Archive of Our Own

Allen knows he’s luckier than most even though he never feels like he is. Being an exorcist is a dangerous and unforgiving profession that most are forced into against their will.

He was neither forced nor persuaded into the role. Allen knew he was going to be an exorcist the moment Cross offered it to him. So he, by all means, should be ready to face the consequences.

The near-death experiences, the injuries, the chronic pain… he was supposed to be ready for it, but he isn't. Allen’s back hurts.

The jagged scar that cut straight through him—which he gave to himself— burns and sparks with sharp pain. Sometimes it’s just his chest. On other days it’s his back, and on his worse days, it’s both.

Allen would never tell anyone. It’s his pain to deal with. It’s a wound he gave himself so he has no right to complain about the pain.

It’s just… the nights when nightmares clog his lungs like miasma, the pain is somehow worse. When he dreams of a bamboo forest, purple butterflies, and blood burning the back of his throat, it’s like shards of glass pushing into his skin. It’s like the Teeze being pushed into his chest again, chewing through the fragile flesh of his heart and scraping their razor-sharp wings against his bones.

Allen never gets much sleep on nights like tonight and his only solace is that Tyki is experiencing the same level of pain because he bears scars from his sword of exorcism too. It doesn’t make his nightmares any better, but it makes him feel vindictively happy that Tyki is probably hissing air between his teeth—the same way Allen is now—as he tries to stand up in the morning.

Allen’s arms shake and his back is burning— white-hot pain sears the length of his spine and just maneuvering himself into a sitting position is pure agony.

The whine he lets out is animalistic and high-pitched. It catches Timcanpy’s attention from where he burrowed himself into Allen’s pillow at night.

Allen knows he’s not going anywhere today. He knows that as soon as he tries to stand a wave of nausea will rise up in him until his throat is tight and aching. Standing will somehow make him dizzy and the lights in the hallways will give him a migraine.

So he stays put and lets out a small hum of pleasure when Timcanpy gently glides into his hands to provide a modicum of comfort.

Usually, he fools himself into the notion that he can distract himself from the worst of the pain by running his fingers up and down the length of Timcanpy’s wings. It’s mostly psychological, counting the number of times he’s pet Timcanpy’s wings until he can’t think, until he’s tired enough to fall asleep on his stomach.

His room is quiet and the only sound is the soft sound of his fingertips against the warm metal of Timcanpy’s body.

Allen is already plenty exhausted, and there’s an iron tang on his tongue from his nightmare but his eyes aren't heavy and he isn’t listing to the side sleepily. 

So he waits for it. Counting up to forty before he suddenly remembers Tyki’s hands crushing his arm and laughing at him— 

He starts over and swallows that iron taste in his mouth. The counting doesn’t make him forget the taste of his fear. The counting doesn't ease the pain but he pretends it does.

Then, ten minutes later when he’s already settled back down on his bed hoping that he’ll fall asleep, there’s a knock at his door.

People rarely knock on his door. Most often, it’s Lenalee coming to inform him that he’s needed for a mission, which does not bode well for him right now. At all.

Getting out of bed feels like an impossible task, and standing up sounds so exhausting that he’d rather just go back to sleep for the rest of the day.

Whoever it is knocks again and Allen knows he’s going to have to get up. If he doesn’t Lenalee will think there’s something terribly wrong with him, and kick it in.

It's a valid concern due to the nature of their jobs and how mentally taxing it can be. Especially since he’s seen his fair share of death first-hand.

He likes having a door. It’s not quite worth the surge of pain as he pushes himself up to a sitting position once more, but Lenalee’s concerned expression flashes behind his eyelids and he finds the determination to stand up and walk over to the door. He swallows back nausea. 

He takes a deep breath to steady his fraying nerves and then opens the door. Light spills into the gentle darkness of his room and resists the urge to cover his eyes as a dull pain settles behind his eyes.

Allen almost wants to activate Crown Clown so it can support his weight and puppeteer him wherever it is that Komui needs him to be.

But Lenalee is standing right in front of him, with her teal hair in a soft bob that fits her face shape more than her long hair ever did.

