I'm sorry, I've been outside ing 40 degree weather from 9:30 to 3:00 and I'm not in the best of moods....

CURSE YOU WRITERS BLOCK AND ALL THAT WHICH YOU DO TO MAKE ME SUFFER!

I told someone I was going to update on Wednesday..... and Tuseday night writers block hit hard

5 pages... I was going to add more onto Allen's side in this chapter, but that didn't happen because of the STUPID WRITERS BLOCK! -calms down- So that's going to be in the next chapter. And you have a brief mention of a guy called Trent in the last scene.... yeah, well... he's one of my OCs for an original story I had planned, but... I loved him too much to keep out -.-' he wont be a major character, don't worry, but he's going to have to appear here and there, for the sake of oppositely-biased exorcists...

disclaimer: ...shut up =.="

Allen didn't know what time it was when he woke up again in the morning. It wasn't as cold anymore, it was bearable, actually, abet a slight bit difficult to breath. He recognized the light but prominent smell hanging around in the air as wood smoke. The moment his brain, which was once again operating incredibly slowly, was able to register exactly what the smell was, he began to cough.

He covered his mouth with his right hand, the left gripping the sheets of his bed tightly. The sheets slowly rose back up Allen's cooling body as he continued to cough harshly into his hand, and soon, the blanket as well. His throat seemed to come out of him as he coughed, or at least flake out of him. Then again, this was how every cough was, right?

He coughed again, even harsher than before, like his lungs were scolding him for that.

His eyes started tearing up as he clasped his hand firmly over his mouth and forced himself to stop. The feeling of a feather duster being shoved down his throat greeted him at this attempt. Keeping his mouth firmly shut, he tried to slither out of the bed, crawling over to a window and prying it open. It was difficult, his muscles being worn out and the window being old and not having moved for very long.

Actually, it was much easier than he would have thought at first. It flew open as he pushed upward as hard as he could and thrust his neck out. His cough slowly got batter in the clear air, flooding through his lungs with a furious coldness, but it felt incredibly good on his sore throat. Like when Lavi had poured the cold water over his burns.

The cold air soon registered on his skin, very soon after he had finally cleared his lungs of the smog. He pulled himself back into the house slowly, the cold numbing his muscles and making it difficult to move again.

"Kanda, you're hopeless, you're smoking up the whole house! I'm amazed you even got the fire going..."

"I told you, the beansprout woke up at four in the frickin' morning and made a fire."

"Allen can barely move around right now, and I'd think it would be slightly odd if Allen actually started a fire after everything that happened back ho— at the Order."

"Che, fine, don't believe me, but the kid fell asleep crying when I was in the room."

"..You didn't do anything to him, did you, Kanda?"

"See? You believe me."

"Benefit of the doubt. Answer the question."

"..No, I didn't do anything."

"Fine, now go get some sleep... God, Kanda, you burnt yourself?"

"It's fine."

"No it's not! Go run cold water over it and bandage it up right now!"

Allen groaned as he slammed the window back down and fell backwards discordinatedly sprawling onto the bed, which despite being small, was roughly about twice his size, perhaps a little smaller. His arms warmed up quickly against the top quilt comforter. He wanted nothing more than to lie down in that warm bed again and just let his aching muscles repair themselves again. It would take a while, but someday, he would be over all this...

At least he truly hoped so. The back of his head still hurt from where he had fallen against the floor some hours earlier. His legs had bruises finally appearing from falling over so often while outside the day before. His arms ached from carrying the water, and everywhere ached from the still healing burns. It was nearing the end of October and All Hallows and All Saints were coming up quickly.

They must have had barely a week before November was going to set in. All the days seemed to go by at a crawl, though, no matter how little time they had to get out of Moa's house and stop endangering her and her town.

He slid to the floor and tried to orient himself correctly. He held onto the window sil as he pulled himself up and back onto his feet. His boots had been removed at some point. He couldn't remember exactly when, though. He had woken up last time with them on, right? He groaned. His mind was too far gone this morning.

He wanted to be able to think. He wanted to be hugged. He wanted to be able to rant without hurting anyone. He wanted a nice, quiet place without Lenalee scolding Kanda in the background.

"Kanda, just hold out your hand, it will only twinge a bit at first—"


"I don't care, I don't trust anything about that cream stuff, now let me go!"

"Kanda, just do it already. It'll protect the burn and slow down the swelling. Lavi made it, you know you can trust his medicine."

"Stop talking to me like I'm a misbehaving four-year-old!"

"But you're acting like a misbehaving four-year-old!"

"No I am not!"

Allen picked up the coat at the foot of the bed and fingered around through it until he found the hood and sleeves. Slipping it on much easier than most anything he had done lately, he looked for his boots and found them shoved roughly under the bed. He felt like he looked for once— older— as he had difficulty having his back anchor him up.

