A/N: Hey, Kelliestar here to warn you guys that TV Tropes Will Ruin Your Life indeed. One day while scrolling through the Soul Eater Just Bugs Me page, I came across this little question:

"Just who was Ragnarok before being melted into black blood?"

One disturbing image later, THIS is my answer. ^^ So thank you, whoever asked that question, for bringing me to write this (possibly) five to ten chapter fanfic.

...And I will return to my other one. Eventually.

Props to OriginalAlienSuperspy for beta reading this. You rock.

Chapter 1:

Brothers

The water was lukewarm against his skin, his small, frail body pruned and huddled together against the bathtub wall. He watched behind matted pink bangs as the water distorted his nervously wiggling toes, his chin resting between his knees. The bathroom was quiet and dimly lit, flaming candles flickering nearby solely for his mother's tastes. She had not returned for quite some time, perhaps an hour or so. She was far too busy, or simply disinterested, to bathe her two sons herself; rather, she expected them to bathe each other, although the younger would usually come out crying while the bratty elder pointed at him and shouted raspy accusations of "He started it!" It was for this reason in particular Crona hated bath time.

"Come on!" gruffed an impatient voice beside him. "Are you gonna do it or not?"

Crona turned to his near identical brother, a slightly taller boy with shaggy black hair and two jagged stitches crossing his face, meeting as an X on the bridge of his nose.

"I-I don't know about this, Ragnarok," he quietly muttered, shying away and staring at his toes again. "What if it happens like last time?"

"God, you're such a pussy!" Ragnarok growled, slapping Crona's shoulder. "I told you it didn't work because you got scared! If you wanna learn to breathe underwater, you gotta not be scared and trust your gut!"

"But my gut doesn't want me to do that!" he whimpered. "It just wants food and I haven't eaten in three days because of you!"

"That's because you're picky as hell!" the other snapped. "I leave you the peas, don't I?"

"I don't like peas!"

"Too bad!" Ragnarok pushed Crona's head underwater, avoiding his flailing arms. "Now get to it or I'll steal your dinner again!"

Crona responded with panicked, high-pitched gurgles, only to be saved by Ragnarok pulling him back up by his hair. "O-Okay, I'll do it!"

"Tch." Ragnarok crossed his arms, leaning against the tub. "Baby."

Crona pouted angrily and hesitantly looked back down at the water. Lord knows how much dirt was swimming around in there, especially if he had to share it with his much filthier brother. If there was dirt, there was bound to be germs. Germs were bad. They got you sick, and they could get you sick in a variety of ways. If he breathed them in, he could catch a virus, or cancer, or end up like those leopards Ragnarok always told him about, wandering around in the street while their skin turned green and their body parts fell off. Then vultures would follow him around and eat the trail of rotting remains. Which would be worse to lose first? If he lost his toes first, he probably wouldn't be able to walk. If he lost his fingers, he wouldn't be able to feed himself or tie his shoes or hold a blanket when it was cold. If he lost his ears, he couldn't hear, and if he lost his eyes, he couldn't see. Well, maybe he'd be able to see the vultures eating his eyes peck by peck, maybe even watch as each small, shriveled-up piece of his eyeballs were slowly digested in the vultures' stomach. Wait, was that possible? Perhaps. He didn't know. Maybe it was best if he lost his nose first to the vultures. But then he couldn't smell. Or breathe. On the other hand, he could always breathe through his mouth, and losing the ability of smell wasn't so bad. He wouldn't be able to smell his own homeless, decaying stench. Yes, he decided. If he became a leopard after this, the first thing he would sacrifice was his nose, then he would never catch a cold again and—

"HURRY UP!" Ragnarok yelled, snapping Crona out of his thoughts.

"S-Sorry!"

"God!"

He looked down at the water again, heart pounding in his chest. Dirt and germs. Dirt and leopard germs. Dirt and leopard germs swirling around in the water. It won't be that bad. It would only be for a few seconds, and if it worked this time, he wouldn't have to be scared of breathing under water again. Okay. Here it goes. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slid his head under the surface of the water, his hair wafting about freely, only for his eyes to shoot back open.

Eee! It's in my ears! And now it's in my eyes! I don't wanna do this anymore!

Despite the unpleasant sensation of eyes stinging and pressure in his ears, Crona pulled his fists to his chest and willed himself to stay under. He couldn't hold his breath for very long. It had only been a few seconds and he was already dizzy. He had to breathe soon, and that time was coming. He was gonna do it. He was gonna be brave. Clenching his teeth, he deeply and quickly inhaled through his nose, the surge of the rushing water flowing up his nasal cavities immediately resulting in a horrible headache.

He shot up out of the water and clutched his nose, coughing violently as Ragnarok laughed hysterically at his pain. "It hurts! It hurts!"

