A/N: I don't own Soul Eater or "Without the Bitter the Sweet Isn't As Sweet", by Mayday Parade. You'll probably see a fair few Mayday Parade songs coming up in here, because they're my favourite band.

Plus, remember, these one-shots are unrelated, meaning that the events in each of them don't relate to one another, meaning that for the purpose of this one-shot, Soul and Maka did not eat face a chapter ago. Cool.

This is a fairly short one-shot, but seeing as my last one was fairly long (as far as O-S's go [I'm so tired of typing one-shot already]), it kinda makes up for it, I hope.

Thanks to: Flamefoot, IMurderMuffins, SpawnOfCthulhu, vivalarapture, and wolf princess Julie for adding this to their favourites and follows lists, as well as the people in the previous chapter.

Aaaaaaand story.

FOUR – AND THAT'S THE TRUTH

And maybe it will all work out like in the movies,
But I know Romeo must die before the ending,
With a final poisoned kiss delivered gently,
Because you don't get lucky twice
And that's the truth.
- "Without the Bitter, the Sweet Isn't As Sweet", Mayday Parade

"I'm so sorry."

He hated hearing those words from her, especially in a situation like this. She just couldn't understand that none of this was her fault. Maybe it was a meister thing, he didn't know, but they just didn't understand a weapon's need to protect their technician. At any cost, even if death was the price.

That was why he hated lying in that bed, feeling the blood soak through yet another gauze bandage, and hearing her cry quietly. He could hear her, and he could feel the pain of the wounds – although that didn't really faze him; he'd been gutted like a fish by Crona. This was an inconsequential wound compared to that. It didn't even really hurt. And yet here she was, crying again, and he couldn't do anything.

He couldn't even move. His chest was still thankfully processing dull, half-taken breaths, but other than that he was completely still. Soul was on his stomach, due to the nature of his injuries, and he couldn't even find the physical strength to open his eyes. He wanted to, so he could comfort Maka and tell her that he was fine. But something about that witch's magic had just completely zapped him, worn him down and reduced him to this lifeless lump of human.

He remembered the moment the spell had hit. Maka had been wielding him effortlessly – of course, they were a freakin' lethal team* - in the battle against the Hawk Witch. She was a creepy-ass looking thing, with taloned fingernails and weird yellowish wings, as well as a very pointed nose that just looked like a funny beak. Most of the witches Spartoí encountered were of the ostentatiously alluring or normal feminine appearance, with the exclusion of the individual Mizune sisters. This witch was just plain nasty. And she had an irritating ability to fly, as well as shoot razor feathers out of her talons. These razor feathers had caused all of the problems. One good round of them had been shot at Maka, who deflected them easily. The witch wasn't overly powerful. But in using him to block those magic attacks, she'd allowed the feathers to come into contact with his scythe. The moment they'd touched the flat, red and black metal, or the golden adornments coming off of his eye, they'd sunk straight through and attacked him in his human form. He didn't know how the fuck it had happened, but somehow his hard, metal form had been penetrated and he'd been treated as if he were still a normal human shape. Maka hadn't noticed, being pre-occupied with the fight, and he'd known that if he'd called attention to it, she'd stop using him to block. Soul could only remember how well that had happened the last two times: with Crona, where he'd promptly been cut straight open; and with Giriko in the Sloth Chapter of the Book of Eibon, where he'd had to fight by himself and get seriously fucked up in the process. So Soul had bitten his tongue with his sharp teeth to avoid crying out – because those little wavelength feathers hurt like a bitch – until Maka had successfully gained up on the witch.

A simple one, two, spin, slice and he'd been lodged deep into the Hawk Witch's chest, raked upwards and freed as her form had shuddered and split into a black feather surrounding a purple soul. Maka had ensured the feather was destroyed before offering Soul the purple squishy mass. Seeing as he was already a Death Scythe, he didn't need to eat it, but Maka didn't really like handling souls, so she was planning on asking him to take it back to the Death Room. However, he hadn't merged out of his scythe or transformed. Maka had shaken him irritably, saying that he should just "take the stupid thing so I don't have to touch it, gloves or no gloves." He still hadn't moved. Finally, when Maka had shaken him, he'd morphed from one form into the other, still in her hands, causing both of them to fall to the ground.

She'd yelled at him for two seconds and then screamed for two more. Her eyes had caught the blood on his arms, his neck, but mostly his back where he'd been ripped at, tore at and slashed with those demonic feather blades. Not only had they cut him up, but the magic inside of them had rendered him immobile, completely unable to respond to Maka's now desperate shaking of his shoulder. She clearly needed a sign that he was not dead, and he couldn't give one.

