Summary: Kanda Yuu is the only one in his class that Allen absolutely can't stand, but through a seemingly random contract and an odd twist of fate, the two of them are forced together in an unlikely relationship. The reason for that is unclear, but it turns out that the secrets behind Allen's past may be darker than either of them realized.

Warning: Rated T for swearing (by my standards, anyways), violence, and slightly mature themes. If you're not 13+, spare yourself and stay away. xD And if you're a particularly innocent 13-year-old... well, who am I kidding, no innocent 13-year-old would ship yullen anyways. Or read/watch DGM, for that matter.

Red Sky At Night

...

Sometimes, looking back, Allen wondered what had gone wrong that day. Perhaps the ever-present fumes from the druggies' weed had gotten to his head. Or perhaps he had been so aggravated by Cross' endless debts that his subconscious had chosen to mess with him a little. But in the end, when he thought about it, he always came to the same conclusion: no matter what he could have done that night, the results would have been exactly the same.

The date was November 21. The air had already become chilly with the first breaths of winter, and the sun was setting sooner and sooner in the evening. Neither of those things could stop Allen from reveling in the feeling of losing himself in a book with the smell of the fresh air and the wind in his face, though.

When he finally lifted his eyes from the book he had been immersed in, the sky had already been dyed a dull orange-red, and gloomy gray clouds, too runty to bring rain, shuffled around aimlessly. All in all, it reminded him of a sky full of cigarette smoke. Or something like that. He wasn't much of a poet. But the point was that it was getting late, and today was one of the rare days that Cross Marian was actually going to come home. If he got back before Allen could finish making dinner, there would be hell to pay.

So this is high school life. Just like the stories, huh?

Allen Walker, age fifteen, high school sophomore. Perpetually short, doomed to spend more or less all of his childhood trying to pay off his chain-smoking womanizer of a legal guardian's debts. At least people had gotten tired of gossiping pointlessly about his unusual white hair and the scar on his face since his transfer at the beginning of the school year. It had taken seventy-six days; he had counted.

He picked up and dusted off the book that he had been reading before he had fallen asleep. The nasty smell of smoke filled his nose; there weren't any after-school junkies here anymore, but the smoke had probably seeped into the ground or something. This was supposed to be a children's playground, but since it was located right behind the high school, it had long become a popular ditching ground for students cutting class. That was more or less the entire school – not that the teachers cared. Allen had actually come here after school, not so much out of principle as out of laziness. Sneaking out was a pain.

Lost in his ponderings, it wasn't until several moments later that he realized he wasn't the only one still in the park. There was a figure with long, black hair lying unconscious in the grass a ways away from him. Asleep? Or maybe some druggie dead from overdose. Both were possible, he thought grimly. He would much rather have preferred to just leave, but his conscience – or what little of it he had – prevented him. Or maybe he just wanted to stall for time before he had to go back.

He walked up to the body and gingerly poked at it with his foot; there was an irritated mumble. Allen took a step back. At least it was alive, whatever it was. He could have sworn that it was a guy, but the hair covered its face, so there was no way to tell for sure.

"What the fuck are you doing, bitch?" It muttered without opening his eyes. "Who the hell goes around poking at people like that, anyways?"

"I thought you might be dead of overdose or something," Allen told him, his mouth tightening. Whatever it was, he was unpleasant.

"Hah! Why would I mess around with shit like that? I was just sleeping, and you woke me up." He sat up slowly, the hair falling out of his face so that Allen could actually see who it was. And he scowled.

"Oh. It's you. If I had known, I would have just let you rot." Allen grimaced with distaste. Kanda Yuu, possibly the person with most vile mouth in the entire school. He sat at the back of the classroom with a perpetually sour look on his face, never talking unless spoken to directly. Just once, there had been gossip about his hair, too. It had stopped in just one day; someone had mysteriously ended up in the hospital. After that, the gossip had turned to Kanda's violent tendencies – those rumors had lasted seventy-eight days. Allen had counted that, too.

