And greetings again, gentle reader! Turns out not having canon to follow didn't make it any easier to write after all; it just made it easier to get off-track and lose focus. Oops. For a while I got overwhelmed with ideas, some of which I had to table for later (if there's a sequel to this fic, it'll have plenty of action) and some which had to be reworked and/or saved for later chapters. Thanks to ImJustthatAnimeFan, L, Ice Dragon, Numbah12, rebecca taylor, Tree Wood, and abesgoldenfriend for their reviews here and to all those cheering on Tumblr! If you ever want to see how berserk and stupid my creative process gets, tumblr would be the place to go, as I tend to liveblog as I write.

As usual, read, review, tell me what you think! This chapter's a bit of a roller coaster emotionally - next one's going to be a bit more . . . straightforward, I think. Maybe. We'll see.

Chapter 12: Broken Wing

The cell door creaked open, flooding the tiny cramped space with light; Stein didn't lift his head as Marie entered the room and hung a little gas lamp on the wall. "Hey," she said softly. "I brought you dinner. It's just an MRE, but it's better than nothing."

"Leave it."

"I'll do no such thing." The petite deathscythe made a face. "For one, how are you going to eat when you're all bound up like that?" The bonds - the same kind as Medusa wore during her captivity – slid off him at that; Marie rolled her eye heavenwards and sighed as she sat down. "Oh for – fine. Just put them back on before the guards do their rounds later tonight, OK? I really don't want to get into trouble again."

He grunted his assent and slipped the MRE package from her hands. ". . . Crona's healing well. Faster than he should be, but that's probably the black blood," she said as he tore into one pouch and listlessly shoveled the bland food into his mouth. "He's been asking about you. A lot of the kids have. Kim Diehl said to tell you 'everyone misses you', which I'm pretty sure means she has a crush on you." Stein paused long enough to stare at her from under his ragged mop of hair. "Oh, come on. I think it's cute."

"Cute." He grabbed a bottle of water and popped the cap off, chugging down half of it before looking her in the eye. "How are they?"

"Shell-shocked. Even the EAT students who've been in heavy situations before are having a hard time coping, I think." She brushed her hair back out of her face. "Not that this is easy for anyone to deal with. The UN and NATO have been offering assistance. Our medical division is tied up with all the other sites, but they're supposed to reconvene here once Shinigami-sama takes the city back to where it belongs."

The scientist tossed the empty MRE pack aside, his gaze dropping to the side. "Has there been any change in Sem- in Spirit's condition?"

Marie hesitated, then shook her head. ". . . no." The man slouched against the wall, picking open a square of chocolate with ragged fingernails. "Kami arrived this morning. She's going to be staying with Maka until Spirit recovers."

"I take it by the lack of screaming outside that no one's informed her of what transpired between Spirit and myself," he said, his voice wooden.

"No," she repeated. "No one knows. I – Sid wants to talk to you sometime."

"You mean interrogate."

"He wants to talk to you about what happened." She draped her arms over her knees. "Shinigami wants to formally arrest you now, but Sid says there's an issue because Spirit never actually made a report to law enforcement about – you know."

The bar of chocolate dropped to the ground. "He never told anyone . . . ?"

She shook her head. "He's never actually said anything to anyone about it, except maybe Shinigami-sama."

"I shouldn't be surprised," he said softly when no other answer came forth from her. "But for some reason I am. It doesn't make sense."

A heavy hand rapped at the door. "- guess my time's up," she said. Stein looked at her, his gaze distant, and nodded as he shifted the restraints back around himself to look as though he were still bound up. "Just hang in there, OK? All you have to do is tell everyone the truth. Nothing to worry about, I promise. I'll see you first thing in the morning." She fondly kissed the top of his head, smiling as his stubbled chin grazed against her cheek. "Maybe in the meantime I can convince them to get you a bath. You stink."

Teasing, of course. With Marie, it was easy to tell – she wore her emotions openly. Giving her the barest hint of a smile, Stein settled back against the wall and narrowed his eyes against the flash of light as she exited. He slipped loose of the restraints again and felt around for the sweet he had dropped, popping it into his mouth and biting down on it, grit and all.

