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justanotherfanwriter · 2 years ago

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And they were ROOMmates, cht 2

cht list: (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n: thank you to everyone who left such encouraging messages on the first part of this. Ah ha, so like I said, I lost the rest of the outline for this story, and can’t remember where I was supposed to be going with it, but people said they would be interested in more, so here’s more! I’ve got a general idea of where I want to take this, but im writing without much of a plan! sort of how soul eater was fking written anyway Hopefully, it’s still enjoyable!

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Above Soul, there was a fluorescent light that needed replacing. The light flickered off-beat with the high-pitched buzz of the dying bulb, and at odd intervals, the room would dim before filling with an irritatingly bright, white light. He stared absently ahead, slouching in his seat. For the most part, the white walls, white light, and now, what he accepted as a white noise stood in the peripheral of his attention.

His eyes flickered to the clock nailed to the wall above the door before leaning over the hospital bed to rest a hand right below Maka's chest. He had been conscious of her breathing since the fight, checking it on the hour almost every hour. He sat completely still, holding his breath, afraid he'd somehow steal the oxygen away from her, as he felt her diaphragm rise and fall. He counted three slow inhales and three slow exhales before he allowed himself to suck in a greedy breath of his own.

He had no reason to be doing so. Logically, Maka was quite alive and hooked up to a monitor here, at one of DWMA's clinics, but there was this little needling voice in the back of his mind that would whisper differently, the tone of which was almost as high-pitched as the buzzing lights above him.

"You're touching my boob."

"Can't touch something that isn't there." He shot back without startling, "How are you feeling?"

Maka groaned, her eyes fluttering open, "Just kill me."

He didn't bother hiding how he smiled as he shook his head, "Drama much?"

"You'd think with everything we've been through, they'd, you know," She waved a bandaged hand in the air, "go easy on the bed rest stuff. I'm fine."

"You'd think after everything we've been through, you'd go easy on the almost dying stuff."

"Okay," She let her head fall back onto the pillow, "noted. I'll admit this hasn't been my…best moment, but death do me in, I was dealing with Oxford!"

He also didn't bother to hide the way he rolled his eyes, "Yeah, he's a brat, Maka, but he's not worth two ribs, a leg, and, well, I guess there was never any helping that face of yours, was there?"

"Har. Har." She sighed, then said, "Noise isn't so bad anymore, but I could do without all the light."

"They won't let me turn this shit off," He grunted, glaring at the door where the nurses popped their heads in from time to time, "but I'll bring your eye mask with me tomorrow. On your nightstand, right?"

"Hanging on one of my bed posts," She corrected, covering her eyes with the crook of her arm. "Sorry, I can't remember which one."

"Don't worry about it." He stood up, placing their duffle bag on the bed, "I've got your book still. Do you want that, or…?"

She shook her head, "It'll just give me a headache."

"Right," He nodded, toeing the ground. "Do you want me to go to the café, get you something not-disgusting to eat?"

"If you did, I'd probably love you forever."

"Pfft, is that all it takes?"

She smirked, lifting her arm off her face, "What can I say? I'm a woman of simple tastes."

After a three-beat pause, he fixed her with a look and asked, "Can I get that in writing?"

"Hey!" She huffed, chucking a pillow at him.

He dodged it easily, "Good luck picking that up by yourself."

"Soul!" Maka called out after him as he walked out of the room, snickering. He was halfway out the door when she spoke again, "Uh, hey, wait, Soul?"

He poked his head back into the room, and his smile faded when he saw the way she had crowded in on herself, "Yeah? What's up?"

She fiddled with the blankets in her lap, "Well, are you alright?"

"I'm not the one in a hospital."

She snorted and looked up. She had that look on her face, still kind but closed-off, staring at him like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out, "I know that, but I mean, in general? You've been a little in your head lately." She pressed her lips together as her eyebrows furrowed, "Wanna…wanna talk about it?"

His heart dropped.

"I'm good, Maka. I'm okay."

"It's just with Harvar—"

"—he just pissed me off, that's all. He's an ass, and 'sides," he shrugged, "I was worried and stuff about you." Her face softened, and he glanced away, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, "Sheesh, don't give me that look. Are you seriously surprised?"

He didn't stick around for her response. Instead, he shoved his fists into his pockets and stalked down the hallway. Guilt did a number on his gut. Lying to Maka, even the innocent 'no-we're-not-throwing-a-surprise-party-for-you' kinda shit always messed him up, but he didn't know what else to say or do.

