White Demon, Red Scribe
A D Gray-Man and Assassin's Creed Revelations Crossover
The next morning was pleasantly lazy and Allen had a hard time making himself leave the warm embrace that Lavi provided.
Somewhere in the back of his brain, an image of Kanda stared at him with his dark and unforgiving eyes, but he didn't feel guilty. He missed and craved human touch so much he couldn't bring himself to regret his decision to stay with Lavi for one last time.
Allen knew Kanda would understand.
He got up slowly, first savoring the warmth of the bed and the body next to him, then slowly extracting himself from the embrace without waking the other man, smiling as he gently pried the arm that the redhead snuck around him sometime during the night.
Carefully sitting up on the bed and stretching, he yawned and stood up, going right to the bundle of things he left on the floor the previous day.
He looked out of the small window, enjoying the morning sun as he was tying his red sash around his waist, fastening it with the belts.
After checking on the pouches and bags and adjusting his clothes and hidden blades, Allen turned around, ready to leave the house.
Lavi technically awoke earlier than Allen, but he couldn't be bothered to move. Part of it was that he didn't want to wake the other man. Part of it was that he just didn't want to.
So he let himself drift back to sleep, more than once, so long as he knew that Allen was still there next to him.
He was aware of Allen moving and standing, but he pretended not to notice, only listening to the faint sounds of movement around his room with eyes closed. He caught the rustle of fabrics and the latching of belts and other things, and silently debated to himself whether to keep playing possum and let the man leave unconfronted, or to wake up and talk to him first. He really had no idea if Allen would simply be going back to the den, or if he was leaving entirely, so he settled on talking.
"Leaving so soon?" Lavi hummed teasingly, yawning and rubbing his single eye open. "You don't have to sneak out, y'know."
Allen stopped, but only to put a pleasant smile onto his face. It wasn't like he was leaving for good, even though he felt like that.
"Duty calls," he lied as he turned around. Okay, so maybe it was only a half lie. "Have a few things to take care of."
Like manning up and taking care of his bloodied gear - courtesy of his hunter.
Maybe he felt so unsure because what he was about to do felt like walking back into the lion's den after getting lucky. And the possibility of finding the hunter waiting for him still didn't help much.
Would Lavi laugh at him for being so frightened? Would anyone?
Allen would laugh at himself for sure. It was just another human, just like anyone else, yet it scared not knowing who that man was. The roles were always reversed in his case and he got used to it too much. He became proud, cocky even.
But pride comes before, so maybe he is already falling.
"I'll see you soon," he added weakly, snapping out of his musing as if he was struck by a whip.
"Just be careful," Lavi cautioned, sitting up and massaging the back of his neck, fixing Allen with a pointed look. "I won't be terribly happy if I hear you've done something reckless and stupid, you know."
It wasn't his place to interfere, and he wouldn't stop Allen from going wherever he intended. He'd stepped in before because the man had been in a fragile state of mind that could only end in disaster if Lavi had let him go unchecked. He looked better now. Not entirely healed from the things that'd happen - no, the wounds of grief would take longer than that to close - but more stable and clear-headed. That was the most important part, and as good as he could hope for this early.
"Don't take on more than you can handle on your own, is all I'm saying. It's better to take your time to do things right, then to rush into them and botch it. You might save more lives asking for help from others than you will trying to take the whole world onto your shoulders by yourself, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time."
Whatever Allen chose to do with that advice was the man's own business. It was just that; advice. But he offered it up anyway so it was there for him to think about none the less.
The assassin smiled in return, giving Lavi a small wave with his hand. "Yeah, I will. Thank you," he said, proud of himself that he managed to hold his voice on an even level. "For everything."
He casually entered the already crowded streets, carefully eyeing the surroundings, checking for potential danger. He was glad to find that he could neither see, nor feel anything unsettling around himself. Blending into a crowd of chattering people, Allen once again made his way to the Galata Tower, only stopping to buy some ingredients for new bombs.
