A/N: The longest chapter and the last full one... The final installment will be a little epilogue. I hope people have enjoyed this story. It thrilled me SO much to write it, and to work out headcanons and try to figure out these two personalities... I'm new to Soul Eater but these crazy fools have my heart (as do so many of the chars) so I hope I have done them justice.

Part 10

"I'm sorry," Stein breathed almost absently, as vivid details of the attack against his former partner played before his eyes.

"He was wrong about you."

Spirit looked directly at him then, and Stein stiffened under the scrutiny.

"I can't see souls like you, but I could feel it in your wavelength... You knew he couldn't be trusted. But you hoped he might be saved until it was obvious that he couldn't."

Stein slowly drew from the cigarette and simply stared, again at a loss. This time he would try to keep his mouth shut.

"But he was still getting to you. Stein."

Spirit set a hand on his shoulder, and the memory of a bloodied hand gripping his coat out on the plains before falling heavily to the sand caused his stomach to turn. He sought anywhere but Spirit's face to focus his gaze, and with a small start he saw a spot of dark red at the very center of the weapon's t-shirt.

"You pulled out some of your stitches," he said, setting his fingertips gently on the spot on Spirit's chest and watching as the blood further soaked the fabric. "Lean forward."

Spirit complied with a wince, moving his hands to his lap where both clenched into fists. There were no less than three small, dark spots on the back of his t-shirt where either the journey or simply the way he had sat in the chair had caused some damage.

Stein grimaced. Somehow, what should be a simple question was more difficult than the nearly twenty-four hours surgery he had already performed.

"You need these restitched immediately," was what came out.

Spirit let out a sigh, and Stein finally raised his eyes. The look he was met with caused his thoughts to flatline again, as there was too much in his former partner's eyes to comprehend. Pity? Concern? Disappointment?

Nothing made sense, and he forced himself to say what he knew was needed, even though it was barely enough, and each word felt like ash on his tongue.

"Can I fix them?"

The look in Spirit's eyes didn't change, and Stein waited, uncomprehending. He felt like he was a child again, being scrutinized by the weapon who had been assigned to be his keeper as he walked the line between madness and sanity. Except the manner of judgment in Spirit's eyes was wholly different this time.

"Sure," Spirit said with a slight nod and another sigh.

Stein stood up again and began pushing the rolling chair toward one of his surgical rooms, Spirit having picked up his feet automatically.

"Stein."

Stein was grateful to not see his former partner's face at the moment, not enjoying the sensation of being a microbe in a Petri dish that was rapidly overtaking him. He had spent too many years like that under Spirit's gaze, and he wondered suddenly if that wasn't part of the reason for some of the past choices he had made.

"Stein," Spirit pressed.

"What did you want to see me about?" Stein asked without thinking. But it was the question that was burning his soul.

Spirit had come straight to his lab rather than follow the protocol of reporting to Lord Death, risking his well-being in the process. And despite the fact he should be furious over everything that had happened, despite the cruel words Stein had thrown at him, he was going to allow him to operate.

Too many new questions were being added to the turmoil in his mind, and no answers. He needed to stay focused.

Spirit hadn't replied, and in a moment they had reached the surgical room. Stein turned on the lights and began gathering needed materials as Spirit made to sit atop the tall bed, and Stein couldn't help but watch the slowness with which his former partner moved, and how every muscle in face was tense as he tried to ignore the pain.

And he had walked all the way from Death City to the lab to see him?

Anger was beginning to build in Stein's chest, and he tried to force it to the wayside as he picked up a bottle and a needle.

"No drugs," Spirit said with a slight wince as he scooted back onto the bed.

A muscle in Stein's cheek twitched. No painkillers because...Spirit didn't trust him? He wouldn't blame him.

He picked up some cotton balls and rubbing alcohol instead and waited as Spirit very slowly took off his t-shirt.

Stein chewed the end of the cigarette as his handiwork was gradually revealed. After a week there had been a lot of improvement, thankfully. But this time there would be no hiding of delicate, precision cuts that had barely been there to begin with. Spirit would have the scars from this battle forever.

The most severe wounds were still bandaged, but plenty were visible. Some were still red and tender along the seams of flesh, while others were mottled with gray and yellow bruises that spread outward over his skin like the falling, dying petals of a flower. None looked infected, thankfully, but seeing his former partner's chest as a mass of color, all overshadowed by haphazard lines of black that kept him patched together with hundreds of staples and stitches Stein had meticulously put in to ensure recovery, made him feel sick.

It was a violation. Both the attack itself, and his necessary intervention to save Spirit's life. No one should ever have to live with what was now the ruin of the death scythe's body.

"I'm—"

"At least it's only on the outside," Spirit interrupted, giving a tired, half-smile.

Stein blinked, biting down on the repeat of the apology he'd already given twice. He couldn't fathom how Spirit wasn't angry with him or worse for his present condition.

Stein moved forward with the rubbing alcohol, and the only outward sign Spirit gave was a tensing of his jaw when Stein began to clean the blood from the single popped stitch near the center of the weapon's chest. He leaned over Spirit's shoulder to glance at his back and saw much of the same landscape as his front, except three stitches along his shoulder blades had been torn through and blood was seeping through the wounds.

"I don't have a guest room," Stein said flatly as he carefully cut away the first torn stitch.

"This one's fine."

