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“Do you still see her too?”
“…What?”
Stein turned to face the school’s most recent addition to the student body—the demon swordmeister Crona. They were a rather frail kid, mentally and physically. Their eyes had this downtrodden look to them at all times, and the one thing most students knew about them outside of being the meister of the demon sword Ragnarok was their rampant anxiety. Gnawing at every bone and nerve ending in their body, making their hands tremble perpetually. Stein had recently been tasked with looking after them after the battle with the Kishin—alongside a newly re-hired Marie.
“Lady Medusa…you see her too, right?” They looked down at their pigeon-toed feet, hands folded in their lap grasping one another “That’s…why you keep looking at things that aren’t there, isn’t it?”
Despite the lack of formal education they’d received due to being the child of the witch Medusa—a woman who was despised even within her coven—Crona was far from unintelligent. What they lacked in mathematics, they more than made up for in sheer observational prowess. Tiny shifts in behavior or facial expression, subtle catches of the breath, an ever so slight tensing of the muscles. For a while, Stein had wondered if Crona could also see souls in the way that he and Maka could. But as it turned out, they couldn’t. An extraordinary gift indeed, but one no doubt imparted by years of living purely to survive to see another dawn.
He’d seen the way they fought back when they first met. Animalistic, filled with fear of an at the time unknown force, pushing forward only to stay alive. A drive and determination like no other he’d seen. That drive was the only thing keeping them standing, in retrospect. It was impressive that they never collapsed under their own weight during any of their encounters.
“…Professor? Are you okay?” Crona’s voice was quieter than before, their shoulders hunched up to meet their ears and they ducked their head. No matter how much they could tell about others, they were still an open book.
“Yes, I’m alright” Stein took another drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke billow out of his mouth in a long, thin stream “I will admit that I do see her every once in a while, though not nearly as much as I used to”
“I see her too” Some of the tension released from their shoulders. Some, but not all. Never all “But sh-she’s in a different spot for you, isn’t she?”
“What do you mean?” He turned his chair to face them properly, lacing his fingers together to rest his chin on them.
“You always look to the side…th-that’s where you see her, right?” Crona asked, picking at a stray thread from the seam of their gown. Another habit of theirs he’d observed—they tended to ask questions at the end of sentences, especially when talking to people like Stein. People in positions of power, relative to themself. Seeking affirmation, like a child looking to its mother, desperate to confirm that they weren’t just making it all up.
“That’s correct,” Stein nodded thoughtfully, closing his eyes for a moment to think before opening them again and fixating his gaze on Crona “Where do you see her, Crona?”
“Oh, um…” They looked startled, they always did when someone cared enough to ask them a question. A sad sight, really “I-I usually see her behind me. I guess it’s more like…I can feel her looming over my shoulder? S-sometimes I can feel her hair, or her hands on my shoulder. O-or in the mirror behind me…That or sh-she’s in front of me, but far away”
As they spoke, their voice got quieter and quieter, almost dropping to a whisper. Their eyes darted around as if checking that she wasn’t still there, hands rubbed at their shoulders nervously. After the first few words, they didn’t meet Stein’s gaze until they had finished and were given a few seconds to recuperate.
A matter of perspective, it seemed. Medusa always appeared to his side, they were right about that part. He’d once seen her as an equal, a colleague to stand by his side and fight for the forces of good. A friend, a companion, or perhaps something more. Until things started to feel off about her. Soon enough she was dead and her blood was on Stein’s hands. At least, she was, until she wasn’t. From there, she became something of a guide to him. A false one—leading him only to trap him in the prison of his own mind—but a guide nonetheless. And yet, she stood beside him as an equal all that time. Venturing to the new world together—hand in hand, side by side.
But for someone like Crona, her own child, their experience was very different from Stein’s. From a young age, they’d been taught to fear her, no doubt. Fear kept people obedient, prevented them from wandering too far off their intended path. A force looming over them at all times and pulling their strings. Overbearing, as Medusa herself had put it. It made sense that someone like that would be over their shoulder. She was never a friend, never a proper mother and certainly not a good influence. Everything Crona did was once controlled by fear. Not fear of the enemy or fear of death, but the paralyzing fear of abandonment. He’d seen it with his own eyes when they were still an enemy. That willingness to destroy themself for victory, for a mere illusion of a mother’s love. For the promise that they wouldn’t be stranded and left to die if they performed well enough. And for that reason, it also made sense that she would be far away as well. She must’ve felt so distant to them. Their mother, and yet not showing one ounce of compassion or care.
“I see. Thank you for telling me this, Crona” He smiled, trying to keep it as docile and unintimidating an expression as he could. Crona looked up at him, their face somewhere between confusion and awe “Hallucinations aren’t uncommon among trauma survivors, especially for victims of abuse”
“Wh-what do you mean?” They began to duck their head again, brows furrowing. Another habit of theirs—if anything unfamiliar happened to or around them, they began to clam up again, both physically and mentally. Curling in on themself, hugging their knees to their chest, avoiding other people, and going silent were only a few examples.
