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

Chapter 4: Midnight Wars and Granted Wishes

The chemistry between Maka and Soul became a popular topic for the various patrons of Starcrossed to discuss in whispered conversations that stopped abruptly whenever one or the other entered the room. Both noticed it, exchanging looks as their friends hushed each other as they approached their tables, but neither Maka nor Soul knew how to go about confronting Tsubaki or Blake. They knew it was mostly because the hunters were bored that they had become such a hot topic.

Things had been fairly mundane lately—which, for these people, Soul was finding out, really wasn't all that ordinary. For one, the sheer volume of alcohol the roadhouse went through during a typical week was mind-boggling to the amnesiac. If he were to actually sit down and think about it, though, he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to see empty keg after empty keg being rolled to the back of the building. After all, most of Starcrosssd's clientele were hunters trying to forget their horrifying pasts.

Soul was quickly learning that among hunters, having a sob story wasn't something unique, though there was never a lack of sympathetic looks when someone's background was revealed. Not that it happened very often; hunters were a closed bunch, rarely offering personal information. No one ever became a hunter by waking up one morning and deciding over their sunny-side up eggs that today was a fine day to upend their lives and hunt some nasties. Everyone had a past. It made Soul wonder what his past was, what had pushed him over to the dark side. As far as he could tell from his research on the Evans family, they were atypical, in the most typical sense of the word. Incredibly rich and unbelievably talented musicians, yes, but hunters? Not even close. Soul found no rogue family members, no dirty family secrets he could dig up—aside from himself, of course.

There was no lack of news coverage for him, and Soul found himself almost sickened when he saw his scowling face staring back at him from almost every major news website. Titles like THE PRODIGAL SON RETURNS and REBEL EVANS, THOUGHT DEAD, MISSING ONCE AGAIN were featured on the front pages of various of newspapers, as though his mysterious return and disappearance was more important than stories about robberies and homicides.

In disgust, he slammed the laptop shut and buried his head in his arms. With the hunters' obsession with checking every news article ever written for something that could be a case, Soul estimated he had two days, tops before everyone in Starcrossed knew his real identity. He was fairly positive that no one would really care, but even the idea of being the center of attention had him groaning into the wood top of the table.

"What's wrong?" Maka asked, the sound of a chair scraping across the wood telling him she was sitting down. Raising his head, Soul pushed back his hair and gave her a weary look, and Maka grinned, holding out a steaming cup of coffee for him. "Ah, mug shot make front page again?"

He snatched the mug from her, taking a large mouthful before glaring at her when she giggled. Swallowing the burning mouthful, he scowled. "Yeah, yeah, because it's so funny that apparently my family doesn't own any pictures of me besides the one from when I got busted for something I don't even remember doing. You just sit there and laugh yourself to death—please be my guest."'

"No need to be such a sour puss," she said, raising an eyebrow at him over her mug of coffee. "It could be worse; they could've used some embarrassing photo of you, like, drunk off your ass of something. Just think, they might have been doing you a favor."

"Yeah, some favor," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "It's been almost a day since you found that first article; you would think the media would have some other drama to stir up. At this point, it's getting a bit ridiculous." She had set up an alert system for any mention of Soul Evans almost a week ago, and though there had been days of junk emails, eventually it paid off when she received a notification that morning.

Maka made a non-committal noise in her throat, pulling the laptop toward her. Flipping open the screen, she slouched down in her chair and propped her legs up in Soul's lap as she waited for the computer to boot up. He watched her from under his eyelashes, the light from the computer highlighting the bags under her eyes, yet washing out most of the details of her face. "You look exhausted, Maka."

She didn't even bother glancing up from the computer screen. "You really know how to flatter a woman."

"Shut up, idiot. You know what I meant. It's late; you should go to bed. The articles will be there in the morning." Sometimes she felt the need to stay up with him, keeping him company late into the night. They often just sat outside in comfortable silence, watching the night wear on, stars appearing and disappearing. Somehow, Maka knew why he avoided sleep, knew of the nightmares that plagued his dreams and caused him to wake gasping in the middle of the night. He never remembered waking, never remembered the dreams, but when he got up the next morning, Soul was always exhausted mentally and physically. It threw him off the entire day, and he was haunted by the feeling of something being wrong, though he could never say what exactly it was.

She pinned him with one look. "I'm fine, Soul. I'm not staying up because of you, so stop feeling guilty."

"Then go to sleep!"

