Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Allen Walker is ten when he first meets Howard Link. The kid would later swear up and down that he heard the universe shift as every planet aligned, while Jesus Christ himself appeared in a rainbow of horses, claiming that it was destiny.

(Cross could only stare at his kid, hands halfway to lighting a cigarette while saying “Is that right?” Because what else do you say to your weird child who is all of ten years old and already showing signs of delusions?)

The day begins with Marian Cross’ alarm and him reaching over from his cocoon in his bed to slowly turn the offending device off. Allen once commented on how it looked like the man was a caterpillar, but instead of evolving into steadfast and beautiful butterfly, he came out a hairy and bedraggled sloth.

The kid wasn’t wrong.

Blearily, Cross opened his eyes and stared mirthlessly at the mug of warm coffee on his bedside table, its steam floated in the air. Also in his field of vision was one Allen Walker, staring at him with the most unimpressed look a ten year old could muster. The kid was also wearing his wide brimmed, black hat. “What?” He managed to croak. God, he wasn’t ready to function just yet.

“It’s seven AM and you have work in an hour.” Allen said, “It’s time to get up son.” The kid had the audacity to pat his head.

Cross felt his eye twitch. He was not awake enough to handle his kid’s nonsense, seriously.

The boy marched out of the room and into the hall like a miniature man on a mission, what with the large hat and all. That’s when Cross also noticed.

“Why are you wearing my hat AND boots?!”

“Obviously I’m the adult in this relationship, I think I deserve to!”

Cross groaned and buried his red head into his pillow.

There is a swear jar, remnant from Allen’s day’s with Mana. It was hard plastic, with a crudely scissored rectangle cut into the lid, and for some reason had a picture of Han Solo glitter glued over the front of it.

(Later, Cross would learn that Mana had a weird crush on the character, and Cross honestly didn’t know what to make of that, all things considered. But that’s an explanation for another time.)

This swear jar seemed to follow Allen everywhere the kid went with Cross.

Cross despised the swear jar, because Cross hated losing money, and the damned thing had been emptied five times in seven days. (Which was ridiculous, seeing as he only had to bank a quarter for every swear. A QUARTER!)

“Fuck!” Cross swore, because currently he was stuck in traffic. He was also running late, but he honestly did not give a single damn about arriving to work on time. He just hated traffic.

Allen, in the passenger side, shook the jar expectantly. Cross managed to shove five dollars into it, hoping to cover the boy’s need and greed. He had no doubt the kid would be keeping track, regardless, seeing as Marian Cross landed himself a little troll who loved to count money.

“Why the hell are you coming to work with me again?” The man grumbled.

“$4.50 left.” The kid counted down. “And it’s because I’m a minor and legally, you can’t leave me home alone all day to my own devices.”

Right.

After a year and a half of Allen living under his roof, Police Colonel Marian Cross has learned three important things:

1. The kid eats like a horse. (Just this morning he went through an entire box of cereal and half a loaf of bread for toast)
2. He’s smart as hell, especially when it came to anything about music.
3. Allen Walker is like a fungus that easily grows attached to things. (The image is enhanced by the kid’s stark white mop of hair, much like a mold beginning to grow on food).

So when he learned that his terror of a boss had brought in his nephew, Cross should have seen what was coming a mile away.

The key phrase here is “should have.”

The routine, whenever Allen came to work with Cross, usually meant that the moment the Colonel entered the threshold of his little office, Allen was allowed to wander as he pleased. This was par for course until Summer ended and the schools once again opened.

Usually, whenever Allen wandered the Precinct, he ended up tracking down Colonel Nyne. Cross suspected it was because his kid had a crush on the blonde woman. Considering the female officer had a fondness towards children and Allen liked being around people who spoiled him, it was a win-win for the red haired man.

(What that said about him was something Cross would rather not dwell on, considering the little troll seemed to like being around him well enough.)

Except instead of a blonde police officer, Allen Walker found himself the company of another blonde entirely.

Allen observed the stranger. The boy guessed the other was also still a boy, but older. He was taller, which wasn’t anything spectacular, seeing as everyone and their grandmother was taller than Allen.

The other kid had a weird blonde bowl cut, and dressed in some fancy school uniform (which was weird, because school was out??). He was sitting in a chair next to Commissioner Lvellie’s door, with his nose in a book. Allen scrunched up his own nose and contemplated his choices. He didn’t really like Cross’ boss, and the feeling was most definitely mutual, as the very first day Allen met the other man, Allen asked as politely as possible - Mana taught him manners after all - why he had a Hitler ‘Stache.

(“As fucking hilarious as that was, you can’t just call my boss Hitler kid. It’s rude.” Cross stated after laughing in the face of his boss and promptly being kicked out.

Allen shook his jar. “Quarter. And I wasn’t rude! I said excuse me, and sir and everything!”)

So, needless to say, Allen didn’t know whether it would be worth it to venture that close to Lvellie’s door. Not to mention the kid looked stuffy. Allen didn’t know if he could handle stuffy people.

As if sensing he was being watched by a nosey ten year old, the older boy looked up from his book. They made eye contact, and Allen refused to break it, his own silver eyes challenging. Allen was great at staring contests, and he never backed down from one; this stuffy kid wouldn’t know what hit him.

Except, the older blinked, effectively losing at the game he was unknowingly part of, and looked nonplussed. He then reached into a bag next to him to take out something and the next thing Allen knew, the weird older kid had walked right up to him.

“Hello, I am Howard Link - please call me Link, and my uncle had informed me of your presence today. He requested that I “watch you”  to ensure that you do not cause any undue mayhem. I also heard that you enjoy eating, so I brought pumpkin pie as a peace offering.”

Allen blinked, because wow this kid sure talked funny. Then looked at the offered slice of pie, because wow! Pie! “Don’t mind if I do!” And Allen got himself some pie.

It was delicious. 

Allen is ten years old when his heart flutters for the first time, and there’s a song playing in the back of his mind that no one else has ever heard. It was a warm and inviting melody. It reminded him of bowties and top hats; of bright lights and the promise of home. 

He hopes he can play it one day.

With a determined look that only a ten year old could muster, Allen Walker declared, “You’re weird, but I like you.”

Link looked slightly surprised at the announcement. “That’s….good.” Because what else was one to say?

Allen nodded, glad that Link responded positively, and grabbed at the older’s hand, proceeding to lead them down the hall. Link let himself be lead, seeing as part of his mission this day was to keep the younger boy out of trouble, and which meant following the boy around. If anything, this only made his job easier and his uncle less inclined to bother him in the near future.

Although, Link would much rather be studying than babysitting.

Within a few paces, Allen waltzed into Cross’ office as if he owned the place, Link in tow. Cross felt the urge to unearth his hidden bottle of rum from the ceiling tile, because he recognized the look on his kid’s face. It was the determined look that meant Allen was about to start something ridiculous and Cross would end up with a headache. The older man reached for a cigarette.

“This is Link, he’s a little weird but he made me pie, so he’s my boyfriend now.”

The world was silent. Cross dropped his lighter.

“What the fuck.”

“Quarter!”

And as for one Howard Link? Well, he was all of fourteen years old, with a studious and calculating mind, with his future already mapped out, when he gained himself one Allen Walker.

Chapter Text

“Hey Mana, how do you know when you love someone?

Red is seven years old when he meets a Clown.

At nine years old, Allen Walker awakens to the blare of sirens.

Colonel Marian Cross first lays eyes on Allen Walker in the middle of winter, hours in the aftermath of the accident. He can’t say he actually had met the kid in this moment. The boy’s gray eyes were unfocused, as he stared at the blank wall of the hospital room.

The kid was present physically, but that was about it.

Cross couldn’t blame him in all regards.

Picking up the medical record hanging off the boy’s bed, Cross took stock of Allen’s condition. Obvious mental trauma and one arm covered in third degree burns. There would most likely need to be long hours of PT and skin grafts. Christ.

The man shifted focus to look at the boy on the bed once again. The arm in question was wrapped up in layers and laid limp. Cross also noticed the kid’s unusual white hair. He recalled Mana once mentioning the kid having red hair, much like his own.

God, he wanted a drink. Or twenty.

For such a small kid, the burden Marian felt seemed too vast and too heavy for him to handle on his own. What was Mana thinking, naming him as the kid’s godfather?

Cross glared up at the ceiling, as though the force of it would breach into the heavens or cosmos or wherever the hell Mana was lallygagging about and knock him upside his head.

Regardless, this was the kid that Mana himself had loved. That was enough for Marian.

Resigned, the man sat in the chair next to the boy’s bed and made his first attempt at not running away.

“Hey kid. I guess we’re stuck with each other for a while.”

Allen Walker didn’t respond. Cross didn’t expect him too.

Whenever anything became too uncomfortable or bothersome, Cross Marian made a habit of packing up and running away. He had perfected it to an art form. It also never bothered him that this habit of his inconvenienced or affected anyone else.

He preferred things to play by his own rules. No problems or worries. Permanent attachments were a negative. Relationships of any kind were not his forte, which is not to say that Cross hated people. He enjoyed company.

It was whenever the company began showing signs of attachment that Cross got the itch in his feet to make like a tree and leave.

And on one singular occasion, Cross Marian found himself the one getting attached.

Which was most likely why Mana had even named Cross the kid’s godfather, because he knew the other man would not have said no.

Cross was never able to deny Mana anything.

“My! I didn’t think I’d ever see hair as red as yours for a while yet!”

“What the hell?” the boy groused, because, really?

“No, no never mind me! Your hair just reminded me of someone, that’s all! Though I have to say, it seems you two have more in common than just hair color!” Said the Clown.

The boy only scrunched his nose up at the stranger’s boisterous laughter.

For some reason, the expression only served to make the Clown laugh harder.

Days later, when Allen was able to be conscious of the world around him, he registered Cross’ presence.

The extravagance of the man’s long red hair and the blase expression on his face sent a rumble of a base echo in the back of Allen’s mind. But the set of the man’s shoulders gave way to a low moan of a cello. The the kind of sound that sunk deep into someone’s bones.

“Oh good.” Said the cello man. “You’re awake.”

Allen only stared.

The man stared back.

After a beat of silence, the man let out a long and graveled sigh. “I’m Cross and I guess you’ll be with me for now on.”

“Oh.”

Another bout of silence, then.

“My arm hurts.”

“Yeah that’s what happens when arms get set on fire.”

The boy scrunched up his nose. Shit, don’t cry begged Cross in his mind. He can’t handle crying.

Hell, he can’t handle kids, if his bedside manner was any proof. Good job Marian, working your way up to Father of the Year already and you just got the kid.

Fortunately, Allen did not begin to cry. Instead his stomach rumbled.

During Allen’s two week stay at the hospital to dress and redress his arm and ensure that it will not become infected, and after being drugged to the gills on whatever painkillers his little body could handle, Cross supposed that the kid would start talking more. Which he dreaded, because he knew jack squat about what to say to a kid (much less one who most likely gained a serious case of emotional trauma).

Except, he didn’t. Talk more that is. The first week of his stay, the most Cross could get out of the kid where answers to yes or no questions. And thank yous and sometimes a mumbled goodnight. Even then, Cross had to strain his ears.

Allen was also prone to nightmares and screaming himself awake. The first night, Cross had barged into the kid’s room, revolver in hand and in only his boxer shorts, looking for an intruder. Allen only hiccuped.

After the third night, the screams became less of a heart attack for Cross to hear. He had resigned himself to not sleep until after Allen had been calmed from his night terror. Which, Cross wondered if he was actually helping at all, seeing as all he managed to do was sit on the floor of the bedroom and wait out the worse of the boy’s screams.

God, his neighbors probably thought he’s murdering children every night.

(Which was totally the case, seeing as old Miss Tidwell gave him the stink eye one morning on his way to check the mail. He promptly flipped her off.)

On the sixth night, Allen had managed to kick off all his bedding and almost rolled off the edge. Catching him just in time, Cross was awarded with a swift slap to his nose, and dropped the boy back onto the bed. Allen stopped his thrashing, and only stared unseeing at the wall.

Marian slumped next to the kid on the bed. “Kid, you’ve got to stop doing this. It can’t be good for your arm.”

Unthinkingly, he put his hand on Allen’s crown. “Yeah because telling you to stop is actually effective, right?” Cross said, more to himself then the hurt boy in his care.

“I honest to Christ don’t know how in the goddamn to help you out kid. I’m out of my depth here. But I promised Mana, so I’m going to try.” The promise tasted heavy on Cross’ tongue.

That seemed to get a reaction from the boy. Allen’s big gray eyes blinked rapidly up at his new guardian. Wiping the salt water from his face, the boy says, “You shouldn’t cuss.”

That. Was not what Cross was expecting. He in fact, did not know what he was expecting, but that was not it.

“What.”

“You shouldn’t cuss it’s bad and makes you sound unintelligent.”

The kid had just calmed from a night terror and was now lecturing him?

“Sorry brat, but this is the way I’m fucking wired.”

Allen let out a loud gasp and slapped his good hand over Cross’ mouth. “You said the F-Word!” Cross’ eye twitched, because really? Really?? What the hell.

Before he could move the smothering appendage away, and speak more on the matter, Cross found himself a lapful of a very sleepy nine year old.

Oh Christ, the kid was cuddling up on him.

“Kid.”

Allen yawned.

“Oy, kid.”

And closed his eyes.

“Goddamnit.”

Right. This was happening.

 “You’re an awful pillow because you’re all lumpy and smell like cigarettes.”

“Thanks kid, I’ll file your complaint with the Human Pillow Office.”

Somehow, Howard Link, 14, became the de facto minder of Allen Walker, 10.

In part, Link was not wholly bothered. After some negotiation, Colonel Cross agreed to pay him as compensation. It helped that where Allen was a very….interesting and willful ten year old, he was not a burdensome one to watch over.

Link also became very well aware that young Walker had atrocious handwriting.

“I have to practice learning how to use my right arm because my left is still kind of messed up.” Allen stated, as he gripped the pencil with his non-dominant right.

“I see.” Was all Link could comment, glancing briefly at the boy’s left.

“Yeah, so like, school is starting soon and it would kind of suck if I couldn’t write my own name and stuff.” Allen made an attempt to rewrite his name on the paper that was smattered with scritches.

As far as Link knew, Allen always had his arms covered. Even in these summer months, the younger wore his sleeved long. More than likely, the left arm was still healing, and needed continuous coverage. The left hand still had hospital bandages wrapped around it.

This knowledge did not at all bother Link. He merely observed, and was proud at the younger’s determination to help himself.

“I assume your left hand had been your dominate.”

Allen lifted said hand and wiggled the fingers, albeit slowly, in the older’s face, grinning. “Yeah, but now it’s become a mummy hand, so you better watch out! Ooooo!”

The teen ignored the action and went back to reading.

“Hey Link?”

“Yes Walker?”

“What if people at school like, act weird about it?” Allen asked, almost timid.

Link looked up from his studies and frowned, considering. Allen may be younger by a handful of years, but Link recognized that he looked towards the older as a form of companionship. It would not do to answer his question lightly.

With seriousness, Link replied. “You only need to act yourself Walker, and I am certain all will turn out as you want it.” Link realized he even believed the words himself. He new that Allen Walker would fare well. “And,” Link continued, suddenly feeling self conscious, “There is also myself. Should you ever…need assistance.”

Allen practically glowed, and Link swears he could see those silver eyes turn into stars. “Yeah!”

The younger scooted his seat closer to Links, so he could lean in on the older, grinning. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“Ah.”

Link had forgotten to address the “boyfriend” issue. And seeing the younger contented after having been uncertain, it seemed uncouth to bring it up.

No matter, thought Link, another time.

“Hey Mana, how do you know when you love someone?”

Mana hummed.

“Well, I suppose when they make you feel safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yup!”

“Oh. Huh.”

After a beat.

“Hey Mana,  you make me feel safe.”

Chapter Text

“My Allen, I do believe you have a talent in music.” Mana would say, and Allen would hear the fond piano as the keys loomed and dipped with warmth.

That warmth reverberated within Allen, and the song only he could hear shined with delight.

It’s a widely accepted social belief, that the concept of how everyone views the world around them will always be unique to them, and them alone. Unfortunately, there will always be those who refuse to see past their line of sight than try to see at the angle of another.

Many were uncomfortable with anything that did not fit nicely inside their proverbial box.

He was a music box, Mana had said. Instead of waiting to be filled, Allen was a box that was meant to be open and heard. His worldview was shaped by what notes echoed in the air. People were represented by the melodies that only Allen could hear.

Allen didn’t mind being a music box, since he was one-thousand percent certain that Mana was one also.

He tried explaining it to Cross once.

“I’m a what?” His guardian asked, baffled, wineglass halfway to his mouth.

Allen stood on the dining room chair across the table, juggling apples. “You’re a cello. That’s what I hear from you, like, all the time.”

(One, Cross would have demanded the brat to get off the chair, but the last time he did, Allen moved to stand on the dinner table and look at the chandelier with contemplation. Cross did not want to lose the chandelier. It was beautiful and expensive damnit.

Two, Allen’s physical therapist encouraged any light exercise for his arm, and if juggling did the job, then his kid could become the juggling grand master for all he cared.)

“And why am I a cello?” Cross asked, because honestly, he still needed to unlock the mystery of what made his kid tick.

“Can I have another apple?” Allen asked instead of answering.

“There are no more apples in the damned basket.”

“Gimme an orange then.” Allen didn’t comment on the need for a quarter this time. Cross had very pointedly stuffed the swear jar with a twenty the moment they came home.

Cross reached into the fruit basket and tossed his circus child an orange to juggle with his apples. “Why is there even a fruit basket in my house?” He was slightly offended. The only fruit he liked was wine.

“The mailman delivered it for Fuhrer Malcolm but he wasn’t in his office and I said I would take it to him, but I took it home instead.”

Cross sipped his wine. “I will buy you a dozen donuts if you call him Fuhrer Malcolm to his face tomorrow.”

“Okay!”

Back to the matter at hand. “Why am I a cello?”

“It’s like, what I hear when you’re around. Because cellos are tall and and take up a lot of space like you do, and they force everyone to notice them by the way they sound.”

Cross couldn’t tell if he was being insulted or not.

Allen started tossing his fruits back into the basket. “And they have a very demanding sound! But they also can sound melonfolly.”

“…You mean melancholy.”

Cross had the fake look that made people believe he was uninterested and not listening right then, but Allen knew that the man was taking everything he said in. For all his grumbling, Cross was very good at interpreting whatever came out of Allen’s mouth. He may not always understand why Allen did what he did, but he knew Allen.

Setting the wine glass down, Cross asked, “What was Mana?”

Allen’s clear eyes blinked rapidly. “Mana’s a piano.”

Mana was the sound of piano keys tickling with laughter on dexterous fingers. He was also the rapid pace of a charged tempo that descended into a soft adagio.

The boy knew that Cross had understood enough about what Allen was trying to explain, when the next day there was a white grand piano in the living room.

“It was Mana’s. The guy had it put into storage a while back.” Cross had explained, as though getting the percussion instrument was not huge matter. But Allen could hear the cello man’s strings twinge pensively

Allen learned then, that he was not the only one who had lost Mana.

“Kid, let go. Like, right now. I do not do hugs.”

Allen’s response was to have his legs join his arms in wrapping around his guardian.

“Sweet Fucking Jesus you’re like an albino monkey.”

“Quarter!”

“I got you a damn piano, I owe you jack shit!”

The next day was the day Cross walked into the Precinct with a box of one dozen donuts, and Allen ran into Commissioner Lvellie’s office yelling,

“Fuhrer Malcolm I have a fruit basket for you!”

This was also the reason why Commissioner Malcolm C. Lvellie had enlisted his nephew, in hopes the older boy would somehow influence the kid in a more positive way.

Sadly, yet also hilariously, the Commissioner is of the belief that his plan was working when he asks, “Link, I trust your time with Cross’ charge has been a good one?”

To which Link replies. “I believe so. Walker has not made any negative reactions towards our time together. I believe he finds me as a confidant of sorts.”

What Link means is: “Allen Walker thinks we’re friends and I have done nothing to refute him. Sometimes we play eye-spy and I bake for him.”

What Lvellie hears is: “I am completing your unspoken will to shape and mold an influential child into being less of a little shit.”

“Very good Link, keep up the good work.” His uncle compliments.

The very next time Link retrieves Allen, the younger says, “I stole Cross’ phone, let’s play musical.ly.”

Allen explains it to Link like this:

“Everyone has their own melody. Sometimes it sounds nice, and sometimes it sounds awful. It’s really hard to explain. And I know only I can hear it.” Allen pressed a few keys on the piano errantly.

Link, distracted from his studies in algebraic equations asked. “What melody do you hear from me, if you don’t mind?”

Allen let out a delighted laugh and played more keys, this time with purpose. “You’re a drum! But it’s a slow and steady one. It doesn’t grow louder but it’s pace gets really fast when you’re irritated.”

“Irritated?”

“Yeah! Like that time you tried to make souffles but they all kept sinking, and I ate them all for you.”

The teen huffed. “You shouldn’t have bothered, they were imperfect.” He went back to studying.

The younger only grinned, his mirth present in the piano’s rhythm.

Once a week, Allen sees a childhood psychologist. He knows why he does, and understands that these sessions are to help him. Being the pragmatic child that he is, he never fights going to these sessions.

His psychologist’s office happened to be located in a building of other practicing psychologists.

For this reason alone, he meets Miranda Lotto, age 20.

He hears her before he actually sees her. She’s a fluttering piccolo, all nervous energy; high and sorrowful. Allen can hear the song’s need to feel useful and validated.

Cross had turned around for only a minute to speak with the receptionist, when he turned back around to the blank patch of air that his kid had been occupying.

“Goddamnit.”

Allen finds her in the next hall, hands over her face and the piccolo becoming ever more fretful. When he’s standing right next to her, he can hear a mantra of “I’m sorry’s” followed by “why can’t I’s.”

He thinks it’s sad that such a pretty sound came out so crestfallen.

“How come you’re crying?” He asks.

Miss Piccolo yelps and jumps in her seat. “I- What?” She’s managed to look both flabbergasted and stunned at the sight of a ten year old boy in her space. Suddenly embarrassed for her display, she quickly wipes her eyes with her hands and sniffles.

Allen hands her the box of tissue from the table.

“Thank you.” Miss Piccolo says and blows her nose.

“You’re welcome!”

Suddenly becoming aware of the situation again, she asks, stuttering. “E-excuse me but y-young man, are you supposed to be here, b-by yourself I mean.”

“Probably not. I’m with Cross.”

“Is that your..father?”

Allen scrunched his nose up. “Sometimes.”

Well, Miranda didn’t know how to respond to that. Before she could begin distressing on not being able to respond, and lamenting over it, Allen asks again. “Why are you crying?”

Miranda sniffed again. “O-oh, I’m sorry. But it’s…I don’t think. I’m waiting for my therapist, I’ll speak to him then. Never mind me.” She answered, her piccolo dimming with deprecation.

Allen looked to the closed door of the therapist office. “Is he gonna see you soon or something?”

“Oh, well. I came unappointed. I tend to do that..this a lot actually, but a lot keeps happening and sometimes it gets too hard…” Oh no, she could feel the tears welling up again. “I think they’re getting tired of me really. Always getting myself twisted up into a mess and running for help.”

“What’s wrong with getting help?” Allen squinted his silver eyes, trying to comprehend what she was saying. “If you need it you should do whatever you can to get it.”

Miranda let out a watery laugh. Allen heard the piccolo’s distress wane minutely. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Allen sat next to her, looking determined. “I’ll listen if you want! It’s rude to make a lady wait; that’s what Mana told me anyway.” And besides, Allen knew he had to help the piccolo sound less lonely.

Miranda looked uncertain. “I don’t think-” but something in the young boy’s eyes changed her mind. Or maybe she was just desperate enough to be heared that she decided to confide in a ten year old stranger. “I lost my job, you see. Again. I think this is the…sixth time?”

“That sucks.”

Startled by the comment, the woman laughed. “Yes, it does indeed suck.”

“I have a hard time feeling sure of myself. I mess things up easily, and sometimes I feel like too much of a failure to move forward.”

