Author's Note: Wow, guys. Thanks for all the reviews and alerts. I'm so glad that you guys are enjoying this as much as I am! To show my appreciation, here's your second chapter!

Thanks to: firespaws, Kiminaru, Amedee-chan, Hola, Nusku, Freakingcage7, checkeredmoro, ClaymoreDarkAlicia, ritachi, KinKitsune01, Jay-Jay51, Ishikawa Yui, MonElisa, Dgm-yoai-lover, sweetpotato1992, whatthehellwasithinkin, BlueFox of the Moon, Nella is a Bumblebee, [Rabbits Galore], Lal Mirch, beautiful000enigma, Aion Laven Walker, methyl, Ghost of the Crescent Moon, MidnightEmber and everyone else for your love~!

A special thank you to MonElisa for catching my typo (DGM is set at the end of the 19th century, not the 18th, my bad, peeps) and to ritachi who gave me (and has been giving me) excellent advice.

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Lavi had no idea what to do in a situation like this. It had started as a normal day: Lavi woke up late, barely made it to work, and then drove fifteen minutes from his college campus to attend a mandatory Saturday class with his Art 113 class at 2:30pm. Easy credit, he thought: Easy day. But then that all changed when the most unusual thing possible happened. A boy, whom he had never met and whom had been stone not even moments ago, had suddenly come to life and was now unconscious in his arms.

A number of thoughts spun through his mind as he shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around Allen's prone form. Most of them consisted of the same basic question where Lavi asked himself what the hell he was supposed to do now; now that he'd destroyed a revered piece of artwork, brought a statue to life, and said now-alive statue was in need of medical attention. Lavi was sure he was in deep. But even with all of these concerns, he picked Allen up—surprised at how light he felt—and hurried out of the room. If he was a felon, the least he could do was at least treat Allen's injuries, hopefully without getting arrested.

The hallway outside the 19th century sculpture room was dark. Voices carried from different parts of the museum, but no one was in immediate view and Lavi took that as his cue to exit the building as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, in the security room at the Columbus Museum of Art, two security guards sat in front of blank monitors, wondering how the power could have gone out on such a clear November afternoon.

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Luck must have been on his side that day, because Lavi got them both home without problem. He even got a front parking space outside of his apartment, which almost never happened. It definitely made it easier to get Allen into the building without being seen. However, going up three flights of stairs to his flat was a bit rough, as Lavi was a little out of shape. When he got to his door, the redhead was panting something awful and his arms were straining even under Allen's small weight. All he could be glad for was that his key made it into the lock on the first try and that he was safely in his apartment before his landlord or some neighbor could walk by to witness him dragging a bloody and passed out boy into his room.

Home was its usual messy self, resulting in Lavi having to take giant steps over stacks of books and papers. He did manage to get into the bedroom to lay Allen down on his bed, letting out a sigh of relief when his arms were no longer being used as a make-shift stretcher. Then it was time to get busy, as Allen's wounds hadn't healed themselves on the ride over. Thankfully, Lavi still had a stocked first aid kit and plenty of bandages from the one time he and Yuu had tipped over on the Japanese man's motorcycle, resulting in road rash something awful on their arms and legs for three weeks. And Yuu had tortured himself so badly about the incident—that he'd hurt Lavi in the process—that he sold his bike a few days afterwards. Lavi shook his head, closing the medicine cabinet as he quickly made his way back into the bedroom, all thoughts of his ex-boyfriend pushed aside. He had more important things to worry about now.

The first thing was getting Allen undressed, which Lavi did with only slight hesitation, knowing that the boy needed to be patched up. With no injuries to his legs, Lavi covered Allen up to his waist to preserve his modesty, focusing instead on the gashes across his chest and what looked like a severe burn on his left arm. He cleaned the wounds (finding that the scarring to Allen's arm was old and not a fresh injury) and did his best with butterfly stitches to keep the skin together to heal properly, hoping it wouldn't leave too much of a scar. Lavi did the same thing to Allen's forehead, wincing at the old, deep scar that marred the left side of the younger boy's face. Then Lavi bandaged Allen up with gauze and padding, being gentle to not to shift any of his wounds in the process.

