The decision to leave Death City had not come easily for Crona. In fact, when morning broke that fateful day – the first soft beams of light filtering through the window as the sun laughed it's maniacal greeting at the snoozing metropolis below – he still wasn't completely dedicated to the course he'd chosen.
That had been okay though; he'd come to the conclusion that he would never be wholly committed (Death City was, after all, the only place he could truly call 'home'). Crona had examined and accepted that fact, and had been willing to proceed despite his misgivings.
But as he left through the south city gate in the early hours, those ominous doors the very epiphany of his entire life, it was only Ragnarok's prodding that kept him moving. Several times he thought of going back; returning to that cold cell in the bowls of the DWMA. A few times he actually tried, spinning in the sand and staring hard at the disappearing skyline as if willing it to come closer. Only Ragnarok and the sickening guilt in his stomach pressed him forward.
He'd known it then and he knew it now: leaving was for the best. The proof was in the potting (or was it pudding? Maka had yet to explain the saying to him properly). He'd slipped Marie-sensei one of Medusa-sama's snakes, thereby accelerating Dr. Stein's decent into madness and betraying the DWMA quite spectacularly. He was a traitor; even though Maka and everyone else had forgiven him, that's what he'd always be. Not to mention he was the son of a witch. Or that he was very barely sane.
Yes, the madness Maka thought she'd cured him of wasn't as gone as she (or Crona himself) would have liked. It lingered, prowling around the edges of his mind as it waited for it's chance to strike – for a moment when Crona's guard was down, and it could engulf all the clarity he'd fought so hard to retain. It was like a lion... or a monster. A great, growling beast with fangs and claws, a predator stalking it's prey. It was there, and it likely always would be.
Soul-kun could probably relate to him on this particular subject, if he were ever actually able to work up the nerve to talk to the Demon Scythe by himself. Dr. Stein too. They had both been to deepest pits of madness and back again – they would know what Crona knew as well.
That the madness never really goes away; it retreats, it hides, it fades... but it never disappears. It hung around the edges of your sanity, patient and waiting – knowing you couldn't fight it forever. Knowing that eventually an opportunity would present itself and you would be helpless to stop it – or that if you did stop it, you would only be weaker next time round.
Sometimes as he lay in bed thinking, the madness prodding tentatively at the wall protecting his mind, he wondered why he even bothered. Why did he continue to fight when he knew that sooner or later it would get him? It was a fight he couldn't win – certainly not with the strategy he used now. And he knew of no other strategy to use. It was a losing battle...
Then morning would come.
"Hey, Crona? You awake? C'mon we're gonna be late for class!"
And Maka would come with it.
And he would remember why he fought so hard despite the futility.
It was for her. For Maka. His first friend in the entire world. The person he admired most. For her he would fight the madness to his very last breath. For her he would live on in Death City, traitor or no.
Because after everything she'd done for him, it was the very least he owed her.
-X-
For the record, I know there's a bit of confusion over Crona's gender, but I tend to think of him (or her as the case may be) as a boy. And I will continue to do so until the manga provides undeniable proof otherwise.