“But!” the boy piped. “You have to keep moving forward! Never stop walking!”

Miranda blinked. “Walking? Where am I to go?”

Allen pouted. “It’s a metaford.”

“Metaphor…?”

“Yeah that. Walking is like, you can’t stop! It’s okay to take a break because you feel sad, but if you keep moving you’ll get to where you need to be.”

Allen Walker is ten years old and he is well aware that he is not yet where he needs to be. He doesn’t know where, exactly that is, but he know’s he’ll get there. It will take time, and practice, and a lot of patience.

Mana taught him that.

“Mana, what if it’s too far and we get lost?”

“Then we just keep walking. No matter what Allen, you must always keep walking.”

The piccolo twittered into a soft, contemplative chord when Miranda and Allen heard,

“There you are you little shit!”

“Oops.”

Cross flung his kid over a shoulder and began stomping the other way. Allen waved enthusiastically at the Piccolo Woman. “I’m Allen Walker by the way! Nice to meet you!”

She waved back. “M-Miranda Lotto! A-and it was nice to meet you too!” It really was, she realized.

“Cross you’re not supposed to cuss in front of ladies, for that you owe me a whole dollar!”

“What the fuck.”

“A dollar-twenty five!”

When summer came to an end, Allen started the fifth grade. He may have been nervous about his first day, but he was delighted to learn that Link would be picking him up when school was let out.

“Link!!!” Allen yelled all the way down the school’s steps and latched himself onto the older’s hand.

“Walker. I trust your day was well?” Link didn’t remove his hand.

“Yeah it was okay.”

Walking to Cross’ house, which was here Link was to take Allen and watch him until Cross’ shift allowed him home, Allen swung their hands back and forth, humming a song. Suddenly, Link realized his young charge was no longer walking with him in tandem.

“Walker?” stopping and glancing at the boy over his stretched arm, Link questioned. “What is it?”

“Link we have to go see Miranda, like right now.”

“Who?”

“COME ON!”

“Walker what on earth-?!”

Allen ran forward, dragging the teen behind him, laughing in excitement.

Behind them, a flyer on a lamp post, with an address. 

“For Piano and Music Lessons
Contact: Miranda Lotto.”

Chapter Text

“I want a dog.”

“No.”

Winter had set into full swing, as the city was powdered with snow. The streets were lined with glittering lights and pine as the community prepared for the upcoming Christmas Holiday.

Or, if you were one Allen Walker, everyone was decorating the streets in honor of your birthday. Much to Cross’ bemusement, it turned out that his kid’s birthday landed on December 25th of all days, and where that would have been joyous for most families, Cross had to endure the little troll’s white head swell with ego more than it already had.

He swore his kid was spoiled as shit, and it was all Mana’s fault.

Currently, the little brat was listing off what he wanted Cross to blow his paycheck on for presents.

“Why can’t I have a dog!” Demanded the pain in Cross’ ass.

“Dogs shed. I don’t do shedding.” Cross turned the page in the news paper.

Allen scrunched up his nose. “You shed all the time though. Your hair is all over the shower, like, all the time.”

Cross let the newspaper tip backwards so he could give his child a scathing look. “I am not going bald.”

“You so are.”

“Get out of my house.”

“No.”

The Colonel let out a vexed grumble in the back of his throat before going back to reading the paper. Maybe if he ignored the kid, Allen would get bored and leave.

“How about a keyboard and sound system?”

Cross dropped his paper and tossed a handful of change he found in the couch cushion towards the general direction wherever Allen stuffed his jar. “What the fuck kid, why can’t you want something simple, like clothes? You need clothes right? Since you’re growing like a weed!”

“Colonel Nyne took me out for new clothes like, forever ago, remember? Besides, you don’t know my sizes!”

“Awesome. Go live with Colonel Nyne then, since  you like her so much and she bothers to buy you shit.”

Cross felt a muted satisfaction when Allen turned his fluffy white head to look at where Cross chucked the change. Kid didn’t know how much he tossed, which was good for the time being. Or, until Allen found and counted it all and demanded his dues.

Turning back, Allen presented his guardian with a serious expression. “I can’t, I have to stay loyal to Link.” Cross tilted his head back on the couch muttering an exhausted ‘christ.’ He heard the tell-tale pattern of feet scuttle up next to him. Glancing down, but not moving, Cross saw his kid with The Look.

“Whatever it is, no.”

“You should marry Colonel Nyne for my birthday, that way I can have both.”

“What. The fuck.”

Allen went to count his couch money.

Many times, when Allen would reminisce in his memories of Mana, he would begin to realize that some things didn’t add up.

Link loomed over the sulking fifth grader in his living room. The younger had taken his rag-doll cat hostage and pressed his face into her fur. The cat only purred, nonplussed at her predicament.

“Walker it’s been ten minutes. Let Atuuda go.” Because Link had to pick a weird name for his cat, of course he did. Link claimed the name was actually what he had once called his pet fish, when the newly accounted feline ate it. Link thought it was only fitting to name the creature after her prey.

Link often wondered if he was a morbid person.

Allen whined. “Atuuda doesn’t mind! She loves me.” The cat only chirped.

Rolling his dark eyes, Link huffed and sat besides the younger. “This isn’t because the Colonel won’t give you a dog, is it.” This wasn't a question. Allen was dramatic, that was for certain, but Link knew that Allen knew he was going to get his way in any case.

Allen Walker always got his way in the end. Link often found himself dwelling a little too much on that brazen fact.

Allen’s shaking head caused Atuuda to chirp again. Looking up at the teenager, Allen pressed his lips in a thin line. “I have two problems.” The boy held up two fingers, in which Link’s cat decided to bounce herself off and away to wherever cats go after they regain freedom.

Raising his brow, Link motioned for the younger to continue.

“One!”

“I don’t actually know a lot about Mana or who he was, and sometimes that bothers me.”

Pondering the statement, Link nodded. “I see. You met in the circus, correct?”

“Yeah and like, he was a clown right? But like. He didn’t act like someone who should have been a clown.” Allen began to look frustrated. “I mean, he was a good clown! But….I don’t know, he talked funny for a clown.”

“Funny how?”

“Like, fancy. Mana talked like he knew stuff. He talked a lot like you do actually.”

Link gave Allen A Look. “What?”  Allen patted the teen’s head. “Don’t worry, I like how you talk.”

“That’s not what I..I think you mean Mana had the vocabulary of a widely educated person, and that is at odds with how clowns, in a circus, are perceived to be.”

Allen put his hands on either side of Link’s face and exclaimed, “Exactly! Man you’re good at this drawing conclusions thing.”

“Walker remove your hands from my face.”

Because Allen respected boundaries, he did as asked and continued. “Also, Mana had really fancy clothes. Like, expensive. And.”

“And?” Link encouraged.

Allen bit his lip. “Link I think Mana was trying to run away from something.”

Giving no response, Link only tapped his index finger against his leg at the ominous assertion. “What would he have been running away from, then?” He asked, not expecting an actual answer.  

Allen looked at his shoes with worry. Not particularly liking the feeling Link was given at the sight of the younger boy’s forlorn face, Link changed the subject. “What is your second dilemma?”

Blinking, Allen scooted closer to the teen, and looked him dead in the eyes.

“I need a youtube account.”

“Ah.”

“I want to record the music I make and put them on youtube, but I need to be thirteen or older to make one.”

“Walker just make the account yourself.”

“No! That would be lying!”

Link sighed.

Cross looked around the meeting table, expression bored. He never understood why his boss felt the need to call every single Colonel and other police heads for these meetings. Well, he actually could understand; being up-to-date on the levels of crime and what not was important. Cross just hated meetings.

Also seated at the meeting table were Colonel’s Yeager and Socalo.

He puffed smoke from his cigarette in Lvellie’s direction. The Commissioner ignored him. Well fuck you too buddy.

Colonel Nyne took her seat next to him, looking as lovely and serious as ever. Cross held his cigarette between his fingers and ginned. “Hey Nyne, want to get married?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Socalo let out an raspy chortle. Marian flipped him off. Yeager looked peeved at his peer’s lack of decorum.

Lvellie cleared his throat. “Now that everyone is here, I shall begin.”

Miranda looked from the laptop computer on her desk to the young men rummaging in her closet. “What on earth?”

Link pulled one white haired ten year old from the mess of her closet. Miranda had a habit of collecting odds and ends, most of which were broken and had been tossed out. Particularly, she enjoyed fixing and putting whatever she collected back together. Unfortunately, this ended with her having a rather large and bothersome hoard of items.

Carrying the younger like a sack of flour, Link brought Allen back over to the computer. The boy had a set of speakers in his hand, looking triumphant. Link himself, had a rather large headset around his neck.

Hooking the cord in the proper place, Allen pipped up, “Miranda do you have a microphone too?”

“Yes, I-I believe so, but why?”

Link went back to the closet as Allen answered with giddy. “I’m gonna post a song on the internet!”

Cross looked at the little man his boss brought in, standing at the front of the room, unimpressed. His name was Johnny something. And he was so nervous that the Colonel could see it come off him in waves.

“Mister Gill is our top expert from our technology department. I had assigned him a case specifically, and as of yesterday, he believes he has some information for us.” Lvellie explains, looking as serious as he ever did.

Yeager clasped his hands together, inquiring, “What case is that Commissioner?”

“Why, the Noah Family, of course.”

Cross, took a deep drag of his cigarette.

After seeing of all of Miranda’s second-hand recording equipment was compatible with his grand scheme, Allen coerced her into coming over to to listen to him play his song. “I worked really hard on writing it! You should come because you taught me how to write music Miranda!”

The woman blushed with both humility and pride at having been able to teach this talented boy something. “Well, if you’re sure I won’t be intruding…” Link had already gathered all the gadgetry and was waiting by the door.

“You won’t be intruding! Please come.” Allen encouraged, using his young face and round eyes to his advantage.

Well, he did say please after all, Miranda thought.

“Allen, by the way, whose computer is that?”

“It’s Cross’.”

The room was tense as Gill explained.

“We had managed, very briefly, to hack into what we believe to be a Noah mainframe. We only managed to get our hands on two files before we were blocked and the pathway was shut off.”

“Shut off how?” Nyne inquired.

Having the female colonel’s hard eyes on him caused Gill’s nerves to come back, and he shifted from one foot to another. God, thought Cross, good thing the man was shoved behind a computer all day rather than being out in the field.

“I m-mean, as in, whoever was on the other side completely destroyed the mainframe, taking everything stored in it. Our servers were also taken down. We’re scrambling to get them back up and block anything trying to get through.”

Lvellie looks disturbed at the notion. “You mean to say Mister Gill-”

“A pathway can go both ways, Commissioner..uh sir. If they were as watchful as they were to shut everything off the second we got in, they could have managed to take some information of ours as well.”

Cross had reclined in his chair, face going more bland by the second. “Well, what did the files you took have in them?” He asked, because really, let’s end the weird drama Lvellie seemed to thrive on and get to the point.

Allen’s fingers danced all over the keys of Mana’s piano. He could just see the music notes of the song he wrote glide through the air. Link tracked the recording with a watchful eye at the computer, while Miranda watched, enraptured and appreciative. If she hadn’t known the boy personally, she would be hard pressed to believe that someone at ten years of age had composed the piano melody.

After four minutes and thirty seconds, the recording was done.

Despite his doubts, Allen still remembers warm hands as they taught him the keys of an old worn pipe organ.

He remembers laughter and finding endless joy at not being alone anymore. Allen had taken that memory, and poured it out into his composition.

The moment the Clown presses down on the keys, the pipes let out a shrill wail which sends the boy an inch into the air.

Both persons look surprised; the sound itself a small echo in the otherwise quiet circus tent.

The boy puffs out a laugh before he realizes it. When he does, he covers his mouth as quickly as he could, eyes wide. The Clown blinked slowly.

“Musician?” Intones Yeager, after Mister Gill’s summary of events.

Gill had taken off his wide framed glasses and began to clean them. “Y-yes. The files were encrypted messages - We assume between the Family Members about a ‘Musician.’ We believe they may be a new member to the mafia, seeing as the name has never been brought up until this point.”

The Noah Family, being as Mister Gill said, a very notorious family mafia that their department had been working for years to shut down. Every member had a moniker to hide their identity. Which Cross thought was stupid and too Hollywood for his tastes, but what did he know about how criminal families worked?

Cross paused his line of thought and decided he did not want to travel on THAT mental highway. Especially when his boss was giving him the stink eye from across the room. Cross merely grinned wolfishly.

“What about the other file? You said there were two.” Demanded Lvellie.

“Uh, you see Commissioner, sir, that’s…”

Allen’s composition on youtube had gained a million hits within a day. He bragged and bragged about it to Link, who promptly shoved the boy off his couch and onto the floor. Allen only laughed while Atuuda decided that, yes, this child will make the perfect substitute for a bed.

Miranda herself liked and favorited the video from her own account.

“Why CrownClown?” Asked Link, over Allen’s choice of username.

“I dunno, I just liked it.”

On December 25th, Allen had torn into all of his gifts and stuffed his mouth with Link’s homemade birthday cake, when Cross dropped something yapping and wiggling onto his kid’s lap.

“Oh my gosh.”

“You’re cleaning up after it and all the money you stole from me will go to any form of carpet cleaning that will happen every time the little rat so much as pisses on it, do you understand?”

“OH MY GOSH!”

Allen hugged the golden corgi, who licked his face with just as much enthusiasm as his new owner was exuding. 

Link gave Cross a judgmental stare. Cross did not appreciate it one bit and stared back.

“His name is Timcampy and I love him.” The newly dubbed “Timcampy” barked, seemingly pleased to have a name.

“What kind of a fucking name is that?” Cross demanded, because really, where the fuck did his kid even get that from?

“Quarter!”

The doorbell rang, and Link went to see who it was. Out the window, he saw a delivery man with a large box.

…..Who delivers on Christmas day? The teen thought.

“You’re laughing!”

“No!” the boy squeaks.

“Do it again!”

“No!!”

The Clown has a look of pure delight on his tanned face, and decides to lean his entire arm on the keys, causing the organ to create a loud WHUMPSH sound, that echoed in the night.

Unable to hold back any longer, the boy finally lets his laughter free.

“You see, the other file contained..a shopping list?”

Lvellie scowled. “Get on with it Gill, a shopping list for what?”

“R-right! Well, it seemed like a list for what would need for an..in home recording studio? It had an Apple Mini Mac, compressors, and a PreSonus program and other items.”

“WOW!!” Allen shouted, as the delivery man rolled the box in. On the front it said “To Allen Walker. Happy Birthday!” with balloons drawn all over the cardboard.

“I didn’t order anything.” Cross said, eyeing the box with disdain and suspicion. Did his kid filch his credit card?

Before he could demand where it came from, his front door closed and the delivery man was gone. Well, if that wasn’t suspicious then Cross didn’t know what was. And he knew suspicion. He was a police officer damnit.

Link sliced the large box open with the knife they had cut the cake with and arched one of his impressive eyebrows - and really, Cross wondered if the fourteen year old groomed them that way or if they were natural.

His weird circus child leaned half of his body into the box, causing a mess of packing peanuts to spill out. The damned dog tried to join him, but his stubby legs weren’t long enough. Congratulations Allen, you finally found something smaller than you are.

“Oh wow, this is so cool!”

Allen pulled out a software box for PreSonus Studio One Artist. Cross could also see another box with the Apple logo presented on its front.

Oh.

“My fucking God.”

“That’s two quarters now.” Link said, because apparently he helped Allen keep track.

Within a week, Allen’s song had over 300 million hits.

Chapter Text

Howard Link was distracted from mixing his dry ingredients with his wet when Allen pulled the back of his hair.

“Link look.”

Doing as ordered, Link indeed did look. On the kitchen table, his cat and Walker’s dog lay in a fluffy cuddle pile. “Our children, they love each other.” Allen stage whispered, obvious delight in his bright eyes.

“Walker how did your dog get on the table?”

When Allen began middle school, he quickly made friends with Lenalee Lee. Her dark pig-tails bounced along with each jump of a fiddle wherever she went, and Allen thought she was the coolest person in school.

They met on the way to homeroom.

“Hey runt, is your arm diseased or something?”  Sneered an eighth grader.

At twelve, Allen no longer needed to keep his arm wrapped, and though he wasn’t ashamed of how much it stuck out compared to the rest of him, little comments like these were what he dreaded. If he were to be completely honest, Allen would admit that he was rather awful at sticking up for himself.

“Hey runt, are you listening?” Pestered the older student. Allen only gave vague smile and turned tail to walk away. “Oi! I’m talking to you! Is your disease why your hair is so-”

That’s when Allen witnessed The Most Amazing Thing.

One moment the eighth grader had reached out for Allen, and the next they were flipped flat onto their back. Standing above the fallen peer was a girl that Allen recognized from many of his classes. She was smiling innocently as she piped, “Oops! I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

Unhooking her foot from the eighth grader’s leg, she stepped daintily over them and next to Allen. The fiddle was triumphant and a little smug when she said, “Come on Allen! We’re going to be late.”

Allen was amazed that someone so cool knew his name.

“Link this is Lenalee and she saved my life.” Allen would later introduce. Link’s eyes would get wide, trying to comprehend what exactly could have happened on Walker’s first day of middle school where his life was in danger. 

Lenalee laughed, slightly embarrassed, because Allen was embarrassing.

Being in the sixth grade was tough, Allen decided.

It was even more so when you didn’t exactly fit in with the same mold everyone else seems to be in.

In retrospect, Allen did not at all mind - he had been a circus child after all. Even Lenalee was slightly stunned when she learned that his very first father was a Clown of all things. Then ending up with a guardian like Cross, Allen figured that expecting to fit in easily anywhere was moot. Not to mention, that explaining to people that he can constantly hear music in his head, is not an explanation that is often well received. And his coloring and disfigured arm had put a glaringly loud target on his back.

Which is why he’s surprised when he’s not the one who was being confronted for being the odd one out.

During the lunch hour, Allen watched as Chaoji Han approached another classmate Allen had seen in passing. In his heart of hearts, Allen did not believe Chaoji in being a particularly malicious individual. His song was very out of tune, regardless, and Allen often saw the strings of a battered guitar strung too tight to manage any real melody. The other student had difficulty in understanding people who did not fit with the rest of their peers. Allen hoped that one day, he would.

The other who Chaoji was standing before was also a guitar, an acoustic. Allen wondered if maybe the too similar sounds were what caused the two to be at odds with one another. The acoustic strummed with warning, and unlike Chaoji’s overly tense strings, these strings were well practiced and lax.

Kanda Yuu was all straight lines and long dark hair. He was always a notoriously prickly individual, one who Allen had heard fought too many fights and was prone to having a viperous tongue. Despite these claims, Allen thought he had a very nice sound.

“You know, sometimes I can’t stand how high and mighty you act around the rest of us!” Chaoji exclaimed. He was standing too close for the other student’s comfort level and Allen could hear a single string of the acoustic twang in alarm. Yet the alarm did not show on Kanda’s face.

“Back the hell off Han.” Kanda demanded, refusing to look in the other boy’s direction.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Why won’t don’t you ever LOOK at anyone??”

Kanda let out a “che” and took a bite of his lunch, ignoring the other.

A look to irritation spread across Chaoji’s face, and he went to reach to grab the other’s turned shoulder. “That’s it I-” The acoustic echoed so loudly in distress that Allen moved before the rest of him could comprehend it.

When a red, scaled hand attached itself to Han’s right, the older boy yelped and looked down in alarm. Which, fair, Allen was small for his age.

“Did you know.” Allen said ominously. “People think my left arm is cursed?” he smiled disarmingly at the older boy. “What do you think?”

Chaoji paled white and wrenched his arm away from the sixth grader and ran off.

Noticing steel colored eyes staring at him, Allen held out his hand. “Hi I’m Allen.”

“I don’t care.” And Kanda picked up the rest of his lunch and left.

The Clown brings another plate of eggs to the boy and says. “I’m Mana.”

“I don’t care.” Says the boy.

At the end of the school day, Link stared at Allen, and the younger could tell he was baffled and also slightly horrified, by the way the drum in the back of Allen’s mind vibrated. Allen couldn’t really blame the older teen, seeing as he had begun driving Allen to and from school when Link had gotten his license.

If Allen had a car, he wouldn’t want anyone covered in paint to sit on his nice seats either.

“So like, I made a new friend.”

Link looked unimpressed. Behind Allen, Kanda was a glowering and murderous shadow, a glob of green paint sliding down his face. Lenalee was also present, trying not to laugh.

It started like this: 

Allen decided to be annoying, and follow Kanda whenever possible that day after lunch. At first, the older boy made a point to just ignore the younger, often picking up his pace and walking down the hall. He quickly discovered that Allen was a swift little person, and his white head refused to take a hint.

Honestly, Allen never took hints well. Mostly, they all went right over his head. Cross said it was because he was so short.

Right now, being the small one worked to Allen’s advantage, as it helped him maneuver around the traffic of the school halls. Effortlessly, he managed to get to where he was side by side next to Kanda, going to their last hour of the day.  

The older boy hissed something intangible to Allen, but he could hear the prickle of guitar strings play in annoyed confusion.

Even though they were both in different years, extracurricular classes were usually ones that allowed a mix of the different grade levels to mingle around one another. This particular class happened to be Art I. Link had suggested that Allen take it to help him with his left arms coordination while trying to learn the ins and outs of art mediums.

Since Allen always listened to Link’s advice, he did just that. Cross felt sorry for whatever teacher had to grade his kid’s artwork. The last time Allen made an attempt at hand drawing, the twelve year old had made a tree look like a Lovecraftian monster. Without detail. It was a stick figure tree that somehow struck fear into Cross’ cynical soul.

So, yeah. Allen can’t draw.

He felt he was lucky that Mister Tiedoll was so nice, and only encouraged any and all atrocious pieces Allen managed to make.

Kanda sat at one of the art tables.

Allen sat next to him.

Sharply, Kanda glared at the younger and demanded. “Why won’t you leave me the hell alone?”

Reacting, the boy spun and swiped his arm, and took a step backwards, glaring. “Why don’t you just leave me alone!” He cried.

The Clown answered,

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

The other students that had filed into the class backed away from what they believed would be impending doom and hellfire onto the sixth grader.

His answer made Kanda finally snap, as he went grab Allen’s front shirt. Allen took a hurried step back to avoid it, only to knock into a shelf of paint sets. Kanda unthinkingly grabbed one of the yellow tubes and ripped the cap off of it.

And proceeded to dump the color all over Allen’s head.

Allen gasped. “What did you do that for?!”

“Because you’re annoying that’s why!!” Kanda bellowed.

In retaliation, Allen snatched a tube of red paint.

Froi Tiedoll, current middle school art teacher, walked into his classroom as the late bell rang.

He was greeted with two of his students hurling paint at one another and the rest of his class making an escape to safety.

Allen and Kanda started to clean up the art room, while Mr. Tiedoll stood watch at his desk.

Kanda started lining the shelf back with the fallen tubes of paint. Allen went over to help, which earned him another glare. “Why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?”

The younger only laughed and said, “Let’s be friends!”

The acoustic strummed a stunned chord, and Allen realized that this was the first time Kanda had actually looked at him directly.

The older boy quickly turned away with his “che.” and slammed an orange paint tube down with a little too much force. The paint splattered out and landed on his chest. Allen pointed and laughed loudly.

“Shut up!” And Kanda smeared more paint in Allen’s already tri-colored hair.

Tiedoll felt he probably should go and break the two up once again. But.

He smiled. It was nice to see Yuu get along with someone else for a change.

The next day, Allen met Alma Karma.

Apparently, they had been sick with the flu the entire first week of school, and they were also Kanda’s best friend.

Looking between the two and hearing their music sync as it did, Allen knew it went deeper than that. He wondered if his song and Link’s sounded this good when they were together.

Alma was a mandolin. They were all bouncing strings and a bubbly melody that Allen loved hearing. They were the tallest out of all of them, not counting Link, because Link was sixteen and had years of growth on them all already. Though, Allen suspected they would grow to be taller than even his favorite blonde, eventually.

Upon first meeting Allen, Alma’s own bright eyes sparkled and looked adoringly at Kanda. “Yuu! You made a new friend!”

