...It's shorter this time, cuz I didn't have much that was going to happen... ugh... I'm sleepy . it's about 11:33 here, and I need sleep, so I'm trying to keep this short (for once, I may succeed)
so... yeah, nothing to talk about, but there's one last chapter to go, then it's off to a sequel!! Yep, you heard me. If I tried to turn down a sequel after so many people said they wanted it, I'd be eating pitchforks an torches for a month... But just FYI, the sequel will have bits of the pasts I think the characters might have had, some OCs to keep the plot going and my version of the end, so... just look out for those if you read it.
It probably wont get up for a month at the most, a week or so at the least after I finish this, cuz I need to catch up on my other fics -is so dead- so... yeah. Oh, and it's probably going to be pretty long (ahahahah...) cuz I have a lot to do planned out already xD You guys really know how to get me working on things! I love being able to write so easily after I get another review!! They really do help!
Okay then, I'm about done (so much for short...) so... DISCLAIMER: I have neither given nor reci... oh wait... wrong oath... um... owning stuff is for squares! 8D (best I could come up with, sorry...)
His arm blazed and withered again in protest as the restraint was put on him. Twisting, suffocating his arm and dragging him down with such a weight that in the corner of his mind he was fearful his arm would simply be pulled off him at any given moment.
Tendons and ligaments stretching to absolutely impossible lengths as newly exposed muscle would slowly bleed and bones and marroe were pulled free from their strands and eventually completely out of their socket...
By now, everyone in the Black Order must have known. Must have been told, must have seen the image, a picture, maybe even a golem recording of him in this cell. It was too late for him. Musch too late. The tiral had already taken place, and he had failed to find any way to defend himself, as he truly had no excuses at the time. It had been a long, long time ago.
Two years, seven months and twenty-six days, to be exact. Two years, seven months and twenty-six days since that rainy night. That long, horrible, rainy night when he should have gone back. He should have gone back to Lenalee and Johnny. He should have been told of his master's death by Komui and not some anonymous soldier. Should have, could have, would have, didn't.
'You're making me sad, Allen...'
Allen snorted at Damian's voice in his mind. "Shut up, you're not the one who's out here in hell."
'I thought we decided that was a good thing...'
Allen groaned quietly. "Well duh. I swear it's a miracle I'm not insane though, with you talking all the time..." Somewhere in the back of his mind Damian scoffed. Allen scowled back and hoped it transmitted, or whatever happened, to the deepest depths of his concious, where Damian was currently unintentionally annoying his over-stressed mind.
'If I happened to be in your situation, I think I might enjoy having someone to talk to.'
"Well, when and if we trade situations, I'll be sure to talk loudly and obsessively in your head whenever you want quiet," He hissed. Damian immediately fell into a apologetic silence and bit by bit, vanished from the far back of his conscious.
"Thank you," He sighed, rubbing his forehead exhaustedly as best he could with his right arm chained just as throughly as his left was bound up. His eye was still blazing, but it was almost normal now. Just a constant pain to nag in the lesser part of his mind.
The guards briefly turned to look back into his cell, questioning the odd quiet, fearing silently that their charge had escaped. If he had, then Levirrier would spare them no mercy in their punishment for letting the traitor escape. It was little comfort to them that they knew he truly was in to condition to stage an escape.
However, a glance at the young man slowly wasting away in the cage was enough to calm them, though. And yet they held guilt, despite that they knew what this child was capable of. They had seen the recording of what had transpired in the hospital. They had seen the killing lust in this boy that now seemed to harmless. So weak. Was it wrong to be afraid?
For several hours now, the boy had been mumbling to himself like he were a madman. Speaking as though there were another person beside him and talking to him. Sometimes he nearly shouted and other times it was all sighs and mumbled requests for quiet. All the while speaking a long, strenuous conversation with himself. Or perhaps something else.
And yet he looked nothing like a person who would be able to tap into another being, especially like this. The chains around his right arm and neck were clamping so tightly onto the skin that his veins had begun to rise through his skin to try and clear the circulation path. Pressed scabs had been rubbed and reopened to begin bleeding once again.
Fresh bandages were plastered haphazardly onto his face and neck, giving the distinct impression that the one whom had the task of rebandaging his face once the original bandages had been ripped off was not the head nurse. Instead of taking the time to carefully make sure his face was well protected, they had instead focused on getting it done and getting away as fast as they possibly could.