It wasn't so much the violence or the sour attitude that Allen disliked so much, though. After all, being in Cross' company for some three or so years, he had met much worse people in casinos and bars. They were usually old, smelly, and drunk more often than not, but despite how much they disgusted Allen with their creepy smiles that made him feel like some sort of thing, it wasn't as if he hated them. No, there was just something special about Kanda Yuu that pissed the hell out of Allen spectacularly.

"Don't worry, freak, I agree with your sentiments completely. What the fuck is up with your hair anyways? And what's with that weird baby face? Are you an old man or a girl or a five-year-old? Make up your mind." He snorted as he stood up leisurely, stretching widely.

Allen glared. "Like you're one to talk. If you want to talk about looking feminine, I couldn't even tell if you were a guy with that creepy ponytail of yours."

"At least I don't look like a fucking plant. You look like a bean sprout that didn't get enough sun or something."

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be? If you don't, there's a nice cliff a few miles south of here, I think."

"Perfect. We can go together and I can push you off." Kanda scoffed irritatingly, then turned and walked away before Allen could retort.

Allen gritted his teeth in frustration. He absolutely hated this guy.

And then he kicked the ground as hard as he could, because now it was time to go make fucking dinner for that bastard of a legal guardian of his.

…

The apartment that Allen lived in was small and cramped and smelled – like almost everything in his life, it seemed – of smoke. There were only two rooms (three if you counted the bathroom), and one of them was Cross'. The other was the living room/kitchen, where Allen slept even when Cross was away (that was almost all the time), and he preferred it that way. At least the living room was bigger and didn't reek of alcohol and stale perfume.

Despite its imperfections, Allen would never complain about the apartment. After much sweat and toil, he had been the one to find it, and it was his earnings that paid the rent. Aside from his legal guardian's weird magazines and booze, all the furniture and miscellaneous accessories had been bought by him. In short, the home was more or less what Allen had made of it, and he liked it that way.

"Oi. Stupid brat. Here's the list." Cross, who had just returned after a three-month absence, tossed a thick packet of paper at him. He grimaced as he caught it and flipped through the pages, his face getting more and more horrified by the second.

"How did you spend that much in just three months?" Allen demanded, feeling sick to his stomach already. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. It was pointless to ask; after all, it was Marian Cross they were talking about.

To his relief, Cross had already engrossed himself in eating and had apparently decided to spare him the lecture. "Just get going. You know how it works already."

"What…? You mean, alone?" Allen stared. Surely not even Cross could be so…

"Well, duh. I'm fucking tired, stupid apprentice. You know self-defense and shit, you'll be fine. Besides, if you get into any trouble, I'm sure someone will be around to help you. Maybe." He muttered the last word with a frown, but then simply shrugged and downed another shot of alcohol. "Eh. Besides, it's not like I ever do shit there."

"Gee, I'm glad you noticed," Allen commented viciously under his breath, shooting his master a venomous look. Realizing that nothing was going to change the damned alcoholic's mind, he gave up and collected his coat before walking out. It was already nighttime in the city, and it was cold.

As he walked along the streets, his face freezing, he was careful to keep his fingers warm. The fingers were the most important, and he didn't want to fumble the first couple of rounds until he warmed up properly. Every penny was worth something, after all. He cursed. And just when he had almost paid off last time's debt, too. That bastard Cross. Where the hell did he go all the time, anyways? Did that old man even have a job? Allen couldn't for the life of him figure out how the man had been approved as a legal guardian in the first place. What the hell was Social Security doing?

In the midst of his dark thoughts, Allen almost missed the small, inconspicuous door to the underground casino. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of smoke and wine and cheap perfume assaulted his nose; no matter how much time passed, he would never get used to it. Rubbing his sweaty hands nervously, he pushed the door open. It didn't creak.

