Warnings: MalexMale pairing. This is a Spirit x Stein fanfiction, also has kinda implied Soul x Kid.
A couple quick notes:
1. I have actually not finished either the Manga or the Anime (yes, I know they diverge about chapter 36). I got to the point where they enter the book to free Kid and they got to the section where their genders get flipped. However, I did look up how it ended just enough to know who was alive/dead and how Asura was ultimately stopped.
2. There is only one thing I am taking from the Anime. Mifune is still alive, and that is only because I really like Mifune. He is my third favorite character (With Stein first and Kid and Soul tying for second). His role in this story is very minimal.
3. I don't really like Marie. She does not have a relationship with Stein and she did not have his child.
4. When I originally came up with this idea I was thinking for some reason that Maka's mother was dead. It works with her still being alive, but it worked better with her dead.
Word count for this story is 3,555 words. Enjoy!
I do not own Soul Eater :'(
A Message from an Angel
His head was pounding, and opening his eyes only made it worse. He couldn't remember where he was or exactly how he had gotten there, and the one, brief moment he had opened his eyes gave him no clue as to either considering his vision was still so blurry it could barely make out rudimentary shapes. There were a couple things he was aware of, though. For one, his head hurt, terribly. The amount of alcohol he had to have consumed to get that bad of a hangover had to be astronomical. His chest was cold, the covers of whoever's bed he was in pulled haphazardly over the lower half of his naked body, minus one foot that was also exposed to the cool air filling the room. His limbs were too numb still to move well, though, so he made little effort to ward off the chill by repositioning the sheets. Moving hurt, anyway. And also, there was a pair of slender, but firm, arms encircling his hips, their owner's head resting surprisingly comfortably on his abdomen.
Spirit didn't want to take all of that information in at the moment, not with an aching head and the few memories he had retained from the previous night. He had been at a party, a celebration for the anniversary of defeating Asura and memorial for Crona. For the first time in about two months he was actually talking normally to his precious, little Maka, and she wasn't shooting him down or sending some veiled (or not so veiled) insult his direction. He was thinking little, but she wasn't a little girl anymore. It had been two years since Asura's defeat, and the loss of Crona; she was all grown up now. Maybe that was why he was able to actually act like a father to her for that short time.
It didn't last, though, and her expression slowly started to turn sour. Spirit knew he must have said something to set her off, but his memory faded in and out of the conversation and he could not recall what it was. Not fifteen minutes later she stood from the couch they had been sitting on and civilly trudged across the room, trying not to stomp, before grabbing Soul, who was chatting away about something apparently very interesting with Mifune, by the elbow and dragging her Weapon along behind her and out the door. He distinctly remembered sighing before grabbing another glass of partially translucent, orange-ish liquid and chugging the entire thing in about 3 seconds. Whatever was in it was strong and burned fiercely as it went down, but he didn't care; he wanted to drown his sorrows.
And he didn't remember much after that. He must have left party with someone, but he didn't know who. Trying again to open his eyes, Spirit found no more success than his pervious attempt. They burned insistently, and even the dim lighting sent tendrils of pain through his skull, so he resigned himself to remaining in darkness for a while longer and shut them again, resting his head comfortably into the soft pillow beneath it.
Minutes passed, only the soft, rhythmic breathing of himself and his bedfellow filling the space between them. The wind, on occasion, would knock a branch into the side of the room they were occupying, and the harsh sound would send a dull ache up his spine, but the quiet inhale and exhale was contrastingly soothing and allowed the time to flow by without the horrible, grating boredom that usually accompanied the long wait for a hangover to subside. It was probably at least an hour later that he finally felt confident enough to open his eyes again, but Spirit had no means to precisely measure the passage of time to say for sure.
Slowly testing his condition, Spirit's vision brightened through only small slits at first. When he received no indication he'd be swimming in nausea, although his world did seem to rock a bit, he slowly opened his world up farther. Although blurry at first, the dull, grey ceiling quickly came into focus as he stared at it. There were a few, old cracks running along its bleak surface, stretching half a meter at most before coming to a halt, but no other defining features that should give him an idea of where he was. Oddly, though, an old memory seemed to stir, whispering quietly in the back of his mind that he had been here before. Furrowing his brows in concentration, trying to pull that thread to the surface where he could see it, Spirit laid there for several minutes before finally giving up. The best way to tell where he was would be to see who was sleeping peacefully on his stomach.
