The next few days continued in a similar vein; Allen was usually the first one awake, and had a bit of breakfast while he skimmed through the newspaper. Before he was done Kanda would wake up, though he wouldn't become functional until he'd had his morning coffee. Allen would make said coffee, and then fold up his wheelchair under one arm so he could descend the stairs. From that point on, he would do a bit of exploring about the area, becoming familiar with the lay of the land and introducing himself to their new neighbors.
(The woman who lived across the hall was a beady-eyed, suspicious looking Polish woman named Gladdice. Allen had accidentally caught her eye as he'd stepped out into the hall, and she'd slammed her door so fast and so hard that he'd been surprised that it hadn't rattled right off of its hinges. Ah, nothing like a bit of paranoia to remind you of the war.)
From what Kanda told him, Lavi usually slept in pretty late, probably because he always overdid it whenever he was doing his self-directed physical therapy. Allen would've scolded him, except that they still weren't really talking, excepting coolly polite apologies whenever their wheelchairs ran into each other, or something like that. When the red-head wasn't sleeping or doing physical therapy, he buried himself in his books and journals and refused to come out until dinner time. Or so Kanda told him, anyway.
And Kanda, well-the swordsman tended to take Mugen up to the roof and just run through basic training drills for hours and hours, seemingly unaffected by fatigue or the blazing heat of the sun. Whenever Allen came up to see what he was doing, he always noted a kind of desperate ferocity in his movements, like he was still fighting something, or someone.
In other words, they were all completely miserable.
"He's bored." Allen mused quietly on their third day there, around a mouthful of french toast. He was still in his bright blue star pajamas, which were soft and fluffy and about three sizes too large on him. They were his absolute favorite. They were, at the moment, the only bright spot in his monotonous and otherwise uneventful life.
"No shit." Kanda snorted into his coffee. It was about halfway gone, which meant that the caffeine still hadn't quite hit his system yet. "He needs a….a job, or something." The samurai let out a soft sigh and clunked his mug back onto the table, folding his arms across his chest.
There was a short, poignant silence, where Allen stared at Kanda and Kanda stared at the floor. Then he admitted, rather grudgingly, "I need a job. What with your weird-ass eating habits and the usagi's book obsession, we'll be broke within a month."
Allen frowned at that, his surprise quickly being replaced with disbelief and an unpleasant sinking feeling. "We're...not going to be here for that long, are we? Surely the situation will have been smoothed ..." He imagined a month of living with these two, in such tight quarters, Lavi's silence and Kanda's brooding…
Dying might be kinder, Allen mused dryly. But then he took a closer look at the swordsman, and-
Kanda teeth were gritted, a vein popping in his jaw; his arms were tight over his jacket. Allen read the tenseness of his posture, the uncertainty flickering in his usually unreadable eyes...
Sometimes, Allen forgot that Kanda was just as human as the rest of them. But right here, right now, Kanda was clearly just as lost as uncertain as Allen was. He hadn't asked to be sent to Germany as Allen and Lavi's protection detail, but here he was. It wasn't fair of Allen to get mad at him, not when it was Allen's fault that the swordsman was here in the first place. Kanda shouldn't have to pay for Allen's inadequacies.
And the worst part was that Allen couldn't say anything to apologize for that. Kanda wouldn't want to hear anything he had to say-it was his responsibility, and therefore in the samurai's eyes, he was honor-bound to complete the mission. Sure, Allen could spew all the emotional crap he wanted at Kanda, but in the end, the elder teen wouldn't care at all.
"Okay, well. I'm going for my walk." Allen said abruptly, when the weird atmosphere got to be too much for him to handle. Kanda jumped a little, his hooded eyes following Allen as he stood up, and with hurried, practiced movements folded his wheelchair into a travel-sized box (God bless the science department). "I'll keep an eye out for any job positions you might like. And Lavi too, I guess. Maybe there's something that doesn't require him to leave his wheelchair…?"
"I swear to god," Kanda called after him, half rising from his seat like he was thinking about leaping from it and chasing the younger teen down. "If you get me a job like-like customer service or something, I will throw you out the window. I'm not even fucking kidding, you fucking beansprout."
"Yes, yes." Allen would've waved an arm airily at the ex-general, but his only one was being occupied by his traveling chair. He felt a frown creep up to his lips, but managed to keep his tone light as he said, "God knows you'd only get fired from it within a day or so."
And as he moseyed down the stairs that morning, limping away from a random bystander who pretended not to stare at him, he thought, Honestly, what could Kanda and Lavi even do?
