Walking With The Ghost
by aishuu
He was not a morning person. But that didn't coordinate to his being a night person, either; he viewed all times of day much the same way, because the nature of his Innocence ensured he had an unusual sleeping schedule. If he wasn't under attack it took him several minutes to get into gear. He hated that fuzzy-feeling in his head, as he tried to kick his mind into action.
He woke up on a Thursday morning, lying in that comfortable place between dream and self, his mind blank of identity or concern or anything except sensation. Slowly the ache of his abused body returned him to full awareness, as he assimilated his surroundings – and that nothing had managed to kill him in his sleep.
I'm Allen. Allen Walker.
It was a ritual for him, to repeat his name first thing in the morning. It was his sense of self, a gradual return to life as his thoughts began to realize what was happening.
Hurt. The Ark. Mana's music... Disjointed words attached themselves to concepts before flowing through his head like a muffled song. Allen Walker opened his eyes and stared up at the blank, white ceiling of his room at Headquarters. Taking a second to reassure himself that he was in one piece, he then twisted around to place his feet on the cold floor tiles.
He stretched slowly to limber his muscles, rolling his shoulders particularly to help the knotted flesh. He had been discharged from the hospital ward the day prior, and was already starting to feel antsy. He'd promised to take things easy for the next couple days, and he valued keeping his word. There were times when it was inevitable that a minor promise be broken, but he tried to avoid that whenever possible. The situation meant he wouldn't be able to do his usual morning exercises, which left him with a surplus of nervous energy, despite his injuries.
Allen felt his stomach growl, and made it a promise that he would eat as soon as he performed his daily ablutions. That was something he could definitely do.
He was relieved he'd been given a room with its own bathroom attached. Communal bathing was a personal nightmare for him, since all too often he ended up with naked men gawking at his arm. It was also a good way to help maintain his dignity, although he'd never admit that to anyone. Anyone who saw him stumble around, slightly off-balance from sleep would quickly lose confidence in his abilities.
Timcanpy fluttered around his head as he made his way to the bathroom, and he didn't even try to shoo the golem away. Tim should have returned to Cross, but for some reason it was still attached to Allen. He might have been annoyed if he hadn't been relieved for the company – he had spent far too much time in his life alone.
At least the golem wouldn't follow him into the shower.
He stripped off the long nightshirt he'd put on, the one he rarely wore but kept in Headquarters anyway. Being able to really dress for bed meant he was home, instead of in the field and liable to discover an Akuma lurking over him at two in the morning. Turning the shower to what many would consider an unreasonably high temperature, he stepped under the spray, tilting his face toward the warmth.
It was the last ingredient needed to wake him up all the way. Rubbing his hands over his skin, he was relieved that most of the bruises had faded. He pooled a small amount of shampoo in his palm, staring at the blue mess idly before working it into his scalp. His hair was fine, like an old man's, but not thin. Some days he thought about the comfortable brown shade it should have been, had things not become so complicated.
He daydreamed, sometimes, of what would have happened if Mana hadn't died. Eventually he would have had to leave, because his Innocence would demand no other path by that of the Exorcist. But if it hadn't...
Well, Allen likely would have been either dead or rapidly getting rich. Allen knew he was a natural conman, and while he liked to think he was good to make it, it wasn't an easy life. Almost all "great" conman ended up hanging. And if he had died, he wondered if there would have been anyone who would have missed him so much that they'd make a deal with the Millennium Earl.
Most likely not. Allen wasn't the type of person others missed. He was transitory, not forming those close attachments that ended in inevitable heartbreak. While many people were fond of him, their lives would continue without him in them.
He stepped out of the shower to dry off, picking up one of the fluffy white towels that the service workers stocked. While in Headquarters, Exorcists were treated like royalty, with all of their needs taken care of. It was a shoddy trade, since the mortality rate for the profession was so high.
Allen wrapped the towel around his body, the long mass covering him from chest to knee. Picking up a comb, he started to arrange his hair. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror before he had a chance to avert his eyes. Ever since Mana had died, he couldn't stand looking at himself and did his best to avoid it. His hair and the scar on his face were visible signs of his sins.