"Tell the truth." Stein cranked the screw in his head until the metal screeched against bone, the sound reverberating in the tiny cell, and barked a short laugh. "You don't know what you're asking of me, Marie."

Consciousness is a tiny light, elusive and fleeting, always dancing through the shadows just beyond the reach of his fingertips.

"Geez, Maka, you're going to go cross-eyed if you stare at that book like that any longer."

"Already told her that. I think she's gone deaf in one ear or something."

"Ha, ha, ha. Real funny, you two. Now move, you're blocking my light."

At times voices filter through, the whispers of reality carried in on the winds of a dream, forgotten as soon as they pass.

"Did they say anything, Mama? How's Papa doing?"

". . . the same as he was yesterday. I'm sorry, dear."

A snippet of conversation, a few words, and the light fades again.

"Father, you should be resting! You're barely able to move, much less-"

"I can rest here, Kid."

"But-"

"No buts. You didn't leave your friends' sides until they were safe. I'm not leaving his."

He throbs in time with the light, rising and falling, until-

A viper's grin above him. Cigarette ashes, the glow of hot embers. Fire pulses, flickers. Moves lower.

The scent of flesh burning.

A hand reaches down-

"STOP!"

Immediately a gentle hand touched his wrist, guiding his arm back down. "Spirit," a familiar voice soothed. "Spirit, calm down. You were having a bad dream."

Hazy blue eyes blinked slowly before he tilted his head back, letting out a shaky breath. The night terror had sunk back to the dark recesses of his mind. The only image it had left behind was an ashy red light dancing above him, but there was nothing there now except a heart monitor pulsing steadily, a pair of IV bags hanging above it. Cracked ceiling tiles, a curtain around the bed he lay in, rain pounding against the window . . . "Dispens'ry?" he croaked, his speech slurred.

"You always were the observant one," the voice said again, amused, and recognition flashed through him like a thunderbolt. He turned his head to the right and there she was – long blonde hair and dark, narrowed eyes that tilted up at the corners, a worried smile touching her lips, lovely as ever, unfairly perfect - "Kami," he whispered, holding his fingers out towards her.

"Hey." She peeked around the curtain and said something unintelligible to someone behind it before leaning forward, taking his calloused hand in her small one and squeezing it once. "Don't try to talk too much. You've got an NG tube in – if your throat hurts, that's why – and-"

"How'd y' . . . get here s' fast?"

His ex-wife stared down at their hands and briefly chewed on her lower lip. "Spirit," she began, "I've – Shinigami-sama can explain this better than I can. I bet you're thirsty – do you want some water?"

A nod, and she held a glass of ice water up to his dry, cracked lips, propping his head up with her other hand. "No straws, sorry," she murmured as he took a few awkward sips. Water droplets spilled from the corners of his mouth as he tried to drink too fast, dripping down through the sparse red stubble on his chin to spatter on his bandaged chest. He choked; she pulled the glass away with a frown. "Slow down, Spirit! It's not going to run away from you!"

"Sorry," he managed through the spasming coughs, every movement making him wince in pain.

Kami rubbed his neck as he hacked up the fluid, his face turning pale and lips turning slightly blue from the effort. "Do you need oxygen? Are you all right?"

Spirit shook his head and waved her away as the spasm abated. "'m fine." He reached a weak hand up to wipe the water away. The back of his hand was bruised, the bones prominent even through the tape that held the IV secure. After a moment of panting he turned back to her, his eyes disturbingly aware. "How long've you been here?"

She heaved a sigh; the woman reluctantly withdrew her touch, letting him lay his head back on the nest of pillows. " . . . I got here two days after the Kishin was defeated. You were already in a coma when I got here." Kami looked down at her hands where she'd bitten the nails down to the quick. "That was over two weeks ago."

A sharp inhale of breath. " . . . two weeks?" he managed.

"Closer to three, actually." An elegantly gloved hand reached around the curtain and pulled it back, admitting a pale, thin figure in a suit; striped black-and-white hair hung limply around his face, and his golden eyes had lost much of their shine. "You were far more injured than you let on, Spirit," Shinigami said, his voice weary.