The inside was dimly lit and loud with laughter and the clink of glass and coin. If he strained, he could almost hear the sound of old 50's music, but he couldn't make out either the melody or the lyrics. The flickering orange lamps were perfect, though, for lulling a victim's eyes into missing the quick flashes and sleights of hand that Allen had perfected over the years. Now that he was inside, he slipped off his warm gloves and stuffed them in his bulky coat pocket.

"Allen! You're here already, huh? That bastard Cross is back?" The shaggy barkeep gave him a toothy grin. "How much has he got this time?"

Allen winced. "Twice as much as last time."

The man whistled in appreciation. "Looks like ol' Johnny won the bet. I thought last time was already the best he could do, eh?"

"Don't remind me," the boy groaned. "Let's just get this over with."

With a laugh, the old bartender waved at a table in the corner of the room. "Table nine, then. The old bastards are pretty drunk already. And they're new, so they dunno the dealers around here. Should be a piece of cake for you." He winked. "Just so ya know, I put my bets on you this time. Johnny said that you wouldn't be able to pay off those debts 'fore next summer, but I told 'im that spring was good 'nough. So I'll do ya a few favors. Don't disappoint, eh?"

"Thanks," Allen smiled gratefully. That would certainly be to his advantage. He hoped he could get the whole damn thing off his back by spring. "I'll do my best."

"'Atta boy! That's the spirit!" The barkeeper gave him an encouraging clap on the back and shoved him towards the table. "Now go get your job done. Stop wasting time with me."

Allen sighed and obliged, seating himself in the dealer's spot. As he reached for the cards, though, one of his challengers snatched the deck away. "We don't trust you," he said a bit nastily. "So we'll be shuffling."

"Sure," Allen shrugged. It was a bit unusual, but if they shuffled, they'd probably fall for his tricks more easily. Besides, he could understand not being trusted. If he were them, he wouldn't trust himself, either. While his opponents fumbled around with the deck, he studied them. The barkeeper had been right – all of them were unfamiliar faces. They were clearly inexperienced with cards and, judging from the redness in their faces and the empty glasses on the table, already drunk. As long as no one brought out any knives or fists, he'd be fine.

"Here." The ringleader of the group tossed him the deck clumsily, but he caught it nonetheless and began deftly dealing it out. None of them noticed as a few choice cards disappeared down his sleeve and reappeared again later in the game. The whole thing was over in a flash. Allen grinned secretly, as he hid his face in his scarf. Piece of cake. They must have realized that they were already far too drunk, because they paid up without protesting too much and quickly left.

While he was still stuffing the money into the inside pocket of his shirt, he heard a small squeak behind him. Turning, he saw an unfamiliar man at a nearby table aim a fist at a girl with long, black hair tied up in twin tails and miss horribly. He sighed. If someone had been messing around with Lenalee, Komui would come and disrupt the entire bar, and he wouldn't be able to get any of the money he desperately needed to earn.

After several minutes, however, it became plain that no irate and furious Komui was going to show up, and the stranger was still bellowing drunkenly. Lenalee tried to calm him down, but it appeared that nothing was working. This, Allen thought wryly, was why he hated alcohol. As the man leaned back to try at another punch, Allen quickly stood up and caught his wrist.

"Sir, it's rude to threaten our employees," he said as politely and patiently as he could at the moment.

The man glared at him. "Fuck off, bitch," he snarled. "This ain't a playground for brats."

Allen's face twitched. That was the second time he had been called a bitch in the same day, and it wasn't improving his mood. "Excuse me, sir, but I'd like to ask you to get the hell out if you have nothing better to do than to disturb everyone else in here." He grated out, his face forced into a tense smile.

With another bellow, the stranger looked as if he wanted to start a fight, but one of his neighbors, a unfamiliar man with thick glasses and wiry hair, quickly whispered to him in a low voice. The first man froze, his face falling in resentment, but he lowered his fist anyways and sat back down with an angry hiss.

"Pardon us," the second man said smoothly. "My friend's just had a bit too much to drink. We'll be leaving now. Pleased to make your acquaintance, by the way." He flashed a quick smile before standing up and motioning to his companions, who followed him out the door.

