A/N: We're finally done! We more sort-of left it up to interpretation that the previous chapter was the last one. But this is the real last chapter! :D Prepare yourselves!

Also, for those who may or may not have noticed, WDRSBN got a purdiful cover! :D I was so excited to see this fic completed I just had to make some art to celebrate~!

Anyway, Enjoy the final installation!

White Demon, Red Scribe, Black Nightmare
A D Gray-Man and Assassin's Creed Revelations Crossover

The warm day was overcast by heavy clouds that continually dropped a steady drizzle, soaking the land and lightly flooding streams and rivers. Dirt roads were turned to mud in many places, and those who could afford to stay indoors, did.

Even so, it didn't stop activity entirely. People still walked the streets and went about as much of their business as they could. The weather was not unusual, only another of many annual Tsuyu rainy seasons.

What was unusual was a compact, light sorrel animal with tall, stiff ears that trotted through the half-bustling street between merchant townhouses, carrying a rider of auburn-red hair and eyes. The rain trickled over a straw rain cloak and woven hat, which was tilted up slightly to scan the various buildings until finally finding the local, large tea house.

Sliding down off the animal's back just outside the door, they shed the rain cloak and hat just outside, laying it on the back of the strange equine and hurried inside before they could get too wet. Hanging off of one arm, they carried a cylindrical box that looked to be crafted from bamboo.

Where the outside streets were all but empty, the inside of the tea house was packed full of people, locals and travelers alike, everyone from farmers to merchants to samurai and lesser lords, all having staked a claim of some corner and trying not to co-mingle too much.

The place reeked with a mix of wet bodies and clothes, sweat, smoke from both cooking and recreational use, tea, and - most alluring - hot food.

"Ah, Sachiko!" one of the women of the tea house greeted, drawing the newly arrived woman's gaze. "Braving the weather today? Come in!"

She smiled and dipped her head faintly in greeting. "Hello! You sure are busy today."

"Yeah, its the rains," the teahouse woman hummed. "Good for business, as long as you don't mind all the sweaty men." The last part was spoken as barely a whisper, hidden behind a raised hand so as not to have their lips read by customers.

Sachiko laughed softly, extending the box she carried. "Can you have this filled for me? One with cooked rice, another with yakitori, and the last one with goyza?"

"Sure thing," the woman smiled, taking them with a slight bow and retreating to the back room, barking off orders at someone.

Sachiko sighed and leaned against the wall near the door, ignoring a few interested looks from some of the more clearly single or unhappily-partnered men inside, waiting patiently for someone to re-emerge with her ordered food. When they finally did, she accepted the container thankfully, producing coin to pay for it.

"It's for him, isn't it?" The women smiled at how Sachiko stiffened, blushing faintly. "That gaijin with hair like fire."

Sachiko nodded, still blushing and trying to hide it. "H-he's too busy with his work for food, don't'cha know, so I thought I'd get something hot for him."

"Oh?" the woman grinned by that point.

She was joined by another that appeared out of the back, sing-songing, "Sa-chi-ko has a boy-friend~"

"I-it's nothing like that!" Sachiko protested, becoming increasingly more flustered.

"You should be careful with strange men, Sachiko, especially gaijin. You know he could be a dastardly kitsune, come to steal and eat your liver or something," the first woman teased in caution.

"He's nothing of the sort," she defended. "Believe me, he's clever and careful like one, and I would have almost thought so too if I hadn't seen that he doesn't have a tail, don't'cha know!"

"Ohhhh?" both other women burst out. Sachiko flushed further shades of red.

"I-it's nothing like that!" she defended again as she realized how it sounded, her words interrupted mid-way by the impatient braying and honking of the pinkish animal waiting for her outside, drawing a good deal of curious stares from both the teahouse women and many of its customer occupants.

"What a strange sound... I've never heard a horse make a noise like that before."

"Kind of an ugly looking horse too," the other added.

"Oh, its not a horse at all," Sachiko told them, likewise staring back at it. "He told me they're called denchu."

"Denchu, huh?" the second teahouse girl mused, looking confused.

"Some sort of animal from far, far west, where there are oceans of sand for hundreds of miles. They're kind of like horses, but slower and smaller, I guess. But they can carry a lot for their size."

"Seas of sand, huh? I can't even imagine such a thing."

"Neither can I," Sachiko admitted. "Anyway, thank you for the food! I should probably be getting back, before it gets cold."

"You take care of yourself out there," the women offered in parting. "The road isn't very safe these days. When it isn't the warlords and their samurai, its bandits." She stopped a moment and looked up and around, before leaning closer and whispering less discreetly than she probably thought. "They even say that there's a demon in Nihon these days, cloaked in white and drawn to the scent of blood and battle! A deadly creature that looks like a man but fights like a devil."

