Thank you all for your kind words and reviews! I'm glad to see people have been enjoying this little idea of mine so far. I promised I'd put out more soon, and this has been delayed a bit longer than I'd planned, so thank you for bearing with me. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Chapter 2: A Slow Disaster

The door swings shut behind them.

"Talk?" Spirit blinks, then shrugs, grinning. "What do you want to talk about?" He is confused, but willing to play along; this isn't the first time Stein has come to him with strange requests.

"How about days gone by?" Stein answered. "I helped you with your homework, you helped me with my anatomy studies. We had such a good relationship."

Spirit snorts in amusement. "Dissecting me doesn't count as anatomy studies, Stein."

He gives an almost drunken titter at this, his smile predatory in the dim light. "I admit, I'd hoped you'd be asleep when I came here. You were always such a sound sleeper. I could do anything to you and you'd never. Even. Know~"

Any half-hearted amusement or camaraderie the deathscythe might have been feeling before vanishes. "You need to be back at the lab with Marie, Stein," he snaps. "I can practically feel the Madness coming off of you. You're stronger than this. Pull yourself together and-"

Stein slams a crackling Soul Force directly into his former partner's stomach.

Spirit staggers for mere seconds, but it is the advantage Stein needs; a wild haymaker catches the redhead on the jaw before another Soul Force hits the Weapon in the chest. DeathScythe goes flying across the room, crashing through a glass coffee table and into the wall. The brick and mortar of the house crunches under the impact. "D- dammit, Stein," Spirit coughs, pulling himself up onto his forearms. Blood trickles from his mouth; slate-blue eyes flash in fury. "Don't make hurt you!"

The mad scientist's head lolls back on his shoulders. "Hurt me?" he giggles, the words soon evolving into full-blown laughter. His arms clutch his sides as he roars in amusement. "You? You couldn't even keep my Madness away for one battle, sempai!"

A scythe slashes just below his chin, drawing blood; another feints at his stomach before opening a gash along his bicep. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but that's no excuse for this!"

Spirit jabs downward just as Stein readies another Soul Force. Instead of dodging, the madman grasps him by the blade and forces his Madness-skewed Soul Wavelength onto his former partner. The sudden jolt elicits a cry and burst of blood as the incompatible wavelengths wrack Spirit's core; as soon as the scythes disappear Stein aims a double-palmed, twin lance Soul Force into his ribs. This time Spirit buckles in two, coughing up crimson on the other's shoes.

"You were my greatest experiment," the scientist observes flatly, kicking his former partner in the ribs. Any breath left in Spirit's lungs is forced out; the kick repeats with exacting precision again, and again, and again, and again, rapid-fire until there is a muffled wet crack that forces a breathless scream out of the man at his feet. "You've gotten weaker in your old age, sempai. You should have lasted at least 2.7 more seconds. But it was an informative experiment."

Shallow, haggard breathing is his only response – and then DeathScythe flips over back onto his feet. Blood begins to stain the side of his green dress shirt black. "Snap out of it, idiot," he growls. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, and I don't belong to you, so you can stop with the stupid experiment talk!"

Stein's head tilts to one side. He snickers. "You have always tried to run from uncomfortable truths, sempai," he states, and the calm in his voice is more frightening than the laughter. "You were my experiment then." He blinks slowly, uneven pupils focusing on the figure in front of him – and then he is behind his partner, open palm against his broken ribs. "You still are now. Soul Force."

"No!"

Faded denim eyes snapped open; the bedroom was dark, the only light source coming from the madly grinning moon rising to the east. Spirit closed his eyes. His fingers were dug whiteknuckled into the sheets; it took conscious effort to relax them enough to let go. After a few moments he opened his eyes again.

Still dark. Still shadowed.

Still alone.

". . . fuck."

Gingerly raising himself up, he reached out for the glass of water by his bedside and drained it in one go. After a few moments his eyes adjusted to the dark. Spirit slid out from between the sheets and staggered toward the kitchen, pausing when he hit the living room.

The low glass-top table he'd inherited from his mother now lay shattered across the floor. Family photos were knocked off the walls. Wooden cabinets splintered, walls dented, even a crater in the wooden floor. And over in the corner . . . .

"Pull yourself together, Stein! What would Marie think?"

