And hello again, dear reader, and thank you for continuing to come along on this journey. It's beginning to get a little closer to earning its M rating, and our favorite mad scientist will make an appearance this time as well- Stein has a story in here as well, not just our dear Spirit. There are a lot of little stories in here that will wind together to make the larger picture, I think; everyone will have a part to play. Working with an ensemble cast is interesting, and quite challenging.

As usual, please do let me know how it's going, and what you like (or dislike!) about the story. I admit to being curious as to each reader's perspective.

Chapter 3: Shut the World Away

"Maybe you have played out your usefulness as a test subject, sempai." Fetid breath on his ear; Stein's hands grip his partner's so hard the bones grind against each other. "I always wondered if the daughter of a Weapon would look the same inside or not."

Spirit goes very, very still beneath him. "You've had your fun, Stein." It is hard to talk quickly when he is in so much pain, but the sudden upswelling of dread makes the words tumble from his lips faster than the blood spills from them. "I'm good and scared of you now. You've made your point. Hell, Stein, you win! Just don't touch Maka!"

"And what will you offer me, sem~pai~?" The playful tone is back; Stein wrenches the older man's arms up behind his back and shoves his jagged soul wavelength into him again. The deathscythe goes limp in his grasp. Stein blasts him again to jolt him back to consciousness. "Sem~pai~? What spoils are you offering the victor, here?"

"Anything," Spirit manages. His only focus is the little girl in his mind, green eyes and pigtails and no matter how she hates him, she's still his daughter, and he will protect her, no matter what the cost. "Anything, Stein, just don't hurt my baby girl! What do you want from me?!"

Stein leans forward, lips against his cheek.

"I want you to fear me."

Maka's bedroom door was open when Soul got up to take a leak in the middle of the night. Blair, in kitten mode, was sitting in the crack watching intently. "Hey," he whispered, not wanting to wake his Meister up. "What's going on?"

"Shhh," Blair scolded, holding a paw up to her mouth. Her eyes were intent; after a second Soul realized he could hear a low, melodic voice singing.

"Lullaby, baby-bye, cradled in blue,
Papa and angels keep watch over you,
Under your slumber robe, precious one, rest,
Lullaby, sleep-a-bye, in your soft nest."

Soul opened the door a bit wider. Maka's father was sitting in a chair by her bedside; the moonlight showed just how gaunt and battered he really looked this late at night, lack of sleep ringing his eyes like kohl. One arm was bound up in a sling; he had stretched the other out, brushing a stray hair out of Maka's face. Spirit hadn't noticed his audience; he paused for a moment as if to catch his breath, free hand held against his broken ribs for a second, then began again.

"Lullaby, baby-bye, soar in your dreams
Over the housetop, the mountains and streams;
Higher and higher, love, soon you will fly
Into the dreamland on love's lullaby.

"Love clothes the lily in radiant white.
Love feeds the lambkins, and guards through the night,
Love watches over each hamlet and hall,
Love never fails, but it cares for us all."

The lullaby faded away; Maka rolled over towards her father in her sleep, peacefully curled up in a ball in her blanket. Spirit watched her for a moment before slowly standing up.

"Yo, old man," Soul's voice was not unkind. "How'd you get in here?"

Spirit started, eyes widening in a brief flash of fear before recognition settled in. He closed Maka's door behind him. Blair meowed happily, purring and rubbing up against his ankles. "I let him in, of course. He brought me a fish!"

Spirit said nothing; Soul scowled at him. "Maka's kinda old for lullabies. What, did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Yeah. I did."

The admission was startling. For the first time since the incident, Soul got a good look at the deathscythe; he looked a hell of a lot worse up close like this than he did from a distance. Up close Soul could see the bruises around his wrists, the ligature marks ringing his throat, the cuts on his face; the set of his jaw that belied the constant pain he was in. Faded blue eyes wouldn't meet his albino red ones, but the worry in them was still obvious. "I had to make sure she was really all right. That's all."

Soul stared at him for a moment. While the looks were one thing, the older Weapon's sudden reserved nature was far more disconcerting. He began walking towards the front door; Soul followed close behind him. ". . . you said something about Stein hurting her when you first showed up in class the other day. Did he threaten her? Is he still out there?"

