Author's nonsense: This story is definitely going to frustrate some people. I don't have a beta, so pardon my grammar. A few warnings I'd like to inform ahead, my portrayal of characters is horrible. Not to mention, the entire plot of this fic is to deviate Stein's personality from canon. The rating will remain at a T, mind you. I'm not experienced at lemons. And.. There's the matter of pairings. Hm.
Yeah, I haven't thought of this fic through and through. I'll shut up now.
Tuesday, 7:50 pm
Cold, precise. This is what Stein thinks he is.
Sinister, unstable. This is what others think Stein is.
Both perceptions are wrong. Stein is not a heartless being, nor is he an insensible person. He was far from sane, that much was true. But Stein is fully anatomically capable of understanding ethics.
It was just the application to process it into daily that he found strenuous.
After a slurp from one of his beakers of water, he disdainfully stared at its clear contents. Its aftertaste consisted of a bit of metallic saltiness; blood, he guessed. Smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he managed to remove the unpleasing flavour. He returned to face his work, glaring at it. The mess of his handwriting was hard to make out in the dark, even if he was the very person who wrote it.
A faint sound resided against the glass of his nearby mirror; Shinigami-sama, most likely. Bright light invaded the reflection, it its wake, a waving black-cloaked Shinigami-sama unfolding his preposterously huge hands to greet him.
"How's it going, Stein?" he questioned with bubbly euphoria, jumping a few times before resting in place. Stein silently wondered where his loyal Deathscythe had gone, lacking a presence in the mirror.
"The research is almost done," the self-acclaimed madman replied with utmost sincerity, pushing up his glasses gleaming with confidence as he continued, "soon we'll be able to create a technique that'll be able to find witch souls, even while they use soul protect."
The Shinigami gave two thumbs up, "That's great! Keep up the good work!" Stein wasn't quite sure if he meant that sarcastically or sincerely. It was hard to distinguish a person's—in this case, a death god's—emotions when that person's body is enveloped in black clothing and skulled masks on an everyday basis. It annoyed him, especially since Shinigami-sama had too big of a soul for him to monitor signs of movement on.
Shinigami-sama was, to say the least, an unsettling individual. The fact that he, a being influential and notorious enough to rule over the entirety of the world single-handedly, changed his appearance just to keep the kids from crying showed just how unpredictable—even more unpredictable than himself, in fact—he was. It infuriated him, itching his scientific curiosity. He didn't—no, couldn't—understand him, and he definitely didn't have the position to understand further.
But surely a short question wouldn't hurt, right?
"I'm curious as to why you're asking me to do this, Shinigami-sama. I can complete this task in a matter of hours, but instead, you placed me on leave for the entire week to focus on the study of witch soul anatomy." He murmured mutely, "Wouldn't it have been more efficient if you didn't put me on leave, especially when Shibusen student's classes are constantly disrupted with disputes concerning old enemies?"
"Why?" he asked, in that same, cheerful tone. He gets his response just after the Shinigami in the mirror rolled the one-syllable word out of his invisible mouth. "I'm just concerned about their educational standards, because as far as I see it, their grades are going nowhere but downhill since the first semester."
It reality, Stein didn't really give that big of a damn if the children didn't go to school. They always managed. There was nothing a couple of remedial lessons and extra credit couldn't fix. Though in the back of his mind, he had to reconcile that some of his students were hopeless cases, such as Black Star and Soul. 'Those idiots', as Maka had said in more than one occasion.
Stein studied him carefully, for any rummage underneath his covering, any unintentional shift in his placement. It required concentration and observation that none other than himself had mastered for a number of years. His response was gladly met with an answer.
"Well, you see Stein, witches tend to make more and more moves that counter our own techniques. To prevent that from happening, I want you to study ahead, so to speak, to assure that we can overcome any new spells from them in the future."
He raised a good point, Stein had to admit that. His own distiguishments, however, concluded no results. Not a single reaction came out of him. The man was yet to be discerned, and he wasn't going to crack open like a jar of secrets any time soon.
