Allen Walker hadn't had a name until he was 4 years old. Before that he'd been "Boy" and "Freak" to the matrons and other children at the orphanage his parents had dropped him off at after he was born. He hadn't known the difference, being only four and only just coming into real awareness of his surroundings. He stayed out of people's way whenever possible and was blessedly ignored until someone decided they needed to take their frustrations out on him.
It was one of those times that led up to him being named. He'd been backed into a corner of the yard, behind some trees where the matrons couldn't see, and getting ready to curl in a ball and wait for the beating to be over when he'd been startled by the loud, unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, but there hadn't been any pain. The following yell had been slightly deeper and higher off the ground than him as well, and the answering snarl had been startlingly feminine. There weren't very many girls at the orphanage, people adopting them more easily for ways to appease their wives and impress their neighbors.
So when he looked up and saw the unmistakable figure of a girl in ragged pants & a shirt too big for her he was understandably confused. Until he realized that her eyes were closed, her fists clenched and an all together terrifying snarl curling her lips. She had to be at least 12 years older than him, so it made sense that the 10 year olds that had been about to beat him up ran terrified for the shelter of the building.
Allen whimpered when she turned to face him, curling tighter into his ball as she slowly crouched beside him, still not opening her eyes. He'd flinched at the light touch of her hand on his head, gently carding through his hair and urging him to look up with a soft word that was much different from the angry growl earlier. She'd smiled as she felt him turn his head up to look at her again, gently trailing her fingers along his cheek.
It was the first time anyone had ever asked if he was alright, the first time anyone had helped and taken care of him in the damnable orphanage. Her voice was soft, as if she were afraid to speak any louder than a soothing murmur, and she didn't open her eyes the entire time. Her laugh sounded like bells when he asked why she wouldn't look at him, when she'd explained that she was blind and thus couldn't and when she'd patted him on the head and forgiven him when he'd blushed brightly and apologized quickly, afraid she'd hate him and turn her wrath on him for offending her. But she'd just ruffled his hair and proclaimed that she liked him, that he was brave and she could respect that.
She gave him a piggy-back back to the playground, scaring away a few older kids to get them a pair of rickety swings to sit on. Allen had never been able to swing before and took delight in it as they talked, being careful not to go to high that he couldn't hear his new friend.
She'd introduced herself as Maria, and had been outraged when he said he was "Boy", or sometimes "Freak". Most times. He thought it might only have been his honest confusion over her rage that stopped the older girl from going to pick a fight with the head matron, but he was glad for whatever stopped her from doing it. She'd sat in silence for a few minutes, stewing and thinking before reaching out to gesture for him to stop swinging. He obeyed, looking up at her curiously as she twisted her swing to face him and smiled, and he thought he probably blushed as red as the blood that stained her knuckles from knocking that kid's baby teeth out earlier.
"Allen. Your name is Allen." She'd said it so matter-of-factly that he'd agreed immediately, smiling so brightly that it almost seemed like she could see it as she smiled back.
It wasn't until he was old enough to really understand, that he was already in the circus, that he was truly grateful. Grateful for everything she'd taught him over the years, how to steal and pickpocket, how to sew without having to see exactly what he was doing so he could make and mend his clothes, and how to throw one of the strongest left hooks in the orphanage, second only to her, and she could throw a mean right hook as well. It was her that taught him how to gamble and cheat, their youth and her blindness seeming to disarm those they played against and make it all the easier for them to trick them out of their money. No one ever seemed to realize she was a girl, and Allen couldn't understand why, given it wasn't exactly hard to tell. So she taught him how to change how he walked and held himself, teaching him the difference between a man's swagger and a lady's flowing walk. It worked for him, since sometimes he could trick the bullies that weren't smart enough to leave him alone already into thinking he was a girl, so if they didn't see his arm they wouldn't' know it was him.
The last time he saw her at the orphanage was at night, after a man in a black coat with gold lining had arrived and talked with her throughout the day, Allen unable to get close enough to figure out what was going on. It hadn't been because the man had particularly cared about his presence, it was because of the look she'd sent him, one that told him to run and hide and keep as far from the man as he could. He wasn't sure how she managed to convey all that, being blind and all, but he'd bolted the moment he fully comprehended the weight of her unseeing stare. He'd hidden in the attic, where they kept their loot and the clothes they'd made when the orphanage had grown too poor to properly support everyone. It was the safest place he could think of, and no one would hear his quiet, hiccupping sobs as he realized she was leaving, that something about that black-coated man meant she wouldn't be there in the morning.
He was right, and after a night of her quietly explaining what she knew & soothing his fear of being alone again, after 3 years of having what amounted to the only mother figure he'd ever known, she was gone. She'd sung him a lullaby up in the attic, the same one she'd sung for him when he was sad all those years since she'd saved him from that beating. His left arm always seemed to tingle and grow lighter whenever she sang, making it all the easier for him to fall asleep curled up against her side with his head in her lap, the feeling of her fingers sliding through his short hair making it all the easier to fall asleep.
The next time he'd seen her was the first time Cross Marian had ever used the Grave of Maria around him. He'd punched the man so hard in the jaw, just as she taught him, that he'd sworn he'd heard the bone break, along with the split lip. The General had smacked him so hard upside the head that he'd felt his teeth rattle, but the tall man had been grinning, blood running from his mouth to mix with the red of his goatee before his tongue flicked out to lick up the blood. He'd laughed loudly, ruffled Allen's then white hair, and pronounced that he liked him, that he hadn't been punched like that in years and didn't think he ever would be again. The same way Maria had when they'd first met.
The entire time, Maria had been fawning over him, cooing in the way she always had and playing with his hair, as if she could tell the drastic change in color. Her fingers had slid over the scar on his left cheek and she'd made a low, mournful sound, leaning down to press her lips to the pentacle. Allen was just grateful Cross wasn't the same General that had taken Maria from him to begin with, or he probably would have done more than just punch the man. Maria was dead, and it was all the Order's fault. But Cross, who had apparently loved her just as much but in a different way, had done what he could and brought her back, even if she couldn't speak anymore, not like before.
Allen hadn't eaten as well as he did that night in his entire life, at the time, and there were few times after that when he did in Cross' company. Every once in a while the General, usually when he was completely smashed, would look at him silently for a few, nerve-wrecking moments before dragging Allen off to a high end restaurant and letting the boy eat until he was fit to bursting, paying with money Allen was sure he hadn't won because he'd seen Cross spend THAT at a brothel. But Allen didn't complain, never asked and always thanked his Master profusely, making sure he had something around the next morning to nurse the red-haired man's vicious hangover that he only got after those nights of heavy drinking. It was those nights, and the mornings directly following, when Cross would actually call him by his name, rather than "stupid apprentice" and "idiot" and all the other little names he had for his student.
It was always those nights when Maria would sing, the same lullaby as she would at the orphanage. Her Innocence would do something to it, seeming to make it reach everyone in the town, but it never did anything to add to the soothing feel of it. It didn't need to, her voice the same caring, motherly tone it had been when Allen was little and she'd been alive. She'd sit between them, one hand carding through Allen's snow white hair while the other slide through the silky curtain of Cross' red mane, the General long since passed out with his head in her lap and an arm around her waist, while Allen would tuck his head under the man's chin and be lulled to sleep slowly. He couldn't help but wonder, at those times when he was curled up there, like that with the two who were like the mother he never had and, perhaps, like a second father or an uncle, as Cross' drunken ramblings right after he'd found Allen had suggested Mana had been a good friend of his.
His thoughts would drift, and he'd fall asleep smiling, because this is what he imagined having a family was like.