Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or any of its characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and there is no financial gain involved. This story is also inspired in part by an image I found by artist Gokusuna, on Zerochan.
Maka still couldn't move. It had been hours since Arachne's webbing had paralyzed her, and the stubborn spell refused to lift. Now the sun was setting in Loew Village, and the shadows cast by the clay chimneys lengthened. It would be dark soon, and they needed to leave.
Crona swallowed hard when he looked down at Maka. He knew she would be okay, but seeing his friend lying motionless in a coffin was unsettling, to say the least.
People were fragile. They broke easily, bled easily, died easily. Crona knew this better than anyone. But seeing the strong and determined scythe-meister like this, so vulnerable and still, was frightening in a way he'd never experienced before.
He never worried about anything happening to Lady Medusa – she was a witch, all-powerful and practically immortal – and Ragnarok was a permanent part of him. He'd never had anyone else to care about and worry about losing. Nothing ever changed, and once his hope had dried up, he found that fact comforting. His world was less secure now.
Maka had found him hiding deep inside himself, taken his hand, and led him into the light. He had a whole new life now. It was big and bright and beautiful, and he had no idea how deal with any of it. But Maka was there to help him. It was all because of her, and it all depended on her.
She almost died today. Crona had protected her from a chainsaw swing that would've cut her in half. He'd jumped in front of her without even thinking. If he'd hesitated for a second, if anything had happened to her, if she were lying in this coffin for another, more horrible reason, if she were gone –
No, he couldn't deal with that. It was too much to think about. He was starting to shake and he felt the dark tendrils of madness creep into his mind.
"Quit your spazzing! The cow is fine." Ragnarok hissed in Crona's ear and whacked him on the back of the head, knocking him to his senses.
"Don't call her that," Crona said, but Ragnarok was right. Maka was fine. Crona would just upset her if he started panicking out of the blue. He crossed his left arm over his chest and grabbed his right bicep. He squeezed the small muscle until his knuckles turned white, forcing all the nervous energy out of his body. Soon, his right arm was completely numb, but he'd stopped shaking. He hoped the others hadn't noticed his anxiety. He was being selfish, letting his fears run away with him when Maka was feeling awful. The flowers he gave her seemed to cheer her up a little. Should he try to find more?
"We should be going," Justin voice interrupted Crona's thoughts. The priest clutched the crucifix around his neck. "May our Lord grant us a safe journey."
So much for more flowers, then.
"Hey, Maka, you gonna be okay in there?" Soul asked.
"I still don't see why I have to ride in this thing." Maka glared at her partner.
"I guess if you're well enough to complain…" Soul said. He started to close the coffin lid. "I'll see you in Death City."
As the lid came down, Crona saw Maka's face change. Her irritation vanished. Her jaw clenched and she pressed her lips together into a tight line. She didn't want anyone to see it, but Crona could tell. Maka was afraid. She didn't want to be trapped in that dark box, alone and unmoving. Crona saw her squeeze her eyes shut just before the descending lid could cast her face into shadow.
Crona reacted instinctively. His arm shot out, and he grabbed the lid so Soul couldn't lower it any more.
Soul raised an eyebrow at him. "What's up?" he asked.
"I-I, uh…" Crona had no idea what to say. It wasn't like he'd meant to do this.
"Crona?" Maka opened her eyes and looked into Crona's anxious gray ones, his pupils little more than pinpricks. He looked as surprised by his impulse as they were.
All the tension in Maka's face melted away, replaced by concern. For him. That was what made her so incredible – she could still worry about someone else when she had so much to deal with herself. But Crona knew as soon he dropped his hand and the lid closed for good, that look of fear would return.
"Can I ride in there, too?" Crona said. He blurted it out so suddenly he didn't have time to stutter. His face immediately turned bright red.
"What?" Soul, Maka, and Ragnarok said at the same time. Maka looked startled. Soul frowned. Ragnarok burst out laughing.
"Crona, you little perv! You want to feel up the cow while she can't move? I'm almost proud of you!" Ragnarok leaned over the top of his meister's head to grin in Crona's horrified face.
