Title: Spadile

Author: Pup-Ashbless

Fandom: D Gray Man

Disclaimer: I do not own the official franchise. Hoshino does.

Summary: It symbolized death, he was death.

Allen was like a bucking horse, beautiful as enticing, unsettling as foreboding. He kicked and bit, but allowed only the very few to think they held his harness when all intents and purposes the only ones allowed to touch it were Cross Marian and Mana Walker – the two who had been mad enough to tightened it on him.

The latter was dead and the former as untouchable to hold as the ripples mindless children splashed across the rain plopping river.

But that was less of an issue as the fact that in reality, when one bothered to look inside the cracks that splinted and curved away everyday, the harness was only motivated, not steered, not pushed, but motivated.

Not even the harness – and oh what harness in the form of Crown Clown – would buckle to Allen's – or any - impulses, for what harness ever took any demands other than to channel the energy that encouraged power to overlap the Master as a driven servant who has never known the meaning of meekness.

Death was a sinner and a saint. Lavi had never known death – at the very least he could shut the door on it and cover his ears while it kept knocking – to linger and blow whispers against the back of his neck and bolt shivers to his chest shaking his lungs.

The first time it happened, Lavi noticed the blood in the bamboo grove's earth looked less like a stain and more like a casual addition for the eye to bare witness to.

Oh, my first death.

Which was a lie on bookman Junior's part. Bookman Junior had seen plenty of death, had even felt a slim gasp at Doug's death. But Lavi hadn't. He saw the ace of spade, ironically the only card left to symbolize this turn of events. He picks the offensively clean card up and at the time his mind could only register the meanings, tactics, and parts of history the card belonged to like his mind was switching to recording mode faster than he was prepared.

He wasn't prepared.

This was death Lavi, a voice told him – probably Bookman – this, is now history. Look at it, don't embrace it, and don't learn from it, for that was the ultimate sin wasn't it? Letting death soothe you, cry for you so sincerely you couldn't help but mirror the response? After all what is death if you do not embrace life?

Questions, questions…too many, shutting down.

He looked at death, puzzling. There it was, in his hand, white and black, white and black.

You and he were never supposed to meet, A voice – the true side of him had said.

It was like the end of a rope cracking like a whip at the hands that were not supposed to use it that Lavi lost the card and with that the reminder of the phantom touch.

Out of sight out of mind.

Such a phrase is impossible for one of the bookman. For once something is imprinted in a book then the only way to rid the words of existence is to rip the pages of text from the rest and to do such a thing would undermine everything a bookman would record.

He kept the pages behind his eyelids turning, not once stopping to linger more favorably on one amount of text over the over.

Grim Reaper came and put the ace of spade card back in his hand.

Why this? He asked.

The grim reaper, who was not death but watched it, not too unlike a bookman regarding the passage of time, gave the impression of a silent grandparent shaking her head and giving no answers for young whose mind could never comprehend.

(If bookman Jr. was a better human, he would have spat on her face and irrationally kicked the dust into her non existent eyes for such an offensive and insulting reaction to him – he, the one who would become Bookman, the one to know everything.)

Lavi turned away only to realize he never stopped moving in the first place.

For when he sees the Noah of pleasure death comes begging and begging like a mother give queen to another nation with tears in her eyes and babe cradled in her arms pleading for help against enemies who would take away her child's death by times hands.

Give it back!, Lavi's – or was it bookman Jr.? – fighting spirit soared like a parable story throughout the generations of kin. Give back the death you took from me or I'll steal yours away all the same!

Death was the same as life after all. It could be given and taken by both the hands of humans and time. Really the only thing the two had in common with each other. And at that moment he – Lavi or bookman it didn't matter the rage was all the same for different reasons until they clashed and merged into one uncontainable reckonable force – saw death and wanted nothing more to reach out and take the one truth that had always eluded him by the cruelty of life.

You didn't give him a death that history would remember forever, so I'll repay you the same.

A reserved (was it disappointed?) voice tells him which death he was really angry about, Allen Walker's or-

Tykki laughed, half amused half battle crazy calm. Than replied in his own way he was right as such a death never came true.

Death went away, replaced with life, but Lavi had learned this new life that had returned from the dead was really a mask – oh and how appropriate considering who this was – because this was paradox he did not know how to calculate.

Was Allen death pretending to be life? Or was he life pretending to be dead and dead to what, life? No. Life and death were eternal; they went hand in hand down funeral and wedding halls always signifying the death, birth, and rebirth in an endless cycle.

The theories were interesting, but only interesting. Death made history and was a part of history, but that did not mean the two should hold hands and converse. They simply walked out one door while the other walked in, only giving a passing glance at most. No bookman would ever ponder the, what if's, of the death of history or the final history of death itself if the two should clash in a final battle.

History in the making was, ironically, a taboo of sorts to wonder for bookman. It had too many possibilities in store for the unwanted. Too many choices that shouldn't be made by man who desire to alter the history of life by altering the forces of death that oppose them. It was too much pressure to get involved, to acknowledge while watching or, god forbid – interacting with.

Allen smiled at Lavi after his eyes stopped lingering on Lenalee's; as if they were window's to Suman's soul, and Lavi felt a cold hand slap a shiver of unknown qualities down his neck to settle like a pit in his stomach, nested and growing into a sinister plague.

How interesting Lavi found that his interest piqued even more.

Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back.

It didn't rhyme, and it always annoyed Bookman - which wasn't saying much, but bookman Jr. sang it any way whenever saw something interesting, for not much interested like this compared to his first few names. He wasn't afraid of death because he killed himself faster than a slit to the wrist whenever he found the name was useless. Death wasn't scary so there was no point in worrying.

He had beaten death plenty of times by managing to never meet her in the first place. Sacrifices were never made because what was the point of a sacrifice unless it meant something one couldn't do without. bookman Jr. took what he did, as did his mentor, and left so suddenly the tears had no idea why they should come. Names were just names, personalities were just personalities, and duplicates of pages were just duplicates of pages in a book.

He left that thought behind as death was escaping him, as the portal sucked down the returning not so dead boy, Lavi could only feel 'wait…wait!' as he leapt after heedless of the consequences.

He was chasing after the thing that eluded him. Visions of blood and bamboo mixing with coy smiles of clowns, perhaps bookman Jr. wanted to see whether or not Lavi would react to such a scene the same way a second time?

Bookman Jr. found the face, the face that embodied death.

"Lavi! Can you hear my voice?"

The voice seemed desperate, the bookman observed; if the look on The Destroyer of Time's face