My InFamous AU has finally arrived, and I hope you're as excited as I am about it. I've had this idea for a while now and I've finally put pen to paper (ahem, fingers to keyboard) and made it a reality. So proud of this too, wow. This story is my baby and I hope you all love it as much as I do. Enjoy!
Rating may change to M because of language, possible gore, intense violence, slight mention of sexual violence (though not explicitly stated or explored), abuse (if I find a place for Crona in this story) and eventual smut (still debating this). For now, I'll keep it at T but a change may appear in the future. So stay up to date!
Chapter 1.
"Any man can overcome adversity. If you truly want to test a man's character, give him power."
— Abraham Lincoln
I.
He was someone you'd never notice. Just a guy delivering packages to folks you'd never know. Though he, Soul Evans, made one mistake, it was enough. Hundreds of lives lost in an explosion of which he stood in the dead center—the eye of the storm. He woke up in the middle of it all with blood staining his hands.
It was all his fault. He regretted ever opening that package. Every time he retraced his steps, it always came down to the moment he got that stupid phone call.
"Open the package, Soul."
"S'cuse me?"
"Open it."
"Who is this? How do you know my name?"
"It will give you power. Open it."
"You're full of shit, whoever you are."
"Let's make a deal then. Open the package, and I'll mail you $500."
"Bull."
"Rent is awfully hard to keep up with these days, isn't it? I'm surprised you'd be willing to pass on a free handout with an eviction notice hanging over your head."
A pause.
"Make it a grand."
"Deal."
And like a fool, he, the simple bike messenger seen by all as a nobody, opened the package because of a stranger's promise. The man only spoke a few words to him but it was enough for him to break protocol and open the package with the faulty listed address that glowed blue at the seams. One grand was all it took. An explosion with a radius of seven blocks happened because he wouldn't make his rent on time. People died because of his naivety, no, because of his idiocy. He took a stranger's word because he was desperate, and this was the price he had to pay.
He was meant to suffer for his crime. He—
"Agh! Fucking hell!" It felt like his skin was being ravaged by fire.
"Sorry, Mr. Evans. I know the burns are still tender," a voice whispered in his ear, and his rage simmered down. Her gentle caresses as she changed his dressings were welcomed, though that wasn't shown outright. His wounded ego couldn't take another hit.
"Could've used a warning, Maka," he grunted. The way her brow scrunched up when he called her by name satisfied him. She insisted that he call her nurse Albarn from the very beginning, but he liked to bend the rules to get a rise out of her. It was fun. When made into a charred mummy and declared bedridden for days, entertainment was hard to come by; so when it knocked, he answered.
"I did warn you," she huffed. "But you were too busy daydreaming."
Daydreaming? If she only knew, he thought.
"And what did I say about keeping things strictly professional?"
He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Albarn."
Maka seemed irked by his sass, but she didn't fuss about it. "That's better." She finished with his dressings and looked over his chart, lips pursed and green eyes focused. It was a look he'd grown fond of over the past few days. Green slowly became his favorite color, but he'd never admit that outloud. Never. The idea of Soul Evans finding Maka Albarn to be cute would never be voiced. Not in a million years.
Suddenly, a frown etched into her face. "More abnormal activity than yesterday?"
He scoffed. Abnormal. That was the best Doctor Stein could come up with? Abnormal? His arms bristled with blue static as he griped, "Been working on it."
As much as he fucking hated the stranger on the phone, the man hadn't lied about the power. His body teemed with electricity; it coursed through his veins like blood. He could produce it on command—he wasn't very good at it yet, but he was practicing. While Maka and Doctor Stein were busy with the influx of patients, Soul liked to play with his abnormality. He once scared a nurse half to death when he toyed with his heart monitor and made it flatline. Another time, he encased his arms with electricity and set his sheets on fire. The look on Maka's face both times was priceless, but he'd be lying if he said that the fear he saw in her eyes didn't bother him.
When they first met, she told him she wasn't afraid. His body had convulsed with electricity when he woke up in the hospital, but Maka had been strong enough to face him when no one else would. She had whispered sweet nothings into his ear and sedated him at the risk of getting shocked—maybe even killed. She was brave. Courageous. She made him feel unworthy in her presence.
But, as the days went on, his abnormality must have been too concerning to look the other way. The fear radiating off the others—aside from the mad Doctor Stein—was bound to reach her eventually, he guessed.
"Working on it?" She looked surprised. He didn't blame her.
"Yes. Doesn't seem like it's going away so I might as well get used to it." He wanted to control it, to master it. With this power, he'd atone for his mistakes. All those people who died—he can still hear their bloodcurdling screams in his head, even now—would be avenged. He owed them that much.
"You could hold back," she said slowly. "Practice some restraint and live a more normal life."
"A normal life?" He laughed in her face. It was cruel, but she was acting too naive. "Look outside, Albarn. Abnormalities aside, can't you see how fucked up everything is now? There's no such thing as normal anymore."
The truth had been hard for the citizens of Death City to swallow.
The explosion was cataclysmic. In its wake about four days later, a plague seeped out of the city's cracks and fogged the air with poison. Nobody saw it coming. People started getting sick fast and the death toll skyrocketed in a matter of hours. It was still on the rise even as he and Maka talked. To make matters worse, the government thought it was best to contain the plague before it could spread. Death City—his home—was quarantined. No one could leave unless they wanted a barrage of bullets shoved down their throats.
