Author's Note: The reason I haven't been updating is that I've basically dedicated my life to my own stories, you know, with original characters instead of ripping off other peoples. Anyway, one of them I'm updating sporadically under the same penname on Fictionally. I'm not going to give this or my other story up, but updates will be even more sporadic and I'll only write when inspiration strikes. I found a song with cute Crona and thus I finally finished this chapter. Also, you might ask why I have a disclaimer disclaimer… because I want one, shut up!

Song: Paparazzi by Lady Gaga

Summary: Ragnarok, Ragnarok is gone and Crona is now left with a weapon who wishes she is witch, and who is determined to kill their parents, and not knowing whether his mother or former friends are going to be the death of him first. Combine that with a little romance, a lot of blood, questionable morals, and a new interest in anatomy and Crona is way over his head.

Warning: this chap not much but an OC, whole thing… yaoi, smut (maybe), violence, yuri, cross-dressing, gender confusion in general, some characters acting like close-minded pricks, abuse, neglect, general family problems/hatred. AU, but after what will be up to you to decide.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Not mine or there'd actually be strong female character. Belongs to Atsushi Okubo and published by Square Enix apparently (shrugs).

Chapter Four

A Cure for the Mortally Wounded

They set up camp somewhere off the main road. Crona watched and poked at the fire where their meal was cooking and woudered if he could watch one time to see how Death Light had made it.

The food wasn't fantastic, but it wasn't anything to scoff at. At the very least it was better than the stuff Medusa had given him, when she remembered to feed him. But given the circumstances and what was available to them it was more than just edible.

Death Light moved around him. He'd been hurt a little worse than he had thought in the beginning but not so badly that it had slowed them down. True to what Death Light had said they'd headed straight. They thankfully hadn't run into any destroyed villages yet, or any villages at all. Death Light had started to get worried. It seemed that even though she said she was no good at tracking she had been also relying on the claw marks on the terrain to assure her that they were headed in the right direction. Now she had stopped finding them and was worried it meant that Medusa had relocated and now they were headed in the wrong direction.

She still had that annoying tendency to poke at his wounds.

"We'll have to stop by the next village to get information," said Death Light as she re-bandaged a particularly annoying cut on his back. Well, not cut, but nothing that had broken straight through the bone, it just liked to reopen and bleed.

"I thought you said villages were cursed?" asked Crona and started rooting through the backpack for his book. He'd already finished the first one, and he'd spent one sleepless night dissecting a rabbit Death Light had gotten him in hopes that if she did he'd stop talking to her about it. He had cried for an hour over the poor dead rabbit, and then another hour after Death Light lectured him about knowing better. After that he had kept the fire going as he took the thing apart and saw what it had been talking about. Though admittedly it hadn't been rabbit anatomy the book had gone over.

"We won't stay long, we just need to see if any of the channels know if Medusa has moved," said Death Light. Death Light had also taken to believing that staying in villages was in some way cursed. Crona pointed out that they had only been attacked twice in a village and that the first time had been at Death Light's unfindable home. Death Light pointed out that they had been attacked only in town. Crona pointed out they'd only been in towns twice.

"I don't think I like sleeping on the ground," said Crona and Death Light huffed at him and went to start dinner.

"At least you've only said it once today," said Death Light with a loud sigh. Crona smiled. And started to say it over and over and over again. Because he found the best way to keep Death Light from talking to the night sky or just not talking was to make her mad. Not that it got her talking, but, yes, here came the first stick at his head, the second, and then she somehow found a stump to rip out and throw at him.

"It's not funny. I swear to the High Witch that if you don't shut up I'm going rearrange you tomorrow so you talk out of your ass and piss out of your mouth," said Death Light and that comment actually gave him enough pause for her to get him in the gut with a sizable branch.

"That's disgusting, I have no idea how I would deal with that," said Crona and then chuckled a little.

"You are such an annoyance sometimes," said Death Light, but there was a softness to her that Crona hadn't seen much. He smiled at her and she turned her own laugh into a snort.

"You're surprisingly strong," said Crona with a smile. Death Light stuck her tongue out at him, paused, blushed, and looked away. Crona found himself gripping at his arms and shuffling to the other side of the fire.

