Chapter Text
In a clearing not far from the DWMA, nine souls stood together. It had become a sort of habit place for Maka and her friends, since their first resonance practice. There were a few changes- for one, a few trees were replaced with stumps, courtesy of her friend, according to Tsubaki. The season was a little different, chilly autumn instead of spring. But the things that had changed most were the people within it. It didn’t look it, but she knew exactly how hard everyone had been working. Soul was a proper death scythe now, Tsubaki not far from the same. Maka, Kidd, and Black⛤Star were all (relatively) newly-appointed two-star meisters. So much had happened in the changing of the seasons, but the thing that Maka noticed most was Crona.
Once the DWMA’s biggest threat, here they were, among the top E.A.T class the DWMA had to offer. She had no doubt they belonged here, either, despite how far behind they seemed to be. She’d seen them and their weapon- once they relearned resonance properly, they’d be a force to reckon with. Another enforcer of justice by their side, an addition to a nearly-perfect team.
“Right!” Kidd was the first to take the mantle. “We’re gathered today to practice as a proper team. As you’re all aware, Crona and Ragnarok are here to join as well. Professor Stein has indicated that, though they haven’t fully completed their essentials, this may be beneficial to their learning. I’d like everyone to set your expectations to accommodate them.”
Black⛤Star stuck his tongue out. “Yeesh, you do this every time! ‘We’re here for this, we’re here for that’. You’re not even the leader! You’re like, the third most leader! Second being Maka, and first being me!”
“I consider myself the most eloquent,” Kidd replied back coolly.
“I really don’t think this matters.” Maka laughed. They had to do this every time, apparently. Kidd would set their goals with a speech (thankfully, this one was truncated), when everyone already knew what the deal was. It would be old by now, if it weren’t kind of funny seeing Black⛤Star try to bring the attention to himself every time.
“Yeah, let’s just get on with it,” Liz whined, followed by a bout of giggling from her sister.
“Is everyone ready? You’ve all had water and food, right? I brought some spare, just in case. It’s best to practice when you’re in top shape- especially you, Crona,” Tsubaki added.
“Dude, we had lunch, like, barely an hour ago. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want to fight.” Soul snorted. He shook his head, form obscuring as it started to glow and shift. As easily as breathing, Maka snatched the scythe out of the air and hoisted him over her shoulder. She cast a glance at Crona, who gave her a small, nervous smile back.
Like a chain reaction, Patty, Liz, and Tsubaki also turned into their weapons, one after another. The only one who had yet to transform was the newest member of their odd little group.
They hesitated. It looked like the fight was still going. Maka was burningly curious about it, but she didn’t dare ask. They’d felt it important enough to lie to her, and now she couldn’t just… ask. It was a little frustrating, though she knew it stemmed mostly from seeing her friend upset.
“Ragnarok, they’re waiting for you.” Their voice was low, oddly annoyed. “Don’t leave our friends waiting. We need to fight, we-”
From all the months of knowing them, Maka knew there were two ways that Ragnarok could emerge: painfully, or much less painfully. It depended slightly on the time he’d spent inside their skin and mostly on how much he wanted it to hurt. If the way Crona bit their hand to muffle a scream was any indication, he’d chosen the former. There was no doubt it was purposeful, but all she could do was give him a scathing glare when the blood formed into something more solid.
“Yeah, yeah, cool it. And say please, would’ja?” He pulled at their hair, and they elbowed him away before Maka could even get out her book.
“It’s your job. You never say please to me,” they muttered.
Kidd hummed. “They have a point. You do have a habit of asking for pleasantries when you don’t give any.”
Ragnarok leaned over, using Crona’s head as a surface to do so with. Maybe it was a trick of the eye, but he looked… bigger. Granted, it had been a while since she last saw him (and thank Death for that). “Did I ask?”
“Ugh, just get on with it.” Seeing his face always made her a little pissed off. Usually, it wasn’t enough to outweigh the happiness of seeing Crona, but his attitude was especially grating right now, when she knew he had to have done something to upset one of her two best friends.
He glared at her for a long, long moment, and she glared right back. He seemed to realize she wouldn’t lose their little staring contest, and conceded with a shake of his head. Crona held out their hand, and he turned to liquid and formed into the shape of the moment. They didn’t speak. Not one word. Annoyance had turned to apathy, a mask she couldn’t read past.
The sword solidified in the blink of an eye, dropping heavily into Crona’s palm. Just as fast, a shriek rang across the clearing, sharp and shocked. Ragnarok was on the ground before Maka had even processed that they’d dropped him. She moved before she could think, at their side in an instant.
“What’s wrong, what happened?” Had they cut themself? That was clearly a sound of pain, and they were holding their hand to their chest like they’d injured it. They didn’t even turn to look at her. It was like she wasn’t there.
Instead, they looked utterly shocked. They stood, motionless, for a few heartbeats, before slowly looking down at their weapon on the ground. Their lilac hair obscured their face, and they slowly opened and closed their hand. There was nothing on it.
Of course. She was instantly brought back to she and Soul’s worst fight, the one before battling Free for the first time. Soul had hurt her. Not on purpose, but because their wavelengths had fallen out of sync. Crona and Ragnarok’s had probably been out of sync for a while, but this was shifted badly off track. Looking at it now with soul perception, she could see how each of their souls’ auras seemed to fight each other, oil and water.
Her friend was trembling worse than usual. At first, she assumed it was from the shock, but one look at the eyes hidden underneath their bangs proved her wrong.
They looked furious. Angrier than she’d ever seen them, ever even imagined they could look. It was genuinely scary, seeing the scowl on their face, the way their chest heaved and their cheeks darkened with rage. Slowly, too slowly, they reached down and grabbed Ragnarok. Their whole hand seemed to lock at that, grunting with the strain. In the blink of an eye, they had nearly thrown him, plunging the wickedly sharp deep into the bark of a stump.
They hadn’t even let go when they clutched their skull with their other hand and shrieked, “damn it!”
It was… startling. Disconcerting, at the very least. Crona’s chest heaved, and she was frozen in shock as she watched one of her closest friends unravel into an outrage she’d never seen before. It reminded her of the person she’d met in the church, overcome with madness and taking it out on the people around them.
“Why do you ruin everything?!” They shook their head furiously, voice breaking. Their pale hands were clutched tight to his handle despite the apparent pain it caused, leaning over so that their hair pooled around their face.
“It’s always my fault, isn’t it?” Ragnarok snapped back. “Have you ever considered that you’re the problem, you pathetic-”
“I know!” They laughed humorlessly, barely-concealed fury within each breath, “I know it’s my fault! Because it’s always my fault, isn’t it?! You hurt me and it’s my fault because I was asking for it, wasn’t I? I deserve it for trying to ruin your fun! For getting in the same situation that you’re in- I deserve it!”
“Oh, here it comes again! You try so hard to get attention- can’t you tell they only put up with you?! Nobody would love someone like you!” Ragnarok shouted back.
It was false. It was so, so false, but all Maka’s limbs were locked. It felt like her throat wouldn’t work. They’d fought, of course they had, but the amount of vitriol on both sides was terrifying. If it were just Ragnarok, she would have been able to intervene, but it was Crona that caught her off guard. She’d never seen them like this– angry, truly angry, standing their ground and letting their thorns out to hurt on their own whim instead of another’s. Even fighting Medusa or Arachne, they’d fought for Maka, not for themself.
