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takeyourcyanide · 2 days

Text

Prey

Possible TWs: Unreality, brief mention of suicide

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Character(s): Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn, Marie Mjolnir, mentions of Azusa Yumi, Mira Naigus, and Sid Barrett

Word count: 3 315

Tags: hurt/no comfort, delirium, unreality, delusions, psychosis, confusion, dreams and nightmares, dreams vs reality, schizophrenia, madness, men crying

Summary: Stein struggles to tell dreams from reality, he struggles with the likes of paranoia and confusion, etc.

Note(s): Pushing through the static to write is like pushing through an avalanche sometimes, but it’s one of the few things I enjoy, so I do so anyway. I wanted to depict the confusion (among other things) that comes along with the static (at least for me), so I hope this comes across properly.

Anguished is he, of whom is reduced to limp and helpless prey for not only the world to seemingly feast upon, but for himself to feast fervently and rabidly upon.

<…….>

Stein had always been viewed as some sort of malevolent force; a predator.

Whether there’s any genuine truth to that statement or not, such a viewpoint spread, be it due to stigma and misconceptions, or a partial truth. Perhaps both.

Unbeknownst to the apparent entirety of everyone else was that his motives were only partially sadistic. He has ripped everything imaginable limb from limb, for the sake of ultimately satiating his scientific curiosity, as well as satiating his sadistic urges.

That same sadism extended towards himself, so it seemed, which left him to often question whether or not he was, too, a bit of a masochist.

<…….>

Stein’s computer screen blared before his eyes as though he were knocking upon the gates of heaven, though it felt much more like he had been dragged down into the deepest pit of hell; an abyss designed specifically for him.

He gazed into the array of pixels, a debilitating and delirium-inducing fog conquering him, as he felt whatever cognition had remained slipping through his lithe, pale, and trembling fingers.

It was one of the few thoughts that had ever managed to bring tears to his hollow eyes. His intellect was a treasured, a prized aspect of him; it was almost all he ever had - at least that’s what it seemed like in retrospect, as his previously excellent memory blurred and gasped for air like the ground from underneath the rubble of a massive and fallen building.

It was as though he had been a simultaneously third and first-party observing as his brain deteriorated, decomposing before his very eyes. He had been watching and psychoanalyzing as it all crashed down since utero. And from the moment he could conceptualize the neurobiological differences he was born with, he knew that, though he had refused to accept it, he had no chance at ever living.

When you begin early, you finish early.

The text of the paper on the screen appeared to morph, shifting and becoming completely different words after Stein was repeatedly forced to do multiple double-takes.

Franken sighed in mild frustration, deep and troubled as the biology normally so easy for him to comprehend became utterly indiscernible, incomprehensible, and a messy jumble of word salad. He massaged the bridge of his nose, as well as the skin in between his eyebrows in a circular motion, trying his best to remember how to breathe.

He moved his eyes to the lower right of the monitor, the clock in the corner reading ‘07:38.’

Stein’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, as he stood abruptly from his chair, shoving it away. He was almost forty minutes late to work.

He knew his ability to perceive time had been absolutely annihilated, but it never became any easier, nor did it become any less disorienting, ultimately leaving him to rub at his temples, shaking his head with a confused and feverish grimace.

He audibly groaned, lost within the hazy and murky forest with no way out.

At least he was already dressed.

<…….>

Stein trudged through the DWMA’s doors, hair unkempt and under-eyes appearing as though charcoal had been smeared upon them.

“Stein?” Spirit sounded rather confused as Stein marched into the Death Room expectantly and barely prepared to work. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I work here,” the meister’s eyebrows were furrowed, as he was stuck within a continuous and hellish state of befuddlement.

He snuck glances around the room, Lord Death and Marie staring at him with an expression of pity and concern, causing Stein to sneer.

“Don’t you remember? We’re letting you off for a little while. You should be at your lab right now,” the weapon stated, too, sounding terribly worried. Franken wished they’d simply stop pretending. It was clear they were only judging him, whispering vile things about him, mocking him when he wasn’t there to witness it.

“Oh… That wasn’t a dream?” Stein huffed, flabbergasted and unwillingly under the microscopic lenses that were their telling, needy, and greedy eyes, as even the overly bossy and critical Azusa was present in the room, along with the likes of Sid and Naigus.