Small specks of blood leaked through the thin binding on the entire left side of his face because of the poorly done work. A thin sweat covered him, darkening his clothes in places and leading on the impression that he was completely overheated, despite the fact that the cell was absolutely freezing. The guards themselves were sporting two thick coats and scarves, meanwhile, all Allen had was his thing shirt and gloves.
His left arm twitched slightly, even within the crushing bind. It too, was bandaged with good reason. His arm had deformed to an incredible standard. So much that it seemed as though his chiseled black skin had been taken off and everything except for the bone had been removed.
It was wrinkled and twisted over his bone, and it looked more like a dead limb rather than anything else. The tinge of red had grown more notable. That and the still glowing green cross imbeded in his arm were all that showed his Innocence was still alive.
It was disheartening, sitting there, silently, trying his best to ignore the pain that reminded him constantly how he was going to die that night. How he was going to be suffocated and burned in front of the very people he had spent a good portion of his life desperately trying to protect.
The play was over, the curtain about to drop, and his finale was to be a supposed cleansing in a glorious blaze up on the only stage he never wanted to walk onto. That one stage Mana and Cross had both told him not to ever go near should he be able to help it. It was oe thing to be martyred, it was another to be martyred for something you knew wasn't right.
He took a very deep breath, trying to push that thought away as well. So many things he would rather not think about... what good was there to think about? Everything in his world had been utterly destroyed long ago, and he did not blame Levirrier for that.
It wasn't Levirrier's fault. He knew that much. It was a complete 'what if' senario. What if he hadn't been born with his left arm? Then he would probably be dead by then by starving with his family, or been overworked at the treadmills and penthouses. Either that or he would still be being raised at the church, not being executed by it. It was a sick irony that after being dropped in an alley that a nun happened to being walking by and he had been spared death.
Now once again. What if he hadn't left the church? He didn't like it there. Too many rules to abide, too many people pitying him, too many adults, and no future. Yes, the future had mattered to him even back then. The future, what was in front of him, had always been what concerned him. Would his friends be alive tomorrow to talk with him? Tomorrow, would the Earl be dead? Tomorrow, would he himself still be alive? Well the answer to that one was a bit obvious, but it was, for once, no time to dwell on the future.
What if he had never taken to odd-jobs? Would he have found the circus? What if the dog had never ever licked his hand? Would he have ever noticed the clown digging the grave for him? Would he have stopped to ask if the dog was dead? Would he still be here in the Order, even if that hadn't happened? Would he be with the Earl? Would he just hate the Fourteenth, rather than near-worshiping his older brother? Would this be so hard if all of that never happened?
What would he be like if he hadn't been born with such a damn soft heart?
He cried for a dog he had only met once, without even knowing it's name. He had cried even more when he realized how similar their names were and then, he even changed the letters and pronunciation of his name so that he was a walking gravestone for the dog? What if he wasn't such a damn idiot to begin with?
'Allen, look up.'
Allen twitched, not expecting Damian to speak after so long of a silence. Nevertheless, he removed his arm from its position of covering his face and eyes to look up at whomever or whatever Damian had noticed while he had been lost in thought. Perhaps it was good to have two pairs of eyes.
He was certain he was imagining things when he saw that stupid white biret and and curled hair.
"Komui!"
Allen jumped forward without thinking about it, his arm giving a jerk as the chain twisted and stopped short of where it was supposed to. A foot away from the bars. Allen winced at the shock sent to his should and fell backwards onto the wall.
"Allen, be careful—" Komui near shouted as he landed, bending over to be at Allen's level. Allen groaned as he twisted his leg and tried to force himself into a sitting position. He gave a weak laugh and an apologetic smile at seeing the worry etched on Komui's face. Komui sighed and straightened his back slightly, though still kneeling at where they could see each other well.
"Are you alright, Allen?" Komui asked, one hand gripping the bar of the cell, holding so tightly his knuckles were white, even in the darkness.
Allen swallowed and shook his head sadly. He was far from alright at the moment. Komui's face hardened and he turned to the guards, motioning for them to leave. One guard looked disgruntled and confused. He voiced it.