Harsh, but necessary, the president would say.
Chaos reigned over Death City and peace and order was forgotten. Rioting, theft, rape, shootings—civilization within the quarantine walls started to commit suicide. The Reapers, the city's drug addicts and gang members, rose to power while most of the police force was either dead or in hiding. With no one to oppose them, the Reapers began running rampant through the streets with abnormalities all their own. It made him sick to his stomach.
Just the other day the Reapers marched into the hospital looking for a high. This hospital in particular, mind you, stood alone in the city; its brethren were destroyed in the blast radius or torn down and looted in the early days of quarantine life. It carried valuable medications and drugs that were presumed to be extinct across the city. As Soul saw it, they might as well have painted a giant red target on their back.
At first, the nurses and doctors refused to give away any drugs despite all the threats. Their bravery was noted but fucking stupid. One Reaper went trigger happy, killing doctors, nurses, and patients alike. Another played Russian Roulette with children on the other side of the barrel. From the look Maka gave him as she relayed the news, there was one that harassed some of the nurses. He could read it plain as day in her eyes—the anger, the disgust. And with that, the Reapers got their drugs and went on their merry way. It pissed Soul off. If he weren't so weak, he could've stopped them with his powers. He could've done something. Instead, he stayed trapped in bed and counted each gunshot and scream.
What if Maka had been in the lobby? She'd be dead. She would've stood up against the Reapers and earned a bullet or two between a rib, so she could suffer first, those fiends would say. Bleed out as everybody watched. They would make everybody watch. And it would all be on him because he had the power to stop them but couldn't.
"It was just a suggestion," Maka muttered under her breath. She reminded him of a puppy; specifically a puppy beaten to a pulp with the toe of his boot. The look really didn't suit her—it took the gleam out of her eyes. Simply pitiful. She couldn't be left in such a state. Someone like her needed a spark to keep going, so he figured he'd throw her bone. Out of guilt, no doubt, for being an ass.
He swallowed his pride and started with, "Look, I—" before getting cut off by Mr. Wonderful himself.
"Yo!" BlackStar strolled into his room and greeted him with enough volume to pierce the heavens, as per usual. The loudmouth held up a pack of batteries with a grin and Soul promptly swore under his breath. "Got your crack, Thor. Triple A's. Your favorite."
He thought his soul left his body in that moment, as Maka looked between him and BlackStar like the pair had simultaneously grown a second head.
"Triple A batteries?" she asked, amused. His skin was blistering red from all his burns—he looked like fucking Deadpool without the suit and mask, damn it—but the blush still managed to ripen his cheeks.
"Damn straight," BlackStar hollered as he dropped the pack on the bed. Soul wanted to strangle him. "And god forbid you give him doubles, the guy will throw a bitch fit."
"Star," he hissed. "Not cool." He couldn't be blamed for his good taste. Doubles didn't have enough juice for him. Was that such a crime?
"What? I speak the truth and nothing but the, Electro Man." The nicknames made Soul cringe. Thor, Electro Man, Sparky, Human Battery, Lightning Rod, Grease Lightning, Static Shock, Lightning McQueen—BlackStar knew exactly what buttons to push.
"Mr. Barrett," Maka cut in. He hardly missed the hiccup—a fucking giggle—in her voice. He wanted to sink into his mattress, shrivel up, and die. "It's past visiting hours. You should really head home."
"Don't Mr. Barrett me, Albarn. It's the mighty BlackStar you're talking to. And family is allowed to stay, right?"
"Well, yes but—"
BlackStar plopped down in the chair next his bed and shot Maka a look. "Good thing we're brothers, then. Guess I'm staying put. Not much of a home to go back to either, so camping out here is my best bet. You wouldn't throw Soul's brother out to the Reapers, now, would you?"
Maka looked to be at a loss, lip quivering and eyes sparking with uncertainty. She was a stickler for the rules but also one with a big heart; the two sides were probably clashing inside that big brain of her's. Soul, on the other hand, merely shook his head and laughed. BlackStar may have been an idiot, but he was one hell of a friend.
"Let him stay, Maka. He doesn't bite."
Like the little shit he was, BlackStar peeled his lips back with a finger and showed Maka his pearly whites. "I do, if you're hot enough." He gave Maka a quick once over, eliciting a sharp cry of offense from her and a low, inaudible growl from Soul. "Don't worry, you're off my radar."
"Maaaka Chop!"
A textbook whirled through the air and the corner of the spine nailed BlackStar between the eyes. It was punctuated by a distinct crack and a wail from its target. At first Soul winced, but watching BlackStar fall back in his chair and howl in pain made him laugh until his stomach hurt because the guy fucking deserved it.
"What the fuck?" BlackStar seethed. "You hit me with a book?"
"It was well deserved."
He rubbed his head and winced. "Was it the fucking dictionary?"
"My anatomy textbook actually, but not a bad guess."
"Agh, fuck."
"Oh, you're fine. Stop whining. It's not like I threw it hard enough to give you a concussion, and I would know if I did." Maka picked up her textbook and tapped the spine for emphasis, and Soul decided that he really liked her educated style of snark.