The instant the Death Scythe looked down at his companion he wished he hadn't. There was no way he could possibly be in this situation again! But the shivering feeling of cold metal lightly brushing his side as his companion shifted position and settled back into sleep left no doubt whatsoever. Just like that one time almost twenty years before, he had slept with Stein.
Maka's jade eyes stared off into space as she absently tapped the butt of her pencil on the blank paper in front of her. She had retired from her bed, since sleep had continually eluded her, to her desk in an equally futile attempt to release some of the tension building up in her shoulders. The words weren't flowing from her mind, down her arm, through her fingers, and to the flat sheet in the written art she usually used to lighten her mood. Other thoughts wouldn't leave her alone, though, and after several hours of procrastination she finally decided she'd better just face them.
Stretching both hands high above her head and arching her back until it lightly cracked, Maka turned her thoughts back to the previous night. Letting her arms fall limp to her sides, still laying as far back on the back of her chair with her gaze aimed towards the back corner of her room, Maka slowly closed her eyes and fell into the scene. Having a normal conversation with her Papa, an event that rarely ever occurred, had been very enjoyable. For a few moments they felt like a normal family, and not some twisted, broken mess. But it didn't last. The glass in his hand was refilled with the same, strong-smelling, clear liquid several times over the thirty minutes they conversed on the couch, and each time he drained the glass the small smile on her face fell a little farther until the corners of her lips were pointed down.
As soon she was sure her father was drunk Maka abruptly stood and removed her arm from her Papa's grasp. Storming over to her Weapon, who had escorted her to the party, she grabbed his elbow and stated in frustration that she wanted to leave. Looking back at it she felt kind of bad for pulling Soul away from his conversation with Mifune, for they seemed to really be enjoying what they were talking about, but he didn't make any move to complain. After walking her home he made her a bowl of double-chocolate caramel hazelnut ice cream before sitting with her on the couch and asking if everything was alright. Replying that she just needed time to calm down, Soul gave her a comforting hug before standing up. Asking once more if she would be okay on her own, and receiving a nod in reply, he told her that he was going to go see Kid, but he'd keep his cell on low if she needed to call. He had stayed out all night, and she would have known if he had just returned late because she'd had a light, fitful slumber, so she was relieved that her troubles at least hadn't ruined her friend's night as well. But that didn't do much against her own, internal frustration. Sighing again and opening her eyes, Maka slipped back forward and rested her elbows on the old desk, muttering quietly, "I just wish he could act like an actual father sometimes."
Dejection suddenly morphing into agitation, Maka slammed a fist into the top of her desk, as if mentally projecting her depression onto the wood and smashing it down. As if to mock her, her pencil bounced and rolled right off the edge of the smooth surface, and she sent it one of her signature, unamused glares. Still tired from sleep deprivation, she opted to open the top draw in the desk and grab her spare pencil instead, and out of frustration she slammed it back closed. Flinching slightly at the harsh sound, a small rattling suddenly caught her attention. It was coming from the drawer she had just closed. There shouldn't be anything else in there to cause the sound, and sliding it back open she heard the quiet sound again until it suddenly came to a stop.
The two notebooks and the few spare papers that occupied the drawer were quickly removed and placed on the desktop, leaving nothing but the light wood in the bottom. The source of the quiet, hollow rattling was no where to be seen. Sliding the drawer in and out a couple times it remained completely silent, and she was starting to think that maybe her sleepiness was making her hear things when she decided to try one last thing. Placing one hand in the bottom of the drawer, she carefully pressed on the thin wood, rotating to each corner until she finally got to the last one, front corner closest to the chair she was seated in. And with a decent amount of pressure it started to give, the opposite end lifting up.
