Work Text:
Until My Last Breath
Stein closed the book and set it on his nightstand. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning; almost the time he could justify simply staying awake all night, though his weapon would disagree no matter what time he routinely chose to forfeit the human requirement for rest.
His vision was blurry, he realized, as he looked around the room, and his eyelids felt like sandpaper that took effort to move when he blinked. At the same time his corneas stung with the pain of exhaustion, but he already knew from experience that sleep would not be forthcoming.
Usually it was his own mind keeping him from the equally tormenting darkness that was somehow bliss to his weapon, and this night would have surely been the same if not for another, more distracting variable: Spirit was not in their apartment.
Stein knew it was likely another date gone very well for his weapon, but this didn't cause him any less distress at his absence. He tried not to think too hard about why Spirit's escapades bothered him, either. It had gone on for enough time now that he realized he feared knowing the answers, and he struggled enough without dragging it out of his subconscious.
He shut down his wonderings and worries and focused instead on other frustrations with his weapon. They had an extracurricular assignment in the morning, and now Spirit would be sluggish and potentially complaining through the entire thing. He would likely also want to regale Stein with the tale of his conquest, the thought of which only increased the meister's ire.
He rose from his seated position on his bed and began to pace. No matter what, his thoughts always seemed to return to the 'why.' But he couldn't let himself go there. He couldn't let himself complete those thoughts.
It was a great relief in so many ways when finally, he sensed his weapon's soul from a great distance moving through the streets and toward their building. And yet his anxiety shifted from a prickling heat in his chest to a queasy roiling in his gut.
What strange artificial-smelling perfume would Spirit have carried home with him this time?
Stein grimaced and sat heavily upon his bed, grabbing up his book again. He deliberately avoided watching Spirit's wavelength approach, reading the same paragraph over and over as he went through the routine, mentally starting and stopping possible questions for his weapon, slurs against his choices in company and behavior, and basically every thought he tried desperately to avoid each time this happened.
It wasn't too long after that the familiar pattern began. Stein listened to the sound of a long-memorized step on the carpeted hall, the scrape of a key missing twice and then finding the lock, the knob finally turning with practiced ease, and then the apartment door unceremoniously being pushed open.
Stein sighed. Spirit was mumbling something to himself as he stepped slowly down the hall toward his bedroom. The weapon's door creaked slightly upon opening, and the sound repeated as it was closed.
Stein dropped the book on his bed and closed his eyes tightly before digging this thumbs under his brows. He pressed back against the pain of the headache he'd not realized had formed and then lurched forward off his bed before he could change his mind. He closed his bedroom door which he'd left ajar, and then turned off the overhead light. The bedside lamp he left on only long enough to set his book safely aside again before diving under his blankets, and then plunged himself into darkness.
He took another glance at Spirit's wavelength now his weapon was safely home, and he found it to be slightly off somehow. But he blinked his soul's sight away without taking a closer look, not wanting to see deeper into the expected reason for Spirit not being quite himself after no doubt returning from a night of cavorting with some young lady from school.
Stein realized he was gritting his teeth and pushed the thought away. He dug a thumb into his brow again as he tried to think of something else.
The assignment the following morning. They'd be traveling a long way before reaching the target. Which meant Spirit would have plenty of opportunity to tell Stein about his company the night before.
Stein pulled his blankets up higher. Maybe he could take the lead in conversation before Spirit had the chance, distract him with talk of his research into demon weapons. Except that could lead too dangerously close to a topic he hoped to avoid forever...
Stein stared at the blank wall in the dark, fingers digging in and out of the fabric of his woven cotton blanket. He let his mind fall blank except for the feeling of each fiber against his skin, the rising warmth of his measured breaths dampening the pillowcase.
His head ached above his eyes but he knew that relief, like sleep, would not be forthcoming. It wouldn't be until his weapon was back in his hands, until together they spilled the blood of another evil soul, that his own would begin to be soothed.
He thought of the feeling of Spirit's sturdy snath in his hands, the weight and ease with which the blade swung through the air both leading and following as their souls united in purpose. He thought of the anticipation, the slight resistance as sharp steel met helpless flesh, and then how effortlessly it would cleave through, ending an evil life and spraying that life's heat over his face and staining his clothes, coating Spirit's shining black blade with crimson and making his weapon look even more beautiful...
Stein smiled, picturing the coming scene behind eyelids he'd not realized he'd closed. His soul instinctively began reaching out across the small apartment, and then as he slipped into active awareness and sought his partner, the erratic wavelength he found caused his lips to part in a gasp and his eyes to open wide.
