Sometimes he wondered why he even tried. Honestly—it didn't even make any sense; they just ran around in circles, trapped in a vicious cycle of death, mayhem, and pain. It was nothing but pain, and some days he just wanted to put his head between his knees and give in, letting that darkness that festered at the back of his head take control.
But he couldn't, he knew. Not only would Crown Clown refuse to let him, Neah would firmly pull him away from that darkness, and the two would cite balance and how he was the gray that centered their black and white.
For a moment, he wondered how Mana had felt, carefree in his gentle insanity; free and flying so high that he never came back down—
—ah, there it was again, rising up, pulling him down, down, down into loose uncaring darkness…or was it pulling him up? He couldn't really tell, all he knew was that it made him feel light and floaty and free, and he knew he was addicted but he couldn't stop his footsteps on that precipice.
A gentle tug from Neah pulled him away, Crown Clown holding him gently in her warmth even as Neah sent feelings of disapproval and stay away. He knew he would never be able to stay away from that precipice—he would be standing on that edge, be walking that tightrope, tempting fate as he wavered between sanity and insanity, before long, once again. After all, he was addicted, and why shouldn't he indulge? It wasn't like things like reality and sanity were necessary, were they?
And what was sanity anyway, but a reality you forced upon yourself? A way of thinking that was caged by normality, a chained down delusion?
And yet he knew that he had to remain on that edge, forever knowing the temptation of that darkness but never able to give in, for he had a mission—a job. He would end the Holy War, end the Noah, destroy the Akuma—nonono, save the Akuma, that was what Mana wanted, wasn't it?—and finally be free of his pressing duty to reality.
But it wasn't time yet, and he had to continue. Yet…someday. Someday, he would fall into that darkness, and Crown Clown and Neah would follow him—oh, he knew that Neah would hate every minute of it, but the lonely, once-dead Noah would never let the last vestige of his now-dead brother fade from his sight. They would follow, and they would tumble head-first into that darkness, and be free of the pain and sorrow that reality and sanity brought.
But he would wait for that someday to come and take him away, into a twisted Wonderland where death and pain never touched him.
For now, though, he resigned himself to the painpainpain and hate and sorrow that plagued reality and sanity—
—as he waited for insanity to claim him.
So...another darkish Allen-centric fic! Yay...
Now I feel really sad for Allen. I hate torturing him like this, but it's so easy...