Surprised to see me again so soon? So am I, actually; I'm not sure if this chapter coming together so quickly is a good thing or not. The story's taken a wee bit of a shift I wasn't expecting, and while I don't think it's a bad one, I'm pretty sure it means I'll end up having to do a sequel once this story is done. Thank you to those who've reviewed- abesgoldenfriend, a random guest, L (happy belated birthday to your friend, BTW!), and star's dreams. Reviews always brighten my day, so thank you for taking the time out to send them!

No real trigger warnings for this chapter; after this it's hello, canon, let's get cozy as people start fighting, mmkay? Let me know what you think, how I can improve, or anything else, and thank you all for all your support!

Chapter 7: Remember Standing On a Broken Field

Maka Albarn stormed into class with her head low over her books; her partner Soul trailed behind, sullen and quiet. "Something wrong?" Liz Thompson asked as the scythemeister sat down. "You look like you're about to explode."

"Just the usual," Soul piped up, kicking back in his seat. "The guards wouldn't let Maka in to see Crona, and the DWMA rumor mill is going nice and steady. Some things never change."

Maka slumped even further down in her chair.

Rumors had been flying fast and thick ever since the night Stein attacked her father; normally such things died down after a time and new topics took their place. This time, however, new details kept popping up, new questions, new theories – the fact that the local news had picked up on her father's house being marked off as a crime scene had not helped, nor had the fact that the Academy had abandoned the search for their most acclaimed Meister. Rumors of an outside doctor being seen at Gallows Manor; the Reaper leaving the Academy for two days; the unexplained explosion some students heard from inside the Death Room before the Reaper vanished; everyone had their own ideas and their own theories.

Stein had been captured and was being held at the Manor. Stein had been a plant for Medusa the whole time and the Academy was now rooting out other hidden spies. Shinigami had engineered the whole thing and had sent Stein out on his own to bring down Medusa. Some of the theories were outright ridiculous – DeathScythe was dead and they were trying to hide it. Shinigami didn't have a plan and takeover by Arachnophobia was imminent.

And the most painful sentiment, one several students seemed to share – that if DeathScythe had stayed by his Meister's side during the Academy founding party, the Kishin would be dead. That he'd deserved the beating he'd received at Stein's hands.

Except if he hadn't been down there with them, Stein couldn't have kept Medusa at bay either . . . and she and her friends could have all been killed.

"Maka?" Soul's voice cut through her worrying. "You're thinking too hard again. You're gonna give yourself wrinkles doing that."

"Will not." She still gave her partner a half-smile, sitting back up. "Kid, have you heard anything about Crona?

Death the Kid shook his head, hands crossed behind his head. "Nothing," he said. "Dad hasn't been exactly open about much of anything lately, and the only time I saw him yesterday was after dinner. He hasn't said anything regarding the case."

"Did Papa say anything, maybe?" Maka asked hopefully.

"Er . . . ." Kid suddenly became intensely interested in his fingernails, which were disappointingly perfect. "Well, Maka, I didn't actually see your father yesterday."

Her head shot up, worry in her eyes; Soul looked over her head and raised an eyebrow. "He sick or something?" the scythe ventured.

"He had another weird screamy dream last night," Patty offered. Liz and Kid sat up straight in their chairs, waving their hands no at her under the desk. "I gave him Mr. Giraffe to sleep with, but I don't think he likes him much. Mr. Giraffe keeps waking up underneath a chair."

"Kid?" The tone in the scythemeister's voice was dangerous.

The young shinigami gulped.

Liz briefly laid a hand on Kid's shoulder. "Lemme handle this," she whispered, so low he could barely hear it. Louder, she said, "Patty, that wasn't DeathScythe, that was Kid. He was dreaming someone rearranged the bathroom again."

"Oooh, the really scary one. Maybe I should have given you Mr. Giraffe instead, Kid."

Soul snickered. ". . . thanks, Patty," Kid groaned.