He took a mere two anxious breaths before he was on his feet and hurrying down the hall toward Spirit's bedroom, stopping short when he realized his weapon was no longer in his room, but had moved into their small, shared bathroom. He hesitated outside the door and focused on the wobbly wavelength once again, sensing pain and disorientation. Spirit wasn't even aware that Stein had been reaching for him. He didn't hardly seem aware of anything.
Stein felt a nervous turning in his stomach as his mind ran over various possibilities from the predictable to the nonsensical, but concern was winning out over his own anxieties and propriety. He cautiously pushed the bathroom door open and blinked to adjust his eyes to the bright light.
His weapon was not seated on the toilet, but kneeling in front of it, his complexion pale and clammy. However Stein's relief regarding the former was momentary as he realized Spirit's pants were nowhere to be seen.
The older teen made no indication he'd noticed Stein's presence, and as the meister's heart raced and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment he pursed his lips together and broadened his view of the scene, trying to discover more clues. He was grateful that at the angle Spirit's knees were folded and the way he was leaned forward, one arm around the toilet seat and his white t-shirt hanging loose, it provided his weapon some modesty. His pants were not in the bathroom, so Stein assumed that Spirit must have been in the process of dressing for bed when illness overcame him. Then he noticed something that was in the bathroom that most certainly should not have been.
He stepped forward.
"Spirit."
"Stein..?" his weapon gasped pitifully. "Is that you?"
Stein bit down the retort of 'who else would it be?' as he reached down to pick up the slender, glass object from the floor. A new sensation was rising in his chest, caused the color to drain from his cheeks as embarrassment shifted into panic. His heart pounded as he studied the faintest hint of amber at the bottom of the large bottle and his mind began racing across new possibilities, not one of which had crossed his mind in his initial hypothesizing.
"Spirit... Did you drink this whole bottle?"
"Yes..." Spirit moaned.
Stein felt a lump rising in his throat as his heart raced. What kind of liquor had it been? Over how long a period had Spirit been drinking? Had he had more than just the one bottle? Had he even...
"Did you have dinner tonight?"
"What..?"
Spirit turned his head to lean his other cheek on the toilet seat as he peered up at Stein in confusion, clearly miserable.
"Have you eaten anything?"
Spirit continued blinking at Stein, a bewildered look on his face at the rise in timbre of the meister's voice. Stein's growing panic had him mentally listing symptoms, and disorientation was one of them.
"There were some snacks at the party," Spirit finally replied.
"How much did you eat?"
Spirit looked annoyed. "Not much, just a few pretzels. Why are you—"
Stein knelt down, barely registering the clatter and spin of the discarded bottle across the tiles as he set his hand across Spirit's forehead, his other hand tightly gripping his shoulder to hold him in place. His skin was chilled and damp, and now up close Stein could see a fog over Spirit's eyes that only made the meister's breaths come faster.
"How much have you thrown up?"
"Nothing... What are you doing?"
"You need to throw up. Now."
"What?"
"Now!"
"Hey—!"
Spirit's complaint was cut off as Stein seized the back of his neck with one hand and with the other started shoving a finger down the weapon's throat. Spirit grappled with Stein, garbling protests as Stein angled behind Spirit and practically forced his face over the toilet with a tight grip in his hair as he ignored the pain of teeth and the scrape of fingernails on his wrist as he continued practically pushing his entire hand into his weapon's mouth.
It was a worse sign, Stein thought briefly, that there wasn't much strength behind Spirit's fight before he finally lost it and his body seized with the gag reflex. Stein's hand did not come out unscathed, but with the one not coated in saliva he released his iron grip on Spirit's hair and gently pulled it back from his face instead as the weapon emptied the amber-colored contents of his stomach into the toilet basin.
It wasn't until Spirit was dry-heaving that Stein finally moved away. He'd pressed himself up against Spirit's back to trap him against the toilet as he vomited, one knee between both of the weapon's, and as he carefully stood up to wash his hand Spirit fell back to his heels and then scooted away to lean against the opposite wall, knees up and legs apart. Stein noted gratefully that Spirit was still wearing a pair of briefs.
"Why..." Spirit croaked, peering at Stein through tears now. He looked afraid. "Why did you do that to me?"
As Stein lathered and rinsed his hand under icy water, he realized his panic over the situation had run ahead of rationality. Not that he was ever completely rational, he thought bitterly, where his weapon was concerned.
