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Remember Me	By : FireflyLeo Category: +S to Z > Soul Eater Views: 3732 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater. Never have never will, nor am I making any money off of this work of fiction.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater. I also do not own the Birthday Massacre’s song Science after which this chapter is named.

Onward and upward.

Remember Me

Science

There are times, Soul notices, after the nostalgia dissipates and Death City becomes a little easier to handle, he would get the undeniable urge to surround himself with some of the things she loved the most… like books. Lots and lots of books… Not that he did much reading in his free time, mind you. That had always been her pleasure. No, it’s more because the very thought of a book reminded him of her.

                Hence the reason, he is currently residing in the Shibusen library far from where prying eyes and ears can disturb him.

At the moment, he has laid himself out over one of the many tables hidden away in the restricted section of the gigantic room, arms crossed behind his head in a pillow and one leg crossed over the other. Music blaring away from the headphones currently nestled in his ears.   Away from anyone who might seek him out and offer companionship. Away from anything that might tempt him to lash out after the conversation he’d had with Kidd the night before. He might have been the son of Shinigami-sama but who the hell does he think he is talking to Soul like that.

He should have punched him for it.

                But Soul is a rational guy. Despite what other people may say or think, he understands where Kidd is coming from. He’s worried about him. They’re all worried about him. He doesn’t want them to worry, but they do anyway, and that isn’t cool at all. He appreciates their concern; he really does, but he just can’t take their advice no matter how guilty their responses to his actions may make him feel. He isn’t looking for death. He would swear it over her grave if they asked him to. It is just too hard to be in Death City where everything screams at him, making it blaringly obvious that she isn’t here with him. That she’s gone for good this time.

When he’s on an assignment, he can forget about that for at least a little while. In the heat of battle, you were forced to forget about everything but the fight going on. He could throw himself into the investigations, the battles, and the chases. Fuck it, even the paperwork could get his mind off of the black hole in the center of his chest threatening to swallow him whole. This reminds him, there is another reason Soul is in the library.

He is waiting.

He had entered the death room not too long ago to speak to Lord Death. Sadly before he could make his intentions known, Spirit arrived, having been formally summoned and therefore taking precedence over his meeting. He’d excused himself, and now, Lord Death is in a private meeting with Spirit not to be disturbed for another hour upon which said meeting finalities would occur. Once that happened, Soul would be entering the Death Room to ask for his next assignment. He needs to get out of Death City ASAP, before he is driven insane by one or all of his neurotic friends, namely Black Star and Kidd. But checking his watch, he still has fifty-five minutes to waste and nothing better to do with the time than doze.

And so he slips into the darkness of his mind.

“Soul…”

                Her moans are music to his ears, a symphony of hums and whines, her long legs wrapped tightly around his back pulling him closer and deeper into her lithe body. His hands roam over her body searching, feeling while his lips assault her collarbone. His fingers twine with sandy blond locks of hair and pull gently. He nips gently at her neck, and her back arches into a perfect bow, a gasp escaped from kiss-swollen lips. Her hands move from their resting place on his shoulder blades to his chest where her nails dig into his skin.

“Ah… Soul!” she cries at a particularly sharp thrust.

She grips his shoulders and presses roughly, switching their positions. He groans as she sits up continuing to ride him at a fast but steady tempo. Green eyes never avert their gaze as she looks at him with all the desire in the world. He can feel his lower abs begin to tighten. His toes curl into the mattress, and he bucks his hips in response to her movements over him. Just a little further.

She scatters slow, sensual kisses across his chest and neck making her way to his ear lobe to tug on the appendage with her teeth. His panting escalates to a fever pitch, the frequency climbing into the triple digits. His hands find purchase on her hips so he could move her faster, always faster

“Cum for me, Soul.”

“Nngh, I’m so close, baby.”

“Come find me.”

She kisses him, roughly, pushing him further and further over the edge. Her muscles contract around him. He feels them tight as a vice around him. It’s all the clincher he needs to send him spiraling up and up into the clouds of ecstasy.

“Find me, Soul!”

“Ah… Ma-“

Soul shakes himself awake.

His breathing hard, his hands shaking. That was definitely not what he had been expecting when he closed his eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

He shifts to a sitting position, a move that drew his attention to a now very hypersensitive part of his anatomy. Thank the lord of death that his pants are tight enough to hide his arousal.

