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It was his insatiable curiosity that lead him to the conclusion that this was the best course of action. That and Azuza’s constant harping cry of “If you attempt to dissect one more classmate, I will personally make sure that you are expelled” the last four or five (Stein had lost track) times he attempted to dissect a classmate. He wasn’t particularly worried about her making good on her threat, but just in case... Just in case, he decided that the best way to continue with his lessons would be to stop attacking other students. That always made people freak out for some reason. Stupid.
Which was why he was currently bracing his hand on a wall with his shirt sleeve rolled up to his shoulder as he slowly slid a scalpel around his arm right above his elbow. Looking back, he probably should have planned this better and cut along his left arm with his right hand. Oh well, there was always next time.
Still keeping up that same slow pace - bleeding or not Stein couldn’t afford to mess this up - he pealed back his skin and flexed his arm a few times, observing the two muscles contracting.
And then, a shriek which reached decibels unknown managed to interrupt. There was Spirit, green eyes impossibly wide with a look on his face that could only be described as... Hm, Stein didn’t really know what it was, but it looked eerily similar to the look on people’s faces when he was waving his scalpel at them. After several moments of silence the younger boy tilted his head. “What?” That seemed to snap his senpai out of it, and he was promptly ushered to the infirmary, passing legions of students with varying levels of funny looks on their faces as blood dripped down his arm.
The next day, everyone spoke to him differently. Softer. Nicer, almost. People were weird. They were especially weird in the summer months when it got oppressively hot and Stein was forced to wear something with shorter sleeves that showed off the shiny, new scar encircling his arm. And when he asked why they all acted so weird, they never really answered. Soon enough, though, the weirdness and the concerned looks faded, even though the scar and the stitches he never bothered taking out didn’t.
A few years later, he got that same urge again. Maybe different muscles this time. The heart counted as a muscle, right? Stein remembered his mistakes from last time, if he kept his curiosity to the left, he could work with his dominant hand. Easy.
The blade cut through skin like butter. He started in the middle of his chest, arching over his left shoulder, curled around his back, and ended the cut by sliding back over his hip to take a look at his stomach cavity. He spent a rather wondrous hour poking around in himself with a look of demented glee on his face and sewed himself back up without incident.
Until he was finishing up his last few stitches that is. Once again, Spirit had to barge in and start screaming. If he was so squeamish, he should know by now that he needed to knock. “...Infirmary. Now.”
“I probably shouldn’t walk.” How stupid did you have to be to suggest someone who’d just undergone a rather delicate operation to walk up dozens of stairs to get stitches which he’d already just completed. Insanity.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh - Sid!” And that was how Stein ended up getting carried in the larger boy’s arms up to the clinic while people gathered to stare at the blood dripping off his chest and back and onto the floor. At least it made it easy for Marie to find him and come visit, scared though she looked.
Once again, the next day, everyone spoke in very soft voices to him and asked about a million times if he was okay (“Yes.”) and said about a million times that if he ever needed to talk about anything ever they were there for him (“...Okay.”). It was all really strange. And, once again, their strangeness faded with time even though his scar still featured prominently on his chest.
A few years later, when he got the urge to see if he could take a look inside his head, he realized that the thing that made people so scared was the blood. If they didn’t have to see the blood, then they wouldn’t act so odd to him afterwords. It was a reasonable enough hypothesis. So he set to work in the middle of the night when Spirit was asleep - and god knew he could sleep through a nuclear bomb - to avoid any sort of potential distraction.
He knew what he was doing - or at least he thought he did; a few months after the fact, Stein realized he’d damaged his eyesight slightly and needed glasses for more delicate work - when he administered some anesthetic to his temples, when he quickly made a cut down the left side of his face to peel his skin back to make this a bit easier, when he started drilling... The operation was, for all intents and purposes, a success. His head felt a bit funny after, but a few twits and he felt... Better. Sharper. Nice little perk he discovered. Maybe he’d have to market this to people who had trouble thinking...
The next day, when he went to school, people stared just the same way they did when he was being taken to the clinic even though he’d made sure he’d cleaned all the blood off his face. Strange. His... Friends, if you could call them that, said nothing. No strangely soothing words, no carrying him down the hall, nothing. Just staring just to the side of his head. They were probably just admiring his delicate handy-work. Or perhaps the simple, elegant design of the bolt he’d shoved through his head. Or maybe- Spirit fainted with a loud thump while Nygus got to work attempting to wake him back up, fanning him with her hand, still far more focused on Stein’s latest operation. With their continual love for taking people there, he was a little shocked no one had dragged his now-unconscious partner to see a doctor, but maybe they just needed a reminder. “...I think senpai needs to go to the infirmary.”
Spirit later woke up sobbing and screaming “Why me?!” over and over and over. People were so strange sometimes.