Two weeks after promising not to force Rogue out of the guild, Sting went back on his word. Rogue saw it coming, knew it was only a matter of time. He'd even sent letters out to other guilds in advance, seeing if any might be willing to take him. He'd also seen it coming that those that responded would do so with a rejection, but he still had to give it a shot. Not that it mattered if they would willfully take him anymore.

"Sorry," Sting said, and for as much as Rogue wished otherwise, he knew Sting meant it. Sting hadn't wanted to remove anyone from the guild so soon into his tenure as master, much less Rogue. "The Council's spoken. There's no rules against you still coming to the guild, or tagging along when I go on a job, or me deciding to share half the earnings with you. I mean, we might want to be covert about it until this all blows over, and you still have to remove your guild mark, but…"

But it was still something. No matter what Sting did to make him feel like he still had a place, he wasn't allowed to wear any signs that he belonged, and couldn't claim any involvement in the guild. Not so long as he still dealt with magic. The Council had decided to bar him completely from legal guilds, and half of Sabertooth wanted him gone anyway, but he still had one friend who would stand by him.

A friend who he was going to kill in one year's time.

Rogue shook his head, forcing a smile so Sting wouldn't feel too bad about what the Council made him do. "It's fine. I shouldn't keep working as a wizard anyway."

"H-hey. Don't say that." Sting slung an arm over Rogue's shoulder. "We're a team. You can't expect me to go on missions on my own, can you?"

"Might be safer…"

"Really? Going on missions by myself? I mean, I know I'm pretty awesome, but I do make mistakes. You think I'd be better off without someone to watch my back?"

Rogue glanced at the office door, imagining the people lined up outside, silently willing for Sting to shut up and accept Rogue's offer to leave peacefully. Why did Sting always have to be so loud? At least he'd had the good sense to pull Rogue into a side room rather than semi-banish him in front of the whole guild, but no doubt the whole guild could still hear him.

The whole guild also already knew why it was amazing he'd already gone so long without being booted, as did the rest of the country, and possibly a few neighboring nations as well, but Rogue kept his own voice low responding. "You think you'd be better off with someone who would stab you in the back?"

Sighing, Sting let his arm drop. "Rogue, don't be like that. I'm trying to cheer you up."

"It's fine. I'm fine. I can work somewhere… safer. Sorry I made the Council come down on you for showing me…" If he described what Sting had done for him as pity, he couldn't pretend he was okay. "For standing by me."

"Yeah, well, what else are friends for?"

Rogue couldn't come up with a good answer.

"Look, Rogue, whatever the Council says, I'm not letting you go without a fight."

Rogue shook his head. He'd known ever since Natsu told them the news that he had to leave. However much Sting wanted him there, however much Rogue wanted Sting there for him, he had to go. In one year's time, if something wasn't done to stop him, he would kill Sting. How selfish could he get, clinging to Sabertooth for fear that no one else would take him, clinging to Sting for knowing that no one else would stand up for him, when his presence would end up getting his friend killed? Accepting Sting's kindness was the worst way to repay him for everything he'd done.

"Rogue."

"Don't worry about me. I have enough in savings that I won't starve if it takes me a few weeks to find work somewhere else. I can work for a mercenary guild, maybe. They don't have any personal reason to hate me, and they tend to be lax with the kind of people they let into their guilds. There are places where my magic will come in handy that the Council can't order me away from." His employment wasn't the issue for Sting, so Rogue added a dishonest, "I'll come and visit you once I've set something up."

"We don't hate you here," Sting said, which was true if you ignored how half the guild vocally questioned why Sting hadn't chased Rogue off yet. And the half that didn't dare complain aloud, but still looked at Rogue like he was a ticking time bomb. In their defense, he was.

At least Orga didn't complain. He could be louder than Sting, and it would be impossible for Rogue to block his voice out. Of course, most of the complaints stemmed from Rogue's hand in Orga's death, so it was more that Orga couldn't complain. Not while Rogue was awake, anyway. He still had nightmares when he found himself back beside Orga in his last momnets, arm and shoulder bitten off, bleeding out an cursing whoever it was that brought the dragons to them. At the time, when Rogue assured him that they'd stop the culprit, neither of them had known it was him.

"Thank you for having me," Rogue said. "I'll let you know when I'm settled in somewhere else."

He meant for that to be the end of the conversation, but as he turned to leave, a horrible, wretched thought hit him, and rooted itself so deeply in his heart that he had to turn back and face Sting.

"Would you consider… looking after Frosch for me?"

