Hello and welcome to the first part of my piece for Resbang 2017 - wayward souls!

This was my first resbang, and I had an absolute blast. I had the great fortune to be paired up with two wonderful people and amazing artists, thefishywitch and marshofsleep, both of whom helped me out immensely with suggestions, and overall enthusiasm! Please check out their art on their tumblr (links in profile), and I highly recommend listening to marshofsleep's playlist on either 8tracks or on Youtube- she captured the essence of this fic perfectly.

I also was blessed with beautiful betas who truly helped me whip this monstrosity into shape, even though they were all busy with their own fics - thank you redphlox, sillytwinstars, khaleesimaka and marshofsleep!

This will be posted in three parts, two of which (Pacts, Allies) will be posted today and the last of which I will continue working on.

I hope you enjoy!

He picks a place where the dirt seems loose and gravelly. In backwoods country like this, it takes longer to find two intersecting roads than it does to find one devoid of other cars and civilization. The jeep's headlights sweep the road, kicking up long, jagged shadows from the uneven ground, and his keychain clacks angrily against the wheel. Even over the sound of tires on rocks, Soul can still hear the slow dripping of blood onto the car's floorboards.

He almost misses the crossroads with how fast he's going and how narrow the other road is. The car skids as he yanks on the steering wheel, sending up a wave of stones. He shoves the car into park and scrambles out the door, ignoring the flare of pain in his leg, leaving the lights on and the engine running.

The world stretches around him, flat and featureless, broken only by the occasional dark shadow of a tree. He kneels stiffly in the middle of the dusty road, digging his hands in the red earth.

Maka's old journal, held together by blood and sweat, was very specific on the requirements for summoning a crossroads demon: Graveyard dirt. Bone from a black cat. Picture of himself. Put in a box and bury it in the center of the crossroad.

The wind moans across the fields, and the sliver of moon in the sky only serves to make the landscape bleaker. He's about to give up, unearth the box and try another crossroad, when he turns around and there it is.

The journal had described crossroads demons as being enticing, taking the form of beautiful men and women in order to better lure in their victims. This demon must realize that Soul doesn't need to be enticed into a deal because it's as ugly as ugly can be. Short and squat, with bulging eyes and bowed legs, it gives him a smile full of broken teeth.

"Soul Evans. A pleasure." It sketches a bow. "To what do I owe this visit? Surely Maka taught you better than to go wandering the backroads at night. You never know what you might find in the dark." Its smile widens.

"Cut the crap," Soul says, trying to keep his voice firm and commanding. "You know what I want."

"Tsk tsk, Soul," it mocks. "You'll not get anything with that attitude." Its smile abruptly drops. Fire-red eyes study him, calculating, and Soul feels like a rabbit in a snare, looking at a fox's slavering jaws. "Why have you summoned me?"

"Maka's d-" Soul swallows. "Dead. She's dead, and you need to bring her back."

"Do I?" The demon smirks. "Are you sure you want the girl? What about your dear, long lost brother? He's been waiting a long time for you, you know."

"Wes?" Soul asks, and hates how his voice cracks on his brother's name. "He's…he's still alive?"

"Indeed he is. Wouldn't you rather have him back with you? That is why you began hunting after all, isn't it?"

Wes, mussing his hair and teasing him with cutesy nicknames, laughing as his hand is swatted away. Wes, coaxing music out of his violin, body still and peaceful, his bow an extension of his arm. Wes, face stricken, mouth open to scream his name as the monster drags him down in the dark.

Maka, rough hands gripping his shoulder, pulling him away from the darkness.

"Give me back Maka."

"Maka Albarn." The demon rolls her name around in its mouth, spits it out again. "Why should we give her up to you?"

"I…what do you mean? I'm here, I'm offering my soul, so make the deal?"

The demon laughs. "What a stupid child you are. However did you make it this far? Your partner must have had a lot of work cut out for her, babysitting you."

"Give her ba-"

"No," the demon cuts him off. "No deal. Go home."

"What? Why?!"

"Because I don't want to," it says harshly, turning away. "Take her body and do whatever it is you do with your dead."

"Five years."

The demon goes quiet.

"I'll give you five years instead of ten, if you bring her back," Soul says desperately.

It chews on its lip. Finally, it says, "One."

"One year?!"

"One year or no deal."

"You're supposed to give me five!" he shouts.

"And Maka's supposed to be dead," the demon shoots back. "But of course, if you'd rather keep it that way…"

"Fine!" Soul throws his hands up in the air. "Fine. You bring Maka back to life and I…you get my soul in one year."

