A/N – Why is a primarily defensive stance named 'Punishment', anyway? There's a bit more of Kid's obsessions in this chapter, along with a bit more speculation on that other thing that makes him rather out of the ordinary, even for Soul Eater. There is also some mild violence, which I'm warning for here because it's not exactly in-keeping with the overall rating of the story.

- In which plans are made, and fail, and there is no compromise.

Chapter 4

With one hand held up and the other down, Kid felt both open and a little odd. This 'death god martial art' father had been teaching him looked nothing like the kind of unarmed combat he had seen practised by the Shibusen students, even the Technicians. Nevertheless, he intended to persevere. Following his father's motions on the other side of the mirror, he moved into the next stance – Punishment. It didn't work, for in moving to keep pace Kid found that he tripped over his own feet. Not for the first time that morning, the boy ended up on the floor.

As Kid got to his feet, Shinigami appeared beside him.

"That was a good attempt, you were just moving a little too fast. The technique should come first, speed later, all right? Can't get ahead of yourself."

Kid nodded, not entirely agreeing. He needed it to be perfect. Anything less was not right, and therefore not for Kid. The compulsion for perfection was stronger for this than most other things in his life. Not that he'd admit it to his father, who occasionally looked anxious about his son's attitude. His talent was genetic, his abilities unlike those of any human.

The child shinigami was, as he'd heard several Shibusen staff-members comment, on a "different level" to the new Technicians. It was why he hadn't joined the new year's intake of students, which included Death Scythe's daughter. Their training wouldn't work for Kid, who had had since birth a potential for the kind of speed and strength – fundamental to the work of Shinigami's operatives – that none of the Technicians-in-training could hope to achieve. It was a simple distinction, and one that father and son were frequently aware of since Kid's tenth birthday. In matters such as combat, for example.

Shinigami had tried in the past to teach his son the very specific martial art practised by their kind. He had hoped that its insistence upon order and technique to achieve the user's ends would appeal to his son's obsessive side. Which indeed it had done. However, it had also thrown into sharp relief the extent of Death the Kid's asymmetry disorder.

The boy had reacted violently to realising he had one foot even an inch out of place or his hand at the wrong angle by a matter of degrees. And Shinigami did not dare make any mention of the stripes in Kid's hair, cute though they were. The collapsing and pounding his fists on the floor Shinigami could just about handle. The times when Kid had been physically ill after such a "failure" were far more worrying.

"Now. Shall we try again?"

Kid responded to the suggestion by taking the stance of sin, this time in a textbook manner; perfect, as he would call it. The two progressed slowly at first, attack responded to by block or evasion, Shinigami noting that Kid was, as per usual, pausing momentarily to check his technique. Any such hesitation would normally provide the elder god with the perfect opening to attack, but Shinigami was more concerned with charting his son's progress than showing him the error of his ways.

This was the case until Shinigami attacked to Kid's right – a simple chop that should have been easily blocked – only to find that he made contact with the boy's arm. For Kid was still in the process of 'correcting' the appropriate block. Sighing, Shinigami stepped back and removed the hand that dwarfed his son's own.

"Do you see what happened there, Kid?"

"Hmm. Yes. The angle's not quite right." Kid was looking to his forearm in some consternation, twisting it this way and that.

"Not that. You were too busy thinking about the details to defend yourself. Had this been an actual fight I would have injured you."

"But the angle wasn't right. What's the point of defending myself if I can't do it properly?" Kid argued fiercely, frowning up at his father's mask. Shinigami wondered if he should point out that "not dying" would be enough for some. Probably not. He suspected Kid would sooner have death than disorder, as he had claimed often in his more hysterical moments. Well, he perhaps shouldn't say it...

"The point?"

Before Kid could react to this absence of an answer, his father attacked him again, a strike to his chest knocking him firmly to the ground. Anyone watching would have been shocked at the apparent violence against the child, but Kid was made of stronger stuff than most. This did not, however, prevent him having the air knocked out of him.

Groaning incoherently, Kid blinked up to find his father crouching over him.

"Do you see the point now?" Shinigami asked brightly, offering a finger to help Kid to his feet.

"I was thinking too much." Kid admitted grimly. He had tried to move, but the same old compulsions had slowed his arm. Father was the only person he would admit these kinds of failings to. Against him, and what he stood for, Kid's notions of order paled in comparison.

