Last edited April 17th 2016.

-o0o-

One Man, One Youth, One Child

-o0o-

"Sometimes, he seems so much older than he looks."

Brown eyes were levelled upon the former count; upon Arystar Krory the Third, who had been their travelling companion for almost a month now, following the man's not so successful breakup with his akuma mistress.

"Other times, he seems so much younger," the count went on to say, attention on the snowy-haired head resting on top of Timothy's lap, the rest of the body sprawled across the rest of the seat. "It's very strange."

"It's complicated." Timothy shrugged mildly, a book in his hand and Timcanpy once again perched on top of his head. "Simply put, he is older than he looks, but he acts older and younger than he is."

Krory ‒ privately and most affectionately dubbed Nosferatu ‒ looked, if possible, even more puzzled, prompting Timothy to explain further. Because obviously, if the other intended on travelling with them, then it was probably better to set the record straight from the very beginning rather than to start explaining in hindsight.

"When he was ten, he committed a taboo and got cursed because of it," Timothy relayed, without seeing the necessity to spill all the details, quite gruesome as they were. "The curse; it broke his mind…"

He trailed a finger down it. The fact that Allen didn't even twitch proved a clear testament to the quality of the sleep he was getting. For this, Timothy was relieved.

"He still hasn't healed, and in a way I doubt that he ever will," he said, moving his hand back towards the side of Allen's head, stroking it gently. "The scars; they all run too deeply for that."

Krory opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something, but then snapped it back shut, eyes darting back and forth between them before being torn away completely, settling on the unfamiliar landscape passing by outside the carriage window.

"I knew him before it happened," Timothy went on to say, taking the other's embarrassment, general awkwardness and social anxiety for exactly what they were and directing his visible attention towards the sleeping Allen instead, continuing his ministrations and actually earning a contented sigh in response; a novel experience, truly.

"Occasionally, he acts very similar to how he did back then‒ Other times, his mannerisms are eerily similar to those of the very person who cursed him in the first place."

Timothy hadn't really been expecting a response, so he was surprised when he got one.

"This person…" Krory began, obviously hesitant as to whether he ought to go on or not. "This person; do you hate them?"

Timothy closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. "Hate is a strong word. I merely wish he had told Allen beforehand– Maybe a simple warning wouldn't have made such a difference, but still I‒"

"You blame yourself?"

Timothy shrugged mildly in response. "I was summoned back to deal with the funeral arrangements for my old man… and arrived only in time to pick up the pieces."

He suppressed a shudder, because it definitely lay close at hand.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Timothy responded, perfectly calm despite the touchy subject. "I'm the one who ought to be sorry – I was, and I still am, and I'm trying to make up for it now that I can. I left his side once. This time around, I won't. This time around, I'll be sure to protect him."

Even for him, it was a fairly bold statement, but a true one nonetheless.

"He is precious to you," Krory stated rather than asked.

Timothy dipped his head slightly in response.

Again, Krory looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but ultimately retained his silence and awkwardly at that. Then again, Timothy supposed that if he himself had lived a similar life, then he too would probably have acted in a similar way.

"Have you been in any type of contact with the Order?" Timothy then asked, seeing that it was a question that most certainly needed to be asked.

The look of mystification crossing the other's face proved very telling. "The Order?"

"Black clothes or white, with a rose cross on their chests." He accompanied his statement with supplementary gestures. "The Black Order, a subsidiary of the Vatican."

The former count's response proved negative, which was a good thing and especially so since they were currently headed for Paris, a place where they were far more likely to possibly encounter Order operatives.

"Who's Emilia?"

It was involuntary, but his heart definitely skipped a beat.

"Allen said we're going to see Emilia," Krory offered up as an explanation.

"Emilia Galmar." Timothy dropped his gaze to the still sleeping Allen before shifting slightly where he sat, planting his elbow against the carriage window and using it to prop his chin up as he looked out the window instead. "We're not going to see her, but she'll probably be wanting to see me, unfortunately."

"If she is an old friend of yours, then why is it unfortunate?" Krory asked, carefully.

"She disapproves of my life choices." Timothy looked out the window at the landscapes passing by, though he wasn't really paying any attention to them. "What she thinks they are, anyway, since I can't really tell her what I really do."

"And why is that?"