Not only had it all seemed like one big dream, including the present, but it felt as though it had happened years ago - as though it were distant.

“No, Stein…. It was yesterday.”

Yesterday? What even happened yesterday?

He once again turned his head from side to side, a slow and searching motion.

He covered his face with his freezing hands, fingers spread just enough that he could see their distorting and foreign faces from in between each of them.

“Why don’t we get you home?” Spirit offered, a kind and caring gesture that was rendered nothing but conspicuous and threatening in the forest, amongst the thick and strident static.

“No.. No…. I can make it by myself,” he shakily mumbled, hands still gripping the flesh of what is supposedly his face.

“Are you sure? You don’t look well,” Death Scythe raised an eyebrow in suspicion, eyeing his former partner up and down.

And the truth was, he really didn’t. He no longer simply appeared as though he were a moving corpse anymore, he genuinely looked as though he had been mangled by some creature only days prior; his insomnia was more obvious than it had ever been, not to mention how slouched he was and how stiff his every movement was. It was as if Stein was relearning how to properly walk.

“Have I not managed to every other time?”

‘But you look like the thin, frail, and worn out thread you’ve been hardly hanging onto all your life has finally torn,’ Spirit thought to himself, exhibiting every last bit of self-control not to voice his opinion aloud.

“It’s okay to rely on people sometimes. We’re here for you. Let me take you home,” he said instead.

Stein fervently demurred against his suggestion, the very prospect of being lead back to his laboratory seemed to raise the volume of the radio.

“No. Let me go alone,” he almost pouted, his face twitching all over, as he was genuinely unsure what facial expression he should be making, and how he could even facially express what he was experiencing at all; flickering back and forth between every face, none suiting what he wanted to convey, or really, wasn’t certain he wanted to convey.

“I’m not going to let you just go alone in the state you’re in,” Stein clenched his atypically tight chest, sharp aches echoing throughout his sternum.

Spirit moved closer to the twitchy meister, not missing how Stein seemed to flinch farther away.

“Come on, Franken. Just let me walk you home, at the very least,” as the scythe peered downwards at the hand soothing over his chest, an almost sorrowful and tender glint appeared in his eyes, the volume further rising, the scientist’s ears surely leaking blood by now.

“Fine,” there was no point in continuing to stubbornly refuse the weapon’s proposal. Even if he left by his lonesome, the weapon would surely be knocking on his steel doors come nightfall.

A small smile made its way on Spirit’s face, as he replied gently with, “Well, all right, then.”

<…….>

The incessant, persistent, all-encompassing noise rose to unprecedented levels as he walked side by side with Mr. Suit and Tie, refusing to even so much as peek at his skinsuit.

Agitation spread throughout his body like cancer, overtaking his motor skills, leaving him squirmy, irritable, impatient, and robotic; only further exacerbated by the snickering and obnoxiously refulgent sun.

It left him childishly desiring to fall to the ground and throw a tantrum, to kick and to scream cacophonously, to sob and hiccup, and cross his arms over his ever-tightening chest, as he bit into the plush skin of his bottom lip as a distraction.

The static combined with the luminous summer day, combined with not being in control of his own decisions due to certain people believing him to be “unstable” was simply all too much; overstimulating.

Everything was too furiously hot and yet too frigid simultaneously; too loud and too quiet. All of that, not even including how his day clothes were brushing against his skin, feeling too small and too big, itchy and too smooth at the same time. It was as though the turtleneck, one of the few articles of clothing he didn’t refuse to wear, was suddenly strangling him; even his coat was now too heavy upon his shoulders, too clunky. It was all much too clunky.

And then Spirit pushed the creaky doors open.

Stein’s hands immediately flew up to cover his ears for the brief moment the sound reverberated, pathetic tears welling up in his eyes as he burned holes in his shoes.

He dug his teeth even further into his lip, wincing at the shooting pain that action garnered.

“Stein? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you coming inside?” Albarn softly and confusedly questioned, standing halfway inside of the laboratory. “Why are you staring at the floor?”

