A/N: Basically this is a plot of "what if Lavi and Bookmen ended up on the side of the Noahs instead of the Order". So here ya go~

I did the parts for basically everyone who wasn't Allen.

Nameless Recorders
A D Gray-Man Fanfiction
Original RP with bacon-of-hope(tumblr)

A female scream was followed by malicious cackling as the pair of Noah watched the Exorcist fall to the ground, blood seeping profusely from many deep stab wounds and showing other signs of injury and bruising.

To say that the Noah of Dreams was happy would be an understatement. She was having far too much fun.

And this was even without using the poor girl's memories or illusions against her. She made it way too easy with her determination to leap into danger to protect her white-haired comrade, who was barely hanging on to threads of consciousness himself.

Even together, they weren't any match for her. That wasn't even with counting Tyki, who had tagged along reluctantly. It was no wonder the pathetic sub-humans, Exorcist or not, failed to match up and lost the fight.

"You gave it a valiant effort, but you lost the game now~" Road chimed in a sing-songy voice, sauntering over to stand only a couple feet from the bleeding female Exorcist. She could see the hatred for her burning in those violet eyes, hating her for hurting the girl's comrade. It kind of annoyed her that this girl might be seeking after her Allen too.

It was that unhappy spark which caused an even darker thought to twist it's way through Road's mind on a whim, even as she turned and walked over to where her favorite obsession, Allen Walker, lay.

She could hear the strained sounds of pain and frustration as the girl tried to push herself up, to continue fighting, only to collapse again.

"Tyki~"

"Hm?" The larger Noah turned his head towards her in question, his demeanor a mix of mild annoyance and boredom as he puffed at a newly lit cigarette.

"Can we take Allen home with us?" She put on her best whine, glancing over at the limp teen. "Lord Millennium said we just had to make sure he was out of the way of our plans, not kill him."

The older-looking Noah looked further annoyed by that as he shifted the cigarette to one corner of his lips. "Our only assurances would be to kill them both and be done with it-"

Road stomped her foot petulantly, much like a child throwing a tantrum. "But I don't want to kill him! He's mine, I want him!"

The Noah of Pleasure sighed a cloud of smoke and replied reluctantly, "Fine, if you really like him that much, but it's on your head when Lord Millennium gets angry."

The girl cheered slightly and hugged her 'Uncle' around the waist, then hopped over to Allen. Tyki followed at a more leisurely pace to grab the boy by the back of his clothing and toss the kid over his shoulder, Road summoning her door.
Tyki stepped through first, Road pausing to wave a taunting fairwell to the other Exorcist who was probably just going to bleed out anyway.

"Bye Lenalee! It's been fun, but Allen's coming with us now," she chimed before sauntering through her door, which disappeared moments later.

Tears sprung to the Exorcist's eyes even as she reached out in vain to beg them to stop but they were gone long before she could do anything, unconsciousness from blood loss soon crushing down on her.

"…A…llen…"

They had been annihilated. The term 'defeated' didn't quite cut it, not when they had barely even been capable of putting up a fight against the little girl and her uncle, or whoever he was. Allen's surroundings kept blurring in and out of focus, pain and exhaustion robbing him of all but the most basic, dulled senses; the scent of rubble and burnt candles, Lenalee's screams, his own ragged breathing, the indescribable agony that had sunken its claws into what was left of his left eye… and that honeyed, child-like voice that sent chills down his spine with the malice it dripped.

Trying to understand the words that were spoken was beyond his capabilities in that moment, gloved fingers scratching across hard stone as he tried in a last-ditch effort to get up once more – what for, it was hard to tell. There was no way he could fight in his state, and his efforts died out in vain, muscles going lax as black devoured his vision and his consciousness, blanketing him in nothingness.

Even as Road droned on, only further adding to Tyki's annoyance, a whistle of impressment interrupted her gushy ramblings from a figure that was hunched over the railing of the second story foyer, watching the return party of three, one of which was vaguelly familiar in organization yet stranger in face.

"Looks like you went out for a wild party I wasn't invited to," he commented dryly, in a non-challant manner that was devoid of any defineable emotion.

Pushing himself up to stand fully, he regarded them through one green eye, the other covered by an eye-patch and a key hanging from a cord around his neck. Whether there was an actual reason for the eye-patch, something wrong with the eye or not, none could ascertain at first glance.

"So, inquiring minds want to know." He left it at that, knowing already that Road was enough of a mind-reader he wouldn't have to waste words.

"We captured an Exorcist!" Road piped up a little too-happily for his liking.

"I can see that," the redhead stated, wondering if she was trying to toy with him by stating the obvious. After all, she had to already know that he was aware of that much, didn't she? "But I'm still left to wonder why that is."

Instead of eliminating them, he added silently.

"I want to keep him!" She threw out there, making him shake his head slightly in exasperation, not needing any further explanation.

"You and your doll fetish." He moved to leave but her voice stopped him.

