Hi, ya, welcome to my Resbang. I worked tirelessly on this for like five months with two a+ artists; look forward to Reverb after this!

IF ONLY I HAD THORNS LIKE A THISTLE

set 3 weeks after Asura

She had been hurt before - pain was not foreign to most meisters. Maka had taken a few good beatings in her time at the Death Weapon Meister Academy; sometimes she was bull-headed and landed herself in a dangerous situation, and other times she was completely out-classed. She liked to think she had grown up since then; every day bringing her closer and closer to completing her first Death Scythe. She defeated witches, eradicated evil for a living; more often than not, she found herself proud of her work.

But there it was - that small morsel of disappointment always wormed its way into her chest, even if she won.

She could have done better.

If Maka wasn't dead, then she wasn't sure what was happening to her. She had been asleep for what felt like years, she could feel her body growing weaker and weaker by the moment. She had been asleep for so long that she had gone over every victory and every failure. Some of her victories, she wouldn't call such - and some of her failures, they had made her grow stronger and, consequently, so did the people around her. She recalled her battle royale with Asura, and felt a swell of pride in her chest. She took out the kishin. But her heart was still heavy; yes, Asura was gone now, but what were the consequences? Would a new kishin rise to take his place, would the current kishin eggs wane into nothing? What would happen to her then? What was happening to her now? Her entire body was numb, the cold wrapping around her like death. Was she dead?

The cool touch of her metal blades made her reconsider- but it didn't console her at all; what was she? Five black blades stuck from her arms and back, icy and completely foreign to her. She had lived her whole life striving to be the best meister, to make the strongest Death Scythe. What should she live for now? What would happen to her and Soul?

The thought of Soul had her seeing white. It burned at her eyes, and it made her gasp for breath that she couldn't seem to get. Was she waking up? Maka regretted this immediately after her vision focused, because they were pulling a long tube from her throat. She coughed and hacked, fighting for air and taking massive gulps once the spasms ceased. There was someone hovering over her, someone grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.

"Maka!" It felt like she had come up to the surface of the ocean from the very bottom. She let out a pained, strangled yell before Soul let her go. He went to fluff the pillows, mumbling an apology for jostling her so badly. As he went to smooth her bangs back down, she frowned at him before clearing her throat.

"Soul, how long-"

"It's been almost a month since you beat Asura, if that's what you're wondering. You're not completely unscathed, as you may have noticed..." He seemed to trail off again, and she noticed absently that he was holding her hand. She squeezed his fingers, almost imperceivable because of how weak she felt. Her entire body felt like it was under ten tons of pressure; every beat of her heart rang through her painfully, sending out shockwaves from her wounds. Her ribs, she recalled, were broken. Her arms were bandaged, dotted with blood here and there. Her head was wrapped up, her leg was in some kind of cast.

Soul's mind was buzzing, not being able to settle on one thought. He was relieved that Maka was awake, finally, but he was also concerned about how she would be now that she was conscious. He couldn't begin to imagine how much longer the hospital would keep her, and how angry she would be when she came home to see that he hadn't managed to do the dishes or clean her room. He was also sure that she would be disappointed in him for ignoring their friends so much and staying at her side almost the entire time, but that was an argument for another day.

It was quiet, and her eyes slid closed against the harsh lighting. Soul tensed next to her but said nothing, not sure if he wanted her to stay awake or continue resting. His original fear was if she wouldn't wake up, now he was just scared she was too injured to be his meister. He noticed her grip tighten ever so slightly and felt himself relax. He had to stop worrying about her. His meister was tough, she always made it out of tough spots like this.

"Can you get me some water?" He leaned over and poked around in a bag, fishing out a bottle of water. It was still cool, as she noticed the condensation on the bottle as he twisted the lid off for her. She pouted at him, a look saying 'i could have done that' berating him silently. He grinned a bit sheepishly and handed her the bottle, which she took gratefully before gulping it down. She sighed, the raspy pressure in her throat relieved. He started going on about their friends, telling her about Black*Star breaking out of the hospital, about Kidd being trained more seriously in the Shinigami arts, even the two new NOT! students when he noticed how quiet Maka was. Glancing up at her, he noticed she was looking down at her hands.

"Maka, are you ok?"

"I turned into a weapon, Soul."

"I can go get Nygus- huh?" The last part came out as a strange squeak that he is completely embarrassed by, but he can't help but stare at her completely slack-jawed. She had turned into a weapon? None of the others mentioned that to him, but then again everyone had been knocked out for a short while. Could it have happened then? Goosebumps formed on his skin and he rubbed at his arms. What would happen to Maka if she was a weapon? Would they be assigned new partners? He never actually thought about not being partners with Maka, and he wouldn't be too proud to admit that it was a terrifying thought.

