AN:This is my first real attempt at a multi-chapter fic. First and foremost, I would like to give a HUGE thank you to ErisandDysnomia, she's helped me with this so much, anything good that comes from it, assume it was her idea. Also, a thank you to Twin-Lupus, she helped me with the clarity of my writing as well as fixing my many spelling and grammar errors. Thank you both so much.
As always Soul Eater does not belong to me, it belongs to Atsushi Okubo, though the idea does belong to me,(and has been helped along greatly by those mentioned above.) This is rated M for future content, which may include sexuality and violence. Eventual Soma. If you are uncomfortable with that, please proceed no further. If not, please enjoy.
The fire breathing Soul Eater. That's how the masses referred to him. An abomination. Something to be feared. It made him sick, made him sad, made him laugh bitterly at their ignorance. America was falling to bits, and they found him, a twelve year old boy, to be worthy of their fear.
How dumb could you get?
"Mama, I wanna leave! Don't take me by the monster!"
The monster. That would be him.
He curls his lip back, baring pointed teeth at the little girl. She bursts into tears. He feels better.
"Okay sweetie, it's okay, Mama's got you."
He forgets how it feels, to be comforted in the arms of family. He's envious.
His act is next. Ironic, how much he loathes fire, how often he has it pouring from his mouth.
He takes a swig of ignition fluid and grabs his torch, wiry muscles twitching beneath his tanned skin. He stands in the center, feels their curiosity, horrified gazes weighing down upon him from all sides. The Great Depression? Sure, for some, himself included.
Endless entertainment for others.
He spits fire into the sky, wishes with all his might it would rain down upon the audience, make them hurt, make them feel something at least.
It doesn't, it never does. He doesn't bother to mask his disappointment, none of the people watching care for his feelings anyway, as long as he can make them forget for a moment what is going on in the world. He scans the crowd, looking for a specific person to focus all this hatred upon..
His eyes lock with those of a girl roughly his age, maybe ten at the least. She's lanky, and her hair lays limp around her face, but her eyes glow with knowledge, and wonder, and hope. He bares his teeth in a grin, and she does not flinch.
She smiles back.
He flinches. Warmth directed at him.. it frightens him more than the flames he spews forth. Burns him just as badly as his branding did. He should frighten her, everyone else is frightened of him, but the one thing he could depend upon is shattered with a glance from a scrawny green eyed girl.
He can't look away. Her smile is still intact, head tilted slightly to the left, hands hiding behind her.
"Ladies and gentleman, give a hand for the Fire Breathing Soul Eater!" The snake woman's voice rings in his ears, hollow and cold, but it sounds saccharine sweet to those who know nothing of her. The symbol on his chest aches.
But when he looks back at that girl, she smiles brighter than before, applauding him for his performance, congratulating him for existing.
"My dear Soul Eater, I'm afraid your time is up, on with the next act," that sickly sweet voice whispers in his ear. His muscles tense with the feel of her breath ghosting over his bare shoulder. He watches as the green eyed girl's face falls, a crinkle forming between her pale brows. A new ache in his chest forms, entirely different than the first. He gives her a small quirk of his lips, hoping she understands that he wishes her happiness, he really does.
He turns from her to retreat to the cars, he has tasks to complete before he gets to rest. He feels such a profound sense of loss as he lengthens the distance between them, but grits his teeth and does his best to ignore it. He focuses instead on the soreness of his mouth, because physical pain is something he's learned to cope with just fine.
"Heya Soul, what's eatin' ya?" Liz ruffles his snowy locks, making her best attempt at making him smile, but fails. It makes her feel guilty, though she has no reason for it.
"Nothin'.. I'm just seeing things… I'll seeya." He pulls her into his arms briefly, even though it makes him uncomfortable. She's been kind, it's the least he can do.
"Yeah.. seeya.." Liz murmurs softly, patting his head gently. She leans down and whispers something so quietly into his ear, he would bet that not even bats could hear her. "You be good kiddo." And with that, she's gone, off to her performance with her sister on the trapeze, her words echoing in Soul's head. Why did it sound like a goodbye?
He figures out the reason as he lays in a pile of straw shivering.
I need out.
For once, he's thankful for how light he is, because his steps make no sound as he escapes his car, grabbing a pair of grubby shoes that surely didn't fit him and a threadbare, black jacket from a costuming crate. He damns his bright hair as he creeps out into the night. He sees an old fire smoldering, grimaces as he reaches to the outskirts of the flame and grabs a charred piece of wood. As he grinds the charcoal into his hair, blackens it to match the night that surrounds him, he hears something that makes his blood turn to ice in his veins. Someone is awake..
He freezes as he hears one of the car's doors slide open. Liz leaps out and lands gracefully a few feet from him. Something glistens at the corner of his eye, and before he knows it, he's wrapped up in her arms again. He's briefly reminded of what it feels like to have a motherly figure, but represses the feeling as soon as it comes.
"I'll cover you, be safe hon. Carry a weapon, steal what you can, don't-"
"Don't trust nobody, I know.. bye Lizzie.." When he pulls from her, she gives him a stern look, but places a small kitchen knife in his palm. He doesn't know then, but it will save his life multiple times in the future.
"Seeya Soul.." With a smile, he turns and runs as fast as he can. He doesn't know where to go really, so he just runs into the woods far enough to be camouflaged, but not far enough to lose the tracks. They'll guide him.
As he runs, swift and light, for just a moment, he feels as if he is flying, free for the first time in three years. A burn on his torso clears his head of the silly thought. True freedom would never be for him.
But maybe, if he was lucky, he could get close.