Note: I do not own the song End Of The Day, it belongs to Amon Tobin. I also do not own Soul Eater or any of it's characters, it belongs to Atsushi Okubo. Please do remember while reading that I do not share the point of view of some characters. I wanted to be as accurate as possible for the time period, so there will be some offensive slurs and close-mindedness. If you still wish to continue, please enjoy!
Solomon is his name now, the name he's kept for the past six years, because Soul is just freaky. Boys named Soul don't get to eat, and they certainly don't get to exist without being tormented. He should just forget his given name, but sometimes, when he feels it slip away, he starts to panic, grasps onto it like a lifeline. Why is his past self even remotely important to him?
"Manny, quit your dilly-dallyin' or so help me-"
"Yes sir. Sorry sir." He sinks his shovel into partially frozen dirt and silently curses to hell the man in charge of him. His name isn't Manny, he doesn't belong here, he just wants some damn dinner and then he can be on his way..
"Marco, git over by Manny over there, start diggin'!" Great. Now he has to deal with some rude kid who thinks the world owes them something. He doesn't understand why nobody knows how to suffer in silence..
"Hi there Manny. What brings you round here?" Who is this shmuck? Why is he trying to converse? Can't they just dig in silence, get their damn meals, and leave each other in peace?
"Look kid, I dunno if you're lookin' for a friend or what, but if you are, you're lookin' in the wrong pl- ow! The hell was that for for?" Marco glares, expression colder than the frost beneath their ill-dressed soles, shovel still poised behind Soul's knees. Soul can't actually make eye contact, stares at the dirt as it gives underneath his frustrated thrusts of his shovel. He watches the way his breath puffs in front of him like smoke, rhythmic and soothing. He just needs to get through this day, avoid this kid's gaze(and shovel), get his damn dinner and hop the next train outta this wasteland.
"I just thought that maybe this whole situation would be better if I had a friend. Guess I'll be looking elsewhere." No. Those other guys will eat this kid alive, Soul can't let that happen.
Why do I care?
He doesn't know. Just knows that this kid probably does not deserve the abuse he will receive if Soul lets him wander around like a motherless lamb.
"Wait, I'm sorry, just ain't ahh.. used to friendly people is all. My name, s'not Manny, it's.. it's Solomon. You're Marco?" Soul still can't quite look at this guy, but civilized communication is a good start. He'll work up to eye contact, but it's been a few years since he has exercised the skill.
"Yeah. Marco.. It's fine, Solomon." Marco says, and when Soul finally musters up enough courage to look at this kid in the face, Marco's sporting a warm smile, eye's lost under too long, ashy blond hair, hand outstretched as an offering of peace. Soul almost smiles back, because kindness is rare and he's thankful for it, but instead he keeps his expression indifferent and takes the offered hand. It's sort of small, fingers thin and blunt at the tips, skin far too soft to belong to a seasoned worker. Marco is definitely new to this lifestyle..
"How'd you end up out here?" Soul inquires quietly as they resume their digging, careful to keep his teeth hidden from sight. No need to frighten the kid, Soul is the least Marco has to worry about.
"My ma- uhm, my mother was a nurse, she got real sick though and passed away. Pa was killin' himself to make enough to get enough food for the both of us… So I left. Figured it would help him out, and I'm an adult now anyhow so.." Ah.. so that explains the hand-me-downs. Worn out black trilby, too long dark slacks, white shirt and waistcoat beneath a threadbare suit jacket. This kid had it pretty good growing up, but the Depression wrecked his life. Hell, Soul grew up as an orphan and even he hasn't quite gotten used to this barren life. Something twinges painfully in his chest, and he scowls, putting more force behind his shoveling.
"That sounds rough.. Sorry to hear it." Soul is still trying to figure out whether or not he meant those words when Marco asks him something that makes his less-bitter-than-usual mood go sour in a flash.
"How'd you find yourself here?" Soul's stomach lurches. No one had ever cared enough to ask before, so he had never though out a proper response, and he can't tell the truth because then the snake woman may find him.. Maybe if he pretends he didn't hear?
"…Solomon?" Damn, that option is out. Plan B it is. Be an ass.
"Don't wanna talk about it, leave it be," he spits, and prepares himself for another whack in the back of his knees, but it never comes.
"Well I told you my story. Only seems fair you tell me yours, tit for tat." God, this guy was insistent, why did he care so much?