"While you're in here, sparring with me or any of my staff, you can take all the time you want to perfect your technique. I don't mind in the slightest. But out in the world, when you will be faced by all sorts of dangers, you will not have that luxury, Kid. It can be fast and crude, and sometimes you will be forced to act on impulse and make a quick decision in spite of your usual judgement."

Kid looked down at his hands for a moment in thought.

"Than I shall. Perfect my technique. I will not sacrifice symmetry, and there is no compromise."

Shinigami had honestly doubted that Kid would find one.

---

The roads were dark, dark and uneven. The winding cobbled streets that gave Death City some of its bizarre charm were nothing but a bane to the very linear life of Death the Kid. He appreciated far more the American style of constructing cities; grids were beautifully neat and tidy. Even the straight old Roman roads remained in some areas of Britain. But father just had to be different. Anyone watching him might have thought Kid was meandering aimlessly through the streets, but this was not so. He had, as always, a method. One could either go left or right, and with that in mind, it was how Kid had proceeded from Shibusen's gates. Left. Right. Left, then right again. And now he found himself far into one corner of the city, where houses began to be replaced by older buildings. From off almost every road narrow alleys snaked, tiny shops and stalls, closed for the night, popped up in unexpected places. Twice Kid had rounded a corner to find himself facing a dead end. It made his head hurt.

He had left the day's lesson with aching limbs and questions to be answered. Having told his father with such confidence that he would perfect his technique, Kid was now unsure of how to go about doing so. He could practice with the staff only so much. Syd Barrett was a willing and skilled opponent, used to training young Technicians, but he had been dissuaded from training Kid when an accurate and enthusiastic punch had badly broken his nose. Seeing the damage his son could cause from not knowing his own strength, Shinigami had calmly asked that Kid not practice with Barrett for the time being.

It seemed to Kid that only father was happy to help him train. And in a school full of would-be warriors and experienced fighters, this was not a happy thought for the young shinigami. If it was the case with Shibusen's staff, would Kid ever find a Weapon who suited him? Father had raised the topic more and more often since Spirit's daughter had found a partner. It wasn't often that Kid appreciated his father taking a cue from his rather daft Weapon, and this one not one of those times. Yet the Shinigami had been unusually persistent on this point, when normally he would drop a subject if Kid didn't seem interested in it.

A sound interrupted Kid's thoughts as a dustbin clattered to the pavement further down the road. In the collective background noise of Death City, it was nothing unusual. But in the night, such sounds took on a different quality. Gone was the chatter of shopping crowds and students, replaced by the occasional sounds and flickers of light in this less populated area of the city. And now, there was something else. Not quite a sound, nor a sensation, but something in between.

Kid shivered as he recognised this perception, of his soul responding to the close presence of another. He still wasn't used to the ability, the colours and shapes of souls in the city often becoming overwhelming to Kid if he tried to focus on too many all at once. Shinigami had had to remind him that it wasn't necessary for Kid to look at souls all the time. It gave him a headache and a tendency to squint at people in an effort to pin down their soul wavelength.

This soul's wavelength was uneven and rank, a curious mixture of a bad taste and a sound of screeching static. He walked quickly up to the end of the road where the dustbin had fallen, and found the mouth of yet another alleyway. The occupants of the now-empty buildings on either side of the small path clearly deposited their rubbish in it, for Kid stumbled over a box of yellowed newspapers as he entered the alley.

It didn't take long for Kid to identify the source of the disgustingly chaotic wavelength. At the end of the alley a creature stood. It was as good a description as any as the being possessed a recognisably human form, but elongated fingers that had grown into claws, and a hideously flattened face that seemed to be all eyes. But it still had a mouth and in it teeth to bare at the woman dangling from its claws, struggling feebly.

The woman did not see Kid for a moment, who stood fixed in surprise at this his first encounter with a kishin outside of books. Though a minor threat by Shibusen's standards, it was nonetheless dangerous and not least to the human now threatened by it. The kishin's black tongue licked the woman's face, and she whimpered in fear. Now was no time for Kid to pause.