"I haven't told him yet," she said, looking up at the Reaper. Spirit's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Nothing?"

She shook her head; he sighed and waved a hand back towards the door. "I'll take care of it. You'd better go tell Maka he's awake, yes? She may be in the cafeteria with her friends."

Spirit's voice stopped her halfway. "Will y' come back? Kami?"

The look she gave him was almost pitying. "Don't worry," she said, slipping past the curtain. "Maka and I will be back soon."

As soon as the door had clicked shut, the deathscythe turned his tired gaze towards his Meister. ". . . she doesn' know, does she."

"No." Shinigami nudged Spirit aside and sat down on the edge of the hospital bed. His eyes were clouded over, almost wet; the scowl he wore wavered. One gloved hand reached out and gently laid fingertips against the younger man's jaw. "I swear, if you ever do anything that stupid again, Spirit Albarn, I will kill you, drag your soul back from hell, and kill you again."

Spirit huffed a laugh – only briefly, as the movement sent shooting pains through his chest. "'s a helluva thank-you," he croaked.

"I'm not going to thank you for trying to get yourself killed." His deep voice was deathly serious. "Your heart stopped three times! I thought I was going to lose you!"

"'s my job t' protect you," DeathScythe said slowly, shaking his head. "Not lettin' m' best friend get himself killed."

The Reaper made a soft choking sound at that, lowering his hand to cover his Weapon's. ". . . I probably would have died if you hadn't stepped in," he admitted. "But . . . the damage to you . . . ." His misty golden eyes strayed up over the younger man's heavily bandaged chest to his left shoulder – to the smooth, bandaged stump where his arm prematurely terminated just below the shoulder joint.

Spirit's gaze followed his Meister's; faded eyes grew wide in shock and he jerked away, reaching up with a now-trembling hand to feel the area where his left arm had been amputated. "H-how?" he choked out.

"Ashura's last attack. There was too much damage – they couldn't reattach it." Shinigami lowered his head, a hitch in his voice. "I'm so sorry."

There was silence for several long minutes, anxious breathing and little hisses of pain, before his good hand fell back at his side. "Still feel it," Spirit said. His voice was distant, the shock settling in. "I can feel m' fingers movin'. Just feels like . . . m' arm shrank a few inches. S'weird." He winced as the muscles in his shoulder spasmed. "Burns."

"Phantom limb. It's not uncommon – I'll make sure they give you something for the pain." Golden irises dulled to a sickly yellow-grey as they stared into that guileless face. "I-"

Those faded blue eyes, already pained and haunted, fixed the Reaper in a flat gaze. "Will I still be able t' . . . be your deathscythe?"

"Who else am I going to get to dance with all those emissaries for me?"

The corners of Spirit's parched lips turned up slightly; he rolled his eyes. "Y' know what I mean."

The Reaper swallowed hard, gloved hands wringing together nervously. "It's – it's too soon to say, Spirit. Your – injury – may not have an effect on your Weapon form, but we won't know for sure until you've healed. The fact that you are a deathscythe will most likely work in your favor, though." He gave his friend a tight smile, unwilling to let show how much that question worried him. "You've always excelled at form manipulation. If it does have an effect, then we'll find a way to work with it."

Spirit glanced away uncertainly; his fingers picked at a loose thread on the edge of his thin hospital blanket. "You're my partner, Spirit. I'm not going to toss you out because of a little setback like this," Shinigami said.

DeathScythe didn't even look up. "Wouldn' blame y' if y' did," he murmured quietly, and the sincerity in his voice was heartwrenching to hear.

Sighing, Shinigami pretended to ignore the words. "Do you need anything? Water? They'll take the NG tube out later; I'm not sure when-"

"'m fine." He turned back to his Meister. "What else'd y' wanna tell me? Can't be any worse'n this, right?"And damn him, but there was still the faintest thread of hope in his voice, even after everything he had been through – the desperate hope of someone clinging to the edge.

For a moment he paused. Spirit watched him, thin and fragile under the bandages, cheeks gaunt, eyes sunken in, looking for all the world so delicate that he would shatter at a touch. Just a month ago he had been strong, his effervescent personality a relief from the burdens that weighed him down. Now . . . .