Three minutes later he was dressed in his usual suit, complete with necktie and gloves. It was still early in the day, and he wasn't scheduled to work. The higher-ups were tied up in battles over what to do with the Ark, now that they had it, and Allen hoped to spend the next couple of days laying low. Most of his friends were in the infirmary, so there was little for him to do. Normally he'd like to check on them, but the prior week of enforced togetherness had been more than enough time for bonding. What they needed at the moment was a rest from each other.
He made his way down to the cafeteria, Timcanpy perched comfortably on his head. As he stepped lightly down the stairs, he bid the Black Order staff cheerful, upbeat greetings. He wanted to pretend that things were as they should be, that the Ark wasn't hanging over them like the Sword of Damocles, that he was just an ordinary Exorcist eager to do his job. Not that there was such a thing as an ordinary Exorcist, but it was a nice thought.
Most of the science staff and a few Finders returned his hellos in a friendly fashion, but there were many who remained silent as Allen Walker passed. If he heard the whispers that followed in his wake, he offered no sign.
Jerry cooed at him as he entered. "You're growing into such a fine, strong boy!" the chef said, waving his spatula happily before turning to the business. Usually he kept several dishes in various states of preparation, waiting for a hungry Order member to arrive. If Allen believed in true love, he would have been head-over-heels for Jerry. No one could cook like him, or almost as importantly, as much as him.
Allen balanced four trays as he sought a seat. He wasn't dumb enough to miss the way some of the Finders were readjusting themselves to take up more room. It was a very unsubtle sign that his company wasn't wanted. Allen wasn't entirely without allies, because a hand raised and beckoned him to join.
Lavi had been let out of the hospital sooner than Allen, although his hammer holster was conspicuously empty. After exchanging pleasantries, Allen dove right into his meal. Some people might have thought he was being rude intentionally, but his Innocence required massive caloric intakes to sustain. Lavi was good company in this case, because Lavi liked having a captive audience. And the audience liked him as well, most having ignored Allen's presence instead of fleeing from it.
Memory was an unreliable thing, which was why Lavi was so impressive. Lavi's life was ruled by the need to record everything he saw, committing it to the hidden history of the Bookmen. Allen knew it was an impossible task, but that didn't mean it was not worth trying to do.
Lavi was telling some impossible-to-believe story about an exorcism he performed before Allen joined the order. Allen liked to listen to Lavi talk, because the (slightly older) youth was an amusing conversationalist. After the Ark, a part of Allen wondered how much of Lavi's personality was real, but Allen was the kind of person who took everyone at face value. Being able to see the Akuma meant that he didn't need to look below the surface; for him, evil was clearly visible whenever his eye clicked into focus.
The future Bookman was a demonstrative person, unable to keep from miming his actions as he narrated his story. He waved his fork to emphasize exactly how many Akuma he'd single-handedly taken on to save the life of the princess of Luxembourg, almost hitting Allen upside the head.
"Sorry, Allen," he said.
"No problem," Allen answered. With the exception of Kanda, he had lots of patience with his fellow Exorcists. Allen leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He'd already finished with his meal, and was now waiting for his friend. Lavi had gathered a bit of attention with his grandiose tale, and Allen wasn't going to be rude enough to drag him away from his admirers. Times like this, when there weren't any immediate threats and they could relax, were far too few.
"What is an Akuma, anyway?" a relatively new Finder to the Order asked, interrupting Lavi.
Lavi didn't get angry, although he tilted his head. "Didn't you go through the whole introductory course?"
The man blushed. "Of course I did. But I mean, do we know how they're made?"
"The Earl of the Millennium preys upon those who have experienced loss. He causes them to call back the soul of the person they're grieving for, and the soul is imprisoned in a metal skeleton," Lavi answered. It was the textbook description given to all newcomers in the Black Order. "Then the damned soul kills the one who summoned it and wears their skin."
"I know – but I was wondering..." The man was barely older than Allen, likely of age with Lavi. "Is it possible to stop the process? You know, save the person who did the summoning, but still have an Akuma?"
The conversation was getting very uncomfortable for Allen. It was no secret that he had turned his foster father into an Akuma. He felt Lavi look at him briefly, but averted his own eyes to keep from being drawn in – or worse, listen to Lavi try to cover for him.
"That's never happened," Lavi replied, and Allen was relieved he hadn't hesitated in answering the newcomer. "If the soul is freed before it commits murder, the process is incomplete. To make a true Akuma, there must be two deaths."