Allen made sure that they had left before he sighed wearily and ran his fingers through his hair as he turned to Lenalee. "Where's Komui?" he asked tiredly.

"He's not here today," the girl explained. "Got called away for some science conference."

"Lenalee," Allen groaned. "Get a proper job. It's not safe here. You're a high school girl, for heaven's sake, and you're working in an illegal bar full of drunkards. What if you get knifed in the back or raped or kidnapped in some dark alleyway as you walk home?"

"You're working here, aren't you?" Lenalee asked pointedly. "Besides, I know plenty of self-defense. I've whooped your sorry ass on more than one occasion, might I add." Allen grimaced. He remembered. "And anyways, a proper job doesn't make as much money. I need to save for college, after all. I can't let Komui do all the work."

"Whatever," Allen gave up. Lenalee was even more stubborn than him, and he doubted that anything he said would convince her. With a shrug, he sat down at the next table and began dealing the cards again. It wasn't until several hours later that he finally left; by then it was well past midnight, and he cursed as he remembered the ridiculous amount of homework he still had to get done.

The minute he stepped out onto the street, he could feel that something was wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as a chill passed through his body. His heart began to beat faster, his hands feeling abnormally warm. Adrenaline surge. A fight-or-flight response in response to a potentially dangerous external stimulus, some part of his head told him. Shut up, he told it.

A couple of men stepped into view. Some of them had metal baseball bats in their hands; a knife flashed threateningly in one hand. Allen swallowed as he recognized the man who had tried to hit Lenalee. Damn, how cheesy can this get? he thought wryly. It was like those old Westerns where a gang of hoodlums tried to beat up the hero over a girl. Or something. He didn't watch a lot of movies, so maybe he was thinking of sci-fi. But that didn't sound right, either… Shut up, he told his brain again.

"Good evening," he said a bit nervously. Damn Cross – where was the bastard when you needed him? Though he'd probably have ditched Allen at this point anyways. Useless drunkard. "I don't see why you'd have any business with me…"

The man narrowed his eyes. His snarl was slightly slurred – he was still a bit drunk, no doubt. "Thanks to you, I lost face in front of Master Tyki," he growled. Master Tyki? What a weird name. Maybe the man was hallucinating from all the alcohol. Either way, it just sounded like a bad excuse for anger management issues.

Allen quickly considered his options - five big, muscular men with three baseball bats, one old pipe, and one knife; fleeing would probably be the best option. He ran.

The wind that blew at his face was bitingly cold, but his body was too hot already, so he didn't feel it. All he could feel was the blood pounding in his ears like some sort of deathly battle drum. He didn't pay attention to his surroundings, either; all he was aware of was that he had a small mob of armed and angry drunks after him, and that was generally not a good thing. Perhaps if he had paid attention, he could have gotten away safely; but then again, he had a talent for getting lost whether or not he actually tried to navigate his path, so probably not. Somewhere along the way, though, his feet had ended up taking him along an unfamiliar street, and he skidded to a stop as the long alleyway ended in a tall concrete building. A dead end.

Behind him, the sound of angry yells and heavy footsteps was faint, but if he could hear it, it was only a matter of time before they got close. He cursed again.

"It's a dead end." The familiar, curt voice held a tinge of condescension. Surprised, he whirled around. Sure enough, it was the one person he really did not want to see at the moment leaning casually against the wall, blending in perfectly with the gray shadows.

"Thank you, Kanda," he said tersely, gritting his teeth. "I hadn't noticed at all. It would be nice to chat with you, but I really have to go." He didn't even wait to finish his sentence before he started running in the opposite direction, trying to get out of the long, one-way street before the men behind caught up.

"Too late." Kanda's voice was flat. "They're almost here. Brilliant job, bean sprout. You have a natural talent for this sort of thing, don't you?"

"Shut the fuck up. I'm trying to think."