The flames crackled against the wood. Death Light dumped some vegetables into the pot. Usually she waited for the water to boil, but who was he to question her culinary skills?

"Let's try it again. We won't be able try when we get to the town. They'll be weirded out by two witches. We don't need them to think we can kill them at any moment," said Death Light. She opened her bag and took out some sturdy gloves; the other girl was constantly saying she was afraid that she would cut herself. Crona thought she was being paranoid, weapons tended to be just as innately good at fighting. Plus, half the time Crona couldn't even turn into his weapon self.

With a sigh Crona shuffled over to a little clearing. A small section next to the campsite that was lit half by the crackling fire, and the rest by the laughing moon. Crona looked up. There was no blood, so no one close to them was being killed by demons. Perhaps Death Light was right, maybe the coordinates had changed. Maybe his mother had moved and threw Death Light's father had moved the demons.

Crona looked down at his hands. They were long and spindly. They didn't look very powerful, and the scars the crisscrossed over the palms, over the back and disappeared into his sleeves. They marked every moment in his life, and oddly enough, not every memory was a sad one. They were usually bittersweet, but that was better than some of the damning ones that had printed themselves on his skin.

"Alright, let's try this," said Death Light and she gripped hard on Crona's arm. Crona flinched a little but tried to concentrate. He tried to make his body slip into the form that it had done thousands of times under Ragnarok. Death Light's gasp dug her nails into Crona's skin. With a wince he grit his teeth and he tensed. The grip immediately loosened.

"You can't do it," said Death Light while looking down at the ground. Crona shook his head; he had overreacted to her grip was all.

"No, let me try again, we need to do this. What if I get hurt and can't wield you? I need to be able to turn into a weapon and you need to be able to use me," said Crona and then offered his arm for her to take. She took his lower arm and shoulder in her hand lightly.

Crona closed his eyes and breathed out while concentrated inward. He had done this before and he could do it again. His body shifted, not painfully, but in a sideways motion that had nothing to do with another mind affecting him. So he was in complete control, except for the fact that he couldn't move. Maybe he should move forward. He could become a fan, but after he became a fan with extensions he couldn't do anything. There was some instinct to use and bend the ribbons, but the fan part of him was stuck where it lay on the grass.

Crona took time to just look into the night sky. It was rather pretty. There was a darkness that faded around the little yellow pinpoints. He couldn't see the moon, and for that he was glad. The moon always made the night sky morbid, without it; there was a stillness to it. Without the mood there was nothing the sky cared about on earth. Those little pinpricks didn't care about the ongoing war between witches and meisters. They wouldn't blink an eye if he became a demon weapon, if he left Death Light and never looked back, if he just stopped caring, if he died.

The grass bent painfully as sharp edges changed soft and they were covered by a thin body. The sky was less peaceful when Crona was in his human form.

"Hey, Crona, you ready for soup?" called Death Light. Crona sighed and stood up. He glanced down at the dress. He knew it was comfortable and he shouldn't complain, but even without the hat, puffy underskirt, gloves, and boots it still made him look like a witch.

The weapon sighed and walked over to Death Light, taking the offering of soup she had raised without a thank you since she seemed distracted. Crona took a few minutes to watch her from where he sat. He wanted to ask her if they actually had enough money to stay in town but she was at one of her concoctions again.

They couldn't trade bags anymore. It seemed that the one Death Light had been custom made by some warlock that had odd her mother a favor. There were five compartments with a lot of empty space, and two of them could store things that couldn't stand much jostling around. So, naturally, Death Light was growing plants. The special ones that served her purpose as a doctor. Witch of the body, what a joke.

"Eat up or I'll shove the spoon down your condescending throat," said Death Light distractedly as the stirred whatever new concoction was in her pot. He wondered what she really accomplished by doing it or how she knew one of her potions had worked. Crona had only seen her put the stuff in a vile once, the rest of the time she ended up dumping it silently or while grumbling about lack of resources.

The soup was good today. It was the same rabbit meat and water, but Death Light had added different herbs this time and they tasted a tight bit more salty against his tongue. The cross-dresser actually ended up licking the bowl before putting it to the side with Death Light's for him to clean in the morning. It was dark and it would be stupid for either of them to go out in the dark alone.