“I am not friends with a beansprout.” Kanda deadpanned. Allen wrinkled his nose and scowled, “It’s Allen!”

Unfortunately for Kanda, Alma and Allen got along like a house on fire. Whether he liked it or not, he was doomed to be stuck with the small bean of a person for the rest of eternity.

Which was why he found himself at said bean’s house after school with Alma and Lenalee, and the runt’s blonde shadow.

Seriously, what was up with the weird teenager anyway? Was he Allen’s personal slave? Hired babysitter? The guy was always taking the kid to and from school and apparently he had free range access to the younger’s house. Kanda stared as Link retreated to the kitchen.

“Ta-da!” Allen pronounced, waving his hands dramatically at his small recording studio set next to the grand piano. “This is where the magic happens!”

“Hey Allen, can you play something for us?” Asked Lenalee, looking excited and intrigued. 

Link returned with a plate of brownies, which Allen made grabbing motions for. “Uh-huh.” Came his distracted answer.

The younger stuffed his mouth with two before hopping up onto the piano bench. Kanda’s face twisted in disgust, because chew your food damnit! He heard scuffling and looked down to see Timcampy.

Kanda supposed the beansprout wasn’t so bad, if he had a dog.

After showing off his mad piano skills, Allen decided to show off even more and show his new friends his youtube account. Over the course of the year, he had posted ten videos, all of which had ample views, as well as having a large sum of followers.

Alma scrolled past them all on the computer and asked. “Who’s ‘CampbellSoup?’” They asked laughingly. “They even have a soup can as their icon, oh my god!”

Allen shrugged. “I dunno, they’ve been following me since I started.”

“That’s weird and creepy.” Kanda commented from his place on the couch, Timcampy nestled in his arms and scritching his ears. The corgi looked very pleased with himself, and wheezed contentedly. 

“I know you are but what am I?” mocked Allen, though without malice.

“Say that TO MY FACE PIPSQUEAK!”

Lenalee and Alma ignored the two’s banter in favor of looking at cat videos. Link started in on his homework.

Colonel Marian Cross stared balefully at the other man, who had taken up residence in his chair. “Why are you here Komui?”

Because, really, why? The Forensics Head was never up at this level. Usually the man was down in the labs, cooing obscenely at his pickled body parts or whatever it was he kept there.

“So yesterday evening, when I was biding my sweet Lenalee goodnight-” Cross twitched his eye, because Komui Lee’s sister complex was always a ticking time bomb of drama and horror, and he was not looking forward to where this was going.

“-When I happened upon her cellphone.”

“How the fuck do you happen upon your sister’s cellphone, that’s like saying my hand happened upon inside Yeager’s pants.” To be clear, this never happened. But that didn’t mean Cross hadn’t thought about it.

A lot. 

Ignoring him, Komui went on. “And when going through her contact list -”

“That’s creepy Komui.”

“I discovered YOUR CELL PHONE NUMBER.”

“What.”

Komui jumped from Cross’ chair and slammed his hands on the desk. Which, rude. It’s not his desk to hit as he pleased. Looking at the other man dead in the eye, Cross states. “Komui I haven’t seen your kid sister since she was like two. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

How did he even KNOW Cross’ cell number anyway? Fucking creeper.

Komui whipped said cellphone from his lab coat pocket and flashed the screen right in Cross’ unhappy face. “LOOK! LOOK RIGHT THERE! WHY IS YOUR NUMBER IN MY INNOCENT SISTER’S PHONE YOU-”

Oh.

Cross breathed through his nose and pointed at the contact name. “You dumbass, Allen probably put it in there.” Because that was what the contact name was. Allen.

Well Marian, it’s time to get your troll his own cell phone it seemed. 

Even when he wasn’t doing anything, he was still being a pain in Cross’ ass.

“WHO IS ALLEN?!”

“My weird kid. I think they go to school together.”

Komui paused his hysterics and looked momentarily stunned before falling to lie on Cross’ office floor. Cross stared at the man crying and mumbling nonsense, and then stepping over him to sit in his chair. “Oh get a grip, the brat thinks he’s dating Lvellie’s nephew.”

Silence.

Komui slithered his head up, peeking over Cross’ desk. “Oh my.”

“Does Lvellie know this?”

“Nope.” Cross opened his desk drawer and took out a wine bottle. Popping the quark and added, “I can’t wait for the fall out, actually.”

Komui hummed in agreement. “Though, if it really keeps up, then that would make Lvellie family.”

The quark bounced off the wall and hit Cross squarely in the head. “God fucking damnit.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Mana, how do you know when you love someone?”

Allen Walker is seven and a half when he stows himself away into the circus in the middle of December. He manages to keep himself invisible just enough to not be suspicious, but useful enough to not be kicked out back into the dead cold of winter, and hopes that no one realizes they have an unknown in their midst.

The caravan stops in a city of lights, and excited citizens line up in droves to witness a circus so close to Christmas. There are spectacular colors and amazing animals; experts twirl and fly through the air, the audience cheers.

The air is filled with an exhilarating joy, and the snow glitters under the lights of both day and night.

Allen Walker is seven and a half, and he takes no notice of all these things that perhaps many other seven and half year olds do. Or rather, he has yet to learn how to appreciate them, because you see, he is actually not yet Allen Walker.

At this moment, and the time before, he is Red.

Red can hear things that no one else can.

Red is many things. He is weary, distrustful, and angry.

He has no past to account for, and what he did know was that it wasn’t worth the memory.

Red is lonely.

“My! I didn’t think I’d ever see hair as red as yours for a while yet!”

Two weeks before Christmas, Red meets a Clown.

The Clown is a new recruit to the circus party. Red had watched him be greeted by the Ringmaster outside the main tent. At the time, the newcomer had his long, dark hair tied back, dark skin and dressed in only worn jeans and a sweater under a thick coat. Red thought he looked way too happy for someone joining the circus in the middle of December.

And where everyone had a sound in the circus, Red understood them, even when he didn’t know what the sound was. Most the boy could make out were broken and disjointed chrouses.

This newcomer though, had an actual melody.

Now he was only a foot away from Red, dressed ridiculously, which was par for course in his new duties as a clown. The man’s hair was hidden under a rubber wig, with a hair bobble at the top, dressed in a puffed up balloon suit. Red squinted at the stranger, suspicion prickling its way up his neck.

“What the hell?” the boy groused, because, really?

The Clown didn’t seem put off in the slightest over the boy’s language and only laughed heartily. Red thought he looked even more ridiculous all for it. The melody rang like bells, but they were not bells, in Red’s mind.

“No, no, never mind me! Your hair just reminded me of someone, that’s all! Though I have to say, it seems you two have more in common than just hair color!”

Red only scrunched his nose up at the stranger’s boisterous laughter. What a weirdo.

For some reason, the expression only served to make the man laugh harder.

Red never understood adults.

Despite not knowing how to appreciate the colors and whimsy of the circus, Red always found himself gravitating towards the music. Some of the tents and stalls had small radios and speakers that would showcase local, or otherwise, broadcasts.

Whenever one stall played a particular song that he found himself fond of, Red would linger and listen while collecting fallen toys or props or whatever odd job had been enlisted to him at the time.

His favorite though, was the red pipe organ that sat center stage often in the Ring. In part, it was the color that had first endeared him, but above all else, Red was attracted to the keys. It fascinated him that many in the circus knew which keys to press to create the sounds they desired. It was like a secret code, and Red wished he knew what it was.

All he knew, was that whenever he watched a player’s fingers bounce on those keys, his own began to feel jealous.

Not that he would tell anyone this. Red lead himself to believe that he was invisible enough that no one would think to notice his affinity with the instrument.

Ten days before Christmas, the Clown shows up again. Red is tying the final knot for Madam Cleo the Fortune Teller’s tent, when the strange man literally pops out of God knows where and into Red’s space.

The boy only glares and turns on his heel to stomp off from the odd newcomer. Only, the Clown insisted on following.

After several steps and the tink, tink, tink of the man’s song, Red spun on his heel. “What the hell do you want!” he demanded.

The Clown looked like he wanted to start laughing again, because for whatever damned reason Red could not figure, everything he said seemed to amuse the man. Which was not on, as far as Red was concerned. He refused to be a joke for the sake of some stranger’s amusement!

Seeming to sense the boy’s thoughts, the Clown didn’t laugh. Which was good, because Red was keen on giving the older a swift kick to the shins if he had.

“I know a thing or two about playing an organ.” the Clown started, smiling. Red felt his eye twitch.

“Well, more piano than organ actually, but the one here isn’t TOO different from a piano, at least I think so!”

The boy scowled; he literally could care less about what the Clown could or could not do.

“In all honesty, there is a high chance that-”

Oh God, he’s still talking.

Red interrupted the man’s babbling before it became much worse. “Why the fuck should I care?” Because really. Why?

The Clown let out a high gasp and slapped his gloved clown hands to his face, which gaped in dramatic horror. “You said the F-Word!”

Red really did kick him then.

He felt a high sense of satisfaction as he marched away from the Clown, who was clutching his shin, with a yelp.

Nine days before Christmas, Red was waxing the caravan’s shoes, when the Clown once again appeared.

“Anyway I was thinking-”

Red threw a shoe at his head.

Eight days before Christmas, it had snowed again. The chill in the air was thicker than it had been, and Red had huddled up as close to one of the many small fires the Party had made. Most had bundled up and wrapped themselves in blankets and retreated to their trailers. Which, sucked for Red seeing as he had none of those things, save for the clothes on his back.

Worn and tattered they were, he felt he was at least lucky enough to have the ratted hoodie he did own.

Regardless, being cold sucked balls.

Red hated being cold. It was on his Top Ten List of Things He Hated, right between wet socks and hunger.

Suddenly he only saw darkness and felt weight land itself on his head. In his surprise, Red let out a mix between a yell and a shriek. He sent a wild and blind kick and heard an “oof,” along with the sound of someone landing on the ground.

Floundering, Red got the offending shroud off of his head, only to find he had somehow been swaddled up in a quilt. Scowling in confusion, Red looked at whoever he kicked, which only served to make him groan in annoyance.

It was the Clown, except he wasn’t dressed as such, instead looking much like he did the first day Red saw him. The song Red only could head was contemplative and steady.

The Clown was sitting on the wintered ground, holding his leg, a mix between a grimace and a grin of all things. Red seriously began to wonder how dumb this guy really was, because who the hell tries to smile after begin in pain.

It bothered him that the man’s expression rarely fit his song.

Red glared at the man and clutched at the quilt. (Because regardless, it was cold and as far as the boy was concerned, it was his now).

“What do you want?” He hissed.

The Clown waved his hands, trying to show that he meant no harm. “Nothing, nothing! You just seemed cold! So I thought to myself, hey, I have an extra blanket to share, except it’s not really a blanket it’s a quilt, but who cares about details!”

The man’s hand waving became more pronounced the longer he spoke. Red wondered if the guy was broken somehow.

Deciding to retreat while the man was down, Red began to walk away, dragging the quilt with him. Only, to feel it yank back.

Pulling on the quilt, Red turned and glared more. The Clown was still smiling! What the hell!!

Gritting his teeth, Red made an attempt to pull the quilt free.

The attempt itself only caused the Clown to tug the quilt back and let out a damned giggle of all things! This only made Red furious.

Thus a tug of war of sorts ensued between one seven and a half year old and a fully grown adult over a quilt. It lasted a valiant five minutes before Red had slipped on the frozen ground and landed in a tired, cold heap on half of the fabric.

The Clown only hummed and managed to roll the boy into it, firmly creating a grouchy looking, red headed, quilted burrito.

Confused, Red eyed the man wearily. “Why don’t you leave me the hell alone?” Whether it was because of being tired and cold or something else, the boy’s words held no bite.

The Clown’s smile turned thoughtful, his song became melancholy. “I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

“God, you’re weird.” Groused the boy.

Chuckling, the Clown said, “You know, that’s not the first time someone’s said that to me.”

Seven days before Christmas, and Red is only mildly surprised that the Clown didn’t catch a cold. They say idiot’s can’t catch colds, in any case.

And Red is not an idiot, because he had The Quilt. What had transpired the night before notwithstanding. Therefore he could not get a sick, and was not an idiot.

Surprise or no surprise, Red still found himself in the presence of the Clown, who was holding two plates of scrambled eggs and what looked like sausage. Red’s stomach rumbled.

The Clown grinned, handing him a plate. Red glared and tried to walk away, only to squawk when the back off his hood was grabbed.

How the man managed to balance two plates of eggs and drag a squalling seven and a half year old is beyond the comprehension of many. It is obvious this man had many trade secrets and skills that the circus had yet to tap into.

Red soon found himself seated on a log and a plate of eggs in hand. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” He grumbled while shoveling his breakfast down.

“You’re a growing boy and you need to eat to get big and strong and healthy!” The Clown began. And it was the only the beginning; Red had learned that once the man had an opening, he would ramble until someone put a stop to it.

“And it’s very obvious you need to eat more, because you sure are small for your age and-YEOW!”

“Shut up.”

The Clown held his kicked leg and only laughed.

Yup. This man was an idiot, Red was certain.

That afternoon, still seven days before Christmas, the Clown asks. “Would you like me to teach you how to play the pipe organ?”

To which the boy says, “What are you some kind of creepo who has a thing for little kids?”

The man looks horrified and begins to sputter in denial.

Six days until Christmas, and Red finds himself watching the Clown sit at the miniature pipe organ just after the audience had cleared from the night’s performance.

“It’s been a while, but I don’t think I’m too rusty.” Starts the Clown.

Which may or may not have been an understatement, as the moment the man presses down on the keys, the pipes let out a shrill wail which sends Red an inch into the air.

Both persons look surprised; the sound itself a small echo in the otherwise quiet circus tent.

After a beat, Red puffs out a laugh before he realizes it. When he does he covers his mouth as quickly as he could, eyes wide. The man blinks slowly.

He presses his hand on the keys at random, never taking his eyes off the boy. And when the pipes once again squeal, Red guffaws behind his hands.

“You’re laughing!”

“No!” Red squeaks. Squeaks! He’s squeaking, oh God what’s wrong with him?!

“Do it again!”

“No!!”

The Clown has a look of pure delight on his tanned face, and decides to lean his entire arm on the keys, causing the organ to create a loud WHUMPSH sound, that echoed in the night.

Unable to hold them back any longer, Red finally lets his laughter free.

When both of their faces are rosy from laughter and the cold of winter, the Clown asks,

“What’s your name?”

To which the boy responds, “I don’t have a name, but everyone calls me Red.”

“That won’t do!” Explains the Clown. His copper eyes troubled. “Just because it’s what you’re called, doesn’t make it your name.”

The mirth died from Red’s gray, gray eyes and the man frowned when the boy seemed to hunch into himself.

“I’m going to bed.” Says the boy.

Five days until Christmas and the Clown brings another plate of eggs to the boy and says. “I’m Mana.”

“I don’t care.” Says Red.

Four days until Christmas, and Red is angry. He’s remembering how lonely he really was. The stupid Clown with his stupid names and his stupid smile.

And his stupid song.

Red has made an attempt at avoiding the Clown at all costs. Which proved fruitless when Red felt a hand on his shoulder.

Reacting, the boy spun and swiped his arm, and took a step backwards, glaring. “Why don’t you just leave me alone!” He cried.

The Clown only smiled, and that was the thing. Red was jealous of those smiles. The man seemed to be an endless well of them. He always, always had one.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” The man answered.

Red stomped his foot, aggravated. “Well you should! Everyone else always has! What makes you so damn special, huh?” Unable to control his rage any longer, Red advanced at the man.

He swing his arm to try and land a strike, but the man easily stepped to the side. Riled even further, Red made another swing.

“You and your stupid piano song, and your dumb everything!!”

The boy would still swing for a punch, and the man continued backing away.

“What is wrong with you anyway huh?! Are you fucked in the head or something? Or do you not understand when someone wants to be left ALONE!”

At the last word, Red jumped at the man and shoved him to the ground. Sitting on the man’s chest, Red punched and hit the older anyway he could. And the man let him.

All too soon, Red found himself huffing and puffing, and he quickly realized that his vision was blurred and unclear.

God, he was crying! When was the last time he cried?

A sob escaped his throat as he raised his arm to strike man again. Only, his hand chosen to clutch at the man’s coat lapels instead.

Carefully, and slowly, the man raised a hand to the boy’s crown.

The hand and the song that only the boy could hear was warm.

Three days until Christmas, and one day after the boy had cried longer and more powerfully than he had ever remembered letting himself be, the man asked,

“Do you want to be alone?”

Red felt something inside of him seize. His mouth felt full of words he didn’t know how to let out. Looking to the left, then the right, his eyes not knowing what to focus on.

It took a long moment, but the man was patient and for once looking more serious than Red had even thought he could be, when the boy finally shook his head, messy red hair swaying.

With a blink, the man’s eyes warmed and knelt to be eye level with the boy and held out his hand.

Red still refused to look the Clown in the eye, but timidly, he placed his smaller one into the man’s palm. He felt his cheeks warm and his unsure eyes turned into a glare to the ground.

Red pouted as the man began to laugh.

“You’re honestly too cute.”

Snapping, the boy’s head shot up and snarled. “Like hell I am!”

Two days until Christmas, the Clown says, “How about being part of my family?”

In which the boy answers, “Okay.”

And it really was.

On Christmas day Red says, “I want a name.”

To which the man says, “How about Allen?”

Red is eight years old when he becomes Allen Walker. It takes time for him to become used to the idea of having a father. Regardless, Mana is patient. Soon enough, Mana is teaching his son the keys on the organ. If he was surprised with how quickly Allen caught on to the notes, Mana didn’t show it.

“My Allen, I do believe you have a talent in music.” Mana would say, and Allen would hear the fond piano as the keys loomed and dipped with warmth.

That warmth reverberated within Allen, and the song only he could hear shined with delight.

At eight and half, Allen can finally see the wonder in the bright lights of the circus, and joins in with the crowd as they cheer on the performances. Mana teaches him juggling and how to walk on his hands. “Learning to Clown Around.” His father says. And Allen would laugh.

At nine, Mana makes plans to leave the circus, and excites Allen about a house that is waiting for them in a different city.

Allen is nine and half when they pack up and leave.

“Is it far?” Allen asks.

Mana nods, holding Allen’s hand in one and carrying a suitcase in another. “It’s a long ways forward! But we’ll get there soon enough.”

“Mana! That makes no sense!”

The father only laughs.

“Mana, what if it’s too far and we get lost?”

“Then we just keep walking. No matter what Allen, you must always keep walking.”

Allen Walker is nine and half, when he wakes up to sirens.

“Hey Mana, how do you know when you love someone?”

Mana hummed.

“Well, I suppose it’s when they make you feel safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yup!”

“Oh. Huh.”

After a beat.

“Hey Mana, you make me feel safe.”

Chapter Text

Finally, Kanda demanded, “Why is that two-spot always around?” 

Allen looked incredulously at his friend. “His name is Link and he’s my boyfriend.” He answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Isn’t Link the name of that warrior elf from the Zelda games?”

“Link is my warrior elf. When my Ganondorf attacks my kingdom, I know that Link will be there to support me in saving it.”

“God you’re weird.”

At precisely 1:13 in the morning, Howard Link finds himself suddenly awake. Sensing her human’s state of awareness, Atuuda crawled out from under the bedsheets, to sprawl out on his chest. Link stroked her back as his analytical mind finally came to a conclusion that he, honestly, already knew.

After five minutes of staring at his ceiling, pondering over every minute detail, and mentally cataloguing every possible outcome, he asks the ceiling, “What now?”

Atuuda answers for him with a feline chirp and paws his face.

“You’re right.” He just needs to do what he believes is best. It’ll work itself out in the end.

Link lets his eyes close.

Hours later, Link once again awoke. His cat had been replaced with a familiar grinning canine, while it seemed Atuuda had moved to purr loudly at the top of Link’s head. Sitting up, Link watched, lethargic, as Timcampy rolled off his person, unbothered, and lay on its fluffy side atop the sheets. The creatures stub of a tail waggled to and fro.

Carrying the wiggling corgi, Link walked down the stairs to his living room, Atuuda following down the railing, letting herself chitter.

Eating a bowl of Link’s cereal, Allen Walker sat in front of Link’s television, Saturday morning cartoons playing across the screen. Allen waved his spoon at Link. “Morning starshine! I made you breakfast.” he motioned to the second bowl, filled to the brim with Lucky Charms, on the coffee table.

Link sat next to his uninvited, but welcomed, house guest and ate the cereal. Timcampy wedged his little body between them, while Atuuda sprawled out on Allen’s feet.

For as long as Link remembered, his life had been planned out for him. Not that he minded; on the contrary, Link found he could only function properly after mapping out his days down to the very last second. From what he was to wear over the course of the week, to where his future was to lead him in terms of college and career.

Which was why Link enjoyed baking as much as he did. There were steps and procedures that needed discipline and practice, and sometimes when he was being particularly ambitious, an extreme attention to detail. All these things put together created something.

It was exciting for him, to have hard work pay off and resulting in something enjoyable, and delicious.

Link was so good at filling all of his time with tasks and lists of demands, that it distracted him from acknowledging that no one else was present to enjoy what he created.

After Allen had eaten three bowls of Link’s cereal, and Timcampy had made like a thief with the box, he ushered the older back up the stairs. “Hurry and get ready so we’re not late for Miranda’s grand opening!”

Remembering that Miss Lotto had managed to procure herself a small shop down town, and that today was the morning of her first day open, Link nodded. This also explained why Allen was at his home so early on a Saturday.

Not that Allen Walker ever needed a reason to come to Link’s home. Or anyone’s home, for that matter. The younger tended to run off and go where he pleased, regardless of an excuse.

Baking was just about the only thing Link felt he had in common with his uncle, besides obvious genetics. In fact, the man had been the one to introduce the practice to him. This and the fact that Lvellie was the only family member close enough for Link to draw a real connection to, made the teen appreciative and thankful for the man, to a fault.

It was that appreciation which lead Link into agreeing to watch a boy that, for some reason, always ended up wandering his uncle’s precinct and “causing chaos wherever he goes.” Link had prepared himself for the inevitable meeting, mind flying through scenario after scenario to help himself prepare.

He had a speech and everything.

Link’s parents, being as they were, were hardly ever home. Business here, travel to this country there…They were busy people. Link was very understanding.

Shoving another mouthful of chocolate cake that Link had baked the night previous into his mouth, Allen took out the cell phone Cross had recently given him, and shared the image of Timcampy with the cereal box stuck on his head on his Snap Story. The little dog was making low growls while scuttling backwards, trying to ward the now offensive box off his face.

“Hello, I am Howard Link - please call me Link, and my uncle had informed me of your presence today. He requested that I “watch you”  to ensure that you do not cause any undue mayhem. I also heard that you enjoy eating, so I brought pumpkin pie as a peace offering.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

“Mana had taught me how to play the organ at the circus we were in.” Allen began one day, out of the blue. Link had just taken out a batch of muffins from the oven, and he hesitated momentarily at the admission, before setting the tray down.

“But he wasn’t able to teach me how to read and write music yet.” Allen reached for a muffin, only for Link to swat his hand away. “They need to cool.” He admonished.

Allen pouted and stared at the cooling pastries.

“There’s a song I want to make. It’s there, in my head, but I don’t know how to make it.” Allen revealed, hours later and the muffins all eaten. His brow was creased, troubled and frustrated at his lack of ability to accomplish his goal.

When Allen had dragged Link to first meet Miranda Lotto, the teen felt resigned. Because, of course the younger had made friends with a twenty year old woman with high levels of anxiety.

Miranda had opened her door, shocked at seeing the two of them. Well, more Allen than Link, seeing as she had only just met the younger months ago. In truth, she thought that was their first and last encounter.

Beaming up at her with what Link had dubbed as Allen’s “I Am a Small and Cute Gentleman Please Let Me Have My Way” smile, Allen says, “Hi Miranda! Please teach me how to write music!”

Howard Link was constantly reminded that Allen Walker was a force of nature who cannot be ignored.

After the first song Allen recorded, and effectively posted online, and Miranda had gone home, Link asked, “Was that the song?”

