Okay. I just think Maka is badass, and her badassery should be seen from a different point of view. Where we don't quite see the badassery, but sure as hell know it's there. So I came up with this, and it's a little dark but I had an unhealthy amount of fun with the imagery. :3

Everything goes to Atsushi Ōkubo. Not me. Not completely sure if I own the sweat from my brow...

Soul is extremely comfortable.

The probing of his consciousness is so faint, Soul only has the mental capacity to revel in the warmth of his limbs, the softness of the air, and how relaxed his body is.

I could get used to this, Soul contemplates, lifting the corners of his lips into a smirk - though his mouth doesn't move. Strange, he thinks, furrowing his brow in confusion. His eyebrows remain firmly in place.

No big deal, Soul sighs, allowing the darkness behind his lids to fill his mind with jet images: a supple, grand piano; the ink from Maka's favorite novel; Death City's thick, star-strewn night sky. Even the warmth is dark, like a heavy wool coat packed with raven's feathers. The weight on his body is… nice. Sturdy. The warmth cradles his body closely.

Very close.

It whispers over his bare skin and soaks through his contented pores.

Wait a moment, am I even wearing clothes?

The dense air around his body is suddenly a little darker than he wants, a little heavier than comfortable. A little invasive, holding his legs, arms, neck and torso with firm hands.

Where am I? Consciousness begins to trickle back with a vengeance. This isn't my bed or the couch. The darkness is less comforting and more stifling as Soul's coherent thought takes residence in his waking mind. He wants to struggle. The softness remains, but he can't escape from it. The black surrounds Soul with coiling wisps of licorice. Slowly, the warmth over his body crawls across his arms, legs, neck, chest… it gathers into scalding blotches that scorch his abdomen and face.

What the hell, Soul thinks, panic rising like bile in his throat.

"Where am I?!" Soul screams into the unyielding darkness, but… nothing. NOTHING. He senses a chance of lungs constricting, a memory of air whistling past his sharp teeth, but there is no sound in the din and no physical movement to be felt. Where is his body? He senses it, but can't move it. His mind may be sending messages, but his body must be M.I.A., and that does nothing to comfort Soul.

Where is his mind?

I'm just floating here, I know that I'm thinking, but where are my thoughts? Soul gasps. Have I been sucked in by the madness? Is this insanity?

The panic bubbles like boils over his insides, rupturing and dribbling wicked lava across his ribs, coating his stomach with nausea.

Soul is trapped.

He can't move, he can't scream, he doesn't KNOW anything. He's going to drown, splinter, and explode into the muggy blackness that continues to creep over his nerves. Soul begs the darkness to fade, forcing his eyes to open-

but whether or not his lids lift, only shadows probe his sight. It's infiltrating his sanity, cornering Soul's memories, shredding his comfort zone and demanding more contact than Soul imagines he will give anyone. The flaming blotches on his skin crawl around like feral rats. Soul swears he can feel their minuscule claws prick his currently non-existent skin, and he needs to escape, find space, drink in cool, thin air, and run. Move his body. It's too much, the closeness, the dark. His insecurities creep from the deep recesses of his mind, laughing at him. Wes's face looms from childhood memories and disappointed, fearful expressions flash in Soul's heart with sharp snaps. Images: parents turning away from him to gaze at his brother; Wes sneering at his ineptitude and gloating in his parents' praise; grandparents disgusted by a shock of white hair and ruby eyes.

I'm not a dark person, Soul repeats over and over. This isn't me. Wes is wrong, I'm not a monster. The darkness almost crackles with it's intensity. It sounds like it's cackling. I'm not a dark person, I'm not a monster, I don't want to be here, I'm not a dark person, I'm not a monster, damn, damn, I need to -

there's a light. Relief, fresh, cool relief glides on dove wings over Soul's consciousness. He doesn't even question where the light is coming from and dismisses the slight hesitance in his mind. Release: that light is release from this immobile hell. The pain recedes and Soul's skin no longer shrieks with charring, crawling, and claustrophobic senses.

Soul sighs and smiles. Once again, his body refuses his commands, but the light remains steadfast. The pain resides as Soul wills the light closer, and it grows in both size and brilliance remarkably fast.

That's weird, Soul thinks. Usually, things I'm looking forward to take their sweet time in reaching me.

Soul feels like dancing, playing piano, wandering Death City with Maka, even going on some insane adventure with Black*Star! Release, release, Soul will have -

the light is nearly surrounding him. Soul's thoughts screech to a halt.

No. Wait. Nothing is this easy. Where am I really? Soul's vision is filled with sparkling, bright light. Like the glimmer in Maka's eye when she masters a new technique. Maka. Soul's heart stops altogether before creating a crescendo of wild beating.Where is Maka? Soul scrambles to stop the light. It's happening too fast now, it's too good, too friendly. For him to have been in such hell and now to find this light? Impossible. And his partner, his meister, his friend…. where is she? Is she struggling in the darkness too?!

Maka? Light. Release. It had been so dark… what happened before this?

Maka.

Trap.

MAKA.