"I-... Well, I don't remember much."

"Maka, you can't just drop a bomb like that and say you don't really remember." He sighed, the tension in his muscles leaving. She was just mixing up her coma-state with reality; Stein said this happens when people first wake up. She didn't turn into a scythe with a black blade just like her father's- wait, how did he know what color she would be? She wasn't a scythe.

"I must have been unconscious, but I remember watching everything... It was like a film was over my eyes, it was kind of blurry, but I felt them come out of my skin..." Her hand hovered over her arm, where the bandages were still spotty with blood. He remembered his first time changing in his sleep - the blades burst through his skin roughly, not exactly breaking skin and drawing blood but it was still enough to cause for bruising. They were just wounds from her fight. Soul was repeating it like a mantra in his head.

Maka saw the look on his face, and stopped trying to explain. He didn't even believe her. A quiet anger filled her eyes as she asked him to leave.

"I'm tired, Soul. I'm done talking." She turned over angrily and ignored him until he left the room. She admitted that turning over was possibly one of the worst choices she had ever made, but she didn't want to look at Soul when he didn't even take what she was saying into consideration. He was completely ignoring what she was trying to tell him. Why would she make this up? Maka huffed and let her eyes close again, falling into a restless sleep.

Maka had over-reacted. What would she do if he told her that he wielded another weapon? She would discount it immediately, as he had done. It had never happened before -at least, he never heard of it- and there was no way it would have happened during that battle. Still, there was a feeling of unease in his chest. Soul knew better than to doubt Maka, especially when she had been so humble about it. But still, there was-

"Oh, sorry Kid, I didn't see you there." Holding a hand out to the reaper, Soul pulled it back when he noticed Kid staring intently at the floor of the Academy. He sighed dreamily, seemingly counting again before looking up at Soul. His golden eyes were glowing in satisfaction.

"Sorry about that, Soul, I was just counting the tiles - there was some remodeling done and I had to be sure they still counted 888 in this hall." Soul knew better than to ask where his twin weapons were - they had probably grown tired of waiting for him, as it seemed the young reaper had been counting for a very long time, probably due to re-counts and distractions. Death the Kid stood across from Soul and brushed himself off before tucking his hands carefully in his pockets -the scythe noticed that they were inserted exactly the same way in either pocket- before turning to walk away.

"Soul, you seem troubled." Kid turned his head slightly to look back at Soul, who had a blank expression on his face. He knew there was something bothering the weapon, his soul seemed uncertain and his body language read as irritated. He assumed that Maka had said something to him about her memories - maybe a bad dream, or even something about her fight with the kishin. Kid couldn't remember much himself, but he had seen some things that were questionable. And if Soul could shed some light on that, even if it wasn't much, it would help Kid find some much-needed answers.

After a few moments Soul walked up beside Kid and they matched strides as they left the Academy. He wasn't sure why Kid invited him along, but if anyone would know what to make of this, it would be the genius reaper beside him. Kid was often the one that gave the most reasonable calls, which lead the group to rely on his opinion often. It was no different in this situation, Soul supposed; he was already used to Kid giving him advice, so of course he would bite when Kid offered to hear him out.

They descended the stairs in silence, occasionally Kid stopping to appreciate the serene symmetry of Death City, but they went mostly unhindered. At the bottom of the steps, they realized their houses were in different directions. They faced each other, Kid still patiently waiting for Soul to talk-

"Maka said she turned into a scythe during our last fight with Asura."

"Oh?" Kid quirked an eyebrow. He was interested more than anything, but his concern was also very relevant in his voice. So it was something Maka had said to him about the Kishin - Kid couldn't remember much of the fight, and he was weary to jump in and confirm Maka's suspicions. But he could swear he recalled the sound of blades clanging against the ground, and he was almost completely positive that he had caught a glimpse of the fight. He also was aware that he could be making up memories to match what Soul was talking to him about. He would need more information from the scythe before he could formulate a better response.

"Yeah, but she said she really didn't remember much of it. I'm sure she just had a crazy dream while she was asleep."

"But it's bothering you?" Soul felt himself go cold, it started behind his ears and in the backs of his knees. It was bothering him. But why? What was he scared of? He shook it off as best he could. Kid was looking at him with an impassive gaze, but he could see the gears turning in the reaper's head - turning through pages of history he memorized, of all the occasions this might of happened versus the times someone lied and said it could. Kid wouldn't give him some random answer, no, he was trying to get all the information out of Soul so he could respond properly. He remained quiet as he watched Soul's expression change several times.

