title: Settling Down
summary: Cross wakes up to find himself suddenly a father.
When Cross woke up, he was expecting to be face down on a dirty floor, his face swimming in a pool of his own puke. What surprised him at the moment was that he was face down in a warm bed, shirtless. His eyes widened in alarm. His mind tried its best to remember the events of the previous night. He made a mental check list. He went to the pub. Check. He ordered a shit load of drinks. Check. And he got smashed to the point of blacking out. Check. And after that, though, his mind drew a blank. Thinking perhaps wasn't the best idea at the moment as his brain began to pound within the walls of his skull. He hated having hangovers, hated the dizzying feeling of the world spinning, the noise of his pounding pulse and the inevitable feeling of his insides wanting to escape through every possible orifice of his body.
He rolled over carefully onto his back, screwing his eyes shut as a wave of vertigo hit him. It could have been worse, he thought. At least his ass wasn't suspiciously sore like the last time he drank himself into oblivion.
Cross licked his cracked lips, wincing at the sour taste in his mouth. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see the time on the nightstand. His eyes widened when they landed on a small shirtless child with white hair, who was softly snoring beside him.
Cross looked at himself, then at the boy, then at himself.
He was shirtless with a small equally shirtless boy in bed.
Cross sat up and groaned.
He would have preferred to have a suspiciously sore ass than this!
The boy rustled a bit before opening his eyes. The thought of running out of bed and screaming in horror came across to Cross, but once the boy smiled shyly and sat up, the redhead knew he wouldn't be able to escape.
"Are you feeling better master?"
Cross paled as his jaw slowly unhinged.
Master? What kind of freaky shit was he doing with this kid?
The boy tilted his head, looking at the man curiously.
Cross searched the night stand for his smokes, his vertigo and pounding headache now forgotten. He needed a stiff drink, but seeing as how drinking got him in his current situation, he thought that lighting up was a better source of comfort. He finally found his treasured cancer sticks and lit one up, turning back to the boy as he took a long drag.
"So…" he began, letting out a stream of smoke. "…was it good for you too?"
The small boy pouted, looking confused.
Cross would've laughed, but he knew he couldn't make light of the situation. He may or may have not slept with the boy, which was daunting because he really liked his women.
"Who the hell are ya kid? And where the hell did you come from?"
The boy sat up and that's when Cross noticed the unusual arm.
"Don't you remember? My name is Allen Walker. You saved me the other day at the cemetery." The boy replied in a British accent.
Cross raised an eyebrow, trying to remember, and then it hit him like a bottle of tequila. The boy was the kid with the badass arm that he found in the cemetery. He remembered the little monster totally owning that akuma. The redhead looked at the boy, who stared back, curiously.
Whatever, so he kind of sort of lost his memory about the ordeal.
He'll blame the booze instead of his early bout of Alzheimer's.
Cross got up and stretched a bit, scratching the back of his head as he smoked his cigarette. What the hell was he doing with a kid? He couldn't settle down now, he was practically a teenager (being in his thirties and all). How could he cruise for women when he had that little cock-blocker tailing behind him?
The man turned around to look at the kid again, seeing the boy sit up, expectant. He noticed the boy's dark red cursed arm and walked towards the bed. He picked the boy's arm up, examining the black nails and the cross embedded into the back palm of his skin.
"I see potential in you," he said after a brief silence. "How about I take you in as my disciple, hm?"
The white haired boy just blinked at him and Cross began to wonder if the kid was retarded, stupid or both.
"What are you, an idiot? I'm giving you a chance of a life time. You get to train with me to become the best exorcist since me. So, how about it shrimp?"
The boy nodded rigorously, a smile plastered on his face.
"Yes! I'll do anything you'll tell me!" the boy said excitedly.
Cross raised an eyebrow and looked at the boy suspiciously.
"Now for rules," the man began, walking over to the table across the room and sitting down on an old chair.
"Rule number one: I am god, the king, and the messiah."
Allen nodded determined.
"Rule number two: All your opinions are automatically rejected."
The boy frowned, but Cross continued.
"Rule number three: Know your place."
Cross finished his cigarette and snuffed the rest into the ceramic ash tray.
"Rule number four: If you misbehave, Timcampy will eat you."
"Who's Timcampy?" Allen asked. Cross pointed to the large yellow golem lying on the dirty floor.
"I think the shit's broken or something." At that moment, Timcampy chose to cough up a dust ball. "It doesn't clean the room any more." The man lit up another cigarette. "Piece of crap," Cross muttered afterwards, exhaling smoke.
"Rule number six: Do not question my authority. And finally, until I think of more rules that will hinder your child development, leaving you to become a broken and bitter man who has lost all hope of living, Rule number seven: Do not attract attention to yourself. You are not to be seen or heard until I say otherwise, comprendre?"
The boy nodded. He looked at bit pale.
Cross felt proud of himself. He wasn't even a father for like a day and he already instilled fear in the child before noon. He should get, like the father of the year award or some shit.
"Now that the rules are in place, go get us some breakfast."
Allen nodded, getting up to walk up to his Master to get the money for food.
