Not Like Mana
Rated: K+
By: Evantis
My first D.Gray-man. A rather short fic I wrote. I think it falls under the drabble category. Hahax. It's CrossAllen, ManaAllen. An equal amount of both, I guess.
For Nut. Lolx, haven't finished that threesome yet. Sorry. Hope this makes up for a while. I'll post the threesome in a while. Hahax.
Hope you enjoy it!
Don't forget to review!
General Cross was many things. He was an Exorcist, a womaniser, an alcoholic and unofficial custodian of Allen Walker.
Allen did not know of many fond memories with Cross. Unlike Mana, Cross was heartless and selfish, treating Allen more like a slave than the little boy he had offered to take care of.
When Allen tripped and fell, Mana would carry him into comforting arms, then set him down to dress his wounds. Mana would speak assuring words, and rock Allen till he fell asleep.
But Cross was different.
He would shout at Allen for being such an unforgivable klutz, make him walk all the way to the next town and force him to earn the money for himself to see the doctor. Most of the time Allen would treat himself.
While Mana was a custodian and father, Cross was a custodian and the rough equivalent of a slave trader. Mana spoke with soft, gentle words while Cross barked and shouted them at him.
A vast difference, but it was an incontrovertible fact that Allen would never have made this far – or even manage to survive back then, had it not been for Cross. No matter how much Allen disliked the man, he still owed the General something.
But Allen could still remember the one time Cross showed humanly affection to him.
How could Allen forget? It was the one and only time.
After Nalei and Mina died, Allen could barely control the toll of depression taking over his body. He spent nights huddled on his bed alone, crying shamelessly into his pillow. He could only fall asleep when his master walked into the room, stinking of alcohol and heavy cologne as usual. It was not long before dark, purplish bruise-like features appeared beneath his eyes, and his pale face turned into a deathly white. He walked listlessly, resembling a child zombie.
During that time, Cross – as expected of him – busied himself with a rich, fanciful woman who went around in frilly, long dresses.
Allen longed for nothing more than to feel Mana's presence with him again, to feel the man's warm, protective embrace and the fleeting touches of his slender, long and perfectly sculpted fingers in his hair.
Allen missed Mana, more than anything.
"Mana…" he whispered to the stagnant, black night, "Mana…come back…"
Silence.
Allen felt the tears well up his eyes. He rubbed them away with his tiny, childlike fists. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, he brought his hands together and prayed as hard as he could.
Bring Mana back…please bring him back…Mana…I miss you…Otou-san…And he prayed each night for two whole weeks. Eventually, Cross told him that they would leave India in two days, and Allen had better earn money for the train ride.
At that moment, something shattered completely inside Allen and he burst into childish tears. Refusing to listen to his master's teasing that was sure to come, Allen turned and ran back to the hotel room as fast as his thin, tired legs could go.
He dived underneath the blankets of the bed and curled himself into a tense ball.
Violent sobs wrecked his fragile body. Allen covered his hands with smallish hands and cried. He thought of Mana, and that gently smiling, ever-encouraging face, and of Cross's unpleasant, bad-tempered look. He pictured Mana's understanding eyes, and Cross's money-hungry ones and his little heart hurt all the more.
He cried so harshly the tears seeped out from in between his thin fingers.
He heard the door open, though it didn't really take a fool to know that it was Cross.
Allen propelled his small body out of bed and threw himself against Cross's legs with all his might. As expected, Cross's legs were forced to buckle, and the man was temporarily immobile.
Allen picked himself up and ran blindly ahead into oblivion, his sight hindered by the overflow of tears.
Minutes later, he was still running down the corridors, his thin, weakened legs straining to support him.
He tripped and fell. By this time, his sleep-deprived little body was too tired to move. Allen curled into a ball once again, sobbing and trying to numb the pain of his aching muscles.
He lied there, numb and unmoving for a period of time. He sobbed and kept praying.
Bring Mana back…please…Mana…come back…And praying.
And then strong arms picked him up from the ground, his tearstained cheeks pressed against a firm chest.
The sure smell of alcohol and cologne filled his nostrils, and Allen clenched onto the front of his master's shirt, wondering when Cross's kindness would come to an abrupt halt.
But Cross didn't put him down. Instead, he used a single hand to support Allen, and then he walked out of the hotel, and out onto the bustling streets of India.
Cross didn't say anything, so Allen didn't say anything. He didn't pay any attention to the clamorous noise of the streets, but let himself be calmed by his master's soothing, steady heartbeat.
He didn't even bother to take any notice when Cross walked into a gambling den and sat there for five hours straight, playing poker.
Allen was on his lap all the while. Cross didn't utter a word, but the gamblers around him moaned in grief and frustration.
At sunset, Cross left the gambling den, still carrying Allen.
-
Allen woke up the next morning, feeling rejuvenated as he finally managed to get some decent sleep.
"Up, you little fool," Cross's loud, hoarse voice broke the peace of the tranquil morning. "We're going to miss your train if you don't drag your lazy ass out of bed now."
Allen watched his master storm out of the room, Timcanpy fluttering after him loyally.
He sighed, and reluctantly got out of bed.
General Cross was a lot of things, but he was just not like Mana.