He must look just as terrible as he feels because the first words out of Lenalee’s mouth are, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he lies without even blinking. “Did you need something?” 

He knows that she knows something is wrong. Allen never really cuts to the chase when he’s delivered straight from his room to Komui’s office. He never asks what she needs from him. They both know that the only reason she’d invade his privacy is because he’s needed for something. 

He likes to chat with Lenalee about things. Like the new mug she bought for her brother last week. Or the latest ingenious prank Lavi pulled on Cross after learning something concerning about Allen’s childhood.

But there’s none of that friendly energy about him right now, and he feels bad about it but he doubts he could deal with that kind of conversation right now.

Lenalee instantly brushes a lock of Allen’s hair behind his ear and furrows her brow. “I can take the mission if you’re not feeling well,”

Allen almost takes her up on the offer. Almost . Lenalee just came back from a mission though and he hates to separate Komui-san and Lenalee more than the Order already does by sending her on missions.

He’ll just feel even worse than he does now, which is not something he wants.

“I’ll be fine,” he replies and his tone is soft because if he’s any louder the on-set of his headache might get worse.

Lenalee studies him.

Allen knows he looks like shit. His hair is a mess despite Lenalee’s lame attempts at fixing it, his clothes are rumpled and wrinkled, and he knows he’s blinking far too slowly for someone who's supposed to be fine. Lenalee reaches out to fix his hair properly this time and straightens his clothes, and Allen hardly even blinks through all of it.

If it weren’t for the warmth of her hands through his hair and the gentle tug of his shirt, he’s not even sure he would’ve noticed.

His back is throbbing in time with his drumming heartbeat and it occupies most of his thoughts. No longer can he just count to distract himself. He’s way past that. It’s taking all his willpower to stay standing.

“Alright,” but by the concerned look on her face, it was not alright at all. “Let’s go. It’s not a hard mission,”

He knows how many times they’ve said that and he knows how many times they were so, so wrong. Allen hopes that she’s right this time and that he gets to come home either later tonight or early morning tomorrow. Maybe by then, his pain will have vanished.

Lenalee leads him to Komui’s office while trying to pretend like she isn’t shooting looks over her shoulder to make sure he’s still following. It’s nice of her. He knows that she wants to say something. That she wants to convince him to have someone else go on this mission instead, but she knows him too well.

The only way he won’t go on this mission is if Cross is assigned to go with him and Cross is currently in Germany hunting down accommodators. But as much as he’d rather be resting, he’ll feel terrible if he ruins someone’s day off by asking them to take this mission for him.

That’s why he ignores Lenalee’s pointed look at him when they finally reach the door that will lead them into Komui’s office. Instead, he focuses on keeping himself upright as he opens the door.

He ignores the bursts of pain down his spine that feel like blistering fireworks. Allen curls his hand into a fist at his side and digs his nails into his palms to redirect some of the mounting pain. He can’t tell if it’s working.

“Good morning Allen-kun!” Komui exclaims. A muscle in Allen’s jaw jumps. “I have a mission for you a few hours away from here,”

A few hours. That’s so much better than what he was expecting. If he’s lucky he can be in and out in no time at all. It’s a small relief that has him unconsciously relaxing his tense shoulders.

As he gingerly perches himself on the couch, Komui pulls out a thin cream-colored folder and thumbs through the three pages inside of it.

Lenalee silently excuses herself and her exit is punctuated by the soft click of the door as it shuts.

Allen thinks nothing of it until a few seconds later—is it really seconds? He can’t tell over the insistent screaming of the sharp aches in his back—she returns with someone at her back.

Kanda is tall and imposing behind her like the dark castle they’re in, and his icy gaze passes right over him. He starts to wonder why Kanda is here until Komui’s voice registers in his head again.

“Ah, hello Kanda-kun! Glad to see you decided to join Allen on this mission,” Komui says with a little too much surprise in his voice. It tells Allen that Kanda wasn’t supposed to be on this mission at all, but Komui is just going along with whatever Lenalee is planning. And that Kanda is too, for whatever reason.

