Yellow Submarine

Emiggax is a fcking GENIUS. And, Joce just exists, but that's okay. PROPS TO YE.

First things: This is pure, undiluted crack. It takes place during World War II, when everything was all thick and exciting. But, as all things of fiction must go, I had to make up a date. And a ship name, because I'm so lame.

This is OT3—our OT3, that is. :D Because Emiggax was sad when I originally said Kanda/Allen, but then when I said Lavi/Allen, she was all "NO, BETTER. O. T. 3." And I was like HELL YEAH and that is why this fanfic is gay.

Disclaimed.


In the town where I was born,
Lived a man who sailed to sea,
And he told us of his life,
In the land of submarines

So we sailed on to the sun,
'Till we found the sea of green,
And we lived beneath the waves,
In our yellow submarine

-The Beatles, on "What can drugs do for you?"


One week ago, on March 11th, 1943, the godfors—honorable Admiral Marian Cross put them on this damned submarine.

"You've got torpedoes," he had said with a stern frown. "You've got guns. You even have fucking America behind you—bomb those enemies to high heaven. Make'em see God before ol' Saint Peter or whatever his name is rejects them. Get the Japs good." Then, he paused. "No offense, Chief Petty Officer Kanda."

Yuu Kanda didn't take offense, he ate it for breakfast. It's been this way for all the twenty-five years of his life. "None taken," he replied in a voice that was meant to be respectful but only came across as very angry. "Ass."

"That's why you'll be a Petty Officer for the rest of your insignificant life, Jap—Kanda. Kanda." Cross nodded. "It's been slipping out lately."

"I'm sure."

That was Kanda's general attitude during this expenditure. He only freaked out once—but that comes a little later. As a Chief Petty Officer in the US Navy, he had the most power in their little sub, but didn't exert it as much as another member of their three-man team.

"Seaman Lavi," Cross commanded in a voice that almost sounded like he was drinking earlier. "Remember, if you can survive this, then you will be promoted. I'll put in a good word for you!"

"Niftic!" Lavi cheered, pumping a fist in the air. "It'll be smooth, Crossy, lemme let you know."

Lavi was always, always Cross's favorite. It didn't matter if he was twenty-five and still acted like he was seventeen, or if he disrespected those of higher rank than him, or if he shot at the French when the instructions were specifically the Italians (that was the only trench fighting their little squad was allowed on—it was a definite failure, that was for certain), or even if he made googly, heartfelt eyes at the youngest member of their squad who was clearly(?) male. He still got nice words and whiskey, courtesy of Cross, that is. (On the sub, though, he didn't have any whiskey, so he was a little high-strung, as you'll later learn.)

"And, you," the red-haired Admiral sniffed in offense. "Seaman Walker, you just need to know that you're an idiot and you will never, never be promoted if you don't succeed in this. We are only borrowing you from the British Navy—I can give you right back, if you end up being useless like usual."

Twenty-two-year-old Allen Walker was quick to bring his hand to his forehead in a salute. "Of course, Admiral Cross, sir!" he replied, rolling his eyes. "Let's just hope I don't mess up on purpose. You know how I feel about this war."

And, his feelings were well-meant, but misplaced. Besides, Cross probably loved him, if you stripped him down a few souls, because sometimes it felt like Satan was waiting for the man to just take his place.

"I don't care." Cross swiveled on his heel, facing towards the large expanse of water. "This will be your submarine. It's called the S.S. Y.S."

"What does the Y.S. stand for?" Allen asked, raising his hand.

The Admiral narrowed his eyes. "Yellow Submarine, idiot," he retorted, rolling his eyes with a passion he never showed towards his job itself.

"…" Kanda gave the U-boat a look of acute disgust, fingers twitching at his side. "…It's, uh," he searched for the word, tongue clicking in disdain. "Yellow."

"Yes." The bespectacled man made an exasperated expression. "It is yellow, Ja—Kanda. It was the last damned U-boat we had, and you will all be living in this yellow submarine until further notice—there is a radio room, so get that look off your face before I push you off this dock, boy."

Allen frowned. "I didn't say anything—"

"You ain't got to say a word," Cross narrowed his eyes. "I know what you're thinking anyway. And, I don't care, so stop pretending I do."

By the way, the only good thing about the submarine was the fact that they were away from Admiral Marian Cross. Like, leagues away.

"We'll all live in this yellow submarine?" Lavi repeated, blinking his one good eye. He lost the other in the Battle of Greece, 1941, and so far he's been less spiteful than expected. "That's great! We're gonna have a ball!"

Cross grunted an agreement. "Yeah, sure."

And that was a week ago.


Six days ago, on March 12th, 1943, the trio got into the U-boat. There was food, there was a quarter for the crew, and there was no virtual way out for a very long time.

It didn't hit Allen until the metal door was shut tightly and his ears popped.

"What was that?" he demanded immediately. "My ears, they've done a sort of noise that went—Pop!" He motioned animatedly with his hands, eyes wide.

Kanda knocked him on the top of the head. "We don't care," he replied, sitting down immediately in the seat for the main controls. The Japanese man turned around and glared. "Come on, kid, sit down and do something."

"…Clear off, I'm twenty-two." Allen sniffed, going for the electrical panel and opening the board to most of the switches with an eerie creak. He paused, looking around. "I'm sorry, but are we really the only ones here for this assignment? I could have sworn our squad was a little bigger."

"We're missin' a few people, sure," Lavi answered, looking away from the periscope. "Johnny couldn't come 'cause he's in the hospital—still healing from that crazy battle in the Atlantic, y'see." The redhead held up more fingers, ticking off a list. "Reever was promoted to Warrant Officer, Tapp's on leave, Marie's in the hospital too—remember that crazy poison attack from the Huns? Yeah, got the guy right in the eyes! Might be blind, and all—and Krory is AWOL."