Getting into the tower was child's play, as always - the guards outside were too bored to pay attention what was going on around them and the ones inside too grossed in the gossips to notice a white-clad assassin stroll by over their heads. Allen wasn't in the mood of leaving any more bodies around, so he decided to let the guards go away only with a nice lump on their heads.
Using a cape of one of the soldiers, Allen retrieved his tainted armors and headed straight to the most deserted part of the river he could find.
It was as if the blood on the fabrics was mocking him - it just wouldn't go away. He scrubbed and scrubbed, soaking it in the icy water until he couldn't feel his hands anymore, but the blood would still stay. He almost gave up.
After a good three hours of scrubbing Allen was finally satisfied enough to pack the things up and lock them up in one of the rooms under the assassin's den.
Next thing on his list was even more depressing than washing his friend's blood off his gear - and that was funeral.
This time not one, but two at once.
Dragging himself to the white mezarcı - the assassin's embalmer, gravedigger and basically the man who takes care of the bodies of his dead comrades - Allen found out that the funeral was already arranged and that his fellow assassins are meeting up on the outskirts of the city to burn the bodies.
And as if on purpose, right as he was exiting mezarcı's workhouse, five assassins caught stopped him to announce the place and time of the meeting.
Allen spent the evening mutely staring into the warm flames licking the corpses of a young boy and a man who died too soon.
His eyes were dry and itchy but the tears wouldn't come. Not anymore. He wanted to say his thank-yous to his brothers-in-arms who took care of the rites, to those who came by, offering a comforting touch or those who murmured their apologies, yet the words didn't come.
He stood there, watching the bodies burn and it felt like he aged another thirty years.
"You've said that. Twice, already." Words spoken to an empty room at this point, since Allen was already gone. "You really know how to not put my mind at ease when it comes to you, saying things like that."
He knew better than to believe the man when he tried to pretend things were alright and there was nothing to worry about. That was usually when he had to worry the most. It wasn't his business to stop anyone though. He was an outsider in all of this, an observer looking into a world he wasn't supposed to be a part of. Whatever came out of it, he was meant to watch and record. Nothing more.
Sighing aloud, he stood and went to get himself washed and properly dressed, donning his embroidered kurta and scarf, and slicking his hair back, other than a few strands to frame his face, looking more professional than he usually bothered with. He had his own things to attend to today. Leads of his own to explore that didn't require Allen's presence. Looking well-dressed and important usually helped such endeavors.
The last thing he did was segment his spear so he could fold it into a smaller bag he attached off the back of his pants, just in case he would need it, but not wanting to tote it around out in the open. He also hid away the hook-blade Allen had gifted him with, thinking that it might come in handy if someone really did come after him. He had promised to be careful, after all.
Setting out, he decided to try the tavern again. He needed to find out where to find his first lead, so he went for a small drink and some coin exchanged for a few more pieces of information, finding out where the scholars supposedly after immortality were holing up. It wasn't hard information to find with just the right amount of coin slid the man's way.
He was aware of being followed - still - as he went, but he paid the assassins watching him no mind. It wasn't as though they were going to leave him be any time soon anyway, and trying to change that would do nothing except make him come across as more suspicious. Instead the man focused on finding the location the barkeeper had given him, knocking on the door to the scholars' place of residence.
The greeting was not very warm, the men seeming irritable and hard-pressed to believe the bookman's "interest" in their search was for real. Of course, talking his way in was easy. He had quite the silver tongue when he wanted, putting on a convincing act that he genuinely believed in their goals and wasn't just another local heckler come to ridicule and make fun of their asinine ideas of what was possible.
He spent a good few hours with them, enjoying some cups of hot tea and listening to them ramble on and on about their "discoveries" and all of their findings leading up to searching for their goals for real. Lavi played into the role of the enthralled listener convincingly well, answering whatever suspicious questions came his way about his own background and what had "led" him into believing in the same things they had. He was partially honest about his background, but he didn't explicitly bring up his affiliation as a Bookmen Clan member, only that he had been raised by a scholar of a sort himself and was well-traveled and educated. Some of the details he included were true, others were contrived to cover up the parts about himself they didn't need to know.
