Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail, or any of it's characters. All rights belong to Hiro Mashima.

Hello :) Here's a new story I wrote. If any of you are new to my writings, hi, I hope you enjoy it. If you aren't new, I hope this is up to my "standards" and that you enjoy it. *nervously scratches cheek* so I guess here goes...

"I'm coming, jeez. Stop knocking already, it's 3 in the goddamn morning." I growled, stomping down the stairs with a sweater haphazardly hanging off of one shoulder in an attempt to cover my pajama clad body.

The one downside to moving into a little condo of my own? I had a front door that was accessible to the whole freaking street, day or night.

With a final angry growl, I glanced through the peephole, grateful that my sleep-deprived mind was at least capable of some coherent thought. The person on the other side was staring at the ground, awkwardly shuffling their feet. I attempted to fight a snort of amusement, but eventually let it out.

God, I was tired. Sighing, I leaned against the frame, waiting for the person to lift their head so I could at least verify that I knew them. Annoyingly enough, they kept their head facing the ground as they continued to shuffle around. Feeling a vein tick in my head with my annoyance, I prepared to go back upstairs to bed.

Then they moved, carefully pressing their hand against their side only for it to come away soaked in blood. Sucking in a breath, I suddenly felt wide awake, wrenching open the door without a seconds thought.

"Get in here," I hissed. "Quickly!" The person kept their head down, stumbling over my doorstep as quickly as they could. As soon as they were in I closed the door with a definitive click, locking both the handle and the chain lock.

"Thank you," The person rasped, their voice slightly slurred with what I assumed to be either pain or exhaustion. Or both.

"Shut up." I snapped, suddenly annoyed at how this person would get themselves hurt like this. "You want to hurt yourself more?"

They let out a weak chuckle, finally raising their head so I could see them clearly.

"Oh my god," I breathed, feeling my chest constrict. "That tattoo…" My voice was shaky, and I took a moment to curse my weakness.

Instantly ducking his head once more, the newly revealed man began to move back towards my door. "I'm sorry, I should've showed you first." His hand was already on the lock by the time I realized he was going to go back out.

"NO!" I shouted, surprising myself as I darted between his body and the door. "Don't you dare leave. You're hurt." It didn't matter that the tattoo covering half of his face signified that he was in the mafia house that killed my parents and abused me when I was little. He was hurt, and badly if the strain on his features was any indication. If my parents taught me anything, it was that you never left a man behind. Or in this case, bleeding out on your doorstep.

His dark green eyes stared at me in stunned silence. "But, I…" Appearing to be at a loss for words, he merely nodded his head and dropped his hand from the lock. "Okay. Thank you." His voice was barely a whisper, and I watched as his shoulders slumped with relief. I hadn't even noticed him tense.

"Come on you, let's get you fixed up." I declared suddenly, steeling my resolve and tentatively pulling one of his arms over my shoulders. Though I had just stormed down them seconds ago without a second thought, the stairs suddenly looked much more daunting. Tightening my grip on his wrist, I half carried the weight of the man as we slowly made our way upstairs.

By the time we reached the top, the man was panting harshly. Despite his best attempts to stay quiet about his pain, I could hear the agony laced breaths as they puffed past his bloodstained lips.

"Look, I don't care who you are, but I do care that you're hurt. So let me know how injured you are and we'll work from there." I finally puffed, my chest heaving. He wasn't a large man, but he was so weak that he was basically dead weight at this point.

Seeming to realize he was crushing me, the man tried to stand up more and lessen my burden. This both angered me and made my heart soften slightly towards him. Why was he so adamant on hurting himself? But at the same time, his attempt at helping me made me not as worried about where he came from. Even coming from one of the worst gangs in the city of Magnolia, he still seemed to have a conscience. Or something of the sort.

"Oi, stop it. Jeez, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to kill yourself." I muttered as we stumbled through the doorway to my bedroom.

"What makes you think I'm not?" He wheezed, clutching his side tightly when I slid him off my shoulder and onto my rumpled sheets. The moonlight caught on his cheekbones, and I realized just how pale he'd gotten since he entered into my darkened foyer. Biting back a horrified gasp, I gently eased him back onto the pillows as I replied.

"If you wanted to die, you wouldn't have come to my house in the first place. You wouldn't have tried to find shelter. You wouldn't have been so relieved when I said you could stay. Don't try and pull that crap on me." The tone of my voice was completely different from the gentleness of my hands as I helped him ease off his long overcoat. Letting out a weak, halfhearted chuckle, the man began to slowly undo his blood-soaked shirt.

"A couple of my ribs may be broken. And obviously I was shot in the side. Some bruises, I think. Maybe a black eye." He breathed, his voice strained as he attempted to slide his shirt off his arms. Stubborn. I mused, leaning forwards and slowly easing his shirt over his shoulders and onto the floor. He let out a muted hiss as it pulled away from his bullet wound, and I quickly passed him a small towel.

