So, today I got asked about sad headcanons and ended up with the "XIII. death — turning over a new leaf" prompt of the Major Arcana Writing Meme at Tumblr... and since one of those sad headcanons felt so perfect for it, I ended up writing it into fic. |D

Also yay, since I finally have a Sting PoV, I finally no longer feel weird calling this "Two Sides"! /o/

Enjoy!

Category: Fairy Tail
Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Rogue Cheney, Lector
Genre: Gen, Friendship
Rating: PG
Warnings: No spoilers in this one! Just headcanon.
Summary: Drabble Series/Collection – It's been less than a day since they've fought and this is the first time it's been an actual fight, the very first time they escalated to the point of using their magic against one another outside of training.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail.

- Two Sides Of A Coin -
- Part Three -

When Sting awakens (as usual) with the first morning light and (quite less usual) to the feeling of faintly itching scratches, he almost wants to turn over and sleep the day away – insignificant as they may be overall to his wellbeing (they'll be gone in a day or two), his stomach still clenches at the thought of what magic he has those scratches to thank for and it turns even further when he thinks of the marks that his own magic have left on Rogue.

It's been less than a day since they've fought and this is the first time it's been an actual fight, the very first time they escalated to the point of using their magic against one another outside of training. Arguing is nothing that hasn't happened before, nor is letting it get physical, but there's always been a set of unspoken rules they've both been aware of, they've both respected and kept to – not using magic being right on the top of that list – but usually their arguments only escalate when they are silly, usually when their arguments are serious, they try to keep them quiet, try to reach some sort of middle ground at least, because even though it's barely been two years since they've met, being at odds puts them both off balance.

(There is no middle ground to be reached this time though, Sting thinks angrily as he shifts around the bed, because this time Rogue is just plain wrong. He has to be.)

Rogue is already up too, he knows – they are both morning people, drawn to the first of light and the way it stretches the shadows respectively – is lingering right outside his door at this very moment judging by the scent. The knowledge of that only increases the mix of anxiety and anger that is swirling in his gut, and Sting has to bury his fingers in covers and pillow to keep them from twitching, to keep them from reaching out.

Instinct tells him to get up and pull Rogue into his room, to let him apologize and to apologize himself, to fix what they've both broken, to let his fingers trail over the wounds he's caused and let Rogue do the same, reassurance and test all the same, to tangle and brawl on the bed, tug strands of black hair away so that he can see the flash in his partner's eyes that usually heralds his counterattack and feel pale fingers tugging on his cheek (a bother always, but never never never intending to hurt). Instinct is wrong, Sting knows, is clinging to mannerisms they are trying to shed because they are not appropriate for members of the Strongest Guild.

They've been through that lecture months ago – in very agonizing and deeply humiliating manner – and Sting has no desire for a repeat.

He remembers that this is the path they've chosen, and why – it's been over a year since they've watched the broadcast of the very first Grand Magic Games and saw Fairy Tail utterly defeated, since they spent night upon night for a week talking it over again and again. Fairy Tail has always had a reputation for being a different sort of guild (Natsu-san's guild, Gajeel-san's guild), for being slightly crazy, for priding itself on its bonds and it's those bonds that brought it down, because for all that they still have capable mages left, it doesn't take a genius to realize that the Tenrou incident has left them all broken, incapable of picking themselves up.

They won't ever let themselves end like that, they had sworn then (an oath that Rogue must have forgotten already, but Sting will not), and all things considered, Sabertooth certainly won't let them. Strength is absolute here, strength is everything and strong is what Sting aims to become.

(Strong, strong, stronger than the Young Mistress. Stronger than Natsu-san. Stronger than anyone.)

Sting sighs quietly in relieve when Rogue scent grows more faint – looks like he isn't the only one unwilling to initiate round two of this argument – and turns his back to the door as he closes his eyes. A little more sleep will maybe magically make this day a little more bearable at least.

(Sting doubts it.)

It's noon of the fourth day since their fight, three days of total silence in between them and Sting absolutely refuses to be the one to break it, because in the end the silence has become an extension of their argument and breaking first will mean admitting defeat (and for all that Sting is the louder one of them, for all that the lack of communication kind of drives him up the wall, he is too stubborn to concede). Instead he hangs out by himself – he is not hiding, no matter what Lector is saying – and enjoys the warmth of noon sun against his skin. It's not like the light that feeds his magic, but it's light all the same.