He carefully stands up from the table. He needs to get rid of this problem fast, preferably before anybody sees him in this condition. He spares a quick glance at his watch. He has fifteen minutes until his meeting with Lord Death.

It is about 12:30 in the afternoon. By this time of day all students are either at lunch or in their lecture rooms. And PE classes are long since over. The locker rooms should be empty. That’s where he decides to go. A cold shower would do him good.

He makes his way at a subdued pace to the locker room. It is empty just as he’d expected. Grabbing a towel and some soap, he makes his way into the wash room, undressing. He sets his clothes down on a bench far enough away to avoid water damage. He physically winces at the sight of his straining erection. The engorged flesh strains and pulses in a perfect arch below his belly, and God, does it hurt.

He groans, stepping beneath his chosen shower head and turning the water on full blast as cold as it could go. It rains ice onto his head, and he flinches when the freezing water makes contact with his sensitive organ. He prays and begs any deity that will listen that this be the fastest shower he’s ever had to take. Either the gods hate him or the cosmos is paying him back three-fold for all the bullshit he’s made them put with over the years because he arousal does not diminish in the slightest.

He growls in frustration looking down with complete distaste to his straining flesh. He takes one last glance around before resigning himself to his fate. The coast is still clear, thankfully.

His right hand raises with a shaky diligence to wrap around his manhood. His eyes slide shut as he begins to pump, hissing between his teeth. Her face is a beckon before his mind’s eye. She works him over into a fine frenzy using lips and teeth and tongue. Deceptively strong hands, small in appearance and so much softer than his own rough digits, pump and squeeze him up and down gaining speed with every downward thrust.

He groans as the mental image of a blonde pig tails bobbing along this length assaults him and he throws his head back pushing faster and faster. A raw stroking, one hand pulls on his freedom while the other braces against the shower wall, and he pushes himself into the welcome oblivion that comes with his orgasm. A temporary escape from reality. It lets him forget everything.

“Hey, who’s in here?!”

He almost jumps at the sound of an intruder on his privacy, but just grits his teeth instead, making himself so that he appears innocent enough. Not like someone who’d just wanked in the shower.

And he turns his head toward the entrance. Ox enters looking every bit the disgruntled professor her can be at times.

“Oh, Soul it’s just you.”

He shuts the water off and wraps a towel around his waist.

“Yeah. I was just finishing.”

“Ah, still, sorry about that. I thought you might be one of the students sneaking a quick one in the shower. You know how kids are these days.”

Soul can’t help but suppress a laugh as Ox turns around to head back out the door. He will never have any idea how close to the truth he was with that statement. Well at least the “little” problem he’d woken up with has gone down considerably.

With that he redresses and heads straight down to the death room. He gets there with two minutes to spare.

“Ah, Soul-kun. Come in, come in. We’re all done in here.”

He enters at the Shinigami’s bidding, walking all the way to the center platform. Spirit stands dutifully beside Lord Death with his hands in his pockets looking quite relaxed. The two scythes trade a nod of mutual acknowledgement. He hopes to everything merciful and holy that he doesn’t look like a guy that was just interrupted trying to jack off to an image of the man’s dead daughter.

“Now, what did you want to speak with me about?”

“Lord Death. I’ve come to request my next assignment.”

Spirit’s eyes widen and Shinigami-sama seems a bit taken a back.

“But you only just got back.”

“I know but I’m ready for my next task.”

The ruler of death and his death scythe exchange fleeting a glance.

“I’m sorry, Soul, but I am not prepared to send you on a new assignment.”

“I’m sorry… what?”

The both visibly wince at the tone of voice Soul uses.

Spirit looks at Shinigami-sama out of the corner of his eye, a nervous smile on his face, and says, “Perhaps you’d better explain it to him.”

Lord Death sighs.

“Soul, do you know why Spirit is my primary weapon?”

Soul gives him a look like he’d grown another head.

“Yeah, because he’s the strongest of us.”

                “Yes and no.”

Soul raises an eyebrow at him, looking back and forth between the two older men before him.

“You see, Soul. I as the grim reaper favor a scythe as my weapon of choice, hence the reason why you and your comrades are called “Death Scythes.”

Soul nods.

“However, the majority of you are not demon scythes. In fact, the only ones who are scythes are Spirit, here and you yourself, Soul.”

Understanding dawns slowly on Soul’s expression. That’s when Spirit steps forward.

