A/N: Look, another new story. Surprise, surprise, what can I say? I mainly started this because I wanted to write a Lavi/Allen story and Forsaken was supposed to be one when I started working on it, but it kicked me in the face and told me otherwise, sooo... Here's No Home & No Heart! Complete with a crapsack editing job.
Disclaimer: Don't own it, won't own it, shouldn't own it.
Allen Walker.
That was the name he'd refused to give them after one of their own had taken advantage of his being injured in a fight to bring him in for questioning. It was his first meeting with the Black Order and he'd already started on a list of reasons why he didn't like them. Being tortured for information he didn't have was right at the top.
But he bit his lip and kept quiet. They'd seen the ashen gray skin, so it didn't matter what he said. No matter what he said, they wouldn't believe he was being hunted by the Earl as much as they were, if not more. Never did he breath a word. That was revenge for the marks they put on him—the fresh scars from Innocence-laced blades that burned his skin.
What he did know of the Earl's plans—it was a miniscule amount—he kept to himself because they would kill him when he outlived his use, even if he spilled ever secret. It would be a death more torturous than what they had subject him to since he'd been brought in, given killing a Noah was no small feat, even if you had ten tons of Innocence lying around to waste on the endeavor.
Minutes bled into hours before he realized that he didn't actually know if he'd been there one day or one week, though his stomach and throat told him the former was more likely.
He never spoke and he never cried, greeting the pain with silence when they returned for the next round though his wounds from the last hadn't yet stopped bleeding.
Once or twice, he'd caught himself thinking that it might be better to just die. Rather than endure, he'd be better off slipping into blissful unconscious and never waking up. It wasn't like he had anything—anyone—waiting for him on the outside, save for maybe his master.
The only thing that kept those thoughts at bay was his promise to Mana; he'd swore to him that he would keep going.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been there before two new faces entered the room, along with his usual company.
"This is the Noah?"
It was the redhead who spoke. His voice was like silk and in just those four words, Allen had him pegged as a man who would say anything to get out of a situation he didn't like. He was a manipulator. A con-artist who wore a false face. Allen wasn't fooled. This man was easier to read than a book, probably because he'd looked at himself too many times in the mirror to not recognize the similarities.
"Yes, this is him."
The redhead leaned forward to get a good look at him. He was wiser than his appearance suggested, not daring to move even an inch closer than necessary. He wondered if some of his torturers had given him their words of warning, that he was more than happy to return the many favors.
Allen lifted his fire-filled gray eyes to meet the gaze of the other boy and with his youthful face no longer veiled by shadows, the redhead's lips parted.
"What the hell?! He's just a kid!"
"Lavi!" the older man yelled in return, apparently displeased by his misplaced outrage. Age was hardly a factor, but Allen had long lost the sense needed to so much as cock an eyebrow at such a display.
No, that was wrong. He'd lost the strength. A fierce ache and sharp pain had every pore in his body screaming at him for even a meager twitch of his fingers. He was half-tempted to try and count how many of his ribs were broken, but the raised voice that echoed off the walls of his cell made that difficult and his headache didn't help much.
"What could he possibly know?!" he yelled before he did what only an honest-to-god fool would do. He approached him, forgetting his earlier caution. Like the chains keeping him anchored to the wall were made of glass, it snapped with the flick of his wrist. Without even giving him enough time to gasp, the perfectly human fingers of his left hand wrapped around the redhead's throat.
Gold-speckled gray eyes looked into the single green one. A complex swirl of emotion stared back into unparallelled hatred. Allen saw a flicker of fear there, stemming from the hand pressed against his wind pipe, but there was also pity.
And that startled him.
His torturers followed them, brandishing the Innocence-imbued blades that made every cut and gash on Allen's skin ache at the mere sight of its eerie, green glow. It was the dread filling his chest that led to his grip slackening and Lavi slipping out of it with ease.
"Woah, woah! Hey, hey!" Lavi yelled as they drew closer, throwing his hands out to the sides to keep them from proceeding, even stepping closer to him to keep them at bay. Gray eyes widened, mouth falling open as he stared at the person standing over him—protecting him.
The Rose Cross emblazoned on his breast told Allen that he was an Exorcist, yet he stood his ground, committing what would no doubt be called treason.
His gestures gave the torturers pause and the mustachioed man who order them to do these things wore an ugly frown. Allen's lip twitched. A sick satisfaction washed over him, seeing how unhappy the Inspector was with the development.
"C-come on," Lavi said, the confidence he'd had a moment ago bending under the pressure of the stunned eyes of his comrades. "He's just scared. Right?" Lavi looked to him for an answer, but he didn't get one. Allen eyed the people that crowded around them and licked his lips to moisten them. He only succeeded in slathering blood on them.
Minutes passed with the redhead trying to talk down the torturers, insisting that he was fine and Allen was probably the "sort of guy who liked his personal space". While that was true, it meant little in this situation.
The redhead couldn't hide that he knew that—not from Allen's trained eye.
"Come on, just put down the knives, alright? You're not getting anywhere with those things, anyways."
It was true. The pain only served to further tighten Allen's lips. His refusal to tell them what they wanted to know had them coming back time and time again to make the same demands, yet he hadn't been broken yet.
He wouldn't break. He refused to incriminate his master and beg for death. So long as he could sing, fighting was still an option. Allen liked options.