He doesn't say anything when Lector arrives and sits down against his side, doesn't even need to open his eyes to read his cat partner's mood and know that he wants to say something (wants to address the very literal dragon in the room… or on the roof, concerning another dragon on top of that) and that it has him faintly anxious, so Sting just lifts his hand and settles it on Lector's head, gently letting his fingers scratch behind his ears as sign of reassurance – he isn't mad at Lector, has no reason to be, and he has no intention of letting his current irritation with Rogue sour anything else – and just seconds later he can feel the cat relax.

"You should really talk to Rogue-kun," he says after leaving them a moment of blissful peace. "You are both overdoing it."

"I'll talk to him when he stops being an idiot," Sting offers and lifts his hand off Lector's head again so he can fold it with his other beneath his head and stare up into the endless blue of the sky. "If Rogue really wants to talk, he can come and find me here. It's not like I've been hiding."

He decidedly ignores the faint noise of disagreement Lector makes, but he can't quite do the same with the reply he actually gets. "Avoiding being anywhere near him is just as bad."

(The truth that's ringing there almost has Sting squirm in discomfort. Almost.)

"You really should give him the opportunity to meet you halfway at least," Lector pleads after another moment. "Frosch has been upset ever since you guys fought."

In the end, that's the argument that has Sting climbing down from the roof of the church's clock tower and return the more neutral grounds of their guild, because the idea of upsetting Frosch makes him feel about as much of a jerk as the idea of deliberately kicking puppies, kittens, bunnies and equally cute things.

(It's not because he admits that Lector is right and he's just as much at fault as Rogue in this.)

Sure enough, it's not even an hour after Sting has returned to the guild and settled at one of the large balconies at back of the building that Rogue finds him, face almost totally blank of emotion, almost but not quite… not that it matters, because for the first time in long Sting finds that he has absolutely no idea what the other is thinking.

He wonders if it's the same for Rogue or if it's their fight that makes the silence between them so awkward.

(Probably, he acknowledges, it's both.)

"We've both been handling this badly," Rogue offers him after another moment that almost stretched to infinity, and Sting can't help the short snort that escapes him, because that at least is truth and understatement all at once – he can admit to that much – and steps a little aside so that Rogue can join him at the rail.

Rogue takes the invitation and the next stretch of silence that follows is at least a little more comfortable (though still more awkward than it's ever supposed to be between them), until he finally finds the nerve to address the issue that is still hanging in between them.

"It's not right," he says. "It's not what a guild should be."

That's not for us to decide or judge about, Sting thinks and replies: "It's what Sabertooth is. And we are proud members of Sabertooth."

"Proud members of Sabertooth…", Rogue echoes and there is something faintly alarming about the way he lets that sentence trail, as if he was considering, as if there was ever any doubt.

('Aren't we?' Sting doesn't say, because the idea that Rogue may falter and leave terrifies him just a little, because Sting is not sure if he would follow. 'Isn't this what we decided?')

But before he can press the issue, before he can do anything to push at those doubts and chase them away, Dobengal clears his throat behind them and almost makes them both flinch.

"The Master is calling for an assembly," he says and disappears in the blink of an eye, effectively ending their discussion, because the Master has called and is not to be denied – no matter if it have only been four days since the last time he's demanded their presence or not.

(Sting cannot tell whether to be thankful for this or not.)

As it turns out, the reason for this assembly is the very same as that of the last one. It's unusual, even with their Master's strictness and temper… Sting can't think ever hearing of two instances warranting excommunication happening within the same week.

(Because every time is a swift reminder of the price of failure, of why exactly none of them must ever show weakness, even – especially – to each other.)

He only listens with half an ear as the Master lists the reasons why the poor idiot before him got singled out (something about a failed mission, he thinks) and lets his eyes flicker to Rogue instead, watches for any hint of what Rogue might think about the spectacle before them, but Rogue is still and unmoving and the expression on his face is utterly unreadable.