The reaction is swift. The crazed Soul Wavelength shoves itself into him again, jagged spiritual fingers clawing at every interior inch of his body and ripping down to his soul. Stars bloom behind his eyes. He screams, he knows he screams, but he can't hear it over the sound of his soul being rendered. Above it all is laughter, insane laughter, and then a blow to the head that sends him flying.

Spirit hits the floor; this time he doesn't move.

Giggling to himself, Stein walks over to where Spirit lies crumpled and kneels over him. "So you really don't fear me anymore, sem~pai~?"

Spirit cracks one eye open and spits a mouthful of blood in Stein's face.

Stein digs his fingers into Spirit's throat and squeezes until the other kicks out, gasping for air. "I had planned to just dissect you, sempai. See what had changed from then to now. But they have a better idea."

It takes several seconds for the other man to gather the breath to speak. "They? Who- who's they?"

Stein flips him over onto his stomach and sits back on Spirit's legs, knowing full well the deathscythe is too weak to materialize a blade in his state. "You forgot how to fear me, sem~ pai~ Now I have to remind you all over again."

Fear.

Fear.

The word was etched upon him now, engraved into his skin, his memory, his very soul, and he could not escape it.

Spirit turned tail and fled, running somewhere, anywhere – he found himself curled up on the cold tile floor of the bathroom tucked between the bathtub and the toilet. Shivering, hugging his knees to his chest, the deathscythe leaned his aching back against the chill of the wall. "'m being stupid," he told himself. The sound echoed, lonely in the empty house, and he began to tremble.

"Idiot," he whispered, closing his eyes against the threat of tears.

"Hey, did you hear about Maka's dad?"

"I heard he got caught cheating with someone's wife and the husband beat him up!"

"I heard he was cheating with Ms. Marie and Stein beat him up!"

"Think that's why the professor left?"

"Such a weirdo. Bet Shinigami wouldn't keep him around if he wasn't a scythe."

Maka tightened her grip on her books and tried to tune out the gossip as she walked through the hallways of the DWMA. Soul settled for ambling beside her and occasionally shooting people dirty looks if they stared at them. "Hey, Maka. Don't let it get to you."

She huffed and drew herself up tall. "Who's letting it get to them? Not me! I'm fine!"

"Good," said a voice behind them. "It's all rumor-mongering." Maka and Soul turned to see Death the Kid standing behind them, flanked by his Weapons Patty and Liz. Liz flashed a grin at them; Patty was, as usual, oblivious.

"Should have figured you'd have the hookup, Kid," Soul said with a sharktooth grin. "So what's the real story?"

Kid looked between them. "I asked my father for an explanation, and for once he actually gave me some information. It seems as though your father ran into Professor Stein as he was trying to escape Death City and tried to stop him." His piercing gaze fixed upon Maka, who squirmed. "How much do you know about it?"

Maka looked down at her gloved hands, at the faint bloodstain that still remained there. ". . . I know Papa was hurt pretty badly, but he's tough. He'll be okay." Her voice wavered a bit, unsure.

Liz raised an eyebrow. "You haven't even checked in on him?"

"Well, I saw him before he went home, and he said he was fine. I mean, he used to tell me stories about how he and Professor Stein fought when they were partners. . . I just-"

"Three broken ribs. Concussion. Dislocated left shoulder." Maka's eyes grew wide in shock as Kid continued ticking the issues off on his fingers. "Soft tissue damage to the wrists, throat, and abdominal cavity. One-hundred fifteen stitches. That's not counting the minor injuries."

Maka went pale; Soul grasped her by the shoulders to keep her steady. "Shit, Kid, did you have to dump it all on her like that?" he snapped. "Ever hear of breaking the news gently?"

"Better she hear the truth from one of us than get piecemeal information from the rumor mill," Liz interjected.

Kid, meanwhile, was trying to arrange the injury count on his fingers to make them symmetrical. ". . . and if I count the minor injuries as one lump sum, I have six – three on each side – symmetry! Perfect- ah, er, right." The glare the others were giving him could have crumbled stone. "I'm sorry, Maka. I truly didn't mean to upset you." He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look. Wounded or not, he's the strongest of the deathscythes, and the Weapon my father will use if he faces Ashura again. It's none of my business, but aren't you even a little worried?"