And seeing it now was kind of terrifying.
“You can’t even let me have this, can you? You have to ruin it because you aren’t getting your way! I never asked for you! I never wanted to be your meister! It was another way to punish me, because- because being born to her wasn’t enough!” Crona shrieked.
“I didn’t even do anything! You’re the one acting crazy! I didn’t want to be your weapon, either! Nobody would!”
Stop it. Stop it- why can’t I move? Why can’t I speak?
“I’m insane because of you! If Mother had never put you in my body, I’d be fine! I’d be normal! I could be a person and not a puppet! You took away everything, and now you’re trying to take away the only happiness I’ve ever had because you’re an asshole! But you keep- you keep doing this to me, and I’m the one who gets hurt, because it’s never you!” Tears welled in their eyes.
“Oh, you think your life’s so hard, try not having a body! Try being attached to a little kid that keeps fucking up and not going insane yourself! You think you hated it there, well, newsflash, I did, too! You’re goddamn selfish! You took away my body and my freedom and you think you’re the victim?” He spat back.
“At least you had freedom in the first place! I never did, and that’s your fault as much as it’s Medusa’s! You’ve made me miserable all my life and you won’t even-”
Both of their souls were strong, dangerous. They were wound up, both unstable but not in the way that they’d worked so well together in. “What, let you kill me? Evict me? Poison me? I didn’t start this shit, you did. You’re not a saint, Crona, no matter how many people seem to think you are. I didn’t break those things, you did, you just blame it on me ‘cause you’re-”
“C- Crona, Ragnarok-” Tsubaki was the first one to speak up, sounding genuinely nervous. “How about we-?”
The response from the other weapon was harsh and instantaneous. “Shut up, you fucking doormat!”
She recoiled, and Black⛤Star put a hand on her shoulder. He looked pissed off, but Crona was already speaking again.
“You don’t talk to my friends like that! She’s been nothing but nice to us, what is your problem?!” Their voice lilted up, cracking at the top.
“She’s been nice to you because she’s too much of a wuss to say she doesn’t like you. And why would she? You’re a whiny, pathetic loser who does nothing but hold me back and then complain about it. You’re incompetent, you’re weak, you barely thank me for the shit I do for you to keep you breathing. But you still complain and complain and complain- no wonder your own mother didn’t love you!”
The black-blooded meister was still except for the harsh breaths and trembling. It seemed that had been the hardest insult so far, the only one that had made them clam up. They didn’t speak, leaving Ragnarok to continue spitting venom without any in return.
“And somehow, you think you’re the one who’s getting taken advantage of? Yeah, right! You’d die without me!”
“I hope I do! Then you’d die with me!” They plunged his blade deeper into the wood and finally let go. When Maka caught a flash of their hands, she saw white-and-gray blotches, like they’d held a block of ice for too long.
She barely had the time to process it before Crona was running, heavy boots leaving deep imprints on the ground. Their name slipped out of her tongue, but it was too late. By the time she could move and speak from the overwhelming pressure in the air, all that was left of one of her two best friends was indents in the dirt.
Fury fought with concern when she twisted to face Ragnarok. “What in Death’s name was that?!” Maybe she was shouting, too. It was hard to tell. How could he speak to someone so precious like that? What had he done to drive them to that level of anger? It had to be him, didn’t it? Nothing else made sense. Crona was so naturally gentle that she was half-convinced this was all a bad dream. Except that she could never imagine Crona- sweet, shy Crona- lashing out like that. Even in the chapel, they’d been melancholy, never angry. The most she’d ever gotten was a glare when they were battling.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Ragnarok repeated.
“Yes, it was! Why would you say those things?! The fight was your fault in the first place- you’re the reason they’re so upset all the time now.” She pointed to him. Damn it, she could feel tears in the corners of her eyes. This always happened when she got really angry. She’d start crying, and then look like a fool to whoever she was pissed at.
“No, I’m not. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, cow! Just get me back to them,” he demanded.
What audacity. It was genuinely appalling. “Oh, right, like I’m letting you near them-”
“You’re gonna, because they’re gonna be in a whole load of trouble without me there. I’m the one keeping them alive, dumbass. You try to stay alive without a big part of your blood and structure to, oh, I don’t know, all of the structure in your bones.”
“Is it immediate?” Kidd asked from behind her. The rest of her friends seemed to have gotten over their own shock. Soul was back in human form from where she’d dropped him, and Liz, Patty, and Tsubaki all seemed to have followed suit.
“No, but-”
“Then we have time to talk about what the hell that was,” Black⛤Star finished for him, jamming his finger close to Ragnarok’s blade. “I told them I would kick the butt of whoever teased Crona, and I’m gonna!”
“Black⛤Star, please calm down,” Tsubaki begged. “We should get him back to Crona, and then we can work all this out. I don’t want them to be in pain. We all just need to calm down. Maka, can you take him to them?”
“Why me?” Maka grumbled, glaring down at Crona’s weapon.
The kinder weapon cast her a look that made her feel the slightest bit guilty. “I would, I’m not a meister. I can’t hold him like you can.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll take him, whatever.” She reached forward to grab him, but when she pulled on his handle, all that came away was slick black blood on her gloves. It was as if he melted away when she touched him, a small indent in his handle where she’d touched.
That’s Crona’s blood. Their blood is on your hands. If you can’t get him back in time, they won’t be okay this time.
They still had time, though. This could still be fixed. “We’re not compatible. Ragnarok, how long can Crona last without you?”
“I’ve never tested. Thirty, maybe forty minutes, if I had to guess, but we don’t have that time.” He sounded… concerned. The light tone he usually took on was gone, replaced by something more urgent. “I need to get back to them now.”
“What do you mean?” Liz asked, brows furrowing.
It was as if a realization had struck him, because he suddenly sounded almost… desperate. “None of your goddamn business, I just have to- damn it, damn it, I need to get back to them-”
The handle of the blade turned to liquid, arcing up weakly before cascading down and solidifying into a mass again. Ragnarok swore under his breath.
“Didn’t you say we had time?” Patty blinked, wide-eyed, leaning into her sister. Liz pulled the girl a bit closer.
“You don’t get it,” the demon sword snapped. “Shit, shit, one of you needs to grab me, I can’t make it to them on my own.”
“A please would be nice, would it not?” Kidd snarked back.
“I’ll skin you, you asymmetrical fucking freak-”
“This is about their plan, isn’t it?” Soul interrupted, not heeding the way the black-and-white meister recoiled bitterly.
“Their plan?” Maka turned and looked at him. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous, but Crona always talked to her first. At least, she’d thought. They’d told her everything. Their childhood, the things Medusa had done to them, their poetry and ideas and the little things that they loved about being free, and she’d share her own. Stories of her mama, every little event of every little event, her dreams and goals. The fight was the first thing she’d not been keyed into since the betrayal, and now she was finding out that Soul knew something she didn’t?
“Something about making things better. Outlasting you. That’s why you’re fighting, isn’t it? They want something you don’t, something that will help them.”
Ragnarok laughed bitterly. “Help them? Yeah, right! I’m sure it will help them. Sure! Great! Let them kill themself, then!”
