Note: I don't own Soul Eater, Push, or the song Dreaming in Metaphors by Seal. This is rated M for language, goriness, and dark subject matter. This is another old chapter from about a year ago, but anything after this will be recently written. Enjoy!

He's actually pretty attractive when he isn't dyed scarlet with blood and twitching like an addict looking for a fix. Out of the shadows and after a hot shower, he looks considerably healthier, though his crimson eyes remain sleepy and unfocused the majority of the time, unless she is speaking to him. His undivided attention is both flattering and unsettling. His skin is tinged pink from trying to rub off the first layer of it, and his spider-silk hair seems to reflect his state of mind; eternally tired. She makes him chamomile tea to help him sleep better (Sleep faster so she doesn't need to explain everything right now), but he's a stubborn bastard. She thinks that if he could get away with taping his eyelids open, he would. He wants information. Now.

"Why did you come for me? We never even met before now, why do you care what happens? And don't give me any of that you "need me" shit, I know that's not everything. You already have a Mover, Black Star is strong enough. I'm nothing special, I know that. So why?" She's amazed how quickly his eyes snap back into focus. He is something far more special than she could actually make him understand.

"I… I don't want to tell you this. It's fucked up."

"Oh yeah? Well I dunno if you could tell, but I'm starting to get used to fucked up at this point, so why don't you just spit it the hell out already?" His words are angry, but his tone is sleepy and pleading. Shower or not, the guy has some serious bags under his eyes..

"When was the last time you slept Soul?"

"Don't change the subject, answer me!"

"Soul, stop it! This is important! Can you remember the last time you slept?" She sounds seriously concerned, and that worries him. He tries to think back to the last time he slept, quickly realizes that he doesn't know.

"Soul..?"

"I can't remember. Fuck I… I can't remember. I uh, I remember being at my apartment and seeing a train ticket out of town stuck to my fridge. There was a note there.. said I had to go meet my brother somewhere… Oh shit. My brother!" She's startled by his sudden outburst, trying to make her brain catch up with his words and make sense of them.

"What about your brother?"

"Medusa. I wouldn't agree to work with the Division.. I was going to get out of here and warn my brother. Someone Pushed me before I could.. that's where you showed up. I need a phone, now." He's got this frantic light in his eyes that sort of terrifies her. She didn't see this coming. She could have done more if she had known about his brother, but all she can ever see when she closes her eyes is the snowy haired boy in front of her with the barrel of a gun between his teeth pulling the trigger, red spattering the wall behind him, and she just can't bring herself to regret her actions. She flinches every time a door slams now, or a vehicle backfires. She knows she did the right thing. That doesn't make what she has to tell him any easier though.

"Soul, you can't contact anyone. Tsubaki may be an extraordinary Shadow, but her powers don't work like that. Medusa will be able to hunt both you and your brother down if you call. He knows what you are, right?" Soul nods slowly, eying her warily, forehead creased with worry. "He knows the dangers of associating with you?" Another slow nod. She can feel his guilt from six feet away. "He's probably smart enough to have some sort of back-up plan. You calling him will not help anything though, do you understand?" He scowls at her, offended by the way she speaks to him like one would a small child, but nods nonetheless. "Promise you won't contact him Soul."

"Okay I promise, Jesus woman! Now you need to answer my question, I'm sick of your dodging! Why did you come for me?"

And that's just the million dollar question, isn't it? He's right, she doesn't really need his help with her mission. In all actuality, him being here with her throws a gigantic wrench in the gears.

Bang.

It reverberates through her head, the sound of a gunshot that never went off. The sound of a gunshot that she would never allow into existence.

"I saw a future that I couldn't live with and I changed it," she answers, voice steadfast and eyes determined. "There. You satisfied? Can we sleep now or do you have more questions Sherlock?" He's not satisfied in the slightest, truth be told, but the bruise like circles underneath her eyes stab at him violently with guilt. Maybe sleep is the wisest course of action.

"Fine." He sprawls out on the tiny, shitty hotel room couch and lets out a sigh of relief as he settles into the lumpy cushions. Maka wishes she could see into his past, find the stuff he is missing, figure out why he doesn't remember the last time he slept. She's heard rumors of a drug, one being created to make people like them stronger. The side effects list is like something out of a SciFi horror novel. Hallucinations, night terrors, insomnia, trouble eating, loss of memory. A syringe filled with insanity. Black Blood they call it. A vial of madness. Chasing the Black Dragon. Dancing with the Devil. Dark Dream.