Shaking his head, Allen tapped his fingers idly on the piano keys. “It’s not ready yet. I have to make it right, Link, because it’s important.” He looked so serious and determined, that Link realized he would do whatever he could to support this younger boy.

This boy who had become his friend.

“Besides, I’m going to write you a song first.” Allen grinned, cheekily. Link let out a long suffering sigh.

Making their way to Link’s car, hand in hand, the teen states, “Walker you don’t need to hold my hand to the garage.”

Looking as serious as he possibly could, Allen says, “Yes I do, what if I get lost.”

“Walker. It’s the garage.”

“I get lost easily Link, you know this. I could wander off and who knows what kind of shenanigans I’ll get myself into.”

Okay, true. But Link still got the distinct feeling that he was being swindled.

Allen did indeed get lost easily. It didn’t help that he was prone to wander. He was also a sneaky and mischievous little person. All four traits together had one day lead Allen to sneak into Link’s year-round school the middle of summer.

During lunch, one of Link’s peers approached him, asking, “Is this yours?”

Allen popped his white head out from under the other student’s arm, all smiles and eyes shining. “Link! I found you!”

“Excuse you, but I found him for you, after I found you in the P.E supply closet.” sassed the other teen. Link realized it was Wisely Kamelot, and filed this piece of information away to analyze for later.

“Walker, what on earth are you doing here!” He demanded instead.

“I missed you! Plus I wanted to see what your weird school was like.”

Link has a selfie of the three of them on his cell phone, after Allen had demanded for one.

Eventually, Link would open the file and stare at the image long and hard. There was a niggling on the back of his mind, and Link couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, it was.

But he would soon. As Allen had said, Link was great at drawing conclusions.

“Hey Link, Lenalee is in choir and she says that I should try out, and if I do make it in, will you come to all my concerts?” Allen asks of him one day, after school.

To which Link replies, “Yes.”

He didn’t even need to think about it.

Howard Link, for all his well made plans and endless lists to keep himself busy, found himself unconsciously reorganizing them all to fit Allen Walker into the equation.

He was surprised at how easy it was.

One thing about having your uncle as the Commissioner of the city’s largest law enforcement agency, was that Link had easy access to information he probably shouldn’t. It also helped that his uncle seemed to believe Link to be trusted unfailingly with any all things.

Link appreciate Lvellie as family, but he was not loyal to the man.

In other words, Link had free reign of the precinct, and could easily access any and all files he wished without anyone becoming the wiser.

“Good evening Mister Gill.” He greeted in passing the Technical Officer. The other waved and greeted back enthusiastically, but otherwise, did not question the teen’s presence.

Under the pretense of studying, Link set his textbooks next to the computer he situated himself at, and booted it up.

Getting to the records database, Link typed his search:

Mana Walker.

Chapter Text

One of Allen’s most popular videos, other than his scores and remixes of random Disney songs, is of Kanda and Alma chasing Link’s cat back and forth through the hallway, Timcampy scampering after them in a fit of small corgi glee, bypassing Lenalee’s cellphone camera. In the back, Allen’s plays the continuation of the Peanut’s Theme from the piano every moment they run past. 

Eventually the video ends with Alma freeing one of Kanda’s hair ties from Atuuda’s mouth, while Kanda notices the recording and demands, “TURN THAT THING OFF RIGHT THE FUCK NOW LEE!”

“Kanda don’t cuss it’s rude.”

In exactly one week, Howard Link, 18, will be graduating High School and heading off to college to pursue more knowledge and work toward getting that job that will support Allen and all five of their future children. At least, that’s what Allen likes to think.

Link believes that five is too many, because honestly Walker, you’re child enough as it is.

During Algebra I, Allen Walker, 14, sulks next to Kanda, age 16,  who has become an expert on ignoring the freshman’s drama. The latter had his phone hidden in his desk, as he texted Alma about how much he hated math, and that they should pull the fire alarm so that he could get out of it.

Again.

To which Alma fires off a text back, “yuu no thats bad.”

It was Kanda’s turn to sulk. He hated math. It wasn’t that numbers confused or where a struggle for him. He just hated he the subject, and therefore never completed any of the work. Which is why is Kanda Yuu was a junior in high school, and retaking Algebra I, for the second time.

Alma hoped that since Kanda had a friend in class, he would pass this time.

While their teacher prattles on about theorems and equations, the older teen decided stacking shit on his younger, hormonally distraught friend, was a way better idea than paying attention. Kanda brazenly took a picture of Allen, now with a tower of textbooks and a ruler donning his head, and sent it to Alma.

Their teacher came over and took Kanda’s phone. Whom Kanda insulted. Which resulted in Kanda being kicked out for the rest of the hour.

Keep your hope strong Alma.

At lunch, Allen continued to sulk, this time leaning on Lenalee. “Aw, come on Allen, it’s not that bad.”

“Lena you wouldn’t say that if the love of your life was leaving you.”

“Allen. Link is going to college, not moving in with a beau.”

“College is an evil man-stealing whore.”

“Allen I swear to God, shut up and eat your lunch.”

Allen shut up and ate his lunch.

After the second day of Allen Walker annoying the hell out of everyone over his skulking, Alma suggests, “What if you got him something to remember you by?”

Kanda gave them an scandalized look, because they were actually supporting this nonsense. “What the hell-” Alma stomped on his foot to shut him up. “JESUS!”

Allen’s eyes lit up at the idea and hugged Alma tightly. “That is such a great idea thank you!”

“I know what I can get him too!”

Kanda didn’t stop frowning at Alma their entire walk home.

“Oh come on Yuu, I said I was sorry!”

The frown intensified. “Why are you so supportive of the beansprout and two-spot?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s sweet.”

“It’s weird.”

“Well, we’re not exactly normal ourselves Yuu.”

Alright. That was true. And Yuu Kanda didn’t want it any other way.

After school, Allen went to meet himself a vampire.

Wait, let’s back up a little bit.

Directly across Miranda’s handywoman shop, where people have begun dropping off their broken knickknacks and barbels for her fix (and sometimes even larger projects like television sets and toaster ovens), was a flower boutique. Allen had heard that they also specialized on other, exotic, plant life and foliage.  

That, and the owner looked like a vampire.

With Timcampy at his heels, Allen walked into the boutique and spotted the owner. They were tall, ridiculously so. At 14 years of age, Allen had a significant growth spurt, unfortunately, everyone and their grandmother still had a few inches over him. But this man was taller than tall, and then some. He was all pointed angles and a sharp face and sharp eyes.

The man had cut an intimidating figure, even when he perked up at his customer and greeted with a smile, “Welcome! How can I help you?”

Allen stared at his teeth, which were also sharp.

The man’s intimidation was lost on Allen, for all the teen could hear was the low, smooth sound of a saxophone.

Saxophones, by nature, had a very distinct sound quality to them. They went to high octaves easily, which was at odds with the mellow and sometimes melancholy melody they often created.

Indeed, Allen heard no reason to be intimidated by the saxophone gentleman.

When Allen was first brought to Cross’ job, he had also met another saxophone then. Her sound happened to be very similar to this man’s, if not holding her own unique quality that made her melody hers, and her’s alone.

Oh. Thought Allen. He’ll have to do something about this.

Holding out his left hand, Allen introduced himself. “Hello, I’m Allen Walker and I’m here to get something for my boyfriend.”

Without hesitation or even a glance at the red hand, the man shook it and said, “Nice to meet you Allen Walker, I’m Aleister Crowley.”

“What kind of gift were you thinking of getting your boyfriend?” Crowley asked, watering can in hand and long green flower apron at his front.

“I don’t know, but he hates flowers.” Allen stated, holding Timcampy up so the little dog wouldn’t be tempted to eat any of the flora. The corgi was eyeing a rather large and delicious looking sunflower and wiggled with determination. “Tim, no.”

Crowley looked confused and bewildered. “Then…I’m not sure how I can help you.”

Laughing, Allen shrugged. “Link’s a bit strange, and he likes weird things. And me. He likes me.”

Allen had said the last part with so much conviction, that Crowley felt his big ol’ heart flutter, because young love was so precious.

“But, Link also likes taking care of things. He won’t admit it, but he totally does.”

Howard Link did indeed enjoy interesting and uncanny things. And Allen Walker was was an uncanny thing which Link found himself taking care of.

Looking at his packed boxes, one of which Atuuda had commandeered as her own, Link wondered as to what would happen once he did leave.

Maybe he should bake Walker a few cakes.

Crowley presented Allen with a rather small, but menacing looking plant. It’s stalk was thick and layered, and it’s flower head was leathery, red with tiger like stripes, and wide. It also had teeth.

“This. Is perfect.” Allen declared. Timcampy barked in agreement, if only because the little dog wanted to eat it.

“Well,” the florist began. “This is Rosemary. But I think she may be a bit too expensive for-”

Allen pulled out his swear jar. “I got this.”

“Hey can you also deliver a dozen roses to the Precinct?”

“I believe I can, but who-”

“Her name is Colonel Nyne.”

Cross stared at the ridiculous looking hell plant on his dining room table. “What the fuck is that.” Allen slid the swear jar down silently, and Cross cashed in his quarter.

“It’s Rosemary and I’m giving her Link tomorrow.”

Cross scrunched up his nose in disdain. He can just hear the thing belt out “feed me Seymour!”

Or maybe that was actually because his weird kid was singing it behind him, the troll.

—

Allen’s and Lenalee’s band teacher was a blind, dark skinned man who was really into a capella. Seeing the talent his students had, Noise Marie enjoyed helping them excel where they could with music.  

It was also fantastic to have someone as talented and prodigal as Allen for a pupil.

Currently, they were pouring over the lyrics and sheet music Allen had been fretting over the past three days.

“I want it to be perfect.” Allen declared, eyes serious and mouth pursed, has he played the tune on the band room’s keyboard. Mister Marie nodded, expert ears listening to every note dropped. Allen liked Mister Marie. The man was a calm steady violin.

“I think what you wish to say is conveyed enough in the song, Allen. Don’t worry.” Marie assured.

“Great, thank you Mister Marie!” And Allen promptly, and exaggeratedly, tripped over the cord, causing the instrument to fall over and crack.  “Whoops! Looks like you’ll have to get that fixed.” Allen pipped, not in the least bit sorry.

“Don’t worry, I know a place.”

Piccolos and violins went great together.

Aleister Crowley felt his nerves stand on end as the blank faced woman stared at him, well…blankly.

“What?” She asked.

Clearing his throat, the florist continued to hold out the bouquet to her. “I was-was instructed to deliver these to you. Madam. Ma’am. Miss.”

“Nyne.”

“Miss Nyne.”

“No. Don’t call me that.”

“I’m so sorry!”

Taking the flowers, Colonel Nyne scowled at them. Aleister felt his knees go weak, because what did that funny kid get him into? Oh, why, why was he so trusting? His grandfather always said it got him into trouble, and now here he was. Facing down a (very beautiful) deadly looking policewoman, who looked about ten seconds from ripping his hair off. If not arrest him.

Rising from her chair with so much force, it knocked over sideways, Nyne held the apparent offensive bouquet of roses in a tight fist. The florist backed into the wall and gulped.

Rather than beat the poor man silly with the flowers, Nyne marched right past him and into the office of Marian Cross.

Cross stared up at her, having no idea what what going on, but appreciated the roses. “Are those for me?”

“I’ve told you time and time again Marian. I. Will. Never. Date. You’re sorry pompous ass.” With that she shoved the mouth of the bouquet on to Cross’ red head, and marched out again. “And I hate roses!”

Colonel Marian Cross just watched as she left, roses stuck in his hair and a mess of petals all over his desk.

“What the fuck?”

Claude Nyne yanked the florist by his shirt front and demanded, “Take me out right now. I need a drink. You’re paying.”

“A-alright. Yes? Yes, okay!! Yes ma'am.” The man stuttered.

Cross glared when he saw a flash. Allen stood in his office doorway, grinning like a cheshire cat, holding up his cellphone. Cross regretted getting the brat the damned thing.

“Nice flower crown you got there.”

“This is your fault, I know it is.”

Halfway across town, Miranda Lotto blushed at the handsome customer asking if she could repair his broken keyboard.

“I have it under good faith that you’re the one to go to when things need a quick fix.” The man chuckles, looking sheepish.

At his high school graduation ceremony, Howard Link, diploma in hand, looked on at the stage with a stunned kind of embarrassment. He could feel his ears go red.

There was a flash, and Kanda tucked his phone away. “I was told to get this moment on camera.” He smirked in glee at Link’s abashed face.

Kanda always got a certain, sadistic enjoyment at other’s unease.

On the stage, Allen Walker began playing the chords of his song, in front of Link and all of his graduating class. Besides Kanda, Lenalee was recording everything with her brother’s video camera. “This is gonna be so much fun,” she pronounced.

The lights began to dim, and Link looked up and over at the technical control booth. “Who’s at the lights?! Is that’s Karma?” The young adult demanded, his voice showing signs of slight hysteria.

Who allowed Walker access to the stage equipment?

“If all I got is 24/7, then all I want is every last second, to make it all about, I wanna make it all about you!”

Well, Link resigned, Walker did have a nice singing voice.

Allen Walker always did do whatever he pleased.

If all I got is just three minutes,
Then let these words,
Reflect that I’m living
to make it all about,
I wanna make it about you!

“Did you like it?”

“I did, thank you. But if you ever do something like this again, you will never be allowed to consume anything I bake, ever.” Link was serious.

Allen's face took on a petrified expression, and Link felt victorious that his point came across.

The plant seemed to wriggle, pleased at all the attention its new owner was giving. Its serrated petals opened and closed as Link held his potted new…whatever it was, that Allen had just gifted him.

“Her name is Rosemary and I got her for you so you’ll remember me. She likes to eat a lot and needs a lot of attention.” Said Allen, looking pleased with himself over not just his gift to the graduate, but at also managing to pull off his plan to derail the ceremony itself.  

Link regarded Rosemary and thought he had enough experience in taking care of hungry, needy creatures, this wouldn’t be so bad. The plant itself was interesting enough, regardless.

When Link first met his roommates, Tokusa and Madarao - brothers, Rosemary tries to eat Tokusa’s hand.

“Dude, what the hell!”

Chapter Text

Kanda first met Alma in the first grade. Back when their hair was still strawberry blond and they only wore the dresses their mother had bought.

The day was overcast and Kanda had decided right then and there, that Alma Karma was too loud and too happy to be someone he wanted to associate with. Ever.

The world wasn’t fair, Kanda realized.

There was much about it that he just didn’t understand. Kanda understood himself very well, but everyone else? Most days, it felt like they all spoke an alien language, and it was only Kanda who couldn’t learn it. Or when you’re trying to talk to someone through a door, and their words are too muffled and static to actually make out what is being said.

Teacher’s seemed to pity him for whatever reason, and it angered him.

I’m not dumb! He wanted to say. I just don’t understand!

But the words never wanted to leave his mouth, and Kanda found himself growing more and more frustrated.

Froi Tiedoll was a good father, all things considered. A bit eccentric and too doting for Kanda’s tastes, but the man wasn’t awful.

Being adopted by a retired police colonel had it’s perks, it seemed, as the man gained a decent sized house, and had enough leeway with the legal system that he was able to easily adopt wayward boys off the streets without so much as a wink.

Therefore, Kanda also had two older “brothers,” none of whom were related by blood. The first was Noise Marie. Kanda honestly liked the older’s presence the most out of his “family.” Marie was calm and unshakable, and he listened to Kanda about anything the boy was willing to share. Above all, Marie was able to make out what Kanda wasn’t saying, but wanted to. The older also had the uncanny ability to help Kanda’s mind process through misunderstandings.

The second was Daisya Barry. Kanda didn’t hate the other brother per say; they were just loud and obnoxious and Kanda had a difficult time knowing how to be around them. It didn’t help that whenever Daisya tried to tell a joke or be sarcastic, in a mildly familial kind of way, it went right over Kanda’s head, and the boy thought he was being slighted in some way. Though, Kanda did have to give them props for never getting mad whenever Kanda reacted badly to his rough-and-tumble way of brotherly love. Daisya, nine times out of ten, would stop and attempt to explain these instances to Kanda, and respected the space the boy needed after. Kanda didn’t always comprehend these explanations, but he recognized that there was no harm meant. Kanda respected the time Daisya gave him, in those moments.

In second grade, Alma was paired up with Kanda for an art project. It was for Valentines and for some reason involved a lot of cotton balls, sequins, and glue. Kanda did not want to touch the glue. It was in a glob on a paper plate, and the texture and smell offended him something fierce.

Also, he Did Not Like Alma Karma.

Taking one look at Kanda’s pinched expression and then at the glue, Alma says, “Here, you can cut the hearts out.”

“I’ll cut your heart out!”

Everyone in class turned to stare at the two of them, and Kanda wanted to run away and never come back. He did not mean to say that. Honest to god.

After a beat of silence, Alma started laughing. It was loud, like usual, and only seemed to be getting more uncontrolled the longer Kanda frowned at them.

Kanda cut out the construction paper hearts, deciding to ignore the lunatic laughing at him.

Kanda was really good at cutting things. Like, out of paper. He could waste an entire day away just cutting out detailed images from newspaper and magazines that interested him. Tiedoll had gotten him scrapbooks to lay his findings in, and taught him how to decoupage. The man was really into arts and crafts.

“Wow Yuu! You’re really good at making things!” Alma explained, stars in their eyes over the small pile of paper shapes Kanda had scissored out. Since Alma had deemed themselves the Glue Guru, he had went about cutting little decorations they could paste all over their Valentine art pieces.

Kanda felt his ears burn.

“Che.” He intoned and scowled, looking away from the other.

Alma giggled.

Eventually, Kanda learns that he really likes making Alma laugh. And that’s just weird.

Back then, Kanda belatedly remembered that Alma had yet to go by “they.” Back then, everyone had called them “she.” Until one day, after it had rained and Alma and he had gotten into a ridiculous mud fight, they said.

“Kanda, sometimes I don’t feel right.”

Swiping mud of his face, Kanda looked at them in alarm. “What, like you’re sick?”

“No. I’m not sick. I don’t feel like being a girl is right.”

Kanda didn’t really get it. “So you want to be a boy?”

“No!” Alma began to look frustrated, and that distressed Kanda. He didn’t like when they looked unhappy. “I don’t want to be anything. I just want to be me!”

Kanda scowled and found himself saying, “Be whatever the hell you want, you’re already you, aren’t you?!” Be happy! He wanted to say. And help me understand, so I can support you.

Fortunately, Alma was another person who could hear what Kanda didn’t say.

“Why are you crying?!”

“You make me so happy, Yuu!!”

God, Kanda didn’t understand people. Like at all.

He let Alma cry on him anyway.

In the fourth grade, Tiedoll enrolled Kanda in swordsmanship classes at the community center. He will never say it out loud, but Kanda loved every moment of it. Smugly, he realized he was also really, really good at swordplay. 

Swords were cool.

At 13, Kanda had collected seven swords, and he refused to ever stop.

Kanda never turned his valentine art project in. Instead he smuggled it home and stuck into one of his scrapbooks.

One day, when they’re older, and understand more about themselves and the world they live in greater than they had, Kanda will look over at Alma with an expression they could easily decipher.

Alma would smile that smile of theirs that still did strange things to Kanda’s stomach, but in the most positive way, and say, “I know.”

“Me too.”

At present, Alma is leaning on Kanda’s shoulder while he polishes one of the swords in his collection.

“Hey Yuu?”

Kanda grunted.

“When Link and Allen get married, do you think Allen will ask you to be his best man?”

Kanda shot Alma with a “what the fuck” look, eyebrows skyrocketing into his hairline. “What?”

Alma laughed.

Chapter Text

The song that Allen wrote Link was recorded and posted two days after the ceremony. Two more days after, it had gained over 5 million views and an even larger number of likes.

“Hey Allen, why don’t you see about selling your music?” Suggested Lenalee.

Well. Now that was an idea.

Bookman Record Company was a small recording business that was stationed just outside of the city. Overlooking the name, which was simply the title due to it being a family named business, it showed a lot of promise. At least, that’s what Lavi’s grandpa always said, whenever the old man got nostalgic.

Lavi, current heir to the Bookman name, was a bit pessimistic, due to no one having ever come through their doors with any significant talent that blew their name wide open.

A lot of the time, they got some random, starry eyed talent that was only subpar with what the rest of the world wanted. Sometimes they had customers walk in, and they were just Bad. With a capital B. So bad that Lavi often was thrown into a right fit of laughter, because really? Wow.

Which always led to the Old Man swiping the back of his head.

So when Lavi heard the tell-tale sound of their doors opening, he stated, “Welcome to the funny farm!”

Grandpa Bookman threw his wayward grandson out of his chair. “Be quiet you!” Then says to the guest, “I apologise for him, you know how kids are these days. No respect.”

Their guest only laughed pleasantly, and waved his hand. “No harm no foul!”

Lavi, from his place on the floor, observed their guest with a critical eye. They sounded chummy enough, despite the unique tall top hat and funny, pale suit. The man also wore a striped green dress shirt and small round frames at the end of his nose. He had a smile that was all teeth.

Next to the man was a dark skinned woman with blonde hair; she was also in a suit, except hers was more pressed and professional. She was also attractive as hell and Lavi wouldn’t mind asking her for dinner sometime.

“How may we help you Mister..?” Bookman inquired, allowing a lead into introductions from the oddly paired strangers.

“Oh! Forgive me, I am Adam D. Campbell, and this is my assistant, Lulu Bell. And I’ve come to make you an offer, if you would be so interested in listening?”

Lavi knew that name anywhere. This was the Don of the Noah Family. What the everloving shit did his grandfather do?!

He hissed to his grandfather. “Old man, what the everloving shit did you do?”

Bookman kicked his wayward apprentice slash grandson in his leg. “Hush you.”

His Old Man Panda of a grandfather accepted the proposal. 

Lavi felt like things were getting too God Father for his tastes and called up someone he knew would listen to him.

“Madds, the Don of the mafia was in the studio today!” He stage whispered into his phone.

Madarao arched an eyebrow, which Lavi could see, because the moment he could get away, Bookman the Younger facetimed his friend.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”

“Maaaaaaaadddddsssssss!!!!! Did you even hear what I said?!”

“Your family’s business is being taken over by the mafia and we are all going to die.” The other intoned, setting his phone down, and went back to typing up his essay.

The redhead whined. “I did not say that. But….well it may as well be happening.”

“And what did the “Don of the Mafia” want with your little record studio Lavi?”

“Dude, did you just air quote at me?”

“Lavi, I am busy, get to the point or I am hanging up.”

“Okay okay!! So like, get this, he wanted us to listen to this kid? Like some teen in high school’s youtube account, and asked if we’d sponsor him.”

Picking up the phone again, Madarao looked at his fretful friend. “And why would the Don of one of the most feared mafia families want you to sponsor some no-name teenager?”

“I don’t know!! Aren’t you studying to be a cop? Can’t you help me figure it out?” Lavi begged.

Madarao looked contemplative. “After finals.”

“What.”

Madarao hung up.

Link, not looking up from his studies, asks, “Who was that?”

“No one.” Madarao answered. Tokusa snorted from the kitchen, “It was his boyfriend.”

Madarao decided now would be a great time to take a break and antagonize his brother by chasing him around the dorm with Rosemary the man eating plant.

Link took a quick picture and sent it to Walker, saying ‘Rosemary is enjoying herself this day.’

To which Allen replies, ‘omg i love’ along with a string of heart emojis.

That night, Allen skypes Link. He has both Timcampy and Atuuda on his lap. He is also wearing one of Link’s sweaters.

Link does not comment on it.

Holding Atuuda up to the computer, Allen coos. “Look Atuuda, it’s your daddy!” The feline chips and paws at the screen. Not to be left out, Timcampy saddled up to the computer and licks the screen and wheezes.

“Link our children miss you, you must return home immediately.”

Not even bothering to reply or comment, Link instead mentions, “I saw that you posted another video. It was very well done.”

“Thanks! I really liked it. Hey um, I have something to tell you.”

Link waited. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the white haired teen declares, “So like, this old guy came over and he says he’s the owner of a record company, and they want to sponsor me.”