The demon's face splits into a grin, and it claps its overly large hands. "Perfect! I'm so glad we could come to an agreement." It takes a step closer to Soul, and Soul tries not to shy away. "Now to seal the deal."

"Could you not have picked a more attractive vessel for this?" Soul grumbles, clenching his fists to keep them from trembling. The demon's a good two and a half feet shorter than he is, and Soul is practically forced down to his knees to get on eye level with it, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg as he does so. This just figures, he thinks to himself, eyeing the demon's blunt and broken teeth - his first kiss and it's with a demon, and an ugly one at that.

This close, the demon's misshapen face is even more grotesque than at first glance. Its eyes are small and narrow, and it sports a massive bulbous nose and flattened head. The smell of rot lingers in the air, and it's all Soul can do not to gag as it steps closer. It leers at him as Soul closes his eyes and presses his lips together tight, hoping that a mere peck will seal the deal.

But the demon does not kiss him. It places its mouth over his and inhales, sucking in Soul's breath until his lungs feel shriveled and empty - and then it breathes. Something like smoke burns its way down Soul's throat, tasting of brimstone and blood and acid, and he chokes. He falls to his knees, coughing and retching, as the demon steps away.

"A pleasure doing business with you," the demon says. Through watery eyes, he sees it grin from ear to ear. When he blinks away his tears, it's gone.

Maka wakes up with one hell of a headache.

It takes a few minutes of staring at the cracks above her to recognize that it is, in fact, a ceiling she's staring at - that she's currently lying in a bed. It's dark in the room, and her face feels cold, like the air conditioner's been blasting away all night long.

Vague impressions of yesterday (today? whenever the last time that she was conscious) come to her - the eerie glow of eyes set in leathery skin, a hand gripping her neck, edge of her vision going red, sudden twisting pain in her stomach and...blood, so much blood. She pieces together enough to recognize that she should really just be thankful that she woke up at all.

Something heavy is resting next to her, touching her side. Her fingers crawl across the scratchy bedspread and come in contact with something soft and slightly greasy.

"Soul," she calls softly. She touches his temple, letting her hand drop as he stirs.

"Mmmmgh." Bleary eyes drag themselves away from the crook of his arms. His face is creased with the impression of the wrinkles in his sleeves, and his hair is a tangled nest above his furrowed brows. He looks like shit. She wonders how long he's been waiting for her to wake up.

"Maka," he grunts, blinking sleepily. Suddenly, his eyes widen. "Maka!"

She gives him a tired smile. "Hey."

His hands dance on the covers, and he looks like he's about to either throw his arms around her or pass out, or both. She hopes for the former. But he calms, and instead fists his hands in the comforter. "Maka," he breathes, staring at her intently.

"Hey," she says again, and reaches out to cover his hand. It clenches the blankets tighter at her touch. "When was the last time you took a shower?"

Something in him relaxes at that, and his hands flatten and flip upwards to meet hers, palm to palm. "You've been awake for two minutes and you're already nagging me," he says, feigning grumpiness.

"Someone has to take care of you," she says. A flash of their last mission wedges its way behind her eyes, and she winces. "What happened to the rawhead?"

"Dead."

"And the victim?"

"Safe. Fine. She got away."

Another memory flicks through her mind, and - "Your leg!" She bolts up, reaching out to touch him. He recoils, leaving her hand hanging awkwardly in front of her.

"Don't get up, stupid!" he hisses, and gingerly pushes her down by her shoulders. "It's fine. It was just a gash."

"Sorry." He doesn't seem reassured, and his fingers carefully card through her hair, feeling her skull. They move down her neck, tracing her shoulders, her sides, her hips. There's no pain when he does so, but her lack of reaction doesn't smooth the crease between his brows.

She gives him a small smile. "That was a close one, huh."

There's a brief moment of silence before he barks a laugh, running a hand through his own hair. "You could say that." He exhales shakily.

"Let's not do that again, okay?"

Soul takes both of her hands in his and squeezes tight, eyes solemn. "Agreed," he says fervently.

There's something Soul is hiding.

They're always a little protective of each other after a particularly dangerous mission. They watch each other carefully, brushing shoulders and hands at the slightest excuse, keeping their voices quiet and low. Too aware of how fragile they are, of how easily the thread of their lives can snap.

