Standard disclaimers apply.
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Allen, like most exorcists the day the Ark appeared, foresaw himself living in shorter days and longer nights.
Frankly, they'd already been close to nocturnal.
Everyone at the Order pushed themselves a little too far these days. It went without saying. The sudden stress that was the Ark and the Fourteenth was like a shot of sugar to the brain: sickening but addictive. He wasn't the only one who'd gotten hooked. Far from it. They all took on their double shifts and forced themselves through the meetings, and the next day, they did it again. Over and over. The Order was made of people determined to die doing something amazing, even if that something wasn't possible.
At least it made them feel like losing wasn't the only thing they could do.
And Allen kept jumping into the middle of things because of people like them, hoping the end wouldn't hit as hard as it looked like it would. He was always surprised when it did. Then an intangible soldier of God, an exorcist of the Dark Order, was bleeding on the ground and everyone felt a little less strong. Yeah, he loved the gentle, real smile he could flash after saving someone, but then the pain kicked in and he'd see the blood stenciling around him.
The blood said, 'You, Allen Walker, are still human.'
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In a twisted little way, Road had been right. The Noah were different from humans. They could hurt and kill and God would still forgive them—apparently—and Allen swore that was the closest he'd ever come to agreeing with her. Humans were flawed things and they did make mistakes.
For example: conditioning himself to tear through row after row of level ones. Being capable of lunging for the closest akuma without stopping to think. To fight for such an ambiguous cause and not question some of it. 'Where are we going with this?' he asked Tim once, but that was the furthest it ever went.
After that, the akuma didn't feel unstoppable anymore, even when he was sure another blow might kill him. His body was a myriad of white scars and dark bruises and most of them—they didn't come from artillery. The sacrifice was second-nature, he argued, but Kanda called it childish, 'trying to be a hero'. It had a lot to do with how the greatest sacrifices he made were always for the people he barely knew.
He'd later swear, cradling a crestfallen Lenalee on the floor, that he could still feel his arm go numb sometimes. It feels like death, he'd say, and his voice would waver there, at the end. And he wouldn't know it at first, but he'd just had one of those defining moments, where for the first time, he realized life had dealt him a bad hand and he'd already played all his alternatives.
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Footnotes: This is what happens when you start writing a fanfic in August and don't get it uploaded until February. Man, is my timeline ever way outta whack now...
Nevertheless! Hang onto your hats, ladies and gents—this baby's got at least ten chapters on her. And bear in mind, most of it's going to be introspective and freakin' weird.
For your guys' sake, though, I'm gonna mention that this is the least structured of all the chapters.