Maka ran, gasping hard, cloak flapping behind her, and emphatically cursing her papa's abysmal sense of direction. Because if he hadn't gotten lost in the woods then she wouldn't have had to rescue him, and she wouldn't have been stuck with that beast, and she wouldn't have had to run off after being an inch away from getting mauled by said beast, and oh yeah – she wouldn't be sprinting for her life through the snow being chased by a pack of enormous spiders. They were each almost the size of a wolf, scuttling over the frozen ground with their mandibles clacking ominously. Their eight eyes burned almost violet through the winter night. Maka ran harder.

So maybe she'd been curious, and maybe she'd wandered up to the forbidden wing of the old manor house. And maybe she'd seen the family portrait on the wall, dimly illuminated by the light of the glowing orb bobbing in the bell jar. As far as she could tell, that was no reason for her erstwhile captor/host to fly off into a rage. But he had. And as ashamed as she was to admit her fear of him, Maka had lashed back out and ran.

"You're a monster!" she had screamed, the accusatory words ringing out in the silence like a slap to the face. He had frozen in shock, white-furred paw raised as if to strike her. His claws had gleamed dully in the moonlight.

For as many times as she had been angry with him, for as many times as they had disagreed and insults had flown, she had never once called him that. She turned and fled, booted feet pounding against the floor as he slowly lowered his paw behind her. She tried to block out the small, choked noise of hurt that had issued from his throat.

In turning to see how much distance remained between her and the eight-legged predators behind her, Maka tripped and fell over a protruding tree root. Lying sprawled on the ground as the skittering noises of the spiders drew closer, she could only hope and pray that they would kill her quickly. She wished that Soul were here. Her last goodbye should be something much kinder than the insults she had thrown.

Soul bounded through the snow, glad for once of his beastlike form as he tracked Maka's scent through the stench of Arachne's spiders. Damn her. Damn that impulsive, maddening girl for running off into monster-infested territory. Damn her for her inquisitive nature, but damn him for reacting as badly as he did. He scared her, he knew, but it was only a matter of time before she became as truly frightened of him as everyone else who had ever seen him in this state. She had finally said it. It shouldn't have hurt so badly.

Damn him for caring, for thinking that maybe just this once the universe had relented and allowed him something nice.

He ran faster, because he couldn't let her die.

Bounding over the crest of a hill, he saw her lying prone on the ground, the horde of spiders rapidly descending. A blinding fury flooded his senses, because no she's mine she's MINE YOU CANNOT TAKE HER BECAUSE MAKA IS MINE. A menacing snarl tore its way out of his throat as he leapt down into the hollow, claws flashing like steel. He landed on all fours and crouched over Maka's slight form, howling his challenge to the spiders. She was his, and they could not take her. They surged forwards, a roiling mass of legs and bulbous bodies and clacking mandibles, and he bared his teeth. He could take them all. He would protect her.

His claws slashed out into the shadows, and he once again sent a bitter thanks to the witch who had caused his transformation. At least now he could protect the one person he cared about, even if it was from dangers that he had driven her into himself.

The battle was over.

Maka stared for a moment as the beast, her beast, her Soul, staggered slightly towards her before collapsing. His visible eye rolled tiredly towards her as she stepped towards him over the steaming spider viscera, luminescing in acid green. Blood, as red as his eyes, streamed from the many jagged wounds inflicted by the spiders and stained his bone-white fur. He panted, rib cage visibly expanding and contracting against the hard ground.

Maka felt like crying.

Here he was, torn to pieces because of her own stupidity. He'd left the sanctuary of the estate to save her life, even after she'd said such terrible things to him and broke her promise and—

No. She couldn't think about that right now. She had to help him, somehow. Steeling herself, she knelt by his side and placed a tentative hand on his muzzle.

"Can you stand?" she asked softly. "If we can get back to the manor, I'll try to patch you up."

Soul let out a low, animalistic whimper of complaint at the request for motion, exhausted beyond words by the desperate battle. He complied after a moment, though, heaving his bulk off the ground. Maka placed a hand against his shoulder to steady him. They took small, silent steps through the winter night, tired feet carrying them home.

"OUCH! Damn it, woman, that hurt!"

"Well, if you'd quit SQUIRMING, it wouldn't hurt so badly!"

The two of them had finally arrived back at the slowly crumbling manor house, Soul collapsing in front of the massive fireplace in the drawing room while Maka ran off to find adequate first-aid supplies. So far, the spider-inflicted wounds didn't seem to be poisoned, a fact for which she was deeply relieved. She knew basic treatment of wounds. That, she could handle. Poisoned bite wounds delivered by magical spiders, however, she did not. Upon beginning to clean out one of the numerous wounds scattered across Soul's form, she discovered that despite the ferocity with which he'd fought he was a total baby when it came to pain. Progress at cleaning his wounds, accordingly, had been exceedingly slow.

Releasing a massive sigh, Maka rested her hand on a non-injured section of his side. "Look, this is the last one, okay? After that I just need to bandage them all."

Soul grunted. "I can take care of tha- AH. DAMN it." Wincing at her treatment, he continued. "I can take care of that. You don't have to."

Maka raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Even the ones on your back?"

He grumbled a little but conceded the point. She set the bottle of ointment aside, along with the cloth she'd used to apply it, and grabbed the roll of bandages she'd found in a supply closet. Setting to work on covering his wounds, she sighed again.

"Sorry."

"What for?" Soul asked.

"For running off. You got hurt because of me," she said, "and I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he said tiredly, resting his head on the floor.

She murmured something inaudible as she continued to apply bandages, her hands seemingly running on muscle memory alone.

"Hmm?"

"I said I'm also sorry for what I said to you. You know… earlier."

"That's okay too. I kind of expected it by now, to be honest. Most people call me a monster straight away. Your dad did," he added as an aside.

Maka grimaced. "My dad is an idiot. And besides, you're not a monster. Not really. It's not the form that matters, it's the soul. Right?" she asked softly.

Soul laughed, a harsh and barking thing that left him gasping in pain. "You've seen my soul, Maka. It's already halfway to monstrous."

So that was what the orb in the bell jar was, she realized suddenly. No wonder he was so protective of it. Tying off a knot on the last bandage, she padded softly towards his head and knelt at his shoulder, fisting a hand into the thick ruff adorning his neck.

"No," she murmured, wondering where this surge of boldness had come from but deciding that she didn't really care. "I don't think so."

Soul pressed up into her touch, a low rumble vibrating out from his chest. She uncurled her hand from his ruff and began tentatively stroking along his head, right between his ears as she would a dog. Her touches became firmer as the rumbling increased in volume, and Soul relaxed under her ministrations. Eventually his breathing slowed, the rhythmic rise and fall of his rib cage a solid indicator that he had fallen asleep. Maka slowly ceased stroking him, lulled into drowsiness herself by both the warmth of the fire and the comforting solidity of Soul's body behind her. She snuggled up to his side, slipping quietly into sleep herself. She could scarcely believe she had ever felt truly frightened by him.

At some point during the night, Soul became aware that Maka was still curled softly against his side. Curving his body to meet her own, he was rewarded with a sleepy sigh as she pressed deeper into his fur. He fell back asleep with her hand curled lightly into his ruff.

And as he awoke the next morning, he realized that for the first time since his transformation he had slept without a single nightmare.