"Supervisor Komui, if we leave you allow the heretic might try something."
Allen clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Just because I'm a freak doesn't mean you have to call me that at every chance you get," He muttered. "It's almost as bad as being called a beansprout..." Komui must have heard it, because he too gave a feeble laugh.
Komui smiled at the guard. Something that hadn't changed at all; Komui's smile. It was really like he was your older brother, watching over you all the time, even if there were things he couldn't do. Lenalee was so lucky...
"It's fine, go take a break, you must be tired from standing here all day," Komui told him. The guard blinked and stuttered at the obvious kindness in Komui's voice. He must have been used to Levirrier.
"B-but sir!"
"Please?" Komui asked, closing his eyes and tilting his head to look something like a child. "You're tired. Get some rest," The guard sighed and did, finally, stalk away. Komui turned and rounded on Allen, who was feeling oddly out of place, for some reason he truthfully couldn't imagine. It was just a sudden awkwardness that made him realize he had no idea what to say.
He released the breath he had been holding for whatever reason and looked down at his feet. The only parts of him not yet injured, and the first that would burn in the fire. "I'm sorry."
Komui blinked. "Sorry for what?" He asked. "It's not your fault, Allen, and it never will be."
Allen smiled weakly but still avoided Komui's eyes. "Who's fault is it, then?" He mumbled. Komui laughed again and sighed.
"No one's fault," He declared. Allen did finally look up in his confusion, momentarily forgetting his awkwardness. Komui smiled again at the reaction. "The Fourteenth just wanted to bee able to fight the Earl; an innocent want for him," He explained. "The Pope ordered that all traitors should be killed, but it's all ultimately for the Order. The Inspector and the guards are just following their orders, as well as the Crows..." He let out a small sigh before sticking a hand through the bars and doing something very odd.
Komui pulled Allen into the bars, stretching the chain as far as it would possibly go, and holding Allen in a tight hug.
"Allen, you're the victim," He said. "You're a victim of life and the God who governs it. If there would be anyone who was truly innocent, you would be it."
Allen's eyes heated up. "You don't all hate me?" He asked. Komui shook his head, making the chain clang as it tightened and loosened against Allen's wrist and neck. The was a soothing circular motion on his back. Komui was trying to calm him down. Allen took a breath in through Komui's lab coat. It smelled like coffee.
Was this so wrong? Was it so wrong that simple words could make him cry like this? That all he really wanted at the moment was an older brother, or that he could actually go outside to see the sun before he died? Or that maybe he could die in a less painful way?
Why would he be the one who had to break his friends hearts? Why would he be the one up in flames when all he wanted to do was save people and demons alike? Was it so bad to have fallen in love with the Earth, or to be a little different, or to be unfortunate?
Was it so very bad to be a Walker?
Slowly, the plan formed in his mind. Twisting around the gears and being reshaped by the clogs. Tossed around slightly, and maybe even mauled a little. He was decided within moments of what he wanted to accomplish. He wanted maybe some moments of fear, and perhaps something for them to learn should it succeed. And just as importantly, he wanted it to get him out.
"Komui? Do you trust me?" He asked quietly. Komui blinked as the voice of the boy came out. It was uneven, as though he were struggling to not cry. He sounded as though his throat were being clogged with something he really wanted to say but absolutely could not get it out.
He nodded, nevertheless. At this point, the one person he felt deserved trust was Allen Walker.
"Komui, I need you to do something for me. Tell Lavi that I'm really sorry for making him do this..."
And once it was said, there was little left to say. The guards would be returning soon and yet Komui was still crouched on the floor, hugging a prisoner whom was to be executed very soon. It would be a very odd scene should Levirrier, or any anti-Allen viewer see this.
Komui understood, somewhat, what Allen was asking for. The chances were certainly not in the best, but that hardly mattered if they now had a chance for life. As long as there was life, there was hope, and that was all Komui had learned in all these years.
He smiled and rubbed Allen's back a short while longer as Allen slowly erased the boundary he had forcefully irrected for the past half an hour and his head drooped onto the bars, and partly, Komui's arms.
"Lenalee is so lucky..." Came a faint mumble. Komui looked up at the sound of words exiting Allen's mouth. And then he smiled once again, very faintly, as Allen explained. "I wish you were my older brother..."