"You'll be here all night before you think of something." Kanda smirked. "If you beg really, really hard, though, I might be tempted to help."

"Over my dead body."

"Hell, it really will be." He was right. The sound of footsteps was getting closer. Allen knew that there was no way he would die, but he really didn't want to get into a fight… He considered the offer.

"Please, will you help?" He forced the words out, choking on his pride.

"… maybe."

"What?" Allen hissed, frustrated. "But you said— Oh, whatever. You probably couldn't take them anyways."

At that, Kanda narrowed his eyes. "Want to try me? If I win, you'll be groveling at my feet for an entire week."

"Sure. If you win. But one scratch and the bet is mine."

"Deal." With inhuman speed, a knife was already flashing in his hand. It was a beautiful weapon – not too long or broad as to be bulky, but not too small, either. It almost had a sort of cold elegance about it as the slender blade curved ever so slight and glinted silver in the night. And it looked well-worn.

The men had arrived. They seemed a bit surprised to find Kanda standing there, but perhaps their alcohol-ridden brains didn't quite register the way he stood calmly, expertly, with no openings and no hesitation, the knife held casually in his hand as if he had been born holding it.

Almost instantly, the fight was over. Kanda slashed at the head gorilla mercilessly, kicking him in the stomach and slamming him into a wall. The man slumped to the ground, a trickle of blood running down from the corner of his mouth. The others tried to overwhelm him by swarming him, but he moved swiftly behind them and knocked out two others before the remaining men decided to flee, their alcohol-induced bravery doused.

True to his word, Kanda hadn't gotten a single scratch. Allen swallowed and tentatively edged over to one of the unconscious men. "He's not… dead, is he?" He asked cautiously, staying well out of the man's reach just in case his reflexes still worked. He had heard of people who had gotten injured by dying men.

Kanda snorted. "Why are you worried about them? If that piece of shit that you call a brain can remember, they were screaming after your blood just a moment ago."

"Well, yeah, but you can't just kill them, either…" He examined the unconscious man dubiously.

With a dirty look, Kanda sighed. "He's not dead. And honestly, I don't know why you aren't either. For someone who cheats for a living, you're pretty naïve."

"I'm not," Allen scowled indignantly.

"You got into this mess because you tried to help that girl, right?"

"What? You were there?"

"Not by choice," Kanda muttered, his face twitching. "Whatever." He shrugged. "Well, whatever you do is none of my business. Just make sure you stay alive for the week. For your information, I won't accept being called by anything other than 'Master Kanda' or 'Your Majesty' or maybe even 'God' if you want. And as for yourself, you can just address yourself as 'this piece of shit,' 'scum,' 'worthless bitch,' etc." He smirked infuriatingly and began walking away.

This, Allen thought with a grimace, had to be the absolute worst day of his life. At that moment, Cross could give him any amount of debt, and it would still be better. He sighed, wishing that the week would be over already.

...

Lame ending. But this chapter was already getting a bit too long for my comfort. I'm still not done with setup though. /sigh

The plot bunnies were eating at my head with this one. I just walked by the park near my school one day and POOF, the idea came. And stayed. It's changed a lot since I first came up with it, though. Well, at any rate, I'll do my best with having two series at once. I've already got quite a bit of work done on both anyways, so it should be fine.

Since this is a relatively real-world AU, I feel the need to say this:

Disclaimer (important!): This fanfic was not meant to target or offend any groups or political and ideological beliefs, nor was it made to make any sort of political or ideological statement. The opinions expressed by the characters in this story do not necessarily reflect those of the author, and I truly apologize if anyone feels offended in any way by anything I may write.

And while I'm at it, I might as well say the usual "DGM doesn't belong to me" and whatever. But I mean, it's fanfic, so... I'm pretty sure people get it... fair use clause and all that crap. Yeah.

Well, anyways, hope you liked, and thanks for reading! And please review~! xDDD Reviews give me inspiration and happiness~ Like chocolate. And love. (probably)