He resisted a sudden urge to roll his eyes, settling for a slight snort instead. "For her own protection, mostly."

"Her own protection from what?"

This time around, Timothy did snap his eyes towards the other, narrowing them. "Nosferatu, if we're going to travel together, then you must understand: Knowing too little is dangerous, but so is knowing too much. And, once I'm done with you, you'll also belong to the latter category."

He received a stunned nod in response, and took it for a sign to go on. "Cross Marian is an exorcist general of the Black Order, albeit a renegade one. As accommodators of Innocence, parasitic in our case, we are also exorcists, but unaffiliated. And so Allen and I will remain, and if you intend to do anything different, then we must part ways in Paris and forget we have ever met." He levelled his eyes upon the other, unwavering. "Because if anyone, through you or otherwise, learns about us, then we'll be killed."

"Why is that?" asked Krory, eyes going wide and then narrow. "Why would you be killed?"

Timothy allowed himself a slight shrug in response. "Because we're affiliated with Cross, and because we know too much… among other things."

Though he was making an effort to fill Krory in on the situation at hand and of their respective circumstances, Timothy had no actual intention of going into details as to what those other things may or may not include.

After all, even though they were likely to continue travelling together for quite some time, there were still certain things that the other was better off not knowing; Timothy's suspicions regarding the true nature of Allen's condition was one of them.

"Ultimately, the Order is a religious organisation; it does plenty of science, but is ultimately ruled by the church and various religious dogma," Timothy went on to explain. "They have declared a Holy War on the Earl of the Millennium, and have sworn to exterminate his army of akuma."

A shadow crossed the other's face, for reasons that were perfectly evident and no less understandable. "Eliade…"

"You know now what they look like," Timothy responded, a look of distaste crossing his features. "Beneath the genteel façade."

The expression on Krory's face darkened even further.

"Don't forget that what you'll be dealing with are not humans; they're machines powered by human souls, born from tragedy. However‒" Timothy sent a casual look Krory's way. "You also shouldn't forget that they too can feel and think, and that they too are victims."

"For accommodators of Innocence, joining the Order to fight in the supposedly 'Holy War' is compulsory," he said, looking out the window once more. "Akuma's may be tools of tragedy, but exorcists are a tragic existence by themselves. Then again, I suppose that so are we."

"How so?"

Through the window, he spotted a lone eagle soaring in the skies, chased by smaller shadows that were far more likely than not crows harassing it in order to drive it away from their nest. "Having killed your first love already, do you really need to ask?"

-o0o-

They arrived at the Hearst Orphan Asylum unannounced, but not unwelcome. Though spontaneous, the welcoming committee proved quite impressing ‒ to Allen and Krory at any rate.

Timothy on the other hand looked far less impressed with this recent turn of events. Then again, it might have had something to do with the reddening mark on his cheek that he kept rubbing insistently whilst being chewed out by a ponytailed brunette in a high-collared shirt, tie, long black skirt and high-heeled boots. Of average height as she was, she still managed to look quite imposing, and seemed to possess quite a short temper from the looks of it.

"Would that happen to be the rumoured Miss Galmar?" Krory asked very quietly where they stood, blending into the background simply because everyone's attention seemed focused upon Timothy.

"That would seem extremely likely," Allen responded softly, keeping an eye on the proceedings halfway hidden behind Krory where he stood, seeing that Timothy's back would offer up little protection at the moment. "But I'm definitely not asking."

They wordlessly agreed that this was probably the best decision, and reaffirmed this conviction when Timothy sent them a positively searing look for not running interference.

However, in time attention gradually shifted ‒ or rather, abruptly snapped ‒ towards the pair standing closest to the door, lingering on a stiffening Krory only briefly before ultimately zeroing in on Allen where he stood, eyes widening slightly in horror at the direction in which the situation seemed to be heading. "Oh Hell no…"

-o0o-

A mildly traumatising experience and a few explanations later, Allen exited the Hearst Orphan Asylum ahead of the others who followed about half a step behind.

"I'm never going back there," Allen flatly announced, and those following exchanged a look and a smile, which in Krory's case proved very strained and in Timothy's case bordered on a grin. "Over my dead body."

Hearing this, Timothy sniggered. "You barely flinch at the sight of tormented human souls, yet you would rather die than endure hugs and kisses from old ladies?"