So he'd gathered every ounce of strength he could find in his prone body and opened his eyes in a burst of pain. Maka had gasped in relief, only to remain in fear when she noted the way his facial expression didn't change whatsoever. It was like he was dead but staring at her at the same time. Death, it must have looked creepy. After he'd decided this was worse, before he could lose his strength in a blink, he'd coughed out a weak, "Can't move."

Maka's face had screwed up in memory of the time Arachne had rendered her immobile, and her hands had worried over his chest and his heavily bleeding back as she'd tried to think of something to do. Although it hadn't helped, Soul couldn't deny the fact that he'd liked the feel of her hands gently stroking him. But Maka doesn't need to know that. Because then Black*Star will know that. And that shit ain't happenin'.

"Can you transform?" she'd asked in a shaking voice. Maka was notorious with him for her spontaneous breakdowns. Normally this wasn't a problem, because he could talk her out of any depression. But this time he couldn't, and because of that she was worse than ever. He'd succeeded in transforming due to gentle nudges on his soul from her. "I'm going to carry you back to Shibusen, and we'll call Stein to look at you, okay?"

So that was how he'd ended up back here, completely paralysed with his back looking like a kid's spaghetti plate, with guilt being squeezed from every pore as Maka cried.

She didn't even know he was conscious, most likely. His eyes had slipped closed again a little while before the successful transformation, and he still couldn't freakin' open them. He just lay there, waiting for something to change, because otherwise he was going to lose his shit. He liked to be in motion, despite his lazy behaviour, because it gave him a sense of control. This immobility was frustrating as hell – he wondered how Maka had withstood it after her attack from Arachne.

"Soul." Maka's quiet voice cut through the silence. "Can you hear me? If you can, just move or something."

He was tempted to try, but by the sounds of things she was going to start talking if he didn't say anything, and if she talked at least he'd have something to think about instead of this ridiculous silenced paralysis.

"You're just going to lie there like a lump of metal and flesh, aren't you?" she asked wearily, a slight hiccup in her voice, finally sniffling off the last of her blasted tears.

Excuse me, Tiny-Tits? Soul thought indignantly. I can't freakin' move. I think that's a little different to being a lump. Besides, it's not like I chose to –

"Could you please just wake up soon?"

POW. It was like she just reached inside him and punched him right in the guilt. Soul would have grit his teeth if he was able to do that – or do anything, for that matter. She needed him to calm her down, and he was just lying there like – well, like a lump of fucking metal and flesh, pretty well.

How many times would they go through this cycle? One of them was always going to be in the hospital bed, and the other was always going to be sitting right there in the seat feeling like the worst person in the world. They just couldn't seem to break the habit.

"How long are we going to keep doing this?" Maka said quietly, almost mirroring his thoughts. "Are we just going to take it in turns getting hurt?"

I don't know, Soul answered mentally.

"I know you don't want me to say that it was my fault you got hurt, but that doesn't make me feel any less guilty. I bet you feel this bad when I'm hurt, hey?"

Nope. Worse. Because your job is just to wield me, make me stronger and stuff. My job is to protect you, Maka. So whenever I get hurt like this, it's because I've done my job well.

"I know it's your job, if that's what you're thinking deep down inside right now. If you were my weapon, then I would understand," Maka said in a low voice.

What the shit? I am your weapon, idiot.

"But you're not just my weapon. You're my friend. You're my family. You're my partner, Soul," she uttered, her voice cracking a few times. There was so much meaning in the way she said that one word . . . "So just wake up."

Soul cringed inwardly at the tone of her voice, the sadness in it. They were too close for comfort in their partnership. He wouldn't admit to it because of his 'cool' attitude, but he depended on her a little too much for his liking. His feelings had stemmed from duty of partnership, but they'd grown so powerfully. He didn't protect her because he had to now. He protected her because he couldn't stand the idea of one day not being there. Either he died, or she got a new partner. That was how it was going to go. She could discard him if she wanted, and he wouldn't stop her. Sure, he'd fight like hell, but if she needed to get rid of him, he would go. To save her, he would.

Soul accepted many things when he first enrolled in Shibusen. One was that he'd be risking his life, and another was that he would give his life for another if required. He knew and accepted his duties as well, to Maka and to Death City. So that was why he found it so easy, lying in that stupidly starchy bed, to once again accept something, as he'd been taught to do.

He was a loving, pining Romeo, but Maka would not be Juliet. Because Juliet did not survive, and it was all Romeo's fault. He would get rid of himself before that situation could ever occur. Even if he didn't know that she was willing to play the part.

Romeo could die, whatever. But his partner would live on, and kick ass.

So fuck you, Shakespeare. He'd never really paid attention in English class, anyway.

*- This is a reference to the anime. Look at the back of the DVD jacket. Ha.

Sorry, this was short and sucky. But oh well, life goes on.