"N-no, no, i-it's not like th-that! I-I would n-never!" Crona shook his head wildly. He wanted to be there for Maka so she wouldn't be scared, but he couldn't say that. It would just embarrass her, so he tried to think of another explanation. Nothing was coming. His partner certainly wasn't helping his concentration.
"Crona and Maka, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Ragnarok screeched at the top of his lungs.
Crona hunched his shoulders, quivering from a combination of nerves and embarrassment. Maka glared at Ragnarok, and a vein pulsed in her forehead. Soul wound up to punch the obnoxious weapon. Justin shook his head at the whole scene and raised his eyes to the heavens, no doubt praying for their souls. Then Crona's darting gaze fell on Soul's motorcycle.
"I d-don't want to ride on the b-bike again," he said. "It's loud and fast, and I-I don't know how to deal with it." With Ragnarok's awful singing still echoing in his ears, he didn't have to pretend to look ashamed. Even his ears were red.
Ragnarok rolled his eyes. "You really are a pussy," he said.
"You still don't like the bike?" Maka said.
"I could only ride it here because you were with me," Crona said. It sounded pathetic, but it was true. He'd been terrified of the bike, but Maka had reassured him and let him hold onto her tighter than was strictly necessary. After a while, Crona had calmed down – the bike really wasn't so horrible. He couldn't imagine riding it without Maka, though. He'd have to hold onto Soul, and he wasn't sure he could deal with that.
"You'll be fine," Soul said. "I won't go too fast."
Crona flinched at the irritation in his voice. He knew he got on Soul's nerves, but the scythe usually tried to be patient with him for Maka's sake. Soul had been tense since Maka's injury, and he'd snapped at Crona already when he'd tried to help carry her back to the village. Soul probably didn't like that Crona had been the one to protect Maka during the battle when, as a weapon, he could only watch.
"Let's do it!" Ragnarok said. He balled his fists in Crona's hair and jerked his meister's head towards the motorcycle. "Know any tricks, Shark-boy? I bet you can make Crona scream like a little girl." He yanked Crona's hair like he was revving a bike, and Crona yelped in pain. "Or maybe I'll try something. I bet if I lean forward, I can reach the handlebars from here."
Soul winced. He was in no mood to wrestle Ragnarok for control of the bike all the way to Death City. He'd be lucky if they didn't crash. Crona worried about what kinds of tricks you could do on a motorcycle. Could it flip? Would they have to stand up on it? He couldn't deal with that!
Ragnarok tried to mimic the sound of the bike's engine, and Maka couldn't help but giggle at the look on Soul's face – her weapon looked like he'd bitten into something sour by mistake.
"It's all right," Maka said and smiled up at Crona. "You can ride with me." It was hard to say who looked more relieved, Crona or Soul.
"No way in hell am I getting in there with the cow and all your gay flowers," Ragnarok said. "I want the bike!"
"I'll give you five more pieces of candy if you behave yourself," Maka said.
"It's gonna take more than candy! I'll kick ass for candy. But I'm not gonna mope in the dark like this dumbass for anything!" He hit Crona on the back of the head, in case anyone was wondering which dumbass he was referring to.
"What if the candy were Twizzlers?" Crona said.
Ragnarok's eyes widened, looking more like ping-pong balls than usual. He'd only had Twizzlers once, and he'd had the time of his life tormenting Crona with them. He'd drummed them on Crona's head and crashed imaginary cymbals, stuck them in his ears, and tied them into bows in his hair and teased him for looking even more like a chick. Crona never let him have them again.
"Fine," Ragnarok said, "but you'd better keep your end of the deal, or I'll stick a whoopee cushion under your girly ass next time you sit down in class." With that, he disappeared into Crona's back.
Crona sighed. With Ragnarok, it always paid to negotiate, but he had a feeling he would regret this particular bargain, whether he upheld it or not.
"If you're gonna ride with her, get in already," Soul said. "We need to get going."
Crona looked at Maka one more time to make sure she really was okay with this. She smiled at him, and he returned it with a shy, wobbly smile of his own. Then he climbed into the coffin next to her.
