A/N:Don't own Soul Eater or Supernatural; Ookubo and the CW beat me to that. Damn.

Chapter 2: Hospital Adventures

The kid caught Maka as she slumped forward, carefully picking her up. He carried her as though her muscle-bound body weighed nothing—which the white haired man knew wasn't true. As the teenager walked toward him, he gripped the crumbled asphalt under his hands, not even noticing as the stones cut into the tender skin of his palms. Some part of him, the part that Maka had seen and admired, despised his disabled situation, hated that he was so incapable of doing anything besides crawling like a fucking infant to defend himself. He knew there was no logical reason as to why he was so inexplicably furious at himself for being so damned useless, furious at Arachne for putting them all in this situation, furious at this kid and his strange powers, and furious at Maka, because, dammit, for such an intelligent woman, she could be so fucking stupid.

When the kid approached him, he shrank back as far as his bonds would allow him. He wasn't sure how he was going to get Maka back, but he would do it, somehow, some way. When the kid shifted his grip on the hunter and pulled out a strange looking knife, the man imagined the worst. Imagined dying in such an embarrassing position. Imagined not being able to do anything to save Maka. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his humiliating demise. However, all the kid did was slice the web holding him in place. He stared at the kid's proffered hand, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Listen," the angel sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you; my mission is to protect you. I would like to carry it out successfully, so please take my hand, Soul Eater."

Soul glanced between the hand and the steady yellow eyes of the kid in front of him. When he apparently took too long in making a decision, the kid rolled his eyes before crouching and wrapping his free arm around Soul's torso. Even though the weight they were supporting was minimal, Soul's legs shook when he was standing. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, he felt a tug, blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the sterile white lights shining through the doors of the hospital.

Soul's eyes immediately picked up on the large red ER on the sliding door."What the—"

"Come on," the kid cut him off. "Maka is severely injured and requires immediate medical attention." As he spoke, he headed toward the doors, not even seeming to notice the weight he was carrying. Try as he might, Soul couldn't walk and his uncoordinated, tripping footsteps did nothing but hinder the angel's progress, so he gave up and just let his feet drag on the ground as the kid carried him to the hospital.

The door slid open on its own, releasing a blast of air roughly the same temperature as the slightly-above-freezing weather outside. It seemed to Soul that nurses were upon them almost as soon as their sorry group crossed the threshold. From that moment on, it was absolute chaos, some nurses calling for gurneys while others fired rapid questions at the angel who stood frozen, mouth hanging open, overwhelmed at the onslaught of words and inquiries. Soul could tell he was a few seconds from having a breakdown that wouldn't be good for anyone in the situation. But the man sat back on his wheeled bed and watched the kid squirm in sadistic satisfaction—until a question was asked that the kid apparently knew the answer to.

"Sir, do you know what happened?"

The kid stood up straighter and cleared his throat, a new light in his eyes. "Yes, I do. These two were locked in a battle with a—"

"A gang!" Soul burst out, lunging out of the bed and grabbing the arm of the nurse with the clipboard. The kid's brows were furrowed, confused as to why Soul was lying. He opened his mouth to say so, but Soul continued on, silencing him with a fierce glare. "She and I were—um, we were walking home from a…a friend's house! Yeah, we were there to play video games? Then out of nowhere, these total asshats jumped us! Ma—um, I mean, um…Anna knows martial arts, she's been taking lessons in all forms since practically before she was walking, and so she fought them, and she got the worst of it. At least, that's what I remember; they hit me over the head with something. So…yeah," he finished lamely.

"Her name is Anna?" Soul nodded and the nurse scribbled it down. "She didn't have any identification that we could find. Do you know her last name and medical information? Then we'll take care of you."

Soul bit his lip, and then yelped as sharp teeth dug into tender flesh. Face red, he avoided the nurse's narrowed gaze, twisting the thin sheets between long fingers as he struggled to remember the name on the ID card that had been in the glove compartment. "Er, Anna…"

"Sir, do you know it or not?" The nurse was getting impatient. She was worried about him and his condition that was yet undiagnosed, but the hospital needed the girl's medical information before they could make any decisions.

"Brown!" He looked so proud of himself that despite the gravity of the situation, the nurse giggled a little. "Her name is Anna Brown, and she has an abnormally high tolerance for morphine. Just warning you."

Nodding, the nurse finished her notes and handed the clipboard off to her male counterpart, who was bouncing impatiently on his toes. As soon as the pass was made, he took off down the hallway at a run, white sneakers slapping against the multi-colored tiles. She nodded to the two nurses still remaining, and they began pushing Soul's bed down the hallway after the male nurse. When the kid started following, looking a little lost, the woman with the clipboard put a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him and gestured to the waiting room. Forlornly, he watched the small party hurry away. Then, he disappeared, mostly unnoticed, save for a minute stirring of posters tacked to the walls.

