Hello! Thank you all so much for checking out my story! It really means a lot! :) I just recently got into -Man, and when I was reading through the books I always loved thinking about Mana and Allen's relationship. I just found it so touching and endearing! So I wanted to make a fic centered on their days as entertainers and even before that! Well, enough of my long ramblings, happy reading!

EDIT 5-18-18: Chapter has been revised, things have been added and taken out to better help with the flow of the story, and grammatical and spelling errors were caught and fixed :)

Act 1: To Be Treated

Evening was beginning to settle softly in Britain on Christmas day in the year of 1889. The clouds in the sky were thick and gray as they covered the entirety of the vast atmosphere, yet they were overcast with the brilliant colors of the setting sun from behind. The thickest and highest clouds in the sky were painted in a soft yellow color with creamy orange underbellies.

The thinner clouds containing buckets of frothy snow were blazed a fiery red with light lilac tinting near the bottom edges. It was a marvelous sight that would be over much too soon. Dusk would settle fast upon the world like the snow fixing to start.

A lavish man watched the beautifully dim sunset from inside a small cafe, sitting tall in a booth close to a window. He was sipping quietly on a creamy French vanilla blend of coffee, a small stream of steam rising lazily out of the cup and whirling slowly in the air.

Two partially-dissolved lumps of sugar silently floated in the near obsidian liquid. The man pulled his eyes away from the window long enough to steal a sip of his beverage, the brown droplets trickling off his thin mustache. His deep almond brown eyes stared at his reflection slowly swirling in the tea-shaped coffee cup.

His thick, short black hair was tucked into a silk black top hat. His facial features were rather sharp: a well-defined jawline, somewhat fuller cheekbones and sharp eyes. Yet the way he held his expressions was in a kind manner; a constant smile seemed to be etched into the corners of his bow-shaped lips. Even though his eyes seemed sharp, there was a gentle softness to them –perhaps it was the way the light shined off the soft brown.

Even though he looked refined and quite dignified, when he was not dressed up and out on the town he was further from the rich man part. He was actually a traveling entertainer whose hometown was here in Britain. Mana Walker: a twenty-eight year old traveling clown with an endless supply of laughter and smiles tucked beneath the surface.

He took another slow sip of coffee, having to tilt the cup back just a little bit farther now. He picked up a napkin sitting to his left and dabbed it at his mouth once. A young waitress passed by, golden blonde pigtails bouncing as she walked down the aisle with a small tray in her right hand.

As he looked back out of the window, the sky was already darkening behind those thick gray clouds tinted by waning sunlight. No doubt the chill would become bitter soon.

Mana turned his head back and tilted the last of his coffee into his mouth, swallowing in a satisfied manner. He gently set the cup down onto the saucer and used the napkin to dab at his mouth once more. The blonde haired waitress came back and collected his cup and plate with a soft smile. He returned the gesture as she began to walk away.

And there marked his eighth Christmas spent alone in the same diner he spent every lonely Christmas evening. He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out twelve cents and laid it on the table next to his napkin, leaving two spare pennies for the waitress to claim for herself. He stood up from his booth and took a moment to reach and reclaim his heavy winter jacket. He slipped it on over his arms and adjusted it comfortably over his back.

With that, he made his way back to the front door of the diner, black boots clunking against the floor. He pushed open the small glass door in the front of the cafe and braced for the cold. As he stepped out into the December chill, a bell danced wildly above his head, signaling his departure from the quaint little shop. He made sure the door closed behind him softly before pulling his jacket closer his large body.

Mana set off in a westward direction to return back home, following the sun that had now disappeared and left early dusk in its wake. A few snow flurries danced from either side of him and skittered across the sidewalk. So the snow was finally beginning to fall. A green horse-drawn carriage 'clopped' passed in that moment, the carriage being pulled by a rather elegant looking Clydesdale horse. From across the street, A young couple laughed and held hands as they walked without a care in the world; no place to go, but going there together.

Mana was heading back to his home, where he entertained the thought of lighting his fireplace, curling up into his couch and enjoying a good book or two for the rest of his night, just like he did every Christmas night when he was in his hometown.