"You probably have alcohol poisoning," Stein finally said as he turned off the faucet. He had tried to keep his voice level, but he could hear the shake as his heart continued to pound at the sight of the unnatural pallor to Spirit's skin and the bleary look in his eyes.
He knelt down and Spirit shied away, but Stein only hesitated a moment before slowly placing his hand back on Spirit's forehead. Spirit tensed at the approach, held himself that way until he realized he wasn't about to be manhandled again, and then slumped in defeat. His skin was still cold.
"You need to go to the hospital," Stein said.
Spirit stiffened again, looked up with more coherency than Stein thought him capable. "What? No!"
"Spirit, if you have alcohol poisoning you could die."
"I'll get expelled if anyone finds out I did this!"
Stein dropped his hand to Spirit's shoulder and gripped his t-shirt. "Did you hear what I said, Spirit? You could die."
Spirit finally seemed to hear him, focused on Stein's face with effort and assessed his words for veracity.
"Are you sure?" he finally asked after a nervous swallow.
"Yes."
Spirit had the decency to look scared, and Stein sighed heavily.
"So let's go." Stein stood and offered Spirit his hand.
Spirit shook his head. "No, I can't."
"Spirit."
"I'll get expelled if anyone finds out I was drinking!" Spirit hissed.
"Then why would you do something so foolish?" Stein asked, his voice rising in volume in his exasperation.
"Keep it down!" Spirit said, raising a hand in a quieting gesture before putting it over his eyes and curling in on himself. His face was lined in pain, and Stein wondered if he would be sick again even with nothing left in him.
After a long moment Spirit peered at him through his fingers. "Can't you do something here? You're always reading those medical textbooks."
Stein glared down at the weapon. He knew what was needed, other than possibly still having Spirit's stomach pumped. An IV of fluids, vitamins, and sugars to try to keep some health in his blood stream as the alcohol was processed, and possibly oxygen as well. But he didn't have anything like that in their apartment or any way to get it. And if Spirit had truly drunk an entire bottle of whiskey or bourbon or whatever it was, with no food...
"No. We have to go," Stein said as his chest constricted in fear, his heart still racing.
Spirit shook his head firmly to the negative.
Stein withdrew his hand, balled it into a fist at his side along with his other.
"Idiot," he said before stalking out of the room.
"Stein? Wait!"
Stein ignored the plaintive cry, heading for their small kitchen. Spirit needed water, and lots of it. That was all he could do if the weapon refused the care he needed. And much to Stein's annoyance, he realized he would have to sit with him all night to make certain Spirit stayed awake. If anything changed... If his breathing were to slow, his pallor worsen... Stein may have to force him to the hospital against his will.
But... Spirit was right, too. He'd be expelled. This sort of violation of the academy's rules wouldn't be tolerated, even for a prospective personal weapon of Lord Death himself. And if Spirit was expelled... Then what would happen to him?
Stein leaned far over the kitchen counter, set his forehead on the tile and crossed his arms above his head as he sighed and tried to calm his racing heart. He needed to stay focused and keep on top of Spirit's symptoms. Panicking about what-if's wouldn't keep Spirit alive.
Stein straightened up and moved to the cupboard, almost knocking over a glass in his haste and as he fumbled in the dark. He took out a large pitcher they used for iced tea during the summer and set it in the sink and turned on the faucet. He took a long breath as the tap ran and paused to think. Spirit would need some form of vitamin-rich food, too. He glanced around the darkened kitchen briefly, annoyed that his brain wasn't readily providing the needed information; panic was apparently still dominant.
With his mind rapidly pushing out every thought except for the desire to get back to his weapon, Stein grabbed the entire bowl of bananas off the counter and turned for the hallway. He hoped that persuading Spirit to eat and drink would be easier than the failed attempt to get him the care he desperately needed as he took brisk strides toward the bathroom.
He couldn't have been gone even five minutes, but when Stein returned to the small, illuminated room Spirit wasn't there; only the empty liquor bottle and the evidence inside the toilet basin remained. Stein frowned, flushed the toilet, and then turned down the hallway toward Spirit's room.
The door was ajar and the light out, and Stein only hesitated a moment before pushing his way inside.
Spirit was lying on his back on his bed, arms cast up above his head and hands tightly gripping the headboard. He either didn't notice Stein's entry or didn't care, not opening his eyes when Stein set the large pitcher of water and bananas on Spirit's nightstand. But from the weapon's slow, labored breathing, Stein knew he was still awake.