Link drags Walker’s viewbox to the corner of his screen and opens up a tab. “What company?”

“Bookman! They’re real small, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.”

Link “hummed” and hit the search on google.

Before he could click on any of the links that appeared on the page, Link’s email gave a small “blip.”

He opened that instead.

“So.” Allen bit his lip. “What do you think?”

After reading the contents of the message quickly, Link replied. “I believe it will benefit you. I don’t see any reason not to.”

On the screen, Atuuda had begun meowing nonstop, her pawing become more insistent, while Timcampy got bored and distracted himself by chewing on one of his many, many squeak toys. Allen narrowed his silver eyes with a new determination, and grinned. “Thanks Link.”

“Not a problem.”

When the Bookmen came to his front door, Allen could hear their sound before they even rang the doorbell.

Bookman Senior was an old and wise accordion, while Bookman Junior was a ukulele.

A very nervous and on edge ukulele. The strings where being plucked nonsensically, like fingers nervously picking at them with no direction. 

Lavi took quick stock of the house, and for someone who seemed to have an in with the mafia, it was rather normal and unboisterutive. Well, other than the man lounging in the living area, looking all the world annoyed at the visitors. He was decked out in full Police Colonel uniform, and his badge gleamed tauntingly in Lavi’s line of sight.

Okay, so the mafia really did have it in with the police. Wonderful.

The kid they had come to see even looked like mafia material. What with his white hair, and…oh god what happened to his arm?!

Something sat on his shoe. Lavi looked down to see a small smiling dog look right up at him.

“Um…hi?” Allen waved his hand, utterly baffled by the sounds he was hearing from the redhead. Tim seemed to like him though. 

Bookman Senior cleared his throat. “Hello boy, we have a few inquires about your music channel, and maybe something you’ll find agreeable from us.”

And that is how Allen Walker was signed on with a record studio.

Cross was forced awake too early on a Sunday morning to the sound of teenagers. Rolling over, he glared in the direction he heard them, only for his line of vision to be obstructed by the cat.

Atuuda walked over and sat on his face.

“Listen, I know I’m an asshole, but that does not mean you can put yours on my face.”

The cat only chirped, but did not move. Cross swatted the feline away, and Atuuda bounded off, meowing insults. Yeah that’s right, you better leave.

Groggily, he got up from his bed and to his window. Upon opening it he saw his weird kid chasing one of his even weirder friends in the front lawn.

“Alma!! Give me back my pudding cups!”

What the fuck, really? It’s not even eight AM.

Timcampy was following close at Allen heels, while the other friend, Lee’s sister, was recording it on her phone. Seriously, what is with teenagers and phones?

Alma stopped after getting enough distance from the white haired teen and yelled, “Get ready Yuu!” And

Threw the arm full of pudding cups into the air.

Cross blinked, dazed, and watched.

Only to jump back and cuss when another one jumped off his roof, with a fucking sword what the fucking fuck-

And proceeded to slice every single one of them in half.

Allen cried out, agonized.

Cross opened his window and said, “Oi. Clean the fucking pudding off my goddamn lawn.”

“Fifty cents!”

Cross slammed his window back shut.

At the studio, Allen recorded two of his songs, and they put them on the market for sales.

Within a few days time, everyone was making a profit.

Allen had called Link the moment he first hears one of them playing on the radio, jumping up and down, laughter in his voice. “Link! Link, you need to get to a radio, like, right now!!”

Abruptly, Howard Link, the most studious college student Tokusa had ever known, left his seat from his lecture and walked out. Even their professor was stunned, seeing as the blonde had answered phone in the middle of said lecture.

Five minutes later, Link returned to his seat as though nothing had happened.

“Madds, like holy shit, dude, this kid can sing!!”

“Lavi. I’m in the shower.”

“Oh. So I won’t ask you what you’re wearing then.”

Madarao threw his phone out into the hall. Tokusa yelled for his brother to “close the damn bathroom door already what the hell!”

A week later, Allen gets an invitation in the mail, and a request.

Chapter Text

Bak Chang was Lenalee’s seventh grade chemistry teacher.

And her brother was really stupid for him.

Lenalee loved a lot of things. She loved her brother for raising and caring for her. She loved the staff in the forensic and technology departments. She loved her friends for the way they encourage her.

She loved makeup, and playing with her hair, and shoes.

When Komui was hired by the city as its Head of Forensics, he signed Lenalee up for self defense classes, no ifs, ands or buts could change his mind.

Her instructor was Police Captain Fo Chang. She was a petite woman, but she was also powerful.

She taught Lenalee how to punch, kick and throw someone over twice her size. Lenalee really loved using her legs to drive her power into.

Lenalee loved a lot of things. But she could not, for the life of her, see herself falling in love.

It happened like this:

After lessons, Lenalee waited for her brother to ride the elevator up from the basement level to fetch her. On the main level of the Precinct, the entry doors swung open, and Bak Chang walked through the doors.

He just so happened to be Fo’s cousin, and her car had been sent to the shop for maintenance.

“Hey nerd.” For greeted her cousin, punching his arm. Bak hissed and rubbed the spot. “Must you be so violent?”

“Yes.”

Bak was a man on the shorter side, with a mess of dirty blond hair and had a very distinct look that only a teacher can carry. He also had the best winged eyeliner Lenalee had ever seen, and she wanted to know his secrets.

While she gazed in appreciation at the man, her brother bounced out of the elevator. “My dear sister I am here to whisk you away back to the comforts of home!” He jollied.

Only, after about four bounces, he stops short and freezes. Lenalee thinks her brother finally broke.

Bak creases his brow and frowns at the lanky, strange man that looked like a glitching computer game, frozen mid step. Fo snorted and bid her pupil a goodnight. “See you next time Lee.”

“Bye Miss Fo!” Lenalee bowed, as she had been taught by the policewoman.

Both Changs left, and her brother finally came back to himself and seemed to melt into the floor.

“Brother get up, the floor’s dirty.”

Allen stuffed his mouth with another slice of pizza as Lenalee twisted his now shoulder length hair into braids. The Princess Bride was playing on the television, and Cross has fallen asleep in his recliner like the old man he was. Lenalee and Allen had already twisted his long hair into very complicated looking buns.

“Hey Allen.” Lenalee started. Allen “hmm’d” while tossing Timcampy his crusts. The little dog inhaled them right up, like a furry roomba.

“When you become famous, let me be your bodyguard.”

Allen thought this was the best idea in the history of ideas. Ever. “Yes!!” He exclaimed, punching the air and causing her to let go of his hair and giggle. Cross snorted awake and looked around. “Wha?”

“You can retire from guardianship Cross, Lenalee just took it over.”

“Oh thank Christ.” Cross mumbled, still managing to sound sarcastic, and went back to sleep.

Quite frankly, she didn’t see the need for her life to be filled with the romantic side of love. She was quite content with what she had. Whenever she would, eventually, get her own career and manage living on her own, she still imagined herself being happy.

But, that didn’t mean Lenalee refused to see that there were others opposite of her. She knew that Alma and Kanda thrived off of one another, and that made her smile for them. She knew that Allen and Link were going to be something incredible, and that excited her.

She knew that her brother needed to get off his ass and stop pining after a man he had only met twice and do something about it already.

The second time Komui ran into Bak Chang, he was supporting her during her seventh grade chemistry project. It was a contest brought on by the district due to the huge grant they had given the school through its STEM program. She was quite good at sciences herself, which, it was hard for her not to be, considering who her brother was and all his friends who inevitably became their family.

Science nerds, the lot of them.

It only made sense, then, that her brother be attracted to another man of science.

Professor Chang had come over to her booth, looking decidedly proud of her as his student and began to gloat at the judges.

To be fair, Chang gloated about all of his students, because they were a reflection of himself and his job. Chang had a very large nose when it came to himself and how well he believed he did in anything.

Bak Chang thought he was a god among men when it came to teaching molecular compounds and how big of an explosion you could make when mixing them together.

Once, during his class, Allen had mixed too much baking soda with vinegar and caused a mild explosion. Instead of getting upset, Mister Chang had only clapped his hands and said,

“Excellent Mister Walker. Now let’s go make a bigger one.”

They made a bigger one.

The principal came out and yelled, but Mister Chang looked unbothered and too smug for his own good.

At least at the chemistry program, her brother didn’t malfunction. This time he squared his shoulders and reach out his hand. “Hello Mister Chang! Thank you so much for what you’ve done for my Lenalee. This is truly a splendid program.”

Wow Komui really was putting on the charm.

Shaking her brother’s proffered hand, Chang seemed to sparkle under the praise. “Yes I know.”

“I was wondering if you would like to science with me sometime?”

Lenalee felt like her eyes were about to fall out of her head.

In two-point nine seconds, Mister Bak Chang ran out of the room, citing an emergency.

“Would you like to science with me sometime? Brother, please!”

“It just came out of my mouth I swear! You know my filter rarely ever works!”

Lenalee did wish that her eccentric brother could just walk up to Mister Chang and say “You love science, and I love science, let’s date.” and this whole pining nonsense would be done and over with.

Not that Mister Chang would ever refuse her brother. Komui was a catch.

In his own, silly and geeky, forensic scientist who enjoys probing dead bodies for crime evidence, morbid kind of way.

Okay, so there was a high chance that Mister Chang will not be into her brother.

One day, she decides to ask Alma for advice.

“What did Kanda do that made you realize he liked you?”

Across from them, mouth full of french fries, Allen perked up. Tapping their chin in thought, Alma made a contemplative noise. “One time,” They started, “I was out of mayonnaise.”

“Mayonnaise.” Because, okay then. Mayonnaise was the way to Alma’s heart, apparently.

“I really like mayonnaise.” Alme looked serious, and dipped one of their fries in the gob of it they had on their tray to make a point. “And I had said as much to Yuu. He went out and bought me the largest jar of it he could find.”

Allen was sniggering behind his hands.

Lenalee didn’t understand. “I don’t understand.”

Alma grinned. “Yuu hates mayonnaise. He refuses to touch the stuff. But he went out and bought me a ridiculously large jar of it, all because I said I was out. It’s the funny, little things he does.”

Kanda chose that time to walk over with his tray, and dropped the few packets of mayonnaise the cafeteria lady had given him on Alma’s. “Here.” He grunted.

At this, Allen was full on laughing hysterics. Kanda stared at him. “What the hell?”

Next she asked Allen. 

This time, he was eating the apple pie Link had left for him. Looking a bit cowed at the inquiry, Allen swallowed his large mouthful.

She half expected, “he makes me food,” in being the answer.

“I once mentioned that Link would look good if he grew his hair out, and now he’s halfway to Rapunzel.”

Remembering that, yes, Howard Link had recently begun sporting a very nice braid, Lenalee knew it to be true.

Link would let Allen climb his hair up a tower, if Allen asked.

Basically, as Lenalee deduced, romantic love made people do strange things, and somehow, the other person appreciate it.

But, Lenalee did not have time to play sneaky matchmaker like Allen, so she went for the straightforward approach.

And marched right into Bak Chang’s classroom, after school. He looked at her like she had grown two heads. Which, was reasonable, since she was a freshman in high school at the time.

“Miss…Lee? W-what are you doing here??”

“Mister Chang, my brother wears slippers over socks to work, only drinks from a pink bunny mug that I had gotten him when I was five, is the Head Forensics Chief of the city, and he has a really annoying crush on you, but is being too stupid to do anything about it.”

Mister Chang’s face turned an interestingly shade of red. And.

Oh. Those were hives. The teacher screeched, and ran out of the room, covering his face.

Bak Chang broke out into terrible hives whenever flustered, and that was kind of hilarious, in a pitying kind of way.

Which explained why he had ran from her brother that one time during the chemistry fair.

Apparently her brother’s horrible pickup line had worked, because Bak Chang liked science and horrible pickup lines. And really tall men with dark hair and goofy smiles.

While he calmed down in the bathroom, Lenalee wrote her brother’s number in large print on the whiteboard.

When Fo found out about this nonsense, she proceeded to point and laugh obnoxiously at her cousin, who whined and grumbled at her for an hour.

Lenalee loved a lot of things, had a lot of people to love. She also loved herself.

She was comfortable with who she is.

She didn’t need romance to be happy with her life.

Chapter Text

The first time he fell in love, Marian Cross fell on his ass out of bed stumbled to where he heard familiar humming in his kitchen.

In nothing but his boxer shorts, and red hair in disarray, he gaped from the entryway.

Pausing his song, Mana Walker gazed questioningly at the redhead, spatula mid way between scrambling the eggs in the frying pan. “Mary? What’s wrong?”

At one point, it all became too much. So Allen packed up the dog and cat, and ran.

Well, not run. He actually drove off in Cross’ car, but details.

The sun wasn’t even out yet.

Alarm blaring at exactly 7AM, Cross knocked the thing off the bed table. Slowly, and groggily, he sat up and looked around. Something Did Not Feel Right.

It was too damn quiet for his house.

There was no teenager hassling him out of bed, with a little dog yapping away at his feet. Or no cat walking all over his back.

His house had not been this silent since.

Since.

Howard Link was always on the phone, and Tokusa wanted to know why.

His blonde roommate was a little odd, what with the man eating plant and all. He wasn’t very outspoken, but when he had an opinion you better sit your ass down and listen, and the other had no problem calling you out on your bullshit. Link was also one of the sassiest, yet mild mannered, persons Tokusa had ever met. Which is saying something.

His brother is Madarao after all.

Link was also crazy good at studying. He aced every assignment and test, and all their professors fawned over him, like he was some kind of Studying Demi God. He always dressed sharp, and his clothes were always pressed. Never a hair out of place.

Which was why Tokusa wanted to know what caused his otherwise serious roommate to be obsessively attached to his phone.

He was going to take it.

“I’m going to take it.” Tokusa announced to Tewku, a childhood friend, after explaining his plight.

Which, wasn’t much of a plight, Tewku thought, and more like her friend was being too nosey for his own good. “My guy, that sounds like a bad idea.” she said.

Mana slid over a warm mug of coffee and leaned his hip on the table where Cross plopped himself down. He was wearing one of Cross’ shirts, and his dark hair was down, flowing in waves,and looking too damn beautiful for Cross to handle.

He took a large swig of coffee.

“Seriously, is something the matter? You’re being kind of funny this morning.”

“I’m fine.” Cross assured, swallowing his panic down with the coffee.

Looking unconvinced, but didn’t press, Mana huffed. “Well good. Now hurry and eat your breakfast so you can brush your teeth, so I can give you your good morning kiss.”

After opening every door, and cupboard, and seeing no hide or hair of his kid, or the dog, or cat, Cross ran into the garage.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

His car was missing.

“Who the fuck taught him how to drive?!”

After being on the road for three hours, and a tank almost out of gas, Allen was ready to admit that he was lost. Pulling into a gas station in the middle of wherever he ended up, Allen parked and began thumping his head on the steering wheel.

In the passenger seat, Timcampy was chewing up the car’s air freshener while Atuuda sun bathed on the dash board.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he lamented. Not to mention the whole, having no license thing. At least if he got arrested, there could be a high chance he would know the officer.

Just as he was about to rummage through the center console, hoping Marian Money Hoarding Cross had some spare bills in so Allen could try and fill up the tank, he heard a xylophone.

Looking out the window, the teenager saw a scruffy looking man pumping gas into Cross’ car.

What in the gosh darn?

Allen rolled the window down a centimeter and calls for the man’s attention. “Excuse me. I haven’t bought any gas yet.” Also, he has no money for gas.

The xylophone man’s melody tinkers and tilts as he says, “Well lucky you, you’re our 100th customer! Means you’ve won a free tank of gas. Ain’t that great?”

“Hundredth customer, huh?” There hadn’t been anyone on the road since Allen got off the intersection and made all the wrong turns here. Allen was positive he saw more rocks than people in this place.

Mister Xylophone grinned, mouth around a thin cigarette, but made no comment. He had dark skin and a mess of black curls on his head. Wearing wide, round sunglasses which obstructed Allen from seeing most of his face, and overalls that have seen better days; Allen judged whether or not he could take him if the man became unsavory.

He glanced at Timcampy, who was snuffling under the seat now, looking for anything else to eat. Allen reached over and picked up Atuuda from the dash, and held the feline for protection. The cat chirped, as if saying, yes small human, I will protect you from strangers, I was raised by Howard Link, defender of justice and all things small and white. Fear not.

Atuuda would have his back. Maybe.

There was the distinct click of the gas nozzle being put back into place and Allen looked at the stranger again. The xylophone continued to titter the same note, steadily, and Allen could hear the underlying to something else in that note. But.

It wasn’t bad, per say. It was secretive, but not malicious. It didn’t match up with the person it came from.

Many people that Allen came across, had a melody that hardly reflected what was shown on the surface. Everyone had pieces of them they didn’t want others to see. But, regardless, their sound usually fits them.

Squinting, Allen asks. “Are you really a gas clerk?”

Looking the momentarily baffled at the questions, the man scratches the back of his head before chuckling. “Nah, not all the time.”

“Sometimes I deliver packages.”

Tokusa stole Link’s phone.

And he was hiding in the equipment room of their dorm house. When he had swiped it from Link in the campus library, and the second he saw the shadow fall over Link’s face, he ran out of there like a bat out of hell.

Well, if he was going to die, might as well finish what he started.

Looking at the phone, he snorted. It’s homescreen was that of a cat laying spread eagle on a couch. Blinking, Tokusa also noticed that there were five missed calls from someone named “Walker.”

Hope those weren’t important.

He jumped when the cell began to vibrate and ring in his hand. A picture of some kid with white hair holding a grinning small dog appeared on the screen. The ringtone was the generic piano function.

Figuring he could just swipe the screen and answer, Tokusa was about to do just that, when the door he was leaning on was ripped off its hinges and tossed to the side.

“MOM, HOLY FUCK!”

“Tokusa, give me back my phone this instant!”

Because Howard Fucking Link had just tore a door from the wall with his bare hands, Tokusa did as commanded and prayed his friend would not rip his arms off.

Link hurriedly answered the call. “Walker?”

Despite his cowering, Tokusa perked up, because it’s obvious this “Walker” kid was the reason why Link was so hung up over his phone. Pun intended.

“Link? Uh, where are you?”

The blonde pinched his brow at the odd question and answers, “I’m at college Walker, why?”

“So like, funny story.”

The xylophone man, apparently, totally non suspiciously, was suddenly off work after feeding Cross’ car gas, and just so happened to be heading in the direction to where Link’s college was. Wow, life is full of amazing coincidences, isn’t it?

Allen took a close up picture of the man from the car.

“Uh, what?” Asked the man.

“So if you murder me, they know who did it when they find my body.”

The man only laughed.

And that is how Allen Walker, 15, stole his guardian’s car, and made it to Link’s college. By following behind the beat up truck of a weird man who works at a gas station and sometimes delivers packages.

He watched as the man drove off once Allen parked, and tries to call Link again. Which was odd, because usually the other always answers his phone.

“I’m in the parking lot and I don’t feel like getting lost again, can you come find me? Please?”

“WHAT?!”

Cross flopped on the couch, work having drained him. Handing him a glass of bourbon, Mana teased. “Big bad policeman, tired from eating all of his donuts.”

Grunting, Cross says dryly, “You’re a riot.” And downed his liquor. Suddenly his weight shifted, when the other sat himself in the redhead’s lap. Looping his arms around Cross’ neck, Mana leans in. “Welcome home Colonel.”

“It’s good to be home Inspector.”

“I’m so sorry Marian.”

“But can’t your family-?”

“They’re trying, but I have to go Mary.”

In the forensics lab, Marian swings open the door. “Lee, I need your sister’s number.”

Colonel Cross Marian ducks under a desk, because Komui had thrown a scalpel. Cross glances up from a pair of feet under the desk he commandeered. “Oh, hey Reever.”

“Good morning Colonel.” The other man greets and holds up a clipboard to block the incoming sutures. “Could you come back later? The Chief is in the middle of a biopsy, and we don’t have enough sanitized tools to waste right now.”

Cross really should have his kid’s cell number in his phone. God damn me, he thinks.

Somehow, Tokusa ends up holding a small, wiggly dog while Link is holding the kid in his cell phone picture.

Or, rather, the kid had leached himself onto Link and the blonde just let him. There’s also a cat.

Suddenly, Link’s life got so much more interesting to Tokusa.

It was funny to watch him go off on the kid in the parking lot. The white haired teen had enough sense to look berated, before Link had grabbed the younger’s face and demanded whether or not they were alright.

At this, the teen looked downright pleased at the attention. “I’m okay Link.”

“Clearly you are not since you have driven all the way over here in the Colonel’s car.”

Holy shit, thinks Tokusa, the kid stole an officer’s car!

This was so much better than studying.

Link takes Allen and company to the dorm, where he promptly stuffs the teenager into the couch and feeds him four sandwiches. Madarao is there, and he deems the cat worthy of his attention, and shuffles away with it. Tewku is also there, and she takes a picture with her phone the moment Allen cuddles himself into Link’s space like a needy child.

Timcampy is on his hind legs, front paws pressed on the drawer of a dresser that Rosemary is perched on, and wheezing up at the plant.

“Walker, why are you here?” Link finally asks.

Instead of answering, the white haired teen pulls an envelope out of his hoodie pockets and hands it over. Tokusa may or may not be watching the proceedings from behind the couch like a nosey grandmother.

After reading the contents of the envelope, Link “ah”s and hands it back.

“I guess I’m freaking out.” Allen concedes.

Link nods. “Understandable. But I believe you will do well.”

More than well, Link knows.

“You’ll come too, right? You’ll be there?”

“Of course.” Link didn’t even need to think about it.

Tewku, sensing the duo needed space, grabs Tokusa by his shirt collar and drags him out of the dorm altogether. “Ah, come on Tew!”

“Shut up and buy me a latte.”

Allen Walker had received an invitation to Wisely Kamelot’s birthday celebration. The teen remembered the other from all the times he broke into Link’s school.

There was also a request that he, personally, hold a small live concert in honor of the young man.

The letter itself was on thick, expensive looking paper, with an elegant insignia at the bottom. Wisely Kamelot was the son of the Foreign Affairs Minister.

Obviously, the only proper reaction was to steal his guardian’s car and obstruct your (still unconfirmed) boyfriend’s day.

The second time he fell in love, a distraught nine year old had just fallen asleep in his lap after a night terror.

It was a different type of love than the one he held for Mana, but it was there nonetheless.

Cross finally got the phone number, though not from Lee’s sister, because Lee was being Difficult, and kept throwing things at him.

It was from another of his kid’s friends. The one with the sword.

“Where the fuck is the beansprout?” The irritated youth demanded the moment Cross answered his phone.

“How the hell did you get this number?”

It just so happens that Kanda owns a phone book, and actually uses it.

“Before coming I had decided to look up the Minister, because like, I know nothing about him. And I thought, well if I’m going to sing at his son’s birthday bash, might as well know who the guy is, right?” Allen described.

Link only gazed at their intertwined hands, which Allen had instigated and refused to let go of the moment Link sat next to him.

“And.”

“And, Link he looks an awful lot like Mana.”

Link took a deep, controlled breath.

Across the city, hours away from the college, a family is exhilarated at the prospect of an upcoming concert.

“Oh! I can’t wait!” Exclaims a woman from an ornate love seat. She’s hugging a pillow tightly, and kicking her legs into the air like an excited child.

“Chill out Road.” Another drones.

“Be quiet Wisely! I haven’t even had the chance to meet him in person, while you have!” She pouts. Wisely shrugs his shoulders.

“It’s totally not fair. Especially since he’s coming for your birthday!”

“What can I say?” Wisely slips two hand fans from his shirtsleeves. “I’m a fan.”

There are several groans.

Eventually, Cross calls his son’s cellphone and demands to know where the fuck he is.

“And before you start, I already put a quarter in!”

Allen had the audacity to laugh on the other line.

Eventually, Link drove Allen and their pets back. Cross greeted them in the driveway by way of yanking his kid by the shirt and dragging him inside.

“You’re both grounded until the sun fucking crashes into the fucking planet and we all fucking die. Don’t you ever do that to me again Jesus Christ.”

“That is like, almost an entire dollar Cross.”