"So, could you tell us your name?" The woman asked Soul. She appeared to be the head nurse, because even as she questioned him, she was directing the others to take him to room 281.

Not wanting to give them his real name, and not even knowing if the name Maka used to call him and that the kid used was his real one, Soul stared at his hands blankly. "Um, no?" Then he remembered the woman mentioning identification on Maka, and patted his pockets to see if he had a wallet. Some struggling and squirming later and score! He had a battered and flattened leather wallet in his hand. Breath held, he flipped it open, and then immediately hunched over it to block the nurse's prying eyes from the five I.D. cards that were shoved where the cash should have been. Three of them claimed he was a government official, another (he just barely kept from laughing at when he read it) pronounced him an "associate" at Casa de Hombres, and the last one was a credit card that named him William Joel. With a sigh he read off the name on the credit card, holding it up for her inspection when she scoffed.

"So you must be a really talented piano player then," she said dryly.

"Yeah they call me the piano man. No, wait—I wouldn't know, would I? I can't remember anything or move my legs. I just got assaulted, after all." Soul glared at the woman and she pursed her lips, looking embarrassed and more than a little angry. At her expression, he felt a twinge of regret at his words, but quickly forgot it as they placed him on the MRI machine. When they slid him into the machine, he stiffened, uncomfortable in the small area. Nonsensical memories of him trapped in small spaces much like this flashed through his mind. Nervous sweat gathered at his temples and ran down the back of his neck. As his breathing increased, he closed his eyes and forced himself to think of something beside cramped, dark spaces. Think of Maka and the kid. Try and figure out what exactly happened in that fight between the monster—Arachne, Maka had called her—and the hunter and the kid, whoever he was. Soul's perspective of the fight had been a rather limited one, but he had heard Maka's pained yells and pleas, each one which ripped into him and caused him more grief than was logical. As the scene replayed in his head, the thud of flesh meeting flesh and the tortured screams echoed louder in his cranium than they had when they were actually occurring.

Soul's eyes flew open, cutting off the instant replay of the worst event thus far in his short life. He tried to pace his racing heartbeat to the steady thunk-ing of the MRI machine, inhaling for five counts, exhaling for seven, an old calming practice he had learned somewhere he couldn't recall. It felt like he was in the claustrophobic tube for ages before he was finally slid back out. The face he was met with was a different one than the nurse he had sassed earlier, and he was a bit relieved for that one reprieve. His new nurse was a girl with fiery red hair pulled back into a sensible pony tail and a broad, attractive face, looking very much like she had just pulled out a ghost.

"Oh, my God, Soul? Why—what are you—you're alive?" She looked back at the clipboard held in her hand, then back at him.

Eyes about as wide as hers, he lifted half his mouth in an attempted smile. "Er…surprise?"

As she bustled around his room, pushing IVs into his arm with more force than he believed was actually necessary, she shot him frustrated glares. When she leaned over him, her name tag fell into his line of vision. Heather Jacobs. He racked his muddled brains for any memory of her but came up with absolutely nothing. Finally, when she was about to leave the room and call the doctor, Soul stopped her. "Just say whatever it is you're thinking already."

She froze, back stiffening. Heather turned on her heel, brown eyes sparking. "That's it? That's all you have to say to me? What the hell is your problem! What have you been doing these past ten years? We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry?" She took an angry step toward him, looking very much like she wanted to slap him, hospitalized or no. Soul held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Look, I'm really sorry, but I have no idea who you or those people you're talking about are."

Heather stared at him, before running a hand down her face. "Are you being serious? Jesus, Soul, do you know how much your mother cried—how much your brother cried when you just disappeared one night? They hired so many detectives, filed a national missing person's report. Then you just go and show up here, with a fake name and a mysterious, not to mention half dead, girl under suspicious circumstances. What have you been doing?"

It was way too much information all at once for him to process. His name was actually Soul, he apparently had a mother and a brother, and for some reason this girl seemed to be almost personally upset that he had just disappeared without telling her. He was very confused. "I'm really sorry, but I don't have any memory of anything you're talking about."

"And that's just the thing, Soul," she exclaimed. Heather rifled around in the file she held in her hand, pulling out a scan of his brain and putting it up on the light-up board. Angrily, she flipped the switch and it hummed to life. "There's no medical reason you don't remember anything. You don't have any damage to any section of your brain; in fact it's all in really good working order."

"I—"

"So, what I want to know is what happened to you?"

"Honestly, I have—" He bent over in pain, clutching at his head. A slit-pupiled eye, a cruel smile. The road stretching unendingly in front of him. Folk music pounding out of speakers. The slam of a palm angrily against the steering wheel. Yelled accusing words, stuttered apologies. Soul faintly heard yelling, felt someone shaking his shoulder, calling for help. When he opened his eyes again, he was staring up into the concerned face of a salt-and-peppered haired doctor. His head no longer felt like it was going to split open, and in fact, he felt really good. Felt better than good, actually.