There was no immediate answer save for the taller man shuddering slightly. Spirit stopped walking long enough to glance over his shoulder at Soul. "Thank you," he said. "For looking out for my little girl." He opened the front door, shoulders slumping. "I'll see myself out."

"Yeah, uh, you're-" The door swung shut. "-welcome?" Soul glanced down at Blair, who was lazily grooming her chest fur. "That was officially weird."

"What was weird?"

The young Weapon turned around; Maka stood in her doorway, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Was there someone here? I thought I heard voices."

"Huh? Nah, just me and Blair. She was sneaking in fish." Blair shot him a dirty look.

Maka yawned again; it was obvious she wasn't anywhere near awake. "Oh. Okay."

". . . hey, Maka, you all right?"

"Yeah." She smiled as she headed back into her bedroom. "I was dreaming I was flying."

The Death Room floor was covered in papers and maps when Spirit entered the next day. ". . . what's all this?" he asked, nudging the corner of a old sheaf of papers with one sandal.

"You're late," Azusa snapped; she poked her head up from behind a stack of mirrors she was trying unsuccessfully to assemble. "And you look like a slob. Just because you're wounded doesn't mean you're an invalid, Spirit."

That earned her an even stare. Getting dressed was still difficult, what with his ribs and one arm in a sling- he'd thought the old button-up plaid shirt and jeans were a better compromise than the track suit. "Nice to see you too, Azusa."

She had the decency to look embarrassed at that. "Sorry," she muttered. "Marie's being all maudlin and Joe's holed himself up, Justin's off doing God-knows-what, and the other deathscythes still won't come in to help out. You'd think they'd take this threat more seriously!" She huffed and took off her glasses, rubbing at her eyes. "Think you could help me out?"

Spirit shrugged his good shoulder. "I can try. Don't know how much I can do one-handed. What do you need?"

"Can you hold this mirror stand up for me? I've got to bolt it down to the floor and it won't stay put. And don't step on any of my papers."

After settling himself into position (he'd managed to avoid most of her mess, though a few of her maps had ended up with dusty shoeprints in the middle of them, something she'd complained vociferously about), Spirit leaned up against the pole he was hanging on to and looked down at his schoolmate. "Where's Shinigami-sama?"

She didn't even glance up from her work. "Presiding over Crona's trial. It's not going to go well for the kid."

". . . that's a shame."

"What, you pity him?"

"Yeah. I do. The kid was raised by Medusa, and she doesn't give a damn if he lives or dies – Crona's just an experiment to her." There was a quiet musing to his voice. "When we're young, our parents are the law, the world. I don't think he knew there was another way until he came here, and even then, the bond between a parent and child isn't that easily broken. Doesn't that mean something?"

Azusa looked up at that; light flashed off the lenses of her glasses. "And how much of Stein's madness can we blame on that child's actions?"

Spirit blanched. "I-"

"I just can't feel sorry for him. I mean, how many of your injuries are because Stein's madness was accelerated by Medusa and that child you pity so much?"

The mirror stand began to rattle slightly.

"I wonder how much of it really was Medusa's influence and how much of it was just his own natural madness coming out – watch it, Spirit!"

The metal pole fell to the ground with a crash, narrowly missing her head. Spirit stood back a step, head hung low and a fist hanging by his side. "Stop," he managed. "Just- just stop."

Azusa sat back on her heels with a sigh. It was impossible to make out his expression, but his slim frame was trembling hard. "Hey," she began again, her voice unexpectedly gentle. "I know we don't always get along, but . . . I'm worried about you. We all are. Talk to me."

He shook his head almost violently in the negative.

The younger deathscythe decided to take a different tact. "C'mon, sempai," she coaxed, "I-"

The moment the second word left her lips, a pair of scythe blades shot out from the man in front of her, the tips narrowly missing her throat. "Don't call me that!" Spirit screamed; tears dripped off his chin to dampen the dusty floor below.

"Spirit!"

Behind them both, Shinigami stood beside the large mirror in the center of the dais; he had entered at some point while they were talking without either one noticing. The eyeholes of his mask narrowed in poorly concealed anger. "Stand down. Azusa, are you all right?"