"I'll be fine," Sachiko smiled, stepping just outside and quickly lacing on the rain cloak and hat once more, climbing onto the sturdy little animal's back. "I know these roads much better than any bandit or demon ever did." She nodded appreciation, turning and nudging the animal into a trot. "Thank you for the food!"

"Good luck with your m~a~n~, Sachiko!" they teased back in parting.

"It isn't like that, don't'cha know!" she screeched in final return before finally growing too far away, causing the two women to burst into a fit of giggles.

Shaking her head fondly, she made her way back to the house, gently urging the animal to walk faster. It is not as if she was afraid... or maybe she was. Just a little. She had heard several men speak about the demon man in hushed voices - as if they were afraid that he'd come to hunt them if they say his name too loudly. Even the lords seem to be disturbed by the rumors - they walk the streets less commonly and with more guards around.

She glanced around nervously, kicking herself for it a second later. Surely he has better things to do than to waylay lone, traveling women. She gripped the box with the food tightly and spurred the animal to walk faster.

Up the hill and tucked away in the trees was a moderately sized house, appearing to probably be the villa of a samurai or more wealthy trader of some sort. It was at the gate door that Sachiko slid down from the back of the denchu, grasping its reins and leading it in as she pushed the doors open.

The rain had not let up in the least. The path was darkened by water and plant life dripped rivulets of moisture. She tied the animal under the cover of a thicker Japanese Pine near the building and gave it an appreciative pat, then went up to the porch edging the entire building, shedding her geki sandles, and grass raincoat to hang.

The sound of rain was slightly muffled as she entered the building, walking a hall of paper-screen doors until coming to a room faintly lit by the flicker of candles.

"Bookman-donno?" she called experimentally as she entered. She smiled softly at the sight of the older redhead stretched across the floor, head half-buried in his arm with scrolls and books scattered everywhere, one hand poised as if to write. Sadly it appeared he'd probably nodded off in the middle of doing just that, leaving a jagged line of black ink like a lightning bolt down the paper.

She had to bite her lip to stifle a giggle and crouched down next to him, shaking his shoulder lightly.

"Bookman-donno..." She gave him a moment to rouse, blinking sleep from his eyes and a string of drool clinging to the edge of his lips that she couldn't quite decide if it was cute or unattractive. "I brought hot food from the tea house."

He smiled drowsily. "Aw, y'shouldn't have, Chomesuke-chan," he hummed, yawning as he sat up and stretched the stiffness from his shoulders. He shook out his red hair, significantly shorter now, but he had finally tired of the big mane of red and slightly given up trying to tame the scruff on his jawline.

"Oh, it was no trouble," she assured quickly, kneeling and trying not too look too flirty as she opened up the containers of food and dished it up, handing him some. Before long, they were both enjoying the food.

"So, any news from town you've heard?"

She paused to choke down a mouthful of rice she was already working on chewing. "Not much. People are still talking too much about that last battle to mention much else. There were some people though… talking about the Môri Clan."

"Oh?"

"There was a rumor in town that their lord is gathering allies to march on Arita castle to confront Takeda Motoshige and his forces. From the sound of it, Takeda is going to have far greater numbers on his side, at least three times as many."

"Makes sense," the redhead hummed around a bit of goyza. "I suspect the Watanabe Clan will probably be there. Maybe the Fukuhara too."

"You think?" Sachiko wondered.

The redhead bore an idle smile and impassable expression, but a sound caused him to pause, glancing upward toward the ceiling, like a dog on sudden alert. After a moment, he heard another, and set his bowl aside, reaching for the spear sitting behind him.

"You were followed."

"What? But I was watching my surroundings the whole way!" she protested, falling silent when the bookman raised a finger to his lips for silence.

He stood in a fluid, silent motion, padding to one of the screen doors and stepping onto the outside deck, his single eye flicking about the outside garden of the place. When something dropped down from above into the mud, he immediately readied to fend off the intruder if need be, but paused. Something about them was familiar... distantly, but definitely a face he knew. After a few seconds, he remembered.

Someone he saw in Constantinople... someone that worked under Kanda, he thought he recalled.

"Don't worry yourself over it," he told Sachiko, relaxing somewhat, though he couldn't help but wonder exactly why he was being visited by an Assassin now of all times. "Its not someone I would expect you to spot or evade easily." He regarded the robed man properly now, his single eye clearly asking what was wanted of him. "Can I help you?"

"Bookman?" he asked after a pause, taking a step forward, "I- you were in Constatinople, yes?"

"Its one of many places I've been to, yes," he confirmed, eyeing the man carefully, though his own expression was carefully guarded, giving away nothing. "You were one of Yuu's students, weren't you?"

