Warning! Potentially (VERY) triggering content this chapter! Proceed with caution!
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He felt like a ghost wandering the halls of Shibusen: lost, aimless, and so, so alone...
BlackStar had known the fragile bubble he'd been dwelling in since that day would eventually burst. Now it had, and just as he'd thought, he was once again alone. Kid had tried, but the teachers had all been adamant: the students needed a sense of normalcy to move on; which meant classes resuming, and missions resuming. If anyone had asked, BlackStar would have been more than happy to tell them where they could shove their normalcy.
Kid had been personally assigned three missions so far this week, the threat of action being taken against them both the only thing that succeeded in prying him from BlackStar's side. It wouldn't surprise Star at all to find out the teachers were deliberately keeping them apart, fearful that he might taint Kid with his perversities.
They hadn't needed to get him to avoid Maka (and therefore Soul), because he had no desire to see the silent accusation in the ash-blonde's eyes. He already knew it was all his fault, he didn't need reminding of the fact every moment of the day! Maka might not say anything (she wasn't one for confrontations), but it would be there every time they saw each other; that look...
His grades had taken a nose-dive without Tsubaki there to help him, and Kid was being run ragged so he didn't even bring it up. Given there was still a potential death sentence hanging above his head, he didn't see the point in really studying anyway. What was more concerning, that he also hadn't told Kid about, was the groups (gangs) of students walking around the school in search of him. He'd gotten caught by surprise exactly once, explaining away the bruise on his cheek with the excuse that he was still getting used to being so much taller (an excuse that worked because, for the record, the stairs had kicked his ass three times already that Kid had seen).
BlackStar had, in an attempt solely to get Kid to stop worrying about him, tried to find someone to partner with. Somehow the word 'failure' just wasn't strong enough to encompass the catastrophe the whole situation had been. Pushover Hiro had turned him down, loudly, in the middle of the hall, which led to discussions (hazings) of how worthless a partner BlackStar was as a whole; all the bad attitude of Excalibur without even the legendary weapon's ability to Resonate with everyone.
Akane, the only other one in the school with ties to the star clan, had glared at him coldly and flatly refused to be the Meister of anyone walking down the path the rest of the Star clan had tread. Both the Meisters and Weapons of the NOT classes were terrified of him and ducked into any near-by rooms or corners when they saw him coming. Things had hit the all-time low when, desperately, he'd gone back to Excalibur in a final attempt to work as a Meister again, only to have the weapon refuse him as well. When the weapon who'd been searching for a wielder for decades and was willing to take anyone that fulfilled his list was the one to refuse to partner with you...
BlackStar leaned against the wall, his white outfit almost blending into it, palm covering his eye as his fingers tightened in his hair, trying to hold back tears. He was not going to cry again! Tsubaki... Losing her, that was worth crying over. Knowing he'd never get to see her smiling face again, that was worth crying over. But this, this frustration, this hopelessness, this was nothing and he wouldn't fucking cry about nothing!
He turned around and blindly lashed out, his fist hitting the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, the hollow pain rolling up his arm and through his shoulder, dulling his over-active mind. He did it again, and again, and again; throwing his full power into every strike, the empty hall echoing with the soft sound of the small section of wall crumbling. The increased tenderness told him he was bruising his knuckles, but it was more of an afterthought than actual warning, and he only punched harder in response.
I. Will. Not. CRY! I won't. I won't!
He reared back as the liquid threatened to overflow and put everything into the next hit, the wall before him crumbling to dust as his soul wavelength vibrated through the structure and tore it apart, revealing an empty classroom on the other side. BlackStar panted with exertion, his hand -his whole arm- throbbing in glorious pain with each heartbeat. He inspected it dully, noticing red speckles starting to grow from the abuse of hitting solid stone repeatedly. But he felt better. The damning voices and eyes in his head were quieter now.
Not caring about damages to the school or classes he might be missing, he made his way back to his room. The dusty, messy dorm he hadn't slept in since Tsubaki had died, since he'd been released from the infirmary. Thankful for the private bathrooms allotted to Shibusen students (privacy was a requirement for such volatile adolescents with weapon capabilities), he retreated to it and dug under the sink for that pair of scissors Kid hadn't taken from him.
Absent-mindedly, as he had been doing the last few days, he started flipping them around on his fingers, the dual blades opening and closing with sharp 'snick' sounds. Open, closed. It was a soothing sound, and not all that different from working with a butterfly knife. Not really looking or paying much attention, he flipped them around properly and slid them under the bandages of his right arm, cutting them away- they were ruined with blood stains anyway, so he could fully inspect the damage he'd done to himself.
His breath escaped in a hiss as he flexed his fingers, the motion sending shooting pains right up his arm and into his brain. Hell, he might have broken something in there. His knuckles were mangled and abraised, and he couldn't help the morbid smile. Ha, looks like I just spent a half-hour beating a cinder block. He expertly flipped the shears again and laid them on the counter so he could get out the rubbing alcohol and disinfect the wounds like Tsubaki had done for him so many times before. He winced at the sting, almost able to see her before him.
Tsubaki smiled up at him as she knelt to see the scrapes, gently, so gently, dabbing at them with a soaked cotton ball, shushing him when he jerked in her hold. With steady, kind fingers, she carefully put antibiotic cream on them before wrapping them in soft gauze and wrappings, going so far as to kiss the end result like a real big sister and making his cheeks flame before patting her knees and standing up to beam down at him. "All better."
BlackStar blinked away the blurriness of his vision, hand jerking as he poured the stinging antiseptic over his clenched and shaking fist, watching the red-turned-pink blood swirl in with the clear liquid as it ran down the drain. God, it hurt so much. He bit his lip as the tears threatened again, clenching his fist and sending lighting pain shooting through his system; but it wasn't enough, he could feel the tears still.
Stop! Stop it! I WON'T CRY!
Frantically, he grabbed the scissors again and flipped them open with a flick of his fingers, pressing the blade of one end into the trembling flesh of his forearm, the sharpened edge singing with the warning, the promise, of a sharper, soothingly stronger pain than that of his -fucking broken- heart. He'd promised Kid he wouldn't kill himself, but he was going to die if he didn't find a way to get this damn hurt out, and he refused to cry for those bastards that were taking joy in torturing him! He wouldn't!
"Hahhh!" he pressed and pulled.
BlackStar let a breath of relief at the instantaneous feeling of numbness that followed on the swift heels of pain. He stared in wonder at the gaping wound on his arm, the shears dropping to the floor, and tilted his head. Huh... How odd. He'd never had much chance to think about it before -battle went too fast to focus on what you were feeling- but it hadn't been a cutting pain. What a strange thought; that cutting didn't leave a cutting pain. It burned, like a branding iron, a dull, hot pain. Not sharp, not stabbing, and not cutting.
The red trailing down his arm in streams was equally fascinating to watch, as he felt it taking all the pent-up, painful, extra emotion with it. The hurt in his chest seemed to drain right out of him with his blood to pool on the floor. He blinked sleepily. That was... a lot of emotion; a lot of blood. Maybe... too much blood? Hmm. How deep had he gone?
He staggered in a sudden bout of dizziness and grabbed at the sink, his blood-slick fingers slipping on the porcelain surface and tilting his entire world precariously before he grunted in pain from his head hitting the floor. The ceiling spun above him, the dim light in his little bathroom seeming all-too-bright all of a sudden as he squinted at it, feeling like he was spinning even though he was pretty sure he was lying still on the floor; and he felt oddly nauseous, even though he loved spinning rides and it was always Tsubaki who got sick on them...
"Oh, my god! BlackStar!"
His vision was dim and foggy (but at least it wasn't from tears) as the shadowed form bent over him. He felt a small, feminine hand reach out to hold his cheek, "Tsu-Tsubaki? 'M sorry." Idiot. Cut too deep. Fuck. Sorry, Kid; looks like neither of us could keep our promise...
With the last of his strength, BlackStar reached for the face he couldn't see properly, his numb fingers brushing her cheek, before the darkness consumed him.
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Wait! *Mob halts* BEFORE you kill me... I just want to give props to Zoete9 for her correct guess on the situation at hand (the scissors, good guess, Zo!). For your trouble, Zo-chan, you get a magic cookie from our guest host of the week: Kirby! (-'.'-)-O
So review and tell me what you think (preferably without crucifiction) and earn magic cookies of your own! *Winces* Okay; you can proceed with the lynching...