BlackStar grumbled something under his breath about moody nurses and fucking anatomy before he jumped back to his feet and picked up his chair. In the process, a red envelope slipped out of his pocket and dropped to the floor like a feather. The edges were embroidered with a pinstripe pattern; it reminded him vaguely of his days sitting at the piano bench in front of a large, unsatisfied audience. Elegance, not his forte. When it landed, silence fell over the room, though he swore he heard it hit the floor with a thud. Heavy like a rock. And like in those moments before he took the stage back when he served his time as an Evans boy, Soul started to break a cold sweat.
"What's that?" he asked. A simple question, but Soul dreaded the answer.
BlackStar shot him a perplexed look as he picked up the envelope. "Oh yeah, some guy in a trenchcoat caught me on the way over here. Gave me this and said it was for your ass." He paused and knitted his brow, contemplating. "Said he had to pay up or something, like he owed you."
"Owed me what?" Soul was on the edge of his seat, and it was Maka that quietly insisted that he lie back down. He ignored her and pressed his luck. The sharp pains of his crinkling, burnt skin as he hunched over paled in comparison to the anticipation brewing in the air.
"I don't fucking know," BlackStar said with as much eloquence as a drunk. "He gave me the creeps, so I let him go when he shoved this in my face and booked it. There was no time for answers, Sparky."
Soul frowned. The messenger remained a mystery, as with the stranger who knew too much about him and made him the centerpiece of a massacre. Nothing seemed to add up. His whole situation was a mystery within itself—layers upon layers of uncertainty and questions with no answers.
"I don't think you should open it," Maka said as she tried to coax him back down onto his pillow. He didn't budge. "For all you know, it could be dangerous. Haven't the Reapers been experimenting lately with different drugs and toxins? It could be laced with something."
Her concern touched his heart and her case was within reason—the Reapers were caught experimenting with strange concoctions almost daily—but his curiosity was piqued. He didn't think anything could stop him from finding out the truth, or what he perceived to be the truth: the contents of that letter.
"Give it to me," he grunted, and he didn't miss how the corner of her lips fell as BlackStar handed him the letter. The look tied a knot in his stomach but it didn't stop him from breaking the seal and pulling out the card nestled inside. He opened the card, snorting at the cheesy "Get Well Soon" caption at the top. He quickly bit his tongue, however, the moment green bills caught his eye, barely hidden in a stitched pouch on the side.
"Well, what is it?" BlackStar drawled, impatient.
"Soul?" Maka sounded much more sincere. It was also the first time she called him by his first name.
He took out the cash and a breath hitched in his throat. He couldn't speak. All he could do was count the bills over and over again in his head and read the message scrawled at the bottom of the card.
One grand, as promised. See you sometime soon, Soul.
Sincerely, O.
II.
The straw man crackled and spat sparks at him and he grinned. It was the kind of grin that people would call maniac and worthy of haunting someone's nightmares. Scary, demonic, inhuman. But he enjoyed the way the straw man withered in the flames, how the red jacket—a Reaper's jacket—shifted into charred flakes until there was nothing left. Just a raging fire to light up the electric blue of his eyes—his eyes. Everything seemed foreign to him these days, but the heat frisking his skin felt right.
It'd been a couple months now since he'd woken up in the hospital, and the burns that marred his skin were all but healed. Doctor Stein had commented on how his skin had regenerated so quickly and seamlessly, leaving not even a single scar. He also mentioned experimentation, but Soul wanted to look on the bright side. He'd grown into new, healthy skin—naturally tanned skin, too, for that matter. His pale, sunlight reflecting days were over. But, at the end of the day, Soul was relieved more than anything about his fast recovery simply because he wouldn't have to hear the Deadpool jokes from Star anymore. They were corny as fuck.
He ran his hand over his peach fuzz, as BlackStar would call it, and thought about how it had started to grow back white. He was a natural blond. The abnormality had run deeper, much deeper, than anyone would have thought. His tongue scraped against the tips of his teeth, sharp, and recoiled when it drew blood. Actual blood. Instead of a yelp, a spark lit in his mouth. He spat it out in the flames and watched how it added to the inferno, setting a decent charge. The flames danced in color—oranges, reds, yellows, with a spec of blue. So beautiful, so warm. A finger slid over his lips and caught a droplet of blood, so small yet so comforting. Sometimes he forgot he was still human, that he could still bleed red.
"You're getting good at this," BlackStar said, breaking Soul's trance as he doused the poor straw figure with a bucket of water. "But I could do better."
Better? Soul scoffed. "I'd like to see you try wielding electricity. It's not that easy, y'know."
BlackStar cackled and tossed the bucket. "The great me is too big for that kind of challenge. I could do it in my sleep."
Soul rolled his eyes, but he didn't miss the pang of jealousy in BlackStar's voice. The way he watched Soul shoot lightning from his fingertips. It was all so clear. Star hadn't caught the superhuman bug Death City was buzzing about, which he insisted for weeks that he would. He talked about what powers he'd get and how he'd use them for weeks. But Star wasn't a conduit—the politically correct term the city came up with for people like Soul. Soul didn't how to feel about it—everything was too new and fucked up to process—but he knew how BlackStar felt.
Left out. Or, as he would say, out of the spotlight.
"I'm sure you would," Soul replied, humoring him. BlackStar's insecurities were a talk for another day or, if Soul got his way, never. He could hardly hash out his own feelings let alone face someone else's. He was fucked up like that—feeling-repellent, more than anything. Sympathy was foreign ground. He wouldn't dare set foot there unless the barrel of a gun was pressed between his shoulders, and even then he'd hesitate. Pathetic but true, and he knew it.