There was a barely concealed, exasperated sigh from the man when the bookman used the name, but thankfully nothing else. Definitely someone from his students.

"Yes, are you looking for my mentor? Or...?" he inquired. He still held himself stiffly, and Bookman could definitely tell that the man was not supposed to be there for whatever reason.

The redhead blinked, showing something akin to surprise.

"I assume your question to mean he's no longer stationed in Turkey," he guessed, not inaccurately.

It had been ten years. He certainly hadn't forgotten about the man, but he had put those times behind him, moved on to fulfill his Clan duties and kept his mind too occupied to think much of Kanda or Allen, only occasionally catching himself reminiscing. He scratched his stomach without thinking much of the action, as if the scar Kanda had left him itched merely at his mention.

"Is he here in Nippon?"

The man nodded curtly, drawing the hood further down to shade his face. "He mentioned that your clan would be here. Do you wish to meet him?"

The bookman was certainly curious how Kanda had known such information, but then, the Bookmen were not the only faction with connections to rare intel. Had Kanda known he would be here, or only that there was a bookman in-country?

He gnawed the inside of his cheek, indecisive but unwilling to show it. He had never planned on returning to see either Allen or Kanda. They were too close to his feeling side to maintain contact, and the Clan knew enough to hold him under scrutiny, even though his mentor had finally passed on and he was officially recognized as an equal-standing Clansmen. Given enough years, he'd have a special place in the higher ranks, due his unique eye and exceptional skill, but only if he continued to play by the rules.

"Where is he now?" he finally asked, deciding that as good an answer as any. He could figure out what to do from there.

"North from here," he pointed, "we're guarding an outpost - he should still be there. I'm on my way there now, shall I send a message?"

North. Chances were not too far north, either, if the assassin had strayed to find him. That made Arita the most likely place they were in, right in the center of where all the rivaling clans of Kyushu's Saga region were converging for war.

And if the Assassins were getting involved, likely that meant that the Templars were probably part of the conflict too. Which meant there was probably a Piece of Eden somewhere in Arita. That gave him incentive, as a Bookman, to investigate.

He finally nodded. "I think I might pay a visit. Do tell him, would you?"

The man nodded again and bowed before sprinting off down the muddy path. It was better to inform the Mentor right away.

The redhead watched him go, then turned back to Sachiko, who'd been standing back and observing silently, wary but confident the bookman had it all handled.

"Chomesuke-chan, would you mind rousing Daisuke?"

She pursed her lips but nodded, leaving the room. He took the time to organize the scattered materials he'd been working on before, some that he left where they were and others he packed for travel. When everything was set, he quickly finished off the food, and soon enough everything was ready for him to head north.

"Assassins? Are they like samurai?"

"Not quite," the red-haired Bookman replied in the native tongue, not bothering to look back at the black-haired boy that stared inquisitively at his backside. "They're like..." He paused, trying to find the right word. Every culture had one. What were they called here again? "...sort of more like ninjas."

"Oh."

"But this one that I know from far back carries a sword like a samurai. I guess he's sort of more like a mix of the two."

"Hm. That's a little weird."

Bookman laughed. "He's one of a kind, alright. That reminds me... stay off his bad side. Its about forty years too early for you to try your luck against his temper. Trust me."

"Since when do I get on anyone's bad side?" Daisuke grumped. That earned him a look. "As if you're one to lecture, Sensei."

"Its exactly because of that that I know," Bookman smirked, trying not to look too mischievous.

They were growing nearer as they walked to their destination, and already the breeze carried the sounds of warring blades and battle cries, along with the smell of smoke and death.

"Keep close," he warned, receiving a slight nod.

The assassin was already waiting for them, gesturing to them to keep low as he crouched on the hill. Angry and pained shouts filled the air and when Bookman looked around, he saw a small battlefield littered with bodies of men and horses. It seemed that the battle was almost over as the small army of white clad men - who Bookman recognized as the assassins - pushed the remaining forces of their enemy back.

The man standing at the front of the assassin force was viciously slashing every enemy that crossed his way with his hidden blades, agilely twisting and dacing as he pushed the assassins forward toward inevitable victory.

He wore a very familiar white armor and a hood lined with snow-white fur - something that Bookman immediately recognized.

The man staggered slightly, no doubt tired from the battle, and raised his arm above his head with a victorious cry as the assassins disposed of the rest of the enemy soldiers. He turned around and spoke to the men around him, pointing with his hand around in different directions. The men nodded before running off, checking on their fallen comrades, looking for everyone who might still live.

The white-clad man then turned around and begun to inspect the enemy corpses, but whether it was to see if someone lived or for an entire different reason, the Bookman couldn't tell.