Crona felt quite content as he curled around his bag next to the fire just as Death Light was putting around her warding stones so she could also get some sleep.

Crona woke up fifteen times through the course of the night. In what was perhaps seven hours he got maybe an hour and a half of sleep. His dreams would wake him up, a rustling leaf, a sudden jolt through his system, a distortion of time, all of it had him sitting straight up with a scream or sweating skin. If didn't help that Death Light had become the fart machine. He was quite serious on this. Whenever he woke up part of the reason he couldn't fall to sleep were the small and not so small toots and the smell. Finally the weapon let out the mother of all farts that had the dead embers sparking a little in its wake, scaring a squirrel, and tried to suffocate Crona until he bolted like a hound out of hell into the open spot outside the warding where he fell as a weapon on the ground.

That was disgusting. What the hell was wrong with this night? With sleepy conviction he fell back to sleep hoping the smell didn't reach him. He woke up fifteen minutes later in his human form, not because the smell had reached him, but because he woke up. Crona hit his head against the soft ground. That did absolutely nothing for him. He was tired, and yet his mind couldn't seem to settle down long enough for him to get enough sleep.

In the morning Crona chipped the bowl and lost a spoon. He ran into a tree and tried to eat a snake. Death Light had asked him what's wrong and then wouldn't stop drilling him until he told her every symptom, then she'd shoved something in his mouth. Gave him some herbs so he wouldn't fall asleep walking to the village. Since apparently they would be walking even with Death Light's witch hat gave the impression they were a couple of wandering witches.

Crona sipped at his soup without a spoon and frowned. It wasn't as salty as yesterday, not by half. After such a long night he wanted something that he could indulge in.

"So, how did you do yesterday?" asked Death Light while she ate her own soup. Did they always have to have soup?

"I got my hand to change," said Crona.

"That's improvement. We'll try going all the way when we're out of the town then?" asked Death Light as she finished the soup and started packing. They'd wash the dishes again when they crossed the river. It was hardly a five minute walk to the city from there. If they're eyes hadn't lied. Someone had probably seen them fly on that broomstick.

Crona's hope of invisibility was crushed.

But really, why couldn't Death Light have used the same stuff as the last time? This was good and all that, but the salty herbs the night before had…

"Death Light…" said Crona as they started heading out. She didn't even glance at him. Her notes were already out and she seemed to be scribbling even more furiously than before. "Death Light."

Death Light hummed at her name as if she was paying attention.

"What did you put in the soup last night?" she continued to pretend she hadn't heard him. Crona glared at her back. "Because it made you fart like there was no tomorrow."

Death Light stiffened, her pen still scribbling but her cheeks as red as anything.

"Why do you think I moved so far away? You farted so much I could hardly breathe," said Crona.

"Alright, I get it," snapped Death Light facing Crona and then she looked away from the boy's glare. Not because it was intimidating, but because it was justified, and she'd just given herself away.

"I'm not an experiment," said Crona.

"Right, right," said Death Light, now pretending to be completely into her notes once again. Crona huffed a little and crossed his arms. More and more people started to appear on the road with them. Crona took to following hardly an inch behind Death Light partly out of fear, and partly because she kept almost running into things by not paying attention to the road. Crona glared at her back as he steered her away from the evil looking horse and it's grumpy owner. The man on its back gave Crona a leering smile and he picked up his speed until they had successfully infiltrated the city.

"Death Light," said Crona, poking at the girl. "Death Light, we're here."

"Hm?" the weapon finally surfaced from her notes. "Oh." And the notes were gone. "Alright, you stay here Crona, I'm going to go find information. Sorry, we actually don't have enough money for a room yet. I'll pick some up on the way. We might need to stay here for a few days after all."

"I thought you disliked cities," said Crona and sat down when Death Light pushed him. He wondered why she was leaving him in such a busy section. There was a chance she'd just try to leave him, and try to slip away by distracting him with all the people around making noise, but that would be stupid and hypocritical. For one thing Crona could feel in his soul the general location of where Death Light was because of the weird flow of emotions. He'd actually need a knock to the head and an engaging fight to not be able to constantly tell where she was, and hopefully if he was in a fight Death Light would be with him in one form or another.