Soul was trying so hard to not entertain thoughts of Maka practically seizing while blades shot in and out of her body, unable to control the sharp metal chunks from slicing through skin that was not meant to be opened, through a meister's skin. His meister.

He suddenly remembered a chunk from the fight, and part of him hoped it was just a false memory, but a larger part of him knew -and dreaded- that it was definitely a real one because he could almost feel the ache in his bones. The memory gripped him hard and refused to let go. He and his friends were strewn against the ground, unable to face the madness anymore. Maka was the only one who had tried to keep fighting. Only a few feet away, the kishin was hovering near Maka, waiting to rip out her grigori soul and eat it when blades suddenly began erupting from her body, cutting her skin from the force. It reminded him of Crona when he rejected Ragnarok's wavelength. It was brutal, and it looked painful. Soul had never seen a weapon transform that... violently.

"It's happened before. Though it is rare, there are cases of meisters and weapons having children with both genetic codes. Usually, the child only activates one of the codes, but there are occasions of extreme duress in which both meister and weapon genes are active and under control."

Kid's logical words pierced Soul's thoughts. There was a possibility that Maka was being completely serious. There was a possibility that Soul Eater had reacted in a totally uncool fashion to his best friend trying to ask him for help. Soul turned around to face the stairs of the Academy, instead of the direction he knew his house was in.

He could hear Maka's voice in his head, as if responding to his previous -and ridiculous- notion of him wielding a weapon. She would tell him that it wasn't very likely, but if he said he did it than she would give him the choice of being a weapon or a meister. She would have heard him out, taken in all the details. She would have offered to help him, because that's what cool people do. That's what friends do.

Kid turned on his heel, walking towards his home and raising his hand in the air as a goodbye. He knew that Soul needed to patch things up with Maka, and he also knew that Soul had realized how uncool he had been for brushing her off out of fear. He decided he would talk to his father about what to do; after all, what if this happened again? If she couldn't control it, she could get hurt - or hurt those around her.

"I'll talk to my father about Maka." In that moment, Soul didn't know what he would do without the help of his friends, and couldn't help but feel frustrated that he hadn't given Maka this much.

((two weeks after Asura)

"You look nervous."

"Should I not be? Jeeze, I don't know about this anymore..."

"Don't worry so much, it's not like we have anything to be afraid of."

Rudy knew her sister was right, and that there truly was nothing to fear at the end of this desert. Death City wasn't far off, and the sisters were used to walking distances of great magnitude, but something about this place drained her. Alternatively, neither of them was used to this kind of dry heat - southern China was usually very wet, and very hot. But each step that led them away from the shade of the forest, each step that brought them closer to the school, seemed to suck the vigor out of their souls.

Agnes was just as anxious as her sister was - not because she was afraid. No, the meister of the pair was only unsure of what to expect. Their caretaker, Ms. Mandy, had only told them to travel to the United States branch of the DWMA - everything else was taken care of, she had been assured. Her younger sister, Rudy, couldn't help but be doubtful. A year younger and more free-spirited, Rudy often doubted the amount that other people could accomplish.

The sand seemed to only add to their muddled pace, both still uneasy. Why would someone build a school here? Rudy felt a frown dig itself deep into her face, misery written all over her body. She was hot, sweat beading on her forehead as she removed her purple button-up, revealing a cottony white shirt with a large "DC" in the middle, written in green. She had sweat stains under her arms and around her neck, even a small patch was forming in the small of her back.

Her sister, as always, was the picture of elegance. Agnes had a single bead of sweat on her upper lip, which she wiped away effortlessly. There were no sweat stains on her white and pink polka-dotted tank top, and she seemed to float over the sand as opposed to the trudge that Rudy was moving through it with. The sun was laughing at them over head, and she felt her frown deepen.

"Hey, I think I see it." The red-headed meister's voice drifted to her weary ears and she perked up, looking at the horizon desperately. Way, way off in the distance, barely a bump against the endless beige that assaulted her eyes, there was a gray-ish splotch. They both felt completely underwhelmed. Ms. Mandy had made this place seem important, like there was something that they could actually do here. Then again, they were still unable to actually see the whole city. Maybe when they got closer, they could judge it better.

Still, Rudy had a feeling in her gut that they should turn around and go home. Wasn't there a kishin here two weeks ago? That sounded beyond hazardous, and if she avoided anything, it was hazards. But her sister, gutsy and willing to follow orders, had dragged her here.

Rudy stopped and turned around, squinting at the dunes and their footprints. There was a vibration in the air that caught her ears, and as it grew closer hearts formed in her eyes. She was jumping up and down, her blue hair flopping about as she waved her hands and shouted. Someone must be driving towards them, were they truly saved from walking the rest of the way?