The blades disappeared instantly; she swallowed hard before standing up and making a show of dusting herself off. "I'm fine, Shinigami-sama." She looked at her Meister, then to the still-trembling Spirit, confusion and sorrow writ heavy upon her brow.

A cartoonishly oversized hand patted her on the back before Shinigami swept past her to stand before the injured deathscythe. "I'll contact Joe and have him come help you out. But first . . . Spirit? Will you walk with me for a bit?"

DeathScythe rubbed at his eyes with his good hand for a moment, then raised his head. Looking at him now, Azusa wondered how she ever missed it – the exhaustion, the nervousness, the perpetually-haunted look that seemed to linger behind the normally cheerful Weapon's dusky blue eyes. It was if Stein had, by inscribing the word on his back, instilled the essence of fear directly into Spirit's soul.

As if realizing she was thinking about him, Spirit shifted his gaze away from her direction, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "All right," he said faintly. "Let's walk."

"Do you know why Crona tried to go back to Medusa after all that time?"

It had taken nearly a half-hour's worth of walking before Spirit's nerves had settled down; after sending Joe off to help Azusa in the Death Room, Shinigami and Spirit took up residence in the very bowels of Death City, amongst the magic tools that the Academy had been collecting. ". . . she's his mother," the redhead answered after a moment's reflection. He tilted himself back in Joe's chair, shifting to avoid pressure on his wounded back. "I suppose she ordered him to go back to her."

"Partly correct." The Reaper crossed his hands behind him. "Mostly, though, Crona did it out of fear."

Spirit went silent.

"I've seen it over and over again. It's a cycle. Ashura is the most extreme example of it but . . . ." There was a low sigh from the taller being, and he seemed to stand a little less taller, a little less straight. "Fear is ultimately what drives a lot of people into the path of the kishin. They fear mortality, other people – or even being powerless." Spirit flinched. "That fear is what drives them into seeking power, into taking power from others . . . into becoming kishin. Fear can be a powerfully negative force."

He slid closer to Spirit, sitting on the edge of the desk and leaning over to stare into the Weapon's face. "It can also evolve a very powerful positive one."

The redhead scoffed, barely able to meet his Meister's empty gaze. "I fail to see how fear can be positive, sorry."

"In itself, it is not. It is in standing up to one's fears and conquering them that one draws true strength and power."

Spirit drew into himself, shoulders slumping. "Spirit, I've seen you spring back from defeat before. You've faced fear before, and won. You're brave, I know how much strength you-"

"You're wrong."

It was Shinigami's turn to go silent. "I'm not brave," Spirit choked out. "I'm not strong. I'm-"

"You're exhausted, and in pain, and you lost a battle against a stronger opponent. There's no shame in that." The Weapon let all four legs of his chair fall to the ground with a thud and put his head in his good hand, chest hitching. "Holding everything in is like a poison. It's best to let it all out instead of letting it fester."

"And that would solve everything? The fear? The fact that we can't resonate?" The younger man snorted hopeless laughter. "I'm not a fool. I can feel it even here. My wavelength's too fucked up. Better you focus on honing your skills with Marie or Azusa. A Weapon you can't use is pretty worthless."

". . . Shinigami Chop."

The blow was just hard enough to sting; Spirit looked up balefully through the veil of his hair at the concerned mask of his Meister. "You really are an idiot sometimes. I'm not doing this because you're my DeathScythe." The Reaper sighed and tilted his head slightly, exposing the glint of deep-set, worried golden eyes behind the mask. A deep sign of trust to even go that far – Shinigami's human persona was a deeply guarded secret, one known to a scant handful of people. "I'm doing this because you're my friend. Please, let me help you, Spirit."

Spirit lowered his head. "I can't," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You don't understand – I just can't."

Shinigami sighed; his eyes flickered out and he stood up to tower over his Weapon partner. ". . . if you change your mind on that, Spirit, you know where I am. But until you do, I can't help you." He looked away. "Until then, you'll have to fight it alone."

"Nake, snake . . . ."

Trembling fingers took the unlit cigarette from his lips and cast it over the side of the stone wall. A thin stream of blood soon followed it.

"Cobra, cobra . . . ."