Kanda snorted. "Bitch."

"Yup." Lavi perked up. "Oh, and Lenalee, she's missing too, because they found out she was a girl! Yeah, it's insane. So, it's just us three, friends forever and all that jazz." He fluttered his eyelash at Allen, who rolled his eyes with a smile. "It'll be a hoof, don't worry."

"I won't," Allen replied, wrapping his fingers around a large switch and pulling it down with obvious effort.

The yellow submarine whirred to life, sputtering in a manner that was rather dangerous sounding.

Kanda didn't care about danger either. He was insanely brave. "Everyone, sit the hell down," he snapped, hand hovering over the controls. "I'm about to get us going."

"Hey, wait—"

Allen learned that day that you don't ask Kanda to wait—you just shut up and sit the hell down, because it was safer that way. The white-haired naval soldier toppled onto the cold metal floor, the back of his head hitting the steel so hard he saw stars in the sky. (This was a problem, because there was no sky in the submarine.)

"Ow." And, that's all she wrote.

Lavi, who had a sense of danger perception far greater than the younger man, had swiveled in his seat to look down at him. "Oh," he winced. "Need a hand? A smile? A kiss on that spot that's probably hurtin' like crazy?"

"Uh," Allen gave the red-haired man an odd look. "No thank you." He sat up, rubbing the back of his head because he'd be damned if it didn't hurt like crazy. But, kisses did not hold healing powers, at least to his very limited knowledge.

(Twenty-two, and never even brushed lips with a girl. A shame, right?) (Men, though, were quite the different story. Like, chapters different.)

The large windshield (watershield?) window showed the unending horizon that lined up the early morning sky against the sleepy ocean. Slow waves of water splashed against the submarine as they moved through at a quickening pace. Allen watched this with wide eyes, finding the beauty of the situation very intriguing.

Then, Lavi opened his mouth. "We are so going to get shot down," he said cheerfully, but where this cheer came from is a mystery to Allen, and he assumes Kanda must think the same as well.

"How do you figure?" Allen asked, eyeing the periscope. He wanted to look through at some point in this mission.

"I dunno." The redhead shrugged, booted feet tapping the ground impatiently. "I mean, first I thought it's 'cause we've got Yuu working the sub, and he might get all Kamikaze like the rest of the Japs—"

"Don't mix me in with the rest of them," Kanda growled, turning around just to glare at him with a scowl.

Lavi trudged on with his explanation, ignoring Kanda with a passion he didn't even exert in this War of the World: Second Edition. "Then, I realized, hey, we are in a YELLOW SUBMARINE."

"Yellow submarine?" the British soldier repeated, an eyebrow cocked.

"Yellow submarine!" The redhead sighed, waving a hand in dismissal. "We're gonna die Al." This is the part, though, where he leered and Allen tensed in preparation for punching the pretend-Nazi out of him. (He claimed he was from Germany, and that Hitler and him went way back. Allen had a very hard time believing that, for some inconceivable reason.) "I know you're a virgin, man. But, I can help you fix th—"

A small white book hit him on the head, and Lavi fell out of his seat in surprise. "Hey!" he whined. "What the heck was that for?!"

Kanda scowled. "Those are the radio transmissions," he snapped. "Instead of trying to get your ass kicked, why not do something useful?"

This was one of those times in the sub where Allen wanted to kiss Kanda. On the lips. And then run his fingers down the man's US Navy uniform and unbutton each button of his regal coat slowly. And then curl his fingers in his commanding officer's belt loops, pulling down until—

"Oh Dear God no," he suddenly yelped aloud, clapping his hands over his ears as though he could hear his imagination.

The Japanese naval officer stared at him. Then, he scowled. "God won't save you when the goddamn Japanese come to bomb us!" he stated in a venomous tone that almost made Allen feel really, really bad for the man and his race. "Get to attention!" He grabbed a gear and pulled at it. "We're going down."

Down. Ah. Allen nodded, sitting in his seat patiently with his legs crossed.

His beloved horizon was getting smaller, he noticed with a pronounced frown. Why was this so? The ocean was beginning to surround them further, and the blue sky was becoming a thin line against the top of the wide, fish-eyed window.

"Hey," Lavi said suddenly with a grin. "We're underwater now!"

Allen froze. "What?"

"We're completely underwater! This is great!" Lavi hopped to the window, pressing his face to it despite Kanda's warning growls.

The white-haired man blinked.

But, that was six days ago.


Five days ago, on March 13th, 1943, they were approximately 13 leagues under the sea. That's about 20921.462 meters or so. But, round it up, and you'll just get a long way down.

And, Allen suddenly realized that there was no real way for the air to get in.

"Where are we getting our air from?" demanded the white-haired man of Lavi, who was quite smart even though he looked like an idiot.

Lavi blinked. "Uh," he replied, much like a genius would. "Well, there's a tank in the back, and I guess the air comes from there—"

"So, we do not have unlimited air?" Allen paled further than his original skin tone. "Wait, we don't have unlimited air? Which means we can run out of air at any point?" His hands shot out, grabbing at the red-haired man's crew shirt. He brushed his fingers against Lavi's nipples, and the redhead was totally okay with that. "I'm going to die, Lavi?"

"Well, no, but totally touch me more—"

"I am going to die!" Allen snapped, letting go and wrapping his hands around his own throat. "We're wasting precious air just speaking!" He began to hyperventilate, breathing in and out so heavily that the air wasn't even coming in properly. "Oh God, it's already begun!" He fell to his knees, tears trickling from his eyes and his sobbing was so costing him beloved air.