The coffin was built for a large adult, so there was just enough room for two skinny teenagers. Crona bent his long limbs at awkward angles as he tried to get as close to Maka as possible without touching her at all. He settled himself right up against the side of the coffin, leaving a few inches of space between himself and Maka.
So far, this wasn't so bad. The white mattress that lined the bottom was firm, but soft. He'd crushed some of the flowers he'd given Maka earlier, releasing their sweet scent into the air. He turned his head to look at Maka. Her face was right next to his, and he blushed at how close she was.
"You're both good?" Soul checked, and they said yes. Then Soul started to close the lid.
Its shadow fell over their faces, and Crona heard Maka's sharp intake of breath. Maka's hands were clasped over her stomach; Crona put his own hands over them now and gave them a gentle squeeze.
The lid descended with all the solemn weight and finality of death itself, and the sliver of sunset sky they could see grew thinner. Then the last bit of light vanished, and the lid closed with a hollow thud. Crona and Maka were left in complete and utter darkness.
Everything was silent except for their shallow breathing. The air quickly became stale, and the flowers' fragrance turned cloying; Crona tried not to gag at the sickly-sweet scent. He felt like there wasn't enough oxygen, like the darkness had devoured it all, and he was breathing in nothing but shadows. He could feel Maka's heartbeat pounding in her wrist and he wondered if she felt his own racing pulse.
This was so much worse than he could have imagined. The pitch blackness, the heavy silence, the claustrophobia – it was like being buried alive.
Crona forced himself to take deep breaths, to pretend he wasn't terrified. He needed to be calm for Maka, to comfort her like she'd comforted him on the motorcycle earlier that day. So many times and in so many ways, she took care of him. Now he wanted to take care of her, even if he wasn't sure how. Maybe talking about it would make her feel better.
"Are you scared of the dark?" His voice was scarcely more than a whisper and it sounded strange to him, almost disembodied.
"Not usually," Maka said. Her voice was eerily detached, too. They sounded like two restless spirits whispering in the grave. "This feels different somehow."
The coffin jolted suddenly, making them both catch their breath. Justin must have started the car. They could hear the muffled roar of the engine and feel the vibrations from the road and the pulsing bass rhythm of Justin's music.
So much muted sensation somehow made Crona feel more isolated from the world outside. He could've sworn the wooden walls around him crept inwards a little. He squeezed Maka's hand more tightly.
"Are you scared of the dark?" Maka asked him.
Crona thought for a minute. It was a simple question, but his answer was complicated. He wasn't sure Maka would understand. "There are different kinds darkness," he finally said.
There was the darkness of night and the darkness of sleep. There was the darkness of his shadow. There was the darkness of the room Medusa locked him in and the darkness of her cold heart. There was the darkness of nightmares and the darkness of madness. There was the darkness of the hell inside his head, where black flames danced and burned his hope to ash. There was the darkness of his own blood.
So many kinds of darkness, then. He could list them endlessly, all those subtle shades of black. Some kinds he could deal with, others he couldn't. For a long time, he thought darkness was the only thing that existed. He belonged to it, and it belonged to him. He was darkness. Cut him and it oozed from his very skin – his blood was black, after all.
When Maka brought him to the balcony that overlooked Death City, he'd been amazed at how much light there was in the world. His sense of wonder was quickly overwhelmed by shame and fear. He was a living shadow. How could someone like him hope to belong there? He still wasn't sure.
"Different kinds of darkness?" Maka said. "That makes sense."
Crona was surprised she'd actually thought about what he'd said. She didn't think it was stupid? Then again, maybe she really did understand. Maybe she'd remembered the nights she'd spent hunting Kishin eggs or her own descent into madness.
"This darkness…it's the darkness of the grave," she said. It was the ultimate darkness. It was the fear of death, if not death itself.
Crona couldn't stop the shiver that ran down his spine. Maka didn't need to ask him if he was afraid of this kind of darkness; he'd just answered that question without meaning to.