"I would," Allen deadpanned, and Krory looked torn as to whether he ought to nod sagely or be worried on Allen's behalf.

"Fine, whatever." Timothy whistled. "How about you then, Nosferatu? Would you rather die than endure hugs and kisses from old ladies?"

Krory averted his eyes, but seemed to be considering it. "If possible, then I would like to avoid either."

Tch. How positively diplomatic of him.

"Gee, good old women are wasted on you people," Timothy snorted, rubbing his still aching cheek. "Young and fierce ones as well."

"Hugs are tolerable, barely," Allen snapped, pressing onward. "Kisses are icky and cheek pinching ought to be outlawed. If people touch me without my permission, then why can't I just punch them? Or kick them? Scratch them? Bite them? See how they like'em apples."

"If that's your policy, then I can't help but wonder how I still have all my limbs intact," Timothy mused aloud whilst Krory coughed, maybe or maybe not to disguise a chuckle.

"It's different with you," Allen calmly responded, not even looking back at them. "You're family."

"Then what is Krory?"

This time around, Allen did turn around partially, looking the aforementioned up and down and then up again before seemingly coming to a tentative conclusion, tilting his head to the side. "The awkward newfound uncle?"

Timothy hardly bothered in hiding his amusement. The eyebrow of the topic of conversation gave a noticeable twitch however.

"Say, Allen," Krory then began, stepping over to Allen and crouching next to him, uncaring if the tails of his coat came into direct contact with the dirt on the pavement. "Which part exactly does Mr. Hearst perform in your family?"

Allen ‒ having turned to face him ‒ turned briefly to look in Timothy's direction and then turned back again moments later, apparently having reached a tentative conclusion. "Overbearing mother hen."

The aforementioned choked on his own spit, whilst an actual grin split the face of Krory.

"What?" Allen deadpanned. "You are."

Krory looked like he was at the verge of chuckling, but he stifled it immediately when Timothy sent a positively withering glare his way, effectively shutting him up before moving along to Allen, who flatly returned the glare sent his way.

"To be specific, you're both the overbearing mother hen and the awesome big brother?"

Timothy felt his face twitch slightly. "Try again."

"And you're one of my three favourites, ranking waaaay above my bastard uncle, my kind uncle and my awesome grandaunt."

"Fine, whatever." Mild irritation gave way to feelings of exasperation. "On a separate note, our train won't leave for several hours yet, so do either of you have any places you wish to see while we're in the area?"

Allen shrugged mildly whilst the former count looked mildly thoughtful. "Notre Dame?"

Again, Timothy found himself resisting a sudden urge to do an eye roll.

-o0o-

They managed to leave Paris without further incident and then continued eastward, obviously after leaving a quite generous donation to the orphanage, ensuring that if things went along as usual, then it would keep running for at least a few years to come.

They passed through the southern part of Germany, making use of the recently expanded railroad network, and then continued onward, crossing the current and former territories of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and onward.

They had just crossed over into Bulgaria when they encountered a woman at an inn who turned over a letter from Cross, though calling the thing a letter was probably a stretch; it was a notice, and it was written in code, meant for their eyes only.

"Cross's telling us to get our arses over to India," Allen swiftly deduced as Timothy handed him the notice.

Krory kicked up an eyebrow in response.

"What?" Allen snapped, waving it around. "It literally says Get your arses over to India."

Krory and Timothy exchanged a look, one with an accompanying frown and the other with exasperation. "Cross," they uttered in unison, and both knew well what the other meant.

-o0o-

Having restocked some of their provisions, they headed back to the train station.

Timothy headed their little troupe, with Allen and Krory trailing just behind him. It was after all the sensible thing to do, seeing that it had since long been established that Krory knew too little about the world and Allen, age and build aside, barely had much of a sense of direction to begin with.

Arriving at the station, they spent a few minutes loitering at the platform. They were not completely alone there, but there was hardly a crowd assembled when a train finally pulled into the station.

Moments after it had finally come to a stop, people began pouring from it; ragged-looking migrant workers from the looks of it, no doubt headed for the mines.

