A/N (Rin): My friend has agreed to help me write the M-stuff, so this story is now effectively under the 'M' category. Let's all thank Con-Hime (Confusion no Hime) for that yeah? \(^w^)/
Therefore, from this chapter on, the story will be co-authored by Con-Hime as well. Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and faves for the last chappy(and for the show of enthusiasm for the pair~ ;D), Con-Hime and I both look forward to hearing more from you, dear readers! X3
A/N (Con-Hime): Hello, everyone~ This is actually my first time writing a -Man fic so I'm pretty excited. Nah! Scratch that. I'm really, really excited especially because I'll be working with Rin and working with her is an honor. Thanks so much for trusting me and my (lame) skills, bb. XDD
Disclaimers & Warnings:
Rin: I don't own DGray-Man… There will be a handful of lifting in the convos and scenes in here from the manga and -Man Reverse novel 3. I've changed it as best as I can to make it original, yet retain the essence, so please no complaining about it. The background is needed for the future chapters.
Con-Hime: Don't own DGray-Man or this plot. All the ideas, twists or original characters belong to my dear, Rin. I'm just here to help her out with the hot stuff.
The Musician
Chapter 1: Overture et Cadenza*
"Each of our brethren will return, and when that time comes, we will make them all pay for their crimes and let them experience the brunt of our hatred." A glint of rage and insanity tinting the light of his eyes at the declaration, at the violent vow, the gentleman stood up, extending his hand towards the teen in invitation.
"Come, Road, we have much to prepare."
Thirty years later…
Clutching tightly on the rock protrusions as if hanging on with his very life on the line- which was technically true, considering the hundred-plus-meter drop he could look forward to should his grip and footing slip- he exhaled harshly as a gale of wind blew past, not at all helping him in his already precarious position.
He had wanted to use his Innocence to ease his way up the steep cliff, but after seeing its daunting height and his impending introduction, he decided against it. He had a feeling that his Innocence would run out of energy three-fourths through the climb, and he didn't really want to appear hostile and shock his more-than-potential hosts with the demonic appearance of his Innocence.
Granted, he has only ever seen one… No, make that two Innocence, from his Master of course. One looked normal enough, while the other… Less normal? But normal nevertheless. And from the way his Master reacted when he first showed his fully materialized Innocence, he guessed that it just didn't count under the usual 'normal' appearance.
… Well, considering that he himself was greatly lacking under the category of normalcy, he should have expected it…
Thus, the reluctance to openly use his Innocence until after full introductions at least.
An hour and a half later, he finally reached the zenith- which was thankfully, a flat surface. He lay on his back, breathing heavily, extremely exhausted both physically and mentally with the strain brought about by the long climb, coupled by the more than frequent gusts of wind which increased its frequency and strength the further up he went, causing him to more than once lose his balance and grip, and almost fall off, and the predicament perfected by his still-throbbing head- his Master's parting gift.
He certainly wouldn't die that easily, thanks to his Innocence, but it doesn't mean that not dying would equal to the experience not being painful, as what has been proved many-a-time by his sadistic Master. Shuddering at the horror the reminiscing brought, he reluctantly began to rise from his prone resting posture to finally proceed in completing the mission set by his Master- for him to become recognized and not deemed a threat by people who like him, were gifted with the Innocence. For him to officially become an exorcist.
8 years back…
Juggling neon-colored rubber balls with his feet while doing a single handstand on his right arm, as his left arm was mostly immovable, he tried his best to keep his balance despite having the mutt actively lave slobber on his face. A few more minutes of this however, he finally fell over with a sharp cry.
"Ow! I thought I told you to stop doing that!"
The 7-year old boy grumbled, feeling mildly irritated while petting the dog. As if in response to his affections, the dog licked his 'deformed' arm as though to appease and show appreciation to his ministrations.
"Heh, despite it being late winter, your tongue sure is warm."
Smiling at the dog and giving a vigorous scratch behind its ears, the dog gave a pleased bark before jumping over the boy, beginning to lick his face once more.
"Okay! Okay! I think that's enough slobber from you!"
Spotting a tall dark shadow at the edge of the tent opening, he shoved the dog off of him, petting its head once more as it finally obeyed and calmed down.
"You'd better hurry along, I think your master's waiting for you."
A body squirmed under the rough blanket, breathing heavily and sweating profusely despite the winter morning's chill, his eyes opening abruptly as he took a deep, calming breath. Clutching at his chest like he had just faced his worst nightmare, the boy looked around the tent as though searching for something, although what it was, he himself did not know.
