2nd Iteration

Allen stumbles backward and smacks his head against the wall. So hard that white spots dance before his eyes. So hard his ears ring for half a minute, drowning out the sound of the choked scream lodged somewhere in his throat. So hard he slides slowly to the floor, back against the cold wall, one hand outstretched in the air, the other clutching the fabric over his chest.

An echo of pain resonates through his ribs, but he feels no blood gushing out. He feels no hole in chest, no broken ribs jutting out through torn flesh. He feels a heartbeat, rapid, panicked, instead of an empty, gaping wound. And for a moment, a shriek of terror still dying on his tongue, Allen wonders if he died, that fast, if he's been dropped into some afterlife that happens to look exactly like the Order.

Because he's sure, so, so certain…that a Level 4 just ran a hand straight through his chest and out his back. He saw it happen, in the blink of an eye, yet still, somehow, in slow motion. He saw the flash of the strange, metallic hand, the childlike fingers all extended, strike at him. He felt a pressure in his chest like nothing he'd ever felt before, not even when Tyki Mikk had a Tease eat a hole in his heart.

Allen felt himself die, he's sure of it.

An akuma's hand just tore through his heart and killed him instantly. He didn't even have time to activate Crown Clown before…before his life was snuffed out like the flame on a match.

He had died.

So how could he possibly be sitting against a wall in some hallway in the Order?

It's not until his vision finally clears that he begins to understand, just barely. The white spots fade, and the world around him resolves into clearer shapes, and he realizes where he is. The same open window. The same rainstorm raging outside. The same quiet, empty corridor devoid of people. He's in the same place he'd been just minutes ago…right before the Level 4s appeared.

But how had he gotten here? He couldn't teleport. And…

Allen's clenched hand relinquishes its grip on his chest, and he examines his new uniform coat—his now unbuttoned uniform coat…the one he'd buttoned as he made his way to the cafeteria.

There is no damage to that coat. There is no wound. He's not injured.

It's like the attack in the cafeteria never happened at all. Like he imagined the whole thing.

Has he finally gone crazy? Is that the case?

Or has the attack just not happened yet? Did he somehow have a frighteningly realistic premonition? Is precognition a power of the Noah slowly waking up inside his head?

Or…

Allen peers up at the window to the left of the open pane. One of the many reflective windows that reveals the Noah's shadow lurking behind his shoulder. The shadow is still there, hanging over him like a dark cloud. But something is different. Very different.

The 14th is no longer smiling.

Bracing himself against the wall, Allen forces himself to his feet. He's shaking in a way he hasn't in years—because he's grown so used to fighting akuma in life or death scenarios, but he's not used to losing and then waking up again missing a mortal injury. No, Allen's injuries never vanish in the blink of an eye (not like Kanda's). They remain. So much so that Crown Clown has to step in on occasion, just to keep him breathing.

Allen takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse, and then pushes away from the wall. He moves closer to the closed window, examining the shadow of the 14th. Its nearly featureless expression, nothing but those empty eyes and the too-wide mouth, is warped in a way Allen has never seen before. It almost looks…not angry. Not sad.

Worried? The Noah is worried?

About what? About the akuma attack that didn't happen? About the attack that did happen and then magically undid itself, sending Allen back to the time just before…

In the distance, heavy bells ring out, signaling the time. Seven o'clock.

Something dark with spindly legs creeps up Allen's spine, and he shudders, his mouth suddenly dry. There are three distinct possibilities, he thinks. One, I've finally gone insane and just vividly hallucinated an attack on the Order. Two, I somehow glimpsed the immediate future, and everyone in the cafeteria is about to get slaughtered by akuma. Or three, I've actually already lived the grisly future, and I've somehow gone back in time to the minutes before that future will come to pass.

For once in his life, Allen actually hopes that he is crazy. He hopes that the 14th has invaded his mind and twisted it hard enough to give him waking nightmares. But Allen's hopes and dreams only ever come to pass when he desperately asks Crown Clown for something, and there's nothing his Innocence can do in this scenario. Nothing it can do to wipe the 14th's increasingly concerned expression off the shadow's face.

No, Allen hasn't lost his mind. (Not yet.)

Which means he has less than ten minutes to prevent what will be a massacre. Another massacre. So soon after Lulu Bell's assault that nearly cost the Order everything, and…I have to warn them. I have to run and warn them all and get them out of the cafeteria before that Gate opens.

Premonition or time travel. Strange psychic powers or an impossible time-bending phenomenon.

The truth behind his experience of the future doesn't matter now. Not when so many lives are on the line.

Not when Lenalee and Kanda and Lavi and Krory and even Link…every single one of them is in the cafeteria right now, with no idea what hell is about to descend upon them.

Allen glances up at the 14th's agitated shadow one last time, its frown more pronounced, its blank eyes wavering, its entire form trembling—like it wants to tell him something but can't speak. Like it wants to help him. (And if that isn't the scariest possibility of all, then…)

"Crown Clown," Allen whispers under his breath, and a second later, the white cloak envelops him. Warm. Comforting. Battle ready. He flexes the claws of his left hand, feels the cool metal mask against his flushed, sweaty face. Then he turns to face the hall, face the path he took only minutes ago, ready to repeat it like a terrible play at grasping the ever-fleeting sense of déjà vu.

His gaze lands on the small white cross he marked with his stolen chalk, and for once he thanks Komui for keeping his office so damn messy.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, rattling the windowpanes.

And Allen Walker races off to war.