Shinigami-sama continued, this time adding a little spring to his step as he talked, "Besides Stein, we can't have you lacking proper sleep on the job! You barely sleep enough, as it is!" he pointed his artificial rectangular-shaped finger up, "And I wouldn't want to put all responsibilities on your shoulders! That's too much for one person's maximum capability."
His hopes to predict his actions once again, utterly failed. The guy was impossible.
"Oh, I see." He acknowledged a bit flatly as he grabbed a trusty pack of cigarettes nestled inside his front pocket.
He politely wondered, "So when do you think you'll be done?"
"I think I'll be able to complete all the research in..." Stein gave a glance to the clock on his stitched walls, "approximately... 30 minutes, more or less." Lighting his cigarette with the provided match, he inhaled and puffed out a good deal of Death-faced smoke.
"Then I'll see ya later~!" he regarded enthusiastically. Shinigami-sama faded off of the mirror until all Stein could see was a reflection of him, filing out and finalizing all of his writing while multi-tasking to sweep up his table. He stacked up the several books he borrowed from the school library, making a mental note to make sure to return them by the end of the week.
Stein took a few more puffs from his lit cigarette, and then moved on to the rest of his unattended belongings. After sorting out the paper and placing them into separately named folders that were neatly stacked on the now clean table, Stein grabbed his beaker of blood-tasting water, moving to his sink to wash it much more thoroughly, again.
Upon reaching the sink, he checked the time once more, just for good measure, coming to the conclusion that 10 minutes had passed. He had 20 minutes to do anything he could. Instead of lazing around, Stein decided to spend the 20 minutes to check on his previous experiments; something that he hadn't done in a long time, mostly because he never had the spare time to do so.
While he dried his hands off the residual of water mixed with bubbly detergent from washing, Stein settled the cleaned beaker on his desk, pouring drinkable water into it using a pitcher pre-filled with the liquid. He brought the container to his lips to sip in half of the glass, then he left it on the table with a soft clink while moving to another room.
He flicked the light switch on for a brighter view. Although the lights were on, the room was still dimly-lit, and it didn't do much to help Stein navigate through the area filled to the brim with old stuff.
"I've really let this place go." He hissed as he pushed mechanical equipment and other various variables out of his way. He thanked himself that he at least had the consent to label all of his dormant creations.
A few coughs had been elicited due to the dust that had gathered up over the years. Stein instinctively turned the screw in his head a few times while furrowing his eyebrows in concentration at the stuff around him.
There were a few shelves here and there, containing around 12 or so experiments that were all left carelessly scattered and tossed on its surfaces. The rest of the pile were dumped everywhere, because of its drastic difference in size and its inability to fit in a normal-sized shelf. He groaned in frustration. There was no way he was going to be able to look through all of this stuff in 20 minutes.
In the end, he didn't want to waste the remaining...—He craned his neck to get a good view of the time—15 minutes. He had fifteen more minutes. So he snagged a few beakers from the shelves, each labelled from number 32 to 36, not caring what liquid every beaker cradled.
Stein moved them onto the table in the other room and returned back into the dust-filled area to search the notebook which contained the description of numbers 32 to 36. His fingers drifted over the sides of each of the books he scanned through. 1-20, 21-40, 41-60, 61-80.
Each book had twenty vivid descriptions of twenty different experiments. He pulled the one labelled 21-40 and proceeded to skim through his—once again—poorly written notes. He had bad handwriting throughout his entire life, and judging by the near-illegible handwriting in front of him, it dated back to when he was around 24.
It was strange he couldn't really recall what this test was about, even while reading the notes. It wasn't because he couldn't read it, but it was more of because the descriptions were too... vague. They didn't explain nor clarify anything at all.
He set aside the book and examined each glass. Fact 1, they were all clear liquids. That much was certain. They were also the exact same amount of volume. Stein inferred that it was a possibility the five liquids were all part of the same experiment, or at least, somehow linked to each other.
Fact 2, they all had similar ingredients and compositions. According to the notes, all beakers contained synonymous properties. It didn't specify what its components were, but it meant his guess on the liquids being part of the same project was correct.
Strange, really.