Goofy smile stretching his face, he reached up and patted the man on the face. "Hiya, doc, how you doin' this fine morning?"

The doctor sighed in relief. "You're going to be fine, son." His voice was fainter when he turned and talked to Heather, but still understandable. "He's gonna be okay, Heather. I don't know what happened just now, but it looks like it was just a fluke. Just let him rest for now. We'll monitor his situation tonight, and if nothing else happens, let's move him to a regular room and start him on physical therapy." Soul didn't catch much more of the conversation before he fell back into a medicated sleep.

He was groggy when he awoke again. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he jumped and yelled when he saw the kid sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable hospital chair. Soul clutched his heart and glared at him. "Jesus, who let you in here?"

"We need to talk, Soul."

"Yeah, you got that right. I have a couple 'a questions for you, dude. First of all, who the hell are you?"

"I am Azrael, an angel of the lord."

"Yeah, sure, kid, and I'm the grim reaper." He paused, considering, before leaning in, red eyes shining. "I'm not the grim reaper, am I?"

Soul liked the way the name Kid rolled easily off the tongue (or, at least, easier than the kid), and almost subconsciously decided to begin referring to the angel as such; besides, it was a more socially acceptable name than Azrael. Kid tilted his head and raised a brow. "No, you are not Death." When Soul appeared disappointed, Azrael was even more confused. "I am…sorry to disappoint? But, Soul, we have urgent matters we need—"

"Hey!" A sharp voice from the doorway startled the two men. A nurse stood there, hands on her hips, an expression of extreme disapproval on her stern face. "Who are you, and how'd you get in here?"

Soul and the angel looked at each other, eyes wide. Then Soul gave the kid a shit-eating grin before schooling his expression into one of shock. "I have no idea who he is, ma'am. He was in my room when I woke up; I think he was watching me sleep!"

The nurse narrowed her eyes at the angel, marching up to him and grabbing his arm. "Alright, pervert, I think you better leave."

Azrael gaped at Soul, stuttering explanations. As the nurse pulled him out of the room, he glared at the white haired man. "Soul! Tell her the truth!"

"See ya, Kid!" Soul called triumphantly, waggling his fingers at the angel's retreating form. He settled back on the flat pillows with a sigh, massaging his now-throbbing temples. He recalled the flash of light and the shadow of large, extended wings framing the form of the kid. His eyes flew open. The kid was actually an angel. "Shit."

At three o'clock in the afternoon, a nurse pushing an empty wheelchair came into his room. He introduced himself as Mark, and told Soul that they were going to be moving him to a regular room, and he would be starting physical therapy soon after the move. After depositing Soul in his new room on the sixth floor, the nurse told him that if he needed anything, he would be right down the hallway and just to push the little button. After Mark left, Soul checked out his new room. Somehow, he had managed to score a spacious single room with a window, something almost unheard of he was sure. He wondered why he was getting special treatment. But he wasn't concerned for long as he spotted the TV in the corner and the remote control laying on the nightstand. Soul decided he could get used to this as he settled back with a sigh and clicked on the television. He surfed through the channels blissfully for a few minutes before he was interrupted by a nasally voice.

"Soul."

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, jumping in surprise. "Will you quit friggin' doing that, Kid? And how the hell do you keep getting in here."

"Please do not call the nurses on me again, Soul. That was quite unpleasant."

"Yeah, well, you deserved it, you douchenugget," Soul muttered childishly, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

Kid ignored his insult, and Soul wasn't even sure he understood it."Please, Soul. We need to talk. It's urgent, and it involves you and Maka." Soul looked up at the sound of her name, and the angel held up a calming hand. "She's alright—well, as alright as one can expect, considering. The doctor's are fixing her up. Nothing serious."

Soul sighed in relief, and then glared at the angel. "Look, why didn't you do anything to fix her up? If you really are an angel or whatever, then you should be able to heal people. It's kind of in your job description."

"Not in mine," he said, expression remorseful. "I can take life and deal injuries, but I cannot give it or heal afflictions."

"Oh. Rough gig you've got, Kid."

"Yes, well, it's not all bad. Now, do you remember anything from before last night? Anything about Medusa and her plan? Perhaps where she is now? Even if it seems insignificant, it would help a lot."

"I don't even know who you're talking about. Who the hell is Medusa?"

The angel got to his feet in distress, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced. He kept shooting Soul looks, as though he were a particularly frustrating puzzle. Just as suddenly as he stood up, Kid sat back down again, folding his hands primly in his lap. "We were worried this would happen when Arachne completed the transformation."

"Excuse me? What transformation?"

"Yours, of course," he stated, tone implying that he thought Soul a slow-witted child. Catching the mounting frustration in the man, he sighed again. "Arachne did us a favor by completing the ritual that would return your soul to your original form, releasing it from its temporary housing in the 1967 Toronado owned by Maka Albarn."