Shinigami slipped long gloved fingers through his Weapon partner's hair, tucking it back behind his ear. It was wrong to hold the information back. Stein was there and it was only a matter of time before the younger man sensed his soul wavelength. He couldn't keep that fact hidden forever. Spirit would never forgive him for hiding it; the reasons screamed through his mind and yet – "It can wait," he finally said, his voice low and gentle. "Rest for now, Spirit. I'll keep you safe."

"You have activated the Lines of Sanzu, young master. A rather impressive feat, if I may say so."

Kid's head snapped up; he jerked away guiltily from the controls to the Death City robot, narrowing his eyes at the silent intruder. "You – you're Eibon, aren't you? One of Father's old associates?"

The elder being inclined his head slightly. Eibon loomed over Kid, still as a statue; how the enormous being had managed to move in complete silence with the layers of heavy clothing he encased himself the young shinigami could not figure out. "And you are Death's youngest child. We are well-met. May I be of assistance?"

"I did have some – wait, what?" The empty room echoed with his surprised yelp. "What do you mean, I'm his youngest child? I'm his only child!"

Eibon was silent for several moments behind his helmet before he inclined his head again. "My statement does not logically negate yours. Being an only child would automatically make one the youngest." He paused. "And the oldest." Another pause; the Great Old One shifted himself as if sitting down, although even then he was still taller than the boy. "I regret if my phrasing caused any distress."

The young shinigami eyed him dubiously before sitting down in the pilot's chair to face the other. ". . . never mind that for now," he said, his eyes troubled. "What do you know of the Lines of Sanzu?"

"The Lines of Sanzu are the mark of a true shinigami," Eibon recited. "Before activation the nascent shinigami is in a state of Kun, of the Earth. Activation marks the Transition from one shinigami to another. Assuming the adolescent shinigami does not fall into the ninth state of the eight trigrams, both heir and sire will wax and wane in the natural time. Full activation marks a state of Qian, of Heaven, and the completion of the cycle."

"Transition? Cycle?"

". . . Milord Death has not spoken of this to you?"

Impeccably manicured fingers dug into the faux leather of the seat. "No. He hasn't. I thought he was done keeping secrets from me." Kid flashed angry eyes up at the former Meister. "What do you mean by transition?"

With a sigh, Eibon shook his ponderous head. "If he has not seen fit to enlighten you, then it is not my place to do so either. Forgive me."

Kid grunted and scuffed his shoes against the cold stone floor. "Perhaps there is something else I can assist you with?" the ancient being offered.

"Well, there is one thing I was curious about." The young man rubbed the back of his head. "When Father used BREW . . . why did he not just use it to free his soul from this place? The only reason he locked his soul here in the first place was to keep Ashura in check!" His shoulders slumped against the chair; one hand flicked idly at a joystick, causing the room to shudder slightly. "It's not right that the only way he can get out is through this thing."

"That was his initial wish." Eibon waved a hand over the console, steadying it. "Regretfully, BREW was not strong enough at the time to overcome the bond his soul had made. This earth has been incorporated into his soul for so long . . . . Time was of the essence. BREW responded as best it could to his heart's true desire."

Golden eyes regarded the being for a moment, the frown creasing his brow just like his father's world-wearied one. "'Was'? Could it break that bond now?"

The Great Old One paused to stare down at him. No eyes were visible, and yet the intensity of the stare was palpable in the darkness, the chill as his soul was examined with a clinical coldness. "Why do you wish for Milord Death's freedom, young master?" he asked.

"Because he's my father!" Kid drew himself up, sullen and distant, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. "Because he deserves to be happy. He gives and he gives and I always demand he give more."

"You feel guilt for doubting his motives over collecting the Magic Tools." A shadow fell over the boy. "BREW is not a gift you can use to assuage your guilt, Death the Kid. Use comes only from truly selfless desire, and yours is not." The voice grew warmer. "Though it is admirable that you wish for the sake of another."

Kid sighed. "Not admirable enough, apparently."