But then it'll be Maka's turn to choose the radio station and Soul will complain about her music and sing along in the most whiny voice he can manage. She'll proceed to crank the volume and sing even louder, intentionally off-key, until he threatens to pull the car over and kick her out.

Or Soul will leave his dirty underwear for her to trip over on the way to the bathroom and they'll argue for an hour about the cleanliness of the motel room. Soul will ask what the point is of keeping things clean when they're just going to stuff it all into a suitcase in two days, and Maka will tell him that if she can't put her feet on the dashboard because it would dirty his "baby" then he could at least not dirty the other place they live in. He'll make a face, she'll make one back at him, he'll lunge at her and she'll defend herself by pinning him down and tickling him until he gasps for mercy, and things will be back to normal.

But it's been three weeks, and she still catches Soul watching her closely with a troubled frown, like something is going to happen to her at any minute. Asking him what's wrong only earns her a muttered dismissal and a sidelong glance when he thinks she isn't looking. Demanding to know what's wrong during a yelling match about whether she could do something as simple as walk to the convenience store alone made him storm off to the jeep as she hurled books at him. He stewed in his anger for a half hour before he came back and followed her anyway.

And now this job, their first actual monster case since the rawhead, and Soul's suddenly dragging his feet and arguing with every little thing she's doing.

"I really don't think it's a rugaru," Soul grumbles. "It's probably just another wild animal. We're wasting our time here."

Maka rolls her eyes as she sharpens her knife. "Three bodies have been found in the past month completely stripped of flesh, with their bones cracked open and the marrow sucked out."

"Again, could be a wild animal."

"In New Orleans?" Maka asks. Soul doesn't say anything, so she continues on. "Not to mention that shortly before the bodies started appearing, a man by the name of Morrison up and disappeared from his house, leaving his wife in tears."

"Lots of people get into arguments and leave. Doesn't mean anything."

"She was in tears because she claimed that he jumped out of the window and ran into the woods after she caught him hovering over their newborn infant drooling," Maka says. "And there is a suspicious lack of paternal male relatives, since they all seem to mysteriously die in fires or disappear into the woods."

Soul says nothing to that, but slams the trunk with a little more force than necessary before stomping to the driver's side and getting in the car.

"What is with you lately?" Maka asks, sliding into the passenger seat next to him. "It's just another job, we've hunted rugaru before." She peers closer at him. "Don't tell me you're scared?"

Soul snorts. "Not scared," he grumbles. "Just…"

She waits for him to finish the sentence, but he doesn't say anything more, only drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Well whatever," Maka says, crossing her arms and turning away from him. "If you don't want to tell me, fine. Just leave it behind when we fight the thing."

Soul mutters something to that, but starts the car.

They choose an abandoned warehouse near the edge of a wooded park. With no signs of squatters or runaways in the building, it doesn't take much time to haul their gear in.

Maka barely winces as she draws the knife against her forearm. She waves her arm, splattering tiny droplets of blood on the doorframe, hoping the scent carries.

When she turns back, Soul's as pale as a ghost, eyes fixed on her wound.

"What?" she asks. A bead of blood rolls down her arm; his eyes follow it, and he flinches at the small plip it makes as it hits the concrete.

"Soul," she says, and he snaps his head up to look at her.

"I'm fine," he says quickly, clearly lying, and she sighs.

"Listen," she says, digging around in her bag. "It's only been a month and as far as we know it's only fed three times, so it's probably still going to look humanoid. Don't waste your bullets, remember that -"

" - it can only be hurt by fire, yeah, I know Maka." Soul checks the level of lighter fluid in his makeshift flamethrower. "Like you said, not our first time."

Before she can respond, Soul holds up a hand, head turning towards the door. His eyes meet hers, and he gives a small nod.

Maka crouches down, listening. At first, she hears nothing unusual, only the wind, crickets, the distant sound of cars - but her heart jumps at a small snap!

The door slowly creaks open as a monster cautiously edges its way into the warehouse. It sniffs the air, distended veins and saggy skin framing its still-human face.

She knows it sees her when it suddenly stops and pitch-black eyes zero in on her.

The rugaru draws closer, dripping saliva, eyes rolling in madness. Come on, you bastard, Maka silently urges, thumb on the lighter and the can of body spray. Just a little bit closer…

It pauses, then advances another step, and Maka's just about to light-and-spray when -

"Maka!"

Three things happen in quick succession: Soul lunges at her, Maka's makeshift flamethrower is knocked from her hands as she's shoved aside, and the rugaru pounces, snarling, teeth bared. Its fangs sink into Soul's shoulder, and he yells in pain as they go down together.