"I'm sorry," Soul began with a half laugh of disbelief, "Did you just say I was a fucking car? Clearly you're mistaken." His voice broke off as his head gave a sharp pain again, and he folded over, clutching it. He felt two fingers on his forehead, before he lost all awareness of things around him, replaced by the endless road before him. Ringing laughter from the girl curled up with a book in the backseat. The slam of the trunk and familiar tchk-tchk of a shotgun being cocked. An off-key voice singing along with the twanging words on the radio. Loud swearing after the clack of a phone flipped shut. The roaring of the engine as the pedal was pushed to the floorboard.

Soul was gasping as he came back to the present. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," he chanted, fingers digging into his skull. He felt a cool hand on his shoulder, and looked up into reassuring yellow eyes. When he spoke, his voice was small, revealing how young he felt at the moment. "You aren't lying, are you? I was an actual car. Dammit."

"I am sorry, Soul, that you were subjected to that. We were taken by surprise when Medusa changed you. I'm afraid it was quite beyond our expertise and knowledge. We theorize that it was some spell that she invented herself. It dissipated your body and trapped your soul in the car."

"Why? Why would she do something like this? Why me?"

"She needed you. Needed nothing to happen to you, needed you to not be able to run away. She made her first mistake when she entrusted you to that werewolf, but that is not important right now. Are you telling me that you don't remember anything from when you were a car, or before she put her spell on you?"

"No! I already told you, I can't remember anything from before. I mean, I only get flashes of memories, and they don't really make any sense at all. It hurts, Kid. It hurts to remember."

The angel looked at him compassionately. "I know. I'm sorry for having to ask you to do this, I really am, Soul. Arachne must have put up a wall between you and your memories. I believe she may have done it unintentionally, but there may have been an actual reason. All we can hope is that as your memories return, they do not harm you in any lasting way." Kid got to his feet and moved to the window, looking out over the streets of New York City. He appeared to be looking much further than that, Soul noticed.

"You're being cryptic," he drawled. The angel snapped his head up and gave a little apologetic smile. Kid had just started to respond when his eyes opened wide and he disappeared, leaving Soul spluttering at nothing. A nurse came in, asking him what was the matter, and the white haired man just sighed, running his hand down over his face.

Two sweaty, exhausting hours later, Soul could walk the length of the physical therapy room two whole times, with the aid of his walker. It was mortifying for him, a twenty-four year old man (at least that was the age his ID card told him he was), having to use a walker like he was some fucking decrepit senior citizen, and it was perplexing for the doctors, because there was no medical reason they could come up with that explained his sudden loss of basic knowledge. He remembered how to speak and that the toilet was a normal part of polite society, but he couldn't remember how to walk or feed himself. Soul wasn't going to let that stop him, though; he was determined that he would get better before Maka was cleared to leave the hospital. No way was she going to leave him here with bills out his ass and a bunch of apparently relieved family and friends he didn't remember anything about. He had a vague concept of other people who looked kind of like the man he saw in the mirror when he brushed his teeth, but beyond that…nada.

As Soul frowned down at the shredded plastic fibers of his toothbrush, he worried about Maka, the only person he remembered. And he knew very little besides the kind of music she would blast out of her (his? He didn't fuckin' know anymore) speakers while driving too fast down too dark highways and back roads. No one in this whole damn building would tell him anything about the feisty woman besides that she was stable. Stable? He didn't like that word. From what he gathered by watching bad daytime doctor soaps and only slightly better evening hospital shows, someone was stable when the doctors had just brought them back from the dead, and they seemed to be in no threat of kicking the bucket at that moment. But when he yelled that into the expressionless faces of her doctors, they told him to please stop being unreasonable. Soul thought he was being exceedingly reasonable, given the circumstances, but apparently he didn't know anything.

He scoffed and spat the nasty paste into the sink, throwing the now-ruined toothbrush into the little garbage under the sink. Soul ran his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth, wondering if they were genetically possible. He had heard some of the nurses whispering about cosmetic surgery and oh, my God, they couldn't believe that someone would actually do that to themselves, and did you hear about that lizard guy in Ripley's Believe It or Not who did the same thing, do you think this guy is trying to be like lizard man, how weird! They made him want to punch someone in the throat, but some part of him, the part that housed manners too deeply ingrained to be erased by merely having your body dissipated and soul shoved into a new home, told him that throat punches were not acceptable in polite society.

Soul was in the middle of giving his particularly sharp eye tooth an experimental poke when a voice from the doorway made him jump, swearing as he sliced into his finger. He turned, and glared at the angel, who was standing with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, one eyebrow raised. "The fuck is your problem, feather face?" Soul shoved his freely bleeding finger into Kid's face. "See this? This is what happens when you do that stupid Huodini act. Learn to fuckin' knock, would you?" he pouted, running water over his finger and wrapping it in a wad of toilet paper.