He doesn’t currently have the patience to question it, so he just pushes the confusion away and forces himself to listen to the briefing Komui gives them both as Kanda sits down on the other side of the couch. Kanda has been looking for an excuse to run away from Tiedoll’s overbearing parental attitude for days now, anyway.

When Lenalee leaves this time she doesn’t come back almost instantly.

“The Finders discovered the Innocence last night,” Komui tells them as he scans the paperwork spread out on his desk. “No Akuma were reported in the area, so if you two are quick enough I’m confident that you’ll be back very quickly,”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kanda nod. Allen hums an affirmative noise to show that he’s at least listening.

“The town it’s located in is a few hours away from here,” Komui stands up from his desk and when he stops in front of them he hands Allen a map. Circled in black ink is the location of the Innocence.

Kanda snatches it from him before he can properly look at it, and Allen glares at him. Kanda pretends not to see it as he studies the map closely.

“Fine,” Kanda grumbles after a moment. “We should go right now,”

Allen squints at him while trying to ignore the sudden rush of annoyance borne from the pain in his back. It was one thing to be annoyed by Kanda and take it out on him as he damn well deserved, but it was another thing entirely to be hateful because he was in pain.

And as annoying as Kanda usually is, Allen can’t really begrudge him for taking the map. Everyone knows that Allen is terrible with directions.

“Ah-ah!” Komui nearly shouts as Allen forces himself to his feet when Kanda crosses the room toward the door. “Eat breakfast first! Both of you!”

Kanda scowls at the man, but when Allen finally makes out into the hallway Kanda walks in the direction of the cafeteria.

Crown Clown is the only reason he’s standing at this point. Going on missions with Kanda stresses him out when he’s having a flare-up because he can never tell if Kanda will suddenly shove him or grab him. Any jostling movement can make the pain worse, but the same can be said for stress.

And that’s exactly what’s happening. His shoulders are still tense even after Kanda grabbed the Innocence. Allen feels the way it makes the rest of his back muscles even tenser than before. He feels how his clenched jaw builds an ache in his neck that isn’t helping at all.

They fought three Akuma and it was the perfect excuse for Allen to activate Crown Clown, so he could go completely boneless and hopefully alleviate some of his pain.

Kanda watches him do it without so much as a blink. Mostly because he doesn’t know that Crown Clown is holding him up as it has plenty of times before when he was too injured to move.

Allen lets Kanda take the lead so he doesn’t notice anything amiss.

He forces himself to breathe around the sharp edges of his pain. He can’t— he can’t stop because if he does he might pass out.

Allen grits his teeth against sudden vertigo that makes his stomach somersault. His legs are still shaking, even though Crown Clown has taken full control of his body. 

So when the sky and the ground swirl together and his world spins on its axis like a top, Allen is surprised. One look down at himself reveals that Crown Clown deactivated. Now he’s very surprised but also sorely tempted to just stay on the ground and not move for the next three days. He was lucky enough to fall forward rather than backward.

Except he can’t stay on the ground because there are footsteps backtracking toward him. Allen lifts his head just in time to see Kanda’s angry expression.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Moyashi?” Kanda asks. The words themselves are harsh but his tone… is not.

He’s surprisingly soft in a way he’s never been. Like the whisper of fabric between one’s fingers. Allen refuses to answer regardless. More than anything, he doesn’t want to appear weak in front of him or feel like a burden. He’s supposed to be a soldier. He’s supposed to fight through the pain without complaint, right?

Allen keeps his lips firmly pressed into a thin line and Kanda’s expression morphs into something annoyed and angry. He tries to push himself onto his feet but his back spasms and he freezes before he can even get his feet underneath him.

His breath hisses out of him and he can all but taste his most recent nightmare on his tongue.

“Stop. Just—” Kanda’s face is dark and unreadable. Allen’s never seen that expression on Kanda’s face and he can’t for the life of him decipher it. “Don’t move, you idiot,”

Allen listens to him for some reason. Maybe it's the exhaustion pressing in on him with every breath. Maybe he goes along with it for the desperate hope of lasting relief that’s become a dim flame in his chest.