“What?" She couldn’t tell who said it. Maybe it was herself, maybe Soul or Kidd or Black⛤Star- she wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. Crona. Crona, Crona, Crona. How had she not noticed it? They were trying to- to…? No, they couldn’t be. “You’re lying! You’re trying to trick us, aren’t you? Or- or you don’t mean it literally, they can’t be-”
“...It lines up.” Soul looked horrified. “They were vague, they said we’d be happier, that Ragnarok was trying to stop them… Of course he would, he doesn’t want to die.”
Maka swept a look around her friends. Please, please let him be wrong. Let any of them have a contradiction. But all of them looked just as devastated as she felt. Kidd looked away, a hand over his mouth. When he spoke, it was low, afraid. “I thought they were going to fix their mental state. I was aware of its decline, but-”
“You didn’t tell me?! What, did you all know?” It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. If the madness had taken over them, it was so easy to fix, but had none of her closest friends informed her that hey, just a heads up, Crona might be suicidal?
“They were acting weird when I painted their nails,” Liz admitted. “They wouldn’t let me into their room at all, and they worked on old stuff. Plus, they said they missed their mother.”
“And they drew something dark,” Patty added. “It was all black, and it had a lightbulb. Or- ohhh, I don’t think that was a lightbulb…”
A noose. It’s the same shape, isn’t it? She felt sick. So, so sick. The signs were all there, all of them had seen it, she’d seen it-
Black⛤Star was the next one to pipe in. “They said some weird stuff when we were hanging out. They got all sentimental. I thought it was just ‘cause I was so big, but…”
“It’s been going on for a while.” Tsubaki looked overwhelmingly guilty, on the verge of tears. “I felt their wavelength. It wasn’t stable, and they rushed right away. I thought it was strange, I should have said something before it got too bad. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realize-”
“It’s not your fault.” Maka spoke, though her mouth was numb. She was angry at the world, and she was sad, and she wanted to punch Ragnarok in his stupid face for keeping this secret, but that wouldn’t fix anything. They were still alive. She could feel the faint pulse of their purple soul from miles away, so used to searching it out among the crowd.
Soul smiled very faintly, though it looked strained. “I know that look in your eyes. You don’t have to ask. We’ll take care of things here. Kidd and Black⛤Star will try their hands, and then us weapons. No matter what it takes, we’ll get Ragnarok back and save them from blood loss.”
It’s your mission to save them from themself, went unspoken.
Maka nodded once and turned on her heel, breaking into a run. It felt like déjà vu, following a trail of lilac hair before something horrible happened. And, just like the last two times, she begged the world that they would still be alive when she reached them.
In the end, she found them exactly where she thought they would: in their room. The prison they’d refused to move out of, even when other options had been given to them. Despite being midday, it was dreary, the single window casting light into a room that was in a state that could only be called destroyed. The cobbled walls were etched with deep gashes, rubble sprawled around them. Their bed was broken, ripped pillows and torn blankets moved to the cold floor in a facsimile of a sleeping spot. Beside it, an orange bottle of pills lay tipped over, spilled all over the floor.
And in the corner behind the door, where she’d first seen them in the school, there they were. Their hands were covered in pooling black dripping down their arms, clutching to shards of glass and bloodstained paper. In one of the pieces, ripped to shreds, she could see her own face, smiling. The edge cut off right before where she knew Crona’s own face began.
They didn’t acknowledge her as she came in. Their soul wavelength wasn’t steady, per se, but they didn’t seem too badly hurt yet. Still, it was concerning, seeing them unmoving.
Was it this bad all along? They broke everything in their room, but how long ago? When did this happen? How did I not notice their suffering? Am I that bad of a friend? This whole time. A month. They’ve been unstable for a month. I could have helped them, but I thought everything was perfect.
“Crona.” She kept her voice soft. They startled, but didn’t look up.
“Maka. You’re here. I should have known. You always come when I’m breaking apart.” They let out a soft laugh. “I kind of wish you’d just let me rot.”
She reeled back. “No way! If you think I’m just gonna sit here while you’re in pain, you’re dead wrong! Just- let me-”
They finally sent her a look as she got closer, one that stopped her in her tracks. Desperation, anger, and a confidence that she hadn’t expected with them all shone in the deep blue-gray she’d come to adore so much. They looked mad again. A wild animal, partially domesticated, gone back to its feral roots.
“Don’t. Don’t come closer.”
It wasn’t a plea. It was an order.
“Crona… Please, I’m worried about you. I got rid of the madness last time, just let me-”
“No!” They shook their head furiously. Rivulets of black blood beaded down their arms as they clutched the broken glass. It dripped on the floor, a cruel reminder of the last time they’d done this horrible, horrible song and dance. They’d almost died then, and it was one of the worst days of Maka’s life. Now, she had the power to stop it, but the person she wanted so desperately to save was refusing her.
It would do no good to force the issue. As much as she hated it, she put her hands up, stopping in place. “I’m just trying to help you.”
“Of course you are.” They ran a hand down their cheek, leaving a black stain. “Of course. You’re so good. So, so good. It’s why I’m here in the first place. Because you’re good enough to look at someone like me and see anything other than what I am. But I’ve learned something, Maka. No matter how good you are, you can’t fix me. I’ll just get worse and worse and take you down with me. I wish I could say it was madness, but it’s me.”
“That’s not true.” She felt sick. How many of these thoughts had already been here? Were they just saying it because their filter was off? Did they truly think they were beyond redemption?
“But it is, isn’t it? I love you because you’re a light in the darkness, and you love me because you don’t seem to understand that I’m fundamentally wrong.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re wrong! And- and I’m really mad at you right now-”
“Good. I hope you are. Then you can see me for what I am.” Their face twisted into a broken smile.
“How can you say things like that?” She threw her hands out, and they flinched back again, backed into their corner. “I know it’s madness, and I know it’s her, but still, I can’t let you say these things, you’re too important-”
“Stop!” Their voice pitched up, suddenly terrified, the moment she took a step forward. “Stay where you are, stop, stop-”
“We’ve done this before, haven’t we? You push me away because you’re scared, but I won’t let you do that.” Maka smiled. Her heart hurt. It hurt so, so badly. All this progress, gone backwards. Would it always be like this? They were worth any price, of course, but seeing them hurt…
That was the worst thing they could do to her, really.
They cowered against the corner, looking more animal than human. “Stop- stay back! Can’t you see? I broke it, Maka! I broke it, I broke all of it, I can’t break you, too. Please, you can’t let me break you-”
“It’s okay. I’m here.”
“You’re…” Their breaths were shaky, like the cadence of someone crying, but there were no tears.
Another step forward. They were within arm’s reach. But before she could go forward, they did, closing the gap, Their bleeding hands reached for her, one wrapping halfway around the side of her neck and one resting on her cheek. It wasn’t harsh- no, it was oddly tender, the desperation in their eyes morphing from wild to muted, almost longing. Maka let out the breath she was holding and placed a hand over the one on her cheek.
“See?” She took a deep breath, willing them to calm, as well. They were in contact now. She could heal them, at least a little. “You’re not hurting me. Look. Even when you’re scared, you’re still gentle. I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t,” they whispered. The shards in their hands pricked at her skin, mixing red and black. “People like me can’t be helped. We’ll always destroy the things we love. I don't want to destroy you. You’re the only light in this world, Maka. The only thing in this kishin-damned world that could see something like me and still believe there’s something worth saving.”