Two deaths. Allen had never considered that. Mana had come back, but Allen had only been cursed, not killed. Of course, the Akuma that Mana had become had been different than all of the others. Mana had not killed him immediately, which Allen still didn't understand. He knew Mana had loved him, but most of those who were called back had loved the ones they had taken over. There had to have been something special about him and Mana, and he doubted his Innocence was the only thing that made their case so unique.
"I wonder why that is?" the man asked.
"Because the Earl wants people to suffer," Allen replied. "There's nothing like knowing you helped cause someone else's misery to make things worse."
Lavi was wise enough to abandon his meal and drag Allen away before the conversation could go any farther.
The conversation left him in a melancholy mood, with Allen lost in memories of Mana. His former master was always a sensitive subject for him, especially after discovering he could pilot the Ark using music written in a nonsense script that only they had known.
They stopped by the infirmary, although both had already had more than enough of the place, to check on Crowley. The vampiric Exorcist was still asleep, drained from his fight on the Ark. The doctors were promising he'd awaken soon, and Allen hoped they were right. Crowley was one of his friends, and it hurt to see him so wounded.
It was Lenalee, though, that he'd been most worried about. She'd been rendered helpless after her battle with the Level Three, and surely that had worn on her psyche. Watching her struggle to take a couple of steps hurt him, since she had once been able to thoughtlessly dance on air with the use of her Innocence. He'd been told Hevlaska had taken all of the shattered Innocence back, which must have been crippling.
She was sleeping when he arrived, and he didn't have the heart to wake her. Lenalee hadn't healed as well as he, which made Allen feel somewhat guilty. Lavi had stayed for several minutes, but after checking to make sure nothing had changed, he left to go discuss something or other with Bookman. Privately, Allen thought it was more due to Lavi's loathing for the infirmary than talking about something important. Allen was a master of recognizing an excuse when he saw one. Cross was his master, after all.
As he watched Lenalee's chest rise and fall rhythmically with her sleeping breath, he was surprised by the stillness of the ward. Crowley, Miranda and Lenalee were the only ones left; everyone else had been discharged. The matron, a stern woman who ruled the ward with an iron fist, had gone into her office, leaving Allen alone.
It was these quiet times he dreaded. He hated being alone, although he was a loner by nature. That conflict was one of the defining characteristics of his personality. That, his endless – and sometimes worrisome – compassion, and his slight stature formed the cornerstones of his personality.
He had hoped that someday he would actually grow tall enough to be taken as a man, rather than a child. He was still small for his age, of a height that made many people automatically take him for granted. Sometimes he felt as though he should be taller, finding himself awkward temporarily as he maneuvered his too-slight frame. He should be able to look Cross in the eye, and actually look down on Kanda Yuu.
Mana had been a tall man, Allen remembered, although his childish memories weren't able to judge just what his height had been. For a tiny eleven-year-old, everyone looked taller.
There were times when he tried to remember Mana's face, but he inevitably failed. He could remember how he had been, an ordinary boy with a warped, monstrous arm, but he could not remember how his father had looked. He wondered if trauma or something had caused him to repress the memories.
But today was not a day to linger in such foul spirits. His friends had survived the Noah, and there was still work to be done. His body itched from healing, but his very soul itched to get back out in the world and lay the Akuma to rest. For every day he spent here, that meant another day of suffering for the victims of the Earl's cruelest creation. The Earl might beguile those in grief into committing unforgivable crimes, but no one deserved to have their soul tortured so.
Unless that someone was Allen Walker, who should have known better than to listen to strangers. In all his life, there had only been Mana to trust, and he had repaid his former mentor in the cruelest way possible: he had been unable to let the man go.
As he watched Lenalee sleep, he knew that forming bonds with the other Exorcists was foolish. He wanted them to be his friends and family, but love brought close associations, and that could only lead him into more temptation if something should befall them. He wanted to believe he had learned his lessons, but a part of his soul would always doubt.
And he feared what a person like Lenalee, who needed others so fiercely, would do when he died.
And he would likely die before her, even though his Innocence was more powerful than hers. Because of that Innocence, most likely. He knew that his years would be fewer than most people were able to claim.