A short elevator ride later, he stepped into the clinic's café line, gnawing on the inside of his cheeks in thought. This was all Harvar's fault, or not so much Harvar, but the shit he had said was all Soul could think about. And usually, he did such a good job of not thinking about it that all the thinking about it was—

"Hey, aren't you that kid?" The guy behind the counter asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Soul blinked. The line had moved quicker than he had expected.

"Hm?" He looked at the large guy looming before him, "Sorry, what?"

"That kid! You're that kid, right? The new Death Scythe? I've seen you on the news with the Death Lord and the pigtails girl, you know, the one who was involved in all that moon stuff. Nasty business, that moon stuff. I was committed for a few years after all that, got some of the moon crazy." The man's eye twitched as his smile spread just a little further than humanly possible up his face, "I'm good now, of course."

Soul eyed the guy carefully, "And you're working at a clinic?"

"Applied for that program, you know, the Death Lord initiative helpin' with all the moon—" the man circled a finger next to his head, "—got this job with it!"

"Well, I can't see how that'll backfire on us," He drawled, mostly to himself, before uttering a small "congrats."

The man preened, "Real nice seein' a Death Scythe, never got to thank anyone, you know, none of my letters ever made it past censor for some reason. Say what you doin' here?"

"The ambiance, I guess," He pointed to the menu, noticing how he was holding up the line, "listen, can I just get a—"

If possible, the man's smile grew wider, "I like it too. Good energy. Death and sickness. That girl, she's here, right now, isn't she, pigtails? That's—" He laughed, "—that's probably why you're actually here. I heard the gossip this morning! Nasty business dealing with that monster! If it wasn't for pigtails, I'd just be another version of that guy! I'll have to stop by her room, huh? This morning when I heard what all the buzz was about, I asked, I said, hey! What room's she in, and they all said, that's inappropriate, but I just want to say thanks, you know, for what she's done! That's not so bad, is it?"

Soul narrowed his eyes but chose not to respond. He knew this guy's type. Madness was hard to recover from, and most people couldn't do it. Many people were like this guy, half there, half not, living a convincingly everyday life until something pushed them over the edge. Anything could do it, but from Soul's observations (and experience), it was always some sort of invocation of fear.

Thanks, of course, to Asura for that. A real cool guy, that one.

A lot of times, these people didn't know they were still under the heavy effects of madness until they were standing smack dab in the middle of their living room, surrounded by the bodies of their dead loved ones. To say the least, it wasn't a good time for anyone involved, and for the past few years, it had been his and Maka's line of work, given that she thought Crona, and therefore the Moon, was her doing and responsibility.

"I mean, she fixed everything! Can't say anything was ever broken," The guy behind the counter laughed harder, pounding his fist onto the prep counter off-beat with his belly laugh, "but hey, you know, I ain't no shrink! But seriously, it's got me all frazzled," The man leaned completely over the plastic display window so his face was close enough to Soul's that he could no longer politely ignore his breath, "cause she's here, but no one's fucking telling me where she's at. Guy can't live like that, you know, me and her, we've got something special, and I can't even see her!? What the fuck is that all about?"

Soul pushed the man's nose away with the tip of his finger, "Back up—" He peered at the nametag on his left breast pocket, "—Marc, you're starting to really piss me off."

Marc slid back to the other side of the counter, and the faux-jovial expression fell off his face. Soul studied his eyes closely, watching his pupils dilate at odd intervals. A violent twitch shook his whole body, and then, the face-splitting smile reappeared as if nothing had happened.

"Oof," Marc shook his head, "ha! That got a little intense, didn't it? My bad. We're all good here, aren't we?"

"Are we?"

"Course we are! Say, you know pigtails, and I, obviously, would like to know pigtails. Maybe put in a good word for me, yeah? I mean, she was your meister, right, and no need to lie, you know, 'cause I already know. Maybe she could make me a Death Scythe, too? I'd like that a bunch! You're through with her, right?"

"You got a manager or something I could talk to?"

"It's not like you need her anymore," Marc kept going, "you're already a Death Scythe, and I think it's only fair I get a shot, right? I mean, that little bitch ruined my fucking life. I think she owes me one." He said this like he was making a casual remark about the weather, "So, just tell me her room number."

