A/N: I've decided I need to post some of my backlog of unfinished stories, and this is one of them. This story won't be updated with any sort of regularity; instead of being on a schedule like my main stories, it will be updated whenever I feel like it. Basically, I'll update it based on how it's received. If you like it, please review it; I'm more likely to work on this story and update it if I feel like people want to read it.
This is one of the more unfinished of my unfinished stories. I know where I want it to go, but it may not actually get there, so the description is liable to change. For now, all you really need to know is that it follows the same rules as my other semi-AU stories: the last cannon events are Allen fleeing the Order and Kanda going after him. Specifically, this story starts approx. ten years after that, making Allen 25 and Kanda 28.
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The sky was grey and dark. Even though it was morning, it looked like the middle of the night. Rain was pouring down in buckets, drenching everything in sight. The wind howled and whipped around every corner, almost driving the rain sideways at times, and the occasional crack of thunder warned of approaching lightning. It was horrible weather that anyone with any semblance of sanity would stay out of. But I still walked down to the park, just like I had done every Friday for the last six months. And just like always, the bench down at the far end of the tree-lined walkway was my destination.
The Moyashi and I had picked the spot years ago. We had come through this tourist town on a mission and had determined that it would be the perfect hideout if we ever needed to run from the Order. With all of the tourists coming through, the town operated in English and had a high population of Asians compared to the rest of Europe; we wouldn't be noticed here. And that specific park bench, at ten o'clock on Friday morning, was our agreed upon meeting place for if we had to flee separately.
Rather unfortunately, that was the situation in which I currently found myself.
I'd been going to that bench every Friday like clockwork. It was just part of my routine now. After six months, I still held the hope that my Moyashi would show up one day, but it was getting harder to believe that I would see Allen again. After all, as far as I knew, he was still imprisoned somewhere by the Order - if he was even still alive.
But he was my whole world; I had to believe that he would come back to me. Which was why I continued to check our meeting spot long after I would have normally grown weary of the task.
It had been two and a half years since the night we'd been caught in bed together. Two and a half years since we'd been dragged half-naked through the halls of headquarters, the officers from Central creating a spectacle in front of all of our friends. Two and a half years since we'd been arrested for homosexuality and locked up.
Central had dragged our trial out for months. They kept us separated, only allowing us to see each other in the courtroom, and never allowing us to speak to one another. Not that we would have spoken if we'd been given the chance. Allen and I had long ago agreed that if we were ever caught, we would face the consequences with our heads held high and our mouths clamped shut. Neither one of us had said a single word since we'd been arrested. Personally, I just enjoyed the way my silence freaked everyone out, but I also knew that if I were to speak, my words would have only made the situation worse.
A few of our friends tried to testify on our behalf, but Lenalee's testimony had done just that: it made everything worse.
After dragging their feet for six months, the council finally decided on a sentence for us. They made a big show out of not telling us what it was, refusing to publicly announce our punishment because they wanted our friends to be helpless to fight against it: they couldn't help us if they didn't know where we were or what was happening to us.
But before we were taken away, I was dragged out to the center of the room and forced to kneel. And then, while a CROW held me down, they brought out a pair of scissors and, in front of everyone, cut off all of my hair. I imagine that it was supposed to be some form of humiliation, some higher up somewhere saw my long hair as a sign of rebellion and wanted to make a point, but if they were hoping to get a reaction from me, they were severely disappointed. Even if my hair had meant something to me, which it didn't, something as pointless as that wasn't going to get me to crack.
It did, however, make the Moyashi crack. He loved my hair, and being forced to watch it get chopped off was too much for him. His tears got stronger and his sobs got louder with every snip of the scissors. It was awful to hear, far more awful than the forced haircut was. I fought against my binds and managed to lock eyes with my Moyashi. I silently begged him to get ahold of himself, to be strong and not let this get to him.
That was the last time I saw Allen.
From there I was taken to the Asian Branch, where I was locked in a subterranean cell and chained to the wall. I was left alone in the damp and the dark and the cold with only a small, threadbare blanket for comfort. I was brought food on a semi-regular basis, though the meals were clearly designed to only provide a very minimal amount of nourishment, and I was never given the satisfaction of seeing who brought them. The only human interaction I got came once every few months, when someone from Central would come down to my cell and repeat the process of cutting off all of my hair. They apparently thought that keeping it short would keep me docile.
