A/N: So yeah, kind of slow on the updates. I know. For those of you that care, anyway. Also, I have been playing around with a multi-chap/really long one-shot story idea. Typical angst, drama(?), etc. except, with a more well thought out plot. And all that business. That's mainly why I kind of ignored my shuffle challenge. At some point, I stopped working on the next chapter for this story, and just added more onto this conglomerated mess of a story that I have. It's just something I really loved writing. It didn't really feel like I was writing the story, it more or less felt like the story was just using my fingers/keyboard to get out. That doesn't mean that it came out perfect though. It's kind of out of order at the moment. And I really don't want to write a story that seems...foggy. Or I don't know, stupid. Also, I think I will make the story a short chaptered multi-chap. So the first chapter of that will be out soon, so keep an eye out for it! Any who...

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater, and although Hollywood Undead helped me get through some stuff, I don't own Sell Your Soul

Sell Your Soul

Soul sat down at the piano and began playing it with the practiced ease of a boy practically born on one. Lessons from age two, concerts from six, and from concerts bore tours. It had been a kind of dream, the way Soul had grown up. Almost like a rock star.

Almost.

In all reality, rock stars' fans screamed for them, his fan base had quietly and politely clapped, as was appropriate. That was one of the main reasons he had left. The atmosphere there had just been stifling. He felt like that if he had written what he wanted to, they would have shunned him, his fan base would fall, and he would disappoint everyone, that he would be a failure. So, he left.

Sometimes it's easier to quit than to fail. It's a little easier on someone.

That's not what mattered though, what mattered was this moment. Right here. Right now. He was playing what he wanted to play. No one here cared, in fact they preferred his jazzy tunes to the stuffy classical he used to play. They loved him, and his music to be honest.

And he loved that simple fact. The fact that he could be free and be accepted. Of course, he could only stay for so long, before his past caught up to him, quite literally.

Soul looked up from the piano for a split second as the door to the quiet jazz club was slammed open. A split second was all it took though. He only needed a split second to get a look at the man who could have been an older version of him. Same white hair, same red eyes. At one point they had even shared opinions and ideas, but that time had come and gone. Soul tapped the last few notes out of the ivory, stood up and bowed to the applause, and walked back stage and towards the guest dressing room. The stage manager walked up to him, clapped him on the back, and congratulated him on his performance. "Nice job kid, hard to believe you used to play classical. Also, theres some guy named Wes here to see you."

Soul glanced at the stage manager as they continued their way farther down the hall, towards the private room that Soul got, just for playing as well as he did. "Send him back."

"Got it." The greasy looking man called out just as Soul reached the door and opened it. Soul let out a deep breath as he entered the tiny room. He looked inside, no Wes, no roses, no stupid buffet or some other ridiculous set up. It was as if his past really had stayed behind him. If only that were the truth. Soul thought to himself miserably as he settled into the ratty old couch in the corner of the room. He had barely gathered his thoughts when he heard a light knock on the door and saw Wes' head peek in.

"Hey Soul. What's up?" Wes greeted him as he entered, shutting the door behind him and then standing there awkwardly.

"Not much, Wes. About to be a lot though, so I'm giving you ten minutes to tell me what you want to, before I head on back to my hotel and get the fuck out of here before mom gets here." Soul answered nonchalantly.

"She'll be here in fifteen. She was on the other side of town, and it's about five, so I factored in traffic." Wes responded, a little nervous. Noting this, Soul sat up a little straighter, what ever Wes had to say must be important, normally they could both keep their cool.

"Nerd." Soul drawled out. "What is it you've got to say?" he said with a more serious tone.

"Well, Soul, remember when we talked about your, um, other talent? Right before you took off?" Wes questioned, getting even more nervous.

"What?" Soul asked back, then understanding dawned on him. He transformed his arm into a blade, "This?"

"Yeah, that."

"What about it?" Soul began to put up his defensive. Had he talked to their mom about it? That was the last thing he wanted.

"Well, I was doing some research, and, as it turns out, there's a special school for weapons like you. You can meet a meister there, and potentially become a weapon of Shinigami-sama himself." Wes said with importance.

"Shibusen? Yeah I already knew about it, haven't you noticed what town we're in?" Soul said, dropping his defensive and realizing that, just like always, Wes had no news that was actually new.

"How does this town have anything to do with the DWMA?" Wes asked.

"Oh, I suppose that you, being as clueless as you are, couldn't locate it." Soul drawled out.

"Jeez, this is what I get for trying to help. And no. That was the one thing I couldn't pinpoint about it." Wes said, rather bitterly.

"Don't get all up in a tizzy about it. They kind of contacted me about it. That's the only way you can get anywhere near Death City anyway, them getting you." Soul explained, rather kindly, for him, at least.

"That exclusive, huh?" Wes said. Understanding slowly beginning to come to him. He couldn't always keep his cool, or get all the information, but he could read people, and right now, Soul was easier to read than a book. Soul knew this, but still responded in the worst way he possibly could have.

"Yeah, invitation only." He stated rather smugly.

"I see, is that why you're going? Not to actually do something good for mankind. Or even good for yourself. Not to get an actual form of education, or to improve your life. Just to get away from us?" Wes started in on his brotherly speech, the one he gave every time he located Soul. Every time they faced each other.

"Getting away from you guys is good for me." Soul retorted. "And don't start with me on that whole 'we're your family, you should stick by us, we would stick by you' speech. You would stick by me, but they wouldn't." Soul looked at his watch. "Your ten minutes are up. I'm going to Death City in an hour. My bags are already packed, and the bus is already scheduled to pick me up. Do not try to follow me. I will know, and I will tell them. They don't particularly like being spied on, or followed, for obvious reasons. Tell mom and dad to stop looking for me. Also, don't take this personally and especially don't let them tell you any lies. This was my decision, and you're being a good brother by letting me make it." Soul finished up his own speech with a hug. Wes was shocked at first but hugged him back, gripping him back tightly, despite everything Soul had done, despite what Wes had done, in that moment Wes felt the love of his brother. Wes started to tear up.

"Goodbye Soul."

"Goodbye Wes."

About twenty minutes later, Soul emerges from his hotel, and starts heading towards his meeting place. Along the way, out of pure bad luck, he, unfortunately, spots two familiar faces in the crowd. He quickly ducks his head down as he passes, hoping that the didn't recognize him. It seems that luck isn't his today and just as he's almost past them, he feels a strong grip around his forearm. "What?" Soul asks, looking up and bored.

His father fixes him with a stern glare. "We need to talk."

"No, you mean 'sit there and listen while I yell', well, today we'll be switching roles. I will talk and you will listen." Soul pauses to enjoy the look of shock on his father's face. "I'm leaving to attend Shibusen, the DWMA, my destiny school, whatever you would like to call it. The point is you can't follow. I'm through running. So here's what I will tell you. I hate the way you raised me, I hate the way I only got about two choices. Ever. I hate they way you would treat me and Wes. And I almost hate you. Lucky for you, you're my parents, so I can't. I will see you guys once I'm not a rebellious teenager and once I'm old enough to forgive you. Until then, goodbye." Soul shook off his dad's now loose grip and continued on his way, taking unnecessary sharp turns to assure himself that he was not being followed.

He smiles at the bus that arrives about twenty minutes early, happy to start a new life, one where he doesn't feel like he has to sell his soul to make it. One where he can make his own path. One, where, for once, he feels free.

A/N: I'm sorry, I don't know what the eff just happened. I thought I had a handle on the story, but then it bucked me off and used my fingers to continue typing. I sincerely apologize.