"Yeah, I want to talk to that manager now." He reiterated, "And your counselor. They're not gonna like this."

Marc threw back his head with a short laugh, which ended rather abruptly, and he continued looking at the ceiling as he talked, "I just don't get it. Why won't you just give me her room number? I mean, just give it to me, you know? What—" His head snapped down, and he gave Soul a look that would have made him flinch if he weren't so used to it, "—you fuckin' her or something?"

He picked some lint off his shirt and, watching it float to the ground, asked, "Why are you freaks always asking shit like that?"

"Give me her room number."

He mulled over an answer before returning to Marc, "No."

An ear-piercing scream seemed to erupt right from Marc's gut as he lunged over the counter. Soul stepped back, transforming his arm into a scythe as the man jabbed his own spear-like arm in his direction. It was always interesting, in Soul's opinion, at least, when a demon weapon was under the control of madness. Soul knew what it felt like firsthand to be under the effects of madness and how fucking hard it was to shake the feeling, so seeing another weapon's reaction to its' influence made him feel less othered in some twisted way like he wasn't the only one.

On the other hand, it was harder for him to sympathize with these people. If he could overcome it, why couldn't they?

He blocked Marc's attack, pushing the older man back against the counter he had just hopped over. Then, with a spin kick, he moved the scythe of his arm to his leg, slashing at Marc's center. He made contact, could literally feel the way Marc's skin split in two for him, but he didn't dare go any deeper than a surface-level cut.

He pulled away quickly, putting some distance between them as he prepared for the counterattack, but was surprised to see Marc slump to the ground with a grunt, falling to his knees.

The fact that someone his size—and a weapon at that—was already on his knees because of a little graze was odd. Sure, most weapons didn't choose to work as a weapon as he had, so Marc's lack of stamina wasn't totally unexpected, but regardless, it was surprising.

Unless of course—

Soul tilted Marc's head up, so he could see his eyes. They continued to dilate at impossible speeds, like his sanity and insanity were playing tug-o-war with his consciousness.

—he was internally fighting himself. People who made it this far in the Program didn't make it this far without trying.

"Bad idea, coming for a Death Scythe. I guess I freaked you out, huh?" Soul spoke to the groaning, mumbling man, "Don't worry. I won't take you out. The people in this room have enough problems as it is."

Soul looked around at the frantic individuals and families cowering over each other, still likely scarred from all those years ago when this sort of happenstance played out on a near-daily basis. People from Death City weren't usually the "cowering" type as in some way, shape, or form they had walked the halls of DWMA, but visitors, like the family wearing the matching sports jerseys from some team in Georgia, weren't probably as used to this, especially in a hospital setting.

He gave them a weak smile and muttered, "Fuck, what a drag."

"Hey! What's going on out here!" A man in the same uniform as Marc scrambled around the corner, coming from the direction of a supply closet.

Soul flashed his badge, and the other man—Clay, he assumed from the nametag, at least—came to a halt.

"Shit, you're a Death Scythe!"

"Is that what that badge says?" He sniffed and then jerked his head at Marc, "You got his counselor's name and number?"

"Uh, I'm—did he attack you? They said—my supervisor said this one wouldn't do that!"

'This one,' Soul felt offended on Marc's behalf. How demeaning was that shit, 'this one.' It wasn't like any of this was Marc's fault.

"Well, he pulled it, sorry. That number, though? Kind of time-sensitive. I think he's trying to—" Soul paused. Explaining exactly what this guy was going through would just take up more time, "—stop himself, let's go with that."

"Can't you do something!" Clay exclaimed, "Aren't you, like, supposed to be doing more? Is he gonna go ballistic? I thought this guy was messed up! I told them!"

"Did my badge say Program Counselor, or did it say Death Scythe?" He snapped, "Get the number!"

Clay's eyes widened a fraction as he scrambled around in the front pocket of his apron, "My supervisor told me I had to keep it on me at all times. He said it was just some dumb rule and that we had to follow it or the cafeteria company—it's not the hospital, it's like some third party—they wouldn't get some grant or something, but he said it was just a precaution, nothing bad was supposed to happen. Is his arm a knife! Is he a weapon! They never said anything about him being a—"

Shock did a lot of things to people. Evidently, it turned Clay into a talker. Fan—fucking—tastic.

"—Looks more like a spear to me. Now, Clay, dude, the number," He demanded, making a grabby hand at him.