Kanda kneels in front of him, which Allen finds strange for some reason.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks in that foreign tone that is too soft for the gruff exorcist he has come to know.

“Nothing hurts, Bakanda,” he tries to inject some of his usual annoyance into his tone but he doesn’t succeed at all.

He wants to go back to normal when Kanda would just drag him along if he passed out from exhaustion. Or back to when Kanda would say scathing remarks if Allen failed to keep up, or got himself injured.

This… soft lilt to his voice is not something he’s used to, and it's definitely not something he’s comfortable with. It feels so… wrong .

Like he’s hearing a tone of voice reserved for someone else. For someone closer to Kanda. 

But there is no one else. He’s as close as he can be with Kanda after engaging in so many battles together. They get sent on missions together more often than not, which begs the question: Who is that tone for? Because it's sure as hell not for him. He likes Kanda, but Kanda doesn’t like him.

That’s how it’s always been.

That’s how it’s going to stay, really.

“Something’s obviously hurting you,” Kanda replies, and suddenly there’s a hand against his forehead. Kanda clicks his tongue. “Thought you were sick at first but you don’t feel hot. So answer me, dumbass,”

They glare at each other. Allen glares because he refuses to say anything and Kanda does the same because he’s annoyed at his silence.

“… My back,” he admits grudgingly when Kanda’s eyes narrow and he starts to look particularly frightening and combative. And because he’s ninety percent sure he won’t be getting off the ground unless Kanda drags him up.

Kanda hums, clearly feeling pleased that he finally got an answer out of him. “Ok,”

Allen blinks and tries to decipher what he means by “ok” because the way he said it insinuates that it’s not, in fact, ok.

It isn’t until Kanda turns his back on him, still kneeling low to the ground that he realizes what Kanda has in mind.

Allen gives a sharp inhale and there’s a refusal on the tip of his tongue but Kanda speaks up before he can voice it. “I don’t have all day,”

“I don’t think—“ Allen sputters, cheeks hot with a rush of embarrassment. He’s interrupted before he can finish speaking.

“You can’t even stand properly,” Kanda points out rather rudely.

There’s just no way Kanda is offering to carry him. There’s just no way, but he blinks rapidly and Kanda is still waiting. He’s not going to let Allen walk away, huh?

Allen manages to actually get to his feet—no thanks to Kanda’s comment—and get onto Kanda’s back with a copious amount of embarrassment. He wraps his arms loosely around Kanda’s neck to keep himself from falling. His hands shake and his breath hitches with pain he can’t quite stifle behind his lips.

Kanda’s reaction is strange, as in he doesn’t have one at all. Allen only has to glance to the side to get a good look at Kanda's side profile and his face is carefully empty. 

His hands grab the underside of Allen’s thighs just above the back of his knees, to carry him. It isn’t until Kanda is already walking that either of them says something.

“Lenalee asked you to go on this mission with me, didn’t she?” Allen asks, hooking his chin over Kanda’s shoulder without thinking about it.

“She’s not the boss of me,” Kanda grumbles but he’s not denying it. Clearly, it goes to show that Lenalee is the boss of him, but he’s not happy about it.

Allen wants to say something that’ll tick him off like, “I can tell,” but Kanda is quite literally carrying him on his back and he doesn’t want to risk his ire. So he keeps quiet.

The silence stretches on. The rise and fall of Kanda’s steps begin to lull him to sleep, surprisingly enough.

He’s not completely conscious of when he closes his eyes and starts to drift off. He just feels floaty and slightly disconnected before he jolts back to awareness all at once.

Except, his perception of time seems to be off. When he opens his eyes, it's not to the open road Kanda was following back to the village, as he was expecting. Instead, Allen finds himself blinking up at a dim ceiling. Almost as soon as he stirs, a hand presses against the side of his face. It’s warm against his skin.

His gaze shifts to follow the line created by Kanda’s arm, and finds that Kanda’s expression is… strange. Strange, as in Kanda looks worried about him.

It’s a gentle look on Kanda’s face and it feels so out of place and foreign. His brows are just slightly furrowed, there’s a frown playing on his lips, and his eyes flicker with concern. Usually, his eyes would be narrowed no matter what he was currently feeling, but right now his eyes are soft, open, and expressive in a way Allen never really gets to see.