"Good to see he's still lively," Bookman chuckled, idly leaning against a tree as they watched the battle reach its conclusion. "And taking charge to boot." Still, something was odd about the shout... hard to pinpoint what it was however when it was drown in further, echoing yells from the rest of the victorious assassins.

He was somewhat disappointed they appeared to have missed a great chunk of the fight, but he didn't dwell on what couldn't be helped. He'd find out the details of the battle afterwards from its survivors.

He was searching the numbers for a black-clad figure with a long black ponytail, but he didn't see Kanda anywhere. That was a little odd.

He turned his head. "Start taking count, Daisuke," he prompted, catching the boy's attention. He tapped a finger next to his eye. "Eyes sharp. Come down and find me when you're done. We'll compare and see how close you get."

"Alright," the boy heaved, gnawing his lip and staring down at the field with a look of calculation, while the redhead pranced down the hill, propping his spear on his shoulder.

He earned a few curious and tense looks, but no one confronted him directly. A few hovered near him though, hidden blades twitching, simply waiting for a reason to use them. They didn't appear sure if he was approaching so casually because he was an ally or because he was simply either that bold or that dumb.

"Quite a show you're runnin' now, eh?" he tossed at the white-clad leader, Bookman wearing a lopsided smile. "I didn't expect to end up meeting you here too. We've got to stop meeting like-"

His words halted then, seeing the man stand and turn, and realized then that he wasn't talking to who he thought he had been.

"Ah," the man spoke in a tone that was lacking the sharp bite he once used pretty much everytime they had talked, "it's you." He wiped his bloodied hands and pulled his hood off, revealing his raven hair. It was as silky as Bookman had remembered but much shorter and streaked with white, tied in a small pony-tail on the base of the man's neck. "I never thought we would meet again, Lavi."

"Yuu..." He blinked a few times, before admitting, "Neither did I. Anyway, its just Bookman," he corrected. "You look..." He trailed off, eyeing the man critically.

Kanda's physical appearance wasn't all that had changed. His demeanor as well. Bookman would have to say he seemed... docile, and for some reason that almost struck him as funny. It would have been a cold day in Hell before he could have said that about the man before, though he supposed perhaps the stress had something to do with it. Or maybe he was just getting on in years too much to keep pissing about with such an attitude.

"...different," he finished lamely.

Kanda scoffed half-heartedly, fondly shaking his head. "Don't we all, Mr. Bookman?" He pointedly looked behind Lavi, gesturing to his apprentice, "is he yours?"

"He is," Bookman nodded as the kid approached, who was eyeing Kanda with sharp appraisal, appearing to size him up. Bookman planted a hand on his head, making him bow. "This is Daisuke."

"G-good to meet you, sir!" Daisuke quickly spat out, quick to squirm out from under his teacher's palm and shake his hair out, going back to staring at Kanda.

"Anyway, don't let us hold you up," Bookman continued, glancing around the battlefield. He had a lot of questions, but he could wait until they were done with the aftermath, dealing with cleaning up the dead and healing the living. "I'm sure that you and your men already have enough to deal with first before you pay us much mind. Anything we can do to help?"

Kanda nodded as he looked around the battlefield. "I still need to find my sword," he said with a sigh and gestured around him, "help with that if you want." He then turned to his men and instructed them in Japanese, telling them to treat the injured as soon as possible because they weren't staying for too long.

"There's a village further to the north," he said to the two bookmen, half-expecting them to leave right away and went back to searching the bodies.

"An' there's a cozy place for me to stay to the south," Bookman shrugged, trailing along a few paces behind, eye scouring the field. "I'm not here just by coincidence, y'know. Intuition tells me you aren't either." His uncovered eye flicked towards the man, studying his face carefully. He didn't think he needed to elaborate that he was talking about the Pieces of Eden."Perhaps I assume too much, though."

"I am fighting battles for the emperor," Kanda said distractedly, going from one body to the next until he finally crouched down to pull his lost sword out of one of his enemies, "and to train the kids." He wiped the sword and sheathed it, finally looking back.

He stared at the Bookman for a second before it finally clicked.

"Oh, right, you mean that." He scoffed. "I'm going to have to disappoint you. But this is a conversation we cannot have in the middle of the battlefield. Go to the village and don't make yourself at home."

The redhead nodded, tilting his head with silent curiosity, but he didn't press for further information now. If Kanda was fighting a war, then he was busy and had to pick his priorities. "I'll see you there once your hands are free," he agreed, giving a small dip of his head before heading off to where the man indicated they would rendezvous.

Kanda returned not a half an hour after them. As soon as he unmounted the horse, a mob of assassins swarmed him, showering him with requests and reports, which he quickly brushed off, promising to hear them out the next day.