“From what I know of your past, it wasn't very happy. Living every day in fear of being abandoned by your own mother is never something any child should experience” Stein began. Despite how careful he was trying to be, Crona still looked down at their shoes in shame “What she did to you was cruel. You’re a child, not a weapon”
“B-but what if I was already a weapon? Like Soul, o-or Tsubaki?” They desperately tried to rationalize their mother’s behavior, something likely learned from years of needing to in order to not fall apart.
“That wouldn’t change anything. People like Soul and Tsubaki are more than just weapons to those around them. They’re companions, partners to fight with. Equals to their misters, neither one reigning supreme over the other” Stein explained. He could see the anger rising within their soul. But, it wasn’t directed towards him for the most part.
“But I’m not a human, I’m not a person!” They suddenly shouted, slamming their fists onto the couch cushions. Shoulders shaking, face scrunched, tears brimming in their eyes as they stared down at the floor in shame. An expression that was so painfully human it made Stein sick to his stomach “My blood is black, it hardens like steel, I’m fused with the demon sword!”
“Maybe genetically you wouldn’t be considered human, but I’m not so sure that matters in this case. I’ve done more to modify my body than should be possible, would you not classify me as a person?” That sickness formed a pit inside his core. If Crona couldn’t be called a human despite having so much love for others that it clawed at them from the inside out, what did that make of Stein?
“O-of course I would, professor! Your blood is still red, it isn’t your weapon. You don’t have the soul of a demon” They seemed appalled at the notion of Stein not being human—offended, even. And yet, they never afforded themself that same grace and compassion.
It seemed this approach wasn’t working the way he intended. Crona was so steadfast in the way Medusa taught them to see themself, it was going to be impossible to make any progress towards improving their mental health unless he could break through somehow. Maybe the roles of the student and the teacher could be reversed, and he could take a page out of Maka’s book for a change. Meet them where they were, offer a helping hand while trying to understand what made their mind work the way it did.
“Y’know, Crona, if we were having this conversation a few months ago, I don’t think I would have classified you as a human either.” They looked up at him, tears filling their eyes on the brink of overflowing. Their expression visibly deflated and rejection sank deeper than any blade, prodding the still bleeding wounds in their heart “But a lot can change in a few months, can’t it?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Crona rubbed at their eyes, trying to get the tears to go away. Nothing they did seemed to work, it never would.
“As much as I boasted about the world being shades of gray, I also used to see it in black and white, just like everyone else. Witches and demons were always bad, and humans were always good. But, people don’t always fall into such neat little boxes. Sid is a zombie, but he’s human at his core. Angela is a witch, but she’s still a child who deserves as much protection and care as any other. Blackstar is an assassin, but he couldn’t sneak up on a dog who’s blind and deaf. Maka is a meister, but she wants to be the one to get stronger to protect her weapon” Stein smiled, much softer than the crazed grin he was famous for. A warm, sweet feeling blossomed inside his chest as Crona’s expression changed—melted, almost. An emotion he couldn’t quite name, but one that stuck to his gums and molars like an infection. He was finally getting through to them. Maka was the magic word, it seemed.
“To be completely honest, I don’t know exactly what kind of creature you would be classified as, medically speaking. A demon, a witch, a human, or perhaps a strange combination of all three. What Maka’s helped me see is that maybe it doesn’t matter. No matter what you are, despite your circumstances and your mother’s intent, you’re the kindest child I know”
Something inside Crona seemed to break at that moment. As much as they tried to keep it in, sobs burst from their throat. Loud, guttural noises, speaking to over a decade of torment and hurt. Their entire body seemed to crumble in on itself as they hunched over and brought their perpetually shaky hands to cover their face. Stein wasn’t the most adept with people—that was Marie’s job—but he wasn’t stupid either. If someone was crying, you were supposed to give them a hug. Especially if that person was a child. He stood up from his chair and carefully sat down next to Crona, wrapping an arm around their shoulders and hugging them close. They tensed for a second, before melting into it. They turned to face Stein and buried their face into his side, arms grasping for dear life to his lab coat like they were terrified he was going to abandon them too.
“It’s alright, you’re safe now” He reassured them softly, bringing his other hand to card gently through their hair. It was a neat little trick he learned from observing Marie, something she did that always helped Crona after a panic attack or nightmare or whatever else happened to cause their fears to spike “You can rest”
When all was said and done, he sat in his laboratory with that strangely warm feeling inside his chest and a wet spot on the side of his lab coat. Maybe being around Marie was melting the iron core he used to be so proud of, or maybe it was being around the children. They truly did have a way of worming into his heart.
Things weren’t perfect—he doubted they were ever going to be—but progress was still progress. The only times Stein had even heard of Crona crying that much was around Maka. They had a tendency to keep all of their emotions trapped in a tightly locked box inside their soul until it ate at them too much and burst open. Another learned habit from Medusa, he was sure of that much. It made him wonder, how much of the Crona they all knew was still living in her shadow? Who was the person they were to meet now that she was dead? It seemed like only time would tell, and he had no intent of rushing the healing process. After all, it was much more interesting to see things play out at their intended pace.