"I would fucking own it!" BlackStar yelled, and Soul remembered that his friend wasn't too savvy with feelings either. He cracked a smile, hiding it with his collar, and stared at the mess the straw man left behind. Nothing but ashes. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. And boy, would the Reapers fall.
"B-Barrett! Evans!"
Her voice was enough to make two grown men stand at attention like they'd just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. BlackStar, still nursing too many Maka Chops to count, and Soul, just deemed worthy enough the other day to receive his first one. She used their last names too, which meant nothing but trouble. Them being in trouble. He ducked down into his collar and shuddered under her gaze. Who knew someone of her small stature could be so damn terrifying.
Maka whipped her head side to side, drinking in Soul and BlackStar's new arrangement—set up on the hospital roof, of all places—and scowled. It reminded him of the disappointed looks his mother would give him after a recital—dark, intimidating, tear-worthy. In response, he quickly decided that his feet were far more interesting to look at.
"What...is this?" She pointed at the leftovers of straw man, but he assumed she meant the whole set-up in general. The training grounds BlackStar had constructed on the down low, he had said, while Soul was still bedridden. The graveyard of fallen straw men, the wide assortment of Christmas lights, a mini fridge—for snacks, bro—and about a dozen other old electrical doodads BlackStar had scavenged around the city. To them, it was a playground, but to her, it looked like they'd just trashed the rooftop for the hell of it.
"Reaper scum," BlackStar mumbled, eyeing the ashes at her feet. "Static Shock needed some practice, so…"
"You commandeered the hospital's roof?" she finished for him, unamused. Her eyes looked like daggers, if that made sense, piercing through their chests with scorn. It sent chills down his spine.
"Y'see, when you put it like that it sounds like a crime." BlackStar couldn't talk his way out of paper bag, so Soul settled on sending up silent prayers to the man upstairs. As if there was anyone up there to answer him.
Maka pinched the bridge of her nose, fuming. It was cute in a she's probably contemplating my murder kind of way. Also hot in a I'd let her murder me kind of way. He watched one finger stray from the others, brushing against the bruise staining the swell of her cheek, and he gritted his teeth.
A couple days ago Maka walked into his room with that bruise on her cheek, clear as day, while Doctor Stein was giving him one of his daily checkups. Even at Soul's insistence and worry, she kept quiet about it. She said it wasn't his business, but it was. She was his business, whether he'd truly come to terms with it or not, and he needed to know what fuckboy had laid a grubby hand on her so he could end them. Luckily, Stein was very talkative with a few beers under his belt, and he spilled the beans: a Reaper had tried to take advantage of her but she fought back and got away.
That news had lit a fire under his skin that had been too hot for him to put out. Even now it burned like an eternal flame.
"You two are unbelievable. You know, under your feet there are people fighting for their lives and mourning their loved ones. There are people dying and you're up here playing superhero with a bunch of straw!" She kicked one of the straw men with her steel-toed boot over and over again, as if one could punctuate their point by creating a whirlwind of straw. He started to imagine the Reaper that jumped her lying on the ground at the mercy of her toed-steel, and it made him grin. Then he imagined himself in the straw man's shoes and winced.
"I'm sorry, Maka," he started, and she cut him off before he could continue.
"Sorry?" She stopped to laugh. "Sorry doesn't even begin to make up for your lack of respect!"
"Maka, I—"
"I haven't heard from Mama in days, and you two are up here playing games with the dying trying to sleep under your feet," she gritted out, shaking her head. "You're both unbelievable!"
There was nothing left to say when the tears started falling. Soul wasn't well-versed with feelings—he couldn't comfort her. He wanted to, but he was too afraid. BlackStar scooted to the rooftop's edge, putting as much distance between him and her as possible. He wasn't the comforting type either.
"So stupid," she choked out between sobs. Soul didn't know how much more of her pity party he could take. He watched her small frame start to shake, and she kept trying to wipe away all her tears before they could fall. Sadly, a few escaped, tracing a path down her porcelain skin over the dark swell of her cheek. He really, really didn't like how that made him feel. Powerless, hopeless, defeated. Watching her unravel out of her usual steely-exterior started to take its toll on him. He needed to speak up.
"M-Maka," he croaked, cursing himself for the stutter in his voice. BlackStar shot him a look, shocked but amused, and he ignored it. "I'm sorry. About your mom, I mean. For what it's worth, I haven't heard from my mother at all since the beginning." He fumbled with his words and caught BlackStar making a cut-throat gesture at him, but he pressed on. "You're luckier than me. Mom won't call me even though I'm trapped in this hell hole, but at least yours would if she could. That has to feel good, right?"
If asked later, Soul wouldn't confess to what happened. He'd remember the jolt of pain when her hand struck his face, but he wouldn't admit that she slapped him. He wouldn't and he didn't know why. Denial, maybe? He was so confused.
"Y-You're such an ass!"
Soul took a step back, eyes wide, and held his hands up in surrender. "Maka, I—"
"Death City General!"
The world stopped turning the moment a voice echoed through a megaphone. It sounded distorted, inhuman. Like nothing he'd ever heard before. Soul looked down from the rooftop, recognizing the red jacket branded with the skull on the hood, and clenched his fists. Reapers.