"Soul!" Maka screams, fumbling for her weapon. She finds Soul's instead, snatching the super soaker. Her fingers shake as she tries to light it, but finally there's a spark and a yellow glow, and Maka points the water gun at the ceiling as she pulls the trigger.

In the flickering light of the flames, she sees Soul, hand wrapped around the rugaru's neck, muscles in his arms straining as he struggles to keep its snapping jaws away from him. "Soul!" Maka yells again as she readies the flamethrower.

Soul looks up, and in his brief moment of distraction, the rugaru surges forward. Soul manages to catch its jaws with his arm, and howls as the monster bites down.

The tip of the flamethrower wavers as Maka hesitates, not wanting to risk burning Soul. There's a horrible sound of ripping flesh, and Soul screams as the rugaru digs in further. Fuck it, Maka thinks, and begins to lower the flamethrower, when the rugaru suddenly stills. It unhinges its jaw and releases Soul's arm, licking its lips and backing away. Soul immediately curls up around his injured limb, but Maka doesn't have time to tend to him - the monster is already slipping out the door.

"Stay there!" Maka yells as she bolts out of the warehouse. The rugaru hasn't gotten far, and she pounds after it as it darts down the streets. It must be hurt too, somehow, because it's making strange cries that echo off the sides of the buildings and down the alleys.

It's fast, and Maka's almost afraid she's going to lose it as she vaults over chain linked fences and dodges overflowing trash cans. But when she rounds the corner, it's just standing there, crouching in the middle of the alley. It cocks its head at her, eyes glowing white as she flicks the flamethrower on. Its screams ring eerily like laughter as they reverberate off the walls of the alleyway.

The scent of sizzling flesh follows her as she runs back to where she left Soul. He's leaning against the doorframe, holding his shoulder and arm, blood dripping down his sleeves. In the dim light, it gleams almost black.

"Did you get it?" Soul asks.

"Yeah," she answers tersely. "Are you okay?" He nods, and yelps only a little when she takes his arm. testing it to see if it's broken. It's not, thankfully, but the puncture wounds need medical attention.

Maka leads him over to the car, digging around for the first aid kit as he slumps into the passenger seat. She helps him peel off his jacket and shirt, stained red with blood, and begins to swab disinfectant on his skin.

"What was that?" Soul wonders aloud. "It…it let go of me. Ran away. That's never - rugaru are supposed to be insatiable, right? Once they start feeding, they can't stop?"

"Mmm." She yanks the gauze around his arm a little more forcefully than necessary. "There," she says curtly, throwing him the rest of the bandages.

Soul's smart enough to stay quiet as she stomps back around to the driver's side, yanking open the door and slamming it with more force than necessary. She twists the keys in the ignition and only barely restrains herself from stomping down on the gas as she pulls out onto the road.

"Least we got him," she hears him mutter.

Maka slams the door shut behind her, then leans against it, arms folded. "Okay. Talk."

Soul pauses, cradling his bandaged arm. "Talk?" His voice is about three pitches too high to pass as casual. He clears his throat. "Talk about what?"

Maka sends him a withering glare. "Talk about the fact that you almost died back there! Talk about the fact that you're so paranoid and overprotective that you're putting yourself in danger and that's screwing us both up!"

"I'm just doing my job!" he insists. "Looking out for you because you're my partner, like I'm supposed to!"

"Oh no no no," Maka says, shaking her head vehemently. "Don't give me that crap. I can take care of myself! Who taught you everything you know about hunting in the first place? This isn't about me!" She jabs a finger into his chest. "This is about you being an asshole who refuses to talk to me for the past month and acting like a stiff breeze is going to make me kneel over!"

"Maybe you need to be more careful!" Soul growls, shoving her finger away and fighting away a wince of pain. "Maybe you need to stop being so fucking reckless, because shit happens Maka! You throw yourself in harm's way to stop some stupid-ass girl from getting killed, and then you end up slammed against the wall with a hand through your gut, and you don't get up, and who has to deal with you being dead, huh?! Me! I have to be the one to haul your corpse to the car and -"

He cuts himself off, nails digging into his palms. Maka's staring at him, green eyes wide. "Soul," she says slowly. "What are you talking about?"

Soul jerks his head away.

"No," Maka says angrily. "No, I'm done with your lies. Tell me."

Soul blows out a sigh. He lets himself sag backwards onto the bed, rubbing at his arm and staring at the floor. "Remember about a month ago, when you - when you woke up?"