It was times like this where Kanda got out of his special chair of submarine controls. "Hey!" he barked, leaning down and grabbing the British man by the collar of his uniform jacket. He practically ripped the cloth pulling the man up as roughly as he did. "Calm down!" He smacked Allen, right across the left cheek. "You're wasting our air! Crying like a bitch!" He smacked him again, the sound of a palm against supple skin reverberating in the metal interior of the sub. "Goddammit, Walker, quit crying!" Another smack, but Lavi's facial expression suggested that it stopped being to calm Allen down and more because he just wanted to slap him around.

Allen's sobs subsided quietly, and he rubbed his cheeks slowly. "Thank you so much," he said, looking up at Kanda with gray eyes that were still misty with unshed tears. "That helped a lot."

Kanda grunted, letting go of his collar. "Glad to help," he replied, rather disgruntled.

A hand latched onto his shoulder, though, before he could go back to his beloved chair. "Could you hit me again?" Allen asked with a small amount of shame that exposed itself in the form of a light blush on his pale skin (not counting his blaring red left cheek). "I'm still in a bit of a panic mode, so I'm terribly sorry—"

"Don't." Kanda turned around, a grin on his face that made Allen kind of regret even asking. Lavi, on the other hand, was terrified, and showed this by jumping behind Kanda and waving his hands no don't do it! "Don't say another word." He smacked Allen again, a sense of calm going through his own tense body.

"…" Lavi had no words, for the first time in a long time. "I'm, uh, I'm going to go…look through the periscope."

"Mm hmm…" was the moan-like hum of a reply.

And so, about fifteen consecutive slappings later, Kanda finally sat back in his special chair and Allen leaned in his own chair near the electrical controls. It slightly disturbed Lavi that they both had these expressions of orgasmic proportions on their faces as they simply sat there.

(Lavi kind of wanted to join in, but the problem lied in the fact that he wasn't a total wife-beater like Kanda was, and he also wasn't a bitch like Allen. But, they looked like they had so much fun, and he hated being left out.)

The redhead stared into the periscope, observing the bypassing marine life. "One fish," he said aloud to get the thought of his two crewmates out of his mind. "Two fish. Red fish. Blue fi-i-ish!" There was a bit of a sob at the end of that, because the images just wouldn't go away.

"That was great," Allen said with a tone that sounded so breathy he could've been naked. "I would do that again."

Kanda smirked. "Yeah, I know." His eyes lingered on the younger man's slightly rumpled uniform, and it was clear that he wanted to mess it up even more than it already was.

Lavi was so close to opening the submarine latch and freeing himself from this torture.

"Aw, damn," he muttered, looking down from his post in the periscope. "I need to check the radios."

Kanda nodded. "You do that," he replied. "And, close the door behind you. I heard you get the best reception when it's quiet.

The redhead agreed, although he was so freaking suspicious that it wasn't even funny. "See ya in a moment, Kamikaze," he said, trotting into the buzzing radio room. He sat down and placed the headphones on his head, twisting the knobs at the same time to enhance radio reception.

(Later, though, he was oddly happy that he wore the headphones. When he went back out there, hoo boy, it was too obvious that something more active than slapping took place. Kanda never really took off his belt, so finding it tied around Allen's neck like his dead dog's collar was like a big tipoff.)

Either way, that was five days ago.


Four days ago, on March 14th, 1943, they had successfully torpedoed their first enemy ship that was above them. It was a Japanese war vessel, and Kanda did not look bothered in the least.

But, this was also about the time wherein Allen began seeing things.

Well, he was sure that he wasn't the only one seeing the gray-skinned man with the unnaturally wide smile and the upturned golden eyes. The man tipped a top hat at him from the window, where Allen wondered why he was out there in the first place.

"Who are you?" he found himself asking while Kanda was dozing in the crew quarters and Lavi was in the radio room.

The man smiled.

"Why won't you tell me?" Allen demanded, arms crossed. "I am actually quite trustworthy, thank you!" He blinked. "…How did you know that my father's brother's friend is Cross?"

This was quite the mystery. "…Are you even a real person?" he asked slowly, blinking.

The man shrugged, crossing his legs with a wider smile.

So, when Lavi had stumbled out of the radio room with a yawn and messier hair than usual, Allen had stepped in front of him with a pensive expression and a hand that habitually ran against the small wrinkles.

"Lavi," he said in a very serious tone. "Do I come across as crazy to you?"

Lavi blinked. "Crazy?" he repeated, scratching behind his head. "Like, crazy sexy? Because, yes, you are, and I am very willing to get down and dirty—"

"No, no," Allen held a hand to his temple, frowning. "I meant, like, mad crazy. Like, brainwise."

"Oh, are you insane?" the redhead shrugged. "Never really thought so myself, but why?"

"Okay." Allen breathed slowly. "So, if you don't think I'm crazy, then you would believe me when I say that there is a man in that window?" He pointed accusingly at the large frontal window of the submarine.

Lavi looked at it, and he stared for quite a long time. "…I don't see anything," he said, rubbing his aching shoulder. Those chairs were stiffer than his grandma—God bless her soul.

"You don't see him?" Allen frowned again, giving the man outside the submarine an expression of betrayal. The man shook his head, the water not making a single strand of his brown hair look bad. He waved once at Lavi with a smile. "He's waving at you."

"…" Lavi stared at the spot the younger seaman was staring at so hard. But, sadly, there wasn't a soul there but the marine life. "I don't see anyone."

"He says that you aren't trying to see him," Allen replied, crossing his arms. "He says that you would rather just have me go away, because I'm mad. Am I mad, Lavi?" He leaned closer to the older man, both eyebrows raised in a challenge. "Or, am I just insane?"

The one-eyed soldier could see no escape in this yellow submarine. "Yellow submarine!" he said suddenly, hoping it would be the chance for him to get out of this conversation. "It's niftic—we all live in a yellow submarine!"

"…I know," the twenty-two-year-old man replied, rolling his eyes. "I've been living it up alongside you. But, you don't see him? He just pulled out a violin and he's playing a song to you!" Allen paused, straining his ear to hear what exactly was being played. "…It's Beethoven's Fifth Symphony! Yes! He likes you!"