'Something's not right…'
Looking at the still sleeping occupants around him, he noticed one of the sleeping mats bare. Shivering slightly at the cold, the boy began to dress, slightly flipping open the tent flap and cursed lightly, realizing that it was barely even the break of dawn. He did not need to get up until at least four more hours.
Contemplating on whether he should go back to sleep again, he had forgone the idea when he realized that he had already fully dressed up. Slowly and silently stepping out of the tent, he breathed in the cool, crisp morning air of December, languidly stretching his back, sore from sleeping on the hard ground despite the use of a sleeping mat. Hearing a sound of scuffling somewhere behind the tent, he decided to approach and investigate what was causing it. Upon reaching the source of the disturbance however, he was highly unprepared with what he saw.
A few meters away from the tent edge, beside the now bare maple tree, was a freshly-dug hole. Situated in the middle, lying on its side unmoving, with big, dark bruises all over, was the dog he had been playing around with just the day before.
'A… A grave…?'
Silently making his approach towards the dead creature, his focus strongly absorbed by the surreal sight before him, he almost did not notice the man kneeling down beside it, had it not been for the outrageous crown costume. Eyes blank, mouth passive, he slowed his gait, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to appear indifferent, he bluntly voiced out his question to the older man.
"Is it dead?"
Directing the other's attention towards him- it seems the man was also unaware of his approach, a few moments passed before the clown finally acknowledged his question, loneliness evident in his voice.
"Yes. It's dead."
Continuing to prod the man, as the other began to pile soil on top of the dog, he pushed on. "… There's bruises all over him…"
"I'll bet it was that bastard Cosimov, for freaking sure."
The boy continued to rant, watching the older man's golden eyes glint with sadness in the dismal winter morning. The gold eyes which were darkened with unexpressed emotion. The gold eyes which seemed to tear at his heartstrings. The gold eyes which, despite having seen them only for the first time, seemed to stir something deep in his memory.
"It's just because the audience liked you better…" The boy trailed off, as though addressing the now deceased dog. Keeping his eyes trained to the makeshift grave, he continued.
"Whenever somebody with more talent than him comes around, he always bullies them. His performance is shit, but he's great at stuff like this." Surprised at the rather heated words coming from the boy, despite the deceptively calm appearance, the clown averted his eyes to stare at the now inanimate animal as he finally spoke.
"Well, he was a very old dog. He probably wouldn't have lived much longer anyway."
The man spoke quietly, blandly, abruptly ending the boy's tirade, as though such a thing was unavoidable and should have been expected. Finished covering the grave, he began dusting off his hands and pants before giving a sort-of assurance to comfort the boy. Or maybe to his own self. Or to the both of them? The boy wasn't really sure.
"It's alright."
Frowning, the boy gave a rather disgruntled "Hmph.". Eyebrows arching in a sign of annoyance, he rudely accused the clown, "You saying you don't wanna get back at him at all?"
Clapping his hands together in prayer, the clown did not hesitate in his following response.
"If I did something like that, the boss would run me off and I'd have to work for free."
An irritated tick formed on the boy's forehead, clearly showing his displeasure at the other's apparent helplessness in the situation.
"I'm just an outsider after all." A slight smile forming on his painted face, he pushed on.
"Once Christmas is over with tomorrow, I'll be heading off somewhere else…"
"Is that so…" He couldn't believe that the dog's owner was this type of person who would not even cry for his companion of long. The clown finally returned his attention back on the young boy, giving a rather unexpected response.
"Hmm…By the way, young man… Who are you again?"
Appearing to remain unaffected by the other's lack of recognition, the boy responded in a bored tone, "I do odd jobs here… I brought you food too, didn't I?"
"… I'm not good at remembering faces…"
Pausing shortly afterwards, the older man inched closer to the boy, reaching out his hand to the other's face.
"Hm? Now that I'm look closely, it seems you are covered in bruises too?"
Giving a lick on the boy's injury, much to the other's surprise and disgust, the boy gave a rather high-pitched roar, angered by what the man had done.
"THAT'S NASTY! DON'T GET YOUR SPIT ON ME, DAMMIT!" Hackles raised against the clown's approach, the other tried to pacify him with an "I'm cleaning you up.", but such reasoning was obviously unaccepted.
