gotten into, and Freed knows well that he is never going to hear the end of it. But what really sucks is that he can’t even think of how he was supposed to avoid this situation. True daemon are rarer even than their less genuine counterparts. Of course, demons from the books of Zeref are only so great in number, not at all too common, but even Tartaros did not have all the ones in creation. And demons from the books of Zeref are not the same thing as true daemon. Demons only cause problems because now far too many wizards think they can handle daemons, when they truly are not the same thing.
Freed spent a solid minute thanking the stars when Jellal showed up looking for him, even if the news that a real daemon had found its way into their world is troubling. Demons are just powerful, and they use variant powers that aren’t technically magic, but they are fundamentally different from daemons by the simple fact of their existence: they were created by a human wizard. For that reason, they simply can’t measure up to daemons.
“Do I get an explanation as to why someone in their early twenties is the alleged leading expert on an incredibly rare species of magical creatures from another dimension in the country and-or continent, or even the world?” Jellal had asked dryly.
Freed had just shrugged, “Long story.”
“But you’ll help?”
”Of course I will,” he had scoffed. “Daemon are dangerous, and it takes a specific set of skills to deal with them. I never turn away from a report of a daemon.”
But this had also been different from the start, bigger than the daemon attacks he had dealt with before. This one had to have a particularly nasty trick up its sleeve. He doesn’t actually know yet how the hell it is creating or summoning all of these daemonic beasts, but it is causing quite the ruckus.
Many of his guild mates are here, thankfully. Fairy Tail isn’t a stranger to lending a hand where regular military presence would end up carrying heavy fatalities, it’s part of the reason that Jellal brings problems like this to them. Not only are a lot of their members running on spite and hero complexes, but once Freed’s teammates caught the rest of the guild up on the small fact that Freed was never going to turn away from the threat of a daemon, pretty much everyone decided it was their problem too. Fairy Tail is just like that.
But today, in this poor town overrun by beasts, Freed is glad for the manpower. Now if only he could do his job and find the fucking daemon. It is hiding irritatingly well, probably because the fact that it can either spawn or at least summon and control a small army of daemonic beasts probably means that the daemon itself won’t be able to hold his own in a head on battle.
A resounding boom calls Freed’s attention to the top of a building crumbling. This is getting out of hand. “Still nothing?” Bixlow appears in the air behind him.
”I’m gonna start destroying buildings myself,” Freed sighs. “I need to find this thing soon, I’m starting to get seriously concerned.”
“Whatever this thing is,” Bix scoffs, “it ain’t showing its face.”
“You’re telling me. Just let me know if you see anything, I’m getting really sick of playing hide-and-seek.” Bixlow nods sharply, and Freed launches himself into the air again. The town is on its way to ruin, his guild mates scattered throughout the rubble trying to cut through the hordes of beasts.
But then he spots it, out of the corner of his eye. If it weren’t for his magic, he would never be able to pick up what it was he saw, but the traces of magic linger behind where the daemon has disappeared again. He can’t see it now, but it only takes a moment to let daemonic energy surge through his body and into his eye. It isn’t quite the same as his ocular magic, but that skill does lend itself to this as he all but curses his own eye.
The trail of demonic energy traces through the town, moving carefully around the conflicts toward the edge of town. “Coward,” Freed mutters under his breath. ”Dark Ecriture: Concealment.” Once he disappears from sight, he trails after the daemon. It’s better to let the daemon get away from the other first, to keep Freed’s friends out of the line of fire.
I’m here, a voice rings, clear and sudden, in his head, I’m here!
Warren, where the hell have you been? Erza demands telepathically. Everyone, check in now that we can, these beasts are far too great in number.
Where are they coming from? Mirajane pipes up, I can’t locate a specific direction, it seems like they’re everywhere.
They’ve gotta be coming from the demon, right? Gray adds, and Freed genuinely has to resist the urge to correct him. Freed, please tell me that thing is dead or dying.
Not quite, he admits tersely, I’m on its tail now, headed out of town. And as for the beasts, it’s complicated. I have no idea how or why this daemon could possibly be this powerful. Remain cautious.
Lucy’s voice rises among the background of chaos in the telepathic link, Do you need backup?
Is there anyone who can give it? Freed asks right back, I’ll handle it, I’ll be as quick as possible.