A slight 'humph' had the pale boy looking up. A little girl stood there, her hands on her hips, and looked at him expectantly. Crona looked down on the insignificant little coin and then back at the girl questionably, they stared at each other, and when the girl wasn't forthcoming with information, Crona put his head back o his knees. The sound of a sigh had Crona relaxing, now he could back to tracking Death Light with his mind. Two more coins hit the stone walkway.

"Perform!" said the little thing. Crona looked up and saw that the girl was definitely looking for more than him looking up. Well, this was an interesting way to earn money. Even if he was being mistaken for some street performer. Crona wasn't sure what to do, exactly. He'd never seen a play or stayed anywhere where normal people were acting. Whenever he'd gone the town had already mostly been wiped out or he'd kept his head and tried not to look at anything. Generally everything was dead or running scared. Ragnarok had had that effect on everyone.

Crona sighed, lifted his hand, and when the little girl started to look disappointed, he made it slip into its shape of a fan, and then sat the way he'd been sitting before. More money hit the side walk. He glanced up with one eye.

"Again, bigger!" demanded the little girl and Crona could see that one of her teeth were missing. Crona smiled and this time made two hands turn into fans. The 'again, bigger' demands kept coming until Crona was actually doing an improvised dance with both hands as fans and a little ribbon thrown in. He felt like a klutz, but the girl was suitably entertained.

"Oh no, I'm out," said the girl and looked sadly down at where her money used to be. Crona caught her eye and winked before hiding in his knees.

"Sakura, Sakura darling, where are you?" asked a kindly but frantic female voice. Crona wondered how long it had taken Sakura's mother to figure out that her daughter was missing. "Sakura, I told you to get something nice with the money mommy gave you. Not to dump it all on the ground."

"I was watching the street performer," said the little girl. Crona heard the woman pause and then huff in disgust. He tried to keep completely still. Maybe she'd want to see the performer who'd coaxed all the money out of her daughter. That would be nice. The more money he was able to get out of these people, the less that Death Light would have to steal.

"Well, I'm sure he won't mind us taking it all back. Really, the nerve of some people. Taking all of a little girl's money, well, I'm sure he'll see the justice I'm doing in taking it back," said the woman, and Crona tried to keep still. He wasn't about to fight the woman from her money. He wasn't really a street performer, and he really didn't want to get in trouble with the local law enforcement.

"No mommy, you can't take his money, he earned it," said the little girl and Crona's twitched from behind his knees.

"Street performers don't earn anything. Lazy good for nothings should get a real job instead of annoying good people," snapped the woman. There was the sound of some money hitting the ground caught Crona's ear over the tears the little girl had started to cry over her mother.

The cross-dresser looked up. He couldn't actually tell if that had had happened, but he didn't care. Even if the extra person hadn't thrown him some change, he wanted to prove the woman. He was sick of doing things and not getting credit for it, or simply being seen as the enemy. He wanted to prove to this woman that he was worth something. He wasn't sure where that want came from or how long it would last, but he would go with it for the time being.

Plus, they needed money. Death Light may be able to steal random things from people, but he doubted she could steal a room. Though there was the possibility she would try to make counterfeit money, and Crona would rather not chance having someone discover that before they left the village.

He tumbled out of his huddled corner and rolled out into a standing position. The woman in question was shocked and from the little attention he dared spare on her she was a middle aged, anorexically challenged bat with pink frill. He changed his hands to the fans and did a complicated sort of spin with his leg that had him jumping up in the air with a slight twist as he changed into a fan completely and then turned back right before he hit the ground, rolled backward, and resumed his crouching position.

There was a low whistle of whoever had thrown him the extra coin and Crona couldn't help the small smile of satisfaction that crossed his face. He had done it. Well, now he hopefully wouldn't be bothered by the bat with pink frills. Another tinkering hit the ground and Crona went into another roll and spring. He was mildly amused to see the woman standing there with her mouth hanging open.