Something made a splattering sound. A hysteric little giggle roiled up inside him, up from his chest through his throat until it burst from his lips, cackling and harsh. Another followed it, and another, until the air was suffused with mad laughter. Medusa didn't even look up from the crystal sphere in front of her. "Is something especially amusing you today, Stein?" she asked mildly.

The laughter cut off suddenly; the heavy thump of someone hitting the ground was her only answer. She turned and looked back over her shoulder, one eyebrow quirked curiously. "Stein?"

The mad scientist sat behind her, eyes wide and pupils unevenly dilated, staring enraptured at his blood-streaked hands. There was a corpse next to him – some kind of animal, dissected neatly into its base components – and the odor of the blood was beginning to suffuse the room with its metallic tang. The splattering sound had been the creature's brain, now so much mush against his shoe. "Did you know I could see minds?" he asked. "I can. I can."

Medusa smiled slightly. "Really? Do tell."

He didn't need the encouragement; his voice steamrollered over hers, drowning it out. "I saw it. I saw inside Sempai's mind. All I had to do was-" Large hands made a wringing motion in the air, clutching at something only he could see. His tongue touched his lips. "His thoughts were blue. Strong blue thoughts, on wings. Always flying."

Stein grew quiet, his hands tracing the patterns of thoughts in flight in the air. "Flying . . . flying . . . ."

The childlike witch pattered over to him. One childlike hand rested on his knee; she gazed into his mad gaze with an almost predatory excitement. "And?" she coaxed.

Stein grinned, baring his canines. His sudden laugh was more like a bark of pain. "I tore their wings off. I tore their wings off and made them red." He snickered again; tracks of water began to roll from the corners of his eyes down his unshaven cheeks. "Sempai forgot to fear me. I made him remember. I made him remember fear. I gave him fear and tore his wings off and now he'll never fly again! He was my partner first! My experiment!"

One fist swung out blindly; it caught Medusa in the stomach, throwing her across the room. "He was mine and he forgot that! I made him remember! I marked him so no one could forget! I marked him with fear. I stole his wings and gave him fear to fly with!" His head lolled back bonelessly on his neck; oversized fingers made flying motions in the air above his head, flicking droplets of blood everywhere.

Medusa struggled up to her elbows, catching her breath. Amazing how much Madness ran in the man, how naturally he took to it – and how little it had taken, in the end, to push him over the edge. In the end, her snake had been erased, Marie's calming wavelength restored, and all of it for naught as soon as Ashura's Madness poured out over the world.

How much of it was natural? How much of it was Medusa's interference? Even she couldn't say at this point.

"A shame I couldn't have seen it," she murmured. She crawled back to his side, wiping salty water from his face with the backs of her tiny fingers. "I'm sure he broke just beautifully under your hands."

". . . I broke Sempai, didn't I?" Stein hiccuped. He sobbed in between bouts of sudden insane laughter, clawing at his face with bloody hands and leaving tracks of blood and tears behind. "I broke him . . . I broke him . . . ." The rambling faded into incoherent muttering; Stein rolled over onto his back and pulled another cigarette from his pack, placing it between his lips before staring at the ceiling.

Medusa smirked and licked the tears from her fingers.

Ah, her Stein.

Broken.

Triumph had never tasted so sweet.

"We're calling off the search for Stein tonight."

Sid's reflection wavered in the mirror. "Tonight, sir? Do you want me to recall the teams that are out there looking, then?"

Shinigami stared blankly back at the mirror's surface. Behind him, Azusa and Joe were finishing setup of the odd assortment of mirrors that would serve as the Death Room's consoles, feeding information directly to the deathscythes working there. "Send them home as soon as they check back in with you next. There's no sense in keeping the students volunteering in the search up any later than we have to. Especially now that we know he's gone. I'll have someone inform Marie in the morning."

"Right." The zombie glanced at his watch, then back up. "What about Crona? The trial concluded today, didn't it?"

"Ah. That." He turned from the mirror. "Guilty, of course. Unanimous verdict. Took less than an hour to come to that."

"And the sentence?"

The Reaper sighed through his mask. "The recommended sentence was . . . what I had expected, honestly. Normally it would be exile, but given the extenuating circumstances they chose to recommend execution."

Behind them, Azusa's eyes went wide. "What are you thinking, Shinigami-sama?" Sid asked.