Be careful, Laxus barks.
Freed doesn’t respond, distracted as the daemon finally reappears. It slips into existence in a shadowy corner behind Warren. Freed dives immediately, Warren, behind you!
The wizard whips around, but can’t react in time. The daemon lashes out with several arms of sharp claws, and in a moment the damage is done. Freed’s spell is only delayed by a moment, but as the daemon gets thrown backward, Warren is on the ground. Freed drops down next to him. “Hey, Warren, stay with me.”
The man groans, covered in open wounds, “What the fuck was that? It was only a second.”
”Wendy!” Freed shouts aloud, clearly seeing that Warren’s telepathy is not an option. He turns back to his guild mate for a moment, “Daemons are like that, especially ones like this. It can’t stand up in a fight, so it gets strong in other ways. All the beasts, the one strong attack.”
Warren laughs weakly, “Just my luck, huh? Don’t tell me you lost the damn thing because of me.”
“I’ll find it again,” Freed reassures, hiding his own concerns. He’s already allowed the daemonic energy to fade from his body at the chance for a break. He knows that what he’s doing now is far more dangerous than his conventional practices.
“Freed!” Wendy’s voice draws his attention. “Is it Warren?” Freed stands again and nods, gesturing to the slumped, bloody figure.
“Stay with him,” he instructs, “I’m going after the daemon.”
“You should get some backup,” Wendy tries.
Freed just replies, “And have someone else get hurt?” But just by having this short conversation, he’s losing more time, so he takes to the sky again. With half a second of self pity, he forces cursed energy up through his body once more. The slight, stabbing pain behind his eye lets him know just how little time he has left, but before he can even pick up the trail he hears a scream. A terrifyingly familiar one.
By the time he crests one of the few tall buildings that is still standing, he can see Ever on the ground. She, too, is bloody and bruised, but when Freed lands next to her, see glares. “It’s picking us off one by one,” she chokes out, “Go find the damn thing.”
Reluctantly, he nods, ignoring the growing pain in his head as he finally picks up its trail again. It follows it to the center of town until he can see where the trail ends abruptly in a fog of daemonic energy, where the daemon is right now. Freed casts another spell, and this time, it lands. He can’t see it visually, but he can see the energy with his left eye as the daemon gets thrown against a building. At last, he hears its voice, raspy and disturbing. “Demon killer,” it sneers resentfully in recognition.
There’s quite a few people around now, and they’ve taken notice of Freed’s presence. His guild mates have shifted their stance, holding off the beasts trying to run to the aid of their master. “And you’re a human killer,” Freed says back. “We’re both going to do what we have to.”
”I’m well aware,” the thing sounds amused, “But let's see how long you can keep up that little trick…” it fades into existence, a sick cross between a bipedal spider and an armored humanoid, and lunges at him, “Before it costs you your eye.”
It knows then, that isn’t good. Freed can’t afford to fight this thing at a disadvantage. He’s faster than it once he can get ahead of it, so he tries to keep his distance, flinging ranged spells that are wearing down his opponent far too slowly. A massive, bear-like beast the size of a building appears almost out of nowhere. He thinks he sees the moment when the daemon summons it, but he also sees the moment Erza flings herself at the beast, so it is hard to be concerned.
Pain flares up, stabbing into his skull, and he’s off balance for a moment. The daemon is on top of him, tearing into his stomach, and then it vanishes.
In the confusion of pain, he drops his daemonic enchantment to dull the pain just for a moment. He sits up and all he can see is chaos around him. For a moment, it’s only his guild mates fending off bloodthirsty beasts. But then Gray is crying out, and with no clear assailant red is exploding from his back. He’s on one knee, and a jet black tiger pounces. It’s almost a miracle that Juvia reaches him in time, cutting through the beast with a well placed arc of water.
Evergreen was right, it’s picking them off one by one, and his guild mates don’t have a chance. Even Laxus or Natsu’s enhanced senses can’t pick up something that doesn’t exist in the realm of those senses. Freed is the only one with a chance to keep up with this thing.
Clutching the side of his head to shield his left eye from the suddenly intense strength of the sun, he pushes himself to his feet. “Freed!” Speak of the devil, Laxus is at his side in a flash of lightning. “What’s happening— it got your eye?”