"It's antiseptic… Were you hit by Cosimov too?" A few minutes of calm as the boy furiously wiped at his cheek where the clown licked him, he was questioned by the other as they settled into a banter.
"… Did Cosimov hit you?"
"Shut up."
"Do you have any friends?"
"SHUT UP! YOU'RE IRRITATING!"
Crossing his arms tighter to himself and turning away from the older man, wanting to ignore him, but found himself unable to, the boy answered rather crudely, grudge evident in his speech, "Who cares about this place, anyway… Once I'm grown up and strong, I'll get out of here, so I don't need any damn friends."
Remembering the way people had reacted when they saw his deformed red arm, their terrified and disgusted expressions, how they looked to be pitying him but at the same time fear approaching him for fear that whatever made his left arm the way it was would infect them. He ground his teeth is distaste. 'I don't need people like those!'
Gritting his teeth in anger, he was distracted from the still-stirring emotions when he noticed the weird faces the clown was making. Suddenly feeling as though his irritation level reached maximum, he gave the other a surprisingly blank stare, trying to appear unaffected by his own disturbing thoughts.
"… The hell are you doing!"
Giving a fake appearance of being hurt, the clown asked him, "Was it not funny?"
"Sorry, but I don't like clowns and stuff like that..." He answered abruptly, in a bored tone.
"Actually, I pretty much hate them?" Finishing off with that, he was surprised when the older man continued to talk to him, despite just having declared his fervent hatred of clowns.
"Really? Well, I don't like an audience or kids who won't laugh either." Chuckling while rolling his eyes and pouting somewhat childishly, receiving another "Hmph." from the boy.
'The hell is with this guy, acting all childish like this?'
Inching closer to the edge of the grave, the boy addressed the clown again, "Hey… Why aren't you crying…?"
Emotions of sadness and confusion weighing heavily on him, he continued, "You lived every day with this dog didn't you? Are you not even sad?"
"…?"
Receiving nothing in response, he turned to face the older man, realizing that the clown was not sitting beside him anymore.
"I'm so sad I could just die." The clown said it so casually, that it was as though he was used to saying such a thing every day. Resolved to ignore the clown, his attention snapped to the other when he heard a creaking sound, and afterwards was treated to an image of the clown hanging himself with a rope the man seemingly procured out of nowhere, onto the bare tree beside the freshly-made grave.
"STOP THAT!" The boy shouted with so much distaste and panic and horror, that the older man immediately humored him.
'Something's wrong… Something's definitely wrong with this guy!' Shuddering in fear at the disturbing sight he had just witnessed, he was distracted from his thoughts as the man spoke somewhat gravely.
"Actually, I can't cry." The clown emotionlessly explained, while removing the rope from his neck.
'What's with this guy...?' The boy continued giving him a questioning look, silently signaling him to proceed to explain himself.
"Maybe my tears have all dried up… They just won't come no matter what." The older man explained, face becoming even more unreadable than it already was because of the thick face paint.
"The hell? That's stupid." Not knowing what else to say to that, the boy diverted his attention back to the now covered grave and the rubber, neon-colored, circus ball the clown had left on it as a replacement for the gravestone and flowers.
"This guy… What was its name?" The boy asked hesitantly.
The clown remained silent, as though unhearing.
"I pet him yesterday, and he licked me." 'Licked the red, wrinkled, monstrous, left hand which everyone was disgusted of… The hand which gave me the name 'Red'… I think he's ever the only one to really acknowledge me and show appreciation to my presence…'
"His tongue was so warm… So I thought, today I'd…" Hiccupping, Red scrunched his face as he stared at his deformed arm, trying in vain to stop the tears from flowing, "Why… That's all it was… We weren't even close, so why am I crying…?"
Unable to hold back any longer, Red wailed out loud. "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH~!"
"Oh, I see…" The older man said quietly, so that only the boy could hear, "You were Allen's friend, weren't you…"
Tears warming his cheeks, he wailed even louder as he realized what the clown had just said.
The boy continued to wail and mourn for Allen, for his first "friend", shedding enough tears for both himself and the clown until he could only cry dry tears. He continued to cry until he fell asleep, while the clown remained beside him, sitting quietly.
