A/N: Special thanks to Explorer08, the best beta ever!

Soul Eater Angst Week - "The First Time I Saw You Cry" - Bring on the Rain by Jo Dee Messina

"Soul!"

Maka couldn't get close to him. The scythes that had sprouted from his arms were swinging haphazardly at anything that neared him. Her weapon partner had lost it; the kishin had triggered the madness lurking inside Soul. Haunting memories of Italy and a church, along with a faint reminder of your fault, threatened to distract Maka, but she shook them off, focusing on the haywire wavelength coming from her partner.

She noticed Kid, or Lord Death, or however he preferred to be addressed, attempting to call for backup on a small pocket mirror. Since Soul was supposed to have been Kid's official weapon for the witch convention at the DWMA, Liz and Patti were still at the Gallows. Both meisters were unarmed against the death scythe - and it really didn't help that he was a very powerful, very out of control weapon.

I've got to do something, she thought as she panted a few yards away from Soul, ash-blonde pigtails dangling over her shoulders. He was going to hurt himself or someone else if he couldn't get it together soon. They were all lucky that he hadn't managed to attack Kid while he wielded the death scythe when the Kishin first appeared. As it was, the forest right outside of Shibusen was steadily falling prey to his insanity, the foliage being hacked into oblivion.

To make matters worse, the kishin had escaped to who knew where. Maka couldn't think about that, though, not when Soul was in danger. If she could only grab his hand or something, she could force resonance with him and pull him out of the madness. But she couldn't get close! Her frustration with the situation made her a little reckless, and her desperation made her just crazy enough to launch herself at the death scythe before formulating any kind of a plan.

"Soul!" she called again, daring to attempt to move in. She sprinted towards him, hoping she was fast enough to get to him before he could lop her head off. He turned as she approached, and she hit the ground as one of his scythes slashed where her neck had just been a moment ago. She kicked out a foot to send him to the ground, and he toppled onto his back. She scrabbled to get atop him and pin his scythe-arms down before any serious damage could be done.

She managed to flatten the blade on his right side into the ground where it wouldn't be a major threat. However, she wasn't fast enough to secure the other side before the scythe bit into her side. She hissed in pain but didn't lose her focus, pushing the blade out of her abdomen and forcing it to the dirt. She gritted her teeth as she shifted to lift her hands and harshly press her knees into his scythe-arms, ensuring they would not budge.

Maka's hands gripped the sides of Soul's face and held it steady. She tried to make eye contact with him, but he refused to look at anything for longer than a second or two. She noticed, through her haze of agony, that the crimson of his irises - a color she had come to love so dearly - had darkened to almost black. He snarled at her, his sharp teeth snapping dangerously. She moved her hands, one under his chin and the other threaded through the white hair at the crown of his head. She clamped his mouth shut and forced him to be still.

She kept her eyes open as she pushed her soul wavelength into his.

She found the Black Room a mess. The lush red curtains were sliced to mere ribbons, the upholstery on Soul's chair ripped and the stuffing pulled out. The record player was smashed to pieces, cracked vinyls scattered about the floor.

The music emanating from the piano far across the room was deafening, the chords clashing chaotically throughout her soul as she made her way over to the instrument. It was a song she was familiar with, yet it was so...different that she had a hard time placing it. The sound of Soul's melody in battle continued to wash over her, but the desperation with which it was played was off-putting. She quickened her pace, silently praying to every deity she knew that she wouldn't break an ankle before she reached him.

Maka finally came close enough to properly see the piano and its player. She passingly noted that the piano was the only thing intact in this space, but her attention was focused on her partner. Her heart clenched.

Soul was sweating with the intensity of his playing, his nimble fingers flying over and pounding into the keys as the song went on. He didn't seem to notice anything outside of the sounds coming from the instrument of his soul, and no matter how loudly Maka called to him as she tried to run to him in heels, he couldn't hear her. Her pulse pounded in her ears; she lengthened her strides as much as she could, desperate to reach her partner.

It seemed that the faster she ran, the slower time became. Still, she cried out his name, the image before her cracking her heart like the records smashed beneath her feet. She didn't know what he was so focused on, but it was clearly not what was happening in the real world, where her body was starting to feel the first effects of blood loss.

She was finally, finally next to him. Her shouts of his name lowered to just barely more than whispers, and she reached out a hand to catch one of his as it flew her way on the piano. He jerked away and his eyes widened at her visage.

"Maka?" he panted, eyes a little crazed and still so dark. He hesitantly extended a hand toward her. She smiled and took it, heart fluttering in relief. "Soul," she breathed, squeezing her fingers around his.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, confused. His other hand absentmindedly tapped on a few keys, and she snatched it from the piano too, halting any kind of music.