“Two suns. Two suns need to crash.”

Link called for a cab.

“I love you Mary.”

Chapter Text

Mana D. Campbell is nineteen when he meets Marian Cross. He would later swear up and down that it was love at first sight, and for once his place in the world finally seemed fit within the universe. 

His brother would at first, only nod, uncomprehending, because Mana, it’s one in the morning, could we maybe talk about this later?

Instead of moving on with their lives, after Cross’ “Search For Allen Walker” fiasco, when his kid stole his car, Cross realized he had to buckle down for a long night. With the dog in the crook of his arm, the teen had shoved the birthday invitation in his face.

“Tell me about Mana’s family.” Allen demanded.

The butterfly effect is described as when small causes indefinitely create larger effects. One person’s actions influencing another’s reactions. It’s a romantic notion that in some way, we are all connected and everything we say and do builds the world around us to what it is.

It’s also kind of funny, in a way. How at one precise instance, one simple thing could lead to an entire chain of events, right after the other.

Much like a symphony; the moment the conductor raises their arms, one set melody begins, which triggers the next, then the next. And soon enough, there is music taking over the air.

After having his entire life planned for him, before he could even have a say in it, it seems that nineteen was the age when Mana decided would be a good time rebel.

He loved his family, dearly he did. They provided for and loved him unconditionally. When he had been curious in grade school about music, he was given piano and music lessons. When he showed interesting in gymnastics, he was given a coach. It seemed that he had want for nothing.

Except for, maybe, control over his own future.

Mana D. Campbell did not want to take over the family business.

Oh, what drama.

“Good morning Mister Gill.” Link had greeted those short years ago. 

It was that precise moment when he sat down, and attempted to find any information on Mana Walker, which Gill and his team were making their attempt to hack the Noah Family database.

In actuality, Gill had not been successful in their endeavor, not by a long shot.

Howard Link, at the time 16 years old, sent Mana Walker into the archives of computer records the Precinct held. Which sent an alert straight to someone who had become very invested in the welfare of anyone associated with the name.

The alert then, triggered the pathway needed for Gill and his team to latch itself onto, only to extract a supply list and the code name, ‘Musician.’

Gill had been right about his claim that, a pathway went two fold. Whoever was on the other side, did indeed pilfer information for themselves. But it wasn’t as ominous as everyone believed.

There had been a significant power surge and soon, the entire tech department was scrambling to get their systems back online. Link was just frustrated that his search ended seconds before it could really take root.

Huffing and crossing his arms, Link waited until there was more light before he ventured back out from the Tech Department’s underground. His phone gave a tell tale buzz, and he took it out unthinkingly. “Walker, you’re supposed to be in school.” Because, really, the only one who ever bothered contacting him was the whole reason why Link was down there, in the dark, in the first place.

The low laugh over the receiver, on the other hand, was not Allen Walker. “So should you kid, but here you are, causing computer malfunctions.”

Alarmed, Link demanded, “Who is this!”

“That answer really depends on why you want to know so much about Mana Walker.” The voice wasn’t threatening on it own. Link imagined that in any other situation, the voice itself wouldn’t have been so hostile. Coupled with somehow gaining access to Link’s mobile, and seemingly knowing where he was and the current events at the Precinct, the threat was ever present.

Link either told the stranger the truth or he would be opening up an entire bag of problems that he wasn’t confident he could handle.

Truthfully he stated, “I want to protect someone.”

“Oh, wonderful! So do I.” Said the voice. Link was almost certain he heard notes of glee in it.

Cross regarded his kid and the paper. “That’s a fancy invitation you got there. What does it have to do with Mana’s family?” he asked, his voice heedless. Allen squinted at him, unimpressed. “Don’t act dumb! I know you knew Mana. You know who is family is! And this-”

Allen shook the invitation again. “Is them!”

Sitting himself down heavily at the dining room table, Cross reached for his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. “And where did you get that idea?” Cross was determined to play dumb as long at it took. Hopefully his kid would get discouraged and drop this altogether.

“Link told me.”

That. Was not what he was expecting. “What?!”

He was drunk and arrested.

He was drunk, arrested, and in the back of a moving police car. Also handcuffed. Mana didn’t particularly enjoy being handcuffed.

And his back itched. “Can you scratch my back?” He asked.

“What the fuck? No.” Answered the police officer. Because, being arrested meant an officer. Of course.

Mana whined and leaned back onto the seat cushions. “I don’t like being arrested. Why am I arrested?”

“Public drunkenness.” The officer answered. He also took a swig from an open beer bottle.

Mana was outraged. “You’re public drunkenness too!  And you’re driving! What kind of policeman are you!”

“A Not Good One.” The officer had the nerve to sound proud, and he passed the bottle back.

Oh. Oh well, whatever. Thought Mana. He was drunk, arrested, and going to get even more drunk with this awful at policing police officer. Mana emptied the rest of it.

Looking in the rearview, the officer arched a red eyebrow. “Bad night?”

Mana shrugged. “Not really.”

“Most people don’t get drunk and start decking people on the streets unless they’re angry.”

“Oh goodness, I hit someone?!” Mana felt scandalized. He also didn’t remember this happening. Being drunk was awful, he wanted a refund on all the alcohol he bought this night.

Snorting, the officer said, “Yeah. Tall guy, right outside the bar.”

Oh. Oh yes, that one. “He was being rude.” Mana said bluntly. The officer laughed at that.

After a beat, Mana slouched in the seat and moaned. “I don’t like being arrested.”

“Tough noogies. I figure by tomorrow morning one of your family will come and bail your ass out.”

Mana moaned louder and all but wailed. “I don’t want my family to come and get me!”

That afternoon, after Madarao had sauntered away with Atuuda and Tewku hauled Tokusa away, Link made a very heavy confession.

At first, Allen had difficulty comprehending. Because, why would Link hide this? The teen felt a small amount of betrayal.

“How come you never told me?” Allen asked. Where all that was inside of him, Allen wanted to yell and be demanding. He wanted to create a storm. But he could hear the remorse and regret in Link’s voice. The drum had become unsteady and it’s beat afraid

So instead, Allen asked and looked imploring. Despite wanting to be angry, there was still the pieces of him that wished to understand.

Link squeezed Allen hand, and refused to look up from them. “I was…uncertain that you knowing would be wise. I did not want to keep this from you Allen.”

Allen believed him. So, he listened.

Ever since the hack into the Noah Database, Link had established a Contact. They kept in touch, if only on the their strict need and want to keep Allen Walker, adopted son of Mana Walker, and later Colonel Marian Cross, safe.

Their first meeting was at local cafe, just a block from Link’s school.

The contact had all but yelped as he jumped from his seat when he finally noticed Link sitting across from him. He had slipped in silently, and the other was engrossed with his computer.

“Jesus kid! You’re creepy.” They commented, after getting a hold of themselves.

Link arched an impressive eyebrow and commented on how, “Being the heir of one of the most dangerous and notorious Mafia Families of this age, I find it ironic that I am the ‘creepy’ one.”

Looming, the other threatened, “Listen kid, you better think twice about sassing me.”

Link only stared, nonplussed.

After a good half hour, Mana realized they had been driving around the city in circles.

“Why?” He asked, because really. Why? Did this officer realize who he was, and was planning a way to draw out his family? Oh drat, that would cause for more drama than Mana would rather have to deal with. The fallout would be terrible, he thought. Especially if Neah got himself involved.

Things would break.

Mana loathed when things broke.

The officer hummed, and turned the car around once again. “Well since you don’t want your family involved, I decided to drive your whiny ass around until you either sobered up or passed out like a child.”

Insults aside, Mana thought it was…well, kind of sweet. In a weird way. A very weird way. “Thank you? Oh dear you probably think they’re awful, don’t you?” Which, yes they are awful people. But they weren’t awful to him. But the officer didn’t know that. Goodness!

“Which they are not. Awful, I mean. They’re just very.”

“Annoying?” Supplied Mana’s impromptu driver. He nodded. “Yes, they are. They’re also pushy and nosey, and they keep pressuring me to be someone I am not.” Oh lord have mercy, he was babbling.

“I know they do love me. But after saying ‘No Papa, I do not wish to take over the family business.’ for the millionth time, you’d think they’d take a hint!” Mana huffed. Then felt embarrassed at his lack of self control. Oh gosh darn his mouth! It always ran away from him.

Snorting, the officer made no comment, and he promptly pulled the police vehicle to a complete stop, and parked. “Congrats, you’re sober enough. Now get out.”

Well.

Mana got out.

“And for the record.” Started the police officer. Mana looked at him, curious and a little put off by their entire exchange. It was an odd night, to be certain. “My parents wanted me to be a fucking priest.” He grinned roguishly.

Mana barked out a surprised laugh, because honestly! This man a priest!

“What’s your name, officer?”

“Marian.”

“Mana was the appointed heir to the Noah Family. He was the oldest son of the Don. Which made no real sense, seeing he was a twin.” Cross explained. Allen sat next to him, holding Timcampy for support, as he listened.

“He went eventually decided to break off from them, and make his own way in life. Not that I think any of them crazies were mad, since they all have a weird sense of family and how to support it.”

“Eventually, Mana made his way into becoming a detective inspector at the Precinct, of all the damned careers.”

At one in the morning, Mana ran into his brother’s room and flop down onto his bed. “Neah!”

His twin shot straight up, a groggy mess. “What? Wha’s the matter oh my god you reek.” He blathered in one breath, holding his nose.

Mana’s eyes sparkled, and his brother grew baffled. “Neah, I’m in love.”

“The fuck? Are you drunk?” Neah demanded, grabbing his brother’s face to attempt examining him. “You smell like cheap booze and smoke, Mana what the hell did you-”

Mana smashed his hands over his brother’s mouth, which shut him up, but also pissed him off. Mana ignored this, and his grinned turned into a sunny smile. “Neah, I’m in love!”

Neah muffled a groan.

“To become the detective inspector, Mana D. Campbell changed his name to Mana Walker, in hopes that all ties to his family were well hidden.” Link had explained.

“Unfortunately, Mana had discovered corruption within the Order the Precinct held affiliation to. The information he found put a target on his back, and lead him to forcefully relocate.”

“But what was it? Why did Mana have to run and hide?” Allen pressed. “Link?”

Link ran his thumb over Allen knuckles. “I do not know the full details. My contact is very adamant about only letting me know the surface facts. But. I have learned that my uncle is also directly involved.” He hated admitting it, and it has showed on his face.

Surprised, Allen gasped, “Lvellie? Really?”

“Yes. I. I believe he has been trying to cover it up since Mana had discovered what he had.”

Link had been piling facts and evidence ever since. But regardless, he knew he could not do this alone, and he had to be careful. If this got out of hand, what had caused Mana Walker to die and ultimately almost take Allen Walker also, would most assuredly return.

Allen just wanted to know why Mana had to die.

“The Don, Adam D. Campbell, runs the entire show.” Cross went on to say. “In short, whatever he says goes. And the entire outfit is, quite literally, family. They’re brothers, uncles, cousins, siblings, and so on.”

“So am I right?” Pressed Allen. “That the Minister is part of the Noah? Mana’s family?”

“Yeah. And he’s an oily bastard. It’s part of the reason why the Family hasn’t been taken out yet. Too much power and leeway.” Marian groused.

Allen stared long and hard at the table, lost in thought. “And they sent me a request to perform and an invitation to one of their parties.”

“Seems like it.” Cross opened a bottle of wine and started drinking straight from the bottle.

Allen nodded, coming to a conclusion. He turned his serious gaze at his guardian. Cross matched it.

“Good thing I like parties”

“What?”

“Also you owe me fifty cents. You cussed twice.”

“You learn that the fucking Mafia had sent you a fucking invitation and that’s all you have to say!”

“A dollar now.”

“Jesus christ Allen, you can decline the invitation you know!”

Allen set his jar in front of his flabbergasted guardian and shook it, looking pointed. Where the hell did the kid even keep that damned thing?!

Madarao looked up from his criminal justice textbook when there was a knock on his door. “Come in.”

Link walked in, files under his arm, and looking more serious than usual. Which wasn’t necessarily saying much, as Madarao and his brother had just set up house and home in their new dorm for the semester with the college freshman. Though, Madarao expected that Link was always the serious type.

“Pardon the intrusion.” Link imparted. “I know we have just made acquaintances, but I have a favor to ask of you. And, if all goes well, I believe it will benefit your career in the future.”

Madarao closed his book. “I’m listening.”

Chapter Text

Alma dumped a pile of fabric into Kanda’s arms. “Here, make yourself useful and cut this into a feather pattern.” 

“What the fuck, why?” Kanda asked, because he had literally just walked through the door. Now that he looked around Alma’s room, it was covered in downy fabrics and piles of shredded bits. “Did your beanie babies explode or something?”

“No they’re safe in the closet.” Alma corrected, because their collection took a lot of time and heart, and there was no way they’d leave the dolls out to fend for themselves whenever Kanda was about. Their boyfriend had a habit of wanting to cut the tags off of everything.

Beanie Babies needed their tags.

Which was not the main point at all. “We’re making Allen his first stage costume!” Alma redirected with cheer. They pointed to the stencil cut out of the feathered design they made and wanted Kanda to cut out.

Kanda looked between the fabric and Alma, contrite. He was between wanting to scowl, because why the hell does he need to make anything for the beansprout, and intrigue, because cutting out patterns for his sweetheart was probably one of Kanda’s favorite ways to waste the day away.

Alma was doing that thing with their mouth and their eyes that always made Kanda give in anyway, so the other teen went to the impromptu cutting station. “Why feathers?”

“Because it’ll look cool, that’s why.” Alma stated smugly.

Ever since Allen had met Mana, even when the child version of himself didn’t want anything to do with the man, a song had started to form in the place where his mind often collected music. It started out as a myriad of all that Mana made Allen feel. The frustration, the anger, confusion…

The feeling of belonging.

The longer Allen stayed with Mana, the better form the song took. It’s quality started to make sense and the notes began to adjust into something quite like a melody.

He often imagined that, if he had more time, Allen would have had the entire song completed and composed long before now.

The song itself came to an abrupt stop the night Mana left.

“Uh, guys?” Allan’s eyes wavered between Alma and Kanda, uncertainly. School was done for the day, and somehow Allen ended up at Kanda’s place.

Tied to a chair.

Alma had a look of approval on their face while Kanda stirred a bowl of…something. All Allen knew was that it was white and smelled like glue.

He thought Kanda hated glue.

“Okay Allen, sit back and think of Link.” The tallest teen joked, eyebrows quirked while Kanda approached with the bowl. Allen began to squirm, because what now?!

“H-hold on KANDA WHAT IS THAT?! WHY-”

Tiedoll, Kanda’s father, popped his head into the room, and asked curiously. “Yuu, what on earth?”

“Don’t worry sir! Yuu’s helping me make a mask mold for Allen!” Alma practically sparkled with faux innocence.

Nodding, and seeing nothing wrong with the situation at hand, the older gentleman left. “Have fun then!”

Allen tried to bite Kanda’s hand.

“What is all that white shit in your hair?” Cross asked, tears of laughter streaming down his face, because holy shit. He took a picture of it on his phone and sent it to Socalo.

Considering his kid’s hair was already stark white, it was quite a sight to see it matted up in…even more white. Allen had the look of a very pissed off cat. The actual cat in their house was currently sleeping in Cross’ hat, which god fucking, damn, hell creature.

Allen practically threw the swear jar at his guardian’s head and stomped down the hall, presumably towards the bathroom. Timcampy, who had not stopped pitter-dancing around Allen feet since he came home, followed after.

Lenalee was the first to ask. Always polite and kind to a fault, Lenalee never means any harm. Regardless, her curiosity always got the better of her.

“Hey, Allen? If the Colonel adopted you, whatever happened to your parents?”

Kanda looked up from his homework that Alma was hassling him to complete. Both were also curious, but also shocked that their friend had asked out of the blue.

At Allen’s expression, she regretted asking. “Gosh! I’m sorry; that was insensitive of me! You don’t have to answer if you don’t want!”

With a melancholy quirk of his lips, Allen reassured that it was alright. “You can ask, it’s alright Lenalee.”

With his friends, he explained.

—

“Wait, so you were in a circus?”

“Ha, yeah. I don’t really remember much before that.”

“And the guy who was gonna be your dad was a clown? Are you serious?”

“Kanda why would I lie you butthead!”

“I’m gonna butt your head right off your shoulders beansprout!”

“Yuu don’t curse it’s rude.”

“ALLEN WALKER YOU GET DOWN FROM MY DRESSER!”

“When I was five, my parents were murdered.” Lenalee allotted. The reality still stung, but after all her years being raised by her brother, it hurt much, much less. “I’ve only ever had Komui as family.”

“I never knew my parents either.” Alma shared. “My birth parents anyway. I don’t think they could afford to take care of me, so I was in and out of foster care since I was born. Foster care sucks! But I’m okay now, with my adopted mother.”

Kanda grunted from his corner. “The old man found me wandering the streets one day. For some stupid reason he decided that I was worth his time. So here I am.”

Allen had learned that it was nice, to have friends who understood. Despite the sadness of all their combined pasts, they had found family.

Somewhere between waking up in the hospital to a gruff man with wild red hair, and meeting Link, the song had started back up again.

Which, for Allen was like the first breath a drowning man takes when his head breaches the surface. It had been torturous silence in that place inside of himself. Now the song was back, but the melody was beginning to change.  

With Mana, the beat of the song was steady and consistent. Allen could mimic it with the tapping of his fingers if he had wanted. It was a comforting melody, just like Mana’s hand on his shoulder.

Cross and Link had changed the melody almost entirely. It was no less a comfort than it was much like painting your room a new color. It was still the same, but different now. It excited Allen to no end.

Then came Miranda, Lenalee, and Kanda and Alma. One by one, each person added to the refrain. Even the other Colonels at the Precinct added to the song (except Lvellie. The man had a tune about as refined as a squeaky sneaker on tile).

Which, may explain why Allen had such a difficult time getting the song itself written and composed.

In retrospect, he soon learned that he was actually missing a key component to his song.

“My friends are embarrassing and weird and I’m firing them.” Was Allen’s greeting to his nightly Skype session with Link.

The former arched an impressive eyebrow, and moved his laptop so it’s camera was directly on Tokusa and a mutual friend, Goushi, playing a very formidable match of “Chubby Bunny,” as if to say that both of their sets of friends are embarrassing.

“Oh my gosh, I would totally win at that.” Allen states with Atuuda nestled deep in his arms, purring up a storm as though to agree. Timcampy barked from atop Allen’s desk.

“I believe the objective of the game is to get as many marshmallows into your mouth as possible, but not to eat them Walker.” Link sassed, because that is totally what Link does, Allen knows. The young man was the sassiest person alive, and no one could tell the teen otherwise. “Also, why is your dog on top of furniture again?”

“He likes to feel tall.”

“You know, Lenalee once asked how I knew you loved me.”

Link looked downright flabbergasted on the computer screen, completely unsuspecting the turn of the conversation. He really should have been used to Allen sudden subject changes by now.

“I…see?” Link didn’t really know what to respond to this. The elephant in the room had gone purposefully unnoticed all these years, simply because Link still had no idea how to address it.

“And I gave her a really silly answer.” Allen scratched Atuuda’s ear, which made the cat chirp in praise. “But after this whole thing about…Mana’s family, I really know why now. Like, I always knew? But I didn’t notice.”

Link was belatedly aware that Allen did not state what he had answered to his friend previous on the statement. “And I am to assume your answer is a more satisfying one?”

“Yeah.” Allen blinked his clear gray eyes and smiled at the chat window. “You make me feel really safe Link. Thank you.”

Allen took a quick screenshot of the chat window, because never had he seen Link get so red and flustered.

“Alma, why is there a cape with feathers?”

“Shut up Allen and put it on. It’s cool.”

The day of the party, Allen walked up the driveway of the very expansive and pristine mansion that belonged to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Allen began to wonder what, exactly, is his life. Especially since there was a strong possibility that the people inside were Mana’s family.

Link had came, as promised, walking besides him. Also with them were Lenalee, Alma, and Kanda - Allen’s own personal musketeers it seemed.

Also with them was Cross, because like hell he was going to let his kid do this without him. He held less trepidation, though, as he marched right up to the door and kicked it loudly. Allen jumped and hissed to his guardian. “What are you doing?!”

“Shut up.” Cross mumbled and then shouted. “Oy! Sheryl you slimy fuck! Open up! We’re here for your brat’s party!”

Allen was too mortified to demand compensation for the curse, instead thinking of just shoving Cross into the bushes to make him stop. Which, he did.

“Allen what the fuck!”

Kanda took a video with his phone. Link signed, while Lenalee and Alma tried to look like they didn’t know any of them.

“Sh-shut up! Why do you have to be so-” Allen was interrupted by the door swinging open.

“Welcome to the party, boy.”

“AH! Gas Station Hobo!” Allen exclaimed, pointing at the man who opened the door. It was the xylophone man!

Said man looked rather put off at being called a hobo. “Well that was rude.”

There was giggling further inside the mansion, and Wisely poked his head from behind the xylophone man, newly dubbed Gas Station Hobo, looking as expressionless as he could while stating, “Petition that everyone calls you that from now on.”

“Bite me Wise.”

“AH!” Allen once again exclaimed. “Wisely!”

“Hiya Allen, Link. Long time to see.” The young adult waved them all in. “Come in, come in, and thank you for accepting my invitation.”

They all were ushered inside. Cross was still stuck in the bushes. “Oy!”

Once inside, Allen was accosted by a rather strong hug around his middle.

“Oof!”

“I’m so excited to finally see you in person Allen!” Came a squeal. Oh boy, and there were now legs wrapped around him too. Excellent. Link looked particularly bothered and prickly at the situation.

Kanda kept filming.

The human koala had somewhat wild dark hair, and definitely a good head shorter than Allen. Which. Finally. Someone smaller than him that wasn’t his dog.

“Road get off of him and let the boy breathe.” Admonished the xylophone hobo. Now that Allen got a good look at the man, he didn’t look like a homeless person anymore, not with the expensive suit he was wearing, or his slicked back hair. Noticing the teens stare, the man grinned and held out a hand. “Tyki Mikk.”

“Um? Hello?” Allen shook the hand.

Kanda had only just stopped taking candid videos of Allen’s discomfort, when a rather tall and burly man came out of nowhere and offered Alma a candy bar. “Do you like sweets?”

“Yes, actually!” Alma answered, enthused, despite the odd situation they found themselves in.

“Hey asshole, back off!”

“Yuu don’t call people asshole, it’s rude!”

Lenalee startled slightly, when two other popped out besides her. They were sniggering in unison. “Hobo and Asshole!” Said one, while the other joked, “I’m sure we can get Neah to change their names for you Wise!”

Everything seemed to be getting out of hand, thought Allen. Link managed to shoo his attack hugger - Road, away and decided standing close enough to be Allen’s very intense shadow was efficient use of his person for the time being. Which, Allen was grateful for, because he felt like he was on the slow verge of a panic attack.

“I would arrange it, but I don’t want dad to get after me when the inevitable fall out happens.” Said yet another new voice somewhere in the mansion. Allen looked towards the voice, which was at the top of the grand staircase in the center of the floor, and felt all the air leave his lungs.

His mind was bombarded with the loud chime of a grand piano, that only he could hear, and it held such an aching familiarity his bones echoed with it.

“Mana?”

Chapter Text

Kanda looked from the beansprout to whoever the new guy was at the top of the stairs, uncomprehending.

“Who the fuck is Mana?”

Alma swatted his arm.

“OW!”

There was a suffocating silence in their father’s study after Mana’s declaration. Neah looked at his brother, cautious.

“You wish to leave the Family?” Their father questioned. He cut, as always, a uniquely ominous figure, funny hat and all, sitting at the meeting tables' head. Rather than contrite, Neah heard the confusion and sadness. Neah saw that his brother heard it to, but his serious gaze never wavered save for the frown on his mouth.

Neah himself was impassive. He had known all along what his brother had wanted out of his life. Mana wasn’t suited for what their father had planned.

His brother squared his shoulders. “Yes. I….Papa I’m not happy here. I don’t want to run your business. I don’t want to be your heir.”