So many strange things had happened during the previous day. He played an act with the clown, Mana- he just found out the older man's name from a red-haired priest who suddenly appeared to tell him to stay away from the clown, their circus troupe was attacked and is now dissolved, Cosimov was dead, a lot of the performers had also disappeared, he too almost died if not for the flying golden ball who stopped the red-headed priest just in time…
'Is Mana dead?' The thought made him cold with fear as he now wondered aimlessly around town. He had escaped the night before, just after the attack on their circus troup. Finding himself back at the circus, not knowing exactly how he ended up back there, Red decided to root around for Mana, hoping against hope that he was alright, that he was still alive. Somewhere in the crowd, Red finally spotted Mana.
Giving a triumphant exclamation, Red waved over to the clown.
"Mana! You're alright! Mana!"
Head still stained with blood from yesterday's events, Mana faced Red and gave a slow smile before greeting the boy. "Where have you been, Allen?"
"Eh?" Staring at the other in shock, Red abruptly halted in his approach.
"… Mana?" Approaching the older man with caution, he grasped Mana's warm hand, tugging as if to ask what had happened to him.
"Today is Christmas! Okay, let's go to a different place Allen!" Enthusiastically pulling 'Allen' with him, joy evident in his warm hands as he held the boy's own smaller hand while resolutely ignoring the other's protests and continued on the path, "Is there anywhere Allen wants to go to?"
"Mana!"
'Strange… Could it be because I hit him with my arm yesterday?' Red contemplated with dread. The idea of having caused harm to the man who had been nothing but kind to him pained him so.
"Hmm- Where should we go next?" Stopping in his tracks abruptly and rubbing his chin in thought, Mana paused as he voiced out his next question while tilting his head to the side.
"Why… Why am I travelling again?"
At that, Red froze. An unsettling feeling gripped his heart as he realized that something had gone horribly wrong with Mana during the short time they had been apart, and knowing the possibility that he could have been the one to cause it filled him with even greater dread.
"You… You're looking for your little brother right? You told me so yourself just yesterday!" Red trembled in fear and regret at how much the clown's memory had regressed.
"Little brother? What's that? I don't have a little brother…" Mana turned to face him, still smiling, but the fear and pain was evident in the older man's touch.
"I feel that I'm… I'm looking for something important? Something really important… But I can't remember exactly what it is I'm looking for?" Still smiling, Mana's voice was even as his grip on Red's hand tightened slightly. His body was shaking in fear. In sadness. For not remembering. For forgetting something important. For knowing he had lost something important, yet not knowing exactly what it was.
"You're looking for your little brother! Your little brother who was separated from you! You said that you were afraid he wouldn't recognize you when you suddenly became older, so you're searching for him!"
No reaction.
Staring at Mana helplessly, his attention was slightly distracted by the falling snow. And somehow, somehow he realized with a certain dread that Mana cannot revert back to his usual self anymore, if what he had witnessed before had even been the 'usual self', considering that the clown had spouted a considerable amount of unbelievable words. Warm tears began to fall from his eyes.
That seemed to break the older man's trance. Wiping away at his tears, the other enclosed him in an embrace, as though to comfort, while saying in a hushed tone, "Don't cry, don't be sad… If you're sad, the Earl will come."
The Earl... Mana seemed to be deathly afraid of this 'Earl'. Could that person possibly have had something to do with his little brother's disappearance…?
"Allen has gotten really warm? And… Strange? You've suddenly gotten so big… And your tail is gone… Strange, really strange…"
Finally Red realized what had happened. 'He mixed me up with the dog…'
The priest's words from when he rescued Red came back to him again, "-Don't forget, this is all because of you."
"Mana…" Looking at the clown helplessly, he finally admitted his hopelessness. 'This man was destroyed by me.'
Resolving himself, the boy stared directly at Mana's golden eyes which were slightly dulled by his own thoughts and troubles. "Take me with you Mana. I'll tell you what you've forgotten. I'll… I'll remember it for you, so please… Please, take me with you." Red said solemnly.
"Of course, we'll always be together Allen." Humoredly declaring the words as though such things were unquestionable facts, Mana laughed innocently, lightly squeezing Red's hand as he once more began to trudge down the path leading to an unknown location. Towards the pure, white snow. Towards a fresh start. Always, the two of them, together.
'This is now my purpose for living. Mana… When I first got to play with your dog, when I first performed together with you on the streets yesterday… It was the first time I ever felt such happiness with someone else. So now it's my turn. I'll make you happy.'
Squeezing the hand still clutching his own, smaller one, he silently resolved to himself.
'I will become your Allen.'
*Footnotes:
Overture- introduction to an opera or other large musical work.
Cadenza- initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage to display performance skills of an instrumentalist or performer.