Lifting the false bottom out of the drawer, Maka carefully sat it down on top of her notebooks and peered in to the hidden contents. There were only two things visible against the unstained wood. A small, clear and blue swirled marble, resting in small indention to prevent it from moving, and a thin, white envelope with neat, black ink on the front. Flicking the small orb out of its nest, it rolled easily over the smooth surface with a quiet, hollow rattling. Her rough treatment of the drawer must have dislodged it, and upon reopening it the marble had rolled back into the indention. She then turned her attention to the envelope. Emerald eyes widening in shock, trembling fingers sluggishly reached towards the slim item. Slowly lifting it from its confines, her gaze raced back and forth across the measured writing several times just to make sure she had read it correctly. To my dear Maka, August 17, XXXX. "Mama's… handwriting?" she asked quietly. "This date… that's almost fifteen years ago…" the young blonde added slightly louder, flipping it over quickly and breaking the seal. The paper inside was folded in thirds and marked by the same black ink. Slight tremors, although whether they were out of anticipation or fear she wasn't entirely sure, shaking the thin sheet between her fingers, Maka's eyes took in black words on the page with the same zeal that made her reread the address on the front several times. And the first words on the page were striking:
To my beloved child,
Maka, I hope that by the time you read this you will be old enough to understand. Please, do not hate your Papa.
Her black boots thundered against the hard surface beneath them, the young Meister rushing down the bleak hallway towards the back of the laboratory. She had already checked her Papa's room and found it empty, so if her Mama's words were true then this was the only other place she could think of that he might be; women avoided him when he was dead drunk, after all. Clutching the paper in her hand a little tighter, but still being careful to not crumple the precious letter, Maka continued to speed up as she drew closer to the door at the end of the hall, as if trying to outrun her apprehension. Then she came up even with the dark, wooden barrier and suddenly found her body frozen.
One hand remained outstretched, just inches away from the doorknob, for a dozen seconds before it slowly inched forward and turned the cold metal. Cautiously swinging the door in, she was honestly surprised that it didn't let out even the tiniest squeak. The interior of the room was dimly lit and just as bare as the rest of the building. The only objects in the room were the small nightstand and lamp, and, of course, the occupied king-sized bed. Her Papa was sitting up while leaning back on one elbow, his skin exposed down to the grayish sheet that bunched around his waist. Resting in his lap was Stein's silver head, the manic professor's features for once looking extremely relaxed. His eyes were closed and his lips almost unperceivably parted as breathed slowly, rhythmically in sleep. Just like her Papa he was without a shirt, exposing the long, stitched scars on his torso, but unlike the Death Scythe very little of his body was left to the imagination. The same covers that were hiding everything below Spirit's waist stretched just far enough to reach the scientist. What was pulled far enough was draped over his groin, just barely covering his privates and keeping him "decent" in front of the teenage girl. A slight blush tinting her cheeks, Maka quickly averted her gaze and focused instead on her Papa's face, refusing to look anywhere else as she stepped in the room.
The first tap of a boot on the hard, tile floor drew Spirit's attention from his internal conflict. Sky blue eyes snapping up in surprise, they widened even farther when he saw who was approaching. He tripped over his words, silently sputtering in an attempt to explain away the scene before his precious daughter, no sound coming from his mouth. He was also trying to be careful to not jar the male sleeping on his lap, afraid of just how the situation would explode if Stein woke up.
Maka kept her expression blank as she approached the bed, watching the sweat roll off her Papa's forehead. His fear grew with every step she took, until she finally stood just a few feet away and she held up one hand in an attempt to dismiss his anxiety. Her features softened into a melancholy smile, and she softly asked, "Can I sit down?"
Still nervous, albeit not as much as when he first saw her, Spirit quickly replied, "Yeah." Crossing the last few steps between them, Maka took a seat on the foot of empty bed next to her Papa, facing towards the door. "Look, Maka-chan, this isn't what… I mean it's not exactly—"
"It's okay," she cut him off, voice cracking ever so slightly from the flood of emotions she was holding back. Honestly, she wasn't sure just how she was feeling. It was somewhere between sad, angry, betrayed, stupid, lost, and relieved. For all of her intelligence how had she never seen it? Holding the note out towards the redhead, she stated, "I found this in a false bottom drawer in Mama's old desk. It was hard to believe, and I had to read it a few times."