"Would you like a bandage?" was the polite response he received to his complaints. When he turned back to Kid, he was met with a slightly-crumpled, but still wrapped, Band-Aid. "Apparently my vessel liked to be prepared; he kept a pocket-sized first-aid kit in the inside pocket of his suit coat, see?" The angel unbuttoned his coat, pulling out a bag of basic medical supplies.

"Well, I'll be damned," Soul said, nodding in appreciation as he took the Band-Aid. "Wait—did you say your vessel? So this," he gestured to the teenage boy body, "is, like, your meatsuit? You don't actually look like this?" Kid nodded. "Man, that's a relief. Tell me your real appearance is way cooler than this…whatever it is."

"I do not believe you would find it as aesthetically pleasing. My true form has four faces and is covered with as many tongues and eyes as there are humans on this planet."

As the angel's words sunk in, Soul started gagging. "You serious? Dude, that's fucked up."

"Yes, I thought you would react that way. I'm not considered the most attractive of my brothers—"

"Shocker," Soul interrupted. "But at least in your true form, you don't have those weird-ass stripes in your hair." It would be an understatement to say that Soul was surprised with the way the angel reacted to what was supposed to be a joking comment. Kid turned abruptly and put his fist through the wall, creating a resounding crash that brought the nurses running. They pounded on the door, yelling questions about whether or not he was okay and what happened, while Kid put his head between his knees, hyperventilating and muttering that he was "garbage, absolute, unsymmetrical garbage." If Soul hadn't known for a fact that some pretty weird shit was going on, he would have thought that he was on one of those undercover prank shows.

He kneeled next to Kid, awkwardly putting his hand on the angel's shoulder. "Hey, Kid, I know you're having a breakdown right now, but do you think you could do that thing where you disappear? The nurses are gonna lose their shit again if they see you." Soul didn't see Kid do anything, but he heard something like the rustling of papers, and then there wasn't anything under his hand. It was friggin' cool, and Soul was more than a little jealous that he couldn't disappear on command. Then he could pull a Houdini trick of his own and not have to deal with the likely pissy nurses. He rolled his eyes and pulled the bathroom door open, using the counter to support himself.

After smoothing things over with the irate orderlies, he wandered aimlessly through the hallways of the hospital, lurking outside doorways and observing visiting families and friends to try and understand how ordinary people interacted, until he was forced to go back his room lest he "wear himself out." It was late afternoon of the next day when he was finally admitted into Maka's room. Since he was neither family nor spouse to one Anna Brown, the hospital wouldn't allow him to visit her while she was in intensive care, but once she was deemed stable enough to be moved to a normal room, he could see her between the hours of noon and six. It took all of his patience and suspension of self-respect as he lowered himself to alternately cajoling and badgering, but finally Soul worked Maka's room number out of the stubborn nurses. He was out the door and heading toward it as fast as his walker and stumbling steps would allow, not even bothering to throw a thanks over his shoulder.

Right after he barged through the door, Soul froze, not prepared for the woman appearing so small, nestled among the pillows and wires. The last time he had seen Maka, she had been as large and fierce as a giant, defiantly standing up to one of the big name monsters. He closed his eyes and braced himself on the door frame, briefly regretting leaving his walker in his room as his knees shook. Eyes squinched shut, a little voice whispered in his ear, telling him that this, all of it, was entirely his fault. He had fucked up big time, and Maka was paying for it. At that moment, as he stood in the doorway of the hospital room, he vowed in the depths of his heart that he would never let anything else hurt her, even if it cost him his life. It would be worth it; at least she did something to help others. What did he do? Cause problems and injuries everywhere he went? This blonde, who so cheerfully defied the stereotypes of her gender and hair color, was more valuable in the greater scheme of things than he was.

Soul click-clacked his way across the room to the chair near her bed and settled himself in it with a quiet groan. Even that small noise was enough to alert her hunter-honed senses and jerk her out of sleep. Maka tried to sit up, but gasped in pain and clutched her midsection, collapsing back into the pillows. Soul immediately reached out and attempted to help her, and, for his efforts, received a blood-chilling glare and a sharp exclamation.

"You! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I—" His mouth flapped like a fish gasping for air, unable to get out a comprehensible answer. Maka rolled her eyes.

"Not that I'm not glad you're alive; I am, trust me. Just—why are you here and not with your family. That's what you civs usually do." The amount of condescension and bitterness in her voice took him aback. She snapped a "what" in response to his furrowed brow and pitying look. But Soul simply shook his head and looked down at his hands clenched into fists on his lap. He remembered the times she would curl up on the smooth leather, a bottle of Captain clutched in one hand and a picture of her family in the other, quiet sobs filling the silence. In those moments, not even understanding the emotions that swelled in him, he would do the only thing he could to comfort her; turn on the radio and let soft piano music soothe her broken heart, the angry clashes of Schumann's Sonata in G minor echoing her chaotic emotions. He could, at times, when he snuck glances at her when she wasn't watching, see parts of that girl, hidden just behind the careful wall of her green eyes.

