Author's Note:

After much deliberation, I decided that my very first fic for the fandom, "Sanctuary", needed a rewrite. I'm leaving the original up because I still enjoy it, I just felt that it could be improved upon. There will be some significant differences in this version, but it will follow the same general plot of the original.

TW for abuse and dissociation

Pain was easier to handle when Sting was outside himself.

Right now, for example, he knew that his body ached from the fight with Natsu and Gajeel, and that very soon it was going to get much worse, judging by the look on Jiemma's face. There was a hot flush of embarrassment at being beaten, then a spike of fear at the imminence of being beaten in an entirely different way, but both feelings were dull. Muted. Those feelings belonged to Sting's body, and right now, Sting wasn't there.

From up here, outside his body where Sting watched himself flinch and cower, nothing hurt.

The first blow from Jiemma took Sting by surprise, and a tiny flash of pain made it through his consciousness as a cut opened up on his cheek and something cracked in his chest. Sting knew, logically, that it was bad, but he could deal with that later. Right now, he had to be quiet, say nothing, keep everything hidden so that Jiemma couldn't yank out his feelings and rip them to pieces.

It was just pain, and Sting's body could handle that.

Weaklings. The word flew through the haze of Sting's disjointed consciousness. Losers. The dull roar of Jiemma's voice battered at the barrier between Sting's body and mind, but he pushed against it, numbing himself.

You're not here, he thought as he watched himself stumble to his feet. It's just pain. Dimly, Sting realized that he had pushed Lector behind him as Jiemma's fist hit his cheek. His body hit the wall again. Sting felt nothing.

Sting was nothing.

"Blame me, Master."

Sting's body shuddered. That was Rogue's voice, and it always made its way through Sting's defenses. Sting would always come back for Rogue, even if it hurt. Fear wormed its way into Sting's safe space, and he felt his consciousness fall.

His chest ached.

He was cold.

Shit.

Sting took a stuttered breath, tasted copper, and shook his head.

Get out, he thought desperately, wiping blood from his forehead. Get out, you're not here, run away. He felt warmth behind his eyes and his breath caught in his throat. Get out before he finds other ways to hurt you.

"I was weak."

If Rogue's first statement hadn't slammed Sting back to his body before, his quiet whisper did now. Returning to himself was overwhelming, and Sting nearly threw up from the sensations that assaulted his body all at once, but he somehow managed to stay standing.

Don't look at Rogue, Sting thought desperately. Seeing the pain on Rogue's face right now would hurt more than any cracked rib or bloody nose, and if Jiemma saw that pain on Sting's face, it would be over.

Sting looked at Rogue.

Stop, Sting signed, fingers moving quickly, hoping that Jiemma wouldn't see. Wouldn't understand.

Rogue's gaze met Sting's, then moved back to the ground at Jiemma's feet. Let me save you for once, his fingers said. Please.

Rogue said something else but his voice was so far away, muffled by the blood pounding in Sting's ears. The edges of Jiemma's sharp laugh cut through the haze, but whatever he said was lost to the stab of fear that ran through Sting when Jiemma raised his hand.

No.

Sting had spent too long outside of his body and now he couldn't move, couldn't scream at his feet to run fast enough. There wasn't enough time.

Rogue's eyes had just enough time to widen in fear before the blast hit him in the chest, knocking him backward through the crowd.

Right. There was a crowd.

Everything was silent until Rogue's head hit the floor and then it all fell down around Sting – the gasps, Frosche's scream, the sharp edge of Jiemma's laugh. Rogue was so still, and the terrified ache in Sting's chest ripped words from him, a scream that might have been Rogue's name.

Sting tried to run, finally got his feet to listen to him but then there were fingers on his arm, yanking him away from the still way that Rogue's hand unfolded on the concrete. Jiemma's fingers dug into Sting's skin and then pain exploded from the back of Sting's skull as it hit the wall.

Leave, his brain begged. It won't hurt.

I can take it, Sting replied, and he dragged his gaze from Rogue's still body to the grinning face of his guild master.

"What." The word was sharp and full of blood. "What did you do?" Sting's cheeks were warm, and he was vaguely aware that he was crying, sobs wrenching themselves from his chest. "What did you DO?"

The roaring in his ears was back again, and everything in Sting's body was suddenly white-hot anger, fury that he drew from all the pain he'd hidden.

He didn't realize he'd done anything until Jiemma's eyes were blank and his body was slumped to the ground, smoking hole through his chest. Sting's hands trembled, face hot as he gasped for air.

Rogue, Sting thought, eyes dragging along the ground until they landed on dark hair. Hair that was wet with blood. Sting staggered over, willing his body to listen to him as he dropped to his knees. He touched Rogue's bruised cheek, trailed his fingers down to Rogue's neck and frantically felt for something, some sign that the only corpse in this room was Jiemma's.

Sting exhaled with relief when he found it – a thin fluttering beneath his fingers, faint, but there.

There were footsteps behind Sting and Minerva's voice found its way through the fog around him. "That wa—"

"Shut up." Sting had his voice back now. He was back inside himself and it hurt like hell, but he was here, and he wasn't leaving. Not until Rogue was safe. "Shut the hell up."

"Is Rogue dead?" Frosche's eyes were wide and terrified and Sting took a shaky breath, trying to make a face that wouldn't terrify the tiny creature.

"No," Sting whispered, sliding his arms under Rogue's body. Rogue's weight was awkward, but Sting could handle it. Rogue would never be too heavy. Sting staggered to his feet, turning to glare at Minerva. "Get the fuck away from me," he hissed, spitting blood on the floor at her feet.