The Don seemed to sag in on himself at Mana’s words. “Unhappy,” seemed to be his achilles heel as he nodded. “I understand.”

If there was one thing their father always wanted, it was for all in the Family to be happy. They all had the strange camaraderie when it came to family.  

Neah arched his brow before descending, grinning disarmingly. “Nah, not Mana. Sorry kiddo. Though I’ve heard we look freakishly alike.”

Allen tracked the man’s movements, taking him in. If Mana was still alive, he’d have been about the age this man looked. They both shared the same face, same hair, eyes, and sound. It almost threw the teen off balance. Regardless, Allen but two-and-two together in his head.

“Mana….is a twin?”

Tyki clapped his hands. “Oh, brava! This one is a real detective. Must run in the family.”

Not liking the suited man’s mocking tone, Lenalee hooked her foot at his ankle and sent the man on his hind end to the floor. “YEOW!”

“Whoops! How clumsy of me!” She stated, no sounding in the least bit sorry. Tyki looked balefully at her. “Oy!” Road and the other two unnamed duo by Lenalee cackled.

In the background, Kanda was still glowering at the tall man who was trying to entice Alma with candy.

Allen ignored all of them, too focused on the man before him. Said man held out his hand. “Neah D. Campbell. Mana was my brother, so I guess that makes me your uncle.”

Allen hugged him instead, much to the man’s surprise.

“Wait, hold up.” Lenalee, catching on. “Campbell?”

Alma distracted themselves from placating Kanda and frowned in thought. “Oh. Wait…does that mean Allen is a Noah?”

“Oh my God.”

Kanda glared at the two of them. “I thought Campbell was a soup?”

“Oh my God.”

At nineteen, Mana D. Campbell changed his name to Mana Walker and created a new life for himself. At twenty-three, he graduated college with a degree in Criminal Justice.

At twenty-three and a half, Mana Walker was hired by Malcolm C. Lvellie to be the Precinct’s greenhorn detective.

“As of today, Detective Inspector Walker will be shadowing Detective Inspector Tiedoll to take his place when the he leaves for his retirement. Dismissed.” The commissioner waved them all away.

Marian Cross looked at the new hire with ire. “I feel like I know you. Why do I feel like I know you?”

Winking, Mana poked the Colonel in the chest. “Maybe it’s destiny Mister Colonel.”

The redhead’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, because hello.

Allen processed the following information like this: 

1.) Mana’s family was the Mafia, but he left.
2.) Mana has a twin brother.
3.) Mana has family.

When Allen relinquished his uncle (Uncle!) from his octopus hug, the teen had stars in his eyes. “Can I call you uncle? Or is that too weird? Wait, is Wisely my cousin? You’re not going to kill my friends are you? If you do I will set this entire house on fire.”

There was a beat of silence. Link coughed into his fist.

Neah had the look of ‘is this kid for real?’ etched on his face, and Link could only nod.

“No. Yes. Yes, No?” Neah answered in order or inquiry, leading the teen, and by proxy his friends, out to the back. “Anyway, let’s make introductions outback. Papa’s been having kittens waiting.”

Lenalee, who had begun to look at everyone with suspicion, set herself directly between Allen and his new found uncle. Neah, amused, said nothing while Link sighed, because he had a headache coming on.

Alma dragged Kanda after them, lest the other decided to start fights with Noah Family members. Alma really did not want to deal with that mess.

The thing was, Allen understood. These people? They were obviously bad people. As in, they did bad things.

They were off kilter, he could hear it.

He learned that Jasdero and Devit, the two (twins also, it seemed) appeared only to mock and laugh and tease, were cracked cymbals. Bright and and bit dented, but they still clattered and clanged with a proud racket.

Road - his attack hugger, was a tanbur. Blunt and mischievous with a layer of age and wisdom. Wisely, once Allen paid attention, was a slow and lazy sitar.

Neah himself, a grand piano like Mana, but now Allen could hear the subtle differences in pitch. Mana was a sure and calming melody. Neah was more straightforward with his tone, and also lower in tone.

It was overwhelming. Allen grabbed onto Link’s hand, who squeezed back with reassurance.

These people were Mana’s family, and finally, finally.   

Once outside, the group found themselves in the presence of a stage being rendered, with lights and seating. Considering the size of the yard, Alma surmised they could fit a decent amount of people in.

They looked at the mafia son and asked, “About how many are invited?”

Neah waved his hand uncaringly. “Dunno, Papa went kind of trigger happy with the invitations once he found out Allen accepted.”

Road, Allen’s cousin, the idea still tickled him, giggled. “It’s not even Wise’s birthday. We kind of just made it up to get Allen to come over.”

Shrugging, Wisely looked unbothered. “Gramps was starting to get antsy about not having met you yet. So we thought to give a little push. Plus, his moping was annoying as hell.”

Allen stopped taking the entire stage display in and looked at Wisely with a gleam in his eye. “Wait, so we’re family.” It wasn’t a question.

The young man blinked. “Yes? By like, some kind of extension. Somehow.”

Behind them, Alma clued in and began to snigger into Kanda’s shoulder.

Holding out his hand, Allen looked at his cousin very pointedly. “Quarter.”  

“What!”

“No cursing, you have to pay a quarter. Also, Jasdero and Devit owe me also.” Allen stated, looking expectant and unmoving. The twins whined and threatened retaliation, only cursing more.

Allen Walker got fifty dollars easy within the three minutes the twins threw their tantrum. Neah patted his nephew on the shoulder, looking almost proud. “You’ll fit in just fine.”

Cross, who finally made his way through the house, sat at the table with a bottle wine he filched from the open bar. “At least it’s not me this time.” He stared hard at Neah. “And he’s not fitting in anywhere.”

“Oh hush old man, we’re not going to kidnap Allen and force him to stay with us. Mana would rise from the grave just to rip my face off.”

“I am not old you goddamn creeper.”

“Quarter!”

“WHAT ARE YOU, TEN AGAIN?”

There was not a day that went by where Neah wished he had paid more attention when monitoring his brother.

Sure, Mana had left the Campbell name behind, but they didn’t leave him. Neah, brother through and through, made Mana’s security a personal matter. It was practically his job and role inside of the Family.

Everything Mana did, Neah was aware of it. Every case that fell onto Mana’s desk had been seen by Neah hours before. Borderline obsessive it may have been, but when your family is the mob, no one could be too careful.

Then Mana had to stick his nose into darker business than it needed to. His brother became suspicious and he was just too good at his job, and suddenly Neah couldn’t protect him anymore. Not without putting the rest of the family in danger.

Mana’s understanding had hurt the most, then.

There was an older gentleman, with a tall funny hat directing the stage crew, who Neah called the attention of. Cross glared and decided to simply inhale the entire bottle of wine in one sitting. God, he needed to be more drunk if he had to deal with that man.

Said man turned, copper eyes gleaming behind round specs. At seeing Allen, he move faster than any old man the teens had ever seen move. In what felt like a second, the man had taken Allen hands and was shaking them insistently. “Allen! Finally I can see your cute face in person! Really, Neah your pictures don’t do him justice!”

Oh, he’s also crying a river of tears, thought Allen. Which, he was half disturbed and also also half preening at the compliment. He was cute, thank you very much.

“Please, call me grandpa.” Insisted the old man.

To which Allen piped a cheery, “No.”

Cross was practically rolling when the Don sulked with rejection.

“If this isn’t really a birthday party, then what is this?” Demanded Lenalee. She still wasn’t completely sold on the whole ‘Allen, the Special Snowflake Boy, Is The Mafia’s Most Precious Family Member’ schtick. Because, as the Noah were Mafia and Allen was, well, Allen.

And, okay it could be plausible, seeing as Allen was also the most ornery and manipulative person Lenalee had ever been honored to call friend.  

But she digressed.

Clearing his throat, not all bothered at being interrogated by a teenager, the Don dusted off imaginary lint from his outer coat. “Yes. Well, I thought, what better a first meeting than to offer a chance for Allen to have his first live concert? It’s a rather grand idea on Wisely’s part, to help his coming out as an artist.”

“Aaaaand!” Interjected Road, clinging to Allen left arm. “There’s no party like a Noah party!”

Cross went to get more alcohol. Allen looked sick. “Oh my gosh I am not singing for anyone on a wanted list!”

“Which is why I made the guest list.” Link stated out of the blue. All eyes looked to him, Allen’s  hopeful. Link looked unimpressed.

As though he would allow Allen to perform for anyone less than he deserved. Really now people.

“All who are attending are those who could very well help your name become more widely known. I checked and cross referenced everyone, and everything.”

Allen inched closer to the blonde. “So the Bookmen will be here too? I like them for recording my records.”

“Yes.”

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

Neah choked on his tongue. “BOYFRIEND?!” Cross, who had found himself an armful of various alcohol, walked back and patted Neah on the back with a free hand. “You’ll get used to it.”

When they had lost Mana, the entire family felt it. Despite the older twin having left the family years earlier, this loss was still heavy and thick on all of them.

They, of course, did not let the matter fall. They were a Family, and no one harms them without retribution. The unfortunate factor was that only one half of the problem could be eliminated, while the other was unable to be touched. This part would take time, but they were patient.

Neah also made his brother a promise to protect the pieces of his new life, even if part of those pieces was Marian Fucking Cross. And especially for one Allen Walker.

He’d like to think he had done a stellar job thus far. Except, the whole missing that his nephew had a boyfriend thing. Apparently.

And said boyfriend was the nuisance who pestered him about every aspect of Allen’s safety.

Good job Neah, it was glaringly obvious.

Somewhere, up wherever good people like Mana go, his brother was laughing at him.

That night, Allen’s audience came, and the Minister himself finally made an appearance.

Sheryl Kamelot was a harp, strung together by importance and politics. He also seemed to have an obsession with small things. Things meaning people.

“Oh Allen, you’re simply adorable!” Allen swore he saw the man’s nose bleeding, before Wisely shoved his father out the door.

Distantly he heard the Minister scoff. “Oh ew, it’s Marian.”

“Eat me Kamelot.”

Allen adjusted the cape Alma and Kanda had made him. He had to admit, after observing himself in a mirror, it looked pretty cool. The mask was amazing as well; it looked like something out of a masquerade. “Hey Link.”

“Hmm.” Link was checking off names on his very thorough list of guests as they both waited backstage for Allen to start.

The teen spread his arms out, causing the white cape to flare out dramatically. “I am the angel of music!” He sang.

Link snorted. “Don’t give yourself a bigger head than you already have Walker.”

Laughing, Allen bounded over and wrapped his arms around the older’s shoulders, and pressed their foreheads together. Ears burning, Link cleared his throat and ignored their proximity. “You seem to be in a positive mood.”

“Mmm, yeah. I guess I am. Which is weird, since you’d think I’d be all crazy weirded out about…the mafia boss being my granddad thing.”

“And yet, you’re not.”

Allen shrugged, not yet letting go of his hold on Link, and closed his eyes. “I think I needed to meet them.”

“I see.”

“Hey Link.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s…I can sing it now. My song, I mean.”

In the crowd of important looking people, Lavi talked energetically with Madarao over the phone. “God Madds! You should see this place! The Minister sure is loaded to have a venue like this in his backyard!”

“It’s very generous of him to sponsor your new lead artist.” Madarao meant it, but he was also hoping Lavi would end the conversation soon, as he had a pile of research to complete.

“I know right!” Lavi agreed, practically bouncing where he stood.

It was a suit and tie affair it seemed. The majority of the guests dressed like they ate money morning, noon, and night. Lavi himself probably stood out in his cheap suit, but he didn’t give a single hot damn. This was the break Bookman Records needed.

“I’m surprised you’re so excited, seeing as it was the Don who supposedly handed the boy over to your business.”

Lavi had completely forgotten about that, so caught up in the hype. “Oh my God Madds.” Suddenly, the redhead felt paranoid and started looking for all the exits. “You have to save me!”

“Later. I have work to do.” Madarao hung up, smug. (He so did enjoy teasing Lavi.)

Lavi let out a shout of distress when the connection cut off. “MADARAOOO!!!”

Many of the guests looked at him oddly, while Bookman sr. swatted his grandson’s head. “Shut up you!”

In the background, Alma gasped in surprise and excitement! “Mama!”

Kanda, who had stolen the entire tray of mini sandwiches and was going to town on them, looked over. “Where?”

Waving, Alma caught the attention of their adoptive mother, who made her way over.

Hevlaska Karma was a tall woman, with dark bronze skin and thick, long dark hair. She was in her business suit still, most likely having left her office. “Alma, somehow I guessed you would be here. And hello Kanda.”

Kanda gave a ‘hey,’ before stuffing his mouth with another miniature sandwich.

“I didn’t know you were invited.” Quired Alma. In all honesty, they were unaware that their mother even knew of Allen’s talent, much less this (sudden and surprise) concert.

“It was a last minute affair. Someone had insisted I come.”

“Who?”

Before the tall woman could answer, Cross found them. He looked baffled at the sight of Hevlaska. “Madam General?”

“Hello Colonel Cross.”

“Why the fuck are you here?”

The woman missed her chance to answer (and reprimand the man’s language as his superior), as the stage lights finally came on, and Allen appeared on stage.

Backstage, Neah stood next to Link, who was watching Allen’s performance with rapt attention.

“You know.” The older man started. “If I had known the kid was stupid for you, I wouldn’t have agreed to your plan in the first place.”

Link glanced at the other out of the corner of his eye, before gazing at the stage again. “Your unawares is very beneficial regardless. My thanks.”

Neah looked at the younger man with the expression of someone who just swallowed a lemon.

Chapter Text

In retrospect, this story did not begin the moment Allen Walker first met Howard Link. It actually began the moment Mana D. Campbell became Mana Walker, and irrevocably made Marian Cross fall head over heels in love with him.

Regardless, it may have not started with Allen Walker, but this story still very much revolves around him. For you see, without all parties having been aware, a red haired baby was born the moment Mana Walker grabbed Cross by his ears and kissed him right in front of all their coworkers (and Lvellie just about turned blue in the face). As we know, it will take time and circumstance; but regardless, all their paths will meet.

This is a love story seven and a half years in the making. And it hasn’t ended yet.

Marian squinted critically at the other man, who only smiled innocently from across the table. He was so certain that the cards in his hand would guarantee him a win. But, by some twist of fucked up fate (or cheating. He was really 400% convinced that the other was a cheating cheater) he had lost the poker match.

Again.

“You’re cheating I know you are.” He scowled.

Mana gave a ‘who me?’ expression, which only convinced the redhead more of his guilt. “Now Mary, don’t be a sore loser.”

Cross grunted at the nickname. He had long given up trying to dissuade the other man from saying it. It seems no one could make Mana Walker do anything he didn’t want to do. Or beat him at poker.

Stacking his cards neatly in a pile, the detective inspector elegantly removed himself from his seat - which, how in the fuck does someone even make standing up look elegant? Cross felt he was doomed from the moment Mana challenged him to the damned game in the first place. Mana patted the side of Cross’ face and stated. “I’ll be ready at seven Colonel. Don’t be late.” He winked and sauntered off.

Cross watched the other man’s hips as he walked, and well shit. He was almost grateful he lost the bet now. The bet being, that if Mana won, Marian would have to take him on a date. The Colonel didn’t do dates, for fucks sake.

At one of their sparse and coveted meetings at a cafe down town, Neah looked at his brother, incredulous. “Did you seriously leave the Family for some guy?”

Mana hummed. “No, he’s just a bonus with really nice legs.”

The other twin sighed.

On Allen’s sixteenth birthday, he was practically vibrating with unabashed joy. Link, 20, was valiant to ignore the other.

The white haired teen stood toe-to-toe with the blonde, grinning. “I’m an inch taller than you!”

“So you’ve been saying for the past ten minutes.” Link said blandly.

“I could poke my nose at your forehead now.”

“Don’t.”

Allen did it anyway with a giggle. Link sighed again, but found himself fighting back a smile.

Cross knew he was fucked when he found himself actually enjoying the dates with the other man. Ten dinners, six movies, and eight nights out at a bar sipping away at expensive alcohol and laughing with one another, Cross found that really liked the feel of Mana’s hand in his.

He banged his head on his desk. Colonel Nyne poked her head in and raised an eyebrow at him. “Romance woes, Marian?”

“What the fuck do you know Nyne?” He grouched.

“Considering the entire investigation department is taking bets on when you’ll have a meltdown about being in a committed relationship, everyone knows.”

Cross bolted up right at that, as though something shocked his spine. “What relationship?!”

The female officer only stared at him, unimpressed, before walking away.

He did not get any work done that day. Which, he hardly ever did get work done while at the office. He preferred his time spent napping and pestering the geeks down in forensics. Cross didn’t even get that done. Instead he mulled and agonized over the fact that he had become damnably attached to someone.

Christ.

Allen liked to wear Link’s sweaters. Even though the teen had grown taller (but only an inch! An inch he enjoyed lording over Link’s head, but regardless Walker, an inch wasn’t that much to boast about.) his frame was still more slight. Link’s shoulders were broader, which meant no matter how many inches Allen would gain on the blonde, the teen will always look like he was swimming in the sweaters.

He especially loved to hijack the ones with elbow patches. Link would often come home for long weekends from college or holidays to find Allen already on his couch, eating a large bowl of pudding with Atuuda around his shoulders purring up a storm, while wearing one of said sweaters.

Timcampy would be there dancing at Link’s feet, wheezing while Allen piped up, “Welcome home honey bunches!”

Link supposed that yes, he was home.

That evening, the Commissioner called for a meeting about a series of murders in the city, and what evidence had been scrounged up. Where it was a very serious matter at hand, Marian was instead very distracted.

He was the last one to arrive, and point blank, before he could control his damn mouth, looked Detective Inspector Mana Walker in the eye and blurted it all out. “I’m in love with you you fucking prick, what the fuck did you do to me?”

Off to the right of the table, Yeager, who was about to take his seat, missed and fell onto his rump in surprise. Socalo started laughing obnoxiously at both Yeager and Cross. Nyne only texted Reever down in Forensics that he owed her $40.

“Excuse me Colonel Cross, but could you leave your melodrama outside of the meeting room?” Sneered Lvellie, tapping his foot impatiently at the front of the room.

“No.”

Ignoring his boss’ scathing look, Mana stood from his seat (doing the elegant thing again, goddamnit! Thought Cross) and yanked the redhead by his ears to shove his tongue down the man’s throat. And.

Oh. Well this was a nice meeting indeed.

Lvellie blew his top. “Excuse me, the both of you! Leave, now!”

Despite the nonsense, Detective Inspector Walker was good at his job. Before leaving, now retired Detective Inspector Tiedoll trained him well. Also, naturally, growing up as he had, Mana was more aware of the ins and outs of the crime underworld.

The news of the murders was not new. It was an ongoing case that was prominent before Mana had decided to leave his family name behind and start something for himself.

Many have begun calling them the “Guilty Murders,” due to the long list left on the bodies by the killer, as to their reasoning why their victims had to die. The list was usually handwritten- making it personal, but had yet to be identified. They would write out a full dossier about their victim’s “sin” and “crimes,” which damned them enough for the murderer to target them.

After investigations, many of the victims turned up to either be criminals themselves or having done crimes in the past, but were never discovered. One prominent name Mana discovered was “Lee.” Upon discovering this, Komui - their youngest forensics head, looked almost shamefaced.

“Embezzlement.” He said, answering Mana’s unspoken question. “They’d been doing it for years, apparently.” Komui was unaware of his parent’s activities until they were found dead in their own home, and his sister locked away upstairs, crying.

The killer themselves never had a single method in which he killed. Sometimes they used poison. Others gunshots to the head, or arson, or strangulation. Mana pieced together that their killer didn’t really care how they killed, only that their targets get killed, in any way possible, as to accomplish their goal.

Allen had eventually asked Cross why Mana had to go into hiding.

After a pause, his guardian answered. “Mana was too good at his job. While investigating a stream of murders, he found out the killer’s identity, which made him a target.”

Mana did not mean for Marian to ever meet his family, much less become aware of them.

It was an accident, he swore.

Actually it was Tryde’s fault, and Mana vowed to never get his cousin anything for Christmas, ever again.

His cousin had decided the best course for action in contacting him, was to break into his own apartment in the middle of the night. Mana threw his slippers at him, because wow, rude! “Tryde, get out!”

Said slippers bounced harmlessly off Tryde’s chest as he stared at them passively. “Is this how you welcome family now? Accost them with bunny shoes?” His cousin always had the most dry and sarcastic sense of humor, but at the moment Mana did not want to appreciate the banter.

“I have a guest!” He hissed.

“Yes, I’m aware and you could do better cousin. I’ve been judging you ever since.”

“Tryde I swear to god-”

“Oh, so you swear now?”

Mana was about to make incoherent noises of rage, when Cross stepped from the hall, gun drawn and trained on the intruder. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet into that head of yours Noah.”

Tryde looked uncaring while Mana honest to God shrieked. “He’s my cousin!”

“What the FUCK.” The Colonel bellowed, looking down right hoodwinked.

“In my defense, I’m just here to warn Mana that he’s getting too close to danger.” Tryde stated.

Marian ignored them in favor of giving Mana a very disbelieving look. “Cousin?!”

Letting out an ‘eep,’ Mana waved his hands at his sides trying to diffuse the situation. “I can explain.”

“I just sucked your dick, you better damn well explain Detective Inspector!”

Tryde decided to leave, because ew. He did not need to know the sexual activities of his cousin.

When Neah D. Campbell first met Howard Link, an obstinate young man, barely into adulthood, he felt a tick develop above his left eye. The kid was sneaky, mouthy, and worst of all, Neah couldn’t ever get a proper read on whatever the blonde was thinking of next.

He had tried to offer the kid a job. To which Link flung a pen at the man’s forehead with so much force, he jolted back and felt it sting. “No.”

“I swear to Jesus kid I am a dangerous man, and if you pull that nonsense again I will-”

“Tell me about the Cardinal.”

Crazy family or not, Marian woke up the next morning with his arms full of Mana Walker, and breathed him in. “Don’t you dare ever leave.” He murmured into the man’s dark curls.

After studying the Guilty Murders for as long as he did, Mana had memorized every stroke and curve of the killer’s handwriting.

So imagine his surprised to see the handwriting on his desk, six years into the case, but not in the form of a list, but a signature.

“Oh good, you got one too.”

Mana, startled, jerked his head up to see Marian leaning in his doorway, holding a similar piece of paper. “What?” He tried to control the tenseness of his voice.

It obviously didn’t work, seeing as his lover raised a red eyebrow at him and inquired. “You alright there?”

Clearing his throat, Mana regained more control and put on his smile. “Yes, sorry. I was lost in thought.” He picked up the paper and forced his hands not to quake. “What’s this all about then?”

Cross huffed and waved his own paper around, “It’s an invitation to an assembly. The Cardinal loves to throw these things and invites everyone from here all the way to Central. It’s to boost moral or some shit.”

“Huh.” Mana blinked. “I don’t think I’ve ever met the Cardinal.”

“Lucky you. But you’ll suffer his presence when you get there. He’s only one step below Madam General.”

Mana remembers meeting the Head General, Hevlaska Karma, at his interview. Only Marian ever addressed her as such, much to his amusement. “Isn’t Lvellie petitioning for the spot of Head General himself?”

“Yeah, the fucker’s been salivating after it ever since he became Commissioner. Don’t know how he think’s he’s ever gonna get it.” Cross crumpled the invite into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. “Now let’s stop talking about this and talk about something more interesting.”

Mana tiled his head and squinted sagely. “Oh? And what’s that Officer?”

“Me.”

The detective sat and leaned back in his chair, pretending to look disinterested. “Really now? You’re interesting?”

Cross strode in and leaned over the other man, his hands bracketing the arm rests. “The most interesting.”

“Mister Cross, it’s against policy to leave your litter in the walk ways!” Barked Colonel Yeager, surreptitiously interrupting them both. Cross scowled. “Fuck off Yeager!”

Mana laughed and laughed.

The first two songs Allen recorded had been a hit. The first was the one he sang for Link at his graduation. He felt a well of pride that there were so many who understood the depth of the song.