". . . it may be possible to dissolve Death's link to this soil." One huge armored hand rested atop the young shinigami's head for a brief moment. "As you wax in your Transition, so too does your father wane. His bond loosens even as we speak. BREW may be able to disconnect him from these chains, if not permanently, then for periods of time. There are many who would be served well by his freedom; if I am to be in his thrall, then it behooves me to at least try. And his wish is still in place." Eibon drew in a deep breath. "There is but one thing I ask in return, if I may be so bold, young master."

"Of course. If I can, I'll try."

"Your father is not the only one who desires freedom." Kid's eyes widened as the elder being turned to fade back into the shadows. "I bound myself to BREW as punishment for my mistakes. But this world does not need BREW, and I long to reunite with my beloved at the end of all things. So I ask you, child of Death – find a way to destroy it. Find a way to set me free."

"Well? What do you think?"

Sid stood at the cell door with his arms crossed over his chest, Marie next to him. "It's a good opportunity, Stein," she said.

Shinigami had announced that he would be moving the DWMA back to its rightful place that evening – rumor had it, correctly, that he had been waiting for Spirit's condition to stabilize – and the last of the NATO troops were pulling out before the move began. NATO's medical teams had been a tremendous help during the aftermath of the battle, but their supplies were nearly gone, and Brazil was giving off some not-so-subtle hints about moving the giant city out of their territory. The problem that left was a shortage of qualified medical staff to tend to those still held in the Dispensary.

A shortage that could be eased quite a bit by one man – one who was still being held in a cell on unspecified charges.

Stein looked back up at them, nicotine-stained fingers twitching to hold a cigarette. "And Shinigami really wants me to help the medical staff?"

". . . you won't be allowed to attend to DeathScythe," Sid amended. "And you'll have to have one of us accompanying you at all times. Otherwise, you'll be given relatively free reign."

"In other words, they're desperate for help."

"Stein." Marie shot him a dirty look, eyebrows furrowed. She sighed and spread her hands. "Yes, we need all the help we can get. So do you, in case you haven't noticed. Helping us might show Shinigami-sama you're not under Medusa's influence anymore. You lost a lot of trust from the staff – we need to rebuild that."

The scientist looked down at the dusty stone floor; his left hand came up and cranked the screw on his head back a few more notches. "You're right. I'm sorry, Marie." His rueful smile split his lips in an almost ghastly way. "Think they'll let me have a pack of cigarettes if I behave myself?"

The deathscythe smiled. Sid shook his head, trying not to look amused. His faux reluctance had disarmed them; while the zombie kept his eyes on him as he unfolded himself and got to his feet, it was observation based more out of duty than suspicion.

On the outside, he was calm and studied; inside, Stein's nerves were on edge, guts twisting into knots.

Sempai, he thought as the doors closed behind him. I'm coming, Sempai.

I have to see what I've done to you.

Spirit was asleep again (after a rather tearful reunion with his daughter – Shinigami hadn't stayed around for that once Kami had joined in, feeling rather like an intruder in their odd little family moment), and having reassurance that all preparations were made and everything was in order, he was now back in the vault in the depths of the city, sitting before the controls of his Death City robot, preparing to take them all home.

". . . well, it was nice while it lasted," he said wistfully, cracking his huge hands before placing them on the shift stick. "I'm going to miss the rain, though."

"I take it that means you enjoyed your trip, milord?" Eibon stepped out of the shadows behind him, hands clasped respectfully behind his back.

The Reaper chuckled. "I was wondering when you were going to pop out. Just because you're linked to BREW don't have to stay inside that old thing all the time, you know."

"It is . . . an old habit, I suppose. And those are notoriously hard to break."

"True." Leaning back in his chair, the elder being regarded his old companion for a moment, before releasing a long breath. "I owe you an apology, you know. One that's been long overdue."

If Eibon could have blinked, he would have. "Milord?"

"When your wife passed away. I was . . . less than understanding." Shinigami paused, then shook his head. "I didn't understand why a mortal would hold such a place in your heart, or why you would try to break your vows as one of my compatriots for a single life. I should have at least made an effort to see things from your perspective instead of dismissing it as folly." He shifted the controls forward; the city rocked once, then settled as it began to move forward, taking them out of the area.