“That’s not true. There are plenty of good things, Crona. I think you know that. You just don’t want to focus on them, because your head is telling you things that hurt, and you want it to stop. Am I close?”
“It’s because of him.” Her friend murmured, brows furrowed in a strange melancholy acceptance.
That was a start. Maka willed her soul to theirs, trying to entangle purple with blue like the strange mixture of blood she could feel dripping down her cheek. “Ragnarok?”
“If I die, so does he. He makes you upset. He ruins everything, and so do I. Having him around makes me so much worse. It was okay when he was quiet, but he got insistent again, and he ruined it. He- we ruined it all. Everything. It would be better if we disappeared.”
“You’re wrong,” Maka snapped. They didn’t seem scared of it, though they did look upset. “We’d all be so much worse without you.”
“But that’s not true, is it? You wouldn’t be here, comforting me when I’m already dead. I want you to be happy, Maka. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since that day on the beach. And look at you. I’m here, and you’re sad.” Their thumb brushed down her cheek, leaving a sting of pain with it. Their soul was covered in walls, in thorns and teeth like it had been before, and she didn’t have the madness to overcome it so easily.
She moved the hand covering Crona’s to worm its way underneath theirs, taking slender, ice-cold fingers into her palm. She lowered it from her face, leaning forward until she could see every minute detail in theirs. “I’m sad because you’re hurting. It’s not always like this. You know that.”
“I-”
“Don’t you remember the good days? Like the party where you learned to trust us, or when Marie announced her pregnancy, or when you passed your first test with flying colors, or when we spent all night punch-drunk and watching movies until four in the morning, even when we had school the next day?” Maka prompted, and Crona swallowed heavily. Their hands, once steady on her cheek, started to shake.
“I don’t want those things to be ruined by me. I don’t deserve all that. Everyone’s so nice to me all the time, and I know I don’t deserve it, but it’s so hard to- to think-” Apathy was cracking at the pressure points, and for once, Maka was glad to see the fear that slowly dawned on them. Fear meant emotion. Fear meant they’d think about this. And in turn, the walls around their soul started to soften. “I have to do this, Maka. I have to. I should have died back at Medusa’s. Then I’d at least be anything but a coward. Please, I want to be anything more. I want to do something good. What justice is there in letting us live when all we do is destroy?”
She simulated a chop over the head with the side of her free hand. “Stop being stupid. I love you. All of us do. And I’ll say it as many times as you need to get it through your head, okay? We love you, Crona. So, so much.”
The black-painted hand in hers withdrew, and before she could even attempt to scoop it back up, her friend’s knees were collapsing under them, arms latching around her in a boneless hug. She caught them easily, keeping them up, and let their head rest into the crook of her neck. They weren’t crying, not yet, but the five words they murmured into her shoulder sounded devastated, like a prayer from a sinner to a saint.
“I don’t want to die.”
The walls around their soul shattered.
Maka held them, kept them upright even as gravity tried so desperately to pull them down. “Good. That’s so good. It’s okay. You’re here. I’m here.”
“I did. I swear I did at the start. I was just so- so angry. I hated him, I hated myself, but- but then it changed, and I don’t know when. I went mad, but I never really- it’s like- like I just-” They were breathing heavily, and she could feel tears staining her vest. “I don’t know when it changed. I’ve never been good at being angry. But if it was hurting him, if it was hurting us- we deserved it. Both of us. Him and me. I hate both of us, but Maka, I don’t want to die!”
“You don’t have to.” She murmured back, pouring all the strength her soul could allow into theirs. Hers was an ever-full pitcher, willing to pour and pour until their ocean was bright and blue again, instead of the shallow black it had regressed to. She’d never be able to get rid of the black, not entirely, but if she could dilute it until the black was a faint cloudy gray in a clear pool of sanity, then that would be good enough.
“You don’t understand.” They let out something between a sob and a laugh. “It hurts, Maka. It hurts so bad I can hardly even feel it anymore. Everything inside me is falling apart. Without him, I’m nothing. I told you already: I’m dead. I was dead since I left him there. Isn’t it cruel?”
Thirty, maybe forty minutes. How long had it been? With all the talking and how long it took to get back to their side…
More than half their time had been spent, hadn’t it? It had been twenty, at least, with only about ten minutes left to get back to Ragnarok. Shit, why had she spent so much time sitting around? She could have talked it out. And with the blood loss that hadn’t stopped, either, it wasn’t looking good. They were paler than usual, and they hadn’t straightened up. All of their weight was on her.
“It’s not over,” Maka told them stubbornly. “Can you stand?”
“It hurts,” they repeated. “He- he fixed everything wrong with my body. The more he’s gone, the worse it gets. I’m breaking apart.”
“Black⛤Star and Kidd are trying to take him to you, but we don’t know if it will work. He’s a powerful weapon. Only someone as strong as you can wield him.”
They laughed quietly, though it was strained. “I think you’re mixing me up with someone else. I’m not strong.”
“I succumbed to madness when I had a little bit in my body. Your whole bloodstream is black, and you live with Ragnarok. You are strong, Crona. You just need to be strong for a little longer, and then we’ll help you through everything else. I’ll be here the whole time,” she promised, shifting her weight so that their arm was slung over her, and hers under them. Even if they were light, she wouldn’t be able to carry them for that long. This would have to make do. “We just have to get to him. I’ll carry most of your weight. All you need to do is walk.”
“Walk,” they repeated softly. “To him.”
“Exactly. I know you don’t like him, but-”
“He’ll help me live. If I’m with him, I’ll be safe. I can wield Tsubaki and do art with Patty and paint my nails with Liz and- and talk with Kidd, train with Black⛤Star… write with Soul. I can see Marie and Doctor Stein’s baby. I can stay with you.” Crona’s voice shook with strain, but underneath that, it was determined, a steady tree amongst the wind of pain and madness.
“Can you do it?” Maka asked. Her friend’s eyes were two chips of flint, hard and determined in a way that made her heart sing. There they were. Crona, in all their glory. No matter how hard they were beaten down, how much pain they’d gone through, they were stronger than anyone she’d ever met.
Their foot skimmed across the ground, the first step of all too many back to redemption. She shunted their weight, moving in tandem with them. It didn’t stop with one step. They started another, and another, until they were walking, voice heavy with pain and determination when they decided to speak again. “I don’t know, but I- I want to try. I want to live.”
There you are again, saving yourself. All I need to do is be here, and you’ll gather your strength. I don’t care how many times it takes. I’ll always be here to help you pick up the pieces. It’s worth every hard day to see you smile.
Maka smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Out of everything he’d been through, Ragnarok thought that perhaps being powerless was the worst curse he could be given.
Once upon a time, he’d been a creature of insatiable power, one of two beasts created by the hand of a witch. Once upon a time, she’d told him that he could have whatever he conquered. If he could beat it, he could take it. Once upon a time, cities fell under his hand in his prime, men and women alike begging to have him as a partner and dying by his hand. He made history under his fist, and when that got boring, he lived in the shadows, reaping his status as a legend.