But for some reason, something just felt different. He slowed his pace, eventually coming to a stand-still on the snow-dusted sidewalk.

He knew he was going the right way to get home, but something was telling him to turn around and go the other way. He glanced over his shoulder, perhaps thinking he might have left something at the diner. But he had all of his possessions on him and didn't appear to be missing anything. He shrugged before he continued to walk back home.

Although, Mana only walked two more steps before that feeling in his head became more physical. He stopped once again when he felt a slight churn in his stomach; his head practically screaming that he go back. He glanced behind him again, not seeing anything just like the first time. But the wind picked up softly and blew around his ear, as if whispering words to him.

Even though it was just the breeze, it almost sounded like a small cry: full of regret, full of longing, and full of fright.

Mana found himself turning tail and heading back the other direction he just came from, unable to ignore the symptoms of his curiosity. He hadn't had impulses like this in quite some time, not since before his younger brother Nea died.

There had been so much mystery and confusion in the air all that time ago, things he did not understand at the time: Noah's, Earl's, Apostles and Dark Matter. It was all just strange and foreign. But even so, Mana hung tight to his young bother even through the misperception and the fact that he was one of those beings called Noah's.

But soon his precious brother was killed by the other Noah's. He died while protecting him from those strange beings and things he didn't understand. They had been so young at the time, no older than seventeen. But for some reason, Mana believed that Nea was still alive somewhere in this world –or at least a piece of his brother remained buried deep inside himself.

It would explain the amber splash in his eyes that would come and go during great periods of stress or solicitousness: A trait in which he did not possess until after his brother's untimely demise.

That belief of his brother being alive somehow, somewhere, was the main reason he journeyed so much with his traveling circus companions. Mana knew the thought was silly and rather sad, but it was comforting too. He only stopped traveling to take a break and regain his wits.

Little did he know, his sad state would soon be put to rest and replaced with something much more bright.

Mana's thoughts then told him to stop, so he did. Now he stood in a darker and more run-down part of town that he wasn't all too familiar with. The buildings were nearly in shambles and the sidewalk was cracked in multiple places. The only form of life in this desolate concrete jungle was a weed or two growing up from the sidewalk cracks. His feet started to move again, his brain not even acknowledging his movements as he stepped into a dim looking alleyway.

His gut was telling him to advance further into the dark alley. He squinted against the darkness, his brown eyes trying to make out any discernable shapes in the poor lighting. So far all he could see were a few trash bins and maybe a wooden crate or two. Maybe his gut was playing a trick on him, his head too for that matter. Maybe he shouldn't have had that coffee this late in the evening.

But his musings were brought to a halt when he picked up on a soft set of sounds coming from further down the alley. Mana began to approach the area where the soft sounds were coming from, straining his ears a bit to see if he could figure out what those sounds exactly were.

It was crying; it was quiet, but there was a certain rawness to it that made it sound weary and almost angry in a sense. For some reason, it had Mana's chest tighten and his head started to buzz. He quickened his pace and did not worry about being heard himself. Who was crying? Why were they here?

He stopped walking when his eyes clashed with the source of the crying, now standing almost in front of it.

It was a boy.

The small child was huddled in between the protection of two empty and splintered wooden vegetable crates. His clothes were tattered and his skin was covered in scrapes, dirt, and dried blood. He was shivering; a flimsy and tattered blanket that looked more like burlap covered the front of his body. But what immediately made him stand out was the bright white hair, just like the snow falling around them. What could have caused his hair to be white like that? Marie-Antoinette Syndrome? Perhaps he came from a workhouse that allocated with chemicals or tonics and perhaps those toxic substances had altered the pigmentation in his hair?

The boy's head was down and he was quiet, but still shivering and crying none-the-less. The big question here was why on earth was there a child here of all places or of all times? Even if he had that strange white hair, a child should not be alone at such a time in the year or in such abysmal weather.