"You didn't have to tell me, you chose to, just like I'm choosing not to right now. Talk about somethin' else or don't talk at all, don't make a difference to me." Soul risks a glance back at Marco, who looks far more melancholy than before. It's your fault, you asshole, he was just tryin' to be friendly.
For the first time in years, Soul feels guilty. His insides twist uncomfortably at the thought… a conscience would get him killed around here. Why should this guy's feelings matter to him?
Marco doesn't speak for the rest of the day.
When their work is finally finished, they collect their dinner of bread and broth, and each person heads off to wherever it is they've chosen to lay their head at night. Soul is preparing to set up in the woods, but he catches a hostile group of boys out of the corner of his eye. Normally, he would mind his own damn business, but he catches a glimpse of that boy who introduced himself earlier in the middle of the group of hostiles. It makes him far angrier than it should. His teeth grind painfully as he clenches his jaw in poorly contained rage.
He stalks toward the group, head down and shoulders narrowed. It isn't difficult to slip into the group, and he catches a few words here and there.
"Hey, you come with me, I gotta nice tent you can stay in," One greasy looking boy sneers, violence shining in his eyes.. Soul's blood rages in his veins, he feels murderous, these people had no shame, how dare they?
He pretends not to notice the look of absolute relief when Marco catches sight of him, simply walks up to the lanky boy dressed up in a man's clothes, grasps his arm in a calloused hand, and mutters under his breath, "You need to get out of here, come with me, now." Soul is more than a little surprised when Marco follows him easily, but chooses not to question it. The boys they left behind call out slurs like 'Nancy boys!', and toss threats around freely, but Soul knows that none of them have the gall to follow up on their sick promises, not if their target makes itself tougher to hit...
Soul is also excellent at hiding, which helps.
When they're out of earshot, and can no longer be seen by others, Soul let's go of Marco's arm and apologizes quietly. Marco tells him there's no need to apologize, really.
"Thanks Solomon.. not quite used to it around here.." Marco has the grace to look mildly embarrassed, which frustrates Soul to no end.
"It don't take a genius to see that. Ever heard of self-preservation, Marco? God damn.."
"Well, not everyone around here is bad! What about you? You seem alright to me. When you're not bein' a wet blanket.." Soul splutters indignantly, and Marco chuckles, "You make a real funny face when embarrassed you know." Marco laughs harder as Soul's face gets increasingly red, but chooses not to say anymore. Poor Solomon looks embarrassed enough.
When Soul composes himself, he walks a bit faster and tells Marco to follow him closely.
"It gets darker the farther in we go, I don't want you gettin' lost.." They walk for a few minutes in silence until Soul grabs Marco's boney wrist and pulls him to the right, off into a tiny clearing canopied by a collection of short trees. Marco can't see all that well, but he thinks he can see the faint outline of a backpack leaning up against a fallen log. Maybe Solomon will have some extra clothes..
Who was he kidding? Nobody had extra anything anymore. He just hopes he can hold out in the cold.
Soul stumbles over a few roots on the way to it, but eventually grabs his pack, reaches in and pulls a small blanket from it. When Marco gets within his reach, Soul hands over the flimsy piece of cloth. The kid doesn't stand a chance in cold like this, he doesn't have an ounce of body fat on him, and his clothes are second hand, worn out long before he came into possession of them. In the dark, Soul can see a slivered curve of white teeth. He's amazed at how little it takes to make this guy smile. "Why do you smile so much?"
"Pardon?"
"You heard me. Why do you smile so much? The world's goin' to hell, yet here you are, grinnin' like a twit cause of a crumby piece of cloth." Soul knows this shouldn't bother him, but it does.
"Well…I smiled before cause you gave me reason to. That's pretty simple, right?"
And Soul can't even try to argue. Maybe it is that simple..
He doesn't say anything more, just hands over a flask silently and plops down on the ground. Marco follows suit soon after, coughing and hacking and spitting in disgust. "Are you tryna' poison me?! What is that stuff?!" Soul doesn't bother to repress the urge to laugh, quiet chuckles somehow soothing the burn in Marco's lungs. He's proud, this guy doesn't seem like he's had a good laugh in a while, and even if it was at his expense, Marco doesn't mind. Soul's laughter settles down, and he asks incredulously,
"You never had giggle juice?"
"Giggle-who? The hell is that?"
"Giggle juice, whisky, you never had it?"
"No, never! Stuff's poison!"
