Hello there, and thank you for taking the time to read this little story of mine! It's been a while since I've written anything for fun, so please forgive me if my writing style comes off as a bit awkward. I'm working on it! After marathoning Soul Eater on Netflix and reading the manga in one go, I got bit by some rabid little plot bunnies that just didn't want to let go. I plan to update once a week as my work schedule permits, so, please, enjoy and let me know what you think!
Note: I do use 'sempai' in here when Stein refers to Spirit as a plot point, and I refer to the Reaper as Shinigami instead of Lord Death. (Shinigami is more personal, while Lord Death reminds me of a rapper or a knockoff Darth Vader.) Otherwise, I try not to abuse the Japanese language. ;)
And, of course, I don't own Soul Eater or the characters herein. I'm just borrowing them for a bit for nonprofit happy fun times.
The Colors of Sky and Rain
Chapter 1: Madness Caught Another Victim
"Hey, Maka. You've got a package."
The young scythe Meister, curled up on the futon in the living room of their shared apartment, simply grunted and tucked her chin tighter into her knees. Soul rolled his crimson eyes and flicked a finger at the tag on the badly-wrapped gift. "I think it's from your creepy old man."
That earned him an aggravated groan from the pigtailed girl. "Burn it."
"Aw, c'mon, Maka. The old lady across the hall said he left it himself." He hefted the package in his hand, shaking it. "I don't even think it's underwear this time. I think it's a book."
"Don't care."
When angry, Maka Albarn looked just like her father – though Soul would never tell her that. "He let Medusa go free and now he's just trying to bribe me into not hating his guts for it. I hate him. I hate him and I don't want anything he's got, so just toss it in the garbage or burn it or - just get rid of it, Soul."
The Weapon shrugged and tossed the gift at the garbage can. "Whatever you say, Maka."
The walls were dripping red
drip drip drip
and the eyes
three eyes
stared
stared
STARED THROUGH HIM
and the vipers at his feet hissed and he
laughed
so
HARD
because he was
M
M A D
D
and a soft voice
purred
in his ear
breakbreakbreak them open
soft skin
salty tears
crimson blood and golden hair
MARIE
MARIE
no
not Marie
NOT MARIE
and the vipers begin to close their fangs around his neck
bloodlust
blood
it burns
and the
red
red
red like blood
he laughs
and though he can't weep
he tries
The moon had yet to reach its apex in the night sky when Spirit Albarn began trudging up the empty road towards his home. It was unusual for him to return home this early at night – he didn't make a habit of going home sober, much less before midnight, and tonight he was doing both. Not even the allure of ChupaCabra could touch him tonight. Not after what he'd been party to.
"If I hadn't fucked up -"
Biting his lower lip, the Death Scythe began rummaging in the pockets of his dress slacks for his house keys. The nagging feeling that all of this was somehow his fault – from Medusa's first escape to the rebirth of Ashura to Stein's burgeoning madness to this stupid, stupid deal with the snake witch . . . . Azusa had quite loudly placed the blame in his lap. So had Maka, once she'd seen him escorting Medusa off the Academy grounds. And while the rest had been quiet, he didn't need their recriminations. His reputation (not undeserved, he had to admit) preceded him.
The redhead paused outside the gate to the modest house, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. If he'd stayed by Shinigami's side at the DWMA anniversary party, they could have beaten Ashura. If he'd tried harder in the catacombs to rein in Stein's madness, they could have beaten Medusa.
If he'd been a better husband, Kami wouldn't have left him. If he'd been a better parent, Maka wouldn't hate him.
Goddammit, this was why he preferred not to go home sober.
"Pull it together, idiot," Spirit grumbled under his breath. "Get inside, get a drink, and then . . . ."
He trailed off as he looked up. His front door was open, cracked just enough to let a sliver of moonlight into the room beyond. The hackles on the back of his neck rose; for all his apparent carelessness, he never left his sanctum sanctorum unlocked. All he had left was in there, the best memories of his failed life.
And someone had broken in.
A more cautious and less well-armed man might have gone for backup or the police. Spirit was armed to the teeth – literally, as a living Weapon and the preferred DeathScythe of the Grim Reaper himself. Only an idiot or a madman would even consider challenging him, even if he didn't have a Meister there. So without preamble, he raised one foot and kicked open the door, twin scythes brandishing themselves from his forearms. "Alright, who the hell do you think you- Stein? Did you just break into my house?"