"It's time to pay up!" The announcer turned around to look back at his rowdy friends—his makeshift army—before speaking into the megaphone again. "Reapers reap! Reapers reap! Reapers reap!" They all started chanting together as they marched up to the hospital doors, guns raised and trained on the windows. It was a cacophony of monster-like shrills and hisses ready to reach crescendo with gunfire.
"Well shit," BlackStar cursed under his breath. The man looked so at a loss, and it didn't suit him. But who was he to try to go up against an army of conduit punks? He talked the good talk and fought the good fight, sure, but he wasn't strong enough. He was powerless.
Soul, on the other hand, was not.
He stepped onto the very edge of the rooftop and looked down, swallowing hard. It was an eight story drop at least. The fall could kill him—the ordinary him—but could it kill the new and improved Soul Evans?
"Soul?" Maka's hand gripped the doorknob and she looked about ready to run a marathon down the stairs—the elevators stopped working a month ago. But she hesitated and watched him instead, worry clouding her eyes. The anger and the hurt had died down.
"What the hell, Soul?" BlackStar added as he took a step toward him. Soul inched closer to edge and BlackStar hesitated, reading all the cues, which Soul knew he would. Star was an idiot half the time but not all the time. As if to put the cherry on top, Soul started to charge balls of electricity in his palms, and the message was read loud and clear.
BlackStar shook his head, chuckling. "Give them hell, partner."
Soul smirked. "You got it."
"S-Soul!" Maka shrieked, and the way she bolted toward him warmed his heart. It made that last step, just out of her reach, that much easier.
He was in free fall.
"SOUL!"
There were flashes lighting up behind his eyes as he fell, showing him, unconscious, lying in the middle of a ditch. The helicopter buzzing, sirens, and voices that had been in the air gave him a headache.
Hey, you need to get out of there! A man aboard the helicopter had shouted at him, and Soul opened his eyes and saw a broken city landscape.
It's too dangerous to land! You need to get up and move! He had stood up amongst all the rubble, ears ringing and eyes blurring. Everything had been in limbo. He couldn't remember how he got there or why the man had been yelling at him. Nothing made sense.
That building's gonna go! Run! He had stumbled around like a drunk at the man's insistence, toppling over when the building behind him crash landed and sent an overwhelming shockwave through the ground. He blacked out.
"What the hell is that?!"
"Is that guy suicidal?"
"What's that blue stuff around'em!"
"What the fuck?"
Hey, get up! You need to get up! Soul had opened his eyes and coughed up all the dust caking the insides of his lungs. His throat felt like sandpaper.
You need to keep moving! The helicopter had veered to the right, coming into his line of sight. It looked like a giant, black blob but he could see it.
There's people who can help you at DC Park. It's only three blocks away, you can make it. Soul nodded slowly, and it had felt like his brain was sloshing around in his head.
That's it, now keep moving! Don't you dare die on me! The helicopter drifted farther to the right, out of his sight, and Soul had opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out. He wanted them to come back, please, don't leave him, but his throat had been too dry to speak.
"He's turning into a blue ball!"
"He's gonna blow!"
The impact was jarring, and Soul created a blue shockwave of his own, throwing the Reapers off their feet.
"Agh! What the hell was that?!"
"Blue devil!"
"Shoot him!"
With each step he had taken through the city rubble, Soul had been disoriented by the jolt of blue that shot through his body. It had torn through his veins like fire, burning them to a crisp. His skin had felt like it was going to start melting to his feet. His eyes were strained, seeing in shades of blue, and his ears were overwhelmed by static. Everything burned. The pulsing and the aching as the static tore his body apart from the inside out was the most painful experience he'd ever known. Nothing would ever come close.
Sir! You there, sir! Over here! He looked up, drinking in the sights of ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks huddled around DC Park. There had been so many people ready to help, but he didn't remember seeing a single soul being treated. Aside from the first responders, the park had been a ghost town. No other survivors. A lump had caught in his throat.
You're almost there! Keep moving! He heeded the man's words and kept his pace, ignoring the pain the best he could, and inched closer and closer to the barricade of police cars.
"Hit him, damn it! You're all horrible shots!"
Soul felt each painful twinge of the past as he began his assault, or maybe he'd been hit and grazed enough times already to mimic the old aches. He didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't stop. The streams of lightning he shot into the hoard of men were continuous. The satisfaction of watching men fall and not get up was exhilarating. Ashes, ashes, they all fall down. The Reapers were falling at his feet and it gave him such a rush.
"Not so tough now, are ya!" he bellowed, voice stitched with a confidence he'd never known before. It didn't sound like him, but he liked it. He loved it, actually. It wasn't like him at all.
"F-Fuck!"
"Get him!"
The moment Soul had crossed the police barricade, the moment he had been ready to fall into safety's loving arms, was the moment his body was overtaken by blue fire. He fell to his knees and screamed, illuminated by all the static crackling in the air, and all the first responders had started running away from him. They were going to leave him. Alone. He couldn't have that—he couldn't. So he remembered scrambling to his feet and calling to them, begging for them to come back, to help him, but the answer he got was devastating.
His body had contorted as the blue fire took over, his arms spreading wide and fingers bending and tensing, and lightning started striking the ground at his command. His command. The screaming, crying, and smell of burning flesh had come from his command. He'd wanted to puke his guts out, to let the lightning hit him and end him, but he couldn't deny the exhilaration, the ecstasy. People were dying and somewhere deep down within him was enjoying this, the power, everything. It was sickening.