"Hey, you there. Let her go." The brief command lent Kid more confidence than he currently felt. The kishin turned to face him and after gazing briefly at the boy, flung its captive to the ground. With a cry the woman scrambled past Kid and into the road behind him. The kishin was much taller than Kid, taller than any proper human had a right to be. It was lucky, then, that Kid was used to facing too-tall opponents – father took advantage of his ability to shift in and out of human form as he pleased.

Impulse, father had said. A quick decision. Kid flung one arm up and the other out, knowing without looking this time that his stance was perfect. The kishin took this as the challenge it was and surged forward, lashing out so wildly its claws clattered against the walls, gouging the brickwork. Kid rolled out of the way, kicking out in an attempt to trip the creature. It worked, if momentarily. Clearly the beast wasn't expecting such small prey to be so agile. The kishin tumbled into the road in a mess of limbs and a flurry of rubbish.

Kid struck, his fist connecting with the thing's chest with a dull thud. But coming in so close had its disadvantages, and the boy found himself thrown sideways, back down the alley. Sliding to a halt, Kid sprang to his feet only quick enough to block the kishin's arm as it stuck from overhead. The kishin pressed down, eyes only on his target until a roundhouse kick slammed into its waist.

As the kishin toppled sideways, howling, Kid's exceptional balance saved him from doing the same on the now rubbish-strewn ground. The noise was such that people would surely come running soon, which would not help matters. Everything that he'd read on kishin told Kid that they despised and feared humanity; it reminded some of what they once were, and provoked others into berserk blood-lust.

Taking advantage of the creature's state, Kid attacked again. He had no aim in mind but the kishin's demise, and so did not bother to hold back; feet and fists bruised flesh and broke bone with inhuman strength. Kishin were chaos, and violence. They were death without order, and maybe it was that which did the most to spur Kid on even as he tired and the kishin retaliated. Kid felt a claw slice through his shirt, scoring a bloody line down his chest and onto his stomach. With a cry of pain the boy collapsed back against the wall.

It was standing over him. Though his vision blurred from pain, on some level Kid knew that the kishin, this thing of chaos now loomed above him. There was no laugh of delight or sign of pleasure in victory. No reason. Just animal lust that flowed off the soul so fiercely it turned Kid's stomach. He, a shinigami, a child, was nothing but another soul.

No. This was wrong. The sensation was small at first, shock having stripped Kid of any strength remaining in his body and mind. Yet his soul still rebelled. It was, after all, the soul of a shinigami, the bringer and guardian of death. The soul of Death that no mortal could ever completely destroy. Kid's fingers twitched under this new compulsion and time seemed to slow. He looked the kishin directly in the eye, and spoke in a voice that didn't sound quite his own;

"You. Your soul, I think...is. Mine."

He screamed, then, clutching at the kishin and rushing it against the opposing wall. The pair hit it so hard the bricks crunched beneath them. The kishin scrabbled madly at the sudden vicious onslaught as its head was slammed against the wall. There was a crunch. And silence.

Even as the body began to disintegrate, Death the Kid did not move. The kishin's form, crushed and bloody from the shinigami's rage simply faded around from existence around him. After a moment, only a soul remained. Feeling that his body was already healing itself, Kid still trembled from pain and shock at what had just occurred. He cupped the soul in his hands, not sure what needed to happen next. Father would know.

---

He was pacing again. Or, at least, as close to 'pacing' as Shinigami could manage without having physical legs. From between the window at the end of the hall, and the chairs on the opposite side, the death god traversed the intervening space with growing anxiety. The more figuratively minded might say that a nervous person displayed their worry physically. An aura, if you will. In this case, no imagery was needed for the air around the Shinigami's sheer black form crackled.

Lounging in a chair, Spirit Albarn looked up at Shinigami.

"There's a quick way to solve this, you know." The Weapon stated, raising a finger.

"That, Spirit, is exactly why I'd rather not do it. I did say I trusted him not to come back too late." And indeed he had, as pleased by Kid's progress that day Shinigami had agreed to let the boy go for a walk. Perhaps he had agreed a little too eagerly.

"I know, but if this was Maka, I'd-"

"Kid is not Maka." Shinigami stated simply.

"I dunno, they're both curious about a lot of things. I mean, Kid asked to go out today because he wants to see the city; Maka'd be all over the place if Kami and me let her. You also know he hasn't left Death City, and the only reason you're freaking out right now is because you're refusing to find out where he is. All you need to do is look."