Cross had told him the cost of having such a powerful parasitic weapon. While the power was great, it was also dual-edged. Innocence was powered by a user's life force, and those that had Innocence within their bodies didn't have any kind of circuit breaker to prevent a dangerous loss of power. A user didn't have the option to set aside their weapon when the weapon was a part of them.
That was part of what had happened to Soman Dark. Maybe if the man had been able to set aside his Innocence every now and then, he wouldn't have Fallen.
But that was nothing he wanted to dwell on for today. The Order had secured the Ark, and things were going to get better, not worse.
Wishing he dared to offer some sign of affection for Lenalee – since people could feel the care of others watching over them as they slept and healer – he instead offered a silent prayer to a God he wasn't sure he could believe in. There was nothing else he could do here, except hope.
And in the end, hope was the greatest weapon of all.
He stood on the roof of the Black Order, staring up at where the Ark hovered above his head. The scientists, under Reever's lead, had been trying to decipher exactly what the Ark was, and how it worked. Allen knew, somehow, that they would never master the technology, because it was far beyond mere human understanding. Its architect, the Earl of the Millennium, had spent many lifetimes constructing such an exquisite piece of work.
Allen Walker had never been the brightest fish in the sea, but he also was ruled by good instincts, and an intrinsic understanding of the world around him. When he looked up at the Ark, he understood. The Ark existed in all dimensions, and in none. In the back of his head he heard the sound of a childish voice humming a haunting, elusive melody, one which could command the power to shift locations in the blink of an eye.
The sunlight refracted off the bottom of the Ark, and Allen had to squint to keep an eye on it. He was familiar with the traditional story of Noah's Ark. He remembered reading Genesis on finding out what his arm implied, wanting to know what the battle was all about.
Mana had taught him his letters, but reading the Bible was a challenge since he'd never before encountered so many large words. He actually didn't like reading the Holy Book, finding it tedious and staid, but he felt it was an important to know what he was getting into.
His unconventional upbringing had ensured he had never had a good grasp on Christian theory. His experience as an exorcist had pushed him further down the road of agnosticism, since he could find flaws within the Bible where things didn't correlate with truths he had witnessed. Allen had little use for the concept of faith.
After studying the Ark for half an hour, he became to feel a bit drowsy, still not entire recovered from his injuries. Glancing around, he found a nice patch of sunlight that was perfect for napping. Settling himself down – and wishing he'd brought his jacket along so he could have a pillow – he shut his eyes and sought sleep.
The frequency of Allen's dreams had an inverse relationship to the amount of food he ate. If he went to bed with a full stomach, he didn't dream – or at least couldn't remember any dreams he might have had. It was only when hungry that he would wake in the middle of the night, his clothes clinging to his skin and the sour smell of his own sweat filling his nostrils. He didn't remember any detail from those dreams, but he had a suspicion it was really his memories that plagued him. Considering the nature of his life, he did his best to fill up with multiple bedtime snacks before retiring for the night.
The hardest thing, for Allen, about the trip to find his master (that son-of-a-bitch-lazy-corrupt-womanizing-d
eadbeat) was the lack of adequate provisioning. There was no way he could possibly carry all the food he desired, and there was only so much he could purchase at the inns they stopped at along the way.
Allen didn't believe in nightmares, because he could rarely remember having good dreams. He dreamed of fighting and of loss, of dying and of those he had failed. Perhaps he should have eaten more before taking a nap, because he was once again haunted by the moment that had set the course of his life.
He was back in the graveyard, looking at the being that housed Mana's soul.
"Allen…? How dare you… turn me into an Akuma…?" The voice sounded peculiar, like it was coming from another room, echoing awkwardly.
"Mana… you came back. I missed you."
And here was where his memory failed. He remembered little of the attack, or of awakening his own Innocence. All he remembered was Cross arriving to claim him as an eventual member of the Black Order.
He awoke suddenly, feeling someone's hand on his left shoulder, shaking him rather violently to get his attention. Open his eyes, he saw Lavi's face leaning over him.
"You awake, Allen?" Lavi asked. It was a sign of concern that Lavi used his real name. "Should we get you down to the infirmary?"
He took a breath to steady himself, latching onto his name as a beacon. I'm Allen. Allen Walker, he thought. And there's no way I'm going back to the infirmary.