Why would he divide them into five? Was it really that big of an experiment? More questions arose whenever he figured something out. It was a one step forward, two steps back process. Maybe he abandoned the experiment in the past for the same reason.
A gentle shut of a door was heard, echoing in the room. "Stein?" He turned his head to meet Marie, holding a paper bag full of food. She finally came home from her weekly trip to the grocery store, judging by the flour, bread, and assortments of vegetables peaking from the top of the sack. "Oh, hello Marie." She moved closer to get a better look at what he was researching. Marie gave an interrogative notion in Stein direction. Stein responded it.
"Shinigami-sama assigned me on leave to research something." He cranked his screw, gripping it firmly to the side. She tried to read the contents of his notebook, curiosity piqued. "What's that?" she queried. It was an abrupt notion, but nothing unsubtle. Her attention always seemed to have a mind of its own; it was something Stein found endearing about her.
"Something else." Stein stretched out his arms and inquired, "Not part of the research."
"So what is it?" she addressed, carefully handling one of the beakers in between her free fingers. Stein gently moved her hand away from the glass before anything dangerous happened, especially for a person as clumsy as Marie. Clumsy, ditzy and lacked a good sense of direction. He empathized for having such nuisances as her traits. "I... Don't remember." Stein honestly confessed, scratching the back of his neck in an apologetic manner.
Marie let the matter go and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I'll be off to store this in the ref." She held the bag of food up, then moved on to leave Stein for some quiet time.
He hung his arms lifelessly over the back of his chair in silent contemplation. Stein gave an extensive gaze at the liquid, thinking of all the possibilities it could do. Was it an elixir, or a deadly drug? Or maybe it was just nothing at all?
"Heya!"
He looked at his mirror to see Shinigami-sama once more, greeting him with joyous leaps. He grabbed his other folders to start up the discussion. Stein probably won't answer those questions any time tonight.
Wednesday, 9:15 am
The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that his throat was terribly dry. He was completely dehydrated, so he looked for some water, or any liquid for that matter, to consume. He hated early mornings, even if by some standards, 9 am wasn't exactly defined as early.
The second thing he noticed was that he fell asleep on his patchwork chair. This caught his attention at the exact same time he felt the pain in his neck, back, and arms spread in his clenched muscles.
And the last thing he noticed was the time, evidently 9:16, the sun, glaring strain-filled sunbeams from the windows. Stein averted his eyes from such luminosity, rubbing them to ease the tension.
He stretched his muscles a little more, doing his morning aerobics until he felt a satisfying crack of his bones going back to its proper places. Stein cranked his screw as well, feeling the rust remove itself from the metal.
He grabbed a nearby glass and drank its entirety from it, feeling instantly hydrated. Although, he tasted a bit of... metallic saltiness? Didn't he wash this beaker properly last night?
Wait a minute.
He looked at the side of the glass, unfortunately meeting up with a side of tape, in it, written with black marker, 'Experiment #35'
Shit.
He rummaged through the pages of his notebook once more, meeting up with the section for number 35. The first few lines reading:
Quantity: 300 mL
Description: Severe infatuation with all entities
Side notes: Effects begin after first eye contact
Shit.
It was all starting to come back to him. He tested this before on a mouse, if he recalled correctly. The mouse gained obsessive properties after he added another two of his breed into the cage. He wasn't sure how this would go about with a human.
So all he had to do was close his eyes. For a day and a half straight.
No problem.
He was thankful Shinigami-sama placed him on leave for the week, so he didn't have to worry about going to the academy. Although, one can never be too certain, he could remove his leave and ask him to come back anytime.
It was common sense to alert his senses into a paranoid level. It could be anyone, and not a single person the madman could think of would be an individual worth his infatuation. So when he inwardly cringed, feeling another soul come inside his house, it didn't mean he was a total coward, but he didn't want a poor victim to have an intimate relationship—or any relationship with him at all—with him, of all choices.
It wasn't Marie's calming wavelength, that was for sure. He silently cursed, because Marie was the, compared to everyone else, most supplementary partner against all other choices. She couldn't be here since she had work to do in Shibusen. He scampered to the corner—something he uncharacteristically did—in dread. What can he say?
