Spirit is twenty-eight years old, and he is bleeding to death.
The circumstances don't matter, he thinks, as he slides slowly to the ground. He knew this would happen sooner or later, right? He's a powerful weapon but he's not invincible, and these days it's rare for a weapon to make it past the end of their academy days, much less a decade more. So really there's nothing to worry about, except for that noise. He tries to focus on it, because it's insistent, like a siren, but he can't make out what it is or what's making it and it's getting quieter anyway. Quiet and far away...
Stein is twenty-six years old, and to him the noise is incredibly close and incredibly loud. It's his own voice, of course, screaming Spirit's name like a child. No, don't close your eyes, stay awake. Stein would be ashamed of himself if he wasn't so frantic, fumbling to apply pressure to the wound. But it's not enough, that much is obvious. Stein has cut himself open and stitched himself back up enough times to feel reasonably confident applying stitches to a wound, but he doesn't have any supplies with him and he can feel Spirit's soul fading. He moans miserably, sucks in a deep breath, and slaps his weapon across the face. Because if Spirit will just wake up and cooperate, they can use Soul Suture and they'll be okay until a medic arrives.
There's no response.
Hours later, a small troop of Death's soldiers finds them. Stein is hunched over his weapon's still form and he only moans and curls tighter when they try to separate the dead from the living. There is a brief discussion, which Stein does not hear or care about, followed by a brief stinging sensation and darkness.
When he wakes, he's in an encampment and a cursory examination reveals that Spirit is nowhere to be found. Determined, Stein exits the tent he's been deposited in and goes in search of his weapon. The first soldier he comes across tries to break the news gently to him, but something in Stein's world has tilted the wrong direction, the radio won't play anything but static, and without even giving it a second thought Stein takes the unfortunate man by the throat and throws him to the ground, stomping on his neck for good measure, and once he's done that he realizes that he's free. Spirit is gone, there's no one left to punish him...so why not have a little fun?
He's destroyed half the camp before they manage to take him down, and while six soldiers hold him down and a panicked field nurse applies a sedative, Stein barks out the laugh of a broken man and embraces the dark.
Days pass, and many of them Stein isn't even aware of. He is drugged, transported, and drugged again, and when he finally wakes up properly he is in a small, dungeon-like cell, moist brick walls and dirt floor. His arms and legs are shackled in front of him in such a way that he is practically forced to sit with his knees to his chest, and while he has a little freedom of movement in his arms it's barely enough to scratch his nose. It's very medieval, he thinks as hysteria bubbles up inside him, good job whoever tossed him in here. Lord Death, right? Of course, very clever. He's claustrophobic and terrified of being restrained. Good job indeed.
"Very—very medieval," he chokes out after the thought processes, but the rest of his inner tirade is lost in a torrent of noise that could be either laughter or sobs. How could he have been so stupid as to assume that no punishment would come to him for killing those under Lord Death's protection?...
Stein isn't aware of how much time passes. It feels like forever, however long it really is, forever trapped in a cell he can't move in with the horrible static noise and his own demons and he wishes they had just executed him instead of leaving him to rot.
In reality, it is not forever. Only a few weeks, while Lord Death considers just how useful his most insane meister is. And one day, when Stein has given up all hope of having peace again, the light arrives.
It's blinding and golden, and as quickly as it appears the static and darkness and terror disappears. Stein is completely entranced, so much so that he gapes at it, forgetting that he is even confined at all.
"Stein," says a gentle voice, and it's like having water poured over him. Spirit always had a calming effect on him, yes, but it was achieved by force. This golden light is...gentle. Stein stirs against his chains, trying to lean forward, and again he hears his name. "Stein. Stein!"
He realizes belatedly that the source of the golden light is a person, and that they're touching his wrists. Where did the shackles go?
"Stein," insists the voice, and now they're gently pulling at his arms. "Stein, snap out of it, you've been sitting here for nearly an hour."
Something strikes him, suddenly. A thought. Something isn't right, that light and that voice are soothing but there's something dark there, and once he realizes it it hurts him and he moans.
"Oh, Stein," sighs the voice, and now instead of tugging at his wrists the person takes his hands. "What on earth are you seeing right now?"
"Nothing," he replies automatically, and his voice isn't nearly as hoarse as he thinks it should be. He's missing something. He has to think, quickly, before the static comes back, and on impulse he pulls away from the person in front of him, that golden light with the dark streak of lightning inside, and reaches up to touch his own face. Nothing stops him. He reaches higher, wanting to tug his hair, but instead he finds...
"Oh," he says quietly, and turns the screw. Once. Twice. Three times, and there's an audible click that tells him he can stop. "Oh," he repeats, this time with more feeling. "Marie-"
"I'm here," his weapon replies patiently. Stein finds that she is sitting with him, on the floor of his laboratory in Death City. Naturally. He's under house arrest, isn't he? And Spirit-
"Where's Spirit," he intones blankly. He's got to put everything in order.
"I'm sure he's at one of the usual places," Marie replies, bemused. "If you're worried about him, don't be. Lord Death was never angry over the whole ball fiasco, you know."
"Oh," he says, flat. He's still disoriented. "That was a bad one, wasn't it?" he means, of course, the vivid hallucination he just lived through, but Marie doesn't know that and doesn't want him to dwell on negative details.
"No, no," she soothes. "Would you like to hear what the children have been up to? They really are your students, you know, you won't believe what Black Star got up to yesterday..."
Marie Mjolnir is thirty-two years old, and she is Stein's weapon and parole officer. She prattles on about the day to day business of the DWMA, hoping to keep Stein centered for another day, not realizing the extent of the damage the madness is dealing him.
Stein is thirty years old, and he is mad, but in the end...aren't they all?