He pushes himself up in one motion because if he doesn’t do it all at once, the pain will be too intense later to do so.

He grits his teeth against the liquid fire that seems to pour down his back.

Kanda blinks once in surprise, before turning away from him momentarily to grab something. Allen shoots a glance around the room, noting that it’s blissfully dim and easy on his eyes.

“Here,” Kanda says, pressing a cup full of what looks like medicine into Allen’s hands. When Allen just looks between Kanda and the cup in blatant confusion, he sighs. “It’s for the pain, idiot,”

Allen needs no further explanation. Just the thought of taking the edge off of his pain has him shaking in relief.

The medicine is bitter and slightly sour as it goes down, but Allen drinks it all until there’s nothing left. He’s content to lie back down—preferably on his stomach this time—but Kanda takes the cup in one hand and squeezes Allen’s wrist with the other.

Allen doesn’t dare to move at the annoyed expression on Kanda’s face.

With an expression like that you’d think I just did something reckless again, Allen thinks.

“Don’t go back to sleep yet,” Kanda says, and Allen tilts his head. “Turn around,”

“What? Why?” Allen inquires, with a sharp feeling of embarrassment rooting around in his gut. He’s already done so much more than Allen ever expected from him.

“I’m not as cruel as you might think,” Kanda replies in a gruff manner. His stare is intense, dark, and alluring. Suddenly, Allen’s clothes don’t feel like they’re shielding his skin from view. He feels exposed where Kanda’s eyes carve lines over him. “If I can do something to help, I might as well,”

“I— I don’t think you’re cruel!” the surprise in his tone is tangible in the air between them. “I just… I can take care of the rest of this myself. You don’t need to do anything more,”

“Your definition of taking care of yourself is holing up in your room, or passing out in the middle of the road,” Kanda states without inflection. Allen hates how accurate he is. “Just turn around. Stop acting tough when we both know you’re anything but,”

Allen opens his mouth with every intention to say that he is tough. More so than some of the people in the Order, but in the end, he snaps his jaw shut and justifies the action by telling himself he’s too tired for arguments. It’s not too much of a stretch. Besides, if Kanda gets too angry with him or too irritated he might rescind his offer to help. He turns in such a way that his back is facing Kanda. 

“You’re going to have to take off your shirt for this,” Kanda tells him in a soft whisper. Allen can feel his face heating up. He thanks the stars that he’s already turned around, as he unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall from his shoulders.

At the very least Kanda can’t see his embarrassment. Allen waits with bated breath for something to happen. The back of his neck prickles a second before he feels the heat of Kanda’s hands on his skin.

His mind blanks as the heat sinks into the curve of his neck. Thumbs stroke the nape of his neck, before traveling down to knead the jagged ridges and dips of the scar tissue down his back.

It’s magic. That’s all he can think, as the rigid tension in his muscles begins to melt under Kanda’s firm attention. His thumbs press deep into his muscle and Allen is embarrassed to hear a sigh pass between his own lips.

Kanda’s hands keep at it as if he didn’t hear it. Allen is relieved, but it only lasts for a moment before it evaporates.

“Good?” Kanda asks him from much closer than he expected, tone low and smooth. He can feel the ghost of his breath along his shoulder.

Allen can only manage a hum of confirmation, as he feels Kanda’s hands slide down along the notches of his spine. His hands massage, press, and stroke in all the places where it hurts the worst. It takes every ounce of his hard-won self-control to keep his lips sealed.

The pain dulls at the edges and he knows that has to be the medicine he took earlier. He relaxes further.

The pain unravels from where it usually sits, tight and burning just under his skin. He nearly chokes on the rush of relief. 

Fingers brush his ribs and his breath hitches. His eyes sting from how dizzying and freeing it is to feel no pain for the first time in months. He bites back the urge to cry because he’d much rather focus on how electrifying it feels to have Kanda touch him.

Kanda’s fingertips drift up, along the firm muscle of Allen’s abdomen.