It lasted for a few minutes, going from a swelling tide into recession. It became a trickling flow that was eventually cut short. A small group of workers exited last; three adults and one child, all of them raggedy as far as clothes were concerned but seemingly in high spirits, though admittedly, the child looked rather sickly.

They were hardly anything special at a first glance, but Timothy in particular found himself taking note of their presence; unsettled by something, though he wasn't entirely certain as to what. Whatever it was, it caused Tsukikami to stir within him, which was unsettling at best and positively alarming at worst.

Even so, unsettled or not, Timothy didn't stop; he walked forward, walking past the group headed in the opposite direction, keeping his visible attention ahead even while remaining very much aware of the other group.

The train whistle sounded, and Timothy paused and turned partially, finding Allen standing a few steps behind them, craning his neck to look at the people who had just gone past. "Allen."

Allen abruptly snapped his head around, his eyes somewhat wide.

Timothy recognised that look. "What's up?"

"It's‒" Allen turned his head once more, looking back towards the retreating group. "It's probably nothing; just a feeling."

In Allen's case, it was seldom just a feeling, but this time around, Timothy had other concerns at hand. "Well, come on," he said, extending a hand. "Krory's off finding us some seats. Let's see if we can find him."

Allen took the hand and got on the train. His attention however seemed to linger elsewhere, even as the train began to move.

"Allen."

Silver-grey eyes snapped to him anew, slightly exasperated now.

"They weren't akuma or anything of the sort, right?"

"No akuma," Allen deadpanned, squaring his shoulders. "Just ugly-looking coke-bottle glasses."

With a sigh, Timothy permitted himself an eye roll.

-o0o-

Largely thanks to Timothy's usual resourcefulness, they made it to Cyprus. There they managed to board a ship headed for India. Thanks to the Suez Canal, they could travel by sea as opposed to by land, which would have been a quite tedious affair. During their time with Cross, both Timothy and Allen had experienced their fair share of the tediousness that was either on horseback for extended periods of time or on camelback for just the same, seeing that the railroad network in Asia was not yet as extensive as the European one.

Obviously, staying aboard a ship for extended periods of time also had its drawbacks, though the strain was far more psychological than physical in their case. Or rather, it was, initially.

The Red Sea part of their voyage had proven fairly uneventful. However, when they approached the Gulf of Berbera, alternatively of Aden, the deceptive calm had been shattered as Allen had caught wind of more than just a few akuma in the night.

Thus, they hadn't exactly been unprepared for the night-time assault. However, none of them had been able to accurately gauge the increased level of difficulty that the appearance of a Level Three had added to their already precarious situation, and just how difficult it was to manoeuvre around members of the crew that lay stricken and otherwise incapacitated out on deck.

If possible, then they would have liked to minimise the number of casualties. Then again, if possible, then they would also have liked to minimise the number of witnesses. Either way, at the time, they had had little time or opportunity to be very concerned about either.

Their attack and defence strategy had proven severely crippled, and even more so after the Level Three ‒ which harboured quite a troublesome ability ‒ had managed to take Allen hostage, securing him in a chokehold in order to utilise him as a human shield.

Timothy had found that his, Krory's and Timcanpy's combined efforts were not enough; their inability to cope had ultimately put them at the mercy of the Level Three, which would be able to kill them all off with its special ability without even relinquishing its acquired shield.

Truth to be told, that night should have been the end for them. The akuma could have and would have killed the lot of them and had indeed been prepared to do so, only to pause in mid strike, looking confusedly down at its acquired hostage regaining consciousness.

And if that in itself had not been surprising enough, that which had followed had definitely taken the biscuit and eaten it at that, when Allen ‒ face pale and drawn and eyes half-mast ‒ had spoken up, his voice soft but steady. "Stop."

It was a small voice, but it apparently held sway, seeing that the Level Three did just that; it stopped and simply stared at the child with what appeared to be confusion bordering on fear bordering on something else entirely, and it was the last which stood out like a sore thumb amongst the rest.

Timothy ‒ aware of the situation but unable to do much besides watching it unfold ‒ found himself experiencing emotions that bordered on something similar, alongside shock and disbelief that only grew as Allen ‒ still hanging in the grip of the akuma ‒ spoke up once more.

"What is the Earl planning?"