“I am being sent on an extended assignment overseas. During that time, Lord Death has decided to keep you here to undergo training under him so that you may be his primary weapon in my absence. You’re still young yet, but you show amazing promise as a Death Scythe.”

“So, Soul, what do you say? Care to take the final step in your training as a Death Scythe?”

Soul doesn’t know what to say. The expression on his face is one of a lost soul. This is the moment he’s been working toward ever since he left behind his family to pursue a career as a weapon with the DWMA. This is also the moment he should have been able to share with the person who helped him toward this. This was a moment that had only been made possible by his meister, and his meister, alone.

But she isn’t here.

Lord Death seems to sense the conflicting emotions warring within the weapon. Anger, accomplishment, pride, sorrow… They all just jumble together in Soul’s heart.

“Spirit, tell me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it Maka’s dream to make Soul into a Death Scythe worthy of my use?”

“No, that’s true.”

“I’m sure she’d be proud to see Soul come so far.” He addresses the still silent death scythe. “Of course, if you feel you’re not ready, I don’t see the harm in allowing you to take Spirit’s assignment.”

Soul looks up then, staring directly into the eye-holes of Shinigami’s mask, determination gracing his features.

“No. I’m ready. I will remain here under your orders, Shinigami-sama.”

“Excellent. Report to me tomorrow. Your training will start in due time. Dismissed.”

Soul bows his head slightly before turning around and exiting the huge chamber. Melancholy seems to be gripping at his insides, poking at the black blood’s madness with a torched stick. His left fist is clenched in his pocket, and he can feel the blunt nails biting into the skin of his palm. His teeth clench in a grimace as he tries to push away the anger just bubbling below the surface.

“Soul, wait up.”

His head jerks up and around to see Spirit walking toward him.

“Got a minute?”

The tension eases from his body.

“I guess. What for?”

The older death scythe shoots him his typical half grin before answering. He and Spirit aren’t exactly on ‘let’s have a friendly chat’ terms. Course that wasn’t to say they disliked each other. Soul raises an eyebrow at him more than a little suspicious of this random interaction between them.

“Care to grab some lunch? It’s on me.”

~*~

                Bang, bang, bang, bang!

                “Hey, Death the Kidd, open the damn door before I break it down!”

                Two seconds later a very irritated shinigami opens the abused piece of wood to glare at the blue-haired, loud-mouthed ninja he, sometimes painstakingly, calls a friend.   He doesn’t even say anything. He just steps aside narrowly avoiding a shove as Black Star moves past him. Tsubaki, always the pacifist, smiles apologetically as she follows her meister.

                “Come on, Kidd! What was so damn important that you called at 7 in the fucking morning telling us to come to your mansion as soon as possible?!”

                “I don’t see what you’re complaining about. Tsubaki was the one who answered the phone, and it’s almost one in the afternoon.”

                “I’m the man who will surpass god remember. Guy like that needs his sleep to be uninterrupted.”

                And thus the two bicker all the way to where Kidd’s two weapons are. Liz and Patti are relaxing in the lounge when the commotion reaches them. Tsubaki takes a seat on the couch next to Liz. Patti giggles while her sister just rolls her eyes as Kidd finally has had enough of Black Star’s antics.

“Will you just shut up and sit down, so I can tell you why I asked you to come over!”

                Black Star quickly sets himself on the coffee table, arms crossed and his lower lips jutting out to the side waiting for his explanation.

                “We have a new mission.”

“We? You mean all of us?”

“Yes, it’s a joint mission to Mexico City.”

“Ooooh how fun! All you can eat enchiladas,” cheers Patti.

“Yes, Patti, I’m sure we can find a restaurant that can cater to you and Black Star’s appetites.”

“Yay!”

“What are the mission details?” asks Tsubaki.

“Over the last several months, many of the locals have been disappearing only to appear a week later in critical condition.”

“Critical condition?” Liz echoes.

Kidd nods, humming in the affirmative.

“They were almost completely drained of blood.”

“Oh my god,” gasps Liz.

“It is suspected that a witch is involved. That’s where we come in.”

“So basically all we need to do is track down this witch and get rid of her,” drawls a bored Black Star. “Great! When do we leave?”

“See, this is why I called you so early. Our plane was due to leave… oh,” he makes a drama about checking his watch. “Three hours ago.”

Everybody sweatdrops.