"Kill him!"
His body contorted like it had back at DC Park, and bolts of lightning touched down in the midst of all the Reapers, creating a moment of devastation. Some went flying, others were burnt to a crisp, and a lucky few managed to escape Soul's wrath without a scratch. They fled hospital grounds and disappeared back into the city's alleyways, back where they belonged.
The lightning eventually stopped, and Soul stopped to look down at his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably. They wouldn't stop no matter how many times he mumbled under his breath and told them to stop. Stop. Just stop. They didn't listen.
"S-Soul?"
She sounded scared and out of breath, and he couldn't turn around to face her. He couldn't look her in the eyes because of one simple fact.
In those moments, when people screamed in anguish and fell from his hands, Soul had never felt so alive.
He finally looked at her, tears brimming his eyes, and uttered, "H-Help me."
"It will give you power."
Soul collapsed not even a second after that, and he barely saw the steel-toed boots sprinting toward him before everything faded to black. Just like before.
"Now it's up to you to decide how you'll use it. I know you'll make the right choice, Soul. I've always known."
III.
Soul sat on the rooftop later that day under the moonlight, shirtless, bare before her, as she stitched him back together again. He hadn't spoken a word since his plea for help. His throat itched like it had before, after the explosion, and it rattled him down to the core. Easier if he had an excuse not to speak, at least. He didn't know what to say.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head.
"It'd be really nice to hear your voice, you know."
Tweezers suddenly dug under his skin, reaching for a stray bullet, and he cried out in agony.
"Shhh, shhh." She rubbed his back and massaged his shoulder with her one hand, while the other digged deeper and deeper into his hip. His eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned. "Just a little more, Soul, almost done."
When she pulled the bullet out of his side, he bit through his lip and screamed like an animal caught in a trap. It was high-pitched, cracked, and ended with a tight sob wracking his chest.
"Soul, it's out. You're okay," she whispered in his ear. A tear slid down his cheek and he tensed when a small, nimble finger wiped it away. "Shhh, it's okay. You're okay." An arm loosely wrapped around his neck from behind, and he felt the air leave his lungs. "Soul, please. You're better than this." The way her fingers ghosted over his chest was unfair. "I know you're better than this."
"I'm not," he grunted.
"You are," she stressed, and her other arm snaked under his and wrapped around his stomach. He flinched. "I watched you singlehandedly take down a pack of Reapers to protect this hospital. I know you are."
"You don't know shit," he growled, hoping she'd take a hint and leave him to drown in his self-hatred alone. "You think you do, but you don't."
He could feel her frown against his ear, his ear, and he took a breath, slow but ragged. "Maka," he rasped, "I'm hardly human." What person could call themselves human and enjoy slaughtering other people? He was an animal. A demon, actually. Animals weren't that cruel and barbaric.
"Soul, you're—"
"I don't want to hear it, Maka."
"But you're—"
"Don't."
"I—"
"Maka."
"Soul."
Both of her hands pressed against his chest in a swift motion and he froze. A minute passed, but it felt like an hour. His breathing stalled under her touch and his body was as stiff as a board. She had a power over him that he didn't understand. She put a spell on him, an enchantment. Enough to keep the electricity in his blood from lashing out. What was her secret?
"As long as I can still feel your heart beating, you're human. You got that?"
He stared blankly ahead, looking over the horizon of the city, and didn't respond.
She grabbed his hand and shoved it against his chest. "Do you feel that?" The small thump, like the beat of a drum, pulsed underneath his palm. Yes, he could feel it. But feeling wasn't believing.
Her chest pressed against his back and he blushed. "Do you feel this too, Soul?" Yes, he thought, and it was doing weird things to his body. "That's my heartbeat." Oh. "It's in sync with yours, and I'm human. Don't you get it?"
He wanted to, but placing him and Maka on the same playing field didn't seem fair. Maka saved lives—that was her passion—and he took lives. It was his dirty pleasure. Hard to admit to, but the truth was never easy. Maka was on a profoundly different level than him.
"Soul, please. Everybody makes mistakes. It's what we do after that counts."
His eyes closed and he shook his head. "But I keep thinking about the past."
"I know, I know. But you can move on, I know you can."
"What if I can't?"
Her hands came up and lightly brushed his cheeks, wiping the tears from his face. He couldn't remember when he started crying again. "I believe in you, Soul."
Her voice didn't waver, and he could feel her power, her faith. It lit a fire in his blood—a torch that he'd always keep with him. He couldn't give up because he couldn't let her down. That was how he'd keep moving, how he'd get back up after being knocked on his ass. He believed in the Maka that believed in him, and he wouldn't take that for granted even if he did think he was a lost cause. He'd give himself another chance, like she wanted him to. He owed her that.
Soul looked over his shoulder with a look of admiration in his eyes and mumbled, "Maka I—mmm!"
Lips. There were lips on his. Maka lips. Maka's lips were on his. A kiss. Maka was kissing him. Him. Soul had dreams about this moment. He'd close his eyes and tuck her hair behind her ear, cup her cheek, and put all that he had into their first kiss. Instead, with the real deal, he panicked. Teeth clanked, noses bumped, and his eyes were open the entire time in horror. This was not what he imagined.
Maka broke it, lips pursed and cheeks dusted pink, and jerked out of the embrace she'd built around him. He shivered from the cold.