"I think DeathScythe was just really tired yesterday, Maka," Liz continued. "Shinigami-sama has been doing extra training with him, and you know he's still healing up from that fight. Which reminds me, actually – one of the maids said he wanted one of us to give this to you." She pulled a business card out of her pocket and handed it over.

"A business card?" She flipped it over to the back and scanned the neat penmanship on the back. "Yeah, this is his handwriting. He wants to meet me for dinner tonight. Strange. Soul, do you think-"

Kid let out a sigh of relief as Maka's intense gaze fell away from them and back onto her Weapon partner. Maka didn't need to hear the truth – that her father woke the household up every night screaming, or that his own father was rarely leaving his Weapon's side for anything (even, he noted with a touch of burgeoning jealousy, his own son). She didn't need to know that the rumors, what scant few there were, were flying furious around the Manor, that something so traumatic had happened to Shinigami's Weapon partner that the two were having issues synchronizing.

She especially didn't need to know that they had gone home the night before to the sound of muffled shouting, screams that faded to sobs then into silence; that Kid had seen his father carry hers out of the master bathroom wrapped haphazardly in his cloak.

That he had seen the imprint of teeth on her father's broken body, in a place where teeth were not supposed to go.

Fingers pressed into his shoulder again and he flicked weary gold eyes up; Liz looked back down at him, concerned. "I'm fine," he said under his breath. It had actually been Liz who had clued him into the significance of a bite wound that high up on the thigh, and it was to her that he looked to for guidance now. "Are you OK?"

She nodded. "I'm fine," she said, a little too casually. The Thompson sisters' past was something that was still mostly a mystery to him, and one he didn't press upon when he could help it. They had done and seen more in their lives on the streets than he would ever know, and sometimes, like now, he was reminded of how dark and cold their lives before really were. As if sensing the turn of his thoughts, she flicked him on the nose and sat back. "Oh, hey, there's Tsubaki and Black*Star," she said loudly. "He kinda looks pissed."

"I kinda am pissed," he replied, hopping over the desks into his seat. Tsubaki trailed after him, ever polite as she passed by; she was holding a cold compress in her hand. The reason for it was obvious – Black*Star was nursing a black eye swelled to the size of a grapefruit. "I went to ask Sid for something and he went and changed his apartment lock on me!"

"Are you sure?" Maka asked, poking her head back into the conversation. "He's always made s- are you okay?!"

"Whoa," was Soul's pithy response. "Not cool, man. How'd you get a shiner like that?"

Tsubaki heaved a sigh as she sat next to her Meister and unceremoniously plopped the icepack back on his face. "Ow!" he yelped. "Watch it, that hurts!"

"He broke in anyway," she replied for him.

Patty laughed. Liz shook her head. "Didn't you learn anything from after you broke into St-" she began, then stopped awkwardly. Maka looked at her hands; Kid bit his lip.

"Nah, Sid's not a psycho like Stein," Black*Star said, oblivious. "At least, I didn't think so. Now I dunno. He turned my old bedroom into a crime lab, it's got all kinds of gross stuff in it."

"Crime lab?" Soul asked. "Wait, so the rumor's true? He's the one investigating the attack on Maka's old man? The police aren't in on it?"

The assassin nodded. "Nope, just Sid. It's just a bunch of photos and bloody clothes and shit though. Dunno what they need all that stuff for. They know who beat him up."

Liz gave Kid a knowing look.

"What were you doing in there, you idiot?" Maka snapped.

"I just said, it used to be my room. I thought I'd left some old training weights in there." He gave her a look and rolled his eyes. "Calm down. I didn't touch anything; I'm way too awesome a ninja to do something like that. Besides, Sid caught me as soon as I got in there." He shifted the icepack on his face. "And he kicked me out pretty fast after that. So I thought I'd just come to school instead."

"In other words, you had to drag him to the dispensary, huh, Tsubaki?" Liz asked.

"Well . . . ." Tsubaki hid a grin behind one hand. Black*Star grumbled under his breath, kicking his feet up on the desk. "Yeah. Pretty much."