"It's easy for you to say. When was the last time you let Maka out on her own?"

"She's ten!" Spirit reminded. His little girl had only just begun training as a Technician, but the combat lessons were strictly controlled for the youngest pupils. Spirit couldn't imagine letting Maka out on her own for long. Not if he had a say in the matter.

"Yes. And?"

"It's like you said." Spirit fiddled with his cross-shaped tie for a moment, back-pedalling at his own double standards "Maka isn't Kid. You can get away with letting Kid out for a bit because he understands more than human children his age." Deliberately repeating the same questionable reasoning Shinigami had given when telling Spirit why he'd let his son out on his own, the Scythe was unsurprised to see Shinigami stop still halfway back towards the window.

"I was wrong. He's still a child. Not human, but certainly not old enough to go around unsupervised. This will be the last time." Spirit tried not to sigh at this, knowing that when Shinigami spoke in such absolutes, with a darker tone than his usual cheery one, he tended to mean it. At this rate, if Kid was lucky he'd be let out on his own again before he turned twenty.

The front door opened and shut, causing Spirit to jump to his feet, and Shinigami to hurry over to where the small figure of Death the Kid was now removing his coat. He managed to put it on its hook before his father reached him, grabbing his shoulders urgently as though meaning to thoroughly examine him for any injury. Then, as though aware of something, he stepped back.

Joining his Technician, it took a moment for Spirit to notice what Shinigami had. Kid's clothes were ripped and dirty, white shirt stained with what looked terribly like blood. There also was a familiarly uneven wavelength around the boy, not coming from Kid's soul but from another. A dead soul, to be precise. Kid opened his hand to reveal a glowing orb, pulsating with dying energy as the soul faded into its next destination as all would if not properly collected.

"Kid..." Spirit's choked attempt at a response produced just the one word. The fact the soul was that of a minor kishin did little to calm his shock at this event. Death the Kid held the corrupted soul with unnerving ease.

"Hmm. Well, that's quite something." Shinigami remarked. Beside him, Spirit hung his head at such a casual answer.

"It was attacking a human. I killed it." Kid explained in his usually curt manner.

"Ye-yeah, we can see that." Spirit said weakly.

"All by yourself?" Shinigami asked.

"Yes. It wasn't as fast as I thought it might be. Strong, though." Kid added.

Spirit shook his head in disbelief, for this was easily the most successful – and uncanny – first soul capture Spirit had seen since becoming the Death Scythe. He didn't whether to be elated for Kid's achievement, or alarmed at the same. Most students did not complete a mission successfully in their first year at Shibusen, let alone within the first few weeks.

"You hurt?" He asked, for Shinigami seemed deep in thought.

"Not badly." But Kid was paler than usual, so Spirit wasn't about to trust his answer.

"You have blood on y-"

"Well." Shinigami said again, "This is excellent news, Kid. You found a threat to humans and eliminated it perfectly. There's not one hint of damage to the soul itself!" He pointed eagerly to the ex-kishin, its soul wavelength intact and undamaged by Kid's attack.

"Thank-you, father." Only a flicker of his eyes to one side revealed the pleasure Kid felt from hearing his father's praise.

"But, now what do I do with it? I know it needs to be collected, but..." He frowned at the soul, trying to figure out what he needed to do next, and seemed wholly unconcerned by the number of scratches over his arms and face. It was these that Shinigami's attention had now been drawn to. He plucked the soul from Kid's hand, saying;

"You're in no state to do this yourself, Kid – don't think I haven't noticed you're injured – so just let me handle it for now, yes?"

Kid mumbled agreement, and duly turned his gaze to the soul now in the broad palm of his father's hand.

Taking one last look at the captured soul, Shinigami gave one simple order, "Collect."

Light sprang up from his hand and engulfed the soul. It shimmered for a moment before fading as quickly as it had come. The small spectacle showed nothing of the process itself, that linked any one shinigami in the physical world to a 'Death' greater than they were. But from the look on Kid's face, he had no thought of questioning it tonight. He sighed as Shinigami lowered his hand, "Ah, that's...good." The soul dealt with, Kid was reminded of his injuries. He put a hand to his chest, and frowned in confusion as his fingers came away red with blood.

