Just a few words about this fanfic, it's set during the Georgian era, King George II is on the throne, but the currency the characters use is not that from the era - mostly because I can't work out how much things would be worth then so I stuck with simple currency of bronze, silver, and gold coins.

I also didn't give Allen his cursed arm because it wouldn't belong in the story and Allen's scar has changed, it's no longer a pentacle just an ordinary scar, I guess. If that bothers anyone, I apologise.

Thank you to dendodge for betaing.

Disclaimer: I do not own D Gray-Man, it belongs to Katsura Hoshino.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

York was busier than Allen would've liked as his horse, Timcanpy, trotted slowly into the town. The women who hung around outside the wooden houses eyed him suspiciously and men tipped their hats to him as he walked through the streets. Allen would have been worried about being recognised as the criminal he was but thankfully, with a makeshift eye patch covering the odd-looking scar he received from a stray bullet in a pistol fight with The Gregories down in Essex, he was barely noticeable. Another distinguishing feature was his pure white hair—it had gone white after his father had died in a tragic accident with a horse and carriage—but he kept that hidden with a dark wig.

Although the disguise didn't make him appear as though he was Allen Walker, the most notorious highwayman and well-known villain to grace the rural roads of Georgian England since Dick Turpin, it still made him look suspicious. Well, it made sense; how many people did you see going around with an eye-patch? He pulled Timcanpy up to the local stable, which was attached to a busy inn. He paid the stable hand his staying fee and watched as the young boy took his horse and tied him up carefully to the post.

He made his way inside the inn, pushing the door forward as he stepped inside, his knee-high leather boots stomping against the wooden floor. He removed his tri-corner hat in polite fashion and strolled over to where a lady was sat. She appeared to be rich, dressed in a fine dress, donning a wig that may have been laughed at in London due to its small size, but was still large enough to be recognisable as a rich woman's.

She sat up and eyed Allen shiftily as he approached. Allen was used to it; he wasn't of average height, and looked like a small child despite being 17 years old.

"Good day, madam," Allen greeted, offering the lady a fair smile. Her expression of question never changed.

"How may I help you, sir?" she asked, placing her hands on the wooden desk carefully.

"I'd like to secure a room for the time being." Allen realised how ambiguous the statement was, but he hoped, as he placed on the table a small leather bag containing several golden coins, that she wouldn't ask questions and would just take the money and allow him to stay.

However, she eyed the bag warily. She'd seen all sorts come through this town; she'd even housed that villain Dick Turpin for a short time, refusing to ask questions because he appeared so gentlemanly. "And how long is 'the time being'?" she asked, taking the bag and untying it clumsily. She grabbed a coin and lifted it up into the air before taking a bite out of it to confirm that it was real.

"A week, maybe two. Just until I receive a message from a friend of mine up in Ripon."

The woman took the gold coins and handed Allen a key. "Alright, two weeks only. After that, you're out of here."

Allen smirked and took the key with gratitude, he turned and made his way up the elegant stairs before turning back around and replying, "Two weeks is all I'll need, fair lady."

York was a pretty town. The shops were bustling with locals enjoying the casual conversation amongst butchers, blacksmiths, bakers, the lot. It was certainly a colourful cast of characters, Allen mused as he continued to stroll along the streets of York. He turned the corner and was met with a half-empty road and the smell of freshly-baked bread wafting through the thick air.

Allen was reminded that he hadn't eaten in days as his stomach growled in response to the delicious scent. He followed his stomach and wound up in front of a small bakery. Without a second thought, he dived in, clutching onto several leather bags tied to his belt, each one containing coins he'd stolen from wealthy people on his raids as a highwayman. From some of them, he would take jewels but leave them with money, while from others he would take the whole lot; it depended on how Allen was feeling that day.

He hadn't always wanted to be a highwayman; in fact, when he was younger, he was appalled by the idea of robbing innocent people in dark woody roads. But when he was 13, he was taught to pickpocket by his guardian, a close friend of his late father's called Cross Marian. He used his height and innocent appearance to his advantage by nicking valuables out of men's pockets and giving them to his master, who in turn would pawn them off for money that he used on whores and alcohol.

As he grew older, he excelled at pickpocketing, and at the age of 15 he was approached by a gang that he was well aware of. He was aware that they were the Essex gang; he knew of them because of the famous highwayman associated with them. They'd asked him to join their gang, claiming that they needed his skills. He had accepted at first, not wanting trouble, but when a robbery went too far and led to the death of an old man in the town, the Gregories blamed Allen and drew their Flintlock pistols in order to execute the young boy.

Fortunately for Allen, one of the things the Gregories had taught him was how to use a pistol. He drew his own and shot the tree behind the leader. In shock, the leader fired his own gun, the bullet slicing across Allen's cheek, leaving a noticeable scar when it had healed over months later. It was after this that he ran off with Cross's horse, Timcanpy, and began his life as a villain of the highway.

The baker behind the wooden counter was a young man. His red hair stuck out underneath the cap he was wearing. As he turned to face Allen, Allen could see that he too was wearing an eye-patch—surely for a different reason from the white haired boy, but it was there none the less. The eye that wasn't covered was a dazzling emerald green, and it drew Allen in without him being aware.

"Hello!" The baker greeted, wiping his floured hands down on his dirty apron.

"Hi," Allen replied, not moving from the spot he seemed to be stuck in. "I'd like a loaf of bread please."

The baker nodded with understanding as he disappeared behind a door and returned with a small loaf. "Sorry, it's all we have; we're not very rich so we can only do with what we've got. You're our first customer in weeks!"

Allen felt awful for the man as he pulled out another small bag of coins. He handed the whole lot to the redhead and gave him a smile. "Take everything; I'm not in any need of it."

The boy gazed at the small leather pouch. He pulled on the string tied around the bag and emptied out the contents. A hundred gold coins clinked together as they hit the surface. The boy's one green eye widened in surprise. "Gosh! You're not as suspicious as people say you are!"

Allen stopped. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, when you came into town, everyone assumed you were bad news, what with the eye patch, the hat, the black clothing. We all thought you were going end up like that other fellow about ten years ago… David something…"

"Dick Turpin," Allen corrected.

"Yeah! Him! Turns out, you're a lot kinder. Thank you so much. What's your name?" the boy asked as he scraped the money off the counter and put it back into the bag.

Allen thought it unwise to give the stranger his full name, since it was probably known throughout the country. "Samuel Jones," he responded, gripping the bread tightly.

"Nice to meet you, Sam, I'm Lavi Bookman, but everyone calls me Junior."

"Why's that?"

"Well because I'm taking after my grandfather's footsteps into becoming a baker, I guess." Lavi shrugged his shoulders and turned back to kneading bread dough. "Thanks for the money, Sam, I really appreciate it."

"Thank you for the bread, Lavi," Allen responded, leaving the shop feeling lighter than when he had entered. Lavi seemed like a nice guy. His grin was certainly charming, Allen thought, nibbling on the bread as he made his way around the town. He took in the sights: the rolling hills, the wooded areas, and the bright blue skies. He found himself on a bridge, looking over a river; he followed the trail with his uncovered eye and found that the river led out to an open wooded area; and it was there, on the stone bridge of York, that Allen Walker planned his escape towards Ripon if things got out of hand.

Thanks for reading!