Maka forced herself to grin as the others laughed. The others didn't pay attention to it, but she could hear the buzz of other students behind them, whispering, buzzing like insects with the new tidy bits of gossip they had gleaned from eavesdropping – more gossip and pitied looks and isolation-

"Isn't that Miss Azusa? One of the deathscythes?"

The group looked down. Azusa stood at the lectern, arms crossed over her chest. "Class Crescent Moon, your attention please," she snapped, cracking a ruler against the blackboard. Nearly everyone jumped. "Listen up, and listen well. Classes are being dismissed early today." She adjusted her glasses, taking a deep breath. "Go home, call your families, and make your preparations. Tomorrow morning, we launch our attack against Arachnophobia and the Kishin."

The hallways were nearly empty when Spirit walked through the Academy doors shortly after noon. Most of the people there were support staff, preparing for tomorrow's activities; what few students were still wandering the halls were generally young NOT students who would not be involved in the fight. The older students he sent home as he saw them – the uneasy, curious looks they gave him, and the inevitable whispering behind his back, were something he was having to work very hard to not let affect him.

Two students – a Meister and Weapon pair, in Maka's class – came jogging up to him. "Hello, ladies," he said. "Shouldn't you two be at home, getting ready?"

The Meister, a young pink-haired girl, nodded bashfully, trying not to stare at the bruising still visible on his neck. "We're on our way, DeathScythe, sir. But we were just in the Dispensary and Nygus told us that if we saw you come in, to tell you to go see her before you see Shinigami-sama. Sir."

Spirit forced a sigh, then smiled slightly at the girls; inwardly, he was cringing. "A fate worse than being sent to the principal's office," he bemoaned, eliciting a giggle from the Weapon and a smile from the Meister. "I'll do it, just so you two don't get into trouble. Now get out of here. Shoo. You shouldn't be wasting your time here, not today."

"Yes, sir," they chimed in unison, scurrying off now that their mission was complete. The deathscythe watched them go, then sighed for real and trudged in the direction they had come from. He had known this was coming, but didn't want to face it.

Shinigami knowing the truth about what had happened to him – that was one thing.

Sid and Nygus knowing was a completely different story.

Nygus was waiting for him when he arrived, her dreadlocks pulled back into a neat ponytail and a lab jacket on over her combat fatigues. "There you are, DeathScythe. Come on in. Have a seat – jacket, shirt, socks, and shoes off, please."

He closed the door behind him, just enough that the door and jamb met. "But I get to keep my tie on? You're too generous."

The sarcasm made her look up at him. Nygus would not meet Spirit's eyes; she merely glanced up at his neck before looking back at the notepad in her hands. His stomach dropped. "That comes off too, smartass," she replied, rapping him atop the head with the clipboard. ". . . do you want some privacy?"

The deathscythe closed his eyes. "It's a basic examination, isn't it?" he asked, managing to keep his voice even with a confidence he did not feel. "You're busy, and I have things to do. Let's not prolong it any more than we have to."

"Of course," she said softly. "I'll go get my things, then."

Undressing was the easy part. Sitting there alone in a room half-naked, surrounded by scalpels and medical tools – that was the hard part. He looked vulnerable – he felt vulnerable in the slight chill, bare and defenseless. If Nygus noticed how his jaw was set, or how his hands trembled so much that he had to clench his pants legs to keep them still, she didn't say anything. "Right," she said, pulling on latex gloves. "Let's take a look at your back."

There was a mirror across from him hanging on the wall; he could see himself and observe what the school nurse was doing at the same time. Spirit glanced at himself and was somehow unsurprised when a pair of mismatched gold-and-silver eyes stared back out of his own reflection. "I expect Kim and Jackie sent you here?" she asked, pressing her fingers over the healing wounds.

"The students? Yeah." DeathScythe let out a low hiss of pain as she prodded at one particularly sensitive spot. "I sent them on home as soon as they told me. I got the message at the Manor, by the way. You didn't have to send more people after me."