Stein’s hands were still cupped over his ears, moving upwards and yanking on his hair, his expression petulant as Spirit was finally able to get a semi-decent look at him.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that, why are you crying?” A tiny sob fell out from the normally resilient and unnervingly apathetic meister’s mouth, Spirit’s eyes widening, his arms rising aimlessly as he scrambled for anyway to comfort the male.

Stein rolled his inner cheek between his teeth, eagerly hoping to muffle his blubbering as he knew Spirit and everyone else who happened to hear about his little moment of weakness would take advantage of him in some way.

But that particular train of though only seemed to make him cry harder, the ball swirling in his chest tightening to the point of explosion; similarly to a taut rubber band tying around his heart, compressing and compressing until the organ itself exploded into an internally bloody mess.

The hands previously pulling at his hair once again fell to his chest, gripping and grappling, as Stein forgot how to properly inhale and exhale, his breaths unsteady, but not to the point of hyperventilation.

A certain fear he wasn’t sure he had ever felt rose within him, beating against the confines of his muscles, skeleton, his flesh to escape.

“Come on, why don’t we get inside? Wouldn’t that make you feel better?” Spirit placed a perturbed hand on Stein’s shuddering shoulder, of whom leaped backwards. “I’m sorry, I won’t touch you again.”

The corners of the scientist’s mouth twitched wildly, almost as though it were attempting a smile, tears still freely running down his rosy cheeks.

He smacked a hand over his mouth, folding in on himself, practically convulsing as uncontrollable and unfitting giggles escaped his mouth vigorously, nearly choking attempting to cease his own unwanted laughter.

The foreboding expression mixed with, danced with the cracking grin, as he glanced over at Spirit, a horrified and vulnerable look in his eyes.

The disquietude contorting Spirit’s countenance had seemingly been, though certainly not entirely, assuaged by something, as he returned to his former position partially inside of the lab.

“Can you make it in here on your own, or do you need help?” His voice was hushed, but rather sweet in a way Franken had never heard from the man before.

He put one foot in front of the other whilst laughing uproariously, Albarn pursing his lips as the manic giggles filled his ears like a disconcerting and scratched record.

The record shrieking, bellowing from the speakers of the old radio had risen in volume to the point of no return. And all Stein could do in the face of the growing and clamoring shadows was weep and cackle. He was now to be laid out for the entirety of the desert to know and scrutinize.

And though he never once cared about a singular person’s opinion of him, the viewpoints of the flowing river rushing with what may as well be a liquidized form of the status quo would always sway the viewpoint’s of others, effectively sweeping the already swept rug right out from underneath him.

“Do you wanna sit on the couch? Or.. I think it would be a good idea if you tried to get a nap,” Stein’s visage was blank in emotion, only a few tears left to roll, his mouth closed shut despite the tittering attempting to flow out like a stream of water. It admittedly appeared rather… interesting to anyone who wasn’t the meister, as his figure shook with what could be mistaken as mirth, while no other aspect of him followed suit.

Stein shrugged his shoulders in response, standing awkwardly as though he was a guest in his own house.

“Come on,” he waved the meister over. “Why don’t you go back to bed?”

He apprehensively objected the notion, standing still, the laughter slowly but surely dying down.

“Why not?” The ginger prodded as if he truly believed he would be given a verbal elucidation. “…… Okay, why don’t we just sit down, then?”

Stein obeyed, moving to plop down onto the sofa, a falling sensation holding his body hostage. He felt himself being pulled down as if he had dived off of a building; a random suicidal whim, an impulse. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to those.

<…….>

Stein’s eyes shot open as he caught his breath, his face oddly moist and his body drenched with sweat.

He was breathing fast and hard, his heart pumping, banging against his sore chest; something of which seldom happened.

He lifted his quivering fingers, dabbing them onto his cheeks, as if to take a sample.

Upon observation, upon even licking the salty liquid from off of his fingers for the sole sake of clarity, it was safe to determine that he was crying.

Stein squinted his eyes, scanning the room, his vision blurred undoubtedly from the tears, though it was possible he also needed the aid his glasses offered him.

He patted around his bed and his nightstand in search of the aforementioned glasses, only to find that he had fallen asleep with his frames on his face, lenses covered in the same wetness covering his fingers.

He cleaned the lenses with his shirt, jittery and with an aching stomach and head.