Ragnarok pointed riotously at Crona, his cackles bouncing off the bathroom walls. "You dumbass! You actually thought being brave would work this time?"

Crona glared at him through bloodshot eyes. "You lied to me, Ragnarok!"

"I was lying the first time I told you!" he wheezed, hugging his quaking stomach. "I didn't think you'd fall for it twice!"

"I'm telling Mother!" Crona warned, standing up and kicking water in Ragnarok's face. "Then you'll be in big trouble!"

"Hey!" Ragnarok splashed water back, standing up. "S'not my fault you believe everything I say!"

Crona inched away from him, having forgotten he only reached his chest in height standing up. "W-Well . . . you're a butthead!"

"Better than being a freak!" Ragnarok jeered, pointing between Crona's legs. "I mean, what the hell is that thing? I bet you're not even human if you were born like that!"

"Stop it!" Crona demanded, covering himself and blushing fervently. "I hate when you point that out!"

"You probably don't even know what you are!" Ragnarok continued, smirking as he regained superiority. "How do you even know if you're a boy?"

"I said stop it!" Crona repeated, eyes watering.

"Make me!" Ragnarok challenged, shoving Crona back into the water.

Crona yelped as he fell backward, hitting his head against the hard porcelain edge of the tub. He let out a cry of pain and burst into tears as his hands gingerly touched his crown. Blood colored his fingertips red, but despite the pain, he couldn't help but probe the injury, letting out squeaks as he dug through bristles of hair to feel the small wound. Ragnarok growled in frustration at his younger sibling, cursing at him and calling him a crybaby when the sound of the door unlocking silenced them both.

The door swung open to reveal their hooded young mother, her scowling face half concealed by shadow as her braid sat on her breast. The room turned deathly quiet, both boys feeling their faces pale and body warmth drop to a dangerous degree. Even Ragnarok cowered, fearfully huddling in the corner opposite Crona.

"What's going on in here?" Medusa asked, her voice at an eerie level of calm.

Neither brother spoke up, wishing for nothing except each other's embrace. This mutual wish may have been fulfilled if not for the fact that one was too stubborn to show any affection towards the other and the other was afraid of mere touch.

"I thought I heard noise," Medusa said. "Did I hear noise? Crona? Ragnarok?"

Still nothing. Her sons exchanged nervous glances, debating which would receive a worse punishment: keeping quiet or speaking up.

Their hearts nearly stopped as they saw her approach the tub. "Both of you. Up."

They stumbled to get to their feet before she could ask a second time, standing before her shoulder-to-shoulder. The silence that followed felt to them like the long wait before an execution, strapped to the chair as the executioner's hand rested heavily on the power switch. She returned the sentiment, staring at them like an executioner would his victim, but with much, much less pity. They didn't get a chance to blink before she shoved her hands down their throats, her fingertips resting on small, sensitive bumps under their uvulas.

"If I was one to assume," she said, taking delight in their horrified expressions, "I would think you two were defying me."

Their eyes bulged out their sockets, unable to breath as their throats spasmed against Medusa's long black nails. Of all punishments, this one perhaps frightened them the worst. They couldn't move, they couldn't whine, they couldn't even grab her wrists to stop her lest she push her hands down further, or worse.

"Luckily for you, I do not assume." She pulled her hands out of their mouths, wiping the saliva on her cloak as the two gagged and gasped for breath, a thin string of vomit stretching down from Crona's lip. "Now, talk."

The two briefly patted their chests in alarm, trying to decipher if the squiggly feeling they felt was fear or hundreds of snakes taking residence in their bodies. As was tradition, Ragnarok was the first to point fingers. "He started it!"

"No I didn't!" the accused protested, although Ragnarok rambled on.

"He called me a liar and a butthead! And then he kicked water in my face!"

"You're the one that made me breathe the water in the first place!" Crona fired back.

"I didn't make you," Ragnarok yelled, "you just did it on your own!"

"You said you'd steal my dinner if I didn't!" Crona yelled back. "Then you laughed and called me a dumbass when I started choking!"

"I always steal your dinner anyway, stupid!"

"You're stupid!"

"You are!"

Medusa quickly ended the sibling spat by knocking their heads together, sighing in annoyance. "Forget I asked. Both of you, put some clothes on and get to bed. No dinner for either of you tonight."

Crona clutched his growling stomach, his ribs just beginning to poke out of his body. "But –"

"Now."

The young duo groaned in agony and climbed out of the bathtub, the former slipping on spilt water and falling on his face with a squeak. With a huff, Ragnarok pulled him back to his feet by his hair and dragged him out of the bathroom.