"No! I don't want release," Soul cries to the void of light. Not a sound reaches his deaf ears, but his mind is set. "I won't die, Maka!"

Soul attempts to backpedal, pushing the light away with his thoughts. He bites his lip- nothing, not a hint of screeching nerves. "Shit!" Soul gasps soundlessly. I'm dying. The foreign thought slips kneading fingernails into his gut while licking up his spine with a cold, clammy tongue.

I'm dying because Maka and I…. walked into a trap. A landmine. The memories swirl across his vision in a haze, tipping and popping in and out of focus. I couldn't get to her in time… Did she make it?!

"Shit, Maka, I'm coming! Can you hear me!?"

Soul can't even hear himself as the light recedes ever so slowly. He bites his lip a second time- nothing, no sign of gushing blood. The warmth returns and his chest continues to smolder in agony as if it never ceased. Wounds blossom on his skin: Soul realizes he can see his body again.

The light- pop.

Gone.

Soul bites his lip with wild ferocity; and his sharp teeth slice straight through the soft flesh.

Soul screams. The pain is bludgeoning his thoughts from all sides as white hot razors play his body like a mandolin. Blood dribbles from his lips, or that's what Soul quickly deduces before his senses wail at the wicked onslaught. Who knows, maybe it's vomit. Smelling isn't an option at this point. All burning flesh and decaying bodies.

Blood.

Fluids.

Carnage.

Soul realizes from the splintering in his throat that he hasn't stop screaming.

Why didn't I stay with that light? Why the hell did I decide to come back? Soul's lucid thoughts waver and flicker as a candle would in a storm. Soul bites his lip again to hold back another bout of pointless, grating noise, but it's no use. The taste of copper languidly presents itself to Soul's suffering senses and the gush of blood chokes him momentarily.

Maka, Soul berates himself. That's why I'm here. Maka. Maka!

"MAKA!" Soul cuts through the hot air and opens his eyes. Red. Blood red everywhere. His eyes are filled with the thick, hot substance and it blinds him as he gasps his meister's name. He begins to hyperventilate, the breaths searing through his ribs, tearing at his lungs, and catching in his bloodied throat.

"Please, shit Maka, I can't see you, I can't see!" Soul tries to reign in his overstimulated, panicking mind, but he can't help pleading to the hot, muggy air around him as he lies on the hard ground, momentarily blind. "Talk to me, Maka! Tell me you're alive!"

Suddenly, the world is jolting. Pain hurtles up his spine and fills his cracking mind with each movement and Soul can't remember what it feels like to breath easily. Soul registers a scream slicing through the red, sick air; that's me.

There is more noise fighting to reach his mind. A tumble of syllables, vowels, and consonants. But they don't make any sense, the red is dominant here, the jolting thump, thump, thump superior. The rhythm of agony is anything but a lullaby as Soul fights for consciousness, all but sobbing his partner's name.

What a fool I am, screaming, dying, useless partner.

The noises continue, but Soul can't place where they are coming from. It's too… fuzzy. But it's a familiar fuzziness….

I'm useless! She could be dead... and...

"Maka…" Soul whimpers, his lungs popping with each pounding movement. He's surprised at the hot wetness covering his cheeks. Is it tears or blood? Soul doesn't keep the thought long enough to ponder it.

Maka… we really screwed up.

I really screwed up.

I said it would be fine.

She is his precious person. They are just right together. They bicker constantly, always have each other's backs, and their souls match, and yet he had almost let her go! The temptation of release nearly won him over. And now… now he can't find her, so much as coherently think anything through the pain of his mangled body. But he needs to see her and know the truth. Know if she's... fighting.

Why can't I see!

That's when Soul realizes he is moving. The jolts are… footsteps? Another rush of panic fills his arteries.

"MAKA! MA-!"

Soul vomits violently who-knows-where and on who-knows-what. A sudden grip on Soul's left ribs sends him over the edge into a whirlpool of cracking bones and splicing nerves.

The black returns.

The immobile hell is back, but Soul feels more… drowsy. Consciousness returns faster than before: he hears beeping, smells bleach, tastes blood and feels cottonballs in his mouth. And… a hand is holding his. Softly. Hair… is on his nose. Soul feels it shudder with each labored breath. Inhaling deeply, Soul smells cucumber mint: Maka's conditioner. Soul's heart releases the fear that had clung so hard during... whatever had happened.

Familiarity.

Calm.

The pain is exponentially less now. In fact, Sou's body is virtually numb, and it hums with a slow, honeybee tune.

Meds, Soul thinks grimly. Meds wear off…

He sighs. Maka… her scent is all around him. Is that really her hair? That hand… it feels like her. Her warmth, he solidity, her soul wavelength… definitely her. Stubbornness and all. Soul grins as a memory slips out from storage.

He sees her on the couch late at night when they are watching a horror film Soul picks out. She's clutching a blanket, and Soul is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of popcorn between his legs. After a while, Soul always tosses the empty bowl behind him with the dust bunnies, Maka glares at him, and he props himself in the couch corner and beckons her over. She always scurries over with a terrified squeal and drapes the blanket over them both. Soul rests his arm across the back of the couch to sweep his fingers over the crown of her head.