"Hold it, Junior! I have something for you to do," she commanded, hopping up the stairs with a reluctant Tyki stepping up after her and down the hall. The redhead fell into step, following her to a ethereal doorway leading into what appeared a town of perfect-white buildings and dark shingle roofing, sitting in a void of clear blue sky.

"And what would that be?"

"I want you to treat his wounds for me, and make sure he stays alive so I can play with him more, of course~"

"Of course," the redhead deadpanned as they came to a huge library, it's impressive size more than what the most book-enthralled historian could ever dream of. "And keep an eye on him for me as well while I'm not here!"

He nodded even as he watched Tyki dump the kid onto the single large couch centered in the room, getting a good look at the kid for the first time.

Mid-teens…hardly old enough to be fighting a war, but then again, this wasn't news to him that the other side had such young soldiers. He had long ago accepted that the depths of human deprevity knew no bounds, and the Black Order was no exception. Snow white hair, plastered to his face by sweat and blood, and an unusual red scar that travelled down the left side of the boy's face, forming a pentacle just over the crest of his left brow. The redhead was curious as to the story behind that one most of all.

"You really did a number on this one…this might be more Gramp's level than mine, I'm not as well-versed in medical attention as he is," he deadpanned for good measure, before lacing his fingers together and stretching them above his head, ridding the stiffness from his shoulders. "But I'll see what I can do. Not going to promise you anything though, you're the one who beat him all to Hell, not me."

"Just make sure he survives, Junior Bookman," Road told him shortly, petulance entering her voice.

"Ya, ya, I heard you the first time Your Holy-ness." He offered a mock bow as the three briefly left, the redhead returning in short order alone now with a basin of water, wash rag, and a few other medical supplies.

His single-eyed gaze briefly surveyed the other boy again as he wet the rag and wrung it out, bringing it to the younger's face to wipe away the blood and dirt to find where the actual wounds were.

"Man, she sure did a number on you," he thought aloud idly, not knowing if the kid was even awake enough to hear him but not really caring either way.

For quite some time, he flickered in and out of consciousness, glimpses of his surroundings unhelpful and barely enough to discern anything more than that he was slung over somebody's shoulder and everything hurt. Each time he regained focus for a few sad seconds, that malicious voice droned on, intensifying the headache blooming in his skull and leaving him slipping into darkness again with a quiet noise of pain dying on his lips.

The next time he came to, it was to his body being dumped unceremoniously onto a soft-yet-solid surface, a soft groan the full extent of what he was capable of regarding verbal responses in that moment. It was a strain to force silvery-gray hues – scratch that, one silvery-gray hue, the other remaining screwed shut with a sudden noise of surprised, red-hot pain – to open to unfamiliar surroundings, but he managed to squint against the lighting, only to scrunch up his face when something wet came into contact with the bloodied and bruised skin. A towel, he realized belatedly through the foggy haze that was his consciousness, and he frowned in an attempt to comprehend the words spoken to him by an unfamiliar redhead.

Why was this person taking care of him? Who were they? And where the hell was he? It didn't take a genius to know he'd been taken, but the where to and moreso the why were big holes in his mind's reasoning.

"…are you…" It took him more than one try to voice a question, his voice raw and raspy from strain and disuse. "… one of them, too?" A Noah? Or… an akuma?

So the kid was awake after all that, although it may have only been in the vaguest sense of the word. Halting breaths and pained, half-delirious groans assured that might not last, though if it did, he supposed he could rightly say the kid had one Hell of a will. That or the pain was simply too intense for rest, which was always another possibility.

Ending up with a corpse was looking likely, which would end up being beyond annoying. He supposed it didn't matter whatever the outcome. Either way he was still given a burden to deal with he hadn't really signed up for.

He considered the question, weighing an appropriate answer in his mind for a few moments as he washed and rung out the cloth to continue tending the boy's wounds.

"Not quite," he answered at last. "You could say we simply stand to gain from a mutual partnership. Anyway, that's probably the smallest of your worries by now anyway, at least until you've rested and healed up a bit, and you probably shouldn't try to speak much right now either. Save your energy and all that."

He wasn't sure if the exorcist would listen to him at all, but he offered this advice nonetheless. Plus, being a prisoner of war – especially when that jailer was the Noah – was really anything but a small thing to worry about. For the time being, however, his wounds were the most immediately pressing concern.

While he was aware that his wounds were being tended to, it did nothing to stop pained hisses and groans from spilling from his lips, nor did it suppress the reflexes to flinch away from anything that intensified the agony burning in every inch of his body. Somewhere he found the capability to feel guilty for being a hard person to treat in that moment, but voicing an apology seemed like too much of an effort to brave. As it was, Allen struggled more than enough only to focus on what the redhead was saying, to understand his words through the debilitating pain shrouding his mind in a near impenetrable haze.