"I-I need to go," she sputtered as she got to her feet. "P-Patients need me."
Soul stared at her, at a loss for words. She took whatever he could've said right out of his mouth with that kiss.
"G-Get some rest, Mr. Evans."
The door clicked shut behind her and Soul was left alone, like what he longed for earlier. Now that loneliness, punctuated with the way she chose to say his last name, stung.
"Choose wisely, Soul."
He rolled on his side, careful of his wounds, and closed his eyes, the taste of mint on his lips bleeding into his dreams.
"I know you'll make the right decision when the time is right."
IV.
"You ready to blow this joint?"
Soul shrugged on his yellow jacket and shot BlackStar a look. "Yeah, starting to suffocate in this place. Could really use the fresh air."
BlackStar chuckled. "Fresh? Boy, are you in for a surprise."
It'd been a month since the Reapers marched on hospital grounds, and a month since he blew them away with his powers. They hadn't made a move since then, but he was always on guard. Always on the lookout on the roof while he trained with BlackStar. Except now, as he walked through the lobby toward the exit, he realized his days of playing watchdog were over. The hospital was on its own.
"Ah, Mr. Evans," Stein greeted him, conveniently with a scalpel in one hand. Just out of surgery. Typical. "Parting is such sweet sorrow. You've been a great help around here." And a decent lab rat, Soul tacked on for him in his head. "Are you sure you're ready to leave us just yet? I'd love to run more tests for old time's sake. To be thorough, you know."
Soul shuddered. "I'm good, thanks."
"So you are." Stein took a step back and, from the look he gave Soul, seemed to be dissecting him with his eyes. Soul crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, annoyed and insecure. He didn't need this right now. "Hard to believe that you showed up on our doorstep as nothing more than a burnt corpse. Oh, how time flies. Now look at you." Soul's white hairline barely touched his brow and his skin was as smooth and unscathed as a baby's bottom. He looked brand new, but the emotional scars still lingered and haunted his dreams. "You're good as new."
Soul cringed, mostly because Stein gave him the creeps, and nodded. "Yeah, thanks for the patch up, Doc."
"Anytime, Mr. Evans." Stein's hand clapped his shoulder and Soul tensed up. "You're always welcome here, so don't be a stranger." The smile Stein wore seemed fabricated, unreal, but Soul took it at face-value for the Doc's sake. A genuine smile was not in the man's cards, so Soul would give him the benefit of the doubt. Just this once.
"I won't, Doc." It felt like a lie, especially when he licked his lips and tasted mint.
It had been a month since that awkward first kiss, and Soul sought desperately to have a redo. Maka, on the other hand, didn't seem interested. Any talk about that night on the roof was shot down before he'd have the chance to mention the kiss, as if she wanted to pretend like it never happened. They spent a lot of time together, sure. They talked, they laughed, they played, they fought, and they made up. But that first kiss—a real first kiss—seemed to be out of reach for both of them.
It really, really didn't sit well with him. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face his feelings yet, but he knew he wanted that kiss more than anything. And he wanted Maka to want it too. Was that too much to ask for?
Seeing as how she'd skipped out on saying their goodbyes, he'd say so. Not one word. No sign of her, either. It really put a damper on his mood. Maybe it was time for him to leave the past behind, starting with DC General and her. Time to move onto bigger and better things. Sadly, he could only think of her when he thought of such things. How pathetic.
"I'll hold you to that," Stein replied, interrupting Soul's train of thought. Probably for the better, too, because of the lack of positivity. He was running short on that these days.
"Yo, Lightning McQueen, we're burning daylight," BlackStar called out, annoyed. "Get your ass in gear."
"Coming," Soul grunted. He turned to Stein and the nurses and waved his goodbyes, pretending like the absence of ash-blonde hair in the crowd didn't sting. This silent, brooding pining business really wasn't his forte. It hurt like hell, too. He pinched his thigh through his jeans, hoping to break out of his broken-record funk, and took his first steps toward BlackStar and the exit. Surely walking out of this place as a free, healthy man would help lift his spirits.
Or so he hoped.
Ten feet. He was ten feet away from his ticket to freedom when someone pulled him into the bathroom—the women's bathroom—and locked the door. He squawked, caught off guard, and braced himself against the sink. One blink, two blinks, three. It all happened so fast. One minute he was about to make his exit, and then the next he was staring at his ugly mug in the bathroom mirror. White hair, sharp teeth, and blue eyes that crackled with static. What a freak he turned into, he thought with a scowl.
"You're leaving."
Oh.
He almost forgot about the person that dragged him into this mess in the first place. Her face reflected over his shoulder in the mirror, green eyes guarded and body more rigid than usual. She'd lost her glow somehow—her angelic light. An aura of gloom cast over her instead, and Soul really didn't like that look on her. She didn't look like the Maka he knew at all. Where was her courage, her might, her spark?
"Yes," he answered sheepishly. How could he respond to that? "I'm discharged and ready to go."
She tucked her chin down into her collar and fisted her scrubs. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Just okay, Soul."
Okay? He wanted more than just...okay. He needed a lot more.
"That's all you've got for me?" he tried. He ran his hand through a tuft of hair and looked her hard in the eyes—those green, green eyes. Soul needed something, anything better than okay, because he wasn't okay. He really wasn't.
Her smile looked fake. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Soul."
Ah, fuck him.
"You dragged me into the women's bathroom...for this?"