She frowns, brows creased in concentration. "You mean after that close call?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Well." He closes his eyes. "It was a bit more than a close call."

"I mean, I guess I was out for a while -"

"You died, Maka," he says numbly.

"I -" She stops. Peers at him closely, judging his honesty, as if he'd lie about something like this. "I died?" she repeats.

He nods.

"But I…" Maka looks down at her body, as if expecting it to suddenly decay. "But I'm not…"

"You left your journal in the car." He ticks off the items on his uninjured hand. "A box. Graveyard dust. Bone of a black cat. Picture of the deal maker." He lets his hand drop. "One soul."

Maka's still standing, frozen as she pieces together his words. "That's…those are the components to summon…" Her eyes land on him, and he can see her putting the facts together, taking in his hunched shoulders and closed off expression, and then…

"You made a fucking DEAL?!" Maka explodes. "How could you be so stupid, Soul!"

"You were DEAD, Maka!" he roars back. "What else was I supposed to do!?"

"Oh, I don't know, Soul, maybe not make a deal with a literal devil to bring me back to life!" Maka throws her hands up in the air. "How long do you have?

"A year," he mutters.

"A YEAR?!" The expression on her face makes Soul very grateful for the lack of literature around her right now. "How long were you planning on keeping it a secret?!" she demands. "It's been a month already - that's like, one twelfth of your apparent lifespan now!"

"Yeah, thanks, that had completely slipped my mind," Soul replies sarcastically. He watches as she crosses the room to grab her coat. "What are you doing?"

"Get the keys," she commands, pulling on her leather jacket. "We're going demon hunting."

"This is a really bad idea," Soul says for the fifteenth time.

"As bad as getting ourselves into this mess in the first place?" Maka shoots back, and Soul falls silent. "Just pull over at the nearest abandoned crossroads you find," she orders, balancing a flashlight between her teeth as she squints at the pages in her journal.

She's out of the car before he's turned it off, rustling around in a plastic Walmart shopping bag and pulling out a can of paint and a bag of salt. "You draw this -" she indicates a page in the journal, "on the ground here. Cover it up with dust. And memorize this too." She shoves a piece of paper at him.

He squints at the writing, rubbing at his throbbing arm. "What the hell is this? Is it even in English?"

"Nope. Latin." She busies herself with placing bones and dust in a lockbox. "Exorcism ritual."

"I don't even know how to pronounce this stuff, much less memorize it in two minutes."

"Didn't they teach you Latin in that fancy private school of yours?" Maka tosses one of her fake IDs in the box and snaps it shut. "Or make you read the bible?"

"They didn't exactly go over how to exorcise a demon in mass, Maka."

She shrugs as she scuffs out a hole in the center of the crossroads. "Too bad. Would have been a lot more useful than learning about angels." She uses her foot to pat down the dirt, then cups her hands to her mouth. "Demon!" she yells. "Get out here, you bastard!"

"Now now, Maka. That's not very professional of you, is it?"

The demon tilts its head, grinning. Its eyes, red as embers, reflect the lamplight as it waltzes towards them, snapping its fingers to a tune only it can hear.

"And Soul, so good to see you again. I must confess, I didn't expect you this soon. Did you want to start your initiation into hell early?"

"Shut the fuck up," Maka growls. She pulls out a vial of holy water. "Break his deal."

"So rude," the demon sniffs. "Are you sure you made the right choice, bringing her back? From what I hear, Wes is a much more sensitive fellow. I do so hope that Arachne doesn't go too hard on him during their play sessions."

Soul takes a step forward, croaking out, "Wes -" but Maka thrusts her hand out, stopping him.

"Don't," she says lowly, eyes still trained on the demon. "Either you break his deal," she says louder, addressing it, "or you're taking a one-way trip back to where you came from."

"It would be unprofessional of me to go back on our deal, you know," the demon says. "Especially after all the trouble I went through to dig your soul back up again."

"Spare me the sob story."

"Oh, but you know all about sob stories, don't you, Maka Albarn? What would you say if I told you I could bring your mother back, little shadow?" Maka clenches her jaw, and the demon, sensing her weakness, steps closer. "Died all alone, didn't she? Just another tragedy you could have prevented. But you can fix this one, Maka. I can help you fix -"

It stops suddenly, then looks down. It scuffs away the dirt to reveal spray paint on the ground below.

