A/N. Hey there, everyone. I'm really sorry for the late update, but I've been busy [still am] with school and exams*groans*. The good part is that this week I'm having my last exam and after this, I'll be as free as a bird. Yay! I wanna thank you all for the reviews you gave me, because really, they make me happy. Thank you! Well then, I felt like writing angst so here it is. Oh, and before I forget. It's really late right now [I just finished writing] and there may be spelling/ grammar mistakes thrown in there [not to mention that my first language isn't english and I still have lots of gaps to fill] and I'm apologizing right now for them. Please excuse them. I'm gonna shut up now. Enjoy.

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"Wake up."

He nudges her softly, a light feathery touch of fingers on her bare shoulder [the pre-kishin soul has been kind enough to cut down and rip parts of her clothes] and she doesn't answer.

"C'mon Maka."

Another nudge, another touch, another deception. The red [red, red, so much red that it makes him go crazy and this time it isn't the red, red, red demon's fault] gash on her abdomen seems bigger and it's almost as if it's taunting him, snickering, grinning, smirking, screaming at him.

Loser, sucker, weakling.

"Wake up, tiny-tits. You're gonna maka-chop me for this, right? So c'mon, I won't mind."

He grins weakly, chuckles bitterly, cradles her head and prays, wishes, asks, screams for a sign.

Shitfuckstupidsillylittlemakadon'tyoufuckingdieonme

He takes what's left of her coat and pushes it onto the wound.

Stop the red, red, red, stop it, stop it

In the back of his mind the red, red, red demon chuckles darkly and tells him it's over.

It's not it's not it's not

And he wants to believe it so badly.

"Come on Maka, wake up, damn it."

And somehow his hands find her cheeks and his lips crash against hers [if fairytales were even slightly real, then she'd have to wake up, wouldn't she? And if not, then they could start right there and then]. She coughs and he can feel warm, red, red, with an ironish taste to it, blood on his lips. Her eyes twitch a bit [and hope is bubbling inside him once again] -open them you hear me, open them- and he can see a little bit of faded green under half-lidded eyes. He's never been more happier to see green in all his life and he feels like his heart seriously wants to leave its place in his chest.

"Good girl."

He's never felt more relieved either.

She can't feel nothing at all, yet she's hurting all over and she just wants it to stop already, it hurts too much. The black surrounding her is blinding and insane and harmful and she feels like a small, frightened child screaming for help. The black strangles her, chokes her, burns her and cuts her up in small, small pieces all at once and puts her together and cuts her, burns her, chokes her, strangles her all over again and it's too much for her to stand. She's floating in an abyss of black, black, black so much black she feels like crying and all she's feeling is pain, pain, pain, make it go away, please, oh please but no one comes and no one tries to make it stop and it hurts all the more. She chokes on a plea and screams a silent scream for someone, but she can't remember who she's screaming for [the name is on the tip of her tongue yet there's something there, somewhere in her mind that blocks all memories from coming] and all she wants is to curl in a pitiful, memoryless ball of a person she used to be.

She sees a silhouette somewhere in front of her and her hand reaches, reaches, begs and touches nothing because her fingers curl around nothingness and black and the next thing she knows is that she's on her knees, clenching and unclenching her fists, trembling, whimpering and crying. It feels like someone is strangling her, cold, long and thin fingers [a distant voice whispers some nonsense about pianists] curled on her throat, stopping all possibilities of breathing and she's afraid of looking up. What if it's real? What if it'll hurt more when all she wants is for the pain to stop? What if? She closes her eyes tightly and once again prays silently for it to stop, stop, stop or for someone to come and save her. Fairytales, she remembers faintly. She's probably a princess waiting for her prince, now isn't she? She laughs bitterly, because her prince has to come for her, now doesn't he? Doesn't he? Doesn't he?

And she screams.

The black curls around her ankles and wrists [like cold, wet tentacles] and she feels herself pulled in something that feels like water [it's cold, it's wet, it makes her choke and stop breathing and she wonders if asphyxiating is somewhat like this], it enters her lungs and she struggles, desperate to get out, to breathe, to live. She wants to live, she wants that. She wants to make mama proud and make papa see the great technician she is, she wants to be strong and she wants to see her friends again. She wants to live because she remembers, she screams inside her mind and she doesn't feel the water anymore, nor she can see the black, yet she's still hurting when she realizes that she's waking up. She knows that she's awake when she sees concerned red eyes staring at her [her vision is cloudy though and her eyes are only half-opened, so she can't see perfectly] and she can't feel more happy because she knows who he is, she knows how he looks and she remembers. She almost cries in relief.

"Soul."

Her voice, soft and weak and husky, almost cracks, but she wants to say his name and she wants to hear his voice because it's the only way that she'll know she's not dreaming.

"Yeah?"

She's not and this time she cries.

"Soul."

He grins because she's awake, his reckless moron is awake and this time, it has to be alright, because she won't die, right?

"Yeah?"

He's flabbergasted when he sees those tears and thinks briefly of what might have happened to make her cry, because Maka is strong and determined and she doesn't usually cry in front of others. He touches her cheek lightly with his fingers [he wants to make it look like a playful hit, a maka chop minimized by ten thousands of thousands].

"Hey. You can bawl your eyes out when I'll get you to the hospital and your dad will go all crazy on us. And believe me, that's a good reason for crying."

He rubs away some tears [he stops a growl forming in his throat when those tears get mixed with the blood on her cheeks.] and takes off his jacket. She looks a bit puzzled [or dazed, almost like she can't see clearly. He blames it on her weak state] and he tries to put his jacket on her [because her clothes are torn and she's cold, he felt it when he touched her cheek]. He struggles a bit because she doesn't have the strength to help and then gathers her up in his arms. She looks too small in his jacket, almost buried in it, too thin, too frail, too pale in contrast with the blood smeared all over her and he feels her head resting on his shoulder [she's definitely weak right now, with all her wounds and the tiredness on top]. If she's lucky [he prays she is], then the large gash on her abdomen and all the other wounds will only need bandaging. He seriously hopes it's just a matter of bandages.

A/N: review, pretty please? Reviews and reviewers are loved. *sing-song voice*