~*~

Spirit has pulled Soul into a neat little café called Déjeuner de la Mort[i]. A quiet little restaurant owned by a French family. Fancy name but the food variety was quite simple: sandwiches, pastas, and soups. It‘s the perfect place to have lunch and a conversation.

The two death scythes settle themselves in a secluded section of the dining area. Being weapons of their classification, the two have a level of popularity that can be counted as celebrity in Death City. It’s better to shy away from the attention the majority of the time. Spirit liked to bask in it every so often, but as of late in character to his transformation, he much preferred the company of those closest to him rather than the paparazzi. It did nothing but annoy Soul.

After their waiter, a young Academy student, takes their orders, they settle into a bit of a silence, Soul staring out the nearby window and Spirit more than a little uncertain as to how to broach the subject he’s been asked to address with the younger male.

Soul takes a sip from his coke.

“Congratulations on the promotion.”

Crimson eyes widen in surprise looking at the redhead.

“Thanks,” he said tentatively. “But doesn’t that mean you’ve been demoted.”

Spirit laughs under his breath.

“Not quite yet. At this point, I would say we are on equal footing.”

“And once we’ve past that point.”

“Then I would say I’ve been demoted, and you would have officially surpassed me.” Spirit sighs staring off into the bustling streets of Death City. “It would be just the way she wanted.”

Soul’s shoulders tense slightly but it’s only for a second. Then, he relaxes taking another sip of his drink.

“Yeah. She always did want to surpass her mother by making me stronger than you.”

                “I’m glad her dream came true. …Even though she’s not here to see it.”

                “Yeah…” sighs Soul.

                Shallow blue eyes study the younger death scythe with warm calculation. The boy is hurting. That much is obvious, but he doesn’t know the first thing to do to make this stubborn youth feel better. See, that’s the thing about losing someone you care about. Everybody has a different way of dealing with the pain of loss. Everybody has a different time of mourning. Everybody has a different measure of understanding and acceptance.

                But what was Soul’s?

                The waiter brings them their food, asking if there is anything else either of the two needs before scampering off to the kitchen, away from the tense atmosphere surrounding the two males.

                “How are you holding up?”

Soul’s fork comes through the pasta on his plate idly.

“I’m here,” he murmurs gingerly taking the first bite of his meal.

Spirit chews on a piece of his sandwich before swallowing and taking a drink of the Sprite sweating by his left hand. He’s about to speak again but Soul beats him to it.

“Did Kidd ask you to speak to me?”

He chokes, fighting to keep from coughing up his drink. ‘Smart little bastard, isn’t he,’ he thinks giving the white-haired male before him a look.

“Whatever your opinion of me may be, Maka would never have paired up with a dumbass.”

He chews another forkful of food.

Spirit just stares before shaking his head and answering.

“How did you guess?”

“I just figured as much. You and I don’t exactly get along, so this outing is more than a little suspicious, and Kidd approached me last night at Black Star’s.”

“Did he?” mumbles Spirit, taking another bite of his sandwich. “And what, pray tell, was this conversation about?”

Soul shakes his head. Why is he even bringing this up? And with Spirit of all people.

“They’re worried about me. I told him they shouldn’t be.”

The elder death scythe furrows his brow at the younger.

“You can hardly blame them for worrying. You haven’t been the same since the accident.”

“They expect me to act the same. How can they! What, do they expect me to forget what happened?! They expect me to move on like she was never here. I can’t do that.”

The fork stabs a little too harshly into a piece of chicken. Spirit looks sadly at the albino.

“We don’t expect you to forget, Soul.”

Crimson stares straight into ocean blue.

“We just want you to be happy.”

Soul looks down at his lap.

“I don’t think I remember how to be happy…” Spirit stays silent. “I don’t remember what it feels like to dream, to hope. I can’t remember what warmth feels like.   I don’t even know what I’m fighting for anymore.”

Silence still…

“The only thing I want to remember is her.”

Spirit’s eyes soften at the boy in front of him. No, Soul wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man, now. A man Spirit could respect.

“She was my daughter,” Spirit nods. “I know she and I didn’t get along very well, that was my fault, but Maka was and will always be my little girl. I always wish I’d been able to take better care of her. And I miss her.”

Soul looks at Spirit like he’s seeing a completely different person.

“No, that was my responsibility as her weapon.”

“And it was mine as her parent.”