"Whoa," Lavi held up a hand, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Are you making fun of the fact that I only have one eye? Because if you are, I will push you out of this sub."

"You can't do that," Allen replied. "And I'm not making fun of you!"

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not!"

"Shut the hell up!" was the angry snarl from their Chief Petty Officer, who stalked out the crew quarters with his Navy uniform pants low on his hips and his jacket unbuttoned, exposing his bare torso (as he never truly wore undershirts or anything of the sort underneath his uniform jacket) and it's twisting dark scar from the infamous Battle of the Atlantic, in 1939. "Why the hell are you two yelling? It can't be that serious!"

He was so hot when he was angry, Allen thought with a small smile. Then, he frowned, because Kanda's default expression was pretty angry in the first place.

Lavi pointed at him. "He was makin' fun of the fact that I lost my eye in war, like a man!" he whined. "While he hasn't even lost his virginity yet, like a girl!"

"Shut the bloody hell up!" Allen shoved the redhead, offended. "I'm waiting for that special person!"

"Oh, I'll show you 'that special person'!" Lavi shoved him back, and so a miniature shove war ensued, with Lavi calling the Allied Powers, leaving Allen to be the Axis Powers.

Kanda placed a hand on both their foreheads and pushed them away from each other violently. "You are grown men," he snapped, eyebrow ticking. "If you start fighting again, I will hit both of you."

Allen looked vaguely hopeful.

"And, I mean the bad ones," the Japanese man verified, glaring at the white-haired man.

"Oh, well," Allen stepped away from Lavi, hands behind his back. "That's a different story."

It was a different story, because Lavi was disturbed that there was a 'good' hit and a 'bad' hit between the two. Was Allen truly so starved of affection that he took any sort of touch? Be it violent and from the hands of Yuu Kanda, he would still allow himself to be held in such a way?

Damn. Then, Lavi clearly needed to up his game.

"…!" Allen gasped, holding up a hand for silence. "He's saying that we'll hit a barrier reef if we don't turn!" he exclaimed, looking at Kanda with big eyes.

Kanda looked back at him. "Who the fuck are you talking to?" he demanded, hands on his hips and an eyebrow cocked as though it's been there all the while.

Lavi leaned over, holding up a hand. "His invisible friend," he whispered. "Apparently, he swims outside the U-boot, talking to Allen or somethin' like that. I don't really even know. What's his name, Al?" he jeered with a grin.

Allen paused. "This is the fourteenth time I've seen him, so…I guess we'll call him The Fourteenth." Then, he scowled. "He's real!" the British seaman insisted, waving his hands energetically. "I'm telling you, there is a barrier reef in front of our navigational direction! He told me so!"

"Psh!" Kanda snorted, walking swiftly to his chair in front of the controls and plopping in it. "I'll prove it to you—there's no barrier reef and no invisible friend."

"He isn't bloody invisible!"

Kanda flicked on the beaming headlight, and choked back a shocked curse as a barrier reef was totally coming straight for them. Or was it the other way around…?

"Holy shit!" Lavi exclaimed, hands poised in the air as the shock coursed through his body. "There is a barrier reef there!"

"I'd hate to say I told you so," Allen muttered, observing his fingernails as though they were terribly interesting. "But…it must be done. I told you so. As did my new best friend, because at least he believes me when I say he's in the window—"

"Allen, this is not the time to get British on me!" the redhead retorted, and he pointed at the barrier reef as though it were some sort of grand offender. "There is a goddamn barrier reef there!" Then, he froze. "…We're going to die!"

"What?" the youngest naval soldier blinked, and Lavi grabbed him by the shoulders roughly. "What do you mean—"

"He's gonna Kamikaze us!" the twenty-five-year-old man explained with a slight edge of panic. "See? See? He's fucking Japanese—I knew he'd betray us like this one day!"

"What?"

Kanda either ignored him or made further plans to kick his ass later, because he turned around and barked at them to sit the hell down and hold on tight.

Allen was quick to listen, but Lavi was dead stuck on how Kanda was a Japanese spy that was assigned to destroy their yellow submarine.

"You can't trust a Jap," he was saying to Allen, who was looking at him like why the hell is he still standing up? Seriously, he was going to get the flip of his life if he didn't sit down soon. "Like, look at his face! He's always threatening to kill me—and he was serious, I never even realized it!"

"Would you shut the hell up?" Kanda snarled, hands tight on the steering control. "If you end up splattered to the metal wall, that's a personal problem and you'll never get that damn promotion!"

"A-HA! KAMIKAZE SAMURAI!"

The submarine, under Kanda's skillful steering, was swerved off course with all the power the man's strained muscles could provide.

With a scratching sound, the barrier reef only brushed against the side of the yellow submarine.

Kanda did it!

Allen stood up, pumping a fist in the air. "Great job, Kanda!" he cheered.

Lavi peeled himself off the metal floor, eye wide. "Holy shit," he breathed. "I'm still alive."

"I know, right?" a red, wrinkled hand was held out to him. "We're all still alive!"

The older man took the hand, bringing himself up. A smile stretched on his face, and he wrapped his arms around the shorter naval soldier. "We weren't Kamikaze'd," he said in a sigh, bringing his head up and, in a moment of assumed insanity, pressing his lips to Allen's. "We are still alive."

Allen, on the other hand, was acutely wondering what the bloody hell was going on. "What the bloody hell is going on?" he demanded, an eyebrow cocked. "You just…kissed me."

"Oh, yeah, I can totally do it again—"

But, there was a tap at the redhead's shoulder. Lavi turned around to the less-than-impressed face of Kanda, who cracked his knuckles.

"What's all this wash about me being a 'Kamikaze Samarai'?" he asked in a dry tone of voice.