"I'm fine," he said abruptly, as he realized he'd been silent for too long. He was still trying to gather his senses, and remember where he was.
"Are you sure? I was worried you might have a concussion or something. Since..."
Allen knew Lavi still felt guilty about their fight aboard the Ark. But he was also wise enough not to bring that issue to the forefront, because it could potentially destroy all they were. "I'm just being lazy, and the sun was so nice..."
Lavi laughed then, his visible eye crinkling with amusement. "You're lucky you didn't get sunburned, then. You're so fair."
That was a good point, but not a neutral one. Since he had been cursed, his hair, eyes and skin had been bleached, making him look nearly albino. But he was still resilient to the sun's energy, which was a minor blessing since he spent so much time traveling. It wasn't anything he liked to talk about, though.
"What did you want, Lavi?"
"I was hoping you might want to go to lunch?" Lavi pointed up at the sun, which was at enough of an angle so the Ark didn't block it from sight. "It's afternoon."
Allen chuckled. "I guess I could find room to eat something," he said. Lavi held a hand out to help him to his feet, and Allen took it, only hesitating for an instant.
But it was an instant Lavi, with his perception, couldn't miss. Allen wondered if that knowledge hurt his friend's feelings, or if Lavi didn't care. He wasn't going to ask.
They went back to the cafeteria, finding that Jerry had been expecting them – and Allen's ceaseless appetite. Allen ignored the cautious looks he was being shot in favor of stacking four trays as high as they would go.
Lavi led the way to the nearest table, which was already occupied same Finder who had been so curious during breakfast. Allen wasn't sure he wanted to sit too close to the man, but Lavi had recognized a kindred spirit, the kind of person who wanted knowledge for knowledge's sake. Allen thought the man would eventually end up in the research division, since he was so very curious about the Akuma, and had good, outside-the-box questions about them. He wondered if he should mention the Finder to Komui to speed up the process.
After he and Lavi settled themselves into their seats, Allen picked up a spoon and started in on his soup, wondering if he could just hide behind the pretense of eating. But it would be rude to eat without sharing conversation. "What's your name?" Allen asked the Finder, deciding that using his manners would be the best thing to do. And maybe provide a less discomforting topic of conversation.
"I'm Hector Dorcas," the man replied, "originally from Greece."
"It's a pretty country," Allen replied. He knew better than to ask any information on how Hector ended up in the Order. The back stories of the majority of members weren't pleasant, since most had a direct experience with Akuma before being drafted. But the ones who made it in were the best, since they had already survived a brush with hell.
A Finder was carefully tested for mental stability before being allowed to join the Order. Unlike Exorcists, they had chosen their path; Allen thought they were more respectable for it. He wondered if he would have been as brave, if he hadn't been one of those chosen by the Innocence. He liked to think he would have saved the Akuma no matter what, but he would never know for a fact.
"I think beauty's in how you choose to look at things," Hector replied. He poked at a bit of potato salad. "Look, if I offended you this morning..."
"You didn't," Allen said, ignoring Lavi's raised eyebrow. "It's better to ask questions than to remain ignorant of what the Earl does."
Lavi smiled, nodded, and spoke with his mouth full. "There's no excuse for a question left unasked." And then he suffered a coughing fit, which Allen tried to help by forcing a glass of water on him. It took over a minute to settle Lavi back down, but the whole incident served to make Allen relax.
Which was probably a mistake, because he felt broadsided when Hector picked up the conversation again.
"I was thinking about our conversation this morning, and I was wondering if it was possible to save the Akuma's soul, instead of just destroying them," said Hector. "Isn't General Cross able to reprogram them?"
Lavi shuddered, his sole visible eye going flat. "Somewhat."
Allen knew there was a story there. He could also tell that asking Lavi would only hurt his friend. "Not entirely," Allen said. "An Akuma must be true to its own nature; no matter the restrictions my master puts on them, eventually the base programming breaks free."
"It's a game of Russian roulette," Lavi added softly. "There's no telling when the Akuma will default back to its intrinsic nature, only that it will happen eventually."
Definitely a story there. Maybe someday, after he and Lavi were able to repair or replace the battered ties of their friendship, he would ask.