A small breeze lifted a few strands of her hair, and she looked around in confusion. Out from behind one of the room divider curtains stepped Kid. Soul found himself thinking that in comparison with the greeting that Maka gave the angel, his was downright friendly. The hunter literally snarled, lip pulling back from teeth and fingers flying to her thigh in search for her pistol. "I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me, you sick bastard."

Kid held his hands up in a sign of peace. "Please, Maka, just hear me out. I am not one of your foes." At her expression he sighed and rubbed both hands down his face, exactly twice and at the same speed. Soul watched the angel's OCD take over with interest, until Kid brought him into the discussion. "If you do not believe me, then please, inquire as to my validity with Soul. He will tell you the truth."

"Now, I don't think that's a very good idea," Soul said at the same time Maka pointed her finger at him and near about shrieked,

"Him? Is he the one you're talking about? I don't know him from Adam! Why is his word supposed to hold credibility with me?"

The angel cleared his throat suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "Ah, I was getting there, I assure you." Soul groaned and buried his head in his hands. This was going to be a disaster, he just knew it. "Well, you are honestly much more familiar with him that you currently believe yourself to be."

Maka's head whipped around to stare incredulously at Soul. Her eyes were not friendly in any sense of the word as she folded her arms and glared at him. He studiously ignored her, picking at his short, blunt nails. "Do tell," the hunter said in a flat voice.

Clasping his hand together behind him, Kid turned on his heel and began pacing the room in measured steps as he thought on how to word his announcement just right. He had a suspicion that Maka wouldn't be as open as Soul was to believing the truth. The angel ignored Maka's impatient heckles, going over his phrasing meticulously, ensuring that every word he chose would have the most impact. He briefly considered taking them back to the day that Soul was changed, but, as he glanced quickly over at the man's hunched form, he figured the probable consequences far outweighed the potential benefits. The angel's heels clicked together when he stopped and faced the two humans.

"Please attempt to keep an open mind while I am explaining this; I know it can be difficult for you, but just bear with me for five minutes. My name is Azrael, and I truly am an angel of the Lord." She opened her mouth to protest, but Kid held up his hand and she fell silent, glaring daggers at the angel. "I've heard your prayers, Maka. You want to believe, so have a little faith. But for the moment, let's ignore that and return to the matter at hand. You do know Soul, and have for the past eight years. I believe you would have considered him your closest companion."

Maka looked over at Soul, who offered a sheepish smile, making sure to keep his teeth hidden from view. Baby steps, he thought, quickly breaking eye contact with the hunter. "Impossible. I've never seen this civ in my life—before saving him from Arachne."

"Perhaps not in this particular form," the angel shrugged. "With a complicated spell, Arachne's sister witch, known around Hell as Medusa, stole a young man's soul, dissolved his body, and stored both in an old 1967 Oldsmobile Toronado. We showed up at the scene too late; when we got there, the gentleman was beyond our reach. So, we decided we had to wait patiently, watch the activities of Medusa and her cronies so when, if, they decided to change him back, we could save him before they put their plans into action. All was going according to our plan—until suddenly the car fell off the grid. I believe October 21, 2000 and a small town in Michigan will sound familiar to you?"

The hunter stiffened, shoulders going back defensively, and hands clenching the worn sheets. Her eyes lost their focus for a moment, as though just the mention of the date could take her back to what Soul instinctively knew she considered one of the worst nights of her life. "Go on, angel." Maka's voice was low and threatening, like a warning growl from a cornered lioness, and she managed to make the title, usually connected with holiness and purity, sound like an insult.

"Yes, alright. Well, that night, we lost the track of the car, as though someone had hidden it from our sight. The werewolf you and your mother left behind didn't know much more than we did, so all of our efforts on that front were wasted." Soul shivered at the cold tone of the angel's voice, not needing any more clues to figure out what Kid meant. "We were lost and had just given up hope that we would ever find him when, three nights ago, our luck returned. I was sent to investigate, and was pleasantly surprised by what I found there; not only was the car turned back into a man, but one of our primary foes was there as well! It was quite the lucky break. I believe you know what occurred from that point on."

Maka was quiet for a few moments, mentally sorting through all of the information the angel had given her, trying to isolate the facts and put them in chronological order. "So…you're telling me that—that my car wasn't stolen, and is in fact, this useless piece of humanity?" Kid nodded slowly, and the hunter threw her head back and laughed. "Fuckin' beautiful."

Soul was honestly a little offended by her reaction. "You believe him?" he asked hesitantly. She shrugged in response, wincing and rubbing her stomach.

"Not in the least bit," Maka deadpanned. She shot the angel a sidelong glance, mouth twitching in a smirk. Kid huffed and stalked over to the window. His posture was rigid and Soul could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves. If Maka was just toying with the celestial being, Soul had a hunch that she would eventually come to regret the decision.