Lavi gulped.

And, that was four days ago.


Three days ago, on March 15th, 1943, they were attacked by an Italian armada that made it clear that they were to destroy no more Japanese boats, especially with the radio message they had picked up from the crackles of the radio room. Kanda, on the other hand, utilized a good three torpedoes and four water missiles, successfully destroying the main warship in their armada and freaking out the rest of them with a message laced with Japanese curses.

This was also the day wherein Allen discovered that Lavi had not slept at night at all the entire time.

This was discovered through a bit of an accident, really. After the little panic attack pertaining to the lack of air, Allen slept through the night and he breathed really hard. Apparently, he was trying to make up for the lost time he spent without unlimited air.

Lavi had gotten sick of it, and whispered loudly for him to quiet down.

"Wha?" Allen woke up, sitting up straight in his thin cotton cot and hands gripping his covers. "What's going on?"

"You're snoring," Lavi replied, looking down and scribbling something on a small notepad in the dim light of the submarine's headlights reflecting in the water outside the small window. "I couldn't concentrate, sorry."

"No," the British man smiled. "I'm sorry—but, I don't snore."

"Then, what the hell was that?"

"Why are you awake?" Allen looked around, and found that there was no real way to tell time in their small quarter. Kanda was hoarding the only watch, because he said he was more important than they were. "I mean, it's probably midnight at this point." He was just guessing, and exaggerating.

Lavi stopped his writing, looking up. "…You've gotta promise not to tell," he replied, looking around. "This is a Grade-A secret American stuff."

"I promise to my Lord in the sky," Allen swore, holding a hand to his chest, over his beating heart. Was Lavi planning a mutiny? Because Kanda would kick his arse before he got very far. "All right."

"Good!" the redhead stood up, stretching his legs, and walked over to Allen's own cot. He sat next to him, leaning in close. "I think Yuu's a spy."

"…" What? "What?" Allen asked, eyes wide. "You think who is a spy?"

"Yuu!" Lavi showed him the notepad, which was written like some sort of grown man's diary. "All the evidence is here, I'm telling you. Remember the Espionage Act of 1917? Well, I'm keeping up my American fucking honor!"

Allen was not listening as much as he was reading the entries, which were written like a man with a mental disorder and had evidence that Lavi might've been abusing opium.

"March 9th, 1943," it read in elegant cursive. "We're going to die. Al's gone insane—it must be because our 'Chief Petty Officer' went out of his way to drug the kid's dinner last night. Seriously, why'd Old Cross pack us with crap like chips and pressed meat? Where the hell is the whiskey? Although, Al's looking kind of drunk, so he might have whiskey—or he might be drugged! Because Yuu is a fjsifjd spy!"

"What?" Allen said once more, finding the 'evidence' very difficult to follow. "What is this word right here?" He pointed at 'fjsifjd', blinking in curiousity.

"Oh," Lavi chuckled, scratching behind his neck. "That's 'fucking', but Yuu had walked in—the spy—and my pen smudged because I started to panic."

"Ah."

There were more entries, but the logic was so ridiculous that Allen had to stop thinking for a moment.

Lavi's logic was more of a fallacy, and the evidence was written in the terms of a non sequitur.

As in, in the method of denying the antecedent:
-If Kanda is in the Japanese military, then Kanda must not be a spy for the Japanese.
-Kanda is not in the Japanese military
-Therefore, Kanda MUST BE A SPY FOR THE JAPANESE

Yes, Lavi did write this cock-and-bull logic.

(The saddest thing is that it had the capabilities to be quite smart and totally phenomenal—if it weren't for the fact that the red-haired man was dead set on accusing Kanda as a spy.)

"See?" Lavi insisted. "He must be a spy!"

"…" Allen handed him back his notepad, a frown on his soft face. "Lavi," he started in a tone of voice that was meant to help. "Kanda…Kanda isn't a spy."

"Oh God, you had sex with him, didn't you?" the one-eyed man groaned, snapping his fingers in defeat. "The virgins always have sex with the spy and fall in love with them! Damn it, those books were on to something."

"Stop calling me that!" Allen held a hand to his mouth and breathed slowly to calm down. "I did not have sex with Kanda—" Yet. "—and I can assure you that he is not a spy."

"But, I have proof—"

"No, Lavi." Allen sighed. "Kanda would kill himself before spying for the enemy—even if they do share a common factor of race and language."

Lavi stood up, hands on his hips in exasperation. "That's the thing!" he retorted, a frown on his face. "He will kill himself—and us! Kamikaze!"

Oh, well, that logic made a little bit more sense.

But, not by much. "Kanda loves us too much," the British man explained, even though he was lying so hard it was a waste of precious air. "Do you really think he'd go out of his way to kill us? Or, at least, get us killed?"

"…Well…" Lavi sat back down, looking thoughtful. "He is my best friend—and maybe he's not as much of a dirty Jap as I thought he was—"

Then, Kanda rushed in, looking oddly frazzled. "Quit making out!" he snapped. "We're under attack! Those goddamn Japs!"

"Under attack?!" Lavi jumped up, almost stumbling. "Hot damn! I need to get to the radio room!"

"Kanda…" Allen stood up, much calmer, and brushed off his uniform with a small frown. "Why must you call them, uh, 'Japs'? Have you forgotten your heritage?"

Kanda stared at him, and he clicked his tongue in disdain. "Have you forgotten we'll fucking die if I just stand around talking to you?" He stomped out the crew quarters, boots audible against the metal floor. "Damn this yellow submarine!"

Although, he couldn't damn it for long, because he sent out a good number of missiles (were they running out, yet?) and bombed them so hard it could've been the fourth of July.

And, that was three days ago.


Two days ago, on March 16th, 1943, the attack by the Japanese had left their submarine a little worst for wear, as there were several dents in the metal and Kanda was on paranoia overdrive. Then again, so was Lavi, but that's because of his cracked up theory.