Maka knitted her brow and her lips parted so enticingly, like the universe itself was working against him. Her lips. Red, wet, plump. It was torture. He licked his own lips and daydreamed about the taste of wintergreen mint.
"I...what?"
Soul shook his head—no more lips, damn it—and frowned. "I haven't seen you all day and now you show up. I'm leaving and all I get is an okay and a I hope you find what you're looking for? What the hell, Maka? And frankly, I'm still not over that kiss." He stopped to shush her before she could protest. "Don't even start with me, Albarn. I deserve more than this. I want more than just okay." Maka took a step toward him, but it didn't matter because he was far from done. No, Soul Evans had a lot on his mind and the confidence to speak it to boot. He was just getting started. "I'm not letting you off the hook this time because I can't take this shit any—"
A finger pressed against his lips. Her finger. Maka's finger. The strong urge to take it in his mouth nearly overcame him, but he deemed the act to be way too inappropriate and unfit for the situation. Still, it was tempting. Deliciously tempting. God, he was so fucked.
"I'm sorry," she answered with a hitch in her voice. "I'm just…afraid, okay?"
Soul blinked, surprised.
Maka Albarn. The girl who walked through lightning to calm him down while the other nurses kept their distance. Maka Albarn. The girl who kicked Reaper ass when one thought he could get lucky with her. Maka Albarn. The girl who knocked BlackStar's ego down a peg or two with an anatomy textbook. Maka fucking Albarn. The girl who pieced him back together again when his world fell apart.
Maka Albarn, afraid? Impossible.
"But you kissed me first," he blurted, which undoubtedly wasn't the best thing to say. Words had never been his cup of tea. He'd say he was a man of action, but truth was he bailed half the time. Useless, pathetic, a fucking scaredy cat. That was him in a nutshell.
"Let's forget about that," Maka sputtered. She stepped back toward the door and Soul reached to stop her. "Soul, please. I'm not ready."
He stopped and slipped his hands in his jacket pockets. Not ready. Again, it stung, but he'd respect her wishes. There was nothing Soul would (could) ever force her into doing. Maka called the shots and what she said was law—end of story. But damn, it really did sting.
"If you say you're not ready, you're not ready. I respect that." He licked the corner of his lip—the mint flavor had dissolved now—and looked down at his feet. "Not sure if I'm ready, either. Honestly, I probably would've shit my pants if you tried to make another move on me." Maka giggled. Score one for Soul. His win tally board was still sparse but he'd take it. "It would probably be a half-assed kiss anyway." He was rambling, shit. "On my part, I mean. I'd fuck it up somehow, I don't know. It's what I do best."
"Soul, stop talking." She was smiling. Maka fucking Albarn was smiling. Like sunshine on a cloudy day, Soul thought (and yes, he did just quote a cheesy song—bite him).
"Stopping," he uttered, bashful. His cool took a one way ticket to no man's land when it came to Maka.
"Good."
A pause.
"What now?" he asked. His anxiety and blood pressure were through the roof, which did wonders for his health. He had maybe five minutes before he'd pass out. Tops. That was what this woman could do to him. Damn, he had it bad and he was too chickenshit to admit it, even to himself.
Maka dug her teeth into her lip—her red, wet, plump lip. It made him dizzy. He could see stars, damn it. She took a step toward him and, fuck it, he would swear on his life that her lips brushed against his left cheek. Her lips. His left cheek. On his life.
"Goodbye, Soul. Stay out of trouble for me, okay?"
He nodded dumbly, like a bobble head, and watched her smile—a real smile—as she headed toward the door and unlocked it. Everything shifted into slow motion and he could hear colors and see sounds. He didn't want the moment to end.
The second the door swung open, he shouted, "It's not goodbye. I'm not done with you yet, Maka Albarn, just you wait. I'll be back for you."
Soul really didn't think he had it in him to speak up like that, but he did, wow.
Maka stared at him, mouth agape and cheeks stained red. The look on her face was satisfying, he thought, but he didn't enjoy the few dozen other looks coming his way.
Patients were startled and confused about his outburst—especially since it came from the women's bathroom. A few nurses giggled amongst themselves and whispered faint I knew it's under their breaths. Stein rose a brow, and Soul wanted to wipe that wise-ass smirk off his face. Now BlackStar—that fucktard—started whistling and clapping like a dancing seal.
"Bout time you grew a pair, Lightning Rod!" BlackStar made a crude gesture at his crotch with a smirk, and Soul silently begged for death.
Fuck his life. But at least, seeing as how Maka's blush reached the tips of her ears as she beat BlackStar to a pulp, he had the girl when they were ready. And he'd wait for an eternity or more because Maka Albarn was someone worth waiting for. Despite all the shit that'd flung his way, he knew that without a doubt.
Things were looking up.
"Agh, get off me!"
"I am literally going to kill you!"
"Do it, you won't!"
"Try me!"
Soul rolled his eyes. If only a little, he thought.
V.
Hidden in the shadows, deep within the bowels of Death City, a figure in a pinstripe suit paced with a scowl carved into its features.
"You're distracted, Soul. You need to wake up," it hissed. "No matter what you do and who may try to get in your way, you'll always reach the same destination. I know you will come to your senses. It's only a matter of time."
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! And thank you all for the support. Life's been rough but I'm trying my best to stay afloat, and you guys have helped a lot these past few weeks and I can't thank you all enough. :)