Maka smirks. "What was that, demon? I was too busy watching you walk right into our trap to pay attention"

The demon looks unsurprised. "Oh my, a devil's trap. Seems as though you've been doing your homework."

"You'll find that's not the only thing we've brushed up on." Maka crosses her arms. "Now to business. Break Soul's deal, or you start getting familiar with the bible."

The demon sighs. "As enticing as your offer is, I must decline."

"Soul?" Maka says, and Soul fumbles for his cheat sheet. He begins to recite, Latin words slipping from his mouth.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"

"We're not fucking around here, demon," Maka says. "Break it."

"No can do." The demon smiles through gritted teeth. "Even if I wanted to, I can't."

"Why?" Maka asks, motioning Soul to continue reciting.

"…cessa decipere humanas creaturas, esque aeternae perditionis venenum propinare…"

The smell of brimstone and sizzling flesh begins to permeate the area, but the demon's voice is calm when it replies, "It seems the Queen of the Crossroads has a thing for you, Soul Evans."

Its eyes slide over to him, and Soul shudders at the look of pure glee in them, nearly stumbling over the next word. Smoke trickles out of the side of its mouth, and its limbs jerk erratically, making it fall to the ground.

"…ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine…"

"Who?" Maka demands over the ritual. "Who is the Queen of the Crossroads?"

It starts to giggle, voice alternating between a high, glass-cracking pitch and rumbling bass. Dust kicks up around it as it convulses on the ground.

"…draco maledicte, et omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te!"

"Tell me!" Maka cries, but it's too late. The demon pours out of its vessel's mouth, coalescing into a dense black smoke before being sucked down into the ground, back to hell. Its meatsuit lies crumpled on the ground, limbs rigid in death, mouth still stretched into a rictus grin.

"What a fucking disaster," Maka mutters as they enter the motel room. She flings her jacket off and begins to tear off her shoes, ripping at the laces, but she can still hear the demon's cackling, the way it taunted her - little shadow, died all alone, another tragedy that you could have prevented…

The door shuts, and she turns away as Soul's shadow falls across her, trying to swallow down the bitter mass of grief. His clothes rustle as he crouches beside her, and the fingers of his good hand gently pluck the strings away from her, patiently untying her shoes as she fights to regain control.

A sigh. " 'M sorry," he says quietly as he tugs at the laces. "I know…I knew you wouldn't want to be brought back this way. For that price." His hand is warm against the back of her ankle as he eases her foot out of her boot. "I just…I couldn't." She hears him swallow thickly. "I couldn't let that happen."

It's not your fault, she wants to say through the regret that clogs her throat. You weren't the one that died, that left you scared and alone like Mama left me, and she takes a shuddering breath, but he's already moving on. "I didn't want to worry you," he says, picking at the other shoe. "I didn't - I trust you, Maka, you know that, you're my partner, and I only…"

She looks at him, pale blonde hair forming a halo around his face as he shakes his head. "I should have told you," he says. "I should have said."

"Yeah," she says gruffly. "You should have."

The other shoe is almost off before he says, "Sorry. That your second life is so shitty," and she sighs, too tired to think, to blame, to muster up anything more than the hollow guilt that she carries like child, feeding and feeding it with her failures.

He frees her foot, and she draws her knees up to her chest, watching her toes wiggle, feeling her heart thump against her chest, hearing the way the floor creaks as he gets up to put her boots away. "Thanks," she whispers to his back. "For bringing me back -"

"Wes is still out there," he says, and she looks up to see him leaning against the window, staring out at the dark parking lot.

"I know," she says, louder, and this time she can tell he hears her by the way he begins to shake his head as she tries, "We'll get him ba-"

"No, Maka." Brown eyes stare into hers with a certainty that she hasn't seen in years. "The demon. It said - it asked whether I would bring you or him back, the first time. And now, now it said he was being tortured - an arachne?" He runs a hand through his hair. "What is that?"

"Nothing I've ever heard of," Maka says, getting to her feet. His body is a stiff line of worry against the glass, and her tentative hand on his shoulder does little to relieve his tension. "We'll get him back," she repeats. "We'll get him back, and we'll save your soul."

She leans against him a moment more, then tugs at his shirt. "Come on," she says, already moving to pack away their belongings. "I don't know how to break the demon's deal, and I don't know what an arachne is, but I know someone who does."

A slow shuffle behind her, and Soul begins to pick up his things and shove them into his suitcase. The demon's voice rings around again in her mind, but this time she takes heart in its words -

You can fix this one.