And then, Medusa came, and she ruined him. She tricked him, melted him down, and for once, he was powerless. Out of control. And it stayed that way. Crona had always been a symbol of his imprisonment. Their black blood kept him chained, fighting off madness that became a part of him so quickly. They were his prison, Medusa his warden, and every toe out of line they made, she’d punish him, too. Humiliation was a painful thing to bear. His first meister, a mere child. He froze their hands, fought against their soul, punched and fought, and, that way, he had control. He had power. And that was okay. Medusa could boss him around, just as long as he wasn’t at the bottom of the pecking order.
It was easy to bully Crona. It was easy to hurt them and feel in control, to watch them cry when he pinched their nose or pulled their cheek or knocked their head. It was so, so easy. How was he supposed to know that it would lead to all this?
To him in a stump, completely and utterly powerless again as he dripped away, little by little, in tiny streams like a popsicle melting under the sun. The cow that Crona was sooo in love with had run after them, and now he was stuck with the other six members of the freak show. They didn’t seem to acknowledge him much, all talking amongst themselves about how worried they were and whether or not Crona was going to be alright and how mean he was, even though, excuse him, he was the one who was yelled at! They all seemed to forget that Crona blew up first, and he was collateral. It wasn’t his fault they’d changed themselves so as to not hold him, and it wasn’t his fault that they’d decided to anyway and frozen their hands off.
Frankly, he hadn’t asked for any of this, and it was damn rude that they were acting like it was his fault again. Sure, he’d pissed them off a good few times, but when hadn’t they pissed him off? It was like they were the martyr and he was the evil creature who lived only to torture them. Ha. As if he’d even look at them if he wasn’t forced to the first time! Really, they had all his permission to fuck off, if he weren’t involved.
But he had to be. Medusa had to take her older sister’s best work and use it for her own selfish goals, taking him down with them. So here he was. Out of control. Again.
“Alright.” The black-and-white meister in front of him finished wiping off his hands with a handkerchief, pulling his sleeves up and flexing his fingers. “I suppose we’ll try this out, then. I’ll bring you to Crona. Match my wavelength.”
Ragnarok scoffed. As if this kid thought he could hold him. Too many overconfident meisters had come and gone to make him sensitive to any but the best. Even if Ragnarok did shift to accommodate him, they still wouldn’t be able to work together. Destructive entropy versus obsessive perfection- it wouldn’t work. Why even try?
“Is something wrong?” Death’s perfectionist son asked coolly.
“You couldn’t grab me even if we both tried. You’d have a better shot with that egomaniac,” he taunted, and Kidd’s composed face twitched.
“I appreciate your warning. We’ll see.”
With that, he moved to grasp Ragnarok’s handle, but his hands merely passed through the liquid of the weapon’s handle, coming out coated in black. He took in a sharp breath, shaking stray droplets off his palm. It was kind of funny to see his wince, near to a scowl.
Kidd’s yellow eyes trained back on him. “Was that on purpose? I can’t do this if you keep trying to evade me-”
“I told you.” Ragnarok bore a smug grin. It was kind of satisfying, popping this pompous bastard’s bubble. “It won’t work. Just because Excalibur is an easy pull doesn’t mean I am.”
“Is it my turn? He told ya, Kidd,” Black⛤Star laughed, slapping his friend’s back. Kidd gave him back a bitter glare. “It’s okay! You can cheer me on when I grab ‘im and save Crona!”
“I don’t think-” Tsubaki started, interrupted by her overeager partner grabbing Ragnarok’s handle. The meister’s hands connected, and he blinked, still for a moment before laughing.
“Ya-hoo! I can wield him, take that! I knew I was a star! Take a look at me, this is the face of a god, I’m making history right now! Tsubaki, Tsubaki, watch me!” Black⛤Star bragged, hands firmly grasped around his handle like neither Maka nor Kidd had been able to do.
“No way.” Kidd looked almost crushed. For a moment, Ragnarok almost considered fitting with this buffoon, but he was far, far too noisy. He may actually prefer dying than not hearing the end of this.
So, he didn’t bend, and watched, mildly amused, as the meister pulled back, and he stayed entirely stationary.
“Urgh- you’re, uh- you stuck there, buddy?” Black⛤Star grinned, but he was sweating and straining.
“Come on. Crona put me in here, and they have noodle arms. What, I thought you were going to save them?” Ragnarok mocked.
“Yeah, I think you’re fucked,” Soul sighed. “It’s like when you tried to fight with me. It’s just not happening. Who’s next?”
“What? But I- no, I can grab him, look at me, he’s just stuck!” Black⛤Star whined, straining tight against his own muscles.
“Someone get him off of me,” Ragnarok demanded, and Kidd came to his aid. Maybe he was good for something after all.
“I can try!” Patty raised her hand, nearly jumping up and down. “Here, here, look, I can wield Big Sis, I can probably do it! Lemmie try!”
Oh, great, airhead number one. She may be a bit more chaotic than her wet rag of a meister and less noisy than the other one, but she didn’t have any brain inside of that big head of hers. Not that Crona did, anyway, so it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Ugh. None of them were good options. Even if he could try to bond with any of them, for at least a moment, he didn’t want to.
That was clear enough when she did much the same as the two before her, grabbing onto his handle. It didn’t have the same physical aspect of rejection as Black⛤Star. No, weapons were different. A weapon could wield another who was nigh-perfectly in sync, in rare, rare cases. A basis of trust was needed, so that the wavelengths could work with not only a meister, but another weapon. This kid didn’t seem to understand that, which was why she froze the moment her hands curled around his. Her invitation was rushed and sloppy, one that he didn’t bother reciprocating. As if it would work. As if he would want it to work.
I’m strong, I’ll wield you. Give yourself up, her wavelength demanded.
I am greater than you. I am more powerful, he replied. I am superior. I will not bend to your will.
Physically, she was completely still. Further in, she was fighting against him, frustrated and demanding. It was like beating fists against a stone wall. Entirely useless and painful. What a fool, still trying to use him when he was far, far stronger than she.
Enough.
She fell back, gritting her teeth, and the expression fell into a pout. She crossed her arms and legs, sulking at her clear defeat.
“What was that? She didn’t even try!” Black⛤Star pointed out, throwing out his hand at the inferior weapon.
“It’s different for us weapons. More mental than physical. It takes a concerted effort and practice for us to take the role of a meister. I’m lucky I learned it so young,” Liz explained, then went pale. “Oh, Death, does that mean I have to try now?”
“You’re the best wielder out of the ones who haven’t tried,” Soul reasoned. “Look, I’m still having trouble holding Maka. Just try, at least?”
Airhead number two winced, then inched closer to him. Her fingers tapped against his pommel, and absolutely not. This was a coward without any of Crona’s good traits. Sure, she’d bend to his will, yeah, but she was weak. Weaker than his meister, and that was saying something. She had barely any bite, no chaos, no real history. She was one-note and flat, despite the pain he could feel in her past.
The scaredy-cat asked in a way that no others could hear, could we work together?
You’re weak. You couldn’t hold me. I refuse.
The oldest seemed to understand her place, because she removed her fingers and shook her head. “Nope. Can’t do it, I tried, can I be done now?”
“I guess so,” Kidd sighed. “Who next?”
“Um… I could try?” Tsubaki spoke up softly. “I’ve felt him before. I know I haven’t tried to wield anyone else before, but I might have a handle on him.”