A red Giulietta slowed to a stop before her, black tires churning the sand. The tinted window rolled down slowly to reveal a young boy, no older than they were, sitting in the driver's seat.

"Afternoon, ladies. Are you heading to Death City?" He drawled, and Agnes could feel a chill come on from his air conditioning. She craned her neck to look into his back and passenger seats - surprised to see two children's eyes peering eerily back at her. One of them seemed to be struggling against the seatbelt, eventually breaking free and getting out of the car to hug her legs. Agnes could recognize this as a fire spirit and patted the child's head fondly.

"Yeah, actually! My sister and I are here for school. We didn't think the walk from the treeline back there would be so... cumbersome."

"Heh, you get used to this heat after a while. Need a lift?" Rudy eagerly nodded her head, hair flapping against her forehead. Kilik noticed her sister, who was closer to the rear of the car, laughing with the Pot of Fire. They were clapping their hands together in some sort of secret hand-shake that escaped both of them. Agnes climbed into the back of the car with the Pots, and Rudy took the passenger seat. Kilik immediately took off as soon as everyone's seatbelts were secured, and they reached the sprawling township outside of the city in under twenty minutes.

"Your sister's good with kids," the boy drawled slowly as he down-shifted. The Pots were still engaged with Agnes, clapping and squeaking in approval every now and then. Rudy smiled and agreed with him, knowing how her sister tended to get along with more childish people. Agnes had remarked back that it was because she was so used to her childish sister.

"We didn't introduce ourselves yet, I'm Rudy and this is my sister, Agnes."

"Oh! Right, sorry. I'm Kilik Rung," he extended his left hand to shake hers and jab a thumb to the back seat.

"These are my weapons, the Pot of Fire and the Pot of Thunder." The two children seemed to be having a blast in the backseat with Agnes, who was telling them both a story with intricate hand gestures and strange noises.

"Weapons? Do you attend the DWMA?"

"Yeah, we're in the EAT class. It's for more advanced fighters, like me. I guess you'll be joining the NOT! class, right?"

"Uh... We don't really know what we're doing. What's the difference?" Kilik launched into a long explanation about how the NOT! class focuses on managing the abilities of a weapon or meister, while EAT class focuses on strengthening what one knows. He also included that EAT class members may go on missions, live in town, and they also have special permission while on assignments to go anywhere and do anything.

"Jeeze, that sounds out of our league... I just found out I was a weapon, Agnes just so happened to be a meister. Our caretaker, Ms. Mandy, sent us here."

"Ms. Mandy?"

"Mmhm! We're from China. Mandy isn't her name, we couldn't actually pronounce her surname."

"We called her Ms. Mandy because she spoke Mandarin." The sisters laughed, and Kilik even chuckled at their silly nickname. He glanced up in the rearview mirror, looking back at Agnes. She had this bright, orange hair that seemed to dance with a strange liveliness. There were random dark strands of red, and even streaks of yellow. Her purple eyes matched her sister's to the shade. He could even make out her freckles that dotted her cheeks, her heart-shaped face looking at the Pots with a fondness he rarely encountered. She seemed to be the older of the two, and was a good bit taller than Rudy.

With a quick glance at Rudy, he realized that only their eyes related the two. Rudy was a darker shade of brown than her coppery-toned sibling. Rudy's hair was also much shorter, barely brushing her shoulders. The tips were aqua, fading into a soft sky-blue as it reached her roots. She had a different pattern of freckles across her soft, child-like face and her eyes were round, unlike her sister's angular eyes. He suspected if they were sitting in normal chairs, she wouldn't be able to touch the ground with flat-feet.

He pulled up at the bottom of the gargantuan staircase, the car rolling slower until it came to a hault. The Pots frowned in the back seat, realizing Agnes was about to leave. The sisters regretted ignoring the sights in favor of talking to the trio, but couldn't help but feel a bit less anxious now.

"Thank you so much for the ride, Kilik." Agnes smiled at him, small and almost unnoticed, but by Rudy's reaction -a grin that took up half of her face- it was a very good sign.

"We'll see you again, thanks for helping us out!"

"Anytime! If you need help with your normal classes, give me a buzz and I'll see what I remember," He grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head while holding out a small business card. His name was neatly printed in the middle, along with three different numbers: one for faxing, another one for general calls, and the last was scribbled messily on the back in blue ink.

"Don't bother with the other two numbers, you'll never get ahold of me with those. But," he winked at them while putting the car in gear, "Don't tell anyone else that! See ya!" And he sped off through the maze-like city. Upon closer inspection, they noticed that it definitely said "Charity Boxer" under his name.

They glanced back at the steps again and grimaced. Ms. Mandy didn't prepare them for anything like this.