The stare at each other a moment before Spirit shakes his head, a soft chuckle on the air.

“You know, Soul, I think I might’ve misjudged you. You would’ve made a good son-in-law.”

Soul’s eyes widen, but then he looks back down at the table.

“You’ve changed, Spirit.”

The redhead smiles softly.

“It’s how I’ve dealt with my grief.”

He reaches across the table placing a hand over Soul’s wrist.

“Now you need to deal with yours.”

“What if I can’t let her go?”

“You’ll find your way. It’s slow going, but you’ll make it down your path.”

“Where does it start?”

Spirit looks thoughtful a moment.

“When was the last time you opened her bedroom door?”

When Soul doesn’t answer, he continues.

“Start there.”

He takes his hand back and gives his attention to his meal.

“Eat up before it gets cold.”

Soul shakes his head, a small smile on his face and complies.

~*~

Maristela Velasquez loved to read on lazy Saturday afternoons. She’d lay herself out in the sun room on one of the day beds and curl up with a new story book. Today, she’s reading through something she doesn’t always go out of her way to read through. It is a non-fiction about the founding of the Death Weapon Meister Academy in Death City, Nevada.

She doesn’t quite know what drew her to it, but when she saw the history book in the library, she just couldn’t help but check it out. She reads about the original kishin Azura and how he devoured his weapon partner to gain power. She reads about the Lord Death defeating the god of madness and establishing the school to prevent such an abomination from every being created again.

She reads about the witch that revived the original kishin and set him loose on the world, and she reads about the kishin’s defeat to a group of Academy students under the name Spartoi, now a permanent regiment of Shibusen as it is in its second generation of students. She reads how the original six meisters and their weapon partners had taken down the kishin for good with a young seventeen-year-old girl by the name of Maka Albarn delivering the final blow to the creature of insanity with just the use of her fist.

It was truely a fascinating story.

She has been looking through the book for profiles on these teenagers, but nothing is printed to identify them. It makes her hum in annoyance. Shibusen may not have been adverse to the world knowing about their existence, but they sure were secretive.

She opens up another book she’d found at the library on Shibusen.

She wants to learn more about this Maka girl. She seems like someone she would like…

She is fighting.

Across from her stands a very thin, pink-haired fighter wearing a long black dress. The thick sword in his/her right hand is vibrating at an incredibly high frequency, almost like the blade itself is screaming.

The black blade comes down hard on her as she raises the weapon in her hand, a long scythe, to block. The vibrations cut through the steel of the handle, and she feels more than hears the outcry of her weapon. The reflection in the blade of a teenage boy with white hair, sharp teeth, and a thick headband on howls in agony.

The demon swordsman continues his/her assault on her, and seeing the damage done to her partner, she refuses to block any more attacks. The scythe demon screams at her though, but she can’t hear anything, too immersed in her panic and fear to process any external stimulation. She can’t even control her own movements. It’s like watching a horror movie playback in first person point of view.

The swordsman pushes her back until finally he delivers a swipe at her legs that makes her stumble backwards until she finds herself cornered against the door.

Then she starts pounding on the doors trying to get them to open to no avail. Her attacker is saying something, but her ears on deaf in this twisted reality. Then, he rushes at her, sword raised high over his head. Her scythe screams at her again. This time she yells back, refusing to move and bracing herself for death.

The sword came down, but she doesn’t feel anything.

Instead, she sees the scythe transform into his human form, a boy no older than fourteen, wearing a yellow letterman jacket and burgundy pants. The attack hits him directly across the chest.

Her eyes widen as the blood splatters.

Maristela gasps, bringing herself back to the safety of the sun room.

“What the hell was that?”

She doesn’t know how or what had triggered it. It was like her whole body just seized up, and suddenly she was in a different time and place, doing things she’s never done in her entire life. She’s never picked up a weapon in her entire life, let alone a demon scythe.

“¿Mari, todo está bien?”

“¡Si, mama, no es nada!”[ii]

She lies back on the daybed with a huff. The books underneath her falls off the cushions and onto the floor with a soft clatter drawing her attention. One of the books lands open on a page titled “Death Scythes.”

She picks it up and continues reading.

TBC

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. More to come soon.

Please Review!!!

[i] French for “Lunch of Death.”

[ii] Translation – “Mari, is everything alright?” “Yes, mama, it’s nothing!”
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