"Maka?" he tried again, cheeks tinted a little pink, probably from how fervently she was gazing at him.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she returned, avoiding his question.

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Maka fidgeted a little under his stare. She dropped her eyes to their feet and noticed that her side wound was not present. Because he doesn't know, she realized, so it won't be in here.

She cleared her throat. "The kishin that showed up at the witch convention, do you remember that?"

"Oh, you mean what Kid and I are literally fighting right fucking now and you're kind of distracting me from?"

She shook her head. "Soul, the kishin got away. There's nothing to fight. This is the madness," she said softly, easing her grip on his fingers.

His hold tightened in compensation. "What? No, the kishin - "

"Listen to me, Soul," Maka interrupted, moving a little closer to him. His eyes were starting to lighten back into their normal color, she noted, grateful for even a small step towards getting her Soul back. She dropped one of his hands so she could place hers over his heart.

"Can you feel it now? Do you see?" she continued, her voice hushed. She could almost pinpoint the exact moment he was brought back, the memories of the past hour or so flooding through him. She felt a wet spot on her side and looked down to see her wound had made a reappearance. Relief and guilt pervaded through her in waves - the former for finally getting Soul back, and the latter because she felt wholly responsible for the gash in her side. She looked back up at his eyes and had just registered the immense pain flashing behind the crimson orbs before she was roughy yanked from the Black Room.

As she regained her bearings, she noticed her knees were now digging into a pair of arms rather than scythes. Maka leaned back when she heard sharp intakes of breath from underneath her. A wave of dizziness hit her with the motion, and she crumpled to the side.

"Maka!" she heard someone call, but she had diverted her attention to Soul, eyeing him as he came to. She didn't bother trying to push herself back up, not wanting to expend any extra energy. She watched as he laid there for a second, then jolted to a sitting position, his head swiveling back and forth. She smiled wanly when his eyes locked onto her. His face paled and his eyes widened. He mouthed her name as he reached out for her.

"Ah!" Maka yelped as she was suddenly jerked away from her weapon. Soul immediately retracted his hand as his gaze lifted to see who had grabbed her. She did the same and was surprised to see Kid hauling her up by her underarms. She had almost forgotten the Shinigami was here with them.

"Hey!" she protested, but Kid held fast.

"Just until we are certain he's back to normal," he smoothly explained, narrowing gold eyes at the death scythe. She looked back at Soul, whose hand had dropped back into his lap. His jaw was clenched, but she could still see the trembles he couldn't quite hide.

"It's fine, Kid," Maka mumbled, trying to push him away. "Let me go to him. He's my partner." Kid hesitated, but Maka struggled against him until he helped her over to the weapon. She dropped down onto Soul and wrapped her arms behind his neck before he could crawl away, hugging him closely. His arms pushed against her for a half-second before he changed his mind and closed them around her, and she sucked in a fast breath when her wound flared in pain. He immediately loosened his arms.

"No, no, it's okay," she assured him, tightening her hold. He carefully put his arms back around her, mindful of her injury this time.

"It's okay," she softly repeated, feeling him press his face into her shoulder. "You're okay, I'm okay. We'll get the kishin next time."

His arms pulled her in a little closer. "But your side," she felt his words vibrate through her shoulder. "You're not okay. I did that to you." He started shaking.

Maka ran her fingers through the tufts of his white hair. She knew he wouldn't believe her if she tried to take the fault for her wound, if she told him that it was her bad for not being fast enough. She instead chose to keep consoling him. "I'm not dead," she murmured, "and I'm not going to let it pull me down, pull us down. You're still my partner, and I - "

She halted everything when she felt a wetness soak through the fabric over her collarbone. Surprise flickered over her features; Soul never cried, or at least not in front of her. She got ahold of herself and resumed her actions, making sure to be extra gentle.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm so fucking sorry, Maka." He kept up his heartbreaking mantra as she rubbed circles into his back with one hand and kept threading his hair through her fingers with the other.

"God, Maka," Soul wheezed, sobs coming more freely. She chose not to say anything, simply comforting her weapon and holding him as close to her as she was physically able. She could see Professor Stein racing toward them in the distance, and she smiled.

It really would be okay. Tomorrow was still coming, and they were both going to live to see it. She hoped they'd see a lot of tomorrows, actually. Maka kept a firm grip on Soul while he let out his tears, simply holding onto the one person she loved most, thankful that he was there with her. One day, she'd tell him exactly what he meant to her, but now was not the time.

As Stein approached, all she could think was bring on the rain.