The mad scientist looked up from his seat on the couch, blowing out a cloud of smoke from his cigarette. "Good evening, sempai," he said.
Spirit groaned and let the blades go back to where they came from. "For – can't you do anything like a normal person for once?" he groused, pulling off his jacket and throwing it over a nearby chair. A hand reached out and flicked on a nearby lamp. Light suffused the area in a soft glow. "I swear you're a bigger pain in my ass now than you were when we were kids." Padding over towards him, he stopped mere inches away to face the taller man, arms folded across his chest and head tilted back. "What do you want, anyway?"
Stein dropped the cigarette from his lips, grinding the burning tip out against his bare palm. "We need to talk."
The door swung shut behind them.
Far away, the serpent smiles.
"So no one's found him yet?"
Marie stood against the wall outside of Class Crescent Moon, eyes trained on her rapidly twiddling thumbs and not on Azusa. "No. Shinigami-sama has Sid and Nygus looking but no one's found him yet. He just . . . vanished. I wasn't gone that long! Just to get something for dinner!" Desperation made her voice crack. "I didn't think anything would happen!"
Azusa adjusted her glasses. While her friend had every reason to be maudlin about the turn of events, she tended to the melodramatic. "He'll show up soon. I just hope it's before he dissects a student or something." She looked over her shoulder down the hallway and wrinkled her nose. "Is that Spirit staggering around down there? I hope he's not drunk or something."
"Hm?" Marie glanced up. "It is. He should have been in two hours ago, though. Shinigami-sama said he couldn't get a hold of him to help with the search. Something about no signal."
Azusa scoffed. "He probably hung a towel over his mirror so he could sleep off the hangover."
"Mm." The blond squinted her one good eye. "He looks like he got dressed in the dark."
Spirit normally took pride in his appearance, but this morning he was dressed in rumpled, heavily wrinkled clothing and a tattered dress jacket. Half the buttons on his shirt were buttoned in the wrong buttonholes, and he'd foregone his cross-shaped necktie and cufflinks. His crimson hair was matted and tangled about his face, hiding his eyes. The deathscythe hadn't even bothered to shave. His left arm hung uselessly at his side. "Where's Maka?" he demanded, his voice rough and hoarse.
"Spirit, you're drunk." Azusa poked him in the shoulder. "Do you even know what kind of chaos-"
Spirit glared at Azusa with eyes wild and feral before lunging for the classroom door. "Get out of my way," he snarled. "Maka? Maka?! Are you all right? Maka?!"
The entire classroom ground to a halt, teens craning their heads around to stare at the rumpled deathscythe now staggering down the stairs. "Maka?" Tsubaki pointed out gently, looking concerned. "You might want to hide."
Soul chimed in with, "Tsubaki's right. Maybe you should run."
"Yeah, your old man's off his rocker," laughed Black*Star. "You'll never live this down."
Maka shot her friends venomous glares before turning around. "Go away, Papa! I don't want you here!"
"Hush," Spirit scolded. Maka's eyes went wide, and he easily shoved through the students in the row to reach her. One hand grasped her by the shoulders. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you? Maka, did Stein hurt you?!" He shook her once; Soul and the others rose up behind her, ready to intervene. Marie and Azusa stood being Spirit, Marie with hammer arm raised. "Tell me!"
"N-No! I haven't even seen- he's not even come in for class!" Maka pushed at her father, trying to shove him away. "Papa, I'm OK! I promise! You're scaring me!"
The words seemed to take all the fight out of him. Spirit sagged to his knees, hugging his daughter with one trembling arm. "He said- I thought- I was so afraid he'd go back on his word . . . ."
Maka laid a gloved hand on her father's back. The others relaxed somewhat, now staring and whispering amongst themselves. "Papa, what are you talking about?" she began, then drew her hand back. The black of his jacket was darker in blotches up and down his back; her glove had come back stained red from touching him. "Oh gosh, you're hurt!"
In the light, now that the panic was gone, it was easier to see- fragments of glass scattered in his hair, bruises along his jaw and ligature marks on his neck, the hand-shaped bruises around his wrists. The blood beginning to soak his wrinkled dress shirt – Marie came down to his side and Soul managed to gently pull Maka away from her father. "Spirit? Spirit, what happened?"