"No!" Maka snarled, slamming her good hand on the table. Both froze, listening with bated breath to see if she had accidentally woken up anyone upstairs. Not hearing anything, Maka continued, keeping her voice low. "Will you actually listen to me for once, and not simply hear what you want? I'm awake, not because of you, but because I couldn't sleep. What a concept, I know! And as long as I'm awake, I might as well be productive. Hence the computer," she gestured to the laptop.

He glared back at her, crossing his arms. "I don't believe you."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Shaking his head, Soul looked down to hide his smile; he knew she was staying up because of him, and though he still felt guilty, he appreciated it more than he could put into words. "Really, Gone With the Wind? You're such a dork!"

"I am not!" she huffed, pointing her foot to poke him in the stomach. Soul grabbed her foot, fluttering his fingers over the sensitive arch. She tried to keep her affronted tone, but couldn't fight back a giggle. "It's—it's—no, stop it, Soul, this, this isn't fair!" Maka laughed as she struggled to get her foot out of his grasp. Soul kept her captive with one hand as his other one moved to the back of her knee, her weak spot.

She was squirming around on her chair, breathless from laughter as she tried to kick him with her other foot. He was too engrossed with watching Maka's face, marveling in the difference a smile made on it. Knowing he was the reason she was laughing, knowing that she was relaxed enough around him to let him even touch her, caused a warm feeling to bubble up inside of him. It scared him, the way this woman made him feel. He had only known her for about two weeks, but being near her—even when she had hated his guts—gave him an inexplicable feeling of contentment.

"Soul, stop!" she squealed, trying to work her other foot up under his arm, where she knew he was ticklish.

He trapped it between his side and arm, though, using the new advantage to tickle both her feet at the same time. "Thanks for that, Maka; really appreciate it." She was crying now, because she was laughing so hard, and it was all he could do to keep a straight face.

"Uncle, uncle!" She cried, trying to get her breath back.

Soul released her with a victorious smirk. "You finally admitted defeat. I must say, you put up a fierce defense but in the end, you lost and I win. So, ha—"

He didn't get further into his gloating than that, because Maka leapt at him, straddling Soul to keep him trapped against the chair. Soul stilled under her, eyes wide as he stared at her, barely breathing. Seeming to realize what she had just done, Maka froze, cheeks flaming. "I—I didn't mean—um, I mean—well, this is awkward." She finished with a little laugh, though she didn't move from his lap.

Soul watched her attention flick from his mouth back to his eyes, green almost swallowed by her pupils. He didn't know if it was because of the semi-darkness of the room or something else, but watching her watch him made it hard to breathe.

The lights flicked on over head and they jumped apart guiltily, turning to the doorway. Blake stood there, hands on his hips. "Either go the fuck to sleep or quiet the fuck down, minions."

Maka shot her friend an embarrassed smile. "Ah—sorry, Blake," Maka said, sending one last look at Soul before she hurried out of the room, squeezing past Blake, who still stood in the doorway.

The blue-haired man raised an eyebrow in amusement. Soul rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding his gaze. "Look—"

"Nah, man, don't apologize. Just don't fuck up." His green eyes held both a promise and threat, and Soul swallowed.

"Uh, got it."

Blake never brought up what happened that night, but Soul noticed him and Tsubaki watching their interactions more closely than ever. After the first couple of days, he had gotten quite good at ignoring their not-so-subtle questions, but he still found himself wishing for Maka to get well enough for them to go on a hunt.

Three days later, his wish was granted in the form of a phone call to Maka from Jackie Dupree, one of her contacts in Colorado. Jackie herself wasn't a hunter, Maka told him, but her partner had been, and so she kept an eye out for news of anything suspicious. Apparently, a couple towns over from Jackie, a family was found murdered in their beds, yet none of the locks were broken and the alarm system hadn't been sounded.

"Jackie's done some research into the house's history, and this has happened twice before, about sixty and eighty years ago, respectively." Maka's tone was professional and no-nonsense as she relayed the information. "Back then, they chalked it up to the town's drunk gone crazy, both times. But Jackie thinks it's a ghost, intent on getting revenge. If you're not scared," she shot him a teasing smile, "it would be a good starter hunt for you—for both of us, as individuals and as a team. What d'you think?"

"I'm for it, but do you think I'm ready? And your wrist is still in a cast," Soul said, gesturing to the pink cast on her right arm. "Isn't that your dominant hand?"