Tsubaki. What was there to say about Tsubaki? Out of all of Crona’s so-called friends, she was the most tolerable. She fed him, treated him like a person. Better than Crona, even. By all means, she would be a good meister. She’d fold when he needed her to fold, and be strong when he needed it. If she could adapt to Black⛤Star and Crona alike, that meant she was flexible. If they tried, he was sure this might just work. It may not seem it, but she was the most adaptable of the group.
“Go,” he said curtly, and she gave him a little smile, approaching like the four before her. Her slender fingers reminded him of Crona, and with that timid wavelength that had a depth behind it, he could almost pretend that it was just another day of training.
But he couldn’t feel Crona’s heartbeat. It had tapered off, the distance too grand, and the silence was deafening. This wasn’t a normal day. He couldn’t blind himself to the true circumstances.
Please let me hold you, her soul requested, ever-elastic. Let us put our lives in each other’s hands for this time.
It wasn’t the same. Not like Crona, who connected so effortlessly. With intent, yes, but not like this. Not two weapons, so different than the dynamic he’d gotten used to. Yes, she’d be a good meister. Yes, he needed someone to hold him, but this soul in front of him wasn’t one he could reach out to. She wasn’t like them. She wasn’t them.
Though I respect you, I decline. Let go of me, and our interaction won’t have any negative effects.
In the end, she was compliant. She drew back her hands, looking rather sad. “I understand. I know it’s difficult, trying to connect with another person. You’re stressed out, too. I can’t blame you for that.”
She wasn’t them. She couldn’t understand how it felt to feel the heartbeat he’d been keeping all his life go taut and break, the lifeline connected. Yes, their body could upkeep itself for a time, but it was a fragile thing, a ticking time bomb. Their muscles weren’t used to working on their own. Their bones, broken dozens of times, had healed under his watch. They were weak without the structure he provided. And right now, he couldn’t even be sure if they were alive or dead, not with the distance. She wasn’t them, and that was the problem.
“Death,” Soul muttered under his breath. “You’re one picky weapon, aren’t you? Your meister’s life is at stake and you’re still being a prick. That’s not cool at all.”
“Your turn!” Black⛤Star clapped Soul’s back, grinning wide. The boy rolled his eyes and stepped closer.
“Look, I’m not just gonna try straight on. You’re gonna reject me and then we’ll get nowhere. You’re old as shit. I’d be surprised if you couldn’t adapt, even without a meister for so long. You and Crona are so different, you had to have accommodated slightly. Not exactly in one try, but hey, there’s a first time for everything. Neither of us wanna do this long-term. It’s one time. You have your pride, and I have mine. We gotta suck it up for Crona, ‘cause they’re more important than this. Weapons die for their meisters. You can do this one thing.”
If Ragnarok had eyes right then, he would have rolled them. “Aren’t you high and mighty?”
“Dude, seriously. It’s been almost twenty minutes. Maka and Crona are counting on us. This isn’t the time to have a stick up your ass. Actually try now, or I’m leaving your ass here and going to them,” he snapped back, half-lidded red eyes showing a sort of contempt that almost reminded the ancient weapon of Medusa.
As much as he loathed to admit it, Soul was right. If Ragnarok died (if Crona died-) over his own pride, that would be a stupid fucking death. “Fine. I’ll try this time.”
“Was that so hard?” Soul’s hands wrapped around the weapon, and again, they were in the same song and dance.
Let me wield you. It wasn’t a request, and that pissed Ragnarok off, but damn it, he wasn’t going to back down from this challenge.
Can you handle me? You’re a weak being. You won’t be in control for this. If you undergo this, you may break your mind. I run through you, after all. Can’t you feel it? I broke theirs.
Show me. Let our souls meet.
It was the closest they’d gotten, but Ragnarok couldn’t very well go soft. They had to be synchronized if they were to work together, and that was no easy task. If Soul couldn’t handle the first wave of their souls connecting, it was a doomed affair from the start.
He let his wavelength surge forward, and immediately, he could feel the faint traces of black blood in Soul’s body start to run haywire. It was a magnet to an implant, a danger that came with his very body. Even the faintest start of Ragnarok’s compliance drew a scream from his body. Even if he was cooler in personality than Crona, he couldn’t handle the madness running within him, not without his little partner.
He let go, stumbling back into Tsubaki, who caught him by the shoulders. The young weapon grabbed his head, grimacing.
“Are you alright?” she sounded worried.
“Just- ugh- peachy. Shit. Damn it.”
“You said you were going to bond with him!” Patty pointed at Ragnarok, still pouting.
“You’ve rejected everyone,” Kidd added. “I don’t understand how you think we’ll get them back, at this rate. If I didn’t know it would have a direct consequence to you, I would think you were trying to kill them.”
“What kind of weapon do you call yourself?” Liz muttered.
It wasn’t his goddamn fault! Crona was the one that left him here, Soul was the one who couldn’t handle it, Medusa was the one who stuck them in this situation in the first place- damn it, damn it, damn it, he couldn’t feel their heart and it was pissing him off just as much as it was worrying him. A part of himself was cut away, and it was driving him as insane as taking a dive into black blood had. In a last-ditch effort, he liquefied once more from the guard up, writhing into the air like a snake. Maybe he could reach them this way, even if he had to slither through the damn grass.
Gravity held him in a tight vice, the latent magic Crona held within them no longer around to keep him steady, and half of himself splattered to the ground, too weak to solidify. The blade remained stuck in the stump, drenched with black.
Out of everything, Ragnarok perhaps hated being helpless the most.
There were voices speaking around him. He didn’t care to listen. He couldn’t hear Crona’s heart. He was half-melted now, stuck inside a blade that wouldn’t keep its shape much longer, and they were still out there, with nothing he could do to save them. It was so stupid to be so attached. As much as he tried to reason that it was out of survival instinct, it was harder to lie to oneself than others. He’d seen eight hundred years. Not in any of them had he felt this much concern about a mere human, let alone one so pathetic. But here he was.
Ugh. Getting their brain poked would be better than this. He’d really fucked it up, hadn’t he? It wouldn’t have gone like this without him. Sometimes, it was hard to remember their younger years through the haze of black blood, but he remembered these past months in full clarity. Maka’s influence, no doubt. He’d never admit it, even to his grave, but he kind of missed the simple days before it all got drab. In hindsight, he’d rather have drab than death. He hadn’t even gotten to see them fully grown up.
What a lame death.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It could have been a hallucination brought on by the years of feeling it, but he could swear he could feel the faintest edges of their heartbeat. And when his gaze fixed on the outside world again, there they were, leaning heavily against Maka but alive.
Oh, thank Death. Actually, maybe not, he has nothing to do with it, but still. It’s all gonna go back to normal.
Though the pace of his meister and their friend wasn’t slow, it felt like a lifetime before they’d stopped in front of him, parting the mini-crowd of their friends.
“Crona! ‘Bout time you got here, are you finally done throwing your tantrum? Get over here, I’ll be able to heal you if you get a little closer. How much damage did you do?” He kept his tone brusque, nonchalant. He was already embarrassed by getting so worked up.
“It’s your fault-” Maka started, voice raising, but Crona cut her off.