All the while, he was looking about the room for whatever tiny things might seem out of place, watching and listening carefully, trying to find discreet hints that this immortality-search business was only a cover for something else less innocent. It wasn't as though he expected to get the information directly, that he would have to read between the lines where they thought he couldn't, but he was picking up nothing. They seemed to truly believe in what they were searching for, exceedingly passionate about what they were talking about and going into far too much detail than he thought someone would bother with if it were simply a cover.
If they were also acting, they were very good at it. Good enough to fool a Bookman, if such were the case, and to be that good at lying was highly unlikely. Next to impossible, really.
Lavi was good at sniffing out and discerning deceit, since that was what his entire lifestyle revolved around.
Having decided to himself that they had no ties to the Hunter(s) that were after Allen, he worked his way towards goodbyes steadily until he could manage to leave without arousing suspicion. It had taken him a long while and many hours, but he had wanted to be thorough.
When he left, it seemed the assassins had momentarily given up tailing him.
His next lead was the priests that had arrived, but he could save that for another day. He could take in and retain a lot more information than most, but he knew to pace himself. There was still only so much a person had the mental capacity to keep up with all at once, even for a trained mind like his, before things got lost somewhere. He knew he was at his limit for the day. Pushing it too fast might mean he'd miss something vital, and this was too important to let that happen.
Calling it quits for now, he decided to go and find Allen, hoping as he did so that the man had actually bothered not to skip town entirely. He didn't think the assassin would, but he didn't entirely discount the possibility either. He'd said he would wait for Kanda's reply before going ahead with doing anything, but that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't act sooner if he thought it better that way.
When he found him, it was at a scene he knew far too well. Burials and funeral pyres were just as commonplace in war and other, similar atrocities as the battles themselves were.
He wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell of searing flesh. It wasn't the sort of smell that was kind to the senses, the way cooking meat for food was. It was a wholly different kind of scent that no one would ever enjoy, and certainly not when they knew where the smell was coming from. He tried not to let it be too immediately obvious though, not wanting to come across as disrespectful.
He hung back for a moment, not sure if it was really his place to be there, but ultimately decided it didn't matter either way, coming to stand at Allen's side. He thought about saying something, but figured Allen had probably heard enough from others apologizing and trying to console him to fill him up to bursting, and didn't know if more of that was what Allen would want to hear.
So he placed a hand on the man's shoulder silently, just letting him know that he was there and ready to listen or speak if that was what he needed. Or more likely, when he needed it.
"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like," Allen murmured silently, "to lie there." He looked to the side then, as if the sudden thought physically hit him. "Sorry, I didn't mind that."
The red fires crackled menacingly when the burst of wind blew by. Allen inhaled deeply as he hugged himself and bowed his head.
"You don't need to stay here, Lavi," he said, hoping that the redhead would get the hidden message behind those words. He just needed some time for himself.
He has been needing that a lot lately.
"I imagine it wouldn't be like anything at all," Lavi mused quietly. Corpses had no discernment. There was no difference to dead bodies between a proper funeral and being left to scavengers to pick apart. "These kinds of things aren't really for the benefit of the dead... they're more for the closure of the still-living."
As far as he was concerned, it was the universal truth. All, both the highly religious and the Godless, saw necessity in these sorts of rituals. It wasn't because it was those who had passed on truly needed it or cared any longer what became of them.
He gave the man's shoulder a comforting squeeze.
"Anyway, when you're done here, I think we should talk. Not just you, but the other assassins as well... about how to proceed with counter-measures." Maybe it was a little harsh to be asking that so soon, but the murders had only been spaced two days apart. They needed to act quickly, or else it could, and more probably would, happen again.
Allen stared at the flames for a good while as if he didn't hear what Lavi said. Many thoughts filled his mind then, but none of them made any sense.
"Yeah," he replied weakly, still not meeting Lavi's eye. "Tomorrow."
Just not now. Just not when the fire is still burning.
Lavi opened his mouth to say something, but stopped short. After a moment of thought, he simply nodded, sighing through his nose.
"Tomorrow, then," Lavi agreed.