". . . I've had several requests for clemency in the case. His friends, of course – and that includes Kid – have all put in their petitions. They're compelling in the emotional sense, but not so much in the legal sense."

"Who were the others?"

"Marie and Spirit."

Sid twitched, visibly taken aback. "Those two? After all the trouble Crona caused? The kid must be one special case if they're willing to stand up for him."

If Shinigami could have expressed amusement through the mask, he would have. "I think the actions speak more for the characters of our deathscythes than they do for Crona's. At any rate, I've decided to review the case."

"It's your decision, sir. But won't he be a liability should Medusa try to get him back again?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. There are more pressing matters to attend to. Any news on the other project I've had you on? Azusa, you might want to keep listening in."

Azusa's cheeks flushed bright red as she was caught out eavesdropping; Joe continued tinkering with the adjustable mirror stands, grinning at her. "Of course," Sid replied after a moment. "DeathScythe hasn't been to ChupaCabra's since the incident. He hasn't been to any nightclub anywhere, for that matter. He has been spending stretches of the early morning watching his daughter's apartment, but otherwise he stays inside." He flipped the pages of his notebook, scratching the back of his head with his pencil. "I don't know if I feel right doing this, Shinigami-sama. When I was alive, I gave people some privacy. That's the kind of man I was."

The Reaper folded his arms in front of him. "Then I suggest you become the kind of man that gets comfortable with being a bit nosy."

Sid shifted again – Shinigami's tone of voice suggested he would brook no argument over his qualms where his Weapon was concerned – then frowned and shuffled his notebook. ". . . I got a peek into DeathScythe's medical records like you asked." There was an indignant squawk from the Weapon sheathed at the zombie's waist. "He's lost weight. His wounds aren't healing properly. Apparently he's not sleeping right-"

A flash of light, and Nygus was standing beside him, a scowl etched upon her face behind the bandages. "Shinigami-sama, Spirit needs a mental evaluation – which I had planned to tell you tomorrow if two certain somebodies hadn't decided to butt into private records." Her glare was hot enough to melt metal. "Look, we all know Spirit. We've all seen him go through some screwed-up stuff. Not even his divorce had him this messed up, and we all know how much he loved Kami."

"He nearly took my head off today for calling him 'sempai'," Azusa added. "I've never seen him that upset. Actually, I don't think I've ever seen him truly upset like that, period."

To Shinigami's other side, Joe stepped up and regarded the others with narrowed eyes. ". . . he's lost the ability to control his own soul wavelength. With his ability to control others' wavelengths with his own, that could be dangerous."

Shinigami chuckled wearily under his breath. "And here I'd been hoping to keep this under wraps," he sighed.

"At least you two can still synchronize?" Sid offered.

The Grim Reaper looked away. "Right," he said, and there was enough uncertainty in his voice to send chills down their backs.

". . . all this talk still doesn't solve the problem, though," Azusa continued, getting the topic back on track. "Something has to be done about Spirit. He might be womanizing and unreliable and annoying as hell, but he wouldn't let any of us down if we needed him."

"Don't look at me," Joe said. "I fix machines, not people. Besides, I thought it was just a fight."

"I don't think that's all that happened." Nygus was staring back at them through the mirror, her fingers drumming a staccato beat on the glass. "If we could just get Spirit to talk . . . ."

Shinigami rubbed the side of his mask with one finger. "It's late," he finally said. "Let's get our work done and call it a night, hmm? I have the feeling tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

Nygus and Sid flashed off the mirror; Joe began gathering up his materials. Azusa frowned and began to tread off until an oversized hand on her shoulder made her stop. "Shinigami-sama?"

"I need you to substitute for me tomorrow." His gaze seemed faraway, staring at the endlessly cycling pattern of clouds that floated around his desert room. "If I don't explicitly call for someone, or give them permission to come in, they are to be barred access to the Death Room. Anything that comes up short of a direct attack by Arachnophobia or Medusa – I need you and Sid to handle it until I say otherwise. Could you do that for me?"

"I – well, yes, I suppose we could." She blinked and nervously adjusted her glasses. "It's a tall order, but if that's what you need, I'll do my best. If I can ask, though – what on earth will you be doing that's so urgent?"

Shinigami didn't even look down at her. "Taking care of something I should have long before now," he said quietly.