”No,” Freed shakes his head a little and immediately regrets it. “It’s my own fault.” Laxus knows, to an extent, the toll that some of Freed’s magic takes on his body, and he isn’t a fan. “I need to—”
”Absolutely not,” Laxus interrupts, “If it’s already getting to you, we’ll need another way—”
”There is no other way,” Freed fires back. “None of you can see it. Even you can’t pick up on its scent, right?” Before the argument can even continue, it’s Lucy’s distress that next pierces the air. There isn’t time for this, someone is going to die. ”Cover me,” Freed demands, leaving no room for debate.
Steeling himself, he lets the sharp, burning energy surge through him again. He knows on the outside it will only appear like his eyes are being dyed purple, almost like his ocular magic. But the daemon’s presence is revealed to him again.
His whole head pounds as he pursues it once more, the pain dangerously dulling his other, regular senses, but he knows Laxus will handle the beasts around them. His left eye feels like it has been set aflame, and he wonders distantly if this is what people who face Laxus’ magic feel like. Freed has never felt the full force of Laxus’ magic, especially at the man’s current power, so he can only imagine that this searing pain must be it.
His vision starts to change, and he knows that this is his last warning, his body’s final hurrah to tell him he’s going too far. But the trail is circling around, the daemon has abandoned trying to actually fight Freed. It’s heading straight toward Laxus.
“Dark Ecriture: Darkness.” Feeling the power flow through him, even dimming the agony for a moment, Freed charges forward. He physically barrels into the daemon, still technically present in the physical world even if it is completely undetectable.
It keeps slipping away from him, but it’s slowing down, and as long as Freed keeps up the pain he is inflicting upon himself, it can’t hide. He hits it with a painful spell of his own and it slows down, and then he takes a chunk out of its arm with the power of his Darkness form. His right eye starts to burn as his left starts going completely dark, and with a final, powerful surge of as much magic as he can muster, Freed mutters out one more spell, “Dark Ecriture: Obliterate.”
The explosion of magic forces him back too, and he doesn’t have the strength to resist it. He crumples on the ground where he is thrown, finally letting his mystic defenses fall away. And, too, he lets go of the desperation driving him forward, and lets the terror sink in.
He’s gone too far. A part of him wants to argue, desperately claim that he doesn’t know for sure what the true limit is. But as his right eye is assaulted with light even under his closed eyelids, there is nothing but darkness in the other. It doesn’t get this dark from just shutting your eyes when you’re directly under the sun. People are shouting around him, the beasts are probably gone so they’re probably trying to treat the wounded, but he can’t bring himself to pay attention.
Not far from what he horrifically knows are tears, he peels his eyes open. He takes in some of what’s around him, Lucy on his right standing with Natsu’s help, Bixlow and Mira bringing the other injured people over to where Wendy stands in front of him. He hears Juvia on his left. Choked on grief, he raises his hand. He needs some hope, some sign… but when he waves his hand, not the slightest bit of movement registers in the blackness until it crosses over into the sphere of vision stemming from the right side of his head. He can’t see anything out of his left eye.
“—Hey,” Freed finally registers Laxus’ voice once more. “What happened, talk to me, how—”
Laxus is to his left, too, so he has to turn his head just to see the fear carved into the creases of his permanently aggressive expression. Freed forgets to respond as he stares, willing his vision to light up, his eye to open as if it isn’t already, but unsurprisingly, nothing happens. “I can’t see,” Freed admits softly, unaware of what exactly Laxus is saying when he interrupts. “My left eye— I can’t see.”
”Shit, shit.” He feels a hand on his waist and jumps at the contact. “Fuck, sorry…” Laxus shifts around him, coming more into view, and reaches out where Freed can see to help him stand. For a moment, Freed just sinks into his partner's embrace, exhausted and sorrowful. But he realizes then that Laxus is guiding him toward Wendy’s makeshift first aid camp.
“Laxus… it won’t matter,” Freed explains softly. It feels like swallowing glass, but he pushes the words out desperately anyway. That doesn’t stop or even warrant a response from Laxus. Freed understands that it won’t be so easily accepted by the people around him, he too is still holding out hope that he’s wrong. But, logically, he knows precisely what he’s done.
“Laxus, what happened?” Wendy asks as they approach. “The daemon got Freed while they were fighting?”