He tied his horse to the fence that stood by the house where he currently resided and walked in, leaving his muddy boots outside.

"Tell the kid to get out of my room," he said as he begun to undo his coat.

"You heard the man, Daisuke," Bookman called, not looking up from where he sat writing, parchment propped against his knee. He said something else but it was neither in Japanese or any other mutually known language. The boy grumbled something as he reappeared, wearing a frown, but otherwise remained silent. The redhead finally looked up. "Why don't you go busy yourself with Aka? She'd probably like the attention."

"Yeah, alright," Daisuke sighed, glancing between the men before stepping outside, leaving them alone to talk freely.

Bookman caught the look Kanda cast him, explaining with a small chuckle, "Aka is the denchu."

"You know, you can just buy horses," Kanda offered as he sat down in front of the fire to warm himself up. The rain still poured from the sky and it looked like it wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"Maybe I will when that pack animal finally croaks," Bookman chuckled in return, having turned his gaze back to his writing.

"So what brings you to Nippon?"

"What else? People are calling this Nippon's Period of Warring States. There's lots of history happening here. Someone needs to keep track of it. It doesn't hurt things either that I was interested in seeing this country anyway, after Bak told me about it way back when. Along the way, I found the kid scavenging battlefields in Kamakura. 'little rough around the edges, but he's sharp and not afraid of getting close to the fighting." He paused, idly scratching his head. "And what about you? This is a long ways off from Constantinople. What business do you and Allen have here?"

Kanda froze for a second and sat back, looking at Lavi for a good while saying nothing.

"Ah damn," he cursed and dragged a hand across his face, smiling sadly, "I wanted to tell you but I couldn't get a hold of any bookmen at the time. You guys are really hard to find." He laughed weakly. "Allen's dead."

Bookman suddenly stopped writing, going still as a statue and some of the casually playful errs falling from his face.

Dead...? How had he not...

No... no, he had noticed something off. As soon as he'd seen Kanda dressed in such a manner, in Allen's old armor, in Allen's old robes, he'd known. He hadn't been sure what it was, exactly, but he'd had his suspicions, however buried. Of course he hadn't wanted to see it, hadn't wanted to think about it, but...

He realized he'd been holding his breath and that his hand had remained still for several beats too long, trembling around the poised quill. He forced himself to keep writing, but his hand refused to remain steady despite his best efforts, and even waiting until he trusted himself to speak, his words still trembled slightly with it.

"H-how did it happen?"

"Oh, well, it was not as if it was not to be expected, but still..."

Three years. Everything was going perfectly, a little bit too much, perhaps, but neither of them minded. They still did carry out an occasional mission or two, still trained new recruits and still argued over the pettiest things but everything was finally as it should have been.

The sprout was as cheerful as ever, if not more, sending his way-too-bright smiles in every direction and Kanda couldn't bring himself to point it out or anything since it held the den's morale pretty high. A little bit of cheerfulness never hurt anyone. The irony of him thinking that, of all people.

The first time he became a little bit edgy after a long time was when the smily idiot almost fell off a roof - ´I slipped´ he said and brushed it off as if nothing happened. At first Kanda was tempted to brush it off just the same. But when Allen ´slipped´ down the stairs, he just couldn't.

They argued the entire week at the time because Allen kept saying he was just a little clumsy and that was all.

When he collapsed on the nearest mission and didn't get back up, Kanda knew there was nothing to argue about and Allen knew it too. They spent that week in silence, avoiding each other and coping with the inevitable in their own way. His smile was thinner after that, and a little bit forced.

A month from then, he lost his apetite, and in another month, he spent the time in bed reading books.

The two following months were for Kanda like a a bad dream he barely remembers. The days blend together and passed like a haze and Kanda couldn't bring himself to count them anymore. Allen tried to provoke some arguments, but they were always only half-hearted and ended up in tense silence and resignation.

The day Allen asked him to take him outside was the breaking point.

There was no avoiding the fate anymore, and no matter how angry Kanda was at him for simply giving in, the sprout still smiled at him with his stupid way-too-bright smile and insisted on his request.

At first, Kanda sat on the highest hill overlooking the city with Allen's head in his lap in silence, but when the younger one asked him to describe what he was seeing, he complied and that was probably the first time he talked so much in his life. He described everything - the colours, the people, the buildings, the shape of the clouds, the water, the ships... Allen just listened, occasionally piping in with some comment or question.

When the sun began to set and the sky's colour faded from blue to red and then gradually to inky black, Allen stopped him.

He gave him his pendant, saying that there's no need for it anymore, along with the key to the Apple's safe and a small diary. The last thing Kanda heard him say was "Thank you."