The second was, actually, the first song he ever wrote, but never actually mentioned. It was a song that began to grow when he started to learn just how deep his guardian felt for Mana. He surmised that Mana, his father, would not have left him in the care of someone who he didn’t trust. Marian Cross was not what one would take a look at and say, yes, that man is God-father material.

But. Allen could hear in the words Cross didn’t say. The way his sound echoed with resolve, but a loneliness. It wasn’t a forlorn sound brought on by never having a family. Allen knew that sound.

It was a loneliness brought about by loss. The cello was missing the grand piano, and it would often strum in the middle of the night when Cross assumed Allen was sound asleep.

As the sales of both songs went through the proverbial roof, Allen also learned that there were many like Marian Cross in the world.

He caught the man listening to it unawares. Allen felt his heart swell when he heard the cello smooth its melody just a little bit more.

I know it hit you without warning/ You weren’t ready for letting go/ Only left with questions out of hope.

Mana Walker took the invitation, and cut out just the signature, and brought it down to the Analysis Team, and smiled sweetly while asking, “Could you compare this to the Guilty Letters? Please?”

No one ever seemed to be able to deny Mana Walker anything.

Sixteen hours later, and Marian Cross found himself with a lapful of Mana. “What?” Not that he minded. He quite liked Mana in his lap.

“I’m so sorry.” gasped the other man.

Cross realized his lover was crying. Worried, he asked, “What’s going on Mana?” He cupped the man’s face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry Mary. I have to go.”

“Can’t your family do something?” Cross demanded.

Mana pulled him into a fierce kiss. It lasted for an agonizing minute before he broke it off. “They’re trying Mary. But it’s too dangerous even for them. I have to go.”

The redhead made a move to grab his gun. “I’m going also-”

“No.” Mana stopped him and tugged the man back. “You can’t.”

Cross cursed, furious. “If you think I’m going to let you do this alone, then you’re a fucking idiot Walker!”

“I’m so sorry Mary.”

And Cross only saw darkness.

An indefinite amount of time later, and Colonel Marian Cross awoke on his living room floor, with his cell phone ringing.

“Where is Walker!” Demanded the Commissioner, the next day after Cross blatantly ignored all calls, and attempted to search for the man himself.

Cross, the master of bullshit, despite the turmoil rolling deep in his gut, shrugged. “What am I? His keeper?”

Lvellie kicked over his chair and threw a file he had been clenching in his fist. “Mana Walker instigated a handwriting analysis on the Cardinal for christ’s sakes!”

Picking up the file with faux distaste, the Colonel opened it. “Huh. Well look at that. It’s a match.”

“Is that all you can say?!”

Marian Cross stared hard at the Commissioner for a long minute before tossing the file back flippantly. “How about: let’s go arrest the sonovabitch?”

“We can’t.” Hissed his boss, and well that’s an interesting shade of red . “The Cardinal’s ran off too!”

Howard Link stared long and hard at the picture of the Cardinal Neah had given him. The man looked plain enough. Middle aged, non threatening smile, glasses. If he were in a crown, no one would take much notice of him, Link pondered.

In the photo was also his uncle.

Malcolm C. Lvellie in the picture was shaking hands with the Cardinal. It looked like they were at a ceremony, or party of some sort. Link could also make out the faces of the Head General and the other Colonels.

He pressed his lips together and felt something inside of him build heavily.

From what he remembered, his uncle had been very interested in all details about the Guilty Murders. Lvellie would often boast about catching them, and using the moment to give himself more leeway in gaining approval for the position of Head General. As a child, Link only half listened.

But now.

Something about this had put a fowl taste in his mouth.

“Where is the Cardinal now?” He asks.

The man leans back in the chair, and looked like the most justified man in the world. “I killed him, of course. They found the body a good few years ago where I left him.”  He said it as one would if they were discussing what they had for breakfast that morning. Link very pointedly did not ask where the Cardinal was found.

Inside, Neah was seething with the reminder of the Cardinal. That man had hurt his family. He killed his brother, and almost took his nephew with him. But his revenge still wasn’t over. This wound was still open, and it won’t heal completely for him, until everyone who allowed this to happen was struck down.

Link looked at Neah, who had quited. “I would like to help. I think I can get you what you need.”

The heir to the Noah looked doubtful, but intrigued. “Oh? And how’s that?”

Mana Walker ran away and joined a circus. Marian Cross would not know of this until two and a half years later.

In the moment, Cross was hating every bit at how empty his house had become to feel.

Managing to convince the Ringmaster to give him a chance, Mana Walker becomes a clown for a traveling circus and finds a very lonely boy.

Seeming to notice his attention, the boy whips his red head around, scowling. “What the hell?” His voice is young and scratchy, and his scowl! Mana couldn’t help but want to pinch the sides of his face for it.

“No, no, never mind me! Your hair just reminded me of someone, that’s all! Though I have to say, it seems you two have more in common than just hair color!” Mana laughed.

The boy scrunches up his little nose, and for the second time in his life, Mana falls in love.

So don’t fall back, keep fighting/ Out of your ashes rising/ I’m right here/ I want you to know.

Two and a half years later, Cross gets a call from some no name hospital, and Allen Walker is thrust into his care.

Mana’s son. Mana, who had just died, leaving him more alone now than before. Cross remembers punching a hole into the wall of his house upon getting the news.

He didn’t go see the kid until a good two days later. Marian still doubted he could actually look at this boy in the face and trust himself to not flip the fuck out. What had Mana been thinking? Adopting a child while on the damn run from a murderer?

“God damnit Mana.”

Allen remembers when he first registers Cross’ presence in the room, those days after Mana’s death. Everything was so quiet that his head felt blank. But it was a blankness that felt too heavy to be nothing. It felt like someone had shoved cotton in his ears and tapped them there.

It made him feel sick.

“Oh good.” Allen looked over to see a man - no a cello, sitting next to the hospital bed. “You’re awake.”

In the silence and cotton-feeling of his head, Allen could hear the string of the cello muffle through. It made the hurt lesson, in a way.

Marian Cross looked at the kid and decided that if Mana loved him, then that was enough for the Colonel.

Allen Walker looked at the red haired man and…

The Clown says, “How about being part of my family?”

In which the boy answers, “Okay.”

…thought the very same.

This isn’t the end/ It’s a chance to start again/ When the smoke clears, you’ll be home.

Madarao looked up from his criminal justice textbook when there was a knock on his door. “Come in.”

Link walked in, files under his arm, and looking more serious than usual. Which wasn’t necessarily saying much, as Madarao and his brother had just set up house and home in their new dorm for the semester with the college freshman. Though, Madarao expected that Link was always the serious type.

“Pardon the intrusion.” Link imparted. “I know we have just made acquaintances, but I have a favor to ask of you. And, if all goes well, I believe it will benefit your career in the future.”

Madarao closed his book. “I’m listening.”

The blonde held out the files to his roommate. “I understand that you are studying criminal justice, and wish to eventually study under Head General Karma.”

“…That’s right.” Madarao had yet to take what was being offered. He never did until he had gotten all the facts. Link respect this of him.

“I believe what I have gathered, and what you could get far more than me, will insure your spot in her internship.”

After a beat of silence, Madarao accepted the files. “And here I thought you wanted to follow in your uncle’s footsteps. Wouldn’t this benefit you more than me?”

Link looked mildly insulted. “I assure you Madarao, I am nothing like my uncle.”

It’s a war you’re gonna win/ Out of the fire, a new life begins/ This isn’t the end.

At the song’s end, Cross finally noticed his kid watching. Allen stare looked intense as it usually did whenever he was nervous. Huffing, the man walked over and past the teen, ruffling his white hair in passing. “It’s a damn good song, twerp.”

Allen had to clear the lump away from his throat. “I think I’ll let the quarter slide, just this once.”

And Marian laughed and laughed.

Chapter Text

shel·ter

ˈSHeltər/

noun - a place giving temporary protection from bad weather or danger.

Life is full of storms. Both literal and metaphorical. A shelter can be the home one retreats to get dry from a sudden downpour. It can also be a place of safety after a terrible day, where comfort is found.

A home is a place where people reside, and are welcome. A home, incidentally, can easily be a shelter.

Shelter can be meeting the young woman who owned the repair shop, who was so inherently kind, that your heart couldn’t help but flutter whenever you hear her voice.

It can be the greenhouse across the street, filled with beautiful and exotic fauna, ran by an eccentric, but not unkind man with a rather wobbly smile.

Shelter is the home for a young man who struggles with understanding the majority of the world and how it works, but they are endlessly supported by a father and brothers, who were willing to guide him.

Or it’s said young man, who became the rock for another, who needed that extra push to become who they wanted to be.

It’s stepping out of the elevator, and seeing familiar faces who always greet you with warmth and welcome, while your brother becomes ecstatic at your presence.

For a lonely little boy, shelter was a clown who didn’t stop laughing. Shelter was the love the boy continued to feel long after his father left. The assurance that he would never be alone again.

At the recording studio, Allen took a calming breath. He could do this.

His eyes caught Link on the other side of the sound room, and smiled bright. He definitely could.

Lavi, at the recording booth, gave him the signal. “Right-o Allen! Ready in 3, 2, 1!”

Allen finally, finally sang his song.

It was about time.

I could never find the right way to tell you

Have you noticed I’ve been gone?

‘Cause I left behind the home that you made me

But I will carry it along.

When the song officially released on mainstream radio, it quickly hit the top five charts. When Allen got his cut of the profits, Lenalee looked over his shoulder at the check and whistled. “If this keeps up, you’ll be set for life!” She declared.

From the dining room, Cross snorted. “He was set for life the moment he took out that damned swear jar of his.” He made a point by stuffing it with a quarter without prompting. “Cussing is bad manners Cross.” Allen retorted.

“What are you going to do with all that money anyway?” Lenalee asked, scratching Timcampy behind the ears. The little dog wiggled with joy.

Allen looked thoughtful as Atuuda demanded to be picked up with a meow. He answered as he hefted the large fluffy feline into his arms. “I was thinking about a tattoo. For my arm.” The index finger of said red arm booped the cat on her pink nose. Atuuda chirped and swatted her tail in his face.

While Lenalee looked excited about the idea, his guardian squawked from the other room. “TATTOO?”

“Cross it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

Marian Cross was less irritated about his kid wanting a tattoo - because he honestly did not give a single steaming hot damn if he did, and more so that all these years, he was basically being conned by a child to fund his need for ink.

Mafia or not, Allen Walker would have fit right in if he had wanted.

And it’s a long way forward, so trust in me

I’ll give them shelter, like you’ve done for me.

Across the city, at the Central Building, Madarao held appointment with Head General Hevlaska Karma. He stood stiff at attention in his suit.

Hevlaska raised her brows at the young gentleman, “You do know, that there is a selection process I have in place, for choosing my intern from the University, Mister Madarao.” It wasn’t a question.

All the same, Madarao gave his assent. “Yes. I am aware General. Regardless of your choosing myself as your candidate, I also believe what I have compiled will be of great help for you and your police force.”  He set a neat, and ordered stack of files on her desk. They were all dated, and color coated by tabs.

The leader of Central’s largest and strongest police firm steeped her hands together, assessing first the files then back to the young man, who had been requesting for her ear over the past month. “And how will this assist me, Mister Madarao?”

So he told her.

At eighteen, Allen graduated high school. Arm in arm with his best friend, he and Lenalee marched off the stage, diploma in hand. “Congratulations, Miss Lee.”

She laughed. “Congratulations, Mister Walker.”

At the floor, they spotted their family and friends respectively. Alma and Kanda, who had graduated the two years prior, were there. Alma was waving them down rather enthusiastically, hand holding Kanda’s. In Kanda’s free arm, he had Timcampy, who seemed content at being held like a limpet.

“Congratulations!!” Alma hollers, and hugged them both. The new graduates laughed. In the bleachers, Cross puffed smoke from his cigarette and glared balefully at the man beside him. “Why are you here?” He outright demanded.

Neah stuck his tongue out at the redhead. “Did you forget that Allen is my cute nephew? Have you gotten senile in your old age?”

“I am not old you goddamned-”

“Ah-ha! Language! There’s innocent ears everywhere.” Chided the Campbell, wagging his finger as though Cross were a child to be scolded.

Cross snorted. “They’re all teenagers. Since when are teenagers innocent?”
Behind them, Road pressed her heeled shoe into Neah’s head. “Will you two shush! I’m trying to get good audio with the video and no one wants to hear your old man bantering!”

“Road you’re practically my age.” Said Neah, ignoring her foot on his head. She decided to kick him then.

Cross pointed and laughed.

Link presented Allen with a bouquet assortment of colorful flowers. “Mister Crowley had arranged them. He attempted to explain their meaning to me, but…I was unable to completely follow.” Link frowned, as though admitting him being unable to outright memorize something was a slight against himself. “Regardless, I was assured they are positive in their message.”

Taking the offered present, Allen was certain he was smiling like an idiot at that moment. (Later, Kanda would state this was a fact, quite bluntly too). “Best boyfriend ever.”

The blonde cleared his throat, Allen notice that his ears were red. Lenalee looked between the two with an “o” expression, and took a respectful few steps back. She had a feeling this was going to be a rather important moment.

“Not boyfriend.” Link started, rather awkwardly. “But, fiance, if you’ll have me.” He gestured to the top of the bouquet.

Behind them, Alma squealed outright into their hands, and began shaking Kanda’s arm. Kanda looked unimpressed with Link, because he didn’t understand why the blonde had to be so flustered about it. Everyone knew it was a solid Yes.

With wide silver eyes, Allen finally spotted the velvet box set on the flowers. He looked between the box, then at Link in rapid succession. At first, his mouth gaped open, as though he was going to speak, then he would snap it closed. Instead he hugged the bouquet to his chest and grabbed Link by the ear with his free hand and gave away both of their firsts kisses, right then and there.

In the bleachers, Neah screamed a rather loud “WHAT?!” While Road let out a yell of excitement. Cross sat back and looked smug. You go kid.

Lenalee was taking pictures with her phone.

Pulling back, Link looked rather dazed. Eyes wide and blinking slowly, his brain caught up with the moment. “I-”

Allen kissed him again.

“!!”

“You never actually said yes.”

“Oh my gosh Link, shut up and get back to kissing me.”

Link shut up and went back to kissing him.

Allen Walker discovered that he really, really, really, really liked kissing.

And I know, I’m not alone, you’ll be watching over us

Until you’re gone.

Next, Howard Link, twenty-three, graduated college with high marks and his degree. Allen celebrated with him that night over a song, and homemade chocolate cake.

Eventually, his uncle called him in for his own congratulations.

“I’m very proud of you Link.” Lvellie praised, looking every bit smug.

Link nodded. “Thank you Uncle.”

“It just so happens that there is an open position here.” His uncle preened, waiting for Link to show any sign of ascension to the idea.

Arching an eyebrow, Link inquired. “Position?”

“Well yes! You will be working for you dear uncle, won’t you?” Really now! Thought Lvellie. As though he wouldn’t hire his own flesh and blood.

After a pause to gather his thoughts, Howard Link took a step forward, and presents his uncle with his degree. “I am sorry uncle, but I believe you are under the impression that I wish to work for you.”

Lvellie stared openly at the embossed, framed paper, uncomprehending.

“You see, where you believed me furthering my education with criminal justice, I actually gained my degree in business management, along with a minor in culinary.”

“C-culinary?!” The Commissioner choked.

“I have spoken with Mother and Father, and they have granted me access to part of my inheritance so that I may open a bakery.”

Lvellie looked white with disbelief. “But-”

“I am sorry that your plans for me were not what I wanted.” Link was honestly anything but sorry; regardless it seemed to be the only thing he could say on the matter. Tucking the frame under his arm, Link bid his uncle a good day, and started for the door.

“Oh.” He paused and turned around to address his uncle once again. Lvellie was still gaping like a fish out of water.

“Also, in half a year’s time, I will be binding myself to Allen Walker. Please look for the invitation, should you still be free and out of prison at that time.”

With that, Howard Link left the the office.

“Prison?!”

When I’m older, I’ll be silent beside you

I know words won’t be enough

And they won’t need to know the names or our faces

But they will carry on for us.

A month later, Malcolm C. Lvellie is arrested and marched out of the Precinct for withholding and tampering of evidence for the Guilty Murders, therefore placing him in suspicion for working with the Cardinal. The Cardinal who, ironically (and still uncertain on how and by whom) was found murdered years prior.

It would later be revealed that Lvellie himself knew all along who the murderer was, but held the information away for himself, hoping to find the right moment to reveal it all. His goal was to manipulate the circumstances enough, that Head General Hevlaska Karma’s ability to lead Central would be scrutinized, leading Malcolm to be chosen in replacing her.

Standing besides Head General Karma was Madarao, newly accepted intern, who watched passively as the man was taken away by police car. He decided that he would call Lavi, and inform him of his new location. The hyper redhead would certainly be ecstatic at having himself closer to home. 

Lavi needn’t fear over any more mafia nonsense, now that Madarao had his foot in the door. 

Colonel Yeager crossed his arms, and huffed. “Good riddance. I never liked that man.”

Claude Nyne watched Cross walk back into the Precinct and gave her own affirmation. “You’re not the only one.”

Inside, Marian Cross kicked down Malcolm C. Lvellie’s ex-office door, and flipped the desk over. Socalo, the curious and nosey bastard, poked his head in. “What the shit?”

Marian tore a framed important something or other off the wall and threw it across the room, into the other wall. It shattered. “Either you join me, or fuck off Winters.”

Ever the one to enjoy chaos rather than run from is, Socalo joined in on defacing the office.

Soon, the Precinct found itself under a much needed overhaul of staff. The majority of the forensics and tech department was left virtually untouched, but some officers had been let go or left due to further investigations of Lvellie’s misdirections as Commissioner.

Froi Tiedoll walked into the now bare Commissioners office, looking surprised at the dents and holes in the walls. “Oh my.”

He hoped whatever happened in here was therapeutic enough.

“Welcome out of retirement, new Commissioner Tiedoll.”

The man hummed and smiled with his eyes over at Colonel Nyne. “Thank you Colonel. I do believe I feel a good change in the wind.”

The policewoman nodded, and turned to address her own new intern. “Tokusa, help the Commissioner get proper office equipment.” She ordered.

Newly graduated Tokusa bolted upright, babbling. “Yes sir! Ma’am! Madam.”

“No.”

“Yes….Colonel?”

“Better. Now hup to!”

Tokusa turned heel to find out where he can get a desk and chairs.

Tiedoll hung a picture of his sons on the wall, looking proud. On his desk was a framed photo of Kanda and Alma, dressed in white.

And it’s a long way forward, so trust in me

I’ll give them shelter like you’ve done for me.

“You don’t have to call to wake me up every morning, you damned brat.” Colonel Marian Cross grouched into his phone. He was currently waiting in line at a coffee shop, hoping to fuel his need for liquid energy.

Ever since Allen went on his tour, he still took time to call Cross and bother his ass about his morning routines. He swore his kid got a sick enjoyment out of it.

“Are you at that cafe again? Cross I thought you got a new coffee maker.” His kid ignored his previous statement and chose to instead nag him on other things.

“No, you got me a new coffee maker and it busted.” Just two more orders and Cross would have the excuse to hang up on his child. It was rude, after all, to talk on the phone while ordering.

“How can you bust a Keurig?”

“Correction, it busted on its own.” He grumbled.

“Riiiight.”

Thank the Lord, it was his turn to order. “Look, kid I gotta go. Fuck off and nag that husband of yours instead.”

He heard Allen snort on the other line. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Bye Cross. Talk to you tomorrow.”

The Colonel found himself grinning, despite his bravado. He was fond of the little shit, and will always be fond. “Whatever, leave me alone you brat.” Allen laughed before hanging up.

His barista looked at him, an amused look in her dark eyes. “Brat?”

Marian huffed. “My kid. He’s a brat.” And that’s all he would rather say on the matter. It was hard to bring up that yes, he has an adult child, and said child happened to be Allen Fucking Walker, singing sensation. Last time he let it slip out, he had nuisances at his door for a month.

He strung his order to the (very pretty, but Cross always noticed pretty things so this wasn’t too surprising) barista. After ringing up his order, she introduced herself. “Anita.”

Cross looked from her outstretched hand, to her (still very pretty) face, flummoxed. “What?”

She laughed, and Cross noted that her laugh was also very pretty. “This is the part where you give me your name and I start to flirt with you.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Years later, Allen Walker, 24, walked through the streets of Paris. He had just slipped away from Lenalee that morning, after doing an interview about his upcoming concert in the city. His best friend, and sole security, would most definitely be lecturing his ear off later over this, but sometimes he needed time to himself.

With a green beanie hiding his very noticeable white hair, and thick sunglasses that he hoped were dark enough to keep his anonymity, Allen wandered aimlessly. If someone had told him as a kid back in the circus, that he would be a singer-songwriter, whose name was practically known by everyone, he would have been disbelieving.

Then he would have tried to pick their pockets.

He digressed.

There was also the whole, married and in love thing. Child him wouldn’t have even been able to comprehend.

He was about to wander to a crepe stand, his stomach thinking for him with anticipation, when he heard it.

The sound was high, and distressed, and young. It had all the potential to reach lower notes, but at the moment it’s owner was rather stuck on piping out the high tones. Allen would recognize the sound for what it was anywhere, no matter what notes it played.

Allen Walker followed the sound of a distressed pipe organ, away from the crepe stand and into an alley between the buildings. It was still the middle of the day, so the alley itself wasn’t in anyway dark or ominous. Along with the organ, Allen heard tell tale sounds of a foot kicking a trash can.

“PWEEEEEEEEE!!!”

Oh, now that was a very distinct cry, Allen thought. He never heard someone actually produce their sound verbally before.

Kicking the trash can in the alley was a young boy, Allen guess about nine, maybe ten. He had wild brown hair that looked like he had tried to dye the ends with blue kool-aid and wore an orange jumper with frayed jeans. “I’m so mad, I’m so mad!” was the boys mantra.

“Why are you mad?” Allen asked, kneeling next to the angry boy. Said boy was startled, and made a wild swing at Allen's head.

“AAAAH!!”

After whopping Allen, the kid ran off. Only a little winded, Allen followed after, undeterred.

He felt a vague sense of deja vu, and grinned.

“Hey, wait!” He called after.

“Why won’t you leave me alone, huh?!” Demanded the angry boy.  

Allen shrugged. “I don’t want to.”

The boy looked at Allen like he was the most bizarre person he’d ever met. Which, may very well be true. Allen would admit that he was indeed, very odd.  Link also took joy at pointing it out to him. Regularly.

“Well, get lost!” The boy stomped his foot. “I don’t need some weirdo following me around!”

“How about you tell me why you’re so mad, and maaaaybe I’ll leave you alone.” Allen weedled.

The kid looked unimpressed at this. “Maybe.” he repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They both had a stare down. Allen more amused, while the boy simply refused to back down from the impromptu staring contest.

Eventually, there was no winner, as the boy’s stomach used this moment to growl rather loudly. Allen’s own stomach felt sympathy.

“Are you hungry?”

The boy, who looked like wanted to cry again, but was holding it back, only glowered.

Howard Link, 28, came back to the rented suite he was staying at with his husband, arms full of bags of fresh bread and boxes of pastries. He had been taking his time in Paris to sample and buy all the baked goods he find, and seeing if he could garner new recipes. It was a very riveting experience for him. He was also certain that Allen had been enjoying all the fresh treats he kept bringing with him.

“Welcome back!” Allen called. “We’re in the kitchen.”

“We?” Link asked. Was Lee here as well?

The blonde made his way into the suite’s kitchen, and instantly noticed the boy making headway into the pumpkin pie Link had baked that morning. Sitting beside him was Allen, who waved his fingers cheerfully at his husband, his own plate sparse, save for the pie crumbs left behind.

“I see we have a guest.” Link lead.

Allen patted the boy on the back. “Yeah! This is Timothy. Say hi, Tim.”

“He’wwowoooo!” The boy, now Timothy, greeted as best he could with his mouthful.

Link nodded, and set down the baked goods in his arms at the counter. He went over and held out his hand.

“Hello Timothy, I am Link. It’s a pleasure.”

And I know, I’m not alone,

you’ll be watching over us.

Until…