This was the day where Kanda had sat Allen down, in a prelude to sharing his feelings.

"You're like a girl," he said with a very serious expression. "So, you should be in touch enough with your feelings to help me."

Allen cocked a slow eyebrow. "…are you implying that I'm effeminate or that you're gay?" he asked, legs crossed and hands folded over the knee.

"…" Kanda furrowed his eyebrows in thought, actually finding this answer to be rather difficult. "Neither?" he replied, waving a hand in dismissal. "Anyway! I need your emotional help, or something."

The biggest problem here was that Kanda was asking for help, and Kanda just didn't do asking for help. Much like offense, he ate help for lunch, and he chewed it like chicken.

Hmm. Allen's stomach grumbled slightly, but he could stand to ignore it for a while because Kanda was asking him—him!—for help. "Um." He pulled out the chair next to him in the crew quarters, and he patted the seat. "Well, um, sit down."

Kanda plopped into the seat ungracefully, and his lean bare stomach flexed as he stretched.

Allen smiled. "Okay, Kanda," he began, resting his chin against an upturned palm. "What's the problem?"

The Japanese man uncrossed his arms, eyes serious. "What is this feeling in my chest?" he asked, running his hand over the work-tanned skin of his chest, clutching at the tough pectoral muscle over his heart.

"Mm hmm…" Allen hummed, smiling harder. If being effeminate meant free shows like this—then sign him up. "Well…" he crossed his legs, for more reasons than one. "When you do get these feelings?"

Kanda paused. "Uh," he replied, tapping a booted foot on the metal ground. "Um. I…I get the feeling when I…when I torpedo those goddamn Japs." He nodded. "Yeah."

Oh. Oh, the poor man. Allen stifled a sad sigh, and he gazed at Kanda with heavy-lidded eyes and suddenly dry lips. He ran his tongue over his lips, reaching his hand over to rest against his commanding officer's shoulder, but ended up feeling him up on the chest. "Oops," he laughed, running his pale palm up the older man's chest to his shoulder.

Kanda, reasonably so, looked rather murderous. "What the f—"

The twenty-two-year-old man held a red finger to his lips. "Shh." he hushed. "Kanda, what you are feeling…" Allen shook his head. "…is guilt."

"Guilt?" the Japanese man deadpanned, an eyebrow cocked. "I'm feeling guilt?"

"Yes, Kanda." The younger man scooted a little closer. "Do you know why you are feeling guilt? It's because you are killing your people." He smiled serenely. "It's much like me joining the German Navy and torpedoing the British. I would feel guilty."

"Guilt." Kanda looked thoughtful. "…that makes sense, I guess."

"It should. You are feeling guilt, plain and simple." Then, Allen grinned harder. "Now, allow me to distract you from those feelings—"

"No way!" Lavi retorted, sliding into the quarters. He stood in front of the two, arms crossed and imposing. "You, Yuu, are seasick."

Kanda and Allen looked up at him, with the former's expression confused and the latter's expression offended. "Seasick?" they both asked at the same time, blinking.

The redhead nodded, pulling up a chair. "Yes, seasick." He sat in it, leaning forward. "Tell me, Yuu, how does your stomach feel right now? Feel kind of woozy?"

The Japanese man touched with stomach with curious fingers. "Now that I think about it…" he muttered. "My stomach does grumble sometimes. Huh."

Allen scoffed. "That's also called hunger—I feel it quite often, believe me."

"BUT!" Lavi waggled a finger. "What about your head? Does it feel light and 'woo-woo-woooo'?"

"I do feel light-headed when I look out the window…"

"That's because you are looking at the water!" Allen insisted, smacking his forehead. "You aren't seasick!"

Kanda almost looked torn between his two crewmates. He didn't know who was right—the overly attractive Allen or the overly logical Lavi.

"Yes you are." Lavi took on an exceeding serious stance. "I read it in a book. There is no other explanation."

Well, that was some good overall logic… Kanda nodded. "I must be seasick," he agreed, standing up and flattening the invisible shirt he must've thought he was wearing. It looked like he was running his fingers over his abs, but Allen was not one to complain. "Good job, Seaman Lavi."

"Glad to help!" Lavi flipped off a salute with a smile.

Allen stood up as well, eyes narrowed. "You know damn well," he hissed. "That he not seasick."

"Well, duh."

The British man stalked out, completely outdone that his effort in making Kanda become one with his more reasonable emotions was foiled—completely and utterly—by Lavi and the fact that Lavi is a very attractive paranoid bastard that enjoys making Kanda freak out.

He looked at the main window, and then he almost freaked out.

In front of their submarine, with a wide smile and blood stains on its white teeth, was a Great White Shark. The scourge of the seas, the oceans, and Allen's nightmares.

It had come to kill them—a German shark!

Allen gritted his teeth, poising himself for action. He knew it'd come for him one of these days—but, he didn't expect for it to come so soon!

Kanda had not yet seen it, as he was just settling in his chair with a relaxed stance, due to the fact that he just got a load off of his chest, figuratively. Allen, in a few long strides, made it to the chair and grabbed the older man by the shoulder.

"What?" Kanda snapped, jumping a little in surprise. "What're you doin—"

"Get out of my bloody way," Allen replied, practically throwing the larger man out of the chair. Where was this strength in the bombing of the HS Courageous, where his arm was unfortunate and his enemies victorious? Either way, that didn't matter now, as he slid into the commander's seat and eyed each button.

He looked up, narrowing his gray eyes. The Great White Shark seemed to laugh at him mockingly, and Allen looked around the window to see The Fourteenth leaning casually on the shark's side.

He smiled mysteriously, pointing at a single red button on the board.

"Thanks!" he said, and he slammed the heel of his hand onto that big red button.