As far as punishments went, it was rather pathetic. Sure, I was on the edge of unhealthy, deprived of the food that kept my body strong, but I had quickly adjusted to the cold, and I really didn't mind being alone. The only company I missed was my Moyashi's.
The hardest part of all of it was that I knew the Moyashi was going through something that was a million times worse than simply being locked up and ignored. After the whole fiasco with the Second Exorcist Project (which was declared a total failure when I was discovered as homosexual), the higher ups were content to just leave me there in that cell and forget that I ever existed. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that they were only keeping me alive in order to manipulate Allen, because he was the one they were mad at; he was supposed to be their savior and instead he'd turned out to be the host of a Noah and a homosexual. I didn't know for sure what he was going through, but I'd been through enough to know that whatever it was would be inhumane and it would push him to the edge of insanity. I wanted to save him, but as long as I was stuck in that cell, I was helpless to do so.
But I was patient. All I had to do was bide my time and the opportunity to escape would present itself. If Central thought I was going to just sit there and waste away, they had another think coming. As the days passed, I found the week spots in the stones of my cell, and I worked my way out of the chains that kept me bound to the wall. I kept myself as fit as possible, readying myself for my eventual escape.
I knew better than to expect a rescue. I may have been at the Asian Branch, but even with as guilty as he felt over his family's involvement in my past, Bak knew better than to try to help me. The same went for Fou and everyone else under his command. The most I could hope for was that they would look the other way if they caught me escaping.
So when I woke up one night to find my cell door wide open, I was immediately on high alert. Though, technically, I didn't know what time of day it was; I only assumed that it was night because I had been sleeping. I slowly and carefully got to my feet, suspiciously eyeing the open door. It felt like a trap. It also felt like there was someone in my cell with me. Yet in what little light there was, I could see that the room was empty.
"Who's there?" The words were little more than a whisper, and they felt harsh on my throat. I had barely used my voice since I'd been sentenced, and that had been at least a year earlier.
The response I got came in the form of a muffled chuckle. I recognized that voice the second I heard it, but it only put me more on edge. The man it belonged to was dead; he'd been killed months before Allen and I got together. I briefly thought I was imagining the laughter, but then he spoke. "You're not as stupid as people say you are."
I growled at the insult, the action clearing my throat and helping me find my voice. "How are you here, Cross? Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
When I said his name, the redhead suddenly shifted into view, standing less than six inches in front of me. I wasn't really surprised that he was actually there; of everyone I knew, it was Cross who would have faked his own death. He scowled at me. "Is that any way to talk to the man who's here to free you from this hellhole?"
"Who said I wanted your help?" I was surprised at how quickly the sarcasm came back. Some part of my brain said that antagonizing this man wasn't a good idea, but I really couldn't help myself.
Cross just smirked at me, and when he spoke, he was definitely mocking me. "Oh, then I guess you don't want this either."
The long, thin object he held out was very familiar to me. I may not have seen it in well over a year, since the day it was forcibly taken from me, but I still felt its pull. Mugen.
I reached out for my sword, but I stopped myself from actually grabbing it. Turning my gaze to Cross, I could only stare blankly at him. "How did you get this? Wasn't it destroyed after-?"
He cut me off with a derisive snort and thrust Mugen into my open hand. "Just take it. You can ask your questions once we're out of this place."
The time to banter with Cross was done, so I kept my mouth shut and did what he wanted; he was there to break me out, and even though his possible motives confused me, I knew better than to throw that opportunity away. As my hand closed around Mugen's sheath, I felt more whole than I had in a long time. Allen was still missing, but with Mugen by my side, he wouldn't stay that way for long.
Twenty minutes later, Cross and I were in the forest outside. We'd hit a few minor bumps on our way out, but we had made it without being caught. It had taken an uncomfortably long time for my eyes to adjust to well-lit corridors after being kept in the dark for so long, and Cross had even had to carry me at one point, something that was incredibly uncomfortable for both of us, but we made it.