It was a nostalgic soul. Something that made him reminiscence. Something like...
"...What are you doing there in the corner, Stein?"
Spirit.
Deathscythe tapped his shoulder, like he was trying to draw out his attention, which was what he was precisely trying to do. He averted his gaze from his face, to the beaker he was shakily clenching in his hands.
"Stein? Stein what happened?" he showed genuine affection to his precious kouhai who was feverishly moving away from him. Stein stood up to move away from him, eyes remaining shut just as he planned. Putting the beaker on the table with a resounding clack, he took long strides to move to the next room without gaining any serious attention. "Stein, are you okay?" Spirit asked.
He gained no answer, instead, the sight of back of Stein's stitch-tailored lab coat. The scientist had to feel sorry for the cherry red head.
He just drugged himself. There was nothing wrong him.
Oh wait; there was something wrong with him.
"Dear Shinigami-sama, open your eyes Stein!" Spirit was flipping out in a panic. He tugged the lapels of Stein's stitched jacket. It was too much for him. Stein knew Spirit was stubborn as hell. It was no use trying to evade. Biting his lip until it drew blood, he opened his eyes slightly just enough to see Spirit's inaudible sigh of relief.
"For a second I thought I lost you there." Spirit joked, laughing dryly. He loosened his grip on the lapels, allowing Stein to move freely. Only now, his senpai seemed to be aware of the shocked expression on his face.
Stein didn't feel anything different. He clenched his hands and stretched them open lethargically, as if they were foreign objects. Spirit let his initial curiosity pass him and let him go straight down to business, passing on the opportunity to interrogate.
"I'm here to tell you that Shinigami-sama removed your leave, on your account." He said. It didn't make a difference if he went to Shibusen or not. His eyes met with Spirit and now Stein wasn't sure if he played a prank on himself, or if this drug will work in the next few hours, or even minutes.
He tried to, at least, look presentable in front of his former weapon. "O-okay." He caught his breath, calculating his scenario half-heartedly. He moved away quite robotically to the side and cranked his screw sideways once more. It dawned on him after processing Spirit's statement:
"Why did Shinigami-sama have to send you here when he could just contact me via his mirror?"
To this, Deathscythe looked pretty intrigued himself. "I'm... Not really sure, actually!" was his unsettling apology, accompanied with laughter that wasn't meant to fit in. In Stein eyes, he just knew that the Shinigami was plotting something. He just knew.
That sneaky unpredictable individual, Stein evaluated.
It was audacious. He needed to get away from everything and everyone, now.
He walked out of his door as fast as possible and evacuated his house, not caring if Spirit locked the door on his way out or didn't. Before he shut the door, faint noises that sounded peculiarly like, 'wait' managed to sneak into his ears.
It pained him to slam the door. He felt guilty—something that he didn't know existed in himself—for acting withdrawn and distant from his senpai. It enraged his senses. He wasn't sure if the toxin was spreading, or he was just discovering his guilt now.
His senpai had been, almost always, the supportive figure to him. After he discovered Stein was cutting his body on a nightly basis, his trust in him didn't waver (but his fear for him, however, flickered into a brighter flame). It warmed him that there was at least one person—the other being Marie—who had tried their best to stick by him through thick and thin.
It was starting to churn, and its effects were giving its prelude. He could feel it. His logic was dissipating before his eyes, in its empty space, filled with an anomalous substance. Science wasn't there to cope with his inner vendetta.
For that fleeting moment, he grasped his sense of mind once more before he fell into the symptoms of fool's play. He was no longer cold, nor precise. Or sinister, and unstable. Those comprehensive opinions about him were no longer present, temporarily.
Was this the push he was waiting for? The push that would allow him to apply all his acquired knowledge of the ethics? He himself wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Dear Shinigami-sama, may all his acquaintances brace themselves for what was to come.
Then he lost his common sense. A fire had risen up in the pit of his stomach. Heated, like a fever. Except this wasn't a sort of viral infection.
This was pure self-intoxication.
The last he remembered before enshrouding in void space was the faint shout of a cherry-red head, grabbing him before he fell in feigned discontrol.
Author's nonsense: This is totally not going to end here.