Seeing that the akuma made no move to attack any of them, Timothy snuck a quick glance off in Krory's direction, visually confirming that the other was still breathing. Then he snapped his attention right back towards the main spectacle in time to see Allen's feet make their impact on the deck after the Level Three had released him a few feet above it.

The impact was light, but though he made a decent landing, Allen looked decidedly unsteady when he got back up again. And, when he did so, he turned instantly towards the akuma still looming over them, further up in the air now but clearly staring at Allen as though he was something outlandish but also familiar.

"Speak."

The voice remained steady but small, though it was stronger now; determined. There was evidently something contained within it; some inflection of power, seeing that a response soon followed.

"The Master has ordered his faithful to hunt."

"Hunt what?" the small voice inquired, eerily calm.

Again, the response was near immediate. "The exorcist generals; the Heart."

Momentarily, Timothy mulled about the meaning of the latter, but he soon found that his attention flittered elsewhere.

Allen lifted his head, and the lights from one of the lanterns attached to the ship illuminated his features. "Why did you attack us?"

Again, an immediate response. "Because you're exorcists."

"Why did you stop?"

Timothy's eyes and attention flickered back and forth between them, because even though he was decidedly worried for his downed comrade, whatever was going on before him held greater importance in the present and possibly even in the near future. "Why did you stop?" was after all an excellent question; it was‒

"Because you ordered me to."

Timothy found his body rocked by an involuntary shudder, even as the last remnants of the previous attack had by then dissipated. And what followed only served to chill him even further.

"Why did you obey?" asked the child who was not a child.

"Because I must," said the Level Three that had only minutes prior had them at a definite disadvantage.

"Why?" The small voice; it was wavering at last. "Why must you listen to me?"

A response soon followed, but it was cut short by an expletive that was in turn followed by the akuma blowing itself up right before their very eyes, but mostly Allen's.

Though still somewhat perplexed at what had just taken place, Timothy quickly dived into action, making use of his newly regained mobility when Allen ‒ previously frozen up in shock ‒ swayed violently.

However, Krory ‒ who had at some point also recovered ‒ made it there more than just a few moments before him, catching the small body as it fell limp and lowering it onto the deck where Timothy quickly took over, surveyed by a seemingly frantic Timcanpy.

"Will he be alright?" was the question that followed after several moments as Timothy tended to the only visible physical wound of any significance: the cursed scar, that had at the moment of explosion split open from one end to the other and was bleeding profusely because of it.

Timothy didn't look up; couldn't. "I don't know; I honestly don't."

Neither his voice nor his body shook very much as he said that. Now, inwardly on the other hand‒

A hand landed on his shoulder, and heavily at that. He didn't look up.

The grip tightened, nails digging into his shoulders even through the fabric of his coat. He finally relented, lifting his head to meet with the eyes staring down at him worriedly.

"Tim," the former count insisted. "It'll be alright."

Those were usually his words; Timothy's. Finding them reflected back at him now, the more jaded part of him could not help but appreciate the sheer irony of it all.

"You're right." He turned his attention back to Allen, who after all the blood had been wiped away looked almost peaceful. "We'll manage."

Truth to be told, he rather doubted it.

-o0o-

Thankfully, it would seem as though his worries were if not unfounded then at the very least unnecessary, seeing that Allen was up and about and in a decidedly foul mood less than twenty-four hours after the events. He stumbled out of the cabin and out onto the deck with Timcanpy in a tow, holding a hand out in front of his eyes in order to shield them against the brightness of the sun, which stood high up in the skies.

"Yo," Timothy readily greeted. "How's your head?"

The response was immediate, and bordering on derisive. "Broken, since it hurts a lot and I can't remember why."

"Same old, same old, then?"

Timothy received a dirty look for that one, but paid it little heed. Instead, he allowed his eyes to sweep across their immediate surroundings, passing briefly over the members of the crew who were out on deck, completing their tasks in spite of what had happened during the previous night.

The members of the crew were frightened but thankful; Timothy knew as much from the words and actions that had followed. The captain had perished, and had it not been for the interference of Timothy and the others, then all would have shared his fate with no one the wiser.

Then again, Timothy privately supposed that it was just as fair to assume that their own presence had been at least partially responsible for the event. Obviously though, he was not about to introduce this possibility to the minds of the crew, because he wasn't an idiot.

