A/N: At long last, here's another chapter! Updated two stories in one weekend. It's been a while since I did that!
Hope you guys like this chapter, even though I was pretty lazy with the editing. OTL

"Where did you go, Mana?"

A question meant for himself slipped from Allen's lips though not a soul heard it. Breathing hot air against his cold palms in attempt to warm them up, unfamiliar gray eyes searched the streets for the person who'd disappeared again in the dead of night.

This was the third time he'd run away. He was starting to think that chasing after him was a useless endeavor. After his Father's death, his Uncle had changed. Allen had, too.

The difference was that Allen had found his reason for existing. He lived to bring his father back from the other side, to be his vessel when he did return. On the other hand, Mana had broken. Allen had done his fair share of mourning, but Mana took it too far. It was all he seemed to do anymore.

More than once, his Uncle had run away. Perhaps it was better to say he got lost, but regardless, there was a feeling of foreboding that lurked in Allen's chest. It wasn't likely he'd see his Uncle again—that was the impression he got from it.

Allen never felt more alone in the world than he did then, knowing that his only companion had apparently dropped off the face of the Earth. The dark streets that he wandered down seemed longer and colder than he knew they were.

"Maybe I should just give up," Allen said aloud without thinking, immediately cursing himself for it. This was his precious Uncle, not some stranger!

Without a doubt, his father would be ashamed and Allen whispered an apology to him for the transgression. A moment of weakness wasn't a luxury that he could afford. Surely, he would be ashamed.

Even now, the Earl still sought out Mana and the mysterious shapeshifter that had protected him. That thought renewed the enthusiasm of his search.

Allen had to find him, lest the Earl do so first.

He didn't realize quite how lonely a search it would be until years had passed with no sign of his Uncle.

Messy brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, its owner covered in dirt and grime. The gunk that painted his clothes and skin served as a harsh reminder that it had been a long, long time since he'd gotten a proper bath. Years ago, that would have bothered him. Now, it was pushed to the back of his mind.

He'd learned the hard way that people didn't take pity on a filthy street urchin with a "demon arm". Hell, they didn't take pity on clean ones, either—not when they had a "demon arm". The glares had never been lost on him, but never had he expected humans to outright attack him over the Innocence his arm was made of.

The humans bothered him more than the Akuma did.

With his one "good" hand, he sat on the concrete the circus tent had been pitched on, cleaning and polishing the performers' tools. As far as the ringmaster was concerned, his left arm was useless. It was the only way he'd gotten out of being paraded around like some freak.

Allen Walker wasn't a freak; this arm was a gift that his father had given him on top of so many others.

Never did Allen voice the sentiment since there was no one in the world that would agree with it.

All the conversation in the back passed right over his head. Every word said was another not meant for him as the circus staff avoided his gray eyes. They walked around and passed him, never acknowledging that he existed.

This was fine. It was survival.

The thought irritated him. Humans were intolerant. They were arrogant and disgusting and made his fingers twitch. His father and Uncle were the only people that kept him from not agreeing with the Earl's decision to destroy them. Often times, Allen found himself wondering how he'd ever been curious about such awful creatures.

His lost Uncle was the only reminder he had that not all humans were built the same. Not every human was fashioned to be ignorant, but the good ones were few in numbers. Locating them was like finding a needle in a haystack.

No, that was a lie. Allen would have an easier time with the needle.

Humans found it far too fitting to dwell on the appearance of an arm that was otherwise normal. It had the right amount of digits and it worked as was intended, yet—

"You're still the same! So hot-tempered."

Allen pursed his lips, wondering when he'd started polishing the ring in his arms with a furious ferver. He barely glanced up at the godawful man that had approached him, neither wanting to provoke him nor let him see his frustration, though the former was substantially easier. He didn't stop polishing the ring, trying to focus more on his task than the clown that hid his ugly mug behind layers of makeup and a painted-on smile.

By far, he was the most vile human being Allen had the misfortune of encountering.

"Every time I see your face, I lose my motivation."

My sentiments exactly, Allen wanted to say.

Ignoring the insult was easy enough, but the man pushed him down in an effort to tear his attention away from his job. Allen held a deep hatred for taking on the form of such a young child for that very reason. No matter how strong he was in his natural form, such a small body could only do so much against a grown man.

"And your disgusting arm!" The words the clown screamed made him grit his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to give the man a disgusting arm of his own, to burn the flesh from bone and give him a limb as ugly as he was. Years of abuse related to the gift his father had given him had turned him bitter. The curiosity and enthusiasm that once lit up his blue eyes had waned before disappearing altogether.

"You can't even move it, can you? How has a useless fellow like you managed to stay here?"

He laughed and laughed, like the words coming from his filthy mouth were some kind of hilarious joke. Allen could only glare in return, knowing full well that his pain was a joke to him.

For lack of a better term, Cosmos was scum of the Earth. People like him littered the world and turned it into a cesspool. They spread their unhappiness around and Allen could only hope karma would come back and bite him in the ass. He hoped they'd pull him down to the level he should be at—the one that was below even "freaks" like him.