A torpedo whistled out at the shark, who seemed to realize how it was about to die. It tried to turn, but the torpedo exploded on contact. Blood and clumps of flesh splattered on the glass windows, and the sudden vibration in the water caused the submarine to rock rather dangerously, but that was just fine with Allen. He wiped his brow with a small smile.

Kanda stumbled up, face acutely angry. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, standing up straight with his hands on his hips.

Allen smiled. "That was me saving our bloody lives," he replied, brushing off the shoulders of his uniform jacket. "No need to thank me."

"…" Well, that only served to make Kanda angrier. "What the hell was that?" he repeated. "You torpedoed a shark—you knocked me out of my goddamn chair!"

"It was necessary!" the British man insisted. "If I didn't kill it, it would've killed us!"

Kanda was breathing heavily, and his eyebrow was ticking. He grabbed the younger man by the collar of his jacket and pulled him up roughly. He practically dragged the idiot to the window, and pointed at it.

"Knock on the window," he commanded with a glare.

"Huh?"

"Knock on the goddamn window."

Allen reached out his pale hand and knocked his fist against the glass window cautiously. The sound reverberated through the otherwise silent submarine.

"Do you hear that?" Kanda whispered, and Allen was kind of scared, but at the same time anticipating. "Do you hear that?"

The white-haired man nodded slowly, looking up at his commanding officer.

"That's the sound of nothing's getting through this fucking glass unless it's a rock or a goddamn barrier reef!" Kanda let go of his collar and knocked him on the top of his head. "Idiot."

"…I saved our lives."

"No! You wasted a perfectly good torpedo, that's what you did!" Kanda brought a hand to his temple and began rubbing against the skin covering the nerves. "Goddammit, Walker. You're on radio duty from now on, as your punishment for being an idiot."

Allen looked offended, and Lavi almost did a backflip in happiness from where he was listening in.

"Yes!" he cried. "I hate radio duty—I can never understand a damn thing those Japs say! It always sounds like 'Ching chong chang' to me."

Allen was made very sad by this, since he only spoke English.

That was two days ago, though.


Yesterday, on March 17th, 1943, they had successfully entered Japanese waters with little warfare. Although, Kanda did get a little trigger happy with the controls and attempted to take out a plane, because Lavi told him the Kamikaze were coming for them. Kanda had not realized that the redhead was talking about him, and shot off several torpedoes while cursing those "damn Japs".

Allen, on the other hand, was not having the same excitement, because he was stuck in the eternally buzzing radio room with a large pair of headphones atop his ears and the enemy constantly yammering at him in some magical language he didn't understand.

"That was niftic!" Lavi exclaimed happily, and once again the British man began to feel a deep seated hatred within himself towards Kanda for making him miss out on the actual fun.

He couldn't even see his new best friend, because The Fourteenth enjoyed swimming, as he told Allen with a wide smile.

Allen could understand that. Everyone enjoyed a little fun, including himself.

In fact, he was so bored, he had dubbed the radio in front of him Timcanpy, because it gave him something to do and talk to, and no, he was not insane.

A jolt of sound pierced his ears through the headphones, and he made a small pained yelp. A red hand moved over the board and turned down the knob for the frequency rate, because the reception was coming from a ship that was ridiculously close and that just now decided to get into contact with them.

"Hello?" he greeted uncertainly, straightening the headphones. "This is the submarine, S.S. Y.S."

There was a crackle in the reply, and a deep voice finally spoke up. "What does the Y.S. stand for?" the opposing ship replied in question.

Allen rolled his eyes. "Yellow Submarine, of course," he retorted.

"Why is it called 'Yellow Submarine', then?"

The naval soldier cocked a painstakingly slow eyebrow. "Do you not see our sub?" he asked.

"Well, we actually don't. We just picked up on your radio frequency and you spoke to us—by the way, your voice is exceedingly beautiful, and I would like to know your name."

Allen felt a prickle on the back of his neck. "Look at to the side of your ship at a 49 degree angle," he replied instead, eyebrow ticking. "You should be able to see our submarine."

"I cannot, unfortunately," the man said. "I am in the radio room—as I can say you are as well?" There was a small chuckle, and Allen was so close to running out of this godforsaken room. "Either way, we mean no harm. Especially myself."

"I have no proof that you mean no harm," the British man said confidently. "And, if I am not to get your ship name in a moment, then I will torpedo you."

"Mmm…feisty." Oh god, he could hear the grin. "I like that. I like that a lot."

"Ah." Allen turned the knob to enhance frequency. "Hold on, would you? I need to talk to my commanding officer."

"Take your time, sweet."

Allen almost tore off the headphones, and he ran into the main area of the submarine. "Kanda," he breathed, coming to a shaky stop. "There—there is a ship above us. Torpedo it!"

His commanding officer swiveled towards him in his chair. "…why?" Kanda replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Do we even know this ship's name?" He crossed his arms. "What about the person you talked to—you know anything about them? What country are they leaving? Where are they going? C'mon, kid, gimme some standards."

"Y-you never needed standards when you were bombing the Japanese ships that didn't even attempt radio contact!" Allen replied in a tone that almost sounded like a whine.

Lavi held up a hand. "Actually," he said. "They did attempt—but they were dead by the time I remembered to call back. Whoops."

"You heard him." Kanda turned back around, playing with the many buttons on the board. "You get some info—I bomb them."

"Fine!" Allen stomped back into the radio room and sat in that small, uncomfortable chair. He picked up the headphones and fitted them back onto his head with a small frown. "Hello?"

"Hey," the bane of his day replied. "So, you gonna…torpedo me yet?"

Oh my god, this isn't working out. "What is your name, sir?" Allen asked from gritted teeth and a twitchy hand. "We are quite serious about torpedoing your ship."