Stein fell silent as he set to work, at a loss for what to say, and Spirit did the same. Stein was sure it was enough of an effort for Spirit to remain upright let alone talk, and he was still amazed and bewildered that his former partner had even managed the walk to his lab from the city. More than that, he still wondered why.

But now he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. The anger he had feared from his former weapon only showed itself when he had spoken cruelly, and it seemed almost as if Spirit was deliberately trying to demonstrate the opposite. But why... Why would Spirit show him, of all people, kindness?

"Stein? When Griffin...killed Sachiko... What happened?"

Stein grimaced at the memory. "Much like how he started with you. He struck a blow to her head while invisible, and then beat her in front of us in weapon form until she died, shouting that he wasn't crazy."

Stein glanced up from his task to Spirit's eyes, which had filled with sadness.

The memory of Spirit being struck in the same way flashed in Stein's vision, and he frowned as the thought of what could have happened sent the familiar rush of cold fear to his senses. But Spirit spoke again and pulled the thought back.

"When he killed her...all those years ago...could you see the shape of his soul?"

Stein's head bowed ever so slightly as he tied off the first replaced stitch.

"Yes," he admitted.

He expected accusations to follow, of why he hadn't stopped it... Had he been tempted by Griffin's offer at the time to join him... Was he complicit in the attack against her...

He remembered those questions and more from the interrogation afterward, his lasting far longer than Marie's and the younger boy's due to his skill for Soul Perception. He had convinced himself of his answers back then. But now it all swirled in his mind like sand pulled up from the desert floor by a whirlwind.

Trust had been returned to him, by Lord Death and by Spirit, and he had failed them. That was the only answer that mattered.

"What did his soul look like? Did it look like...what we saw at the end?"

Stein blinked in surprise at the question as he took a step to the side to clean the wound on Spirit's shoulder blade. That wasn't a question anyone had asked before.

"It was Griffin's soul. But it looked like it was bleeding deep within."

"Nothing like what we saw."

"No."

Spirit shifted on the creaky surgical bed to turn toward him slightly and raised one hand up to lightly grip Stein's bicep. Stein's fingers stilled where he was about to press a needle into flesh as he looked at Spirit in surprise.

He felt the connection Spirit was reaching for, and he was so startled that he matched his wavelength without a thought, like he had for so many years. There was no faltering between them this time as there had been in the battle. Just the simple, easy resonance of souls tightly stitched together that he hadn't realized he was missing so desperately until he had nearly lost Spirit forever.

"Look, you know I'm not great with words. So just listen, okay? I can't see souls the way you can," Spirit said, his eyes boring into his. "But yours looks nothing like Griffin's."

Stein's gaze fell as his lips parted slightly before he pressed them back together to hold on to the cigarette. Just like that, he was a microbe under analysis again.

"Whatever he had you believing back then, what he said now...it's not true. We all go through different trials. Some of them a living hell of our own making. Just look at me," Spirit said with a slight scoff. "But whatever's in your head, Stein...your life hasn't been a waste."

Stein wanted to cling to the steady reassurance he felt through their resonance. It was familiar and strong, the same lifeline that had been cast to him through so many storms in the five years that they had been partners. And he did cling for just a moment, grasping for that peace he couldn't find alone—the only thing that might combat the whirlwind that spun so darkly around his soul.

But he didn't deserve it.

He lifted his head to meet Spirit's eyes, which narrowed upon his. They filled again with that look that Stein couldn't quite read. Concern? Disappointment? Pity?

Spirit let go, and Stein pressed the needle into flesh to finish restitching the last wound at Spirit's back.

The evidence of what he was capable of lay right there beneath his hands. Would his soul have bled evil like Griffin's, had his experiments not been stopped all those years ago? And the failure of the battle at the plains spoke for itself.

But in between those events was more than a decade of nothing. Years of freedom, so desperately yearned for, but...to what end? To what purpose when his soul wasn't satisfied?

No, this time...Spirit was wrong.

Stein hated his life.

"All these years... I've been able to do anything and everything I've ever wanted," Stein said slowly as he began tying off the last stitch. "But I can't bring myself to dwell upon any of it. For the distress it all causes me."

Spirit's eyes were on him as he spoke, his voice growing hoarse against his will. He trimmed the stitch and stepped back.

"Everything is in vain. Meaningless. Like I'm grasping for the wind."

A shaky breath left Spirit's lips. "Stein..."

He turned away and began cleaning up the tools from the brief procedure.

"The bathroom's down the hall on the right. There's a fridge in the lab... Uh, the mini-fridge next to my desk. Don't open the large fridge. That one has...not food inside."

Spirit grimaced slightly in u0nderstanding.

Stein put away his instruments and the unused anesthetic after tossing the bloodied cotton balls and used stitches in the trash and then glanced around the tiny room. He realized then that because occupants of his surgical bed were never long-term guests, he had no spare pillow and blanket. He supposed he could offer the ones from his own bed.

"Try not to move much, or you'll risk tearing more stitches."

"After I hit the can," Spirit said with a nod as he slowly began pulling his t-shirt back on. Stein watched as the numerous grave wounds were hidden away once again. But concealing the evidence would never change the truth of what was.

When Spirit looked at him, adjusting his hair under the bandage around his head, that look was back in his eyes. The evidence of what Stein had given up for a life of vain selfishness stared back at him from familiar, teal depths. Stein couldn't face it. After his failure against Griffin, he didn't dare hope ever again.

"I'll bring in a pillow and blanket for you... Good night," he said, and closed the door behind him.