The Pretty Poison.

She needs to keep a close eye on him, as awkward as that may be. So far she can see two out of five of the side effects she recalls.

"Soul.. do you want to sleep in the room with me?" This is so fucking awkward.

"I beg your pardon?" His face is the epitome of shock, eyebrows lost in his hairline. Is she asking what he thinks she is? There's no way. No way in hell.

"Not like that asshole. It's for the sake of safety. You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the floor. I just thought it would make you feel better to not be alone. Sorry for asking, Christ." She's turning away from him, storming off to her room for solitary slumber, when he catches her wrist in his hand. She turns back to him, glaring icily at the hand wrapped around her wrist, as if she could freeze his limb off with a look alone.

"Wait. I… I don't want to be alone right now. I'll sleep on the floor okay? I just don't want to be alone. You're right. I'm sorry." He looks so worn, weathered by this life and tired to his core, ashamed of this sign of weakness he has revealed to her. She feels a strange ache in her chest for this man, this boy in front of her. Life has not been kind. She can see it more the longer she looks.

"It's okay. I'll make a spot for you." She tries to smile at him and mean it, but things don't always work out that way. It doesn't reach her eyes. She can tell that he can tell, but he makes no mention of it. She's extremely grateful for his silence. His grip on her wrist loosens slightly, and she slides it from his grasp just enough to twine her fingers with his. He flinches visibly at the intimate gesture. She can't blame him, not really, in all fairness she is a total stranger, and he seems to have a track record of strangers doing their level best to erase his existence. She lets go of his hand under the guise of needing it to collect blankets and pillows from the hotel closet.

She brushes her teeth with a single use toothbrush, the kind you steal from your family dentist's office, fluorescent light bulb amplifying the look of exhaustion on her thin, elegant face. He feels like a weirdo, watching her practice good oral hygiene when he should be passed out. She's interesting though. She counts the circles she scrubs into those pearly whites. He wants to laugh, because in all of this insanity, she still takes the time to scrub each side of her mouth forty-two times. Who does that?

"If you keep being a creep I'm going to make you sleep on the balcony," she garbles out, rearranging the foam in her mouth so as to not spit it all over the bathroom mirror.

"There is no balcony."

"Exactly." She spits the last of the toothpaste into the basin, turns towards him and bares her teeth in an facsimile of grin that highlights her canines in an almost threatening fashion. The pigtails and too big grey sweater throw it off. He snorts his amusement, causing her to scowl. "Don't test me Frosty, I still haven't decided yet whether or not I like you." His response comes in the form of one of her pigtails moving seemingly of its own volition, end of the tail landing beneath her nose on her upper lip. She tries so hard to not smile, but fails. She really has a lovely smile, Soul thinks.

"You're a powerful Mover, and this is what you use your abilities for? Jesus, you're such a slacker." She's still smiling at him, but it slowly fades from her lips when she takes notice of his solemn expression.

"-at powerful."

"Sorry, what was that? I don't speak Mumbles."

"I said I'm not that powerful. Actually, I kind of suck at this. Little tricks like that are uh.. pretty much all I know how to do.. sorry to disappoint you or whatever.." He looks exceedingly uncomfortable, one hand picking at the loose thread on the hem of his tattered, borrowed jeans, the other rubbing at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, she notes. She drops to the floor in front of him and sits cross-legged, takes a deep breath, then speaks.

"I can't have visions unless I'm wasted," she blurts in an effort to make him feel better. It's a truth she despises admitting, Black Star gives her shit for it all the time. Soul looks at her with a confused furrow in his brow, questioning her without words. Is she serious? "Yeah. The only time I see anything even remotely close to helpful is when I'm dreaming, or after half a bottle of vodka, " He visibly shudders at her drink of choice, "Shut up, it's cheap!" She slaps his arm and he chuckles. "Whatever. As I was saying, when I try to draw what I saw it looks like a first grader's scribbles. So ah.. you know ..don't be too hard on yourself, okay?" She's fidgeting beneath his gaze, thumbs picking at her cuticles, eyes focused firmly on the floor.

"Well.. thank you. For uh, saving my ass and stuff. I would have been totally screwed if you hadn't showed up." She knows only too well what would have happened if she didn't show up. She feels ill when she thinks about it.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad I found you in time.." She places a hand on his knee gently, trying to put all the reassurance she can offer into one simple touch. He's amazed that it actually makes him feel a bit better.

"You… you said you saw me in a dream?"