He ended up performing until he thought he would die from exhaustion and his throat was parched and his thirst intense. At some point he'd almost broken routine when he thought someone was stealing the coins he'd earned by doing these ridiculous tricks. It turned out that someone had just gotten him some sort of bag to put all the loose change in. He was just finishing a complicated flip when he caught the glance of neon under black. He landed on his feet and looked to the side where Death Light had squeezed herself, wide-eyed and looking a bit spooked.

She hurried over when their eyes met and there was a slight murmur from the small crowd that had been standing in front of where Crona was performing. Death Light skittering over to him, a cautious eye on the crowd that was now murmuring to itself, some staying to see if something new was going to happen, others leaving because they remembered that they actually had things they were supposed to be doing.

"What are you doing?" hissed Death Light, her entire body tense. Crona frowned at her.

"Getting us some money," whispered Crona back. "You mind taking over for a little bit? I feel like I'm about to crash."

Death Light looked at him like she was about to bolt, or something like that.

"You don't have to say anything. Just change into a fan in certain ways when they throw money and stand absolutely still if they don't. Once the audience starts to filter you can start to repeat yourself, though it's sort of fun to make up new moves," said Crona. Death Light looked nervously at the crowd who were starting to look elsewhere for entertainment. She caught her lip with her teeth and Crona started to really feel how wobbly his legs were. That and his dress was sticking to him uncomfortably because of the sweat.

"Alright, but you have to do something for me," said Death Light. Crona froze a little bit, not sure what doing something for the odd weapon would entail, and not really liking how her stutter seemed to have gotten worse, but Death Light pushed a note into his hand. "Go to here and with the money get a drink. See what you can learn about witches."

Crona exhaled roughly. He was going somewhere dangerous. Why couldn't Death Light do it herself? But Death Light had already turned and assumed an pose that Crona assumed was her still pose. He turned and slipped away. He was sure that Death Light could protect herself if it came down to it. She was a weapon after all. Now all he had to worry about was finding a bar called Snake's Head and not getting himself killed or captured by his mother's followers, whoever they turned out to be.

The place turned out to be easy enough to find. He just had to head toward the gloomiest part of the city and then in the shadiest area was the pub. Any courage he'd gotten from his success was sapped away by the sheer evil that seemed to leech from the building. Shaking a bit, Crona swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat, checked the piece of paper just to make sure he'd gotten the right place, and looked back at the creaking sign.

"I don't know how to deal," he whispered to himself. Stealing himself, Crona closed his eyes and started forward, and walked straight into the wall. Groaning and properly opening his eyes, Crona went into the bar, rubbing his forehead. He smiled at the bartender, who glared at him and immediately made him up something that Crona guessed would taste horrible, but have that satisfying burn that had always made giving into Ragnarok's whines worth it.

He sat on the stool for a while, just getting used to the feel of the bar. He had been to a few, when he'd had a homicidal weapon still part of him. He'd destroyed a few bars now that he thought about it. Crona set the glass down, ice tinkling on the glass. He let the foggy atmosphere engulf him, the smoke and low drone of the jukebox beat against the walls.

Crona's glass was exchanged for a new one. He was getting used to it now. The familiar odd silence that stretched after something had happened. Usually bars were this quiet and tense after a major catastrophe and death. Crona knew because he had gone into one after a massacre. A little and it pissed people off, a lot and you got this depressed silence of people who knew they were beaten and were waiting for someone to give them new direction.

The alcohol started to relax Crona enough that he felt he might actually be able to talk to someone without blurting out that he was going to kill his mother and then burst into tears and screams. He sighed and let his fingers curl around the third glass that had appeared in front of him and put more money on the table. He'd need more than the small bit of cash Death Light had given him to get properly drunk, but he was already starting to get a bit of a buzz and that was always nice.

"Haven't seen you around before," Crona jumped a bit and looked at the serious burly man who had just sat next to him.

"Just passing through town, thought I'd by for a drink, and maybe a bit of news on how things are going," said Crona trying to sound nonchalant. He stared a head at the beer bottles lined up on the shelf as the beady black eyes attempted to burn through his skin.

"So you haven't heard of the defeat?" asked the man. Crona turned sharply. He hoped this wasn't a technician hide out. It looked where the underlings of witches would gather, but you could never be too careful. Judging people simply by look had turned out to be a lesson in pain and trauma Crona wasn't soon to forget. "That's sort of fishy."