He let out a relieved sigh when he was through, leaning back for a moment to watch Allen sleep. Dark lashes lay splayed delicately against alabaster cheeks as Allen's chest moved with an even rise and fall. So real, Lavi thought, moving his hand to tenderly stroke Allen's hair. It felt like silk beneath his fingers. So soft…Lavi stopped his actions, feeling guilty as he remembered the way Allen had screamed out Rabi's name. Allen was not his to touch; this fact was made clear by the silver ring that glittered on his finger in the afternoon sunlight. An uncharacteristic frown pulled at his lips when he thought of the beautiful engagement ring in the black satin box that Yuu had shown him, asking: Do you think Lenalee will like it? Lavi chewed bitterly at his bottom lip. Allen wasn't his and Yuu would never be his; it was just something that Lavi would have to live with.

Lavi covered Allen with a heavy blanket—the ring obstructed from view—to keep him warm and then pulled the blinds to keep it dark so the boy could sleep some more. With that done, Lavi allowed himself just one last touch to Allen's hair, feeling an overwhelming emotion of nostalgia take hold of him. It was something that breathed a gentle whisper within him, almost like I missed you. But Lavi didn't think about it for too long, clearing away the trash from the bandages and antiseptics before leaving the room.

He had homework to do.

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The End of Days was one of the most widely-read mythological stories aside from the more famous Greek or Roman poems by Homer, Sophocles, and Virgil. Its author remained unknown, but the story had been translated into almost every language and put into almost every single high-school curriculum since 1970. Although the Vatican had declared the epic poem to be something akin to a heretical doctrine because of the gratuitous violence and major theme involving Necromancy; not to mention that in some versions, Allen Walker's lover had been male, and the the Vatican had a strong rule against homosexual relationships, especially when said homosexual relationships occurred (in reality or literature) in their own Order. Despite that, it was still published and became great source of questioning for historians, archaeologists, writers, and basically anyone in the scientific community with an inquiring mind.

Lavi had his own copy: an old, leather-bound thing that his grandfather had picked up for him in some antique shop while he was traveling in Europe. There were beautiful illustrations in it: of Allen Walker and his comrades. In the text, none of the other characters were named, but were referred to by their part in the story: the Lover and Friend, the Lotus, the Heart, the Fourteenth, and so on and so forth.

As he flipped through the pages, Lavi became more and more convinced that the Allen in the story was the one in his bedroom. It was so unreal to think that such a thing could happen—that such a person existed. But Lavi was starting to believe, starting to think, starting to wonder exactly why he felt so inclined to know the truth. His fingers were itching for the phone, wanting to contact his grandfather, who was his last remaining relative. Would the old man believe his story? If so, what would he do? They had a boy who had spent the past one hundred years in a marble coma suddenly alive, awake, and wandering around in 2008. And he wasn't just some ordinary boy; he was a prophecy. In every translation it never deviated: "Allen Walker was the One chosen by God."

Lavi jumped when his phone vibrated in his pocket and he hastily put down the volume, taking out the Razor to stare at the screen. Tyki Mikk Calling…it read, the tiny icon of a phone making ringing animations. Thinking up the quickest lie he could, Lavi flipped open the phone and answered, in the most pathetic voice possible: "Hello…?"

"Lavi?" asked Tyki.

"Yeah…" replied Lavi.

"Where are you?" Tyki inquired, sounding a little pissed off. That's when Lavi realized that he'd completely ditched the other boy. He felt bad for a moment, but then it passed and he took in a semi-dramatic shuddering breath.

"Home…got sick at th'museum…" Lavi said, playing the sympathy card for all it was worth.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," Tyki replied, really sounding it. That made Lavi feel another stab of guilt that took a bit longer to fade. "And here I thought you played hooky without me."

"No…" Lavi said with a forced sounding groan. "…threw up…wasn't fun…"

"Sorry. That really sucks," he said. "At least you missed the crowd. The power got knocked out and we all had to leave. Apparently some thieves got into the museum and stole something big—they wouldn't say what. Cops were everywhere and they were questioning us and shit. It was a mess." He sounded really excited despite the fact that Tyki was making it come off like a big inconvenience. "Anyway, you need anything? I can drop by your place, if you'd ever tell me where it was…"

"'m okay…" Lavi replied, throwing his wrist over his eyes. He really hated lying, but his head hurt enough already without throwing Tyki into all of this. Besides, Lavi wasn't sure he wanted Tyki knowing where he lived, in case the Portuguese man turned out to be some sort of creepy stalker. "Don't wanna givit to you…"

"Okay…" Tyki said, disappointment ringing in his tone. "I'll give you a call tomorrow. And if you need anything, call, all right?"

"Yeah…later, man…" Lavi said, hanging up the phone before Tyki could keep him on any longer. He let out a sigh, tossing the cellular on the coffee table. Things were just getting more and more complicated. Even when he turned on the TV to watch something in hopes of distracting himself, Lavi was met with only the news.