"Right!" Clay squeaked, passing it over with a shaky hand, making Soul lousy.

He took the number and pulled out his phone. As he dialed, he looked back at Clay, "Hey, you're not from around here, are you?"

Clay's large eyes bounced away from Marc. If Soul could guess, he'd say Clay was maybe five-ish years older than him. He had the Death City aesthetic down, but anyone could wear a pair of gauges and combat boots and have the Death City aesthetic down, and his reaction to a weapon was telling. Obviously, weapons lived worldwide, but unless they turned into a weapon, non-weapons tended to forget they existed, which had its perks from time to time. Other times, it did not.

"Uh, well, I'm from Las Vegas, but they pay better down here."

"Heard that." Soul nodded as a woman on the other end of the phone picked up, "It's gonna be okay, though, alright? We'll get this—"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence. Dropping his phone, he pulled Clay into his chest and turned, shielding him with his body as Marc sprang up from his spot, his spear arms stabbing into the tile floor where Clay had just been standing.

Soul cursed, ignoring Clay's cry of surprise as he pushed him toward the family from Georgia. He hoped they'd all get the fucking picture and book it out of here, but fear made people do stupid things. He was a living testament to that.

He didn't have much time to react as Marc freed his arms from the ground and made another lunge at him. He'd be able to dodge one of those spears, but no matter what, thanks to his own stupidity and timing, the other was going to land its target. He braced himself for the inevitable. It wasn't like he hadn't been stabbed before, but this was really the cherry on top of an already shitty week.

At the same time he dodged one of Marc's arms, a gunshot echoed throughout the cafeteria. Marc's eyes went wide, staring into his own as a bullet hit the shoulder of the arm Soul wouldn't have been able to dodge.

Marc fell with a cry, the blast of the shot sending pulse waves through his body until he collapsed. The convulsions were semi-unsettling to watch. Kid's wavelength manipulation reminded Soul of a cartoon character getting hit with a taser, but Marc didn't immediately bounce back like a cartoon. Instead, a moment of clarity flickered through his eyes, and Soul wished he could look away. Genuine, non-madness-induced fear was there, and it was like Soul could read his every thought.

I've been shot.

Then, I'll be recommitted.

It turned Soul's stomach. That could have been him. He could have been Marc.

"I said!" Black*Star screamed, and Soul jumped in surprise, looking up at the ceiling where Black*Star hung from a light fixture, "I had it!"

"You were taking too long," Kid rolled his eyes, brushing invisible dust off his jacket while Liz transformed back into her human form.

"Too long! Too long!" Star continued to scream, dropping from the ceiling with a thud right in front of Clay and the terrified family from Georgia. He regarded them as he pointed at Kid, "This guy says I took too long. Can you believe it!? He took my—" He turned back to Kid, "—it isn't just about the shot! It's about the suspense! Dammit. Where was the flair?"

"Upsey-daisy!" Patty appeared in front of Soul with a giggle, forcing him to look away from the argument brewing between Star and Kid.

"Oh!" He blinked in surprise, staring at her outstretched hands, "I fell?'

"Like a sack, man," Liz appeared, "what's up with that?"

He took Patty's hands and was yanked up at such an incredible speed Tsubaki had to reach out to steady him.

"Are you okay, Soul?" She hummed, tilting her head in concern, "You—" she frowned, "—well—"

"—You froze!" Patty finished with a laugh, mocking what he assumed his face must have looked like, "Like a deer!"

He rubbed his head, "I—it's…this week has been absolute shit."

Liz looked around the room, first at Marc, then the cowering bystanders, and nodded, "Nothing ever good happens in a hospital for us, that's for sure." Then, she spoke up, yelling in the direction of her—their—meister, "If only there had been someway to prevent this!"

Kid got the hint, loud and clear, and froze mid-argument with Black*Star.

"B-but…they weren't...even…," He whimpered, ducking his head.

"Even…did he just say—" Soul muttered to himself, Kid's words relighting the fire under his feet as he put two and two together, "—you piece of shit! I was right!" He took off after Kid, "I'll show you even!"

#soul eater #soul x maka #maka x soul #fic #my writing #canon compliant with the manga #FYI I take what I need from N.O.T. but I wont be tricked into reading that dumpster fire more than I have to #Think of this cht an intro to the c-plot // im not very good at action and wanted to practice!#In the next cht I introduce the nonsensical b-plot :))))

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