"Me and my partner were stranded early on in the desert. We've only just been able to miraculously stumble our way out," said Crona with a slight grumble. He tipped the glass back and let the rest of the amber liquid drain down his throat. The man actually rumbled with his laughter and Crona felt himself stuck between wanting to laugh with him and wanting to run as far away from the laughter as possible.

"That's bad luck, but perhaps for the best. If you'd been in the palace," the man shivered. "Only heard what happened through one of the lone survivors myself. Looks like that thing our lady was keeping as some sort of lover or weapon or whatever, rebounded on her and killed her. So now we lost our lady, and to make it worse her sister's causing trouble with some demons. Has a grudge over humans or something so we have to lay low, meet in places like this and hope a strong witch appears again."

"Hm, you know any places we should avoid?" asked Crona.

"Frankly? Here, for some reason. She's sending demons on a rampage on some of the smaller towns nearby, but it's been settling down. My suggestion is don't go toward the African deserts, that's where I heard she's made her camp in some sort of jackal graveyard," said the burly man.

"Do you have any idea where we could go?" asked Crona. The man shook his head and downed the drink.

"Damn," said Crona and swallowed the remainder of his drink.

"Well, good luck kid," said the monster and clapped his hand on Crona's back. He staggered away. Crona paid for one more drink and drank it slowly just listening to the dull drones again. He hoped he was acting normal enough. He didn't know what he would do if they attacked him. Would he have the same problems as Death Light and be able to defend himself with the weapons at his disposal. Crona stared at his hand for a few seconds before taking one last swig and standing and leaving.

He squinted as the light hit his eyes. The sun had sunk low and he'd obviously spent more time in the bar daydreaming then he thought he had. Death Light probably wouldn't be performing any longer. He hoped she was in the general area.

Crona stumbled over his feet and wondered if he'd had a little too much to drink. He had a really good tolerance for the stuff since it used to be one of the easier ways to fall into insanity and deal with what would happen. Even if someone tried to stop him, Ragnarok would then come out and cause havoc until everyone was dead and Crona would drink and Ragnarok would steal as much as they could before the cops came. Now he was just lucky that they served him. It wasn't like he looked older then he really was. Taller, especially in his tradition black dress, but not old enough to drink.

"Crona, a little tipsy aren't you?" asked Death Light. Crona blinked in surprise. Where had Death Light appeared from? And why was she smiling so broadly?

"I think someone slipped something into my drink," said Crona, talking out loud. Death Light looked him with a bit of concern. "There is no way you'd ever be this perky when talking to someone."

Death Light's smile faded and she punched Crona in the shoulder.

"Really. Doing that performance really helped to perk me up. We got so much money. Enough for a tacky room a few blocks from here and a bit extra to get some supplies and burgers for dinner," said Death Light, shaking her purse in front of Crona's face. "You forgot your bag, by the way."

"I found out what happened," said Crona shoulder his bag and then jogging to catch up to where Death Light had started walking away. Death Light looked at him in surprise. Crona shrugged. "I'm surprised you didn't. But the guy I talked to told me that my aunt is apparently defeated and my mother has moved her base to Egypt in some sort of jackal graveyard."

"They were getting a bit rowdy right before I left," said Death Light, her face deepening red as her hands wrung together.

"Oh," said Crona. Silence fell between them for a few minutes. Both of them stared at the ground and then Death Light looked at the sky. Crona glanced over at the wannabe witch. "So, are we going to head toward Egypt then?"

"Yeah, sounds like that's our best bet to start," said Death Light. Crona kicked at the ground and they fell into awkward silence again. Suddenly Death Light sighed and stopped. Crona turned to her, a little concerned. Death Light just stared at the gravel for a little bit before forcing a smile and looking straight at Crona.

"We'll get them Crona, and then we'll never have to be worried about being manipulated again," said Death Light confidently. Crona found himself smiling as if instructed to do so and he nodded. He grabbed Death Light's hand and started dragging her toward the street where he was sure some vender had to be out selling moldy hotdogs or the like. He wasn't alone, not as long as Death Light was alive, her blood ran threw his veins and even if she was reluctant to stay with him, she was still here and that meant everything.