Freed has simply been clutching his torso, the wound from the daemon itself isn’t so deep, so he’d sort of forgotten. He is more or less manhandled by Laxus and Wendy into sitting down and getting the wound looked at, and promptly healed, but Laxus goes on to explain, “His eye. He lost his vision in his left eye.”
Wendy’s face grows wide with dismay, “How? I need to know exactly what happened.”
”Wendy,” Freed reaches out and puts his hand over hers gently, “There’s nothing you can do. I wasn’t injured. I used daemonic magic to track the daemon, it’s dangerous. I knew what I was doing. There’s no reversing the damage. This is the price for using this sort of power in a human body.”
Annoyingly, he’s attracted the attention of everyone around him in the process of explaining it. His friends and guild mates are all visibly in different stages of processing exactly what it is that he is saying. “There has to be something Wendy can do,” Laxus insists. “Sky magic is also pretty rare and—”
”It’s different. Using daemonic magic comes with a cost, period. If it could just be healed, then it wouldn’t be an appropriate sacrifice. It’s where the folklore idea of a deal with a demon comes from: there’s always a price.” Freed reaches up and touches Laxus’ face. He knows that Laxus is not going to take this well, that him getting such a serious injury is going to break his heart. Laxus is going to try his hardest never to forgive himself for it, despite having nothing to do with the battle. Or maybe because of that.
“So what?” Evergreen demands. She’s standing not far off with Bixlow, seemingly already having been treated by Wendy because she’s in much better shape. “You’re blind in one eye?” She’s visibly waiting for some clarification, some dissent, but Freed just nods slowly. “That’s insane, why would you do that, if you knew—”
”It was the only way to track the daemon,” Freed interrupts firmly. “I was the only one capable of following it, and it was going to kill all of you and then every other person it got its hands on. I did what I had to do.”
The people around him seem to be shocked into silence. He supposes none of them were really expecting this random quest to lead to someone being permanently maimed. It hasn’t really processed for Freed yet either, he thinks he might just be working on a mission oriented brain. Facts and necessity are blurring out any sort of emotion right now. Maybe he’s in shock? That or disassociating.
Ever opens her mouth again, but all she can really do is say, “But… Freed…”
”We should get back to the guild,” Lucy suggests, her face also overcome with grief. “Porlyushica must be capable of helping somehow.”
”Lucy—”
”We have to try something,” she insists. With the way she, and everyone else, is looking at him, he can’t resist the determination that they seem to have.
There is a lot to do with all the destruction around, it isn’t like they can just return home with all the wreckage of the town still scattered about. Laxus insists that Freed does nothing to help, despite the fact that he is still navigating fairly well. He is poked and prodded by both Wendy and the local doctors while his bed rest is enforced by various guards who were supposed to be his friends.
Laxus hovers quite a lot, despite being more than capable of helping with the clean up. He is completely resistant to the concept of Freed so much as standing up on his own. As condescending as it can come across, it is also quite comforting. With a third of his world shrouded in complete darkness, Freed feels painfully vulnerable. Even with no enemies around, he feels almost naked. Most people aren’t completely silent, so Freed can usually hear or at least sense people nearby, but that doesn’t change the fact that his field of vision has been reduced by a third, and anything even slightly to the left of straight ahead is viable only in the peripheral vision of his right eye. Having Laxus by his side is reassuring, to say the least.
Freed processes slowly. There hadn’t been time, during the battle, to think about what he had been doing. He had only done what he had to do. To release the spell would’ve been to leave his family at the mercy of the daemon and its beasts, it wasn’t even a question. But now Freed has nothing but time to think, and he can’t stop.
He isn’t sure what he’s going to do. Freed isn’t ready to retire from being an active wizard. Despite the difference in his personality from many of his guild mates, he too has built his life on adventure. Traveling, facing challenges, helping people, the things he does as a wizard make up who he is as a person.
But Laxus looks so scared too. He is trying, valiantly, to hide it, but Freed can tell from the way that, every time he stumbles or startles over something he hadn’t seen, Laxus puts an arm around his shoulder or a hand around his arm, something to hold him up and hold him close. Laxus is protective on the best of days, but now that Freed is injured like this, he is sure to escalate. A lot. Freed is trying to be strong for his sake, because he knows Laxus is going to blame himself for not being able to fight by Freed’s side. And for Ever’s sake, because she told them to protect their guild mates, and Bixlow’s, because he told him to go find the daemon. This is something Freed can do, this is what Freed does. He takes care of his team, he stays strong and calm in the face of terror.