Only the dysfunctional trio lived in the expansive mansion. At times it seemed a bit ridiculous to have such a small unit in a secluded ten-bedroom abode, especially when the children would frequently get lost looking for their mother when she beckoned. Rather than simply look for a smaller home, however, Medusa preferred to flaunt her riches, even though she had no audience to awe. During the night, it would grow quiet, leaving any slight sound susceptible to loud echoes. That night, the light slapping of small bare feet on marble flooring, followed by the drips of clinging bathtub water, provided melody for Crona and Ragnarok as they made their way to their room.

"Quit clinging to me!" Ragnarok snapped, trying to twist Crona off his arm. "You're gonna make me trip!"

"B-But I'm cold!" Crona stammered, hugging Ragnarok tight.

Ragnarok wrapped an arm around Crona's head and jammed his fingers up his nose, triggering a response of agitated squealing and flailing arms. "Then you should've brought a towel with you!"

"Ow, ow , okay, I'm sorry!"

"Mmm." He dropped Crona onto the floor and wiped his fingers on himself, frowning as soon as he heard Crona run after him again.

The two siblings ducked under a spiraling flight of stairs, Ragnarok kicking a loose tile with his heel. He pushed Crona back a few steps and knelt down to lift it from the floor, digging his nails into the cracks. The tile shook, but neither corner reared up. "Shit. It's stuck again."

"What do we do now?"

After another tug, Ragnarok let out a pained cry and gripped his hand, biting his lip to silence himself. "What we always do, moron." In a bright flash, Ragnarok was now a black sword in Crona's hands, speaking to him through thick red lips on its hilt. "Pry it out."

Crona stumbled to hold Ragnarok up in his weapon form, letting the blade clang against the floor, nearly chopping his toes off.

"Jesus Christ, use your knees."

"R-Right . . ." Crona carefully knelt down and gripped the hilt, still stumbling a bit as he lifted Ragnarok long enough to drop him into the crevice separating the loose tile from its better secured companions. He chiseled along each side to better free the tile, earning some complaints from the sword as he went along.

"Hey, hey, easy!" Ragnarok spat. "I'm not a pickaxe!"

"Sorry!" Crona leveled the sword and lifted the tile from its base, flinging it into the darker depths under the staircase. He dropped Ragnarok into the small room beneath them, carefully easing himself inside before landing on his feet. Behind him, he heard the human Ragnarok cursing, kneeling and clutching his hand to his chest. He hesitantly approached him, trying to see over his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Without turning to Crona, he showed him his index finger. Half his fingernail was ripped off, the tip of his finger drenched in black blood.

Crona winced at the sight, a chill going up his spine. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, whatever." Ragnarok pushed himself back up and searched through the dark for their clothes. "It'll heal."

The coldest room in the Gorgon house was the furnace room. Prior to Medusa moving in, many families didn't know a furnace room was present, as its entrance was bricked up, but thanks to her two children snooping around the house, the room was discovered and became their new bedroom. To a stranger, it could've easily been mistaken for a laundry room, had it not been for the fact Medusa owned neither washing machine nor dryer. Instead, the two small crates filled with pillows close to the furnace itself were their beds, and a pile of clothes gathered against a wall were their clothes for each day. A stepstool lay on its side, abandoned for most of the day until the boys used it to leave the room, and a foul smelling pail in the farthest corner of the room was better left untouched.

Crona hoisted himself on the crate bed, yawning and stretching his arms over his head before Ragnarok threw his dress in his face. "Get dressed. You'll catch a cold."

Crona sleepily nodded, pulling the dress over his head. "Right."

Ragnarok squirmed a little in his black pants to assure himself they still fit, then proceeded to button up a clergy shirt, pulling a clerical collar out of his pants pocket and snapping it onto his neck. "I swear, you'd be dead if I wasn't around to tell you where to step."

"I know," Crona quietly murmured, rubbing his eye and snuggling into the pillows beneath him.

Ragnarok hopped onto his own bed, rolling onto his back and letting his legs hang out as he supported his head. "Night."

"Ragnarok?"

"What?"

Crona pushed himself up a little, staring at his brother's dirty feet mere inches from his nose. "E-Even though I breathed in the water, I'm not gonna be a leopard, right?"

After a brief silence of confusion, Ragnarok pushed himself to a sitting position. "What?

"A leopard," Crona repeated. "I'm not gonna get sick and turn into a leopard right?"

Another pause followed, Ragnarok's face twisted in bewilderment before he simply rolled his eyes and turned on his side. "It's pronounced leper, dumbass." He kicked Crona's face before tucking his legs into the crate. "Now go to sleep."

Rubbing his nose, Crona rolled into a fetal position in the crate, hugging his head as he drifted off to sleep. The furnace room was cold, and neither child had a blanket.