Kanda was a bit of a no brainer; something physical that he didn't have to think too much about, that would take his mind off of...everything. Allen had heard from Johnny, the stories of when Kanda had been a general. Apparently, he had once spent a whole week fighting, barely stopping to eat or sleep, not resting until all the akuma were dead. And there were more tales like that; tales of Kanda's unceasing devotion to the Order, of him saving people and becoming something to be believed in.
But Allen...Allen knew Kanda better than that. Allen remembered a teenager who didn't actually care much for the Order, or what it stood for. Allen remembered a boy who ran himself into the ground trying to forget his past, his present, and the emptiness that was his future.
Kanda hadn't been dedicated to anything. That was a ridiculous thought. No, he was restless and unsatisfied and if he had thought about it-about the war, about the friends he'd lost, about the friends he was going to lose-he'd have gone insane. Allen recognized that desire, that need to disconnect, because he himself felt it. Allen himself….
Okay, enough. Allen paused at the bottom of the stairs, and blew his hair away from his cheeks. Now was not the time for self-pity; it would not help Kanda or Lavi get a job, and it certainly wouldn't be beneficial for him to be in a poor mood on his walk.
He took a deep breath, straightened up, and marched right out the door and into the brisk morning air.
Labour hand? Allen considered as he automatically assembled his wheelchair and set off towards the farmers market, which was open early every morning, and reputedly sold the best food. There were a ton of farmers living in this area, and a great majority of them were grizzled with age and looking for a youngster to assist with menial tasks. It was very physical, and also didn't require much interaction with the outside world-perfect for Kanda. His only concern was that if Kanda decided that being a labour hand wasn't...dignified. Though, considering that the samurai had been a soldier for the majority of his life, Allen doubted that it would be a problem.
Now Lavi-the Bookman Junior would be infinitely more difficult to figure out, and not just because of his current bad attitude. No, the main problem would be finding a job that didn't require anything physical, that allowed Lavi to rest often-or at least sit down often. Some sort of secretarial job? Perhaps…
Allen rolled to a stop on one side of the street, and checked both ways for oncoming vehicles, eyes flicking back and forth with quick, practiced movements. He was about to cross when he realized which building he had stopped in front of-the library. He glanced up at it, lifting his hand to shield his eye from the glare of the morning sun. The words, 'Berlin Bibliothek' were painted on a sign above the door in embossed, golden lettering. Berlin library, Allen mouthed, thinking.
If there was one place that he knew Lavi would at the very least be content working at, it would be a place filled with books. Files to be organized, records to be kept. Perfect for a Bookman with no direction, and very little mobility.
Allen folded up his chair, and walked slowly up the front steps.
-0-
Inside, the air smelled of parchment and old knowledge, beams of light scattering dust motes through the air. There was row upon row of hard, oak shelves, filled with every sort of book imaginable; children's books with bright, playful colors, mysteries with high-collared detectives on the fronts. The most prominent thing about the library, however, was the almost dream-like peace that descended upon the place.
There was a sort of disconnect here from the real world, a pocket in space and time that would seemingly not be affected by any sort of tragedy. Students with books piled so high you couldn't see their faces sat in corners, turning pages with a sleepy lethargy. Learned men perusing the shelves dragged their fingers along dated spines, reading the titles with little care and less enthusiasm.
A yawn bullied its way up and out of Allen's throat, and he tipped back his head, barely remembering to cover his mouth.
[Young man,] A voice whispered in German, thin and reedy, but so unexpected that Allen couldn't help but leap away. The drowsiness that had been descending on him abruptly vanished, replaced with complete and utter fight-or-flight.
Allen stared at the person who'd managed to sneak up on him, trying not to wheeze, his heart was pounding so hard. It was an old man with a thin-lipped smile, his skin riddled and stained with age, like an old wooden chest. His hands were gnarled and gripped tight around a thin, dark cane, which looked to be the only thing holding him up.
Then Allen got a second, better look, and abruptly his shoulders dropped, whole body relaxing with surprise. [You're…] But then he stopped himself, embarrassed. There was no polite way to say to someone, 'you're blind'.
[Ah…]The old man let out a soft laugh. [You've noticed then.] He gestured towards his filmy, opaque eyes. Allen couldn't help nodding before he realized that the old man couldn't actually see him.
"Um…" Allen started, trying to remember his German, which he hadn't spoken in years. [It is...obvious.] Then he winced. [Pardon my rudeness, my German is not very good.]