When he pulled open one of Spirit's dresser drawers, this got the older teen to lift his head.
"Hey," the weapon protested. He didn't get to continue as Stein tossed a pair of pajama pants at him and they hit Spirit's chin.
"Please put some pants on, and sit up."
"I don't feel well... What are you doing in here?"
"If you wanted sleep you shouldn't have been so irresponsible," Stein said flatly as he stood by and waited.
Spirit blinked at him in confusion for a long moment before slowly righting himself and then working his feet clumsily into the pant legs. Stein glanced around the rather messy room, considered tossing Spirit's book bag off of his desk chair, but then sighed and moved to sit on the bed instead.
"Hey," Spirit complained again and looked down as he rubbed his wrist with the heel of his hand.
"You have to stay awake."
"What?"
"Until your body has fully processed the alcohol. Now drink all of that. You need fluids. And then I'll get you another one."
Spirit stared at him in bewilderment for another moment, but then he finished tugging his pants up around his waist and leaned forward obediently to take the pitcher.
He paused after lifting it only a few inches and then set it down, and as he retracted his hands Stein noticed they were shaking. Spirit sat back for a moment and braced himself on the bed, staring at the pitcher.
Stein pursed his lips and pushed down the frustrations his mind started to raise anew, the questions and the anger and especially the fear. He forced it all to the wayside as he shifted on the bed until he was right next to Spirit. He focused on picking up pitcher carefully in the dark of the bedroom, holding it steady as he raised it up towards his weapon's lips.
Spirit turned his head, made eye contact. Stein bit the inside of his cheek and forced his expression to remain level as he saw the fog still present over Spirit's eyes, confusion seeming to fade in and out as he gazed down at Stein with a mixture of confusion, embarrassment, and gratitude.
Without a word, Spirit lifted his hands to the pitcher, helping to tilt it as he drank.
"More," Stein commanded when Spirit tried to back away.
It wasn't until there was a notable decrease in the water's level that Stein allowed Spirit to back away. He noticed the red-head's hands shaking again as he scooted away to lean his back against the wall, and Stein carefully set the pitcher down and plucked a banana from the bunch. He cracked the stem back and checked that it would peel, and then extended his arm to offer the fruit.
"Here. Eat this, and have some more water, and then you can take a break."
Spirit glared at him. "You're gonna have me up pissing all night."
"You have to stay awake anyway."
Spirit took the banana, and Stein glanced around the room. There was a small wastebasket next to Spirit's desk, and he rose to get it as Spirit tentatively bit into the fruit. When he returned he started straightening the bed covers, tugging them from under Spirit and then folding them back before reaching past Spirit to fluff his pillows.
The weapon followed his movements the entire time, silently eating the fruit until Stein sat down again and simply stared back at him, waiting. Spirit's eyes were still glassy, but he looked thoughtful, and curious. Far more coherent than Stein would have expected given the terrifying amount of alcohol that must be in his blood. If this was what Spirit was like drunk, he supposed he should count that as a small blessing.
He lifted the wastebasket as Spirit finished the banana and watched the weapon's hand shake as he dropped the peel inside, and then after setting the basket down he picked up the pitcher again.
Spirit didn't protest, but drank obediently until it was clear he couldn't take any more. His eyes closed tightly as he dropped his head back against the wall with a thud, licking his lips and groaning loudly and rubbing his wrist again. Stein returned the pitcher to the nightstand and after a moment, scooted nearer his weapon.
"What's wrong with your wrist?"
Spirit blinked a few times, staring at nothing. "Hit it on the door frame when I came in."
Stein glanced at Spirit's wrist but saw no outward sign of injury. Spirit peered at him tiredly, gave no reaction when Stein set his hand across Spirit's forehead. He was still cool. His eyes still didn't look right. And when Stein concentrated on looking with his soul's sight, his partner's wavelength was still wrong somehow.
He sat back on his heels and dug his thumbs into his brow bone.
"Stein?"
The meister looked up. Spirit's face was still deathly pale, and he was grimacing but trying not to show it. Stein wondered if it was from pain, nausea, or something else.
“Am I... Do you really...think that I... I mean...”
"Yes," Stein replied emphatically as he dropped his hands to his lap, balling them into fists again.
Spirit’s face fell. Stein watched as thoughts raced behind his weapon’s eyes, as his jaw tensed while he fought against tears. And in watching Spirit’s battle against emotions, Stein let go the the loose rein he had on his own.
"Why would you do something so stupid? Don’t you know anything about alcohol!? It’s deadly!"