He didn't need the advice to know that talking cost far too much energy, but there was no way he could just lie down obediently and silently let things happen to him, not without answers of some kind. Whether or not he could grasp them at the current time was not something he put much thought into – it would just be more energy wasted on a question with no clear answer available. More importantly, it baffled him that he was being patched up instead of disposed of, that his wounds were being treated instead of made worse. Even letting nature run its course would most likely end his life due to blood loss sooner or later, but instead they had asked this person to tend to his wounds.

"Wh–y…?"

Of course, that question could mean many things – and in that lay its advantages. With just one word he had asked a number of unvoiced questions – why am I here? why are you helping me? why are you working with them? why don't they let me die? – and it was on the other to answer hopefully at least some of them. Hopefully he would do so before consciousness slipped out of his grasp once more.

Lavi glanced at him, his single eye silently probing for some elaboration or cue on the exact question the boy was trying to ask him. One that he wasn't sure he would get a verbal answer to, and most likely for lack of strength on the other's part than anything, given the white-haired kid's physical state.

He was silent for a while as he removed the kid's coat fully so he could properly check and treat any other hiding wounds, sorting his thoughts and how much was strictly necessary to say and how much he could omit or that wasn't worth the breath. Maybe he was simply hoping that the kid would pass out again if he stalled long enough, but on the other hand, he didn't really have much reason not to simply tell the lad what he most likely wanted to know.

Besides, liability was of little concern where they were now. The kid would have to be able to escape first with whatever information he had to cause any real problems for the Noah, and aboard the Ark, such escape was impossible for any but the Noah themselves. A perfect cage if there ever was one.

"If I had to guess, Road probably just wants to toy with you some more for her own personal satisfaction," he deadpanned. "She's rather fond of those games of hers. She told me to tend to you, so I am. We're simply here because it was convenient." He shrugged, unsympathetic and bored sounding. Perhaps even a touch annoyed. "Its about as simple as that."

Allen thought he would pass out before the redhead graced him with an answer, but he didn't have it in him to ask him to hurry. In all likelihood, the only thing that was keeping him conscious was the excruciating pain flaring up when his helper attempted to take off his coat, throbbing in a terrible cacophony with the agony burning where his left eye was, or used to be, anyway.

Concentration or focus were hard to come by, flashes of anguish ripping through his conscience and scattering his thoughts before he could finish them. When the redhead eventually spoke, Allen struggled to understand him. He could accept, albeit neither comprehend nor condone, that Road was someone who liked to toy with people, so being treated like a doll did not surprise him as much as he felt it should have. He lacked the capability to think clearly enough to understand the rest of the other's statement, uncertain who this 'we' entailed or why this person seemed to lack compassion.

"Simple…" he repeated weakly, his voice cracking right in the middle of the disbelieving word. Speaking up once more cost him just about all of his remaining strength, and he was fully expecting passing out in the next few seconds, but he felt the need to say one last thing before darkness pulled him back under. "Sti–ll … than…k … yo… u …"

Lavi paused what he was doing momentarily, brows quirking upwards in faint wonder.

Thank you?

For what, exactly? Truthfully he was helping no one by doing this. No one other than Road and her sadistic tendencies. To even call it helping would probably be more an insult to the concept.

As far as he saw it, all he was doing was delaying the inevitable. He'd patch the kid Exorcist's wounds, and then the Noah would come back, play with him like cats with a mouse, until he either broke or died. And death would most certainly follow anyway if his mind crumbled first.

Maybe the boy simply didn't comprehend that at the moment. Maybe he thought surviving the moment gave him a chance at fighting back later. Maybe he was glad to see a face not out to torture and murder him before slipping into oblivion.

Or maybe Lavi was simply giving it too much thought. None of his speculations would save the poor kid, who was probably already far in over his head just being a part of this war – another unwilling victim of the conflict between the Earl and Innocence – no matter how things played out.

It wasn't a fate he'd wish on anyone, but it wasn't his business to do anything about it, except keep his head down and observe events as they happened.

"You won't be so eager to thank me before long…" Words he might as well have withheld, since it appeared the boy had already lost consciousness anyway.

He continued to patch up the wounds as best as he could manage, even though it was going to be a moot point in the end. If nothing else, it was the repetition of practice doing it that mattered, or so his mentor was always telling him.

After he'd treated and wrapped the injuries, he was realizing that there hadn't been much in the way of forethought for a change of clothes. The ones the boy already had were tattered and bloody. He could always leave the matter be – what use were clean clothes and comfort to the fallen and dying? – but he was a stickler for efficiency in his work, and the smell of battle that clung to the articles was already enough to bother him.

With a resigned sigh, he went off to dig through his wardrobe for something that he wouldn't care if it ended up destroyed when the Noah came back for their 'new plaything'. He didn't really have anything that was the right size, but slightly-too-big was better than slightly-too-small. After he'd changed the boy into clean garments, he settled down with some pillows on the floor with a book.

Nothing much to do at that point except go back to his studies, trying to ignore the unsteady breathing and occasional pitiful noises that escaped the injured figure nearby.