Mana approached the shivering child slowly, his brown eyes soaking in every detail of the boy that they could: The oils in the hair, how it was matted and tangled. How fresh the dirt on his skin was and how old the dried blood was as well. But it was the way the boy cried that had Mana's chest ache so much: it sounded so raw and hoarse, like he had been at it for hours and no one had bothered to help him. It sounded broken too, like he had no hope left.

Mana took a knee right in front of the shivering and sobbing boy, his chest pounding. For some reason, this crying boy whose face he hadn't even seen yet reminded him of Nea. Why it did, he had no idea.

Suddenly, the young one stopped crying. He stopped shaking and he slowly lifted his head in a weak fashion, as if there had been a large weight settled on the back of his neck. Once again, Mana was reminded of Nea when he saw the child's face. Whereas his brother had ashen skin and black crosses on his forehead, this boy had a large red mark covering almost the entire left side of his face.

Above his snow white eyebrow was a mark in the shape of an upside-down star; a pentagram. Near the bottom edge of said pentagram, a thick vertical line trailed down his left eyelid and to his cheek. Nestled on his cheekbone, a thin horizontal line slashed across the vertical line. The thick line that went over his eye shot to his further left near the middle of his cheek and curved in to nearly touch his small and dirt-scuffed chin, much like a lightning bolt.

His eyes were of the brightest silver Mana had ever seen. But those gainsboro eyes were bloodshot and puffy, which only diluted the color. When the small boy realized that he was staring him up and down, he curled his lips back to reveal his teeth, canines unusually sharp for a child. When Mana continued to stare at the boy, his actions were met with low growling from said child.

He couldn't have been a day over six from Mana's calculations; so young, brittle, fragile looking even. Yet past the dirt and blood on his skin and the puffiness in his bloodshot eyes, he attempted to be fierce. The white-haired boy pulled his back away from the cold brick wall and slouched forward, eyes now glaring sharply at the stranger in front of him.

Mana felt a sudden urge sweep over him, that churning in the pit of his stomach coming back again: there was something there, a connection as it seemed. Maybe it was the snowy atmosphere, or the way that time seemed to freeze the longer he stared at the young boy. Or perhaps it was how he sat out here, crying and alienated, looking as strange as his former brother.

He didn't want this child to feel cast out like he and his brother had been; how they were constantly tossed aside just from his brother's looks and incomprehensible abilities. It made his heart ache to see such a young boy cast aside. He wanted to help him in that instant, no matter what.

Cautiously, Mana reached out his right hand to try and brush the tears away from the young child's face. However, his actions had only caused the child to react violently. With a smack feeling more like a punch containing strength that such a young boy should not possess, Mana's hand was slapped away. He could feel the feverish stinging even through the white gloves covering his hands.

Why did this boy possess such strength in a body that appeared to be so feeble? On the contrary, he looked rather malnourished. But his question was answered sooner than he thought. The burlap material covering the child's torso slipped on the left side. Mana was in for yet another surprise.

The dirty gray shirt two sizes too big for him was ripped towards the shoulder, and what should have been his left arm was displayed for the twenty-eight year old to see. Thick and deep crimson red skin that was textured to look more like scales covered the entirety of his left arm. It started at the shoulder and snaked all the way down to his fingers. His fingernails looked like they were painted black, but Mana could tell that this was not the case. They were just simply black, like his arm was just simply red.

Embedded into the back of his hand was a cross shaped crystal colored a deep obsidian black with a faint green glow emanating from within. He had never seen anything like it before, but deep down, somewhere within him knew it had something to do with the incomprehensible things he could not understand all those years ago.

This child just kept reminding him of Nea for some reason and Mana couldn't understand why.

When the child realized his burlap cover had slipped from his body, he was quick to gather it back up and cover his arm again. His eyes whipped back accusingly towards Mana, telling him without words to just 'get lost'. However, Mana was adamant about staying here. He made sure to display that in his own sharp eyes back towards the boy.

He felt like he needed to help this child, the pull in his head telling him so.

With another steady hand, Mana reached for the white-haired child again. This time, instead of wanting to wipe the tears from his eyes, he reached for his small deformed arm. A lump that could only be the child's left arm rose up from under the burlap, the limb poised like a serpent in waiting for its prey. He was going to strike Mana again if he got too close.