“I... I didn’t think...”
“You were thinking, just not with your head,” Stein cut him off again, his words spilling out in a rush. “Was she worth this?”
Spirit looked confused, as if Stein had spoken in another language. But slowly, understanding came to his eyes and then his sad, frightened expression turned petulant.
“There weren’t any girls at the party. It was just some of the guys. Your new friend Griffin, too.”
Stein ignored the latter piece of information for his surprise at the former.
“You weren’t...doing this to impress some girl?”
Spirit opened his mouth to reply, but then winced and curled in on himself again, drawing his knees up and closing his eyes tightly.
Stein waited, heart racing anew as he mentally prepared a defense against what he knew would be Spirit’s annoyed retort. He had brought himself back to that winding thread of his thoughts that he never wanted to unravel nor allow Spirit to be aware of, and he needed to tie that back up before either Spirit or he forced a confrontation.
But as the seconds passed, no response came from his weapon. Stein’s thoughts were finally arrested as Spirit gave a tiny whimper, and when the weapon opened his eyes it was to blink away tears. The heavy pounding of Stein’s heart grew painful as Spirit began to slip down the wall to the bed.
“Spirit!” He put himself in the way, caught his weapon before he hit the mattress and held him up as he fought against whatever pain had seized him.
“I don’t feel... I...feel cold.”
Stein felt his breaths quicken at the feel of Spirit’s ragged ones against his cheek, at how unnaturally slow they came, irregular and shallow.
“Spirit...” Stein slowly moved his arms up around his weapon’s shoulders, both in support and embrace. He tried again to measure his own breaths, to calm the racing of his heart even as he felt the heat of tears pooling in his own eyes. “Please... Please go to the hospital.”
Spirit shook his head where it rested against Stein’s, and Stein sighed in defeat.
He did understand, from Spirit’s point of view. He had done plenty of things himself that would warrant expulsion were they ever discovered, but he (and at times, Spirit) had taken precautions against that. But this... If Spirit were to receive the medical attention he so desperately needed, this violation couldn’t be buried with the bodies in the basement.
"Stein..."
It was clearly an effort for Spirit to speak, for how broken his name fell from quivering lips.
"Why are you so jealous of my going out with girls?"
Stein's breath stopped. And he realized several seconds had passed when he felt his heart straining for the lack of oxygen. He let his lips part, measured his inhale with effort so Spirit wouldn't know.
"I've...told you before, it's never anything serious..."
Stein shifted slightly to see Spirit's face. His eyes were closed tightly, forehead creased with pain. He looked as if the simple act of being conscious was painful.
Stein let his arms slide further around Spirit's back, let his fingers grip his weapon's shoulders through the thin t-shirt he wore. Spirit had no reaction to the increased contact that Stein could detect as he seemed to fight for breath. His skin was still chilled where his cheek now rested against Stein's, and the meister blinked repeatedly as his eyes burned with the threat of tears.
'That's the point...'
He licked his lips. Felt his throat constrict with his next strained inhale. "Spirit..."
"I'm so tired..."
Any relief Stein may have felt at the subject change evaporated immediately. Spirit's words were slower, and slurred. Stein realized with a further stab of panic that Spirit's speech had been slowing since he found him.
"You have to stay awake. Can I give you more water?"
"Wanna sleep..."
"You can't. I'm going to give you more water."
Stein reluctantly let go of Spirit and shifted to pick up the heavy pitcher from the table. Spirit appeared frighteningly disoriented when Stein lifted it to his lips, taking a few seconds before seeming to comprehend what was expected of him and raising shaking hands to the vessel to assist.
He'd drunk a fair amount when he stopped abruptly, pushing away from Stein and stumbling to his feet.
"What is it?"
"Gotta use the bathroom," Spirit slurred.
Stein set the pitcher down and stood up.
"Can do that by myself," Spirit said, tossing an annoyed glance over his shoulder as he half-jogged, half-tripped out the door.
Stein was glad he'd left the bathroom light on as he listened to the door down the hall close. He turned and fussed with the bedding a bit more, arranging the excessive amount of pillows Spirit insisted on having so he could sit up more easily, and then he crossed the room to turn on the desk lamp. The dim lighting would help too, if not to keep Spirit awake then to allow Stein to keep a better eye on him.
His heart was still pounding, and after a moment he took a sip of the water himself. He knew Spirit was right. The academy wouldn't tolerate something of this gravity. But it wasn't worth Spirit's life...
But if Spirit was expelled, sent away... Then what of Stein's life?