Taking the piece of paper from his daughter's slim hand, Spirit slowly read over the beautiful script. His expression slowly shifted to match Maka's somewhere between a deep-rooted sadness and relief:
To my beloved child,
Maka, I hope that by the time you read this you will be old enough to understand. Please, do not hate your Papa. He loves you more than anything else in this world, and I knew all along that he would never be able to truly love me.
Your Papa's fooling around has never been done in an intention to hurt us. He is struggling, internally, all by himself against something he is afraid to face, and I am no longer enough to keep it at bay. I had hoped that I would be able to replace the one who had stolen his heart, but I know now that that is impossible so I do not blame him for his actions and I do no want it to ruin your relationship with him.
Chasing after women is his way of hiding from the truth, to try and keep the pain at bay for the path laid out before him is a very difficult one. The person his heart has chosen has difficulty understanding emotion and is very withdrawn, and it is very possible they will never understand what love is. It would also be a relationship not readily accepted by society, and I think that is what scared him the most. Still, I hope that, eventually, everything will work out for him. I love your Papa, Maka, and what I want most for him is to be happy. It saddens me that I am not the one that can bring that to him, but it does not change that desire. I hope that one day your Papa can be with the person he loves.
You may not know who that person is at this moment, but his name is Franken Stein.
A single tear escaped Spirit's eye as he read his ex-wife's words, and with a small sniffle he quickly wiped it away to reveal a sad smile. He knew he really had hurt her with his cheating, yet even then she was still thinking of him.
"It was dated fifteen years ago," Maka told him quietly, turning her head to face him. "Mama continued to support you for twelve more years after she wrote that, before she finally couldn't do it anymore." Her voice cracked again as she fought against the small sobs trying to bubble to the surface. Salty moisture spilled over the corners of her eyes and she bit her bottom lip to keep her sadness quiet, waiting anxiously for her Papa's reply.
Finding it hard to watch his daughter's tears, Spirit diverted his gaze down, towards the other male who was still breathing peacefully on his lap. The dormant feelings he had locked away deep inside since that one incident twenty years ago were bubbling back to the surface, and he absently almost ran his slim fingers through the silverette's hair. Stopping just shy of actually touching Stein, the only thing he could say was a hushed, "I'm sorry."
"I'm mad at you, you know," Maka stated firmly, watching her Papa flinch and then hiss quietly in pain. She wasn't stupid and understood just what the latter part of his reaction implied, and it brought heat to her face again for a second. He was looking down at Stein with the most ashamed look on his face, though, a look more dejected than any he had shown when caught cheating on her Mama with other women, and she slowly added, "If you had just been honest with yourself earlier then you could have saved Mama from years of pain. She stood beside you through everything you did, but you were too stubborn to admit it to yourself. Maybe we all could have been happy if you had just…"
"Maka, I…" Spirit tried, but he wasn't sure just what he wanted to say. So many things were coming to mind and yet nothing was there at the same time.
"I don't hate you," she started after he made no move to say anything more. "Mama doesn't want me to hate you. But I'm mad, and it will take me a while to calm down. And this is… strange… and a little hard to understand all at once… but I don't think it is necessarily bad, and if it makes Papa happy…"
Silence stretched between them again, and slowly they turned to look at each other. They shared a strained smile, but some of the tension had seeped out from both of them and Maka knew that she would soon get used to this new development. "Thank you, Maka," he whispered thankfully, opening his mouth to say something more when he is cut off.
"Maka-chan," an almost sultry voice purred out slowly, dragging out each syllable which was accompanied by a soft, quiet click. For the first time since she entered the room the young woman cautiously turned her gaze down towards the platinum-haired professor and locked eyes with the very awake Franken Stein. Neither said a word for several seconds, but the expression on the male's face was enough to slowly tint Maka's cheeks pink. "Would you mind leaving us for a while. I want to monopolize your Papa for a bit longer," he finally spoke a minute later, pausing again to let his words sink in. When her cheeks grew to a brighter red, he playfully smirked and added, "Unless, of course, you want to stay and watch. I honestly don't mind."
Maka almost feinted right there from shock, and were it not for the fact that her mind reminded her she needed to get out of there she probably would have.
This idea would not leave me alone until I got it out. I also have a couple other fanfiction one-shot ideas that are connect to this, but I'm not sure when/if I'll get them out.
As always, reviews are luffed and appreciated!