Shinigami caught Kid as the boy toppled forward, the extent of his wounds and exhaustion having finally caught up with him. Even a young god had his limits, especially in a human body. Holding his son easily in one arm, Shinigami took a moment to pull aside the blood-stained shirt to reveal the injury caused by the kishin's claws. Though it was healing with the speed only a shinigami's body possessed, it was clear to Shinigami's eyes that it was only luck that saved Kid from far worse injury. A inch higher, or deeper, and the result... It didn't bear thinking about. Even for him.

Spirit could only watch and follow behind as Shinigami took Kid upstairs. He did not think there was anything he could do to help but intended to stay around, just in case. He'd found himself doing that more and more for his Technician over the years, but tonight was an especially dreadful example. He followed him as far as Kid's bedroom, whereupon the door was shut firmly in his face. Another constant in his relationship with the Shinigami was that Spirit found himself swiftly ignored when something more important arose. Mostly, it was one of Shinigami's eccentricities to have his attention turn this way and that, but just sometimes it was down to necessity, when nothing else mattered. The two fathers had long ago found where each drew the line; their family. Now, it was Spirit's turn to pace.

---

There was no denying the look of suspicion on Kami's face when Spirit entered the living-room.

"You're late." She stated simply, placing her cup of tea down on the coffee table and motioned to the space on the sofa beside her.

"I got caught up-"

"Really? You said you wouldn't be long with Shinigami." Her words were innocent enough, but the silent accusation was plain for Spirit to see. He wondered how he would react if he were entirely blameless. At least, on this occasion, Kami's doubts were unfounded.

"Kid was out. He, uh, managed to get into a fight with a kishin."

Kami had been looking blankly towards the television in an attempt to avoid her husband's gaze, but now she turned to him, shocked.

"What? How is he?"

"Well, he killed it, thank goodness, but he was pretty badly hurt. Shinigami said he'll be okay, though." Spirit lent back into the sofa, taking the opportunity to put on arm around Kami's shoulders. Perhaps surprised by the explanation, Kami allowed him to do so, even leaning her head against his chest slightly. In that moment, it felt to Spirit as though nothing had come between them. Not work, nor his likening for certain bars in the city. Or their occupants.

"It's good to hear Kid's all right, and you're back. I was beginning to worry."

"I know." It was all that needed to be said, and all that either could say just then. With the night's events their problems seemed almost trivial. As though aware of that, Kami turned to another subject, one that both she and Spirit could agree on.

"Maka's did well today. She got an A in her last assignment. Would you believe she's worried that she didn't get one hundred percent?"

Spirit could believe it. His daughter was always striving for excellence no matter how often he would remind her that she needed to look after herself first. Kami, in contrast, wanted to support Maka's goal of becoming an great Scythe Technician however she wanted to do it. Neither parent could forget Maka's partner, either, as Soul was staying with them for convenience as they lived in Death City. The boy seemed willing to work with Maka, and certainly seemed interested in being a Weapon for Shibusen.

Technically, Spirit knew better than to interfere to much in the new partnership, but it didn't stop him asking the pair on a regular basis how they were doing. How was Maka getting along wielding Soul? Was Soul getting used to transforming? The answers to both had been a resounding 'yes', in spite of Kami's reports to Spirit that Maka still had a habit of tripping over Soul whilst swinging him round, and that Soul sometimes transformed unintentionally when he wasn't paying attention. That one had also informed Spirit that the boy had a wide vocabulary.

Maka and Soul Eater's first tentative steps to becoming a true Technician and Weapon partnership seemed a world away from what Spirit had witnessed that night, and far more familiar. The summer's day when Maka and Kid had argued over toys like two 'normal' children seemed all too long ago. He'd always known Kid was his father's son, but seeing what he had done single-handed to a kishin had only re-enforced that fact in the Weapon's mind. Not for him were the lectures on appropriate soul resonance and Weapon safety, not when he had a soul that, apparently, reacted out of some ancient survival instinct that was utterly inhuman. No amount of note-taking, Spirit reckoned, could have prepared Kid for that, and even Shinigami had been surprised when he'd realised. And anything that could surprise his Technician, left Spirit wondering just what might come in the future.