Not yet a week past, they had watched Marie standing before the Master – Marie, who is older by three years, who joined just the month before them, who is tall and strong – especially for a girl – and whose violin magic is one of the most beautiful things that Sting has ever seen and heard.

"I'm not much of a fighter," she had laughed the first week they had known each other, and still, the one time she had joined them on a mission, she had more than held her own. Rogue had tried to teach her the songs and tunes passed down to him by Skiadrum – though the mediocre success is more on him than on her, and what she made of it was just as beautiful, but all her own – and outside of Sting and their cats, she's been the one Rogue had been the closest to in the last seven months.

Sting remembers his own disbelieve as he had watched her argue with the Master – she's never lacked on bravery, even in moments when maybe she should – as the Master accuses her of embarrassing the guild (adding insult to injury considering the story Sting had heard, considering the fading bruises on her wrists and at her sides that speak of being ganged up upon) – and he remembers snapping out of it when he noticed Rogue trembling faintly beside him, remembers not even thinking before shifting to step on his toes and snap him out of that train of thought. Nobody else saw, he thinks, nobody else noticed how close Marie's humiliation before the guild had been to tripping the faint wire of Rogue's temper.

(And it's good that way, because Rogue doesn't have the power to challenge the Master, would fall short even if Sting were to help him, and they cannot afford to be booted out as well.)

There is no need for that in the now; there is no trace of Rogue's anger in the present. Instead, he keeps his face unreadable – at least until he lets his eyes drift away when the boy in the front is forced to strip, and Sting is aware, by the time the Master is done with him and they are finally dismissed again, Rogue has reached some kind of decision.

So has Sting – they are talking again, and they ought to finish that at some place where there won't be any chance of unpleasant call-backs like this one, and if he can let off some steam at the same time all the better – and the moment they are alone in one of the hallways, he shakes his head and turns to Lector. "And there I heard that this Jaydon-guy was supposed to be some kind of hotshot equal to any of the Strongest Five. What kind of mission did he fail anyway?"

"There's some Dark Guild called Shooting Vampire making trouble down in the South," Lector answers, eyes gleaming as he catches onto Sting's train of thought. "Turns out they had some kind of trap laid out ever since the council approved the request to take care of them and Jaydon walked right into it. The only reason he got out in one piece is because he had some help from some local mages."

"That so.", Sting can't help grinning, because yes, this sounds just like what they need right now. Most traps that those Dark Guild losers could think of probably won't factor in facing a Dragon Slayer – never mind two – and even if Jaydon is no longer part of their guild…

"We ought to go avenge him, don't you think?" he says as he turns to Rogue, expecting to see a headshake caught between fondness and exasperation and at least the hint of a smile, but what he is met with the same unreadable expression that Rogue had sported through the assembly.

"I don't care either way," he says, his voice so much flatter than Sting can ever remember hearing it.

("Don't you care?" he had hissed at Sting not even a week ago in this very hallway, fury burning in his eyes. "She was our friend."

"She was too weak to stay," Sting had answered, feeling his own temper rising.

From there it had gone downhill and he can't even quite recall how and why their magic got involved; only the utter shock on Rogue's face that must have mirrored his own in the precise moment that they had realized what had just happened.)

Sting doesn't know how to reply to that, not until Rogue has already brushed past him, down the hallway towards the guildhall and the mission request board, and only snaps out of it when Rogue finally glances back to him over his shoulder. "Well. Are you coming?"

'This was you idea after all,' goes unspoken, but Sting can read it clear, easily from Rogue's face and stance and that fact has him laughing as he runs to catch up to his partner, finally certain that things are looking uphill again.

"Let's hurry. We can't have Rufus or Orga snatch that request from right under our noses."

(The mission is a success, just hard enough to keep them on their toes, but not nearly enough for failure ever to be an option. Fighting together is as easy as Sting remembers it being, is as much of a rush, is as much a delight.

It's only on the way back home, that Sting finally dares to bring up that unfinished conversation from the balcony – finally dares asking if Rogue is considering to leave and he has never felt stronger relieve than the moment that Rogue curtly shakes his head without any hesitation.

"Sabertooth is home," he says and as far as Sting is concerned, that ends the issue for good.)

- FIN -

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