"Just making sure you didn't forget," she replied, her brow furrowed. "I think some of these stitches can come out. Lucky you."

"Yeah," he said. "Lucky me."

She went silent behind him; only the slight pain of threads being pulled through his flesh let him know she was working. "Sid is coming down here after I'm done," she said after a few moments, putting down her scissors.

"Sid?" A surge of panic flowed through him. "Why? What does he need?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure." A lie. Spirit hissed a breath through clenched teeth and closed his eyes. In the back of his mind, he could hear the Wolf laughing, faint little barking howls of amusement. "You shouldn't need your ribs rewrapped; has Shinigami-sama been taking care of them?"

He grunted a yes. She tapped him on the shoulder again and walked back to sit in a chair across from him. "Well, I'm done with that. You know, you'd be healing faster if you'd eat properly. Don't think I'm not tracking your weight, mister."

Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, the deathscythe relaxed his shoulders, rolling them to loosen the tension. It was a relief to be at a distance again, to not have someone hovering behind him. "Yes, Mom."

She laughed. "Hey, I call it like I see it. Pop your feet up here so I can look them over and we'll be done."

He did as instructed, wincing as she grabbed him by the ankle and poked at the sole of one tender foot. "How's your pain level when walking? Scale of one to ten?"

"Eh, five, I suppose. Six by the end of the-"

The door creaked open.

"DeathScythe?"

Sid. Nygus looked up from where she had Spirit's foot held firmly in her lap and smiled at her partner. "Come on in. I'm just finishing up."

Just like Nygus, Sid would not look him directly in the eye. His blank gaze roamed over his bruised and bandaged torso before resting on the raised scars on his back. "How're you feeling, DeathScythe?" he asked in a too-hearty-to-be-genuine voice, closing the door completely behind him.

Spirit took a deep breath. One person was bad enough; two was worse. And it was stupid, he and Sid had been friends since they were kids, but that didn't stop him from feeling overexposed, the fight or flight instinct itching at the back of his skull. "Fine," he lied, his voice far more steady than he had expected it to be. "What do you need, Sid?"

"I just have a few things I need to have clarified. I don't know if you've heard, but Shinigami-sama has me going over the evidence found in your house," he began, and Spirit had to swallow back a surge of nausea. "I've gone through most of it, but . . . I need you to ID something for me, tell me who it belongs to."

The younger man cast a wary eye at the item hanging from the other's hand. The Wolf's voice hissed in his ear, fight or run, fight or die. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Shinigami-sama in a few minutes. Can this – wait a bit?"

"It won't take but a moment." The zombie held up a large see-through plastic bag; inside it was coiled a length of leather, a silver buckle splashed with blood-

-glass digging into his back, the rustling sound of leather running through cloth, the scent of stale tobacco and rotting lotus seeds-

"DeathScythe?"

-a hand around his ankle, cool night air on bare skin, the purr of a zipper coming down-

"DeathScythe!"

Spirit didn't realize he had crawled backwards on the bed, away from them until Sid shouted his name again; his arms were crossed in front of him, scythe blades flared wide. The two stared at him in concern as he struggled to control his breathing, the blades slowly retracting. Sid and Nygus glanced at each other. "Are you all right?" Nygus asked, a bit winded – he had accidentally kicked her in the stomach in his attempt to get away.

"I," he started. His entire body trembled. Spirit closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "I – it's Stein's," he whispered in a rush.

Sid's voice, a little dubious: "Are you positive?"

Spirit's eyes burned behind the tightly closed lids. "Yes," he snarled, opening them to glare at Sid; he dashed away any shameful traces of liquid from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm positive. Do you think I could forget?"

Sid pursed his lips, pretending to not have heard the question. "I have to make sure before we test it," he said, tucking the offending bag behind him and out of sight. Nygus looked at him curiously. "I have multiple samples matching DeathScythe's DNA there; it's the other samples I have to match."