For a moment Maka's lower lip quivered; then she whirled around with her head held aloft, away from the rest. "Nope," she said as the bell rang. "He can get one of his 'ladies of the night' to help him out if he's that bad off."

With that, she scampered into the classroom; Liz and Patty followed after her, leaving Kid and Soul alone in the hallway. "Why do you care, anyway, Kid?" Soul asked.

"I've known Spirit since I was little. He's been my father's primary Weapon for as long as I can remember." The young shinigami shrugged. "I suppose I just don't understand how she can be so cavalier about it. I can't, and he's just a family friend."

Soul heaved a sigh. "Oh, she cares. Trust me. In her own special Maka way, she cares." He grinned suddenly. "Let's just hope she never cares about us like that."

"Heya, heya, how're ya feeling, Spirit?"

Feeling immensely awkward in a pair of jogging pants and a track jacket, Spirit scuffed one sandal against the floor of the Death Room and gave Shinigami a flat look. "Like I just had the crap beat out of me."

If the Reaper could blink through the mask, he would have. "Ah. Right. To be expected, of course."

Spirit just sighed. "Was there something you needed, Shinigami-sama? I'm supposed to be resting."

"And you're clearly not doing it, if those circles under your eyes are any indication. Have you tried my sleepybye tea? I used to give it to Kid when he was little! Put him right out!" Shinigami bounced on point like a bobblehead, cheerfully oblivious to the glare his Weapon was now giving him. "Of course, I'm not sure if all the ingredients are suited for humans or not. . . ."

". . . tell me again why I shouldn't just turn around, go home, and go back to bed right now?"

Shinigami sighed. "You're no fun." He held out one oversized hand. "Transform."

Spirit took a step backward. Sudden dread swelled up within him. "What?"

"Transform into your scythe form, please."

The deathscythe stared at the outstretched hand and swallowed hard. "I thought I was supposed to be resting."

"Oh, come off it. We both know you could do this in your sleep." The Reaper beckoned to him. "We have no idea when Ashura will attack, and I need to know if you are in any shape to fight or not. I don't want to try resonating with you, or sending you out with another Meister, if you're too badly injured for it."

It wasn't an unreasonable request. Still, he hesitated. Letting his Meister wield him meant synchronizing soul wavelengths . . . which meant he would become an open book, with nothing hidden. "What did Nygus say about this?"

Shinigami tilted his head curiously. "I didn't ask her. I shouldn't have to. You've fought in far worse shape than this before, after all. I promise to take it easy, if that's what's bothering you."

He was out of excuses. After a second Spirit sighed and transformed into his scythe form-

-only to transform right back the second he felt those hands about to grasp him. He jerked his arm out of Shinigami's reach, nervous sweat beading on his forehead.

"Spirit?" The Reaper didn't sound angry, or disappointed, just puzzled.

"Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Let's try that again."

And again Spirit changed, body warping into a tall, cross-shaped scythe, only to flash out of that form the moment he thought he was about to be touched. "Sorry," he gasped again, wincing as the movement pulled on his broken ribs.

"Again."

"But-"

"Again, Spirit."

The order was given so sternly that he obeyed without thinking. Gritting his teeth, he transformed again, expecting to be grasped by the Reaper's right hand- and so wasn't expecting it when the left closed around his hilt instead.

A flash of heat-

– the scent of stale tobacco and rotting lotus seeds, of drying blood and –

-and Shinigami dropped Spirit, charred marks on his huge gloved hand. Spirit transformed a split second later, staring wide-eyed at his Meister.

He'd done that. Soul wavelengths so far out of sync that they burned – even Shinigami, the ultimate Meister, couldn't touch him now.

Because of fear.

"Maybe that's enough for today," Shinigami said, lowering his hands to his sides.

Spirit bolted out of the room.

"Shinigami-sama? It's Sid. I have the information you wanted."

The masked face of the Reaper filled the mirror's face. "Great! Lay it on me."

Sid shooed a mouse out of the way, sitting on top of a crate next to a beat-up old radio. "It's as you thought. DeathScythe wasn't anywhere near ChupaCabra the night Stein attacked him. The only places I can really trace him to is an old bookstore – looks like he bought Maka a present there – and to Maka's apartment building. After that, it looks like he went towards his house, no other stops."

"About what time did he go home, do you think?"