"Crona." Maka's voice sounded more substantial now. She was so close he could feel her breath on his cheek, a reminder that despite their fears, they were both very much alive. "Why did you want to ride in here with me?" The timid boy was just as frightened as she was, and unlike her, he'd had a choice. There had to be a reason he would willingly enter this darkness.
"I-I told you, I don't like the bike." Crona let go of her hand and crossed one arm over his chest, assuming his usual defensive posture even though he was lying down.
"You're a terrible liar," Maka said in a deadpan tone that gave nothing away.
"N-no! Th-that really is the r-reason." Crona hated how his stutter was getting worse.
"Yep. Terrible." Even though he couldn't see her, he imagined her raising an eyebrow at his pitiful attempts to divert her suspicion.
"I…I-I…" Crona had no idea what to say. Was she mad? He couldn't tell. He tried to think of another explanation, but she would know he was lying again – sometimes he felt like Maka could read his mind. There was no option but the truth.
"I-I didn't want you to be alone," he said.
For a moment that felt like an eternity, everything was silent except for the muffled din of Justin's music. Crona fidgeted, squeezing his arm. He hoped she wasn't offended and didn't think he was weird. What if she got upset? Would she yell at him?
"You're a good friend," Maka said quietly.
Huh? Crona gasped – he hadn't realized he was holding his breath.
Maka was his first friend, so how was he supposed to know what made a friend good or not? All he knew was that he cared about Maka and wanted her to be happy. He wanted to be useful to her, to help her the way she'd helped him. Was that what she meant? Was that what made a good friend? If it was, he thought he could deal with that.
He smiled to himself. Maka thought he was a good friend. He didn't care anymore that it was dark or that the coffin jolted every time Justin hit a bump in the road. A gentle warmth bloomed in his chest and flowed throughout his entire body. It relaxed his tense muscles, soothed his frazzled nerves, and melted his anxieties away.
Crona felt calm, he felt peaceful, he felt…happy. It was a new feeling, one he still didn't entirely trust. He wasn't sure how long it could last, or if he even deserved to be happy, after everything he'd done. He didn't think about that right now, though. He thought about Maka and wished there was a way to share this feeling with her.
There was a way, he realized. He finally knew what he could do to comfort his friend.
Crona put his hand over Maka's again. Her heartbeat was no longer pounding, but it was still faster than normal. He softly stroked the back of her hand, tracing small circles with his thumb. His wavelength reached out to Maka's and all that happiness radiated from his soul. He didn't force a connection; he simply waited for her decide if she wanted to resonate or not. He ignored a small twinge of anxiety, not wanting his fear of rejection to muddy his positive emotions.
Maka tensed at the unexpected contact. If it were anyone else, she would've been angry. She didn't want comforting. She didn't like anyone to see how scared she could get, and being afraid of the dark was humiliating for a meister who wanted to create the ultimate Death Scythe.
But this was Crona. He wasn't judging her or belittling her. He was afraid of this small, dark space, just like she was, but he hadn't hesitated to join her. He cared about her – she could feel it in his wavelength. He meant it when he said he didn't want her to be alone.
Maka dropped her guard and allowed him to resonate with her. She sighed softly as she felt that warmth wash over her. This was the first time they'd matched wavelengths since they became friends, but it was easy. Natural, even.
The shadows around her loosened their grip on her mind and heart. A sense of contentment bubbled up within her soul, and she let her own emotions travel back to Crona through their bond. Neither of them said anything, but there was no need to. They both knew what the other was feeling – happy, warm, and safe.
Deep within Crona's soul, gentle waves broke onto a beach, and the tide rolled over smooth seashells. A sea-breeze blew away the oversweet stench of the flowers. On the sandy shore, two shadows smiled, one with short, spiky hair, the other with pigtails. They held hands and listened to the rhythmic rush of the water and enjoyed the heat of the sun.
Crona closed the small distance between them and turned to curl up against Maka's side. His head rested on her shoulder, and his hand still clasped hers. He would normally be afraid to touch her like this, but right now, it felt right.
It wasn't long before their exhaustion caught up with them. It had been a long day, after all. The rest of the ride home, they drifted through dreamless sleep – an altogether different kind of darkness.