Peaceful.

A gasp jumbles the silence and Soul opens his eyes, suddenly back in the present.

And he can see.

He can see that he is face to face with a very tired, very relieved Maka. Soul's throat is raw from… then, but he struggles out a feeble, "hey."

"Hey," Maka whispers raggedly back. Her voice sounds scratchy, but not terrible like his. She can never sound terrible, she's Maka. And they simply stare at each other, various emotions enveloping each other's hearts: fondness, concern; contentment, wariness; relief, relief. Her cheek is bruised and a fierce cut mars her forehead. Bandages are visible between her pajamas and her lips are white and tense. Soul summons his eyebrows together.

Why is she so upset? he thinks. Soul sees guilt surfacing in her emerald irises.

Oh, Soul realizes. I'm hurt again. Soul attempts to sit up, but Maka clutches his arm hard.

"Don't move," she rasps. Soul glances down and sees white; his body is fully wrapped in bleached, crisscrossing bandages. Better than red, he decides, shuddering.

"Are you cold?" Maka inquires, her hands dancing along the surface of the bandages worriedly. Soul shakes his head and instead drags his arm, roped to dozens of needles and tubes, to grasp Maka's steady fingers. His actions are slow and lulled, but his body is obeying the commands given. Soul closes his eyes as an additional roll of relief settles over him.

Meister and Weapon turn their heads when Stein enters the room - after slamming on his back, the rolling chair catching the doorframe as usual. From the floor, his glasses glint at the two before his lifts himself up and takes a seat on his chair. Stein leans his head on the crook of his arm and contemplates Soul and Maka critically. As they stare back at him, Soul wonders if he will mention why the hell he's here.

"You're lucky Maka was there for you, Soul," Stein comments, glancing over Soul's mummified body. "You'll live," he adds dryly. "Just remember to thank Maka." Stein lights a smoke and rolls back to the open door. Twisting the screw in his skull, Stein turns and takes a long drag from the smoke.

Some visit.

"I'm still surprised that she defeated three Kishin eggs on her own..." Stein murmurs to himself, glancing back at Soul's partner with, perhaps, respect? Soul strains his ears, his heart beating unnervingly fast.

"And while you were screaming like a banshee, no less..." Stein continues, shrugging as he rolls away. The scent of nicotine drifts across the hospital bed long after Stein is gone.

Soul remains frozen with that information. I did nothing... while three- THREE!- evil souls attacked Maka? And she..? Soul breathes deeply, attempting to calm his wild heart.

"You, what? How?" Soul can hardly contemplate the situation he left Maka in. "The explosion...?"

"I was a little ways behind you, the blast wasn't... as bad for me..." Maka lowers her head and traces the lines over Soul's knuckles.

Soul's eyes widen with horror. "And all I did was scream? That's it?! I'm your Weapon, I'm your guardian, I should have-"

"It was my turn to save you," she says simply, looking up at him and smiling softly. Soul shakes his head in disbelief.

Shit, I can't cry now, Soul thinks as his chest constricts and heat builds up behind his eyes.

"I got them, didn't I?!" Maka counters to his unspoken argument.

"You," Soul chokes, begging his voice to remain level, but to no avail- the pain meds are fading. Maka glances at his stats in the corner, concern ebbing from her narrowed eyes.

"You carried me," he presses on as the wounds peppering his person make themselves known. Maka nods. Soul cringes, remembering his blubbering. "Ah damn, and I puked my guts on you too, huh," he groans. Maka wrinkles her nose and nods again. Once more, they stare at each other, reading each other's souls.

She's okay. He's okay. She's incredible. He's currently useless. Soul's eyes mist over, and a strangled, "I'm sorry," crawls from his parched lips. Maka shushes him.

"We can talk about this later, K?" she asks, nearly pleading. "Can we just… accept that we are both alive, and that we are back with each other?" Maka looks at Soul with those endless emerald orbs. "Both conscious," she adds, shifting her hand to grip his more firmly. Soul nods, willing the mistiness to get the hell away from him. A tear- a rebellious, damned tear- spills down his cheek. Maka raises a shaking hand (she hadn't been shaking before...) to brush it away.

Then she grins, and begins to talk about everything. She babbles about his visitors over the past week (week?!), Black*Star and Tsubaki's successfully completed mission, Stein's experiments, and Blair's surprisingly okay cooking. She talks to him for hours as he drifts in and out of consciousness, and everything will be alright. Because they are right together.

Always have been.

"Thank you, Maka," Soul murmurs.

Maka whispers her lips on his hand before responding.

"You're welcome, Soul."

Always will be.

Welp. So this may also be a little OOC for Soul... not sure. What do you think? You're opinion is what counts! I really like the way it turned out but I've been reading it over and OVER and a fresh mind can have great new thoughts! Please RxR, means a lot :) I enjoy constructive criticism, but even a smiley face is a boost in my confidence. Have a lovely rest of your day/night/time not heeded!