Bookman listened in total silence to every word Kanda had to offer, barely daring to breathe and unmoving as stone as if the noise of either one might make him miss something important, despite Kanda's strong, baritone voice being so hard to miss.

He waited for a few beats after the man finished, listening for more, but that was it.

He finally exhaled slowly, appearing to deflate as his rigid shoulders sagged, and it sounded painfully loud to his ears in the quiet room, of which only the flicker of the fire and patter of rain otherwise interrupted the silence. He leaned his back against the wall behind him, but the contact felt strangely foreign, like it wasn't even there and he was about to fall straight from the precipice of a perilous cliff.

"I see..." he murmured, and he might have cringed at the rasping hollow of his own voice if he was a less practiced man at repressing emotion. "I guess it was just arrogance then... assuming I could actually fix the damage the Apple inflicted."

Three years. He'd bought Allen that much more time, at least, but it was still thirty years too soon...

Kanda watched him in silence, waiting for the Bookman to get himself back under control. He could see how the emotions swirled inside him. He stood up and walked to the cabinet on the left - very western, but he didn't really care - and took out a flask of sake and two cups. Lavi seemed to calm himself meanwhile, so he sat down next to him and poured them both a little of the alcohol.

"Here," Kanda pushed on of the cups towards him with a calm smile. He drowned his share without waiting for the redhead, grimacing at the taste. He would probably never get used to it. "I should thank you - for giving us as much time as you did," he paused, taking a deep breath. "So, thank you, for giving him time to live through happier times."

Bookman accepted the cup mutely, downing it in much the same way. He didn't really taste it. All he could feel was how it burned his throat on the way down.

He wasn't even sure what he should say in response to Kanda - Kanda of all people - smiling and thanking him, and even sort of offering comfort in his own aloof, off-handed way. Feeling so unsteady in the first place didn't help matters. His hand still refused to stop trembling, but he hoped it wasn't noticed.

"It was nothing, I just-" He couldn't even finish. His words died into a choked sob as what composure and self-control he'd had left to cling to caved all at once, covering his face with one hand self-consciously. Clenching his teeth so tight they hurt didn't help much to stifle the pitiful sounds that heaved from his chest and made his shoulders quake.

He didn't want to cry, but he certainly didn't want to cry in front of anyone, least of all Kanda, even more.

Bookmen don't grieve. Bookmen don't grieve. Bookmen DON'T grieve. You're a Bookman, pull yourself together!

It was useless. The harder he tried to reign back control, the worse it got; fighting free for all its overwhelming worth; battering against him like tsunami waves against a shore, knocking over anything in its path, and he was drowning underneath it, helplessly suffocating.

He didn't want to even give Kanda the slimmest chance at trying to comfort him. Giving in meant he needed it, and needing it meant he cared. Bookmen did not care. He tried to think through the storm of emotions for something else. Something to keep Kanda busy and away from him while he tried to regain himself.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, hoarse words barely even understandable around the tightness in his throat, "but can you make sure my apprentice is kept out?"

Kanda nodded mutely and stood up, pausing as he touched the door.

"Was it worth it?" he asked, unable to look back at the man, "All the time you pushed him away?"

Was that meant to be some tough-love form of comfort - the same thing he'd been trying to keep Kanda from doing - or a scathing burn? Bookman actually laughed somewhat, an unpleasantly manic, fractured sort of bark lined in sharp edges.

"Would it have been worth it to never have known him as you did?" he rebuked alternatively. He didn't bother with trying to explain all the intricacies of his Clans rules or what may have happened if he'd tried to be the exception to them. It was none of Kanda's damn business anyway, and demotion was not the biggest thing to be feared. "Don't talk like you didn't want us apart back then. I did what was necessary. Nothing more."

Kanda smirked at him and walked out the door, where he found the kid familiarly trying to eavesdrop. Grabbing the bookman's apprentice like a little pup, he dragged him away from the house, closing the door with his foot. The faint noise of the boy's protests echoed throughout the house until another sound of door sliding open and close drowned it out and Bookman was left alone with his thoughts.

Strangely enough, the short burst of biting banter helped somewhat, as much as he hated to admit it. Bookman felt like he could breathe again, just a little better than before. A snatch of air in the churning waves of his grief.

He sobbed for a good while, off and on. He wasn't sure for how long, but he'd hazard a guess that it was long enough to annoy. His throat felt raw, but the pain was preferable to the woundless ache in his chest.

He dug through his bag when he finally managed to quell borderline hysterical sobbing into silent tears and faltering breaths. He pulled out a pipe, stuffed the end and lit it, sputtering on the first inhalation and trying not to remember how he'd done the same thing the first time Allen introduced him to tobacco. The redhead wondered if Kanda would mind the smell, then decided he didn't really care at the moment. Maybe Kanda wouldn't either.