"S- I tried to stop- Marie, Stein's gone," he managed, his hand falling to his side. "I tried. I did. I'm so sorry." He took in a shaky breath. "I have to report to . . . to Shinigami-sama."
"He knows about Stein. You need medical help first. Azusa, get Nygus-"
"No." DeathScythe pushed himself to his feet, wincing in pain. "Report first. I should have reported before now."
Azusa sighed and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. "Go on. I'll take care of this class. Get him to the Death Room. I'll send Nygus up to meet you there."
Marie grasped her colleague by the arm to help him up; he jerked out of her grasp with a start, then pushed himself up. Giving his daughter one last long glance, Spirit strode unsteadily out of the classroom, Marie hot on his heels. "Yo, Maka," Soul asked after a moment. "You gonna be OK?"
Maka sat back down hard; Tsubaki put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She stared at the blood on her glove, rubbing the sticky redness between her fingers and trying to ignore how cold it felt on her skin. ". . . yeah," she lied. "I'll be just fine."
The Grim Reaper was normally effusive and full of boundless cheer; even the battered state of his top deathscythe couldn't completely tamp down his goodnatured humor, though it did seem to lessen it some. "So Stein's gone, huh?" he asked, watching Nygus rummage around in her medical bag and pull out a pack of butterfly closures.
Spirit simply nodded. Sitting on a stool in the Death Room, the Weapon looked distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention being paid to him. Marie was hanging back a bit, eyes downcast; Nygus tried to grasp Spirit's chin and scowled under her wrappings when he dodged. "Spirit, be still," she chided, closing up a gash on his forehead.
"That's not good," Shinigami continued. He placed one cartoonishly large hand up to his mask in thought. "We need all the help we can get in this fight. Do you think there's any chance he'll return?"
"No." Spirit hissed in pain as his jacket was peeled off; the shirt underneath was soaked crimson. Nygus muttered an apology and snatched up some scissors to cut the fabric off instead of making him wrestle it off and hurt himself further. "The Madness has him. I don't think he could deal with-" He stopped, lips pressed together in a thin line.
Marie stepped forward. "With . . . ?"
"With . . . disappointing everyone," he finished clumsily. Shinigami tilted his head a bit but said nothing. "That's all. You know how he hates to let people down."
Nygus huffed. "Spirit, that's a load of bull. Stein doesn't . . . care . . . ." Marie let out a stifled cry of dismay; the medic gently touched the open wounds with one hand-
He instinctively knows the sharp, tugging pain is a scalpel the moment it buries itself into his shoulder. "Thought you- you weren't going to- dissect-"
"I'm not."
The blade twists, turns, drags through skin and muscle down to bone in jagged swoops and slashing lines – Stein is carving letters, a word into his flesh. Branding him. Spirit writhes, biting his lower lip until the teeth sink through with a click and hot blood runs down his chin. He writhes but he won't scream because that is what the younger man wants and like hell will he give in so easily.
After an eternity of agonizing scraping – the scalpel dulls halfway through, and that pain is far worse than the cleaner, sharp lines of those first fresh cuts – Stein sits back atop his victim's thighs and taps the scalpel atop the very small of Spirit's back. Blood is soaking his shirt and dripping onto the hardwood floor under him. Stein rakes his fingers over the fresh cuts and Spirit can't help but give a muffled cry.
"Scream for me-"
"-Spirit? Spirit, are you all right?"
The stool was knocked over, Nygus and Marie behind it with eyes wide open in shock; Spirit was holding one arm up, scythe blade pointed straight at them. A sluggish trail of blood crept down Nygus's palm where he had cut her in his panic; bile rose in the redhead's throat. ". . .I," he began. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
Someone cleared his throat beside him. His Meister was crouched near him, hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "Spirit," Shinigami said gently, "we know. It's all right. Just let Nygus finish her work."
Shamefaced, the deathscythe sat back down with a muttered apology and crossed his arms over his knees. With the shirt off, the damage was apparent. The bruises and dislocated shoulder weren't so shocking now; neither was the sunken bit that could only have been broken ribs.
Not when Stein had literally carved the word "FEAR" into his former partner's back.
"Oh, Spirit," Marie whispered.
Spirit scowled and ducked his head down so that his hair covered his eyes. "Don't pity me, Marie," he snapped. His voice was trembling now, self-loathing evident in every word. "It was my own damn fault. I should have been strong enough to knock some sense into him."