Hector, though, didn't seem to catch the undercurrents in the conversation. "Then maybe General Cross or the Black Order scientists need to do some more research? Technology can be good or bad, depending on how it is used. Imagine if we were able to master the technology, and make it so Akuma could be peaceful! They wouldn't have to be destroyed, then!"
Such talk was verging on heresy. And while Allen would often think heretical thoughts, the Black Order was far too intertwined with the Catholic religion for him to say them. Hector was too new to the order to understand.
Allen knew that his own cursed vision allowed him to see the horrors that were wrecked upon the soul that powered the Akuma. For Allen, the worst thing about the whole Akuma-creation process was the destruction of the one who called the soul back. Lavi, who had once seen what Allen did, would understand... but people like Hector, there would be no true understanding of the horror of the Akuma.
"If you joined the Black Order hoping to save someone, you need to forget about it." Allen hardly recognized his own voice, so sharp and cold. "The kindest thing that can be done for Akuma is to destroy them, because otherwise their soul will never be free. There is no way to save them, because they are abominations against God."
He pushed himself away from the table, having lost his appetite. At some point while he'd been speaking, the cafeteria had become quiet and he had turned into the center of attention. The heels of his shoes echoed as he made his way out of the cafeteria at a controlled pace, before he turned into the nearest men's room and threw up everything he'd eaten.
He leaned against the sink basin, tasting the bile in his throat. Ignorance was no excuse for committing a crime, but Hector's thoughts about taking over the Akuma made him angrier than he cared to admit. He'd never liked how his master tinkered with Akuma he managed to capture; he, unlike Cross, could see the soul writhing in agony.
But there was little he agreed with Cross on.
Minutes passed before the door opened, and Lavi walked in. "You all right?"
"I'm fine."
Lavi gave him a skeptical look. "I think they let you out of the infirmary too soon," he said, leaning forward to rest his hand against Allen's forehead. "You've got a bit of a fever."
"I'm always warm. Don't worry about it." Allen turned the tap on to rinse the sink clean.
"And you just threw up. C'mon, we'll get you back to the infirmary and have you-"
"I said I was fine," Allen replied sharply, pushing away from Lavi's hands. The last place he wanted to head was back to the sick ward, because the nurse would sequester him for a couple more days if she got her hands on him.
"How about we compromise? I won't tattle, if you go and lie down in your room for the rest of the afternoon."
The suggestion had merit. Despite his recent nap, Allen was running on the dregs of his energy. The idea of returning to bed, though, wasn't appealing. "But-"
"I'll even bring you up some snacks – find a book, sit back and relax. I know you want to get back out in the field, but you won't help anyone if you're not at your best."
Allen looked up into Lavi's face, once again thinking this would be easier if he was taller. "I'm really sick of lying in bed all the time."
"Preventative medicine, Allen. If you rest now, you're not going to have a relapse. So whaddya say? Do I tuck you in, or do I go tattling to Matron?"
Put that way, there was no choice. "You're not singing me any lullabies, Lavi," he warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it. The way I sing, it'd keep you up for weeks."
Fifteen minutes later, Allen had shed everything except for his shirt and slacks, including the glove he usually wore to disguise his misshapen hand. Timcanpy, ever faithful, rested by him on the pillow.
Lavi, true to his word, had managed to retrieve a respectable platter full of food for Allen, setting it on a bed table. "Want me to adjust the blankets, Allen?"
Allen looked up from his copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and scowled. "I thought you were joking about tucking me in," he said.
"I always keep my promises," Lavi replied, as he smoothed the blue quilt over Allen's knees. "Just like you."
And that was why Allen so rarely gave his word to others. He valued his promises so highly that they were serious and grave things. "Thank you," he said. "I'll be fine."
Lavi opened his mouth, then shut it before he said anything. With a nod, he left the room, closing the door behind him. Allen sighed, and then went about trying to eat lunch for the second time. The food was tasty, and helped settle his stomach.
Of course, he ate far too much, and soon his head was nodding from fatigue. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, even to himself, he had probably left the infirmary too early. Shutting the book – having barely finished the first story in the collection – he shifted the tray off his bed and settled back to doze.
This time, he dreamed of the color red, watching the world move by through a twisted perception. He dreamt of red skies and red rage, and long red hair that fluttered like an ominous banner in the wind. Most of all he dreamed of blood and the different shades it took, and the copper-taste that lingered whenever he was too close to another tragedy.