Should he go, or stay? Even if Allen said he wanted him to go, that didn't mean he truly wanted that, or that he didn't need Lavi there. At the same time, maybe space was what he needed most of all. He wasn't sure which was the better option, so he decided to simply ask.
"Do you want me here, or is this a 'need to be alone' kind of time?"
"Go," Allen said, raising his eyes to stare at the dark sky. "Just go."
Lavi decided not to say anything more, knowing better. Allen's words weren't a request. They were more of an order. He was under no obligation to actually follow them, but he did as he was told anyway, silently willing that the man stay safe. Not be so distracted by his grief that he let danger sneak up on him.
He had no reason to go to the Assassin den, so he returned to his own place.
Were truth be told, he was somewhat glad for his own solitude. Of all the places in the world to be, funerals were his least favorite. It wasn't that the one bothered him. Two bodies, much less of people he barely knew, was nothing to him. But being around the sight and smell of burning corpses brought with it a flood of memories, recollections of every other funeral burning or burial he'd witnessed in his life.
He'd seen it too many times before. Sometimes it was a single body. Sometimes it was mass graves, piled by the tens, if not the hundreds, all at once.
Reading would do him no good, so after dinner, he tried to sleep, closing his eyes and mentally counting the numbers of casualties like most said to count sheep. It was morbid, but it helped. Dehumanizing every death down to mere, meaningless numbers on a page kept his mind blissfully unsullied by the full weight of how truly horrifying it was.
He would admit to himself that it was callous, and other people would probably be disgusted by his apathetic attitude towards it, but few had actually had to live with the reality of seeing and personally recording in detail that much death. Detachment was how he kept himself sane. It was the only reason he had survived his job up to this point.
A Bookman could not grieve and sympathize with every blot of ink he put down on a page. They were only the scribbles of a pen to him, and for him to stay true to his path and work efficiently, that was how he had to be. Collected, logical, and not swayed by human emotion or bias.
He found sleep easily and without trouble in his dreams, waking the next morning relatively early. Cleaning himself up, he did some reading over breakfast, then decided he would go and check on Allen and the assassins. With any luck, nothing else tragic would have happened by now, but with how things had been developing recently, one could never be too sure.
Allen heard the fading steps, but he still didn't bring himself to care. Time alone is what he needs.
To say his good-byes.
Allen sat on the ground until the moon sailed across the sky and hid in the west. The fires have long since gone out, leaving a blackened ground and a pile of ashes which the first wind carried away just as the sun broke the line of the horizon.
He looked upwards again, counting the few stars that still fought to stay visible. One particular thought rang louder in his mind.
It was a thing Kanda told him back in Italy when he stood by the pyres and watched the body of his youngest student burn.
Kanda told him that every time someone he loved died, a star would appear on the sky - a bright star only visible to him and no-one else and it would shine until the sun climbs to the sky entirely.
And at times like these, Allen felt like there is too many of them up there.
Quiet, hesitating steps brought him out of his reverie.
"Good morning," came a tentative half-greeting, half-question.
Allen turned around to see an older white man with sandy hair and glasses standing nearby, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another. The assassin didn't react at first, which made the man scratch the back of his head and squirm.
"I know you might not be in the mood right now, but..." he trailed off, looking like he was searching for the right words. "…you may feel better if you talked about this to someone." He gestured to the two blackened placed in front of him.
Allen frowned, sitting deadly still on the cold ground. Seeing his reaction, the man promptly put his hands in the air and shook his head.
"I just want to help. You look like you'd need it," he offered timidly with a sad smile.
"Do we know each other?" Allen surprised himself with how raspy and dull his voice sounded but he managed to hide it. Another surprise came when the man nodded and his smile grew somewhat brighter.
"You might not remember me, but I couldn't forget you even if I wanted to. Your hair is very unique and beautiful. I've never seen anything like it!" He said. "You bumped into me on a street once." A chuckle followed. "You were not very... let's say, clear minded at the time."
He stepped closer to the mourning assassin, offering his hand.
"My name is Apolo. Apolo Cristaldi. I am a priest."