Disclosure: I do not own Fairy Tail or the character.
Warnings: Spoilers for Tartaros Arc and the current arc in the manga. Mentions of death. Swearing. Violence. Extreme angst.
I'm not really sure how good this is, so don't expect a masterpiece, but my friends said it was good, so I'll just post it and see.
He had been so careful!
He had been so goddamn careful! How…how could he have let this happen?
How could he have let Frosch out of his sight for even that brief second? How could he have not saved the exceed?
How could he have just stood there and watched as the one he had so desperately sought to protect was slaughtered before his eyes?
"How…?" Sting whispered, his eyes burning with stubborn tears. "Dammit, how?"
His head fell back against the stone behind him as his jaw set firmly in order to dam up the pain—the guilt and regret. This was his fault. He was responsible for watching as the small exceed, completely helpless, had slipped from his field of vision just long enough to be caught in the crossfire.
Sting could still see the entire procession—the image was seared across his consciousness. The image that would haunt him from behind closed eyes for the rest of his life—however short that may be. Etched in the darkness he watched the small figure wobbling through the wreckage; wide eyes staring and moist and the once pink frog suit ripped beyond repair and stained a despairing muddy color. Sting cringed as the cat turned to him, mouth open as if to say something as the ice shattered behind him, to the side of him…through him.
And Sting only watched as that split second the small exceed could have been saved passed by him and left him gaping in shock, his own eyes wide and jaw unhinged in a silenced scream. And then there was nothing he could do.
The last year had been meticulously spent. He had kept such a close eye on both the exceed and Rogue, watching them, keeping them safe, but now…it was all for nothing. And it was his fault.
Sting wasn't entirely sure what transpired next. All he knew was the next moment there were rocks digging into his aching knees and palms as sobs wracked his body and tears stained his grimy cheeks. A small wind picked up and gently tousled his hair and dried out his widened eyes as he gasped for breath.
Sting locked his jaw against the nausea that squirmed in his gut. He clenched his fists against the scream that was clawing up his throat, and he tried in vain to ignore the pure agony that seemed to rip through his chest with every thought that permeated his mind.
Slowly, he closed his eyes against the symphony of emotion that pulsed through him and pushed himself into a sitting position, a massive rock at his back protecting him from the thick of the battle. His head fell back as he sucked in a deep breathe through his tight throat, his nails digging into his palms as the breeze brushed over his nose.
That smell…
"No…" he whispered as his gut twisted sickeningly. "Not now. Don't come now…"
"Sting!"
That voice…not now…
"Sting," Rogue gasped as he fell on his knees beside the blond, a hand falling heavily on his shoulder. "What's…what's wrong?"
Sting could barely bring himself to raise his eyes—to look into the gaze of the most important person in his life. Not after he had let him down…not after what he knew was to come. Instead, the dragon slayer just shook his head, not trusting his collapsed throat to produce any coherent sounds.
"Sting?"
Rogue's voice was soft. He could hear the concern laced through the tone, and it only made Sting's chest ache more. He couldn't bear it.
Sting buried his face in his hands as his shoulders jerked forward with another violent sob, and Rogue's fingers tightened their grip.
"Sting," the other dragon slayer repeated, this time firmer. "Where's…where's Frosch?"
Sting tried to swallow, tried to do something against the rising panic that was surging through him as memories of the Grand Magic Games returned. That hell was coming…and it was all his fault.
A strangled, "No," was all he could manage through the nausea that plagued him.
Sting felt Rogue's hand on his shoulder freeze, as if the other's entire body had become paralyzed. Then the blond felt the other's touch leave. It made his shoulder feel cold…almost naked without the other's comfort.
"What?"
The sound was almost inaudible as it was carried off by the breeze, but Sting heard it. And he desperately wished he hadn't. The fear that was evident in the single word, the pain, the grief, the betrayal…Rogue might as well have plunged a sword through his chest. The pain would have been the same.
"I'm sorry!" Sting yelled as lifted his head with a sudden, jerking movement. "I'm sorry!"
He couldn't bear to meet Rogue's gaze, but he couldn't rip his own away once he saw the pain reflected in those crimson irises. He couldn't force himself to look elsewhere as he took full responsibility for this hell that he had caused.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice low and breathy beneath the wind.
He watched as Rogue gaped at him, his lips slightly parted and moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes before one stray tear finally slid down his cheek, cutting a clear path through the grime. Slowly, he shook his head, his hair blowing into his face.
"No," he whispered. "No…"
"Rogue, please-"
"No! Shut up, Sting."
It was the harshest demand the blond had ever heard from him.
It caused his jaw to immediately snap shut as he watched the dragon slayer slowly stand, his black hair fluttering like a halo around his head as his fists clenched and opened at his sides. In fact, his entire body was clenched as if he were a spring ready to burst open.
"Who…who killed him?" Rogue asked, his eyes still downcast.
It made Sting anxious that he couldn't see them.
"It doesn't mat-"
"Just answer the question, Sting."
Another demand.
The blond fought the rising trepidation as it squirmed in his gut. He swallowed and sucked in a deep breath, forcing his voice to be steady, fingers curling into the fabric of his decimated pants.
"Gray," he finally hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes still fixated on his partner.
He refused to tear his gaze away in fear that he would disappear. Just like Frosch did, and he sure as hell was not allowing that to happen. Not again.
But Rogue didn't move.
He didn't disappear.
He didn't even flinch.
He just stood deathly still until he looked up, the ghostly pale of his skin causing his piercing gaze to burn.
"Oh," he said quietly, his voice completely flat.
Completely emotionless-his flaming gaze resting accusingly on the blond.
And in that gaze, Sting knew he was no longer looking at his Rogue.