It hurt to ask, and from the way Sting winced, Rogue knew it hurt to hear as well. The thought of forcing Frosch away from him made his heart ache, but he could hear his shadow snickering at him even then. He'd yet to tell anyone else about it. Even when Natsu told them what his future self said, with everything else that happened, Rogue didn't dare mention the shadow. It had already corrupted him once and forced him to lash out against Gajeel. What else might it do? His future self claimed that Frosch dying would give that shadow the power to warp his mind for good. His shadow had mocked him with that future, impressing the inevitability of it on him, ever since that day. What if his shadow made him hurt Frosch as well?

"I'll consider it," Sting said slowly. Then, drawing in a shaky breath and holding his chin up defiantly, he said, "I'll consider it, but only if you promise to give leaving more thought. Three days, alright? You have to stay that long and really think about what you're doing. You'll always have a home here. This is where your friends are. You know that, right?"

He offered Rogue the warmest smile he could, so Rogue returned it. "Of course I do."

He'd have friends right up until he murdered them in cold blood, whether he wanted to or not.

-o-

As had been their custom since the Grand Magic Games ended, Sting asked Rogue if he needed anyone to walk home with him. Rogue swore he was fine to go home alone, insisting there was no danger in it, then once Sting wasn't watching, melded into the shadows and traveled across the streets out of sight. It wasn't safe for him to show his face in public, and even if they both knew that, they still humored one another.

Only on their first day back from the tournament had they not done this. Sting was caught up in his new position and the task it came with of arranging funerals, and Rogue was still too stunned by the revelation of what he was capable of to think straight. This had proven to be a near fatal mistake on their parts. As soon as Sting turned his back, Rogue had been met with jeers from the rest of the guild. Mind still reeling from all the deaths his future self had caused, everyone's accusations had been too much for Rogue to bare, and he'd fled.

Sabertooth only lost three members in the fight, but that didn't mean the damage done was low. Those members had friends and family in town. Not every civilian who went to the capitol as a spectator made it back, despite the evacuation beforehand. And besides, even those who hadn't lost a loved one could resent the idea that a future murderer was walking among them. Rogue escaped the spite of his guild mates only to be met with the same sentiments from the towns' people. Spite and stones and whatever else they might throw at him. One of those rocks struck Rogue in the back of the head, and he'd nearly lost consciousness. He only survived the night because Sting had followed after to apologize for the rest of the guild, and dragged him to safety.

The town was already angry with Sting for giving Rogue and incentive to stick around. Letting Sting help him back home safely would only make matters worse. Getting home safe was a joke anyway. His house itself was unsafe. The windows were smashed, and the plywood he'd put up to temporarily block out wind or rain was hardly and sturdier. Two boards had been replaced at least once. Having predicted his removal from the guild, Rogue had become frugal with spending too, so rather than install a sturdy bolt on his door, he'd taken to shoving furniture in front of it while inside. This had done nothing to prevent someone from picking the lock and guiding looters in a week earlier, but thankfully Rogue had come home in the middle of that and been able to chase them off before anything too essential was stolen.

It still hurt, stepping into the apartment and seeing so much empty floor and wall where his things used to be. Rogue had to pause in the doorway, closing his eyes and gathering himself together before he could enter.

Only after he'd shut the door and shoved a cushionless couch in front of it did he let Frosch climb out from under his cape. Once the two of them parted ways, it would be safer for her. Until then, Rogue worried about the possibility that she might be attacked for continuing to follow him everywhere.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, although he had no idea where she would do that. "I'll get started on dinner."

Frosch crawled up onto the couch but, realizing it was likely to be thrown aside if anyone forced their way in, hopped back down and darted into the bedroom.

Keep her safe, his future self had said. Rogue could barely protect her from his own neighbors. How was he going to keep her safe from whatever was meant to kill her in a year?

With the expectation that his source of income would dry up soon and his confidence that he could find work in another field largely faked for Sting, food was an expense where he'd cut costs. Everything was canned, and it only took a few minutes to heat up.

The kitchen table was still there, but two of the chairs were gone, and the last was broken. Rogue dumped dinner onto a plate, grabbed too forks, and went into the bedroom to eat with Frosch. His summer bedding was gone, but the winter blanket from the closet was still there, and he'd thrown it on his bed while he debated whether or not to buy replacement sheets. Now that he was set on going, he was glad he'd held off.

Sting thought he would change his mind if he went home and slept on it. Going home only reminded Rogue all the more that he wasn't welcome.

-x-

STA: And thus begins the lightest, happiest, fluffiest fic I've ever embarked on. Don't let the tone of this chapter fool you. It's all up hill from here. Why did you think I would put "Butterfly" in the tittle if it weren't all sunshine and rainbows?