"What will it take for me to make you believe me?"

"How about an explanation?" She asked, raising one eyebrow as though the angel were stupid. "Such as, why the hell Medusa picked him," Maka jerked her thumb at Soul. "What does she need him for? Also, why would his life story matter to me? I really don't give a damn about it; I just want him out of my hair."

Tense silence permeated the room for a few minutes. Maka was casually picking at a hangnail and glancing over at the angel every now and then. Suddenly, Kid's shoulders relaxed, and when he turned back to face them, he was smiling a cruel inhuman smirk. "I do not have to explain myself to something so miniscule as you humans. I am a superior being. In fact, I find it very endearing that you believe you have the option to not believe me. You do not wish to upset the angel of death…do you?"

She inhaled sharply and eyed him with distrust. "Are you threatening me, Azrael?"

"Yes, I do believe I am. There is more at stake than your hubris, Maka. I suggest you use the extraordinarily large brain that God gifted you with and do some conceptual thinking to understand the bigger picture."

Her lip curled. Maka opened her mouth to snap something back at the angel, but Soul got to his feet and interrupted her. "Threats aren't necessary, Kid. She doesn't need to—"

"No, it's fine, dude. Whatever. It doesn't really make much of a difference whether or not feather brain over there is lying because I apparently don't have a choice in believing him. Although I'm not entirely sure why it makes a difference," she shot another glare at Kid. "If Medusa's after you, rotten luck, man, but as far as I'm concerned, I'm through with you. My advice to you is to go back to your family and life you had before-well, before whatever happened to you occured-while you still can. It's a win-lose situation, I know, but get used to it; the rest of the world has."

"But—"

"Listen, you really don't have to thank me. Just go be happy with your loved ones; that's the only thanks I need."

Kid cleared his throat and both the humans turned to look at him, identical expressions of annoyed frustration on their faces. "I'm glad you're willing to see things my way, Maka. However, I am not finished. It has been decided by Heaven that you will watch over Soul, keep him safe from Medusa and her followers, for we believe now that he has been reverted, Medusa will stop at nothing to get her hands on him. Also, I expect you to do so without complaint."

Very reluctantly, Maka agreed, glaring at Soul while she nodded. "I'm not sure how much I will be able to do in my current condition, though. The doctors told me I had internal bleeding they had to do surgery to fix, and that I should lay low for awhile."

"I'm not completely helpless," Soul said, but both angel and hunter ignored him. They were deep in discussion of medical terms far beyond the meager education the media had given him. Rolling his eyes, Soul got to his feet, using the arms of the chair to push himself up. His legs were getting a little sore but he wanted to exercise some more so he was able to leave when Maka decided it was time to go. Since he was recovering rapidly, he was able to walk the length of the hospital without the help of the walker he had been so dependent on earlier.

It was quiet in this section of the hospital; no emergencies or people dying, just the soothing chatter of people visiting friends and family. He had been there long enough that he didn't even notice the sterile smell of the place, though he was sure he wouldn't be able to get the stink off of him for a long time. Soul stopped at the water fountain tucked into a nook a few rooms down from Maka's, and was just bending down to take a drink when he heard a familiar voice chatting happily. It was a rumbling voice, one that came from deep in the chest and exuded comfort; it sounded like the way the pilots on the television shows sounded.

"…and you'll never believe what Heather—you remember Heather, right, Gran?—said just this morning. She said Soul was still alive!"

Soul's heart jumped at the mention of his name. Surely it couldn't be him this man was talking about, could it? It had to be some sort of freak coincidence. Teeth digging into the soft flesh of his cheek, Soul tip-toed his way to the open door of the room. He took a deep breath before peeking around the door jamb. His stomach dropped to his feet at what he saw.

The room itself was a private one with a gorgeous view overlooking the city. Flowers piled on almost every available surface filled the room with a sweet fragrance and gave it a homey feel. But that wasn't what terrified him. It was the tousled white hair, the deep tanned skin, and edge of sharp cheekbones and pointy nose, all much like his own features, that made his heart thud to a stop. The man was still talking excitedly, hands waving through the air as he described the story to the frail older woman in the bed. Soul could see her face clearly, and, despite the wrinkles and lines, she had the same bone structure and coloring as both the man sitting at her bedside and the one lurking in the hallway.

The woman's hands were clasped on her chest and her expression could be described as nothing other than pure elation as a tear leaked from one of her eyes. Her face was suited to smiles, Soul decided, looking at the deep crow's feet and the mischievous tilt to her eyebrows. "Little Soul is still with us?" She whispered, reaching out and clutching her grandson's hand. Her voice lilted and fell with a thick French accent. "I always knew that God wouldn't let such a wonderful human being pass. Oh, Wesley!"