He lost track of the seconds again as he listened to the blood hammering in his ears until the sound of the bathroom door opening and the distant flush of the toilet roused him. Spirit shuffled through the door a moment later, eyes appearing closed as he moved unsteadily toward the bed.
His assessment of his weapon's condition stopped as without warning, Spirit tripped over his own feet. He gave a yelp, and the following occurrence happened too fast for Stein to move to intervene. Spirit fell in the direction he'd been stumbling, toward his desk, and with the deep inebriation wasn't able to right himself nor move his arms to break his fall. His chest hit the wooden arm of his desk chair, his head striking its back, and then as he tried to move one arm to slow his fall the other caught against something on the way down and Spirit gave a second cry, this one of pain.
"Spirit!"
Stein was kneeling at his side instantly as Spirit curled up in pain, gritting his teeth as tears began to wet his eyelashes. Stein quickly began surveying him for injuries, starting with his head and then pressing his fingers against the spot where Spirit's chest had hit the chair arm. He determined with relief that the strike to his head in particular would leave a nasty welt, but nothing more. He was surprised also that Spirit could feel pain as deeply as he was appearing to from his expression with so much alcohol clearly dulling his other senses.
"Gonna throw up..."
Stein's brow rose, and he whirled around to grab the wastebasket and then pushed it under Spirit's chin as he helped pull his weapon up to a half-seated, half-leaning position. He began to pull Spirit's hair out of the way, but stopped abruptly when he noticed Spirit's arm.
"How...did you do that?"
Blood was running in a slow, dark line down Spirit's forearm. And when Stein reached out for the limb to examine the wound, Spirit hissed in pain and drew the arm protectively against his chest.
Stein looked up at the chair, at the book bag still upon it, but couldn't see at a glance what Spirit's arm could have been cut on. Eyes narrowing in confusion, he shifted nearer to Spirit and tried again to examine the injured arm. Spirit still held it tightly to him, but Stein could see that the cut was deep, however it had happened. It needed cleaning if nothing else.
"I'll be right back," he said, and hurried to his room to get the materials.
Stein was tired, he realized, as he gathered more than was necessary to aid Spirit with the cut, and he wondered how much of what he was feeling was just from the late hour and how much was stress-induced. His heart was still pounding too hard and too fast, but he didn't think that would stop until he knew Spirit would be all right. And with that thought being the most present, he took brisk strides back to Spirit's room, medical supplies in hand.
Spirit was standing when he returned and leaning heavily against the nightstand, his eyes closed.
"Did you throw up?"
Spirit startled slightly at the question, and then shook his head to the negative.
"Have a seat."
When he sat down, Stein set the medical supplies on the nightstand and turned to meet Spirit with the pitcher.
"Drink first," he said gently.
Spirit looked up, a bit more awareness in his eyes this time. Perhaps from the activity, Stein thought, or perhaps from the pain. He wondered for a split second what it would be like to wield a drunken weapon, but banished the thought just as quickly.
Spirit drank from the pitcher obediently, albeit less this time, and then Stein sat down and without warning pulled Spirit's arm across his lap. Spirit hissed in reaction and appeared about to protest, but then when Stein dipped a cloth in the water and began wiping the blood from his arm, Spirit merely pursed his lips and watched.
The gash was deeper than Stein had thought at first glance and about half an inch long, and he wondered again how exactly it had happened. But that question was very low on his list of priorities. He used an alcohol wipe next to sanitize the area, and Spirit let out a tiny whimper at the sting it caused and dropped his head to Stein's shoulder. Stein pursed his lips, wanted to quip that there was no need for sterilization for how much alcohol was in Spirit's blood, but he refrained; he needed Spirit in a state where he would listen to him, and further jabs against how he chose to spend his free time wouldn't help.
Once Stein could see the cut properly, he realized it would heal best if stitched rather than simply bandaged. Spirit wouldn't like it, but...his judgment wasn't exactly sound at the moment. If it ever was, Stein thought with annoyance, considering his weapon's behaviors as of late.
"Hey!" Spirit protested when the needle entered his skin, his arm tensing as he lifted his head to look at Stein.
"This will heal best with stitches," Stein said plainly, and then as an afterthought, "If you relax you'll hardly feel it."
"Nice of you to develop a bedside manner," Spirit said, and dropped his head to Stein's shoulder again.
As Stein meticulously put in the stitches, slower than he usually would, he felt Spirit's body relax next to him. Almost too much, as he started to lean some of his weight against Stein's smaller frame, and Stein had to focus on his posture as he finished tending the small wound.