Watching the display, Allen felt compelled to do something he hadn't done since he'd arrived. His lips parted and he spoke.
"Your name is Lavi?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse and dehydration. Wide eyes turned to look at him, no longer caring about the redheaded man that interrupted the shoddy interrogation. The dreaded and dangerous Noah had dared to speak at long last—and it was to ask the name of the man keeping his torturers at bay.
Lavi grin grew when he did so. His arms fell back to his sides, no longer concerned with the torturers who'd frozen mid-step when the voice that contained a melodic quality reverberated through the air like even the words were a hymn.
"Yeah, that's me. What's your name, Shortstack?" He leaned over to look him in the eye, grabbing his knees to keep himself steady.
Gray eyes traced over the forms of the people standing behind the redhead. He didn't like to be called short, but now wasn't the time. His heart told him there'd be time to chastise him for it later, but his head told him that there wouldn't be a later.
Picking up on his discomfort, Lavi glanced over his shoulder at the other occupants of the room. "Uh, hey, Inspector Mustache."
If Allen had been drinking something—which he wasn't, they'd seen to that—he would've surely spit it right back out. Judging by the faces of everyone else, he'd say he wasn't alone.
"Mind giving me a few minutes alone with him?" Lavi asked, pulling on an a fake, exaggerated grin that only a fool would fall for. "Oh, and can someone bring me some water?"
"You—"
Just like that, the boy named Lavi was taking control of the situation with the ease of a politician. Each honeyed word made Allen less sure that he could trust the boy, but he was seriously considering entertaining the thought for a few minutes if it meant wetting his parched throat.
"Come on, what's that saying? You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?"
Allen wasn't that surprised when he was pulled aside by the old man he'd entered with, as well as the Inspector. Given what Allen could only assume was a "firm talking to", he was sure the boy would be led out and he'd be left to the whims of the Inspector. Instead, he Allen watched, shocked, as everyone filed out of the room until only the two of them remained. They left the broken chain there, the metal cuff still wrapped around his wrist.
They probably figured he wouldn't try anything—at least not until he got to see if that water Lavi had asked for was actually for him.
Another few seconds, they brought the water that Lavi had asked for.
With the water in hand, Lavi approached him and gave a slight shake of the cup, gesturing for him to take it. His two-toned eyes blinked up at the redhead, wondering if this was all some trick. That fake smile was somehow enough to alleviate his worries and he took the glass without another thought, greedily slurping the water down.
He downed the glass with ease and Lavi took it from him when he was done getting every last sip from it that he could. It was as Lavi sat the glass down next to him that Allen's mind started wandering.
Why had he stopped them? Why had he given him water? What game was he playing?
What could Allen do besides express his gratitude? The only thing he could offer in return was information and Allen wouldn't give that up no matter what happened, even if he didn't know much about what they were asking.
"Th-thank you..."
He struggled to get the words out. They were only the second thing he'd said in God only knows how long. Someone drawing so much as a single sound out of him would've been an achievement a few hours ago.
"No problem, Shortstack!" Lavi said, earning a glare from the white-haired Noah. Funny how the this guy was coaxing him out of his shell by insulting him. He was playing right into his hands, but something kept Allen from saying so every time the redhead opened his mouth. It was his smile, he realized. In spite of it being a fabrication, its warmth comforted him. Something as simple as a smiled eased his aching body and calmed his nerves.
It was silly. Allen knew that.
It was stupid and Allen knew that, too.
"I'm not short!"
"Oh yeah? Let's compare heights, Tiny Tim!"
"T-Tiny—" he sputtered, "No, I—"
He was given little choice when Lavi grabbed him by the arm and started helping him up. It was harder than it should have been, but between Lavi's help and using his freed arm as leverage on the wall, he soon found himself standing in an upright position. If not for the redhead's quick reflexes, he would've stumbled and hit the floor face first, too.
Mumbling a thanks, he straightened and they stood back to back, comparing heights. Lavi brought his hand up, pressing it to his skull before doing the same with Allen.
"What the— Are you on your toes, Shortstack?"
"No!" Allen said far too quickly. It was an admission of guilt—and defeat—if nothing else. To add insult to injury, Lavi started laughing. Allen's face was dashed with a deep, tropical hue and he elbowed the stupid sod in the middle of his back in retaliation.
"Yeouch!" Lavi yelled, rubbing his back where Allen's scaly elbow had struck him. "No need to get so defensive, Niblet!"
"Niblet? That's the worst one yet!"
"No way, it's cute!"
If not for that grin of his, Allen probably would've smacked him. He wasn't sure whether to be irritated by his behavior or be appalled that it was actually doing wonders to bright his day. Well, as bright as it could be in a dungeon, anyways. Lavi was like a ray of sunshine that had come waltzing into the darkest corner of the Black Order as if he owned the place.
Whether or not that was his intention was another matter.
"My name is Allen!" he yelled, forgetting for a moment that he hadn't told any of them that yet. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he'd been played. That was his game. He made himself look like an idiot to bring Allen's guard down, then got him all riled up to seal the deal.
But that wasn't going to work! He refused to let it work any more than it already had!
"Nice name," he complimented before flinging his arm around Allen's shoulders and pulling him close to him. He had half a mind to push him away, if not because he had proved able to pull any kind of information out of him, then because he was uncomfortable with their proximity. "But you're still a shortie!"
"Do you know what 'personal space' is, Lavi?"
"Only on Tuesdays!"