"Yeah. Star said I have shit alcohol tolerance. I tried to prove him wrong.. Blacked out. I felt like shit in the morning but it was worth it. After that first vision there were more bits and pieces that would come to me in dreams, a street sign, a bloody wall.. I thought I had looked in the wrong place when you didn't respond. I thought I had failed…" Her fingers curl into tight fists, jaw clenched and body rigid. He takes one of her fists in both of his hands and unfurls her fingers. Four little crescent shaped red indents are left behind in her palm.

"You didn't. Don't lose any more sleep over it. Please." He runs a thumb over her self-inflicted wounds, wishing that he were a Stitch instead. The gesture is not lost on her.

"I don't make promises I can't keep. Sorry."

"Nah. Good rule to live by. I wish everyone thought like that." His eyes are unfocused again, as if he is remembering something painful. She tries to reason with herself, tell herself that it's unreasonable to feel so protective of someone she hardly knows. Emotions beat down logic easily. She gets a better grasp on his hand and stands up, pulling him with her.

"Come on, get in bed."

"What?"

"I said get in bed. You strike me as a smart guy. You also seem to value your life and limbs. I know you won't try anything." Her entire face and neck are flushed, at odds with her steady tone. This is obviously not something she does on a regular basis. He climbs onto the side of the bed nearest the door and creates a wall of pillows between them. Cause he's a gentleman damnit. She slips into bed on the other side of The Wall and sighs in relief. It isn't the most comfortable bed in the world, but it's a bed, and that is what matters. The rustling of the sheets is loud in their quiet room, but once they are both comfortable, all that can be heard are their soft breaths and the noisy AC.

"Goodnight Soul. Sweet dreams."

"Yeah. You too."

He drifts off quickly.

"Souuuul, you shouldn't trust that girl, she'll lead you to your ruin. She's trouble, I can practically taste it. If you would just listen to me, you wouldn't need anyone's help. If you just let go, you won't have to worry anymore. Doesn't that sound nice? You just need to erase her. Then you'll be free."

The demon speaking to him ushers in a thin woman with emerald eyes framed by dark lashes. Obsidian silk wraps around her form like a second skin, the train of it dragging behind her as she walks toward him, steps silent and graceful. She stops just in front of him and smiles, taking his hands in hers and placing them on her throat.

"Do what you have to do Soul. It's okay," She murmurs, guiding his thumb to her jugular and pressing it into her flesh, hard. He tries to wrench his hands from her neck, but the strength of her grip is incredible, he can hear bones cracking and skin tearing. Thick black liquid bubbles up through her gritted teeth, eyes wide and leaking onyx tears.

"Stop! I don't want this! Let go of me!" He feels the warmth of her blood gushing between his mangled fingers, but he just can't get away. All he wants to do is make this stop. Please make this stop..

"Maka!" He cries out, snapping upright from his slumber, unshed tears burning his eyes. His entire body is quaking, tremors shaking the whole bed. He checks his hands for warm black ink, checks the space next to him for warm alive girl. His hands are clean and Maka is there beside him, peering at him curiously, a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

"What happened, are you alright? There's no one here right?" She whispers, eyes flickering from his face to the door of the bedroom and back. Before he can answer, he is caught in a wave of nausea, jumps out of bed and dashes to the bathroom to evacuate the contents of his stomach into the toilet. The bile burns his throat and makes his eyes water. God he hates dry heaving. "Here." Maka is already beside him with a dixie cup of water and a cold wet washcloth. She hands him the water to rinse his mouth and dabs at his forehead with the rag. He doesn't even have the energy to be embarrassed.

"Sorry I woke you up. I just had a bad dream.. that's all. You can go back to sleep." His voice is hoarse from retching, face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. Little droplets of salt water are collected on his lashes. She wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace that he awkwardly returns while trying his best not to touch anything on her that will give cause for her to steal an appendage of his.

"Don't be sorry idiot. What was it about?"

"I.. I don't remember," He lies, " Go back to bed, please. I'll be there in a minute." She slowly pulls away from him, checking his eyes for any signs of what is going on inside his head. All she sees is dull maroon pools looking back at her. His eyes drift to her neck for a moment but snap back to her eyes quickly. She makes no mention of it. Instead she nods, then stands and walks back to bed, settling into her previous spot, though she feels much less comfortable now. As she listens to him splash water on his face, she mentally checks off one more side effect on the list.

Night terrors.

Three out of five.

The odds are officially stacked against him.