"That will leave a scar," he said idly as he bandaged the cut.
"It's hardly my first," Spirit said, straightening up.
Stein finally turned to see his face, and was dismayed to find his eyes just as fogged despite the coherency in his speech. He wondered again if this was just what Spirit was like while drunk. It would be foolish to be complacent about the danger of the alcohol, but perhaps his weapon truly did hold it well.
"Drink more," Stein said, lifting the water toward Spirit's lips.
The weapon aided in the tilting of the pitcher, and then when he'd had his fill Stein set it down. He watched as Spirit took a brief look at the bed before moving back and settling against the obvious nest Stein had built for him, apparently remembering the directive not to sleep.
When Spirit finally stopped shifting, having arrived at a place of comfort, he looked up at Stein expectantly.
Stein moved as if drawn by a magnet, crawling across the bed and after a brief survey of his options took the only one that made sense. He moved to sit beside Spirit, adjusting pillows and shifting until he too was comfortable, tucked against his weapon's side but more upright. He kept in mind the need to reach the water easily, and also the wastebasket should Spirit suddenly be sick. But these thoughts of practicality vanished from his mind as Spirit nestled against him, dropping his head to his shoulder.
"Stay awake," Stein said, the volume of his voice surprising him. He hoped Spirit hadn't noticed the tremor.
"I remember..." Spirit sighed, shifting his head to be more comfortable. "Don't feel well..."
Stein stopped trying to make sense of the cacophony of his thoughts as he tried to measure his breaths and slow his heart rate. Keeping Spirit alive... That was what was important right now. Everything else had to wait.
But this decision has also, apparently, loosed his tongue.
"Why did you do it?"
"Wha..?"
"Why did you drink that whole bottle?"
Spirit lifted his head, and Stein met his eyes. Something of the worry he was accustomed to seeing from his weapon was present again in the glassy teal depths, and the familiarity of that sight began to ease the grip of fear around Stein's heart.
Spirit rested his head on Stein's shoulder again. "The other guys were talking about how much they could handle, and how much they would drink..."
Stein rapidly pieced together the implications. "How are students getting liquor regularly?"
Spirit shook his head against Stein's shoulder. "I don't know. But they gave me the bottle, said I can't hold much. So I...showed them," Spirit finished tiredly.
Stein grit his teeth, kept his voice level with effort. "Do you know how stupid this all sounds?"
"Well..."
Stein bit his lip hard, held back another anger and fear-motivated reprimand. Spirit had to understand.
"Yeah, I... I guess so." Spirit sniffled. "This is gonna be one heck of a hangover..."
Stein mentally agreed, and then his brow rose as something else Spirit had said rang like a gong in his head.
"Spirit... Have you had alcohol before tonight?"
He felt Spirit's body go rigid next to him. Any calm Stein had achieved fled as his heart raced anew along with more questions across his mind. How long had this been going on? How much did Spirit usually drink? And when? Where?
"You're not my keeper, Stein..."
Stein let out his breath slowly through his nose and realized he was digging his fingers into his thighs. He released his grip, felt the sting in his flesh, and picked at the cuff of his pajama shirt instead. The ache in his heart however, from fear and from Spirit's words, was worse than anything he could do to himself.
'But I'm your meister...'
"I don't feel well," Spirit slurred, abruptly changing topic again.
"I know," Stein replied, internally cursing the shake in his voice.
"Stein..." He paused, and Stein shied away from the loud sniffle next to his ear. "Am... Am I dying?"
Stein's chest seized again, but he took a long, slow breath to try to keep his heart from racing too fast. Too long, he realized, as he felt his weapon tensing in fear against him.
"I won't let you."
Stein was slightly startled when he felt the edge of Spirit's wavelength curling against his own, jagged and off balance. He hesitated, taking a moment to be sure his feelings wouldn't bleed into their resonance without his permission, and then reached out to meet his partner's soul.
Spirit's soul felt weak, disoriented, and wholly unable to grasp and hold onto Stein's wavelength. Stein wrapped his completely around Spirit's, lending him his strength and control. He hoped again that what he was thinking, what he'd been feeling, wouldn't be apparent. His weapon's agony, however, Stein felt in full.
He couldn't ever remember having such a feeble grasp on his own mind, even at his worst moments, as Spirit had now in his dangerously intoxicated state. And he was amazed given what he was sensing across his partner's wavelength that Spirit knew him and was able to function at all. There was the physical pain too, the horrid nausea, the sting of the bump on the head and the cut on the arm, and near-total disorientation that Stein countered by digging his fingers back into his thighs, letting that pain be an anchor as he fought for his own stability in the resonance.