"Okay, okay," there was a short laugh. "We're the H.S. NOA. No 'H', remember that."

"Okay!" Allen nodded. "And, your name?"

"Call me Tyki."

"Mm hmm." The British man rolled his eyes. "Your entire name, sir."

"…Tyki Mikk?"

"Thank you, Mikk." Allen smiled. "Please hold on once more." He took off the headphones and ran back to the main area, a large smile on his pale face. "It's the H.S. NOA, no 'H', and the man's name is Tyki Mikk. Torpedo, please."

"What country are they with?" Kanda replied, not even looking at him. "Christ, you act like you've been sodomized over the radio."

Well, with the way the man's voice crept over his skin, he bloody well may have been. "You'll have to torpedo him at some point," Allen threatened, waggling a finger in a scolding manner. "And, when you do, I will be there."

He walked back to the radio room, putting back on those blasted headphones. "Okay," he began. "I'm back." He smiled. "We just need a little more information before we torpedo you to heaven, and may the good Lord bless your soul."

"I'd say he already did—I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Aww. Allen sighed. He was going to feel so bad after their ship got torpedoed. "That's wonderful," he said instead. "But, may I get your country alliance?"

"My country alliance?" Tyki chuckled, and then Allen realized that this man was not taking him seriously. Oh, he would regret that, so much. "Only if I can get your name."

This was the worst day of his submarine life yet. "Eurgh," Allen coughed into his fist, and he flicked a switch that severely messed with the reception. "Allen Walker."

"Erin Rocker?" Tyki sounded kind of confused. Then, an odd electronic sound cut through the air. "Oh, Allen Walker! Sorry, the reception was acting weird—had to tweak it a bit." Damn him for knowing radio stuff! "Well, currently, we've completed a shipment of ammunition to Japan—" Yes! That ship is going down! "—and, now we're on our way to Italy—"

"That is beautiful," Allen said, a wide smile on his face. "Thank you so much, Tyki Mikk. And, I hope the best!"

He put down the headphones, not even bothering to tell the man to hold on this time. "Kanda," he called in an almost singing tone. "I do believe you may want to send out the torpedoes at this point."

Kanda sighed. "Dammit, Walker, get to the point," he barked.

"They just succeeded in delivering ammunition to Japan," Allen explained, holding out his hand and nonchalantly observing his nails. "And, now they are on to Italy."

Kanda had taken a little time to aim, and no time to press that red button on his board of controls. "Damn Japs!" he cursed, shaking a fist threateningly towards the sky.

Allen stared for a while. Then, he thought on his feelings towards the situation.

And, surprisingly enough, he was just fine.

Although, he was rather irked that they were shooting torpedoes out the wazoo, as Lavi might say. They couldn't possibly have an eternal supply of the missiles—just like how they couldn't have possibly had an eternal supply of air.

Lavi patted Allen on the small of his back with a smile. "Great job, man!" he congratulated. "That's how a real American works—don't give a damn about the people, but give a missile at the boat!"

The Fourteenth also gave him a thumb up, lounging lazily on his side in front of the window.

Allen gave him a thumb up as well, flashing a smile.

Lavi looked in his direction. "Come on," he whined. "There is nobody there!"

"Yes there bloody is!"

Kanda turned around, expression exasperated. "Is he seeing his invisible friend again?" he asked, arms crossed.

"He isn't invisible! He is a real person."

Lavi just ruffled his hair, laughing in delight.

But, that was yesterday.


And, today, on March 18th, 1943, the S.S. Y.S. was victorious in infiltrating the Naval base at Yokosuka. Things were torpedoed, and the yellow submarine was luckily spared of massive gunning because of the shock of the Japanese people seeing a U-boat of such a color.

And, a few miles away, a dark-skinned man floated about on a makeshift raft with long wavy hair and stubble along his chin.

Tyki looked down at the waters.

He huffed. "I never did see that yellow submarine," he muttered.

And, that was today.

THE END!


I know, I know. What were we thinking? We were thinking about how fcking AWESOME it would be to have the DGM Male Trio in a submarine.

Like—
Kaza: I actually do not like The Beatles
Emi: That's nice. HEY, what do you think would happen—
Kaza: NO GODDAMMIT NO I CAN'T WRITE ANOTHER FIC I HAVE TOO MANY
Emi: —if Allen, Kanda, and Lavi were in a yellow submarine?
Kaza: …Well, I think Allen would freak out because, holy shit, whar's the air?!
Emi: And Kanda would be all 'Snap out of it!' and smack him. Allen would like it, though, because he's a total bitch
Kaza: True dat, and it would totally take place during World War II
Emi: But, the history—
Kaza: FUCK WORLD HISTORY, we'll make our own
Emi: Okay, then Lavi would suspect Kanda of being a spy because he's Japanese
Kaza: Like, "THOSE DIRTY JAPS" because Americans are all racist inside?
Emi: YEAH and Cross would not really like Allen
Kaza: Because Cross is fabulous and no one goes against the Cross
Emi: That's right
Kaza: …They are so in the Navy
Emi: GASP! In the Navy…
Kaza: Yes you can sail the seven seas!

That…is basically how this fanfic came into existence. But, it was so much fun to write, I almost didn't want it to end. My favorite character, by the way, is The Fourteenth. Hands down. He is KICK. ASS.

Emiggax drew two fanarts for this fic, btw. THEY ARE HILARIOUS, you can find them on my profile. I can't stop...looking at them. :D

(Just so you know, for verification, Kanda's naval uniform actually has the jacket and the awesome hat—which he does wear during the fic—because he's a commanding officer, and Allen and Lavi are the ones stuck wearing the gay neckties and hats with those…collared shirts. Eww.) (We also care very little for anything that was somewhat inaccurate. Please, file a complaint to the suggestion box, even though nobody ever reads those.)

WE LOVE YOU! :D:D:D:D