Everything was silent, and Sting forced himself to keep his eyes forward, not to turn back and look at the limp form on the floor behind him.

Nobody stopped him as he staggered out the door and into the night.

A frantic banging woke Natsu and he sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and glancing out the window at the enormous steam clock. 3:27 a.m.

"Who the hell…" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood slowly, peering around. His teammates were all asleep and snoring softly.

"HELP!" The voice sounded familiar and Natsu moved for the door, cursing when he hit his shin on the end of his bed. "Please, help."

Natsu swung the door open and was shocked to see Sting kneeling on the front steps, an unconscious Rogue in his arms. Sting's face was badly bruised and tear-stained, and when he looked up at Natsu, he let out a shuddering breath.

"Sting, what—"

"Please help him," Sting begged, gesturing at Rogue. "Please, he won't wake up and he won't stop bleeding." A strangled sob escaped Sting's throat, and he buried his face in Rogue's chest, shoulders shaking.

"Gray!" Natsu shouted into the sleeping area. "Get your ass out of bed!" There was a mutter of shut the fuck up, asshole, along with grumbles from the other teammates. "It's an emergency, get out here!"

Natsu crouched down next to Sting and tried to take Rogue from his arms, but Sting gripped Rogue tightly, shaking his head. Natsu lay a gentle hand on Sting's shoulder.

"Let me take him," he said softly. "You're exhausted."

Sting pulled away from the touch on his shoulder, then reluctantly released his death-grip on Rogue.

Gray appeared around the corner dressed only in a pair of boxers, and his eyes widened as he saw Rogue's unconscious body.

"Get Wendy," Natsu ordered, and Gray obeyed without argument. Natsu lifted Rogue with ease, motioning for Sting to follow him into the inn's sleeping quarters. Everyone was up and in various stages of undress, and Sting shied away from them, moving along the wall.

Natsu headed straight for his own bed, lying Rogue down gently.

"Sting!" Wendy appeared, placing a gentle hand on Sting's arm. He flinched, backing up further against the wall and looking at her blankly. Natsu frowned. Sting's face was bruised, cheek bleeding and eye swollen, and his arm was wrapped around his chest as he breathed heavily.

"Wendy, Rogue is hurt," Natsu said. He directed her toward the bed and she made a soft sound of dismay. Natsu turned to Sting. "What happened?" Sting ignored him, breathing shakily and staring at Rogue. "Did someone attack you?"

Sting looked up at Natsu slowly, gaze unfocused. He nodded, then shook his head, then growled in frustration and covered his face with his hands.

"What's going on?" Erza appeared, holding both Frosche and Lector, who appeared to have fallen asleep. Lucy was right behind her, giving Sting a concerned look.

"Sting, what happened?" she asked.

Natsu looked back at Sting and realized that he was shaking, and not just from pain. Natsu could smell it on him – fear, anger, frustration. Grief.

"Go," Natsu said softly, turning to his friends. "Get Porlyusica. And Gramps, maybe, if he's up." Erza nodded. Lucy looked like she might argue, but Erza grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room.

Gray gave Natsu a questioning look and Natsu tipped his head uncertainly, nodding for Gray to stay but keep his distance. He turned back to Sting.

"C'mere," Natsu said gently, gesturing to the bed across from Rogue and sitting down. Sting didn't move and Natsu sighed, reaching out for Sting's arm.

"Don't!" Sting yanked his arm away, pushing himself further against the wall and letting out another sob. "Don't touch me," he whispered, pulling in on himself. Natsu's frown deepened and he dropped his hand, chewing his lip and glancing over at Gray, who looked just as puzzled.

This wasn't the same boy he'd fought in the arena earlier today. The cocky arrogance and flashy smile were gone, replaced by tears and bruises that Natsu was certain he hadn't inflicted.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Sting's voice was small and shaky, and he rubbed his hands up and down his bare arms, shivering. Natsu reached down and grabbed a sweater from his bag, offering it to Sting, but Sting's gaze never wavered from Rogue's bloody face.

"He's very badly hurt," Wendy said softly, letting another wave of her healing magic wash over him. "I can't heal everything, but he shouldn't be in pain."

Rogue's breath wasn't coming in ragged gasps anymore, but he was still incredibly pale, and the wound on his chest made Natsu feel sick.

"He was t-trying to p-protect me." A fresh wave of tears slid down Sting's cheeks and he scrubbed them away furiously, wincing when his hand came into contact with an open cut on his cheek.

"What happened?" Natsu asked again, voice gentle. "To him? And you?" he added, eyes skipping over the various bruises on Sting's face and chest. There was no way those injuries were from the games today.

Sting just shook his head, wiping his eyes and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"I can't," he whispered finally, stepping closer to Rogue and then backing up again, making a sound that was almost a whimper. "I d-did s-something, I think I… I did… I th-thought Rogue was d-dead and I j-just…" Sting trailed off, wrapping his arms around himself.

"It's okay," Natsu said gently, wanting to move closer to Sting but not wanting to set off what seemed to be progressing into a panic attack. "Whatever happened, we can—"

He stopped, staring at the guild mark on Sting's shoulder. It was half-burned away, skin blistered and red, some parts turned black and peeling. The realization hit Natsu right in the stomach as he put the pieces together.

"Jiemma did this, didn't he?" His words were hard and cold and he stood abruptly, clenching his fists in anger. "That bastard did this to you, didn't he?" Flames flickered around his hands as he envisioned all the things he wanted to do to—

"He's dead." Sting's voice was flat and Natsu turned to him, eyes wide. "He's gone. I killed him."