"Keep pressure on it, I'll be right back." I ordered firmly, holding out my finger as a warning as I backed towards my door.

"Yes mother." He quipped, glancing at me with amusement and gratitude. Normally, I would've snapped back in annoyance, or at least glared. But with him, I just offered a ghost of a smile and slipped out of the room. Was it because I was afraid of what his gang had done in the past? Maybe I was worried I'd get in the crossfire between his gang and another, and I was hoping that by helping him I'd keep myself relatively safe? No. Shaking my head at my thoughts, I realized that what really got to me about him was his genuine emotions and strength. I liked his character, oddly enough.

By the time I returned to my room with a small armload of supplies, his top half was completely bare and he laid against my pillows with a pained frown tugging at his lips. Thankfully, despite the obvious pain he was experiencing, he still held the towel to his open wound.

"Hey, you. We're not done yet. Sit up." He cracked open his eyes at my voice, and I noticed traces of tears in the corners of his eyes. "Are you-"

"I'm fine." He cut me off almost immediately, sitting up without a complaint. Raising an eyebrow, I nodded slowly.

"Okay." Turning on my bedside lamp, I placed the supplies on the bed by his feet. When I glanced back at him I felt my stomach clench. How did he just sit up? The bullet had pierced his body a little left of his stomach, but it hadn't gone completely through. Which meant I now had to remove it. "Shit."

The man chuckled weakly, and I found myself wishing he'd stop making any noises. He must have a death wish of some sort.

"Do your worst." He told me, grabbing my frozen hand and pulling it towards his bloody torso. Upon contact with his feverish flesh I felt a shock go through my arm and he let out a weak groan, closing his eyes tightly. Easing him back slightly, I opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Through clenched teeth, he uttered a curse as I slowly poured some hydrogen peroxide over the wound, keeping a towel pressed against his side to catch the runoff.

After a fair amount of silent curses and hydrogen peroxide, I placed the cap back on the bottle and put it on the floor behind me. Now came the difficult part.

"Do you want something to bite on?" I offered weakly as I sterilized the tweezers I was using for the extraction. It briefly occurred to me that I could just take him to the hospital, but then a wave of protectiveness surged up within me and I realized he'd most likely be sent to jail or sentenced to death because of his associations with the Six Brothers mafia. No way. It didn't matter that we'd just met. He didn't deserve that. I was almost certain of the fact.

"Yeah, sure." He gasped, eyes shut tight against the pain. Standing up quickly I hurried to my closet and pulled out one of my thickest leather belts. It'd have to do.

"Here. Bite down." I murmured softly, folding the belt in half and placing it between his teeth.

"Mhngh," He grunted, tendons on his neck standing out as he bit down on the belt fiercely. I gently laid my cool hand on the hot skin around the wound.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, slowly putting the tweezers into his wound until I heard a slight click. Carefully, I opened the tweezers to the right width. I could tell by the way the man's features tightened in pain. His skin was taut over his bones with the strain and I quickly tightened my grip on the bullet, easing it out slowly. An animalistic growl burst from his lips and one of his hands shot to my arm, holding it tightly.

Instantly freezing, I turned to look at him. My hand hovered right above his stomach, the bullet almost fully removed from his body. His eyes, bright with pain, stared at me intently.

"I have to remove it." I whispered, my voice tight. It was physically hurting him to remove this bullet, but emotionally hurting me. Slowly, he offered a minute nod and released his hold on my arm. With a smooth, quick tug I had the bullet out and he groaned, throwing his head back and releasing his hold on the belt.

"Shit," He panted as I grabbed the belt—ignoring the deep bite marks—and put it and the bloody bullet on my nightstand.

"Yeah." I agreed, gently easing him back into a sitting position. Smoothly, I wiped a thin layer of antibiotic cream around the edges of the wound. It was an angry red, but there were no signs of blood poisoning or infection. Thank god. In two minutes I had his torso wrapped in a thick gauze.

"I can't do anything for your ribs, but I have a friend. She'll help." I noticed his shoulders tense slightly at my words and quickly added, "And she won't tell anyone she saw you." This seemed to be all the reassurance he needed and he sagged into my pillows in exhaustion. "Now let me see your eye real quick." I murmured, sitting lightly on the bed beside him and gently placing my hands on his cheeks to turn his face towards the light.

"You're pretty," he breathed, twisting a lock of my hair between his long fingers as I inspected his eye. "Scarlet… I used to have a friend I called Scarlet. Had hair just like yours. Was really caring too, just like you, you know? She was a prisoner though, so I let her go. Never saw her again. Stupid of me, wasn't it?" His vivid green eyes fluttered shut and I froze, my fingers resting against his angular cheekbones.

"Jellal?" I whispered brokenly as he drifted into unconsciousness.

A/N: Should I continue it? What do you guys think? Also, I hope none of you actually have any experience with removing bullets, but did that sound about right? I did some research, but most things were about wounds in general *anxiously bites lip*

But there you go. Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think...?