"I nearly bled out in my own house, Sid, of course-"

Those blank eyes met his for the first time; the stare was cold and distant, silently judging him. "You left more than just blood at the site, DeathScythe."

The younger man felt his heart nearly stop.

A jagged thrust. A cry of pain. Something hot splatters across his bare stomach.

"Don't feel bad, sempai. It's an automatic response to stimulation. It doesn't mean you enjoy this. Or maybe it does. That I can't tell."

His face burned crimson; he dropped his eyes to the fists curled in his lap, willing himself to stop shaking. Sid didn't believe him. That was what it came down to – whether he believed the sex was consensual or what, Sid knew the truth and didn't believe him. All because his body had betrayed him, when he'd had no control, no way to fight- and it hurt worse than if his friend had simply come up and stabbed him in the back.

"Do you need anything else?" the younger man snapped. His voice cracked, wavering between fury and an impending breakdown.

The zombie hesitated for a solid moment, then shook his head. ". . . no. I'm good for now. Sorry for – you know. This." He paused again, then nodded at Nygus (who was glaring daggers at him) and took his leave as abruptly as he entered, closing the door behind him.

"You all right, DeathScythe?"

Spirit glanced at Nygus; her face was writ with concern. "Yeah," he said. All the fight went out of him; he slumped forward, staring at the floor. "I'm- I'm sorry for kicking you like that. You're not hurt, are you?"

She offered him a half-smile. "Not a bit. Don't worry about it." A few notes were made on the chart before she pointed at his feet with her pen. "Just keep your feet bandaged and clean, and stay off them as much as you can," she said, her voice entirely too cheery. "I'll send some more pain medication to Gallows Manor for you." She stood up; a fleeting look of pity crossed her face before it was replaced with a smile. "I'll go do that now before I forget. Do you need any help getting dressed?"

"No. Go on."

She patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Don't let him get to you. He's just doing his job." She squeezed his shoulder again, affectionately, then turned and walked into the other room.

Spirit began tugging on his dress shirt. In the mirror, the Wolf winked at him, grinning. "Yeah," he said lowly, turning away. "Just doing his job."

"Another Magic Tool? Really?"

The Death Room was empty except for Kid and his father; Shinigami was back in his normal form, all jagged edges and clownish hands and empty eyes behind a static mask. The elder of the two stood in front of the largest mirror on the podium, hands clasped behind his back. "It's a shame we found out about it this late in the game, but what can you do? You will help find it for me, yes?"

Kid looked down at the paper in his hands. More secrets. More unanswered questions. The Magic Tools had almost gone forgotten in the uproar over Stein and Spirit – and now this, on the eve of the battle with Arachnophobia? The old familiar feeling of distrust crept back up over him, one he loathed, especially feeling it in connection with his father. "If you wish," he said neutrally.

"Thank you," Shinigami said, turning back around.

". . . Father?"

"Yes, son?"

The original question was going to be something about Eibon, he was sure of it, but when Kid began to talk his mind blanked and the question really weighing heaviest on his heart came out instead. "What's going on between you and DeathScythe?"

It was impossible to miss how the Reaper stiffened at that. "What . . . do you mean, Kid?" he asked carefully, turning back around.

"I-" Oh, if only he could go back in time and take his foot out of his mouth! "It just . . . it seems to me you've taken a surprising amount of interest in his well-being, is all. I know he's your primary Weapon, but . . . spending two days away from the Academy?"

"I have done that before, for longer periods of time."

"In a form outside your normal one?" Kid felt a small sense of triumph when his father turned his face away. "You always told me it was dangerous for you to spend very long in a humanoid form, because it meant your powers were suppressed! And now you go and do it right when we're about to face Arachnophobia?"

Shinigami sighed and stared down at his son, his mask blank. "If Liz or Patty or were seriously hurt, would you not do everything in your power to help them heal?"

Kid scowled. "Well, of course, but – for one, what form I take doesn't put the rest of the city at risk! And you're evading the question! Why are you doing all this? You used to do this only for-" Only for me, was what he was going to say, but trailed off. "Would you do all this for one of the other deathscythes?"