So used to their partnership was Stein that he didn't conform to the wobbly, out of tune wavelength that Spirit was presenting as he might if resonating with a stranger. Instead he held himself steady, offering that peace and waiting for his weapon to find something of himself in the clarity Stein hoped to provide.
To find his way back to Stein.
After a long moment, Spirit sighed. His body became a dead weight against Stein's side, and Stein swallowed nervously as he worked to keep his fear, among other things, hidden from his partner.
"You have to stay awake. Remember?"
Stein watched dark eyelashes flutter open, crystalline teal eyes slowly rise to meet his.
"I remember," Spirit said quietly. And then he frowned.
Stein pursed his lips together to conceal his surprise when he felt cool fingers slip beneath one of his, lift his hand away from the self-induced wounds, and then slide under his other hand too.
"I've told you not to do that."
Stein had no response as both of his hands were gently held between Spirit's, drawn into the weapon's lap to rest there as he gently stroked the back of Stein's hand with his thumb. Stein realized then that Spirit's hands had stopped shaking.
Wrapped up softly in his soul, he felt the pain across Spirit's wavelength begin to ease. Even if it proved to be superficial in the end—a temporary relief—Stein was still glad to give it. Though when he considered how many times Spirit's soul alone had seemed to drag him back from some horrible edge, he couldn't find it within him to act like this resonance was anything less than where their souls were meant to be.
"Spirit..." His voice shook. He couldn't stop it. He felt the shift of hair against his cheek as Spirit turned to look at him again. "Please... Please don't do anything like this again."
"I won't," Spirit said. "I promise."
The sniffle that followed came from the meister. Because even without the truth laid bare from Spirit's soul, Stein could hear the lie in his weapon's voice.
One of his hands gripped Spirit's tightly.
"Nothing is worth this..." he protested feebly. "Not...reputation. And not your life."
He had avoided mentioning girls, but he was certain Spirit could feel the implication in the way their resonant frequency rose and faltered briefly before slipping back into something closer to the comfort Stein was used to.
"Yeah... You're right, Stein," Spirit said with a sigh.
Stein tried to let the tension in his body ease. Tried to focus on the way he could feel Spirit's wavelength gradually returning to stability, the way his voice already sounded a little stronger. Whether it was their resonance restoring his weapon's body or if in fact his system was processing the alcohol that rapidly, Stein couldn't know. But regardless, it didn't ease the renewed anxiety the meister felt upon hearing the lack of weight behind Spirit's agreement.
Too often lately he could hear the feigned sincerity in well-phrased words designed to persuade people to Spirit's way of thinking, designed to win the attention of girls and the leniency of professors and the acquiescence of his meister.
Something about his weapon was changing, and it scared Stein. And this more than anything else. Because if the grinning assurances to teachers at school and the whispered affections to girls taken on dates were so superficial...then what other of Spirit's promises weren't true?
He held Spirit's hand tighter, lifted his other up to brush Spirit's hair back from his eyes, and then let his fingers run through the soft, red strands.
Spirit lifted his head to look at him. Stein realized Spirit's skin wasn't quite as chilled, but whether that was due to recovery or sharing Stein's warmth he couldn't know. Spirit's face was so close it appeared softer with the lack of focus. And Stein could taste the alcohol on his weapon's breath when he licked his lips, staring at Stein with something of wonder as the meister's fingers brushed over the ends of red hair.
"I promise."
The reply to the unspoken question caused a lump to rise in Stein's throat. A soft smile rose in crystal teal eyes that turned Spirit's lips upward too before he rested his head on Stein's shoulder again, pressing against his neck and nestling closer to him both bodily and in his soul.
Even with the truth offered so openly, it couldn't erase months of worry nor the evidence presented on so many other fronts. And so Stein continued to shield his thoughts from Spirit as the weapon reached for the water of his own accord, drinking long and slow before replacing the pitcher on the nightstand and curling back into the safety offered by his meister.
His wavelength was warm, rising in strength. And his skin felt almost like normal as he held Stein's hand in his lap again. Stein shuddered in response to the sincerity, the gentleness... His weapon's wavelength radiated gratitude, and care.
What an enigma, always, was Spirit Albarn. And one Stein knew beyond any doubt his soul would cling to until his last breath.
'Don't leave me...'