~~~
“What do you mean, you can’t do anything?” Laxus demands. Porlyusica does not even blink, incredibly, despite the fact that Laxus is, likely unintentionally, towering over her.
“It is most likely because of how the injury was obtained,” Porlyusica explains patiently.
“You replaced my eye!” Erza points out, standing not far away with most of the gathered crowd of wizards. “There must be something—”
”If I were to try and remove the ruined eyeball, I’d likely do severe nerve damage,” Porlyusica interrupts. “Because it is an injury enacted on someone who dares to use daemonic energy. Daemonic magic is rotten, it sucks away life. And that is what it did.” She looks back at Freed and her voice is just barely softer, “You knew what you were doing.” It isn’t an accusation.
Freed nods slowly, “I did. I understood the consequences, and I made my choice.”
”Why?” Laxus demands. “You shouldn’t have—”
“What was I supposed to do?” Freed demands, patience entirely snapping at the same question being thrown at him repeatedly. “It had already attacked Warren, Gray, Lucy, and Ever, capable wizards who easily could’ve won in a head on battle. If I couldn't track it down we all would’ve been slaughtered! What other option did I have?”
The guild hall is deathly silent. Most of the guild was gathered here, the celebratory mood had quickly been quashed as Lucy and Laxus immediately started calling for Porlyusica as they entered the hall. The slightly more level headed members of the group had explained how the battle went to the rest of the guild. Now even gramps looks distraught, which Freed truly despises, and it has only gotten worse as Porlyusica’s examination went on.
“I knew what I was doing,” Freed whispers hoarsely into the silence, “I made my choice. I chose all of you, just like each of you would have done in my place.” Incapable of sitting in this pit of pity, Freed just looks back to Porlyusica with his one working eye. “Can I get something for the pain?” The searing feeling is dying very, very slowly, and Freed is no longer content to wait it out.
”Of course,” the doctor supplies, reaching into a pouch at her waist.
“Are you in pain?” Bixlow scrutinizes Freed’s face like he’ll be able to tell by sight, “You should’ve said something. We—”
”Enough,” Freed snaps. “Enough with all of this. I’m partially blind, but I have not been paralyzed from the neck down. I am not completely incapable, and I’m not going to sit here with you all grieving like I’ve died.” Bixlow looks sufficiently chastised, but it isn’t just him. The faces of those around him shift into either guilt or an attempt at being normal or even a faux but well intentioned optimism, the latter of which is greatly appreciated.
”Here, chew on this,” Porlyusica instructs, holding a small pile of brightly colored leaves out in her hand. “It’ll be bitter, but the juices will help numb the pain.” Freed dutifully eats the herbs, not struggling to ignore the poor flavor.
The guild starts bustling around him again, never still or quiet for very long, and Porlyusica runs him through a couple of things to take care of the injury. Before he can even say anything, the moment that Porlyusica finishes she instructs him to go directly home. She even goes over his head and turns to Laxus, insisting that he needs rest for at least a couple of days.
Laxus stands dutifully on his blind side as they walk, far too cautiously making sure nothing can get in their way as if people don’t already clear the way when they see Laxus coming. Freed is distracted during the walk, or rather, he’s far too focused on his vision.
Everything looks strange. He’s walked this path from the guild to his home thousands of times, but with his vision cut off the familiar views are warped. It’s… surprisingly distressing. As they walk down the side alley they use to avoid the main square, he can smell Mr. Pirios’ bakery, but he can’t see the rows of pastries in the window out of the corner of his eye. A couple of blocks away from home, Laxus nudges him slightly. If he hadn’t, Freed would’ve missed little Hera waving at him from her window as he passes, for the first time ever. He has never not waved back if Hera is at home, sitting in her window nook reading.
He feels uncharacteristically drained by the time he’s crossing the threshold of his home. He can’t see the framed pictures on the dresser along the left wall of the short entryway hall, and as he walks into the living room he stumbles over the carpet. He doesn’t catch himself.