". . . ." Shinigami looked away again. "Kid, it's not-"

"Well?"

". . . no," came the reluctant answer, one that did nothing to assuage the little flare of jealousy in the boy's heart. "I wouldn't."

"Then what makes this different? What's going on?"

"What is it with you young ones and hard questions?" He looked back down at his son, golden eyes glinting out from behind the mask. "There are some things you don't understand yet, the darker side of humanity that you haven't had to experience – and if I could, I'd have it that you never would. But life isn't fair, and you'll learn of it eventually. But not today, Kid." There was a pain in his eyes that was visible even through the shadows, dark and unsettling.

Kid's mind went back to the night before, his father cradling a broken figure to his chest, carrying him like the most fragile of dolls. The wound he had seen, so intimate yet so cruel. Liz's voice as she explained, weary and sad, it's what they mean by rape, Kid.

His father's eyes after putting the restless DeathScythe to bed, the helplessness and the fury that turned normally warm golden irises cold.

Suddenly Kid thought he understood just what made this case so different.

One huge hand caressed the top of the boy's head with an infinite gentleness. "You've already had to learn too much too soon. Please don't ask me to add to it today."

The sheer earnestness in his father's voice made him relent. "So . . . I just need to get that Magic Tool, right?" he asked, giving his father a bit of a smile.

"Right," Shinigami said, bouncing backward. His entire posture changed, lifting tall and proud. "Just be careful, all right? I doubt it'll be hard for you, but still."

Kid nodded. "I won't let you down, Father."

The eyeholes of his mask curved upward in a smile. "You never do."

Thirty minutes after Kid had departed the Death Room, Spirit entered it, quiet and without his usual bluster. It was eerily quiet inside; Shinigami sat at a low Japanese-style table with his hands folded in front of him, a cup of tea long gone cold at his elbow. He didn't even look up until his Weapon was almost on top of him. "-Spirit!" he said, a bit too cheerfully. "How was your checkup?"

". . . fine." Which, of course, meant that something had gone wrong. The deathscythe sat down on one of the overstuffed cushions and stretched his legs out before taking up a sheaf of papers from the edge of the table. "Azusa has everyone's travel preparations taken care of?"

The Reaper nodded. "A few nations squawked about our disrupting air traffic, but we've got flights booked for every group. You'll probably have to smooth some things out in the morning when they get moving." DeathScythe snorted in amusement. Death City was a nation-state much like the Vatican; unlike the Vatican, however, it had a lot more pull with organizations such as NATO and the UN. Those who thought his job was to stand around and wait for things to happen had never been around to listen to him negotiate students crossing borders between hostile nations, or coordinate with various military organizations. "The Brazilian government is still not happy about Rio de Janeiro's airport being completely rerouted, and Tezca still won't answer my calls. Expect a lot of complaining from them."

"They always complain whenever we move down there. That's nothing new." Spirit poured himself a cup of hot tea, paused, then refreshed his Meister's glass as well.

"So . . . how did the exam really go, Spirit?" Shinigami slid a tin of aspirin across the table, along with a plate of tea sandwiches.

He dryswallowed two of the pills, added a third, and picked at a croissant. "Sid stopped by," he finally muttered.

That provoked an aggravated sigh. "I thought I told him to wait and do that here," the elder being growled under his breath. "How-"

"I panicked," Spirit replied in a monotone. He continued to dissect his pastry layer by layer. "I panicked from seeing a fucking belt in a baggie. I'm pretty sure they're going to recommend you commit me before the day's over."

Shinigami buttered another croissant, added jam, placed it in front of his Weapon, and brushed the remains of the shredded one off into a saucer. "You're getting over a traumatic event, Spirit, not crazy. There's a difference. Now eat your food instead of playing with it."

He raised an eyebrow, finally sipping at his tea. "'Getting over a traumatic event'?" Spirit bit into the pastry. "Is that the euphemism we're using today? I kind of like it. It's very politically correct."