“Maka.” It was a word so soft that he was surprised Maka heeded it the way she did, but nonetheless, she calmed. Not happy by any means, but calm. With that out of the way, Crona continued, eyes focused on him. “Things can’t go the way they’ve been going, Ragnarok. This is just going to happen again. We’re going to fight, and everyone else gets caught in it. It’s not fair to anyone.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m more worried about you dying, excuse me,” Ragnarok snarked.
“Let me finish. Please.” They looked the way they did when Medusa pushed them too hard, exhausted and beaten down, but the light in their eyes hadn’t died the way it had been dead for weeks now. “I’m done letting you bully me.”
He almost laughed, were it not for the dead-serious look on their face. “You’re bringing this up now? Fine, fine, just let me-”
“I’m serious. We’re going to be partners. None of what we were taught was right. It’s not all about strength. If you- if you can’t see that, I’m not going to be your meister anymore. I’m not going to live in your shadow.”
“So you’re going to make me live in yours?” Of course they would pull some shit like this. Absence made the heart grow fonder, and now he was half-convinced it was gonna go right back to hating them again.
“No, not that, either. We have to compromise. But- but my terms are that you can’t hurt me or my friends or my things. I need to know you’ll listen to me,” they murmured, low but determined. And this was the spark that made all the difference. This was them standing up tall, despite their fear, and living.
It might suck to lose his stress relief. Honestly, part of him was ready to decline right away, ask if they were insane again, because this shit was unbelievable. But most of him, maybe through pure relief and maybe through some sort of fucked up pride in his meister, gave his answer.
“Fine. But you’d better hold to your end of the compromise and listen to me, too, bitch.”
Their face softened slightly, almost like a smile were it not for the overwhelming exhaustion, and they reached out to run their thumb over the sharp of his blade. The magic sprang to life again, reanimation to his near-corpse, and he rose once more into his home, the body that was as much his now as it was theirs. Not that they’d treated it very well. Between arrhythmia, about eight irritated fractures that had never quite healed right all shifted around, a spinal injury dangerously close to flaring up plus prolonged blood loss, countless cuts, and inflamed everything without his assistance, he was sure they wouldn’t be out and about for a while.
Damn, they really banged things up in here. He’d have his work cut out for him.
Happy to have me back? He offered out to their soul. Outwardly, Crona just sighed.
The first thing Crona and Ragnarok had done after what was promptly dubbed The Incident was go to the hospital. Or, more like, were dragged to the hospital by several of their very concerned, nearly-in-tears friends who all seemed to have something to say about their self-destruction. And then they had to explain to Stein all of what had happened, and Marie overheard, and then she cried (even more when Stein asked whether the medication they’d requested were for less-than-healthy purposes and Crona really couldn’t respond to that).
Really, not a great time. The thought of having to face everyone looking at them so sadly was enough to make them almost more guilty than when they’d poisoned Marie, and that was saying something. And then there was the matter of hearing that, with four bones rebroken and the countless other issues internally that he insisted Ragnarok’s patching up wasn’t enough to truly heal everything. A bandaid on a bullet wound, he said. Crona felt like they’d been putting a lot of bandaids on a lot of bullet wounds recently.
Which had led to an extended stay in the Patchwork lab, and by the time they were cleared to go back to the academy, Marie told them that really, their stuff was already moved in and it would be so inconvenient to have to go down to the dungeons to check on them all the time and that they weren’t an imposition at all and that she’d love to see them more, really, don’t you think, Stein?
And if they were honest, it was kind of nice having Marie and Stein around so much, even if Marie was a bit overbearing at times and they felt kind of bad for bothering Stein with their presence (though he claimed he didn’t mind). The bad days were a little less bad when Marie would come in and tell them so sweetly that dinner was ready. (As many times as Crona had offered to cook to let her rest, she always declined.) More than that, Stein seemed to understand in a way they’d never really been understood. He seemed to know exactly what to do when the madness was too much- most comforting, they’d found, was writing poems in the corner while he tapped away at his keyboard.
It was hard not to wonder if they deserved this, after worrying all their friends so badly. Judging by the way at least one seemed to be asking for them at the door every single day, the others didn’t hold a grudge, but that didn’t mean they didn’t feel horrible about it. It was one of (most of) what they talked about in the individual therapy that Stein had mandated. Ragnarok, thankfully, left them alone for those sessions. He had plenty to talk about in the also-mandated double therapy, which he barely tolerated because it meant that he got to bitch about them and have someone sympathize.
Mostly also about The Incident, really. He was really, really upset about The Incident. Crona couldn’t really blame him. Looking back, their spite had blinded them. All they’d seen was anger, and though some of it was justified, it wasn’t healthy. Not for them, not for Ragnarok, and not for the people that cared about them. It still scared them, a little bit. It had been the first time they’d ever been that angry- their therapist said it was probably because it was a safe place to be angry now, but they hadn’t known how to express it all that pent-up frustration grown though all of their life. Which had led to… that.
Ragnarok didn’t get it, he made that much clear, but he’d kept his promise. No hitting, no prodding, no poking. They’d had to remind him a few times, of course, but it was a start. This was the best they’d gotten along, ever. Even if they were both still a little angry.
They tapped their pen against the paper for the thousandth time in ten minutes. They always tended to get stuck in their thoughts when they were writing. They should really break that habit…
“Ugh, you’re still at it?” That grating voice, now not so painful to listen to, asked over their shoulders. “What are you even writing?”
“I’m trying to come up with more lyrics for Soul’s song,” they responded. “I want to make it special. Personal.”
“If you make it too ‘special’, you know they’ll all end up in the corner again, right?” Ragnarok snorted.
Crona hummed the tune, mind struggling to think up words to it. “Soul says art is supposed to make you feel things. He likes what I write. That’s why he put me in charge of lyrics.”
“Soul’s full of it, your poems are boring and gloomy as hell. He only says that because he doesn’t want you to try to kill yourself again,” their weapon shot back.
Once upon a time, they would have taken it. Once upon a time, they would have snapped at him in tears, telling him to shut up. Now, they took a deep breath. “ I’ve told you I don’t like when you talk about me and my friends like that.”
“I’m not saying anything that’s not true.” He sneered, twisting in their range of view.
“You’re trying to pick a fight.” Crona laid back in their bed, staring at the stitched ceiling. “You don’t have to do that anymore, remember?”
“You’re so boring,” he sighed.
“Stein cleared us to fight at the end of the week. Once we can, we’ll go out and do what you want to do. Right now, it’s my turn.”
There was a twitch of movement, and he settled on their forehead, staring down. “Really? You’re gonna let me destroy shit?”
“Not anything important. But we have to compromise, that’s what our therapist said. I get to do part of what I want to do, and you get to do part of what you want to do,” Crona reminded him, looking back up at the creature they’d known since before they could remember.
“Compromise,” he repeated quietly, uncharacteristically thoughtful.
Crona let the conversation taper into quiet, putting pen to paper once more. They looked out at the sunset atop the DWMA. Had it been a month ago that they’d looked out at this very view. More? Less? Time was a hazy thing. Not the way it had been in the dark room, but in a way that was far too fast and far too slow so that the dates all looked wrong.
But the sky was beautiful, and they supposed that was enough.
In their messy cursive, they placed the pen down, hesitantly scrawling along the page.