The man laughed again, this time surprised delight coloring his rusty tone. [Oh, an Englishman! I did not expect to meet one so polite.]
He shifted a little at that, embarrassed by the praise. [I think it is important to respect one's elders.] Then, uncomfortable with the attention and eager to move on, Allen jumped in with a quick, [What is your name, sir? If I may ask.]
The German tilted his head to one side, thin wisps of hair floating almost angelically around his ancient face. [My name is Henry, child. Henry Heminger. I have been the librarian here for as many years as it has been open.] There was a brief, considering pause, and then, [But I feel that you have more to ask of me than just my name.]
Startled, Allen reared back a little bit, blinking rapidly at the perceptiveness of this old, blind man. He was reluctantly impressed, and a little unsettled at how apparently easy he was to read. All the same, Allen had come here on a mission, and come hell or high water he was going to complete it. [Ah-yes, that is correct, Mr. Heminger. It's just-my friend, he's...he's having a difficult time, and he's always loved working with books. I thought that maybe if he were to become your assistant, it would help to calm his thoughts.]
Henry's expression was as unreadable as the silence of the library; the lines in his face told thousands of stories, but what about, Allen didn't know. He had no trouble believing that Henry was as old as he said he was-after all, it seemed as though the library had grown out of the ground in the elderly man's image, rather than other way around. As the seconds past, Allen became more and more uncomfortable, certain that he had overstepped his boundaries somehow. Perhaps the library and Henry were never meant to be intruded upon, never meant to have their relationship strained by some newcomer-
[Send the boy to me.] Henry said abruptly, completely derailing Allen's train of thought. [I'll be the judge of whether or not he'll actually be of any use.]
-0-
And finally, much, much later, when Allen was sitting on the river bank with his groceries at his side, staring out into the sparkling water, he just...thought. As he hadn't let himself do since the day he'd been forced to Germany. No, since the day he'd been poisoned. Maybe even earlier than that.
He thought about Lavi, and about his odd behavior these past few days. About the deepening bags beneath his green eye, and the increasing restlessness. About Kanda, and the way he'd curled up on the couch the night before, the way he'd hunched over at the breakfast table like he was trying not to collapse under the weight of the world. He worried for them irrationally, constantly. They were soldiers, they were nameless; they were prickly and arrogant and above all lacked direction. At least Kanda was semi-functional at this point-Lavi was being completely irrational.
And he thought about months trapped in this apartment with Lavi and Kanda with no escape, no freedom, nothing but long empty spans of uselessness. He thought about waking up every morning and walking to the market, scanning for the freshest food as the citizens around him whispered things like cripple and war veteran. He thought of curious eyes, boring holes into the place where his arm had once been, his eye, but not curious enough to talk to him. Like he was some sort of zoo animal.
He thought about limping up the stairs every day, barely able to carry all of his groceries while Kanda became rugged with physical labor. He thought about Lavi nearly tripping over himself in a rush to get down the stairs on his way to work, because with his physical therapy regime, he'd be back to his usual strength in no time.
(Or worse. Maybe, Kanda would become more and more standoffish every day, maybe he would retreat so deeply into himself that he'd never acclimatize. Maybe the violence in his soul would win out, and he'd snap and accidentally kill someone. Maybe not accidentally.
Maybe, Lavi would slowly lose the will to live, getting out of bed later and later, refusing to eat or sleep or take care of himself. Maybe, Lavi would not be able to recover from being abandoned by his mentor, and would die before the folly could be repaired.)
But meanwhile, Allen Walker would limp around as useless as ever, wasting away. It wouldn't matter what happened to Kanda and Lavi, because either way, they had potential. They had a future, as long as they reached for it. But Allen?
No one would hire a one-eyed, one-armed cripple with more nightmares than sleep. No one wanted that burden, and as soon as Lavi and Kanda got permission, they would leave him behind. Allen would rot away in some...place, and the only thing people would feel was pity. Poor, pitiful, useless Allen. Didn't you hear? He's gone. What? No, he's not dead, don't be barbaric. He just isn't quite alive anymore either. Well, he might be dead. Who could tell?
Allen let out a quiet sigh, and closed his eye against the bright blue sky, blocked his ears to the rushing of the water. The scents of the city mixed with damp faded from his awareness, replaced with a soft, relentless nothingness. And for a moment he could pretend that nothing had changed, that all was well, that his eye and arm had been returned to him, and he was no longer a useless little lump of self-pity and self-loathing sprawled out on one side of the river.
Then he opened his eyes, and unsurprisingly, nothing had changed.