Nygus began wiping out the wounds. "Boys and their bravado," she sighed. "Stein's the best Meister the DWMA's ever had. Even a deathscythe has to have trouble with that. I suppose we should be thankful this is the worst that happened."
Spirit cringed.
Shinigami hadn't moved from his spot on the floor. He looked back up at his Weapon, a blank expression on his mask. "Where did you say you'd fought Stein again, Spirit?"
". . . an alleyway."
"Which alley would that be?"
There was silence for a moment. "I don't remember," he finally said. "Sorry."
Marie straightened herself up. "Are you sure he's left the city? Completely sure?"
"Yes! Marie, he's dangerous right now! Leave it be!"
The blonde deathscythe bit her lower lip. "Maybe I don't want to give up on him as easily as you!" She spun on her heel and began to march out of the room. "And maybe I won't be drunk when I face him!"
"Marie, that's not fair!" Nygus started, but Spirit shook his head.
"Doesn't matter. She's upset. Can we get this over with?"
Stitching up the cuts in Spirit's back was a slow, painful process. The only sounds were of his labored breathing and occasional hisses of pain, punctuated by the snip of scissors on thread or the rare curse by Spirit. Once the stitches were in, she set about taping up his ribs – a process made more difficult by the fact that the deathscythe flinched every time he was touched.
"Does it hurt that badly, Spirit?" she asked at one point, smoothing down the tape around his torso.
Spirit shook his head, grunting a 'no' from between clenched teeth. His hands trembled and he clenched them into fists. "Just hurry up."
Shinigami didn't speak at all, but watched every move his Weapon made – every flinch, every tremor in his hands, how he tried to curl into himself when Nygus came too close. After an eternity, Nygus began winding gauze around his torso. "There. Just need to set your shoulder and you'll be done. I know there's a lot going on, but you're going to need your rest for at least a week after this."
"Wait, Nygus." Shinigami was back on his feet – or at least standing up – and was staring intently down at Spirit. "I'll take care of him from here."
She blinked. "No offense, but . . . you know how to reduce a dislocated shoulder?"
"We didn't have nurses with us in the olden days," he said. Spirit looked back up at him from under shaggy bangs, his gaze unreadable. "I still know a thing or two. We'll call if we need anything."
Unspoken was the request for privacy for what was coming next. Nygus was smart; she left behind a sling and extra supplies for Spirit to take home and took her leave as quickly as she could. Once they were alone, Shinigami turned and grasped the deathscythe's injured hand in one of his huge gloved ones.
Spirit flinched and tried to pull away.
"So now that we're alone . . . ." Grasping his hand tighter, the Reaper placed a hand on Spirit's shoulder and began to tug on his arm, gently rotating the joint. "Where were you really when Stein attacked you?"
Unable to move, Spirit grit his teeth and turned his head away. "Told you," he ground out. "Alleyway."
His Meister rotated the arm out, flexing it – then pulled, hard. A crunching pop echoed through the room; Spirit screamed. "There. Better." DeathScythe panted, clutching the arm to him. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop lying to me."
Spirit was silent. Waiting until the Reaper let go of him, he awkwardly slipped the sling over his neck and tucked his wounded arm into it. "What makes you think I'm lying?"
"What else happened last night, Spirit?"
". . . what do you think happened?"
Shinigami didn't say anything. Soul Perception told him a far different story than what Spirit would have him believe. Spirit's soul was normally swelled large and effusive, bounding with love for his daughter and his friends, suffused with loyalty and an easygoing determination that only showed when his back was in a corner. Now, though, it shrank in on itself, claw marks denting the sides; it trembled like a mouse caught under the predatory gaze of a hawk. Oversized hands clasped together, he gently extended his Soul Wavelength, matching his partner's skittish one, and nudged at him wavelength-to-wavelength.
The effect was instantaneous. With a frightened cry, Spirit fell off the stool; his free hand came up in front of him, blade extended. "Don't touch me!" he snapped.
"Spirit, what else happened last night?" Shinigami pleaded, his hands held up in surrender.
Spirit swallowed hard and retracted the blades. His eyes narrowed in fury. "That was a dirty trick," he spat.
"Spirit-"
"I ran into Stein in an alleyway. He kicked my ass. Then he ran away. Is that not enough?"
Shinigami sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Yes," he said. "I suppose that's enough."