Ignoring the subtle hint, Mana gently curled his fingers around the arm. From what he could feel, his fingers had grasped the boy's wrist. He wanted to help him, but he also didn't want to be smacked again –that boy's red arm had an uncanny amount of power in it. It made him wonder where the child had even come from in the first place.

The white-haired child began to try and jerk his arm back, but was unable to break the strong hold in the end. Realizing he could not tear himself free, he began to scream and thrash about wildly. In his fit, he knocked over one of the empty wooden vegetable crates next to him. It hit the ground with a loud clunk against the pavement, loose planks of wood splitting off the crate from the force of the drop.

Mana gently pulled the boy's arm closer to him, trying to be as soft as he could so he would not injure the frightened little one. Aforementioned little one thrashed with even more fury, his normal right arm trying to slap and claw at Mana's hand still holding his left arm prisoner. The twenty-eight year old had to admit the boy's rather long and chipped fingernails did sting even through the cloth of his swallowtail overcoat, but he pressed forward.

He couldn't just leave this scared child here. He was only violent because he was scared, and why wouldn't he be? Out on the street, dirty and cold, and now all of a sudden found and seen by a strange man who was not going to leave him alone. But he was going to do all he could to help this poor soul that reminded him of his brother.

With a bit of force, Mana pulled the boy away from the brick wall and close to his torso. When the small one was close enough, his right hand dropped the little left arm and his broad arms swallowed the frail child into a warm hug. The white-haired boy thrashed about wildly, trying to break free.

Mana had a feeling that the child would calm down when he realized he wasn't out to hurt him. So he held on, tightly, but gently as well.

After a few panicked moments in the warm embrace, the white-haired boy began to simmer down and stopped trying to hit him. Eventually, his small body seemed to melt into Mana's, as if to embrace the warmth and comfort he lacked in this alley. The way the little one fit against him felt like interlocking puzzle pieces being matched together. Somehow, it made Mana feel complete, much how he felt when Nea was still around and well. It felt like home.

But now that the child had been pacified, the question as to why he was out here in the first place came to mind. While he still had the chance, he spoke,

"What's a little one like you doing out here all by yourself?" Mana asked. He felt he already knew the answer, but decided to ask the question anyways.

Abruptly, the boy yanked himself away from Mana, obvious hurt swelling behind his gainsboro eyes. Fresh tears squeezed themselves from his bloodshot eyes and followed the tracks of earlier tears cried from before.

"They said they didn't need me anymore." He stated softly, his voice still holding that sweet innocence of a child about his age. Yet as it was sweet, it was tainted in pain.

"They? Like your mother and father?" Mana coaxed gently, shifting his weight slightly as he felt his left leg beginning to fall asleep.

The white-haired boy shook his head no, "I don't have parents. But they, those people, they took care of me."

Again, Mana wasn't sure who this 'they' was. Apparently it was more than one person, a group maybe? If he thought about it, this boy looked strange: white hair, silver eyes, pentagram mark on his face, and a crimson red arm with a cross embedded in it. Perhaps he came from somewhere much more disturbing and a lot less homely.

"If they took care of you, then why are you here now, child?" Mana asked, taking a moment to shift his weight again.

"They didn't need me anymore. They said I failed the tests and I wasn't good enough for the big plan."

"I see. How were you 'not adequate' in these tests, if you don't mind my asking?"

The white-haired boy looked to the cross embedded in his red hand, "They said I couldn't make my innocent wake up like all the others. They called me a fluke…But I don't know what that is."

Innocent? Why did that sound familiar? He felt like he had heard that term before or at least something similar to it. It was hazy, but he thought he remembered someone that Nea knew talking about it to them both. Aside from that, nothing else rang any bells.

But Mana was at least able to piece together how this boy failed his 'tests'. Whatever it was for, it sounds like he had been tested for a while and it involved the cross in his hand. But since he couldn't get it to 'wake up' like the 'others', that meant whatever that cross was meant to do wasn't doing its intended purpose, and that there were other like this boy that could 'wake up' their 'innocents'.

