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Maka wakes up, and the first thing she realizes is that the bed she’s laying in is not her own.
Her second realization is that, as she blinks open her eyes, she’s in the nurse’s office at the DWMA. Everything comes back to her in a rush; the kishin they’d been fighting, how the battle had gotten nasty and she’d thrown herself in harms way to protect her friends. And sure enough, as she examines her ribs she sees a new scar across them. Oh. It almost matches Soul’s. Well, she feels much better now. A lingering headache and dry mouth but not much else.
Before she can have any more realizations, however, the door is kicked open. It bangs into the wall with a thud and wobbles on its hinges. Blackstar barges in, already scowling at her. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her, yelling almost directly into her face.
“YOU IDIOT, WHY’D YA GO AND GET HURT?” He tries to hide it under a mask of anger, but she can sense that he’s rattled. Maka doesn’t have all the memories of the fight, but assumes the outcome must’ve been perilous if he’s this worried about her. Still...
“I didn’t want anyone else to get hit,” she retorts. It’s easy to fall into her and Blackstar’s familiar dynamic, the back and forth bickering they’ve had since they were kids. He shoots her another glare, fuming silently. She’s about to bark out another excuse when her eyes catch on someone over his shoulder, someone who must’ve come in after Blackstar’s loud entrance.
Soul. He shuffles closer like he’s drawn in by her gaze, and Blackstar at least moves away (sulkily) so Soul has room to take her hand. It’s warm, in hers. Calloused and scarred and oh-so-familiar. The shadows under his eyes and frown creasing his face are enough to send a pang of guilt through her.
“I was worried,” he says quietly. “We all were.” A pause as he chews on his lip and furrows his brow. “Maka, you can’t just keep jumping in front of others like that.”
Why not, she wants to shout back. All she wants is to protect her friends, her family. But she sees how Soul is hunched over in exhaustion, how even Blackstar looks less exuberant than usual. And she knows they’re right. They can all handle themselves, and throwing herself in front of them doesn’t help.
“I’m sorry,” Maka mutters, unable to meet either of their disbelieved stares. “I’ll... try to be less reckless next time. Try, but no promises.” That coaxes a guffaw out of her brother and a small smile from Soul. He lifts her from the bed gently.
“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you home.”
“Yeah, Pigtails,” Blackstar says, hands interlocked behind his head. But then he adds, “We’ve all missed you,” and she knows it’s true. So she lets herself be carried out with only a few weak insistences that she can walk.
They go home, and she heals, and next time they fight she doesn’t jump in. Maka knows her friends are strong enough. Strong enough to protect themselves.