For a moment Eibon was silent. "So you're saying you understand it now?"

"Far better than I ever thought I would."

Again the younger of the two was silent. When he did speak, humor tinted his voice. "I never thought I'd see the day when Death fell in love with a human. You used to think so little of them."

"A lot has changed since the old days, Eibon. It took humans to teach me what it was I lacked. Even with Kid." The wistfulness in his voice was palpable. "I made so many mistakes with Ashura, so I created Kid right. Started him as an infant instead of in a fully mature body. And then I realized I had no idea what to do with a baby." He laughed. "My Weapon – Spirit – I don't know that Kid would have survived if he hadn't been around to help me out, much less turned out as well as he had. It took Ashura over a hundred years to begin to Transition. Kid's only fifteen, and look at him."

Eibon's enormous head tilted back, studying the ceiling – searching through the hundreds of soul wavelengths in the city above them. "Does your Spirit know of your feelings?"

". . . he doesn't know. He can't." Shinigami let his proud stance slump, resting his head in his hands. "Not after what Stein did to him. Not that I ever even expected for him to know, but – you can feel it in his soul wavelength. I can move mountains, direct souls to the afterlife; I have control over the lives of every being on this planet; and I can't do something as simple as heal one broken soul."

A metal-encased hand rested on his shoulder briefly. "That's the magic behind love, milord Death. It is stronger than any of us. And it can heal where no other power can." His echoed voice was gentle. "It just takes a lot of patience. Don't give up on happiness yet, not for him or for you. It may take time, but I think you'll find that even the most broken of souls can heal."

The convalescence room was dark, illuminated only by the LCD display of the heart monitor as its green light steadily monitored Spirit's heartbeat. The city's movement had set off alarms everywhere, and unsecured medical supplies had gone flying off their shelves; Marie was collecting them and Sid was off securing the alarms and reassuring the students. Sid trusted Marie to look after Stein . . . and Marie trusted Stein to behave.

He almost felt bad about breaking her trust like this. Almost.

His footsteps silent, Stein slunk around the edge of the bed to stand next to his former partner. Spirit was fast asleep, a pillow braced under the stump of his left shoulder to keep him from rolling over onto it. His face was drawn, cheeks hollow and eyes sunken in; the scientist lifted up his chart and held it under the glow of the monitor to read it. A total of seven broken ribs, five of which had needed metal plates to stabilize. Broken left collarbone and scapula. Traumatic amputation of the left arm at the shoulder. Concussion, minor subdural hemorrhage, resolved on its own. Punctured lung. Bruised liver. Below that, an annotation of injuries – the injuries Stein himself had given the man. The cuts and bite wounds, burns and-

Stein let the clipboard slip from his fingers to the floor; it hit with a loud clatter.

". . . who's there . . . ?"

Sleepy blue eyes fluttered open. Frozen in place, Stein turned his startled gaze down at the man lying in bed. "Shinigami? 'zat you?" Spirit murmured, raising his remaining hand to rub at his eyes. "I was-"

Grey-gold eyes met faded blue. What little color was in Spirit's face faded away; his jaw worked, terrified little gasps escaping, but no real sound coming out. "N- n-"

"Sempai."

"No. N-n-no, no-" Spirit curled inward on himself protectively, hand clawing at his hair, drawing in breath to scream.

Before he could make more than a few whimpers, Stein leaned forward and pressed a finger against the older man's lips. Spirit immediately went quiet, his body trembling uncontrollably at the touch. "Don't say a word, Sempai," he whispered. "I wasn't here. Do you understand?"

Spirit held his breath and nodded, once, tears beginning to spill from wide, terrified eyes down his gaunt cheeks. "Good," Stein managed. He took his hand away. The other man flinched, drawing himself in tighter despite the pain the movement caused; he stepped backwards from the bed and didn't turn away until he had reached the door frame.

The door closed on the sound of quiet, terrified sobbing.

Stein grasped hold of the screw in his head and cranked it until it burned, trying to shut out the scene he had just been privy to. The power, the sheer control, the fear . . . before, when he had let the Madness take control, it would have been a triumph.

Now it only made him want to scream.