He did not sleep peacefully, and he awoke to find the incarnation of his own worst fears staring down at him.
"Wake up, brat," a gruff, most unwelcome voice was urging him, and the feel of cool metal brushed his throat.
He had a moment of panic as he tried to remember who he was and where he was and who the hell was threatening him with a gun. Then the pieces slid into place, and he groaned as he opened his eyes. "Master?"
Cross Marian himself stood leaning over his bed, inspecting him in a way that was reminiscent of a cat eying a canary it wasn't sure how to digest. "Who else?" Without asking permission, he grabbed Allen's arm, pulled up his sleeve and inspected the red flesh underneath. "I wanted to see how you were reacting to the upgrade."
Timcanpy had fled to the far side of the room, likely trying to avoid getting involved in any confrontation. Allen scowled as his master jerked him forward, not caring that he was putting Allen through uncomfortable contortions."It's fine," he said.
"You would say that. Shut up," Cross said shortly. After another couple moments, he let Allen go. "Take off your shirt."
Allen knew better than to question, even though some people might think it was creepy to strip for Cross on command. He undid the buttons on his white linen shirt, shrugging it of it.
Cross didn't hesitate to start poking at his shoulder, where his pale skin met the warped red flesh of his arm. "How much does it hurt to synchronize with the Crown Clown?"
Allen shut his eyes, not wanting to think about that. "No more than I can bear," he said softly.
He could feel the calluses in Cross' hand as fingers traced over his elbow. "I think we need to do some adjustments," Cross said, rising to his feet.
Allen watched as his master went to the door and locked it. A bit of queasiness settled in his stomach, because if Cross didn't want to risk an audience, this was going to be exceptionally unpleasant.
Cross stepped back to him, grabbing his chin between strong fingers and making him unable to look away. All he could see was Cross' face, lacking any kind of expression at all. When Cross spoke next, his words echoed inexorably through his head.
"Recognize Master User Cross Marian. Override Akuma Mana Walker input, switch to dormant mode."
Unable to resist, the body of Allen Walker slumped forward on the bed, unconscious.
The teenager known as Allen Walker did not dream; he was incapable of true dreams. But what he did was remember... and most of those memories were horrible.
The Akuma wished it had eyelids so it could close them to what it had done. Even the ability to weep for his foster son would be welcome. But the Earl did not construct Akuma with the intention of letting them mourn, only feel hatred, so those avenues weren't available. A day later, Marion Cross was the one who found the Akuma, still sitting over the remains of the boy he had killed.
The Akuma didn't run, even though he could feel the pressure of powerful Innocence coming his way. The shred that resonated inside his son's bloating hand hummed so loudly that it was hurting the Akuma's head. Getting destroyed by an Exorcist was something he deserved.
Cross didn't unholster his gun, instead coming over to sit upon the gravestone that bore Mana's grave. "Stupid little brat," he muttered, pulling out a matchbook to light a cigar.
"He was my son," The Akuma replied. "I failed him."
"I think you both failed each other. You let him become too dependent on you, but even a child should know better than to make a pact with a devil. And so the tragedy continues, since you're going to have to wear his skin. You're an unusual one, Akuma – most of your kind are already so insane from blood lust that they don't take time to realize what they're doing." Cross took a deep drag on his cigar, before knocking the ash off onto the fresh grave dirt.
The Akuma wasn't about to confess why it was so unusual. It knew who Cross was, and piquing the man's curiosity would only lead to more trouble. "You're an Exorcist. Destroy me before I do that," the Akuma replied. "I'm not sure how long I will retain control over my mind."
He had the feeling that Cross wasn't the type of person who was easily surprised. "That would be playing into the Earl's hands, creating a perfect tragedy for his entertainment." He tossed the cigar over his shoulder, uncaring where it would fall. "And I hate it when that bastard gets his way. I can fix you," he promised the machine-that-had-once-been-man. "I will make it so you do not kill a human again, and will be able to avenge the death of your son."
"But you can't bring him back," the Akuma replied. It knew what it was, what treachery had gone into its own formation.
"Not unless you want his soul trapped in the same cage your own is, Akuma," the general replied.
He had been a man of the world, and knew nothing was for free. "What do you want in exchange?"