The woman couldn't say anymore, too overcome by joy as she collapsed into the man's embrace. He held her tightly, and Soul could see the man's thin frame shake with what he thought could only be tears. But then he heard laughter, quick with little hiccups interspersed throughout. A sharp pain shot through Soul's head, and clutching it, he fell to his knees. He knew that laugh. Remembered a playground surrounded by high, decorative bushes. On the swings, a teenage boy had his head thrown back, feet stretching toward the sky. A pang of fear as the boy launched himself from the swing at a height that couldn't be safe, he was sure, and crying out when the boy landed and immediately rolled forward, collapsing on his back in laughter. The same laughter, a little higher and freer, but with the same unmistakable hiccups.

Through the clouds of his recollections, he heard movement and the man's—Wesley, his brother, he knew now—voice growing louder as he approached the door. Panicking, Soul scrambled to his feet, fingers scrabbling at the wall for help. He took off down the hall at a limping run, leaving his family and past behind him, unable to bring himself to face them right now. Soul heard his brother call out a confused "hello" behind him, but he never stopped running. He stumbled his way down the rarely used stairs, tripping in his hurry. Gasping, he ducked into the first restroom he passed and immediately locked himself in a stall.

His head was still pounding, and he was having troubles discerning what was past and what was present. It was as though some amateur photoshop artist had superimposed a bright sunny day over the white of the hospital, and he didn't know if he was walking on pine mulch or freckled tile. Soul sank into a crouch, leaning his head back against the stall wall and taking deep measured breaths, in though his nose, out through his mouth. Thoughts rattled through his mind, muddled and wound together. He felt something warm run down his face and worried that he had bumped his head against something without noticing and was now bleeding. But when he reached up and touched it, clinging to a calloused fingertip was a clear drop—it was a tear. Soul Eater, runaway-turned-car-turned-amnesiac, was crying.

He buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to sob.

It was all too much, too quickly. Some A-level monster was out for his ass, the woman he had spent the past eight years of his life with currently resented his very existence, he apparently had an elderly and dying Grandmother and an older brother, both of whom had worried about him for the past ten years, so Heather had said, and, to top it all off, Arachne had Frankenstein's-monster-meets-shark-boy-ed him into this—this—this thing.

"Self pity is not very attractive, Soul."

Soul jumped in surprise, not even bothering wiping his face as he glared toward where the angel's voice came from on the other side of the stall door. "Go fuck yourself with a cactus, you feathered freak."

"I am going to pretend that I did not hear that. We saw you go stumbling past and were concerned. Maka sent me to find you. Will you come out of your own volition or do I have to go in there and drag you out?"

"I don't want to be part of this anymore," Soul mumbled, hugging his knees to his chest.

He heard an annoyed sigh come from the angel. "You petulant child. Don't you understand that this is all so much bigger than your petty wants and desires? We are talking about the end of the world, so I suggest you take these eight seconds I am going to give you and resign yourself to the fact that you have no choice, okay? One—two—"

Soul closed his eyes, intending to stay on the bathroom floor and ignore the angel entirely. Before Kid reached eight, the stall door blew open and Soul's arm was trapped in the boy's iron grip. He felt the same jerk and disembodied sensation, and then he was standing in Maka's room once again. Noticing he was in full view of the door, Soul crossed the room as quickly as he could and, after surreptitiously checking the hallway and making sure it was clear, closed the large door quietly. When he turned back to the room, he was greeted by two pairs of eyes, one a deep green and looking slightly concerned for his sanity, the other gold and bored.

"I suppose you are not going to explain why you just did that," Maka said slowly, one eyebrow raised. Soul was surprised to note that she was standing, detached from her tubes and wires, and once again wearing her muck covered jeans, flannel shirt, and long trench coat. She was gripping the bar on the bed for support, and one arm was held close to her body in a sling, but she was standing nonetheless.

"I suppose you're not going to explain why you're out of bed," was his clever reply.

The hunter rolled her eyes. "Actually, I was. It has come to my attention that there are some undesirables in this hospital, ones who would not understand the situation that we are in. I know a doctor who is much better than the ones here, and so I am checking us both out early. Azrael here is going to help us."

Soul groaned, rubbing his temples. "Not more of Kid's magic disappearing tricks."

"No complaints, Soul Eater. Unless you're going to somehow come up with thousands of dollars to cover both our hospital fees, plus my checkups, and," Maka grinned and held up a bag of little orange tubes, "drugs. So, we're gonna duck outta here early and you're going to keep quiet and let me do the talking when we get to our destination."

Thinking back to his grandmother's spacious and private hospital room, and the quality of the suit his brother had been wearing, he almost told her that he didn't think money would be a problem. But instead, he simply held his hands up in surrender, and Maka looked over at Kid. "So, if you'll do the honors?" The angel nodded, put his hands on their shoulders, and then they were gone. Both blinked and when their eyes opened again, they were standing in the middle of a half-full parking lot in the desert, staring at an elegant building claiming itself to be "Starcrossed."