"Today, an unknown number of thieves have pulled off what could be the most notable heist in years," said the newscaster on channel three. She continued with a serious expression, a picture appearing in the upper right hand corner of the screen of the sculpture that Allen had, well, been a part of. "This priceless piece of 19th century history was stolen from the Columbus Museum of art earlier this afternoon, when a power outage rendered the entire building without any security measures for forty-five whole minutes. Investigating the case are the Columbus police with the help of the National Historical Society in hopes of—" Lavi turned the television off, not wanting to hear anything else. Slumping back against the couch, he ran his hands over his face with another sigh.

"I'm so screwed…" he muttered aloud to the empty room. Pushing himself up off the sofa, Lavi walked quietly back into the bedroom to check on Allen. He was still sleeping soundly beneath the plaid blanket, his silver hair strewn across the pillow in a picturesque manner. Lavi went over and sat on the edge of the bed next to Allen, that feeling in him growing tenfold at their proximity. Touch him, it nudged against his psyche, and Lavi did, his fingers moving through Allen's hair, down his warm cheek.

When Allen didn't wake and Lavi was convinced that he wasn't feverish or in need of a change of bandages, the redhead got up and left just as quietly as he had come. Leaning against the door, he stared at his cell phone lying on the cluttered coffee table and made his decision.

"What?"

"That's a nice way to greet your grandson, whom you're supposed to fake love and adoration for," Lavi replied, listening to his grandfather grumble something that sounded offensive on the other end. But no matter how much the old man might hate on him, he was all Lavi had left. And Sid Bookman was one of the most revered anthropological historians on the east coast.

"What do you want, brat?" he asked.

"Um, well, this is going to sound kind of crazy…" Lavi said, wondering where to begin.

"Try me," Bookman said. Lavi knew that his grandfather had seen and heard of a lot of crazy shit, but he'd never heard something this unbelievable. And when Lavi was through with his story, there was a heavy silence on the other end for a long moment. "Listen, boy, I'm only going to say this once: whatever you're on, stop taking it."

"W-What?" Lavi asked.

"The drugs. Stop them. Understand?" Bookman said.

"N-No! I'm not on drugs!" Lavi replied, not believing that his own grandfather would think he was some addict who was having strange, hallucinogenic experiences.

"You go to a liberal arts college; of course you're on drugs," Bookman answered, sounding unsurprised.

"No, no, no," Lavi said, waving his arms around as he paced the apartment. "I'm not on drugs, I swear. I haven't smoked pot since high school (oh, I guess there was that one time at Daytona last spring break, b-but that's beside the point)! Look, I'm telling you the truth. Turn on the news!" There was another moment of silence where Lavi waited with nervous, impatient footsteps back and forth across the small clean space in the sea of books and papers that littered his apartment floor.

"Christ, Lavi…" his grandfather said, sounding speechless.

"I know, right? I'm telling the truth, you've gotta believe me," Lavi replied, clutching the phone.

"You're a fucking thief now? What's wrong with you?" Bookman asked, sounding outraged.

"I didn't steal anything! Not really…" Lavi said. Technically he did steal Allen, but, not really, right? "Look, he was alive when I took him! Allen Walker came to life!"

"Do me a favor, Lavi," Bookman replied, sounding at the end of his very short amount of patience. "Stop the drugs, first of all. Secondly, stay home for the next few days and don't do anything stupid. I'll be in back from New York by Wednesday and when I do, you're going to rehab."

"You're shitting me, right?" Lavi asked.

"Don't make me tell you again," his grandfather said, with no room for arguments. "Now shut up, put your crack pipe out, and go to bed." He didn't even wait for a reply, hanging up before Lavi could get his swearing in. Pushing the call end button, Lavi dropped the Razor on the top of a pile of library books by the coffee table. After that, he threw himself on the couch and stretched out on the sagging cushions. So much for his grandfather being the one person who would always be there to support him…

Lavi pulled the blanket down off the top of the sofa and curled up under it. Maybe everything would be different in the morning. Maybe when the sun rose tomorrow on Sunday, he'd find that a priceless piece of art hadn't turned into a human before his eyes, that he hadn't "stolen" said priceless piece of art, and that his grandfather didn't think he was a crack addict. He could only hope everything would look brighter in the morning...

But at six a.m., Lavi was in for a rude awakening.

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Hope you enjoyed~! More to come!

Dhampir72