The boy wiped some tears from his eyes with his normal hand and hiccupped, "I just wanted to be good enough! But they…they said I wasn't, an-and then they tried to take my cross out, but they couldn't do it, s-so they hit me and I fell asleep and then…then I woke up here."

Mana understood better now. This boy couldn't do what the people looking after him wanted him to do and they felt like he wasn't worth the effort to keep around. So they tried to take the cross out of his red hand, but they couldn't, so instead they just knocked him out and dumped him here. If that was the case, then they didn't want the child to know where he previously was, or they didn't want him to come back either.

It made Mana feel sick to his stomach. He still didn't know why the child looked so strange, but now that he knew he was used and tossed aside because he wasn't 'good', it made him tick. It very much reminded him of his own situations with Nea; how they never fit in, how it was only them against the world, how they were used until one of them was killed. But this boy, he was just that, a boy. He wasn't a teenager or an adult, and he was already being cast aside for being deemed 'unworthy'. No child should be treated like that.

Mana pulled the white-haired boy back to him again, wrapping him up in another warm embrace. He didn't want to hear that sad sounding crying anymore; it made him feel uneasy and strangely hollow. He had met this boy no more than ten minutes ago, but he already felt oddly close to him. His gentle hold caused the young child to mellow out a little and stop crying.

"When did those selfish people leave you here?" Mana asked, not really knowing how long the child had been on the streets. Judging from his appearance it had to have been for a decent amount.

"Umm…The trees were green then, but now they're all brown." The boy responded as he sniffed and wiped his eyes again.

This young boy had been out on the street since either the spring or summer. Either way, that was much too long for a child to be out on the streets and all alone. So what if he didn't pass any 'tests'? Why did that give those people the right to throw this child away like he was nothing? It just brought up bitter memories.

Mana did not want what happened to him and Nea to happen to this child. The voice in his head and the churning in his gut had all but died away now. So it was the presence of this child that brought him here. But why him? Why this child? More importantly, why did he feel so connected to this young boy? Regardless, he was not going to let this little one suffer out on the streets anymore where he was subjected to torment and ridicule for his looks, having to fight just to stay alive.

"Tell me, little one, what's your name?" Mana asked.

"The people called me lots of things, but A1-3N was one they liked to use a lot."

What kind of name was A1-3N? That wouldn't suffice at all. 'Al' sounded normal enough, but just didn't seem to ring right. But if Mana thought about it, that combination of letters and numbers could spell…

"How about we call you Allen?"

"Al…Len?" The white-haired boy mimicked.

"Yes, I think it's a fine name. What do you think, Allen?" Mana asked with a soft smile.

Tears swam in the boy's eyes as a tiny smile broke out over his face, "that's…the nicest name I ever got called."

Mana smiled in return, "Well then, Allen, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Mana Walker, and I have a little proposition for you; how would you like to leave this tiny alleyway and stay with me instead?"

The boy, Allen, looked happy at first, but then a hesitant look settled on his face. He looked at his red arm, then to the cross embedded in it. The others didn't keep him because of this. They said he was a pathetic parasite-type, whatever that meant. Would this man toss him aside if he couldn't pass his tests too? But Mana sensed the unease in the white-haired boy and gently placed his gloved hand over the red hand and cross in front of him.

"Don't be worried about that. You won't have to pass any tests with me."

Mana saw Allen's eyes widen for a moment before they began to shine a bit. Even though his eyes were still puffy and bloodshot, they held a bright spark of life in them now where there was not one before. He smiled when the little one nodded his head and agreed, a few tears sliding down his cheeks. Mana wiped the moisture from his face.

"You don't have to cry anymore, little one."

Allen nodded again and made a small, yet happy noise of agreement.

A/N: And there's a good place to wrap this chapter up! I hope you guys liked it! :) If you did, be sure to favorite, follow, and review! To quote another Author:

"Follows are my drink, favorites are my food, and reviews are my life force."

Also, I made Allen look how he does after the original 'Turning Mana into an Akuma' part to better fit the story, you'll see why in further chapters ;)

And with that, I bid you adieux for now!