“You got this protecting everyone,” Kanda mumbles with a hint of contempt as he references the Level 4’s attack on headquarters.  Strangely enough, Allen isn’t getting the feeling that Kanda’s derision is directed at him. “And no one thought to ask if it causes you long-term pain?”

Allen breathes through his nose until he feels like he isn’t going to burst into tears just by trying to reply.

“I’m… very good at hiding it. I guess,” Allen whispers, as Kanda’s hands slide across the expanse of his waist to wrap around him. There’s no way Kanda doesn’t feel the unevenness of his breathing.

“You’re not,” Kanda replies in the same quiet tone, but Allen hears him clear as day. They’re pressed close. “Komui and Lenalee knew about it,”

Allen almost flinches at the statement. Kanda’s head drops onto Allen’s shoulder.

“They probably knew I wouldn’t go to the infirmary,” he says and is surprised when his voice isn’t colored with surprise at his and Kanda’s… close position. “I’m stubborn,”

“No fucking shit,” Kanda grumbles, and Allen turns around in his arms just because he can . Without pain.

He pays no mind to their closeness because he’s too busy being slightly annoyed. If he leans in just a little bit, their lips would brush together.

“You’re not supposed to agree with me, Bakanda,” he tries to avoid smiling, but it’s impossible when he can finally move freely.

Kanda raises both eyebrows, and a rare grin twitches the corners of his perpetually frowning mouth. Allen ignores the delicate warmth blossoming like a flower in his chest.

“You’re feeling better,” he says, instead of acknowledging anything Allen has just said.

Allen only becomes aware of the hands on his hips when Kanda pulls away. He instantly misses the warm contact. To distract himself from the loss, he looks up at the frown playing on Kanda’s face.

“Thank you,” the words are making him feel just as vulnerable as he did when Kanda’s hands were drifting down his back. 

He truly means it. If not for Kanda, he would probably be asleep right now dealing with his pain in the only way he knew how. Which was never going to help.

Kanda’s eyes widen minutely, as the words begin to process. Allen has no idea why he raises an unsure hand to trace the edge of Kanda’s jaw. It's a purely subconscious act he can’t seem to ignore.

The touch feels like a plea. A plea for Kanda to hold him again. It’s an invitation that Kanda seems to gladly accept, eyes soft and bright.

Kanda takes the hand still against his face and turns it so Allen’s palm is facing up and the jagged shard of Innocence is facing down.

They maintain eye contact as Kanda presses a chaste kiss to Allen’s wrist. He’s watching Allen’s reaction carefully, but Allen has no idea what kind of face he’s making right now. His face, neck, and shoulders feel burning hot.

“K-Kanda…” he says weakly, trailing off when Kanda blinks at him slowly, before pressing another wet kiss to the heel of his palm.

He plants one last kiss to the middle of Allen’s palm, before releasing him.

“It felt wrong,” Kanda breathes, as he leans in just slightly. Allen flicks his gaze down slightly to stare at Kanda’s lips shamelessly. The minuscule amount of space between them is a live wire of electricity. Allen feels his lips brush against Kanda’s. “To see you in so much pain—“ 

They’re both a little surprised when their lips meld together. They pull apart almost instantly. Just long enough for Kanda to mutter against Allen’s skin.

“—that you couldn’t—"

Allen tilts his head up slightly to deepen their kiss. Kanda’s tongue traces the seam of Allen’s lips, and their tongues slide against each other when Allen parts his lips.

Kanda pushes into him and Allen yields just because this is a fight he doesn’t mind losing.

They break apart just as Allen begins to feel like he’s out of air.

“—put on that fake smile,”

They kiss again for only a moment until the words register in Allen’s head.

When he pulls away, panting and out of breath, he says: “Not all of my smiles are fake,”

Kanda hums noncommittally as he presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It prompts him to smile resplendently purely on instinct and Kanda pulls away to study him for a prolonged moment.

Allen waits, unable to bully his face into a less ridiculous expression. 

“This one,” Kanda tells him after a few seconds, as his thumb ghosts across Allen’s mouth reverently. The sensation lingers. “I like this one,”