The night air felt wonderful. It was warm, and the breeze was gentle and refreshing. Even the ground, with its sharp sticks and pointy rocks, felt good on my bare feet. I was free.
Cross laughed at my out of character reaction, but unexpectedly, he didn't tease me. When I questioned it, he explained that I'd been in that cold, dark cell for eighteen months, and there was nothing to tease me over; my reaction was perfectly natural after being in captivity.
The redhead led the way through the forest to an abandoned shack. I wondered how he knew it was there, but I got that answer as soon as we were inside. The outside may have looked old and abandoned, almost blending in with the forest, but the inside was kept up. The furniture was nice and clean, there was a fire going in the fireplace, and a pot of something that smelled like food was bubbling over it.
Before I could get angry at Cross, he laughed and pushed me into a chair by the kitchen table. He walked over to the fire and began stirring the pot, explaining as he did so. "This place has been here for decades. Bak and Fou fixed it up back when Allen was discovered as the Fourteenth; it was meant to be a safe place for him to hide if he needed to run away. We'll be safe here for a few days while you recover some strength, those two will make sure of that, and once the chaos of your escape fades, we can move on."
It was nice to hear that Bak and Fou had aided in my escape, they were undoubtedly how Cross got his hands on Mugen, but his words reminded me of something else, something far more important. "Where is Allen?"
Cross visibly faltered, the fact that he failed to mask his emotions telling me that the answer wasn't good. "The North American Branch. Though they'll probably move him after this."
The words almost made me cry. I had hoped that Cross' rescue had been orchestrated by the Moyashi, but that apparently wasn't the case. "So he's still locked up."
The redhead nodded solemnly as he set a bowl of stew in front of me. "I couldn't get to him. I tried, but those bastards have him locked up too tight. The only way I could help him was to help you. Because this is what he would want. He'd want me to help you first."
I snorted. Unfortunately Cross' explanation made perfect sense; this truly was what Allen would want. "That's because he's an idiot with a martyr complex."
Cross laughed but it was forced. It wasn't surprising at all that his next words were to change the subject. "Eat. There's more if you want, but don't make yourself sick. Your stomach might not be able to handle much real food after that swill they've been feeding you. When you're done, the shower's in the back, and there are clean clothes for you to put on when you've finished."
That was six months ago. We stayed in the shack for a week, and then we made our way to this town. Cross found a rich woman to live off of, and I got a job hauling boxes in the marketplace. Whenever I had a few days off, I'd blow off steam by traveling to one of the nearby towns and killing off any akuma I encountered. Our plan was to wait here until we got word of where Central moved Allen to, and then we'd figure out how to rescue him. In the meantime, I checked our bench every single Friday on the off chance that the Moyashi had managed to escape without us hearing about it.
Logically, I knew there was little chance of seeing him there, but the ritual made me feel close to him, so I kept it up.
Even in the pouring rain.
Spying a figure on our bench, I halted my walk. Whoever the stranger was, they were wearing a long, dark coat with the hood up, blocking their face and concealing their body structure. It was really strange that they were there. No one was there when the weather was good, so why was someone out in this god-awful storm?
When the gravel crunched under my boots, the hooded figure looked up. I still couldn't see their face, but the strand of snow white hair that had come loose told me everything I needed to know. "Moyashi?"
He cocked his head to the side and his hood fell off, revealing the red scar on his face and allowing the rest of that white hair that I had missed so much to become soaked by the rain. His skin was paler and his hair was longer, reaching well past his shoulders, but aside from looking a little older, he really didn't look much different from how I remembered him. He blinked his beautiful silver eyes a few times before he found his voice. "Yuu? What did you do to your hair?"
I laughed awkwardly as I ran my hand through the short, rain-drenched strands that were plastered to my head. My hair had evened out since the last time Central had forcibly cut it, but I was still wearing it short. "It was pointed out to me that my appearance is less conspicuous with it cut like this, so I've been keeping it short. But I'll gladly grow it out again if that's what you want."
Allen's laughter immediately turned to sobs. He was in my arms in a heartbeat, holding me in a death grip as he continued to cry. I felt a few stray tears run down my cheeks as well. It had been two and a half years since I'd last held my Moyashi, two since I'd seen him at all, and now he was here, in my arms, and he was going to stay that way.