They say time can heal all wounds
But mine still ache and bleed
Perhaps I wasn’t meant to feel
The effects of that creed
No, that sounded terrible. Ugh. Maka would say that they were being too hard on themself, but it was hard not to be when their writing was this bad. It sounded like a childrens’ book, what with the rhyme scheme.
Broken, battered, bruised, I lay
With nothing but tired fear
But you pick me up
With nothing but warmth
And show me there’s more to the world
That was better, if slightly. Maybe a little too personal, though. They probably shouldn’t show this one off if they didn’t want their friends to cry. Maybe they could work with that. Time may not have healed them, but the endless kindness their friends seemed to show helped.
“You know,” Ragnarok started, brash as ever, and Crona braced themself for some stupid comment. “It’s good you’re still kicking it.”
“Kicking what?”
“You know. Living.” His arms were crossed as he commented snidely.
“Obviously. It means you’re still alive. You won,” Crona sighed.
“Damn it, Crona, it’s embarrassing enough trying to be nice to you, stop making me explain myself!”
“You’re trying to be nice to me?” Crona asked, and he threw his hands up.
“Forget it. Ugh. You suck. I hope you spend the rest of your life being obnoxious with that cow,” he spat, and retreated into their skin. The veins seemed to be closer to the surface, so that it made Crona look almost fevered.
They weren’t sure if they didn’t understand how to interact with people, or just him specifically. He said that like an insult, but it was one of the nicest things he’d said. What a weirdo. Then again, they didn’t have the right to say that. Maybe he’d been healing, too. Maybe they were two broken, inhuman beings trying to piece themselves into people together. That was kind of poetic, when they thought about it. They’d have to write it down.
Crona leaned against the railing and closed their eyes, letting the dying rays of the tired sun sink into their pale skin. Their head had been quieter lately. The sunlight was less harsh, and the ocean was starting to calm. Whether that was the medicine Stein was adamant about them taking every day or the consequence of starting to untangle the painful knot of feelings in their chest, they weren’t sure, but it was a little easier to breathe.
Not perfect, but easier.
“I thought I’d find you up here,” Maka’s voice commented from the door, and they looked up.
“It’s easier for words to flow here. The song is almost done, I’m just having trouble with the last bridge. I thought maybe it would be easier to write like this,” they explained. It almost felt like déjà vû, being caught up here. But this time, they were telling the truth.
“Mind if I join you? All of us– you, too, if you want to– are planning on going back to my apartment and maybe playing some board games, but I wanted a little peace and quiet before I went. They can be a bit much.”
They laughed quietly, wordlessly patting the railing beside them. Maka’s smile was infectious. She always smiled like that when they laughed. It was easier to believe, now, that it was because of them.
“Yeah. But they’re good people. I’m… really lucky. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
Maka brushed her hand against theirs, and they loosely wrapped their fingers in hers. “It’s the least you deserve, after everything.”
“After everything…” They repeated, smile fading as they looked up. Everything. They really hadn’t talked much about the whole incident. Maka always looked like she wanted to cry, though her whole face was so hard with determination, and that was without the squirming tangle of guilt and pain and leftover anger in their chest about the fight. So, they’d dodged when she tried to bring it up, and, of course, she’d abided.
Not all of their friends were as tolerant with their avoidance. Kidd had given them a prepared speech about how they should never, ever do that again, and Tsubaki had tried several times over food to get them to talk about their feelings. Admittedly, they couldn’t turn her down after too long.
But Maka had always been special. Special, and wonderful, and oh-so-caring, and it broke their heart to see her in pain because of them.
So why, why was she still so kind, when they saw on her face like they’d never been able to read people before, exactly how much their actions drained her.
“...You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” she murmured, as if reading their mind. She could do that so easily. Maybe part of her was still connected to their soul somehow.
“I made you save me again, in the end,” they sighed. “You always do. It’s not fair to you. I can’t even do one thing by myself.”
“Yes, you can. You can write and study. You’re smart, and flexible, and empathetic. You had to deal with Medusa, and you still have Ragnarok. You can deal with madness. Sure, your self-esteem’s still…” she winced, squeezing their hand, “...a work in progress, but you’re getting better. Who cares if it’s not all on your own? We’re all dependent on others, to an extent.”
They looked away: “But it puts a toll on you-”
“I don’t care,” she insisted. “I’d rather stay by your side and tell you every good thing about yourself than lose you. And it’s not just me, either.” Maka lifted Crona’s hand, admiring the pastel pink-purple polish that Liz had put on their hands.
“It matches your hair,” she’d urged, and though it was scary to try something other than black, they’d let her. Both of the sisters had a thing for color, apparently, because Patty had dragged them back to the art room and made them draw without all black. They’d made a tan rabbit, and she’d been utterly delighted.
Black⛤Star kept trying to help them recover physically with (slightly gentler) training and weird chunky, thick drinks that kind of tasted like wheat. The first time they’d tried it, they swore it nearly killed them.
Soul kept playing piano with them, not even mentioning what had happened in the forest. When they’d tried to bring it up tentatively one day, he’d told them that cool guys didn’t dwell in the past.
Kidd and Tsubaki both showed up, too, more emotionally than anything. While Kidd was more surgical about the whole ordeal, recommending different coping skills that worked for him, Tsubaki was ever-gentle. She kept smiling, even through tears, and assured them she was anything but mad at them.
All of them were so kind, and Crona still had no idea why they deserved any of it.
“We’re all here for you,” Maka murmured, leaning against them. “You’re not alone.”
I don’t think I’ll ever be alone, they thought, placing their free hand to their heart where Ragnarok was diligently pumping blood.
They leaned right back against her in return.
Soul’s cool voice sounded from where Maka had left the rooftop door open. There, all of their friends stood, a beacon of light amidst the evening sky. “Hey, sorry to interrupt you two’s makeout session or whatever, but are you coming or not?”
“We’re playing board games!” Patty cheered, jumping up and down behind him.
“We- we weren’t-” Crona sputtered, going gray. Oh, they could feel Ragnarok laughing.
Maka brandished a book in his general direction. “Shut up, Soul!”
“Ha! Gay! Wait, does that count as gay, Soul?” Black⛤Star asked.
“Dude, why are you asking me?!” Soul replied, voice raised in indignance.
“I mean, it would be some sort of queer either way-” Liz started.
“Stop tormenting them,” Tsubaki chastised lightly. “They were clearly just talking.”
“ Thank you, Tsubaki.” Maka leaned back against the railing and shook her head. With a grunt, she pushed herself off and started towards the group. “All of you are insane.”
“I second that,” Kidd added with a faint smile.
Patty grabbed his shoulder and pouted, “I wanna play board games.”
“That’s the plan. Hey, Crona, you coming?” Liz waved at them.
They mustered a small smile. “If you have space for an eighth-”
“And a ninth!” Ragnarok shouted, emerging so painlessly that they almost didn’t notice that he’d wormed his way out of their back. “Don’t go forgetting me, assholes!”
“Of course. I have a few nine-players,” Tsubaki said.
“Hell yeah! Board game time! I’m gonna beat all of you to a pulp!” Black⛤Star crowed.
From there, the conversation devolved into background chatter that was oddly pleasant, for something so loud. Maka stopped halfway and held her hand out. Wordlessly, Crona reached out and took it.