He crumples on the ground, not really hearing the panicked words of the man behind him as he finally lets tears fall. Choking on blackness creeping into his vision. He can’t tell what’s happening around him, his senses are clogged and blurred, but he can see distantly that Laxus is in front of him now. Laxus reaches out and drags him forward, no longer trying to speak to him, and wraps him in a tight embrace.
Freed doesn’t cry a lot. He doesn’t tend toward outbursts of emotion. He gets depressed and low energy, but when he wakes up from nightmares or faces a particularly nasty injury, he tries to find a solution. The consequence of this is that he doesn’t really know how to handle this. He sobs desperately as everything that has happened sinks slowly into his skin. The only grounding thing is the tight grip wrapped around his arms and back, the solid presence of being pressed into Laxus’ chest. He spends several minutes just crumpled on the ground, falling apart.
Minute by minute, the soothing circles being rubbed into his back come into focus, the sound of soft comforts filtering into his mind at last. Part of him doesn’t want to come back, because to come back would be to face the fact that he is here, collapsed onto the floor, half pulled into his partner's lap as Laxus sits with him, completely non-judgmental. “What happens now?” He croaks out, voice raw.
At the realization that he’s finally half-present, Laxus puts a gentle hand on his jaw and lifts his face. Laxus matches his element very well, but no other part of him can rival his eyes. All that Freed sees when he looks in those eyes is lightning in a glass bottle. “We’re going to take it one day at a time,” Laxus murmurs softly, “And we’re going to figure it out.”
Freed hates these circumstances, because in any other situation he’d be reveling in this because Laxus can find this sort of vulnerability and softness so difficult to express. “I can’t—” he tries to explain, but his mind, for once, is failing him. “Laxus, what if I can’t… if I can’t go on jobs anymore, if I can’t fight or move around effectively—”
“This isn’t about money, or working, or anything, is it?” Laxus brushes the long hair out of Freed’s face, tucking it behind his ear and revealing the crippled eye. Freed can only imagine what it looks like, all this time having been too afraid to look, but he knows it won’t be pretty. “Freed, you are the last person I can ever imagine settling down to a conventional lifestyle. This isn’t going to stop you. I’ve tried to stop you from doing all sorts of things, plenty of times, I’ve never once succeeded. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything successfully stop you from doing something you set your mind to. You’ve taken hits before, you’ve never stayed down. Even when I wish you would.”
Freed doesn’t understand how Laxus can have that sort of confidence. His balance, his depth perception, his most basic observation ability has plummeted. He watches his partner’s face hold firm, unflinching, despite the mess that Freed knows he is right now. “How can you be okay with this?” He rasps, “I can’t see you—”
”I don’t care,” Laxus interrupts harshly, “And for the record, of course I’m not fucking okay with this. But that’s because you’re hurt, Freed, you were fucking maimed, I am in no way okay with that. But I don’t care if you can’t see me as well, if you can’t go on jobs for a while or if you need some help from now on.” Freed doesn’t know exactly what is spelt out on his face, how much of the grief or fear or disbelief is actually visible. “Freed,” Laxus says firmly, cupping Freed’s face with calloused, gentle hands, “my love for you is not conditional. Your place in this house, on this team, in this guild, have never been conditional.”
Freed, in truth, isn’t even capable of responding to that. He’s more than familiar with the painful dichotomy between the high opinion with which he regards those around him as honest and loving people and the confidence he severely lacks in the value he holds outside of his level of capability.
Slowly, Laxus pulls himself away slightly to push himself up and then drags Freed up to his feet. “For now, you’re exhausted. Please get some rest.”
Now, Freed allows himself to be guided. The wild fear and anxiety have to an extent given way to the sheer exhaustion left behind by the whole situation. He knows, logically, that he might feel a bit better once he is physically recovered.
Laxus helps him carefully remove his privately admitted complicated clothing and change into pajamas. They’re soft and high quality, a very deep purple color, something Laxus bought him on a whim when they were on a job and Freed had simply forgotten to pack sleepwear and Laxus decided to buy terribly expensive replacements. He stares as he watches Laxus start getting ready for bed.
“It isn’t very late,” Freed points out. “You don’t have to—”
”I’m tired,” Laxus deadpans, daring Freed to argue. He can’t resist smiling at the gruff stubbornness.
Now, while he’s too tired to think about anything that has happened and he gets to curl into Laxus’ side, warm and comforting, he doesn’t actually have trouble falling asleep.