"So, what did happen anyway? Krory looked like I'd risen from the dead," Allen said, rubbing the healed but apparently still irritated skin on the left part of his face, looking like he was battling a sizeable migraine.

"I don't suppose that you would believe me if I said you stepped on one of your shoelaces, tripped over your own feet and knocked yourself out, would you?" Timothy quipped, simply because.

"No," was the immediate and deadpan response.

"Why not?" he questioned, giving Allen a look.

"Because I don't have shoelaces."

Timothy visually confirmed that it was indeed so, seeing that Allen ‒ like the rest of them ‒ was wearing sandals. "Fair point."

That earned him an irritable look. "You're basically saying that I don't wanna know, right?"

"How so?"

The eyes narrowed slightly. "Because you keep trying to distract me."

Seeing that his game was up, Timothy saw little reason to keep it going, per se. "How much do you remember?" he asked, leaning against the railing. "I'll fill you in."

The response was almost immediate; short and to the point. "Akuma. Level Twos and one Level Three."

His confirmation of this proved equally concise. "Yep."

Allen reached up to touch his own throat, darkened by bruises. "What happened to the Level Three?"

"It self-detonated. It wasn't a pretty sight."

The reaction was immediate. "Oh."

"I think that you might've inhaled some of the gas, because you collapsed right afterwards."

It was a lie, technically speaking, and the fact that Allen didn't catch it right away spoke volumes of his mental state when he instead of calling him out on it had asked "But shouldn't I be immune?", to which Timothy had responded with a "That's what we thought, but who knows?" followed by a tentative "Maybe you had gotten too great of a shock to your system to handle it?".

"Makes sense."

Normally, it would have. This time however‒

Timothy directed his eyes towards the coastline that lay visible at the horizon. "Well, we're all here now and for the most part, none the worse to wear. And that's all that matters, right?"

The response that he got was muted; resigned. "I suppose."

"You don't sound very convinced," Timothy noted, giving him a look.

Again, there was a muted response; barely any response at all, as a matter of fact. Either way, it was a clear sign that another approach was needed, and Timothy knew exactly what to do.

"Look," he said, stepping away from the railing slightly in order to crouch next to his charge. "I'm sorry about the akuma. Next time, I'll do it properly."

Allen snorted. "Why do you keep taking the blame for stuff that aren't even your fault?"

Timothy shrugged mildly. "Because I wasn't strong enough."

"To do what?"

"To possess a Level Three."

That earned him a look of disbelief that swiftly morphed into exasperation. "Gee, Tim. It's not like me and Krory can even do that in the first place."

Timothy straightened back up and leaned back against the railing, once again contemplating what lay at the horizon. "Well yeah, but unlike me, you people can fight nail and tooth while I need a body to hijack before I can do anything remotely useful."

There was a brief pause; a beat of silence that was followed by an incredibly flat response. "Fair point. You really are useless."

"Hey!"

"Besides," Allen went on to say, also contemplating the horizon from the looks of it, Timcanpy perched on top of his head. "This time around, we were all pretty useless, but this was our first Level Three and we survived, so as long as we keep going, we'll‒Why are you looking at me like I've just grown a second head?"

The eyes stared at him now, snappy. Timothy swiftly averted his own. "No reason."

The eyes narrowed slightly. "Tiiiim…"

"What?" he finally snapped as there was a harsh tug on his sleeve.

"Stop treating me like a child," was the snappish response.

"You are a child," Timothy remarked.

"I'm t‒"

"Still a child," Timothy insisted, gaining a narrow-eyed response.

An obstinate "So are you" followed it.

"In the eyes of some," Timothy relented, before adding "But I'm still waaay older", because that was just as accurate as the first.

"You look fifteen," Allen persisted. "Coz you're short."

"Yeah, like you're the one to talk, pipsqueak. If I didn't know any better, then I'd put you down as nine, tops."

Timothy received a decidedly pointed glare for that, but he wasn't done; not really.

"What?" he deadpanned. "That's what Krory thought you were. He didn't believe me when I told him how old you really are."

There was another brief pause, and then‒ "Bet you he didn't believe you on your actual age either."

There was really only one appropriate answer for that.

A wry smile was already playing on Allen's lips, and moments later, a similar one appeared on Timothy's. "Touché."

-o0o-