There was a strong pull at the hood of his jacket, pulling him up easily. The fabric pressed against the bandages on his neck, but it wasn't painful, just discomfort for once. He threw his right arm out to try and balance against the wall after the sudden movement.

"T-Tim?" He stuttered out, seeing the little golden ball fluttering worriedly in front of him. He laughed wearily, the sound sounding somewhat strange to him. Man, how long had it been since he last laughed? "Tim, I havent seen you in a while, where've you been?"

Tim bobbed and whirled around his head, 'speaking' much too quickly for Allen to understand. "Okay then," Allen muttered. "I'll take your word for it..." He turned his head to look out thee window again. He could only guess Tim had been outside and come in only when he had opened the window.

The ball vanished and reappeared with his mask. Allen blinked in suprise before realizing he had not been wearing it. He grimaced and pressed it against his face until there was a slight clicking sound before taking his hand away.

His legs protested with sharp bolts of pain as he walked as quietly as he could out of his room, ghosting outside the hallway and to the closest door to him, the farthest away from Lenalee and Kanda. He looked for Moa... not that he had any particular reason to, he just wanted to see her. Moa was the only one who couldn't hate him in this situation... because she was the only one who didn't know anything, so he could pour his heart out as he wanted to, not having to justify anything...

His knees buckled momentarily as he tripped over a raised floorboard. He caught himself on the wall. Groaning, trying to straighten his knees again. He wondered faintly if he should really be moving as much as he was.

He shook his head slowly. He had to walk right then. Standing still might just drive him insane, especially in that annoying small room.

That small, dark place.

His stomach began to churn. Allen's hand flew to his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the images that wanted desperately to creep into him again. Images of a small, dark space that he spent six months in before snapping and—

"Allen?"

God dammit, Damian, weren't you supposed to be asleep? Allen gaged as heat assaulted his throat from the inside.

He dashed down the hallways as quickly as he could, finding it impossible to ignore the way it made his stomach even more worked up. He turned sharply to where he remembered the door to be and collapsed in the brush, his stomach finally winning.

He gasped out the chunks of half digested food, the bile dripping out of his mouth, even after his stomach's convulsion had halted. The bushes hid him mostly from view, but they couldn't halt sound. He hoped no one had heard him, puking his guts out. He wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve, shuddering, realizing exactly how cold it was now that he was outside entirely.

His sleeve turned a slight shade of yellow near the cuffs from the bile and remaining food and drink that had splattered his face. His mind was waterlogged and legs uneasy after his stomach's harsh attack on all in him.

'No one heard you, Allen' Damian whispered to him. Allen thought he felt a hand rub his back gently and started to breath easier. 'It's Sunday, everyone's in church or in their houses,' Allen nodded slowly. Then Moa was probably at her church as well. Screw the idea of pouring his heart out with an unbiased person.

He rolled over, trying to righten himself again and avoid falling into his throw up with his steadily tiring arms. He groaned.

000

Miranda stared at her wrist curiously, and at the dark blue strap that Komui had just slid onto her wrist. It was skin tight, so how he had gotten it to slip over her hand and yet have it remain fitted to her slim wrist was a mystery to her. When Komui released her hand, she brought it closer to her face and fingered the strap, noticing that it was not moving from the place Komui had released it at on her wrist.

"Komui, what is this?" She asked softly, seeing Marv and Rob putting one of Timothy, the youngest exorcist, who had returned from a mission barely a week ago with a new exorcist called Trent. Trent was a bit farther away, several shaky scientists trying to put one on him as he stared at them in slight disbelief.

Komui frowned, and for a moment, Miranda was terrified that she had said something wrong. Then, Komui took her hand again and patted it softly, like in apology. "Central has decided. All exorcists must wear these. They're trackers," He muttered darkly.

"What?" Miranda cried. "Why?"

"It's because of them," Komui sighed. Miranda blinked in suprise.

"You mean A—" Komui covered her mouth with his hand before she could get another syllable out.

"Central has forbidden to use their names," He explained. "After today, it's taboo," Miranda's eyes widened for an instant, but she nodded. Komui lowered his hand. "Miranda, please stay out of trouble..." He whispered. "Things are going to change and it wont be pleasant most of the time..."

Miranda nodded, her lower lip trembling. Komui was afraid for a moment that she was going to burst into tears. But she didn't. Miranda took a deep breath and stared hard at Komui. "We'll be okay, Komui," She whispered. "A— They," She amended quickly, "..I know that they're going to do somethng..." She muttered quietly. "They wont abandon us."

Komui looked down at his feet. "I know, Miranda," He said. "Thank you."

Miranda nodded slowly the thank you echoing in her head as the first one she had ever gotten had. The face of a smiling boy passed through her mind as she walked out of the room where Komui was now attaching a tracker onto Marie. She swallowed nervously. She might not be the most self-assured exorcist, though she had long gotten over her self-destructive tendencies, but she knew...

She just knew...

There was no way those five would ever forget their comrades in the Order.