The zombie flipped through his notepad. "Best guess is between eight and ten. Which is around the time Marie reported Stein missing."

"Hmm." Shinigami tapped a finger against his mask. "Anything else?"

"There is one other thing. There was a sighting of Stein leaving DeathScythe's neighborhood at about three in the morning."

". . . I see. Thank you, Sid. This has been helpful." The mirror flickered. "Come back to the academy when you're done. I have another call I have to take. See ya!"

The mirror went dark; Sid hopped down and strode off, tucking the mirror into a pocket of his cargo pants.

The mouse he had pushed off the cargo box chittered at the radio; it crackled with laughter. "Poor little DeathScythe," the voice on the radio crooned. "All alone with nowhere to turn. Isn't that funny, lover?"

A few seconds of laughter, and the broadcast shut off.

The dispensary was normally quiet; there were only two people inhabiting it when Maka crept around the corner. Nygus was unrolling gauze; sitting on the bed across from her was her father, shirtless and with his back to Maka, slowly unwrapping now-bloodstained gauze. "Shinigami said you needed something for sleep?" Nygus asked, dabbing at the man's face.

" . . . no. It's OK." He tugged at the gauze; the swathes of red-splotched white came tumbling down, exposing ugly lines and curves gouged into his back. The word 'FEAR', outlined in black stitches and crusted blood – Maka let out a cry of horror.

Spirit whirled around; all he caught was a glimpse of blonde pigtails and a jacket flying out of the room. "Maka!" he half-shouted, standing and rounding the bedside. "Maka, wait!"

Maka kept running, shoving her way through the crowds until her heavy footsteps and gasping sobs were the only sounds she could hear. The dungeons under the Academy – without knowing it, she had run away to Crona's cell. She fell hard against the metal door, struggling to get her breath. "Oh, Papa," she whimpered miserably.

"Maka? I- is that you?"

She raised her head at the timid voice. "Crona . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you. I'm just being a big baby."

"Umm." There was a scratching noise, the schooch of boots and fabric across the floor, and then a gentle tap of a hand on the door. Crona's gentle voice came through at her level. "It- I- I mean, if you wanted . . . Maka's always been so nice to me, and – I don't know how to deal with babies, but I can – I can try? If it would help?"

Despite herself, Maka giggled through her tears. "That's sweet of you, Crona. But that's not exactly what I meant."

"Oh." More shuffling. "Then – what did you mean?"

". . . Professor Stein attacked my papa the night before last." There was a little gasp of horror from the other side of the door. "He's hurt pretty badly and . . . I don't get along with him at all. He hurt Mama and me so much with all his cheating and he says he's sorry but I don't know if I can believe him and because of him Mama moved away and left me here and-" She sniffed, wiping away tears with the back of her sleeve. "And I don't know how to feel about him anymore but I saw where the professor cut him and it makes me hurt inside and I don't understand it!"

Crona was quiet for several long moments before replying. "Did you- did you have any good times together?"

She sighed. "Yeah. A lot of them. We still kinda do. Even if he's a lousy father, I know he'll always be there for me. I guess that counts for something."

"Medusa was never nice to me like your dad is to you." Crona's voice grew quieter. "I don't think we ever had any good times together. And she's only there for me if there's something in it for her. So I- I don't think I can really relate."

Maka sniffed back tears – this time for her friend. "Oh, Crona. You'll get out. I promise. And then we'll go out, you me and Papa. He kinda likes you, y'know? At least, you're one of the few friends I have he hasn't ranted about."

"R-really?" Crona sounded baffled. "Why?"

"Papa . . . kinda likes playing papa to everyone when he can. I think it's why he was partnered with Professor Stein."

"Huh." The other child's voice was filled with wonder. ". . . can Professor Stein come too? And Ms. Marie?"

Maka closed her eyes, giving up her fight against the tears. "Sure, Crona. You and me and Ms. Marie and Papa and Professor Stein. One day we'll all go out together and make some good memories."

Spirit stared out again over the shattered remains of his living room, a blanket wrapped protectively around his shoulders. There was the table, and the pictures, and over there the corner where-

"So spirited tonight, aren't you, sem~pai~?"

Stifling what could have been a sob, the deathscythe fell back into his room and slammed the door, flattening himself against it.

". . . idiot."