"It's a ghost, Soul; you have to be a completely incompetent to screw it up. Besides, you'll have me at your back. Stop worrying. We obviously won't do it if Dr. Stein doesn't give me the go-ahead. "

Soul frowned, brows furrowed. Now that a chance for a hunt was looming over them, he wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with going out on one but Maka's eyes were shining with excitement and he couldn't find it in himself to tell her no, he was too scared—mostly because he would never hear the end of it. Running a hand down his face, he groaned. "Fine, go ask Stein. Let's go burn ourselves a dead bitch."

She squeaked in excitement, throwing her arms around him, chanting, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" And as quickly as she had come, she was gone, weaving between tables in search of the doctor, always around but always elusive. Soul was smiling in spite of himself. Yes, he was scared of what would happen on his hunt, but, quite frankly, he was sick of the roadhouse. He needed a change of scenery, needed something to take his mind off of the thought that had been playing on repeat for a few days—where the fuck was Kid?

They hadn't heard anything from the angel since he had dropped them off in the parking lot of Starcrossed nearly a month ago. Kid's location and what could have happened to him was, for the most part, all Maka talked to him about. Soul always responded with slight variations of the same response, essentially telling her to stop worrying about it, but he was just as concerned as she was. All of his reassurances, though they had been directed at Maka, were partly for himself, too, and he knew from experience that his attempts at consoling her were failing pretty miserably. Nothing he said convinced him that something terrible hadn't befallen their fine feathered friend, and each day that passed without contact with Kid only strengthened that belief. But now, through the blessing that was Jackie Dupree, they had something to take their mind off of the mystery, and, as such, they were going to immerse themselves whole-heartedly in the hunt.

When Maka returned a lot later than he had expected, a bounce in her step, Soul knew that Stein had given his permission for her to take the case.

"Guess what!" she sang, perching on his table, legs swinging as she gave him the biggest shit-eating grin.

"Chicken butt," Soul deadpanned, not looking up from the computer screen, but watching her from the corner of his eye. Her shoulders slumped and she gave him the most adorable little pout he had ever seen.

Noticing his smirk, she gasped, closing the laptop on his fingers so she could lean forward and poke him in the nose. "You're such a fun sponge, Soul!"

"And you're such a dork," he countered, trying to free his fingers. "We both have our specialties; mine just happens to be underappreciated."

"Whatever," Maka scoffed. "I had important news to tell you, but," she hopped off the table, "if you're going to be like that, then I won't share."

Soul grabbed her hand as she turned away, pulling her back toward him. Red met green. "Alright, spill, Albarn."

Smiling once again, Maka held up a finger. "First, Stein gave me permission! So the hunt is a go." She held up another finger, reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small leather wallet, her eyes shining. "Two, here, this is for you. You've committed your first federal offense and are now officially a hunter. Congratulations!"

He took it from her, knowing exactly what it was without needing to open it. The weight and shape was familiar in his hands, and he could feel the pressure building up in the back of his head, signaling another flashback. As he reacquainted himself with the world of hunting, they had become more and more frequent. Each time was accompanied by crippling pain that sent him to his knees, clutching his head to try and ease the agony, and after the fit had passed, he was left with an ache that lasted for hours. Fighting it down, not wanting to ruin the moment, he flipped the wallet open and immediately snorted in laughter. "You are awful, Maka."

Staring back at him in color—something he wasn't used to seeing—was his mug shot, cropped to show him only from the shoulders up. Devilish red eyes peeked out from under intentionally tousled white hair, and Soul felt a shudder run through him as he looked at it. He hardly recognized the man in the picture as human, let alone as himself.

"Do—do you like it? Using the mug shot was Stein's idea; I told him you probably would get mad, because I know you hate it and everything it stands for, but he—"

She stopped talking abruptly when he enveloped her in a hug, hiding his conflicted expression in her hair. She felt right in his arms, her head tucking under his chin perfectly, petite body strong enough that he didn't feel he had to worry about breaking her if he squeezed too hard. But he didn't know if she was just putting up with him because she had to, or if she had genuinely had a change of heart in the parking lot all those weeks ago. Somehow, knowing most of their relationship had developed in a place called Starcrossed, of all things, didn't do anything to alleviate his concerns.

"So, it's good?" Maka's voice was slightly muffled from where she had buried her face in his chest.

"It's perfect," Soul replied. Somehow, he knew she understood that he wasn't just talking about the fake IDs she had given him.