Cross' smile was not different from the smirk the Millennium Earl had worn. The general squatted down next to frame that was imprisoning the soul of the former Mana Walker. "Your son would have been an Exorcist. I think the only fair payment is for you to take his burden on yourself."
"I can't-"
"Yes, you can. Using your son's body, you'll be able to accommodate the Innocence. It'll hurt like hell whenever you use it, but you'll be able to get the job done."
"You want me to wear my son's skin." The idea made him sick; it would be the final betrayal of their bond.
"It's the only way it's going to work. Your choice, Akuma. Either I kill you and let you and your son be forgotten, or you become the Exorcist your son should have been." Cross pulled out a stopwatch, flicking it open to check. "You've got five minutes."
"I don't need them," the Akuma said. "I'll do it. I'll live for Allen."
As Cross laughed, he couldn't help wondering if he was dealing with a devil just as bad as the Earl, just with a different face.
It took three days for Cross to finish the work, some of his best ever. The incomplete Akuma was like nothing he had ever worked with before, leaving him more possibilities to stretch his skills to the utmost level. So he explored and manipulated with the frame, creating all kinds of commands the Akuma didn't want to know about.
It was exceedingly painful for the Akuma, whose bound soul screamed endlessly on the inside, although he maintained his outward composure. It was fighting every instinct he had, not to try to rip the general and his loathsome Innocence apart.
But for as much as Cross' tinkering hurt the Akuma, what hurt more was watching him modify the body of Allen Walker. The Akuma wasn't allowed to see most of what was being done to the shell, but knowing that the boy who had trusted him was dead was a pain that defied the concept of words. But it was a pain he welcomed, because there could be no penance great enough to repay the damage he had caused.
"In the shell, there is the shadow of memory that the body has lived, an echo of the soul. It's why Akuma are able to reintegrate themselves into society in their new lives. When you take on the shell, you will remember the strongest memories of this boy's life... and I'm designing it so you're able to believe you really are him. Tell yourself every day that you're Allen Walker," Cross said. "Tell yourself it often enough, you might even start to believe that."
He could not let his son die and be forgotten. The being that had once been Mana looked down at the skin of the child he had shattered, and turned his rage inwards. "I will live for him," the Akuma replied.
"You'll need to become a member of the Black Order, when the time is right, and if there are any doubts, any flaws, they will destroy you before you can do what you have to."
"And what do you believe I have to do?"
"You're going to be the one to stop the Earl," Cross replied. "You're going to make sure that this never happens again. It's the only way you can expunge your sin."
The Akuma knew the general was using him, and not telling him the entire truth. But he had secrets of his own in turn, and he would use the general's skills to fulfill his ultimate destiny. The Earl and he still had much left unfinished between them.
Sliding into the boy's skin was a sensation he was unable to describe. It was constricting and painful, but at least a relief because he could turn aside from all the horror he had caused. He took a deep breath for the first time since he had died, letting Allen's – his - lungs exhale the putrid air that had been frozen inside.
I'm Allen. Allen Walker...
If he repeated it often enough, maybe it would come true. Opening his eyes, he released his former identity to become a young, neglected child who had one of the harshest destinies possible.
General Cross Marian stood behind the young Allen Walker, his face shadowed in the pale moonlight. "Souls within an Akuma have no freedom. It is restrained for an eternity, becoming the Millennium Earl's toy. There is no way to save it, except destroying it. You're a human born with an anti-Akuma weapon – it's an unfortunate fate."
And that was the first of many lies that Cross Marian told his disciple.
The boy known as Allen Walker wakes every day, and stares up at the ceiling before he remembers who he is.Allen. Allen Walker. Gradually his awareness of self filters back, and he gets up to face the new day, walking forward without hesitation. Allen Walker was not a martyr; at least, he didn't consciously believe he was. But every day of his life he repented, for sins he didn't remember committing. But they were still his sins to bear, even if he committed them under a different name. Perhaps one day he will realize the one he has sinned against is himself. For while he can love Akuma and Humanity, he will never forgive himself enough to understand that he matters. He had destroyed his son, the one person in the world that loved him whole-heartedly, and there was no way adequate repentance could ever be paid. And that is a good thing, because an Akuma that is able to forgive will only destroy itself.