"That may be, but it makes it so nothin' hurts. Drink a bit more, stops burnin' so much and makes you warm, I promise." Soul doesn't even bother asking himself why anymore, he knows. He missed being around someone kind. He feels better than he has in years. It's worth the whisky and the blanket.
It takes two more big sips, but Marco feels a little bit warmer, and sleepy too; Solomon had been right. Marco tips over onto his right side, still giggling about something Solomon had said, and he can't quite remember what it was, but knows it made him smile.
Solomon lay a few feet away from him, far less affected by the cold than the thinner boy, face turned toward the sky though he cannot see any stars. Marco wishes he could do the same, but he can't unfurl himself from the little ball he's curled into. The warmth from the whisky was wearing off, and his teeth chatter from how hard he is shivering.
Soul can hear it from his spot in the grass. The guilt is back tenfold, accompanied by sympathy he has not felt for anyone, not that he can ever remember. He doesn't have anything left to offer though..
He turns toward Marco, and realizes that his lips are starting to lose colour.
This kid was going to die halfway through the night if Soul doesn't do something. He knows it.
Soul stands abruptly, paces around the clearing once or twice, battling internally with different parts of his mind, but finally settles back on the ground. The only difference now, is he's lain right beside Marco, his back pressed against the other boy's shuddering back to transfer warmth. His face flares with heat. If Liz ever saw him like this, she would tease him to no end..
"Wha? Sol-"
"You were gonna freeze to death.." When Marco doesn't answer, Soul almost scoots away from him, but Marco scoots back toward his external heat source, the brim of his hat getting crushed in the process. "Don't you take that thing off when you sleep?"
"Nuh.. keeps my ears warm. Not very comfortable but it works." Soul almost laughs at the absurdity of it all, the entire situation, but decides against it, remains quiet and just listens to their breathing. It's so strange, he's never been close enough to someone to hear them breathe, or share their heat. A hug here or there, sure, but never something like this. And certainly never with another boy. Boys are not to be trusted, they are cruel and cold.
Except for this one.
Part of Soul's brain plays worst case scenarios on repeat, them being found like this and getting beaten to death promptly, them being found like this and getting beaten to death later, and either way, all scenarios lead to painful death for both of them.
But when Marco sighs happily and relaxes, Soul stops thinking so much, because he's warm, and they're both safe, for now at least. He'll worry about the implications of sleeping curled up next to another boy later. For now, he needs to sleep off some of that giggle juice so he can straighten his shit out.
Long, jagged fingernails dig into his gums, his mouth filling with the flavor of pennies and filth, eyes leaking and limbs flailing. The painted faces swarm, snarls falling from their faux smiles, angered demands of, "Hold him still!", and "Quit yer squirmin', Eater!" assaulting his ears from all sides.
Twisted fingers curl into his ivory locks and yank, and rank breath slithers past his ear with a tone of sadistic amusement.
"The Doc's ready for ya, buddy."
He shudders, more tears welling up and falling down his dirty face. A man he unfortunately recognizes slips into his periphery. Silver hair, apathetic eyes set into a scarred face, a metal file in one hand, and an old rag in the other..
"Terribly sorry about this Soul.. But Maddie said it was necessary in order for you to look your part, and she is the one who pays me. Times are rough all around."
The hands in his mouth wrench it open wider. Through blurry vision he sees a woman, her single amber eye glistening with unexpressed sorrow and shame as she shakily hands the "Doctor" a smaller file more suited for the job. He thinks he can see her mouth the words, 'I'm so sorry', but he can't be sure, because his vision swimming from pain. He feels cool metal poke at his tongue, then hears a shhhhrrrrk and tastes powdered bone.
He tries… he tries so hard to stay silent, he doesn't want to give these sick sadists any satisfaction, but that resolve is out the window as soon as the "Doc" hits root. His screams ricochet off the canvas walls, ringing loud in his ears, and suddenly there's more people with those files, grinding down to the roots of his teeth, sharpening his once perfect smile into a horrifying mouthful of gruesome daggers. He's blinded by the pain, deaf to all but his sounds of agony, immobilized by the clammy hands of people who once had the gall to call themselves his friends..
