A tense silence filled the room as the tiny blue Exceed stared innocently at Sting and Rogue – Sting's hands in Rogue's hair, Rogue's hands on Sting's chest, both blushing furiously and still breathing heavily. Happy shrank back from the glare that began to form on Sting's face as he yanked his hands back and wiped his mouth.

"What do you think you're doing?" He hissed at the Exceed, standing up from the bed and trying to take a step forward, but wobbling slightly. Everything still ached, and he stumbled before falling back onto the bed opposite Rogue.

It's okay, Rogue signed to him quickly. They're not him. Sting nodded shakily, then buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled to Happy, who smiled brightly at him. "It's okay, Natsu says I should respect everyone's privacy."

"Yes, you should," Natsu poked his head into the room and grabbed the blue Exceed, waving apologetically at Sting and Rogue. "I was just bringing Gramps to see you, I'm heading out to save Lucy. See ya!"

Sting looked at Rogue, puzzlement on his face. When he looked back at the door, Makarov was standing there instead. He sighed. "Master," he said quietly.

"Sting," Makarov replied, moving into the room and standing in between the two beds. "How are you both feeling?"

"Fine," Rogue said hurriedly, and Makarov raised an eyebrow. Rogue sighed. "Everything hurts and I want to sleep forever?" This time the tiny master nodded.

"You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like," Makarov said. He was silent for a moment, then sighed and rubbed his temples. "I don't think Sabertooth will come looking for you. They're busy trying to win the games, and Minerva doesn't seem to be the sentimental type." Sting snorted. "We can offer you protection here, and a place in the guild, if you wish."

Sting gaped at Makarov. He knew Natsu had "welcomed" them to the guild, but had thought it was only a kindness, not an invitation. He glanced over at Rogue, who was holding his injured chest and looking exhausted. Sting hesitated, tapping his fingers on the bed.

"It's not a decision to be made right now," Makarov assured him, filling Sting with relief. "I know that we have been rivals up until now, but I didn't realize what was going on inside Sabertooth." He looked sadly at Sting, whose face began to burn. Something inside of him flared in irritation.

"We don't need your pity," he snapped, refusing to meet the master's gaze.

"I know," Makarov replied. "I'm not pitying you. I'm honoring your strength." Sting looked up at him, disbelieving. "There aren't many who would risk their life for another" – here he looked at Rogue – "and even fewer who would give up everything they know to save another's life." His gaze seemed to pierce into Sting, and he shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"It doesn't matter how much good I do," he said finally. "It will never make up for the awful things I've done. I don't deserve your kindness."

"Sting-" Rogue began to speak, but Sting cut him off.

"You know its true, Rogue. I can't excuse what I've done."

"HE BEAT YOU!" Rogue's shout surprised Sting, making him flinch out of habit. "You see? He made you so afraid of him that even me yelling has you on edge. And you KNOW you can trust me." Makarov remained silent, but didn't leave the room.

"I just wanted to keep you safe," Sting mumbled, looking down at the bed and twisting the blanket between his fingers. "It was me or you, and I couldn't watch him hurt you."

"And how do you think I felt?" Rogue wasn't shouting, but this was the loudest Sting had ever heard him speak. And the longest. "It was hell, waiting in our room for you to come back, bleeding and bruised, with broken bones. I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty. Why do you think I tried to take the blame this time?"

Sting put his head in his hands and pulled his hair in frustration.

"What else could I have done?" He whispered.

"I don't know," was the soft response. "I don't think there was any good answer."

There was a knock at the door and Sting looked up to see Porlyusica standing there, several bottles in her hands. Makarov waved her in, and she moved to sit next to Rogue.

"This is for the pain," she said, handing him a bottle filled with a strange blue mixture. "I'm also here to try some more magic on your chest." Rogue nodded, gulping down the bottle. Porlyusica handed an identical bottle to Sting, but he didn't take it.

"I don't deserve your help," he whispered, pulling his knees up to his chest and hiding his face. "I don't deserve any of this. I didn't know where else to go." He felt tears behind his eyes again and cursed silently. "I was so scared that Rogue would die."

"From what I saw of your previous injuries, some of them could have killed you as well," Porlyusica replied bluntly. "That man beat you within an inch of your life on a regular basis, threatened someone you love to keep you in line, and made you terrified of any affection or kindness." Sting's cheeks had flushed at the 'someone you love' part of her speech, but she didn't notice. "You don't feel like you can trust anyone because you never know if they will hurt you. Makarov isn't anything like Jiemma, but he has the same power that your old master did, and that makes you scared. Your last guild membership carried a heavy price, and the prospect of finding yourself in a similar situation is terrifying."

Sting stared at the woman in amazement. How could she look into him so easily? Everything she was saying made perfect sense, and mirrored all of his fears and insecurities.

"You're angry at the rest of Sabertooth because they knew what was happening and didn't do anything about it." It appeared Porlyusica was not finished. "You also feel ashamed, like you deserved to be abused." Sting froze. He had never used that term to describe his experience before. For the longest time, he had assumed that the beatings were just part of a normal life. Minerva was beaten as well, and he didn't know any other children his age. Jiemma had kept the guild fairly secluded, except for the games every year, and meeting the members of Fairy Tail was the first time Sting had seen the kindness and camaraderie that he had been missing.

"How do you know how I feel?" He whispered, slowly reaching out to take the bottle she was offering. She smiled softly at him.

"You aren't the first person I've met who has gone through this kind of thing." Her eyes looked sad.

They all sat in silence for a moment while Rogue laid down and Porlyusica pushed her healing magic into his battered chest. He cried out in pain a few times, and Sting immediately moved over to him, holding his hand and stroking his hair.

"Feel better?" She asked once she was finished treating him. Rogue took a few deep breaths and nodded.

"It still hurts, but its not so bad now. I think I just need to sleep." His voice softened with each word.

"Then sleep you shall," said Makarov. "Take your time to think about my offer. You will receive our aid either way. We will never turn down someone who needs our help." Sting nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor. He felt exhausted again. "Sleep, and tomorrow the games will be over. After that, what happens is up to you." Makarov smiled and gave a short tip of his head, then motioned to Porlyusica and they both left the room.

Sting looked down at Rogue and then sat on the edge of the bed, sighing heavily.

"Looks like we're both pretty messed up, hey?" He stroked the back of Rogue's hand as he spoke. Rogue laughed softly.

"I guess so," he replied, leaning over and kissing Sting softly. Sting felt something flutter wildly in his stomach and he reached up, threading his fingers into Rogue's hair and deepening the kiss. Rogue moaned quietly into his mouth, and Sting took that as a cue to move closer, shifting onto the bed until he was leaning over Rogue, one hand on the back of his neck and the other running up and down his chest. Rogue's hands trailed along Sting's back, so soft and gentle that he could barely feel it over the welts and bruises. He sighed softly into Rogue's mouth, then broke away slowly, smiling down at the dark-haired slayer.

"Sleep?"

"Sleep."

Rogue shuffled over and turned onto his side, leaving enough room for Sting to slide down behind him, looping an arm over Rogue's stomach. Sting buried his face in the back of Rogue's neck, inhaling his familiar scent and feeling content. Tomorrow would bring a mess of problems, but for now he was warm, safe, fed, not in pain, and next to the man he loved.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Rogue's neck, and then both men fell into a dreamless sleep.