He tried not to think of anything at all, but it was hard. Allen had been his first real love. Certainly the only one he'd been serious about. There had been others, but after the first time he'd left, no goodbyes, he'd never dared to make the same mistake of getting close like that again. It was too painful and unfair.

The thought that he could have been there, been able to do something to give him a little more time, crossed his mind, but he knew better than to dwell over all of the impossible what ifs. But it still crossed his mind, and it shouldn't have.

"Look at what you did to me," he muttered, holding the mouthpiece of his pipe between clenched teeth. "What you do to people like Yuu and I. People like us were supposed to be untouchable. I bet you're so fuckin' smug with yourself in the afterlife, if there is one. Smiley, sunshiny bastard. I'll be the best damn Bookman this world ever saw. Prove all the stuff you said about me being a lie is true, just to spite you. Wipe that idiot look right off your clownish face."

Bookman sighed a cloud of smoke, closing his eye for a while and reveling in the silence and loneliness of the room. It had been long enough. Maybe even too long. His eyes were dry and he'd ceased to feel the shards of anguish. The only thing he could find when he searched was blissfully empty neutrality, and that was as it should be.

Bookman stood, rubbing the back of his neck as he left the room to go find Kanda, who was still keeping a sharp, commanding eye on his temporarily complacent brat apprentice.

He said nothing at all about his breakdown even in vague passing, looking stone-faced and simply offering up, "Thank you again, for the hospitality, but I think we've bothered you enough. We can find our own place to stay without imposing. After all, you said not to get too comfortable."

The assassin raised an eyebrow in question while masterfully ignoring the brat's heated glare.

"How long will you be staying in Nihon?" he asked after a while of pondering. He looked satisfied, maybe even smug, but Bookman was not entirely sure.

"Hard to say," Bookman hummed, "but Nihon is a small country with a lot of conflict. Probably for some time to come." He paused then, something occurring to him. "By the way, whatever happened to the Apple? He entrusted it to you, I suspect."

Another smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Kanda asked cockily, the look from so many years ago returning briefly to his face. He stared off into the distance then, smelling the smoke-filled air. The wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead deepened and his mouth formed a thin line. "I will... need a favor. In time. A favor from which we are both going to benefit from but I need a stable way to contact you. Is that possible?"

Bookman pondered for a few moments in silence, weighing his options in his mind, before he sat down, rummaging for some parchment and a quill.

"There's an island called Jeju, a little less than two hundred miles off the coast directly west of us, no more than maybe five days out, with a large mountain directly at its center the people of Korea call Hallasan. On its north side halfway between the base of the mountain and the coast is the Gwaneumsa Buddhist temple, the oldest temple on the island. If you can't find me directly, that's your best bet."

When he was done with what he was scribbling down - which looked like a bunch of obscure pictures and symbols - he handed it to the man.

"Ask if anyone there recognizes what's on this paper. You'll know when you find them. They'll be sure to get the message through. Be sure not to lose it before then."

Kanda took the paper, frowning a little bit as he inspected it. He nodded then and folded it, putting it into one of the pouches on his belt.

"I will try," he said, his eyes staring off into the distance as he absentmindedly tugged on the familiar pendant around his neck. Shaking whatever thoughts had him space out, Kanda looked at the boy at his side, his dark eyes silently judging. "Keep an eye out on him," he grumbled, reminding him so much of Kanda's old self, "he's noisy just like you."

The redhead smirked as he stood, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. "Believe me, I'm way ahead of you."

He smacked his fist on top of the kid's head a little hard and ground his knuckles down, earning a near-silent, teeth-clenched, "Ow, ow, ow, ow!", before snatching something from one of the boy's hands and tossing it in Kanda's direction.

"Here, catch. I believe this is yours." Glancing between Kanda and Daisuke, and ignoring the pouting glare that Daisuke gave him, he added, "My apprentice doesn't know when to stop using his sticky fingers."

Bookman lightly pushed the kid to the door, ignoring his grumbling, and paused in the doorway to look back for a last time.

"I suspect I might see you again at least once again, out in the fields of battle, before all is said and done. Take care of yourself," he paused, the ghost of a familiar mischievousness tugging at his lips as he went to leave, "Yuu-chan~"

"You should know that it is a custom to cut the thief's hand off when they are caught stealing," he glared at the boy, clenching his hand around a small carven lotus flower. "Make sure he remembers that," he said to Lavi. "And stop calling me that, you stupid rabbit!"

It never got old.