"Sol.. Hey, Sol? Solomon, you okay?" Soul startles from his sleep, eye's snapping open to find that he is nose to nose with a guy with too long hair in his very warm embrace. He jerks away to find that one of his limbs is numb, caught underneath his acquaintance, and makes a distressed noise as he tries to wrench his arm free. He catches a lofty giggle coming from this guy he had just been clutching to him for dear life, and memories of the previous day flood his mind. This boy is not dangerous to him, he recalls, at least not in the traditional sense. He calms himself and plops down on his back, gasping for breath to calm his racing heart. He can't remember what it was he dreamt of, but judging by the lingering feeling of icy dread and an ache in his mouth, he can make a fairly good guess. He nearly hops out of his skin all over again when Marco's head finds its home on his shoulder. He tenses immediately. They're walking a fine line here…
"Calm down now, I'm just still cold is all. Dawn won't be for another few hours. Go back to sleep.." Marco's voice drifts off into a sleepy whisper, leaving Soul with no real choice but to follow this boy's advice. Maybe some more sleep would do him some good. Doubtful, but possible.
As he tries desperately to regain the drowsiness of early morning, his mind races, looping around and around, endless possibilities of all the terrible things that could come of this situation ricocheting off one corner of his mind and popping up in another. He feels sick because he feels comfortable. He doesn't trust this boy because he feels as if Marco is in fact worthy of his trust. Self-contradictory would be a drastic understatement. Soul doesn't know which thoughts he can believe in anymore. Then again, that isn't exactly new to him either. Eventually though, Soul's thoughts blur into static, hushed to a dulled buzz in the back of his head. In the final moments before sleep drags him under its thick fog, Soul sees vivid green eyes. He goes to reach for the face they are set within, but the sandman reaches him first.
Soul is first to wake, though this time it is long after dawn. The ache of hunger in his stomach is what pulls him out of his surprisingly peaceful slumber. Though the ground is cold beneath his back, his right side is wonderfully warm. He's about to nudge his companion awake, but when he listens closely he can hear their soft snores, even and calm. He makes himself stop fidgeting and stares up at the light filtering through the canopy of leaves. Breaths puff against his neck slowly, and he finds himself wondering just how in the hell did I end up in this position. In all his years on the tracks, not once did he feel the urge to be near anyone he met, let alone allow them to sleep near him. You're left vulnerable in your sleep. No one can be trusted to cause you no harm when you're in such a state.
Logically, sharing warmth was the right thing to do, yes. But he had always been certain that the first person he slept near would be a girl. Maybe one with big green eyes, long, silken looking hair, and a radiant smile that could change lives…
He needs some breakfast.
This whole starvation thing sure makes him loopy.
Just before he resolves to wake the boy snoring on his shoulder, he hears breath stutter, and feels abnormally long lashes flutter against his jaw. Soul holds his breath, counts to ten in his head, does his best not to wrench himself free and shout angry words at his overly affectionate acquaintance.
What the hell's gotten into me? It ain't that hard, just stand up and walk away!
"Mmmmhungry but you're warm an I dun wanna move.." Marco mutters, sounding seriously distressed by the predicament. "My hat? I need it, keeps my ears warm." Soul points to the spot of earth to the right of Marco's head where his hat lay, and Marco smiles faintly as he snatches it up and tugs it down over his ears.
"What you need is a haircut. Don't want anyone mistakin' you for a girl round here, trust me. I can cut it for you if you'd get off my arm."
Soul is startled when Marco immediately sours and spits a cold, 'No' at Soul, rolling off his arm and facing away from him, boney shoulders hunched forward and aura radiating anger. This is the first time Soul has ever seen Marco so upset. It's unsettling to say the least. "What's the big idea, you're actin' like a girl now, too."
"Don't be sexist, you'll never get a wife with that attitude."
"I'll never get a wife anyway…" Marco scoffs, and turns back around to face Solomon as Marco asks,
"Why's that?"
"You honestly think I'm gonna live much longer out here? It's not like things are gettin' any better."
Soul regrets the words immediately. If Marco looked angry before, he looks absolutely broken now, face fallen into a melancholy frown. Soul's guilt rages ferociously once more. He feels sick. "Hey, kid… aw damn it, don't be sad, alright? We'll be alright. I'm sorry, okay? We'll make it outta here just fine.." Soul would fret over the fact that he's using a word like 'we', or worry about the fact that he's just made a promise that will be next to impossible to keep, but he's too busy trying to reassure this dejected looking boy, who, for some insane reason, cares whether or not Soul makes it to the end of the day.
Alright, some gratitude is in order. I'd like to thank Twin-Lupus for all of the editing and help, this would have been much more of a mess without her help. Also, a thank you to ErisandDysnomia, who has helped me immensely with the story. Thank you both for dealing with my insanity.