"What's with that look?!" he yelled, his smile slipping from his face as he punched him in the chest. Allen bit back a groan. Short of fighting back—which never worked—silence was his only method of rebellion.

Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing your suffering, Allen told himself over and over, even as the next attack came. A well-placed kicked to the stomach that knocked the air right out of him.

"You're just a piece of trash!"

Laughter filled the air as the clown continued to kick him. They kept coming and Allen's only defense was clenching his teeth against the pain. If Cosmos saw his weakness, Allen would never live it down. He'd hold it over his head for the rest of his days with the circus and he'd abuse it as often as physically possible.

The satisfaction of seeing him like that wasn't something he deserved.

The nausea in his stomach dwindled away at a slow, decrepit pace after Cosmos finally left, damning him to an evening without dinner all because of that fake smile he flashed the ringmaster. Funny that the new clown, who was only here for a short while, was more popular than Cosmos and the ringmaster continued to lick that vile man's boots.

Cosmos wasn't anything special; Allen didn't understand the infatuation with him at all.

Biting his lip, he picked himself up off the ground and began picking up the scattered props. He finished his job for fear of losing tomorrow's supper, too. Food was precious, especially with his body supporting his Innocence, too.

As Allen completed the task, placing the last prop in the box, something inside it moved. Allen startled, letting out a quiet cursed as he leapt away. There was no way Cosmos could be in the box; he didn't have the finesse to sneak back in and squeeze into the small space with Allen laying in the room.

He watched the contents of the box bob up and down for a moment. Several items were knocked out before he started in that direction, moving slow.

When something leapt from the box, Allen yelped.

"A-"

He paused as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Instead of seeing Cosmos or something even remotely similar to the poor excuse for a man, he saw...

"A dog?" he asked before he spotted the ball caught in its mouth. "Hey! Give that back!" Before he could take the ball back from the dog, it took off, tearing out of the tent like a bat out of hell. If his body wasn't already aching, he would've screamed. That damn dog took off with one of the props!

And if it got away with it, what did that mean?

No supper! Again!

He gave chase, yelling after it. The dog ran through the snow with more nimbleness than Allen could ever manage with such stubby legs. He slipped, slid and stumbled across the stark white stretch of land as he tried to keep up with the dog.

And then he slipped for the last and final time. He stayed down this time, limbs aching. It still hurt to breathe after Cosmos beat him and he didn't shy away from the coldness of the snow pressing against his battered body and heated cheeks. A sliver of a smile wormed its way onto his face.

Funny, he shouldn't be smiling. If anything, he should be screaming, crying, maybe even killing that bastard before he could damn some other kid to the same torturous existence—even though Allen was far from a child.

Instead, his smile persisted. "Don't stop walking," he muttered under his breath, reminding himself of what his father had told him on more than one occasion. "Keep moving forth."

With some amount of difficulty, Allen pushed himself back up just in time to come face to face with the dog. They were quiet, the two of them passively staring at each other until the dog bent down and licked his left hand. His mouth fell open.

Every day since he'd left the Ark, he could feel the humans' eyes on him, judging him and his arm that didn't align quite right with their expectations.

This person—this animal, this dog—was the first one to accept it, barring the one who'd given it to him and his Uncle Mana. Allen's smile widened when the dog nudged the ball towards him. "I see... You're lonely, too, huh?"

Against his better judgment, he picked the ball up and threw it. When the dog returned with it, he threw it again and again, wearing a wide smile the whole time. It barely registered to him that he laughed the entire time, his grumbling stomach forgotten for the moment.

No matter how far he threw it, the dog would catch it with ease. It would leap into the air and catch it expertly in his mouth. Whoever's dog he was, he certainly was a circus dog at heart.

When he caught it, Allen would jump for joy, cheering the dog on as it ran back to him. If asked how long that had gone on for, Allen wouldn't be able to say. This peaceful time that they had together persisted until someone saw fit to interrupt.

"Allen!"

He nearly slipped in the snow when he heard his name yelled out. It echoed across the circus grounds and Allen's body went rigid when he realized that he recognized that voice. Swiveling around on his heel, he faced the source of the voice.

And he froze when he caught sight of him. His mouth went dry.

"There you are, Allen," the middle-aged man said, leaning over to pet the dog on the head that had met him halfway. They stayed like that for several moments, Allen too shocked to say anything. Finally, the man glanced up at him and gray eyes met amber. "Are you Allen's friend, too?"

Why was the dog's name Allen?

How could he name a dog after him?

Question after question attacked him and he was unable to answer any of them. Hell, it was hard enough to voice them. It was several seconds before his mouth finally moved and he formed a reply.

"U-Uncle Mana?" Allen asked, his gray eyes wide. The plastic smile on Mana's face never faltered and he felt himself shiver at the sight of it. It was the smile of a broken man, one who was held up by nothing but a meaningless facade. There was neither a hint of shock on his face nor a twitch of a frown.

Something told Allen he'd be disappointed when his Uncle spoke—and he was right.

"Hm? How is it that you know my name?"