They left shortly after, but Lavi couldn't deny himself a few pokes and prods that sent the assassin into fits of grumbles. He half expected to see the man shake his fist at them as they made their slightly hasty retreat. Instead he saw that pondering look on his face, and noticed the hand fingering the pendant again.

A year and a half has passed since he last saw Kanda. The wars were happening more often and on bigger scales. He stayed neutral, observing as always.

Until a letter arrived.

A man came to where Bookman was staying with his apprentice, greeting him in a language known only within their Clan before presenting the letter to him.

The redhead recognized the pendant that was left with it, knowing that it could only be from Kanda, but why he sent the pendant as well was beyond him, unless it was merely for recognition's sake.

He carefully unwrapped it and opened the letter, single eye scanning its contents. It was deliberately vague, but short and to-the-point.

Allen wanted you to have it. You'll find something interesting in the place where he liked to fly.

Don't mess it up. Farewell.
-K

Bookman plucked the pipe from his lips, blowing out a long billow of smoke. Farewell. Somehow that felt like a finality. That he would neither see nor hear from Kanda ever again. Not in this life, at least. Kanda was no longer of this world.

The place where Allen liked to fly.

He closed his eye for a moment. Galata Tower. That was where it would be. He told his apprentice to get him parchment and a quill, and spent some time with creating an artistic-looking letter, much like the one he had shown Allen and Emil more than a decade earlier. When he was finished, he handed it to the messenger.

"Take this to the Top. I'll also need a replacement here to pick up this record in my place. One of the Pieces has fallen into calm waters."

The man nodded understanding, taking his message, and soon he was gone.

Within only a few days, he and his apprentice left the country by ship, taking them south around mainland Asia, and then far west past India and Arabia, through the Red Sea and Egypt, until they reached Constantinople by way of another ship, through the Aegean Sea and the Marmara.

It was there that he found the Galata Tower, still standing firm watch over the main den, though Bookman didn't invite himself to it and didn't suspect anyone occupying it now would recognize him anyway, nor the other way around. Just as promised, Bookman found the Apple secured away in the tower, where a marker made visible only with special eyes like his gave away its hiding place.

Sure enough, it was there, untouched and unseen by anyone else since it was hidden there all those years before. He smirked wistfully as he held it again, but all the same he felt nothing but a small spark of amused irony.

"After all that, and you both still trusted it to me at the end. Fools, the both of you, putting that kind of faith into a bookman." He shook his head, and stowed the item away into his bag where it wouldn't be seen by interested eyes, before stepping back out.

He didn't know if Allen had received a burial with a proper gravestone or not, never having bothered to ask, but he didn't go searching for one. Visiting graves was for the sentiment of it, and bookmen did not long for the dead.

As quickly as they entered Constantinople, they were gone again, the redhead mentally mapping the road to where the needed to go to store the Apple away, where it would be kept safe and hidden from anyone who might want it.

"Sensei?"

"Hm?" He felt his apprentice's curious eyes burning on his back, but he kept looking forward, nudging his horse along.

"That letter... it was from that man, right? The Assassin's Mentor that we met in Nihon."

"It was," Bookman nodded.

"And who was this... 'Allen' person?"

An exhalation that swirled outward a plume of smoke. "A blot of ink that the world will eventually forget, such is the price of existence."

A hum. "But not us, right?"

Bookman smiled with something dangerously close to fondness. "No, not us. Bookmen never forget, but neither do we mourn."

"Hm."

Silence.

"However…" One uncovered eye glanced back, over his shoulder. "There's nothing to say one can't have a favorite book that's already been written."

"Do you have a favorite book, Sensei?"

Another long huff of smoke. "Yes."

"Which one?"

"It's a story that ends in three kinds of tragedy; of a Nightmare clad in a tempest of black, a Scribe splashed red under consuming flame of forbidden truths, and a Demon shrouded in white shielding the wrongfully damned." A hand lightly traced to his stomach in reminiscence, where a scar was hiding. "The Nightmare lost two loves and quieted with none to welcome everything he was the same way again. The Scribe became what he forever strived to be at the cost of what he wanted. And the Demon perished to forever take away from them the warmth of the sun. Perhaps one day, you'll get to read it."

A/N: Don't look at me that way. THIS IS ALL SHAERA'S FAULT. Direct your pitchforks and torches at her :'D It was her idea. (Okay maybe I helped the idea along a little bit).

Oh boy though, finally finished! This was a fun project :D If you guys liked reading this though, we have another DGM collaboration fic posted on shaerahaek's account called Of Swindlers, Butchers, and Wyrms that we're going to focus on seeing completed as well! And I have a bunch of other fics I'm going to try working on on my own that you guys can totally check out as well!

Thank you for all your readership and reviews! :D We appreciate all of it!