Shinigami smacked him in the head.

Spirit nearly choked on his food, thumping himself in the chest and swallowing painfully. "Ow! What was that for?!" he demanded when he could speak.

The Reaper shook his head. "Politically correct? Really?"

Spirit began to retort, then stopped. His Meister was too quiet, too solemn, watching him with his head propped up in one cartoonishly large hand and barely touching his beloved high-grade green tea. His soul wavelength was even off; instead of feeling powerful, with that slight edge of the abyssal that always seemed to follow him, he felt . . . tired. Distant. Shoving his own concerns to the side, the deathscythe leaned forward to look underneath his Meister's mask."Shinigami-sama, what's wrong? Something's getting to you. You're acting off."

"You have enough going on, Spirit." He dodged, turning away before he could see under the mask. "I don't need to be burdening you further."

"Yeah, because I've been nothing but a burden to you and that's totally fair." Faded blue eyes turned hard with concern. "Let me be of some use to you."

"It's nothing-"

Spirit touched the edge of the Reaper's glove with his fingertips – a bold move on his part, considering. "Please?"

Shinigami bowed his head. "I spoke with Kid before you came in," he said. "It made me think about . . . well, about a lot of things. I worry about him. I worry about – all of you."

"That's normal," he replied. "You think I'm not terrified? With my Maka helping to lead the charge on Baba Yaga Castle? Kid's your son. It's natural for you to be worried. I'd be more concerned if you weren't."

"It's not just that," the elder being confessed. He reached up and tilted the mask back, exposing a face drawn and haggard from worry. "There are so many uncertainties. If the Magic Tools don't work the way they should-"

"-then I'll find that Eibon and kick his ass from here to Antarctica."

His lips twitched upwards in the hint of a smile. "It's not just that. I keep thinking about if," he continued, "if something . . . goes wrong. Ashura was my friend once, long ago. I've had many, many friends I've had to bury over the centuries." Ancient grief dulled his eyes. "I'm tired, Spirit. I dread the thought of having to do it again."

"But Ashura-"

Shinigami shook his head, shoulders slumped in defeat. Age seemed to weigh upon his ageless features, painful and bitter. "I don't mean Ashura. He lost his chance at compassion when he escaped. I'm afraid we'll go into battle and I'll fail. I'll fail you all." He hesitated. "And I'll lose – someone else."

Spirit stared at his Meister for several long moments before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You're an idiot, Shinigami-sama," he said, not unkindly.

"What?"

"Maka is strong and stubborn and beautiful like her mother. That idiot she's partnered with won't let her down, no matter how I hate to admit it." He stared down at his hands, expression unreadable. "Black*Star is insane, but he's got more power than any other Meister in the school, and Tsubaki is his better half. Kid? He's you, in miniature, with two of the toughest street kids I've ever seen backing him up. You have the best students, the best staff, and they're willing to fight no matter how scared they get.

"You've got the Demon Sword and Marie out to cut that witch Medusa a new one. Justin's a one-man army. Azusa's a logistical genius."

Spirit swallowed hard, then shrugged, managing a small, heartfelt smile. "And you got me. I won't lie, I'm terrified – for all the same reasons you are, and then some. I can't sleep, I'm scared of my own shadow, and I still can't say S- Stein's name without wanting to throw up." He trembled; the smile faded a bit. "I'm so scared I won't be strong enough, or that I'll fail you – that someone will get hurt because I screw up, or worse. And I don't even want to think about my baby girl taking on Ashura. I'm her father. I am going to protect her. This is the world my Maka is going to grow up in, and I won't let anyone take that away from her. Not without a fight."

"Spirit . . . ."

Spirit held a hand out to his Meister. "If it's suddenly become weak to be uncertain about everything, then at least we can be weak together, huh?"

Shinigami smiled bright, encapsulating his Weapon partner's hand in both of his huge ones. "Yeah," he said, his voice tremulous in gratitude. "That we can."