‘Was that a dream? No… That just happened yesterday, didn’t it? Or was it a week ago? How much of that did and did not happen? When…? No,’ the endless misty haze of confusion seemed to torture him endlessly as he placed his glasses beside him.

He needed a shower. And the very thought of standing in the mirrored room paralyzed him; the same room with the camera-filled vents. Though all of his rooms had that… They were most likely selling the videos they’d take of his most vulnerable and private moments to strangers… His body was to be passed around and enjoyed, wasn’t it?

He bit at his fingers, even unconsciously suckling on them at the volume rose impossibly and impressively more so.

But he had work to accomplish, not even just at the academy - or did they actually temporarily suspend him from his duties? Was that just the dream?

Stein threw the covers from off of his body. Evidently he’d need to wash the sheets as well, given how soaked they were.

Exhausting nightmares were all he had anymore.

<…….>

The warm water trickled down Stein’s neck, falling smoothly from his collarbone, and down to his thoracic and abdominal cavities, making rounds around his thighs, and pooling under his feet.

He stood there, immobilized by nothing at all for a moment. It was almost as if, though not quite, he was not allowed to move, to control his own extremities.

He pondered for a moment those ghastly and ghostly beings which followed him into the bathroom, never allowing him even a fraction of time to himself, and how, while he often wished for them to disappear, he hadn’t a single clue as to what he’d do without them.

The static sung hell-born lullabies to him, words of the shadows culminating inside of his skull like echoes of the distant past, or of an imminent and inevitable future; a reminder that the present would never be his to own. Even his own thoughts were not to ever belong to him.

He was within its domain, born seated upon its throne, for it was, too, his, as he was ‘it’ and ‘it’ was him - simultaneously, still, existing as almost separate entities; the predator and the prey, except in this particular falsified, quasi-play, the predator’s prey just so happened to be the predator itself.

Stein managed to twitch his middle finger.. Then his ring, then his pointer, his pinky, and his thumb.

He relearned how to contract his muscles, how to outstretch his arms, as he began to move.

He’d rub shampoo and conditioner in his hair, scratching the shampoo into his scalp, and observing as it seeped through his follicles and into his body just as the noise had.

His heart did not pump the same blood as everyone else’s. That much was apparent. And he could not force it to. Was he to give in to the forest? Did he have a choice in the matter?

<…….>

Stein trudged once more throughout the cobblestone streets, seeking answers.

He pushed the academy doors open, a few curious glances coming his way as students and staff alike whispered amongst one another. He didn’t always mind such attention, as a matter of fact, he often found it rather amusing. At times, he could even find himself being partial to it. But in times such as this, times when it fed the avalanche raining down in his mind, he wished everyone would simply forget he ever existed. He wished passionately that he were the invisible observer he often forgot that he wasn’t.

“Spirit,” Stein called out into the Death Room, even more bewildered glances given to him.

“Stein?” The scythe sounded so surprised to see the man, he had to wonder why.

“Have I been suspended already?” He asked the question as though it were the most urgent and important of questions.

“Stein… You were let off over a week ago. Don’t you remember?”

Those words resounded within Stein, echoing and bouncing off the walls as the world around him spun, crumbling down as the very fabric of reality tore apart.

“It was a week?” Stein choked out, his eyes bulging out from their sockets, his ears ringing inharmoniously.

He whipped his head around the whole room, covering his face just as he had in the dream, moving his hands to the sides of his head, as he stood with both of his legs in his reality and a mere fingertip in their reality.

What?

“What day is it again?”

“It’s the twenty-sixth of July,” Marie helpfully answered, sounding awfully concerned. “It’s a Thursday.”

Stein ripped his hands away from his head, pulling them back down and peering at them. Was he even real? Were they real? Were they demons wearing the skin of his friends? What was going on? Where was he, truly? Who was he?

And most importantly,

how did he last this long in the first place?

It had become overwhelmingly apparent over the years that he was the strongest person he knew.

But being the strongest never guarantees you’ll survive on the battlefield. No matter who you are, you’re more likely to die a gruesome and empty death than not. A death in which you are left to rot. And that had also become abundantly clear to Stein.

He knew it. He had always known it.

He wasn’t going to make it to thirty.

<——————>

An incredibly fitting song:

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