Two hours later they arrived at an elegant country mansion, miles from civilisation.
"My brother is a bit antisocial." Soul explained. "So this is where he lives. He claims he can't write any music without quiet." They walked up and knocked. No answer. Soul rang the doorbell in a steady rhythm. Still nothing. "Screw it." He muttered. His arm blazed and was replaced with the scythe blade, which he slashed down the seam of the door, then changed it back. When he pulled the door open, the only thing either of them could see was blackness. Maka looked over, noticing subtle changes in his face. He may not look it, but he was worried. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"It doesn't matter what's happened. We'll fix it." She reassured him.
"I know, but... that doesn't make it any better." Soul said, his voice rough. They stepped in and flicked on a light, revealing an entry hall with a huge staircase twisting upward, and hallways leading away.
"Hello little brother." Came a crackling, electronic voice. "Welcome to my humble abode." There was a dry chuckle. "Come find me. We should talk. I'm somewhere around here after all. Wouldn't do much good to tell you where, you've never visited after all, and I... well. You can see for yourself." There was a click.
"Soul? Do you know what he meant?" Soul looked thoughtful.
"Nope. Let's start looking." They padded down one hallway, peering into each and every room. Soul ran his finger along an expensive mahogany table. It came away grey with dust. "He hasn't been using any of this. Not like him. Wes holds... held all sorts of gatherings of high society." Maka could hear the obnoxious quotation marks around the last two words.
"Well he's obviously here. You can ask him when you see him." Just then, the crackling voice returned.
"I was trying to set a mood with all this, but I reconsidered. Go up the stairs. Second door on the left. I'll be waiting." There was another click. Soul's pace quickened as he hurried back down the hallway, then quickly ascended the stairs. Maka trailed behind him, jogging every few steps to keep up with his longer stride. Soul crossed to the door, paused, took a breath, and opened it. Maka peered over his shoulder as they both went inside. It was a large, spacious, sitting room. There was a set of armchairs clustered around a coffee table, a large desk of oiled dark wood, and a row of bookcases lining the walls. In one of the chairs was a small, slight figure wrapped in a blanket, who bore a strong resemblance to Soul. "Sorry." The figure croaked. The voice boomed through the house as speakers broadcast the voice. "I'm a bit under the weather. How's things, little brother."
"Wes." Soul said. "You sound awful."
"I feel worse than I look, much as I would like to say otherwise." He smiled dryly. "The accident. You remember." Soul's face had lost a shade of color.
"You may need to remind me." He said quietly. Wes's face screwed up in rage, and he started twitching violently.
"MY ARMS!" He roared. "A LEG!" The blanket fell off of one shoulder, revealing a bare, scarred stump. Soul went ashen. "MY! MUSIC!" Wes finished with a shriek. He went very calm, and very still. "It's cold, Soul. Would you put my blanket back on?" Soul crossed the room and gently replaced it. His brother nodded. "Thank you." He grimaced. "So, may I ask who the young lady is?" Soul's face went to the other spectrum of color, reddening noticeably.
"Maka. My..." He paused a moment. "Girlfriend. And Meister." Wes inspected her with interest.
"Really?" He smiled slightly. "Apologies for the cliche, but I thought you'd be taller." He coughed, a wet, hacking sound. "Much as I would like to do some catching up, especially with Ms. Maka, to business. Presumably you are here for a favor?" Soul nodded.
"We need to borrow the plane."
"Romantic getaway?" Wes inquired.
"Something like that."
"You wouldn't be, oh, fleeing justice on some self righteous quest, would you?" Wes's smile turned sharp as glass.
"No. Nothing like that." Soul grinned. "Well, not the fleeing justice bit. But the self righteous quest is a specialty."
"I've heard differently." Wes murmured. "There was a warrant for your arrest, little brother." He said more clearly. "And I was happy to oblige. Anything for our saviors and protectors, the DWMA." There were two clicks, like a gun being cocked. Maka whirled, only to stare down the barrel of an oversized pistol. She could see a brutish man behind the barrel, and another like him, his gun trained on Soul.
"What happened to you, Wes." Soul asked. Maka heard the pleading tone in his voice, even if few others would. Mostly he just sounded tired. "What happened to you." Wes grinned evilly.
"You happened. I'll remind you if you insist. It was our first, only concert together. Remember? When those two bit thugs came in the door? Of course someone panicked, someone always panics. You. You didn't." He seemed to be biting off each word. "Just shut up. You tried to run. And they turned to shoot, and I tried to cover you." He grimaced sharply. "Seven bullets. None in the torso, none in the head. They tore through my arms instead. My leg. Broke bones. Severed nerves. I was lucky not to die. But I wasn't lucky enough to even be able to WALK!" He screamed the last word. "So, I would like to introduce Fred and Carl. Boring names, boring men. Men who will do one thing, one awful thing, and then disappear." He shivered under his blanket. "But this time, they shoot you. Not me." Wes looked over Maka's shoulder to the two men. He was opening his mouth when Soul cut him off.
"What are you going to do." Soul asked, like he might be asking for the time instead.
"Shoot you. Not fatally. The warrant asks for you alive. But maybe... damage a few things." He nodded to Maka. "Your pretty little thing, I believe, should be the one to suffer. Otherwise you might get some noble idea you saved her. We can't have that." Soul nodded calmly. Then tapped his pinky finger on his thigh. A signal. Each Meister-Weapon pair made their own set of them as part of normal instruction at the DWMA. He had just told Maka I'll distract. Idiot. Soul moved in a blur, without any sort of warning, one arm burning with an icy blue light as it changed while he leapt for his brother. Maka didn't hesitate, instead turning and lashing out. She took the closer thugs gun, breaking his finger with a snap as she ripped it away and hurled it at the other. He turned and shot at the sudden movement, the bullet taking his partner in the neck. Blood flew as Maka surged forwards, delivering a brutal kick and then a hard blow to the head. Thug number two collapsed and Maka turned to see Soul, whispering in Wes's ear, the blade of his changed arm resting on his brothers neck. Then he straightened. Wes was panting, his eyes wild.
"Are you ok?" Maka asked quietly.
"Never been better." Soul replied, his voice rough and almost strangled. Idiot. He always had to act like a hardass.
"STOP!" Wes screeched. "NO!" He rolled and flopped like a fish trying to breath. Awkwardly falling out of the chair, he landed on the coffee table, his mouth closed around something. Maka looked in alarm and saw a detonator. "Die!" Wes screamed. Then his eyes widened and Maka heard a wet crunch. Soul had rammed his scythe arm through Wes's neck, so hard it had stuck in the coffee table. There was a small spray of blood as Soul tugged his changed arm free, and his brother fell limp, blood pooling and dripping to the carpeted floor, the detonator rattling on the table as it fell from his limp mouth. Soul stood, numb. His arm glowed faintly, returning to it's normal shape. It joined the other hanging limply at his side. Maka crossed the room to hold his hand.
"Come on." She said, tugging him forward. "Please. Come on. We don't need to be here. Please leave." Numb, he allowed her to push him out. As Maka closed the door behind them he collapsed into a heap, leaning against the wall. Maka knelt in front of him and pulled him close as his body shook with sobs. "Shh." She murmured, rocking him back and forth like a child. "I'm here. Shhh." Soul leaned forward, resting his head on her chest. She could feel her t-shirt getting damp from his tears. Maka cradled his face in her both hands, ignoring the screaming pain of her injured arm, which had started oozing blood from the brief fight. "We're going to fix this Soul." She told him. "Everything is going to be ok. I promise. I promise."
"You've got a pretty good record with keeping those." He said quietly, his voice raw and pained. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I trust you. Now let's get out of here." They made their way down the stairs and out the door with Soul leaning heavily on Maka. "Ok." He said quietly. "Let's find that plane." He gestured to a small hangar on the other end of the property. "Over there." They opened it up and found a small passenger plane, comfortable, but with only four seats. Maka dropped the backpack to the floor and Soul climbed into the pilot seat, grabbing a few spare cans of fuel as he did.
"Do you know how to fly this?" She asked.
"Hopefully. I took a class once." Maka stared in mild horror. Soul grinned, just a shadow of his usual smirk. "It's one of the few I actually payed attention in. And I used to go flying with..." His face clouded for a moment, then cleared. "We'll be fine." Maka huddled in the copilot seat as Soul flipped a few switches. He certainly looked like he knew what he was doing. But she wasn't much worried about the flight. After a few seconds the plane started forward, picking up speed. They pulled up smoothly and flattened out. "Which way?" Soul asked. Maka decided to act normal. Soul wouldn't want to talk until later, if ever. All she could do know was stay strong for him. She pulled out the atlas. "We're here... so... turn left. She peered at the compass. "Stop." They stopped turning.
"You sure this is the right way?"
"I marked our path while we were on the road. I'm certain to within about five miles, and from this high we should be able to spot it."
"Geek." Soul told her. Maka unzipped the backpack and looked at what food Soul had gotten.
"Really?" She asked him, holding up a huge bag of chocolate. He grinned for real this time.
"Candy for gunshot victims." Maka swatted him.
"Let's see." She muttered, rooting through the rest. "More trail mix, beef jerky, canned pasta... looks pretty good." She pulled out the beef jerky and started chewing. "Though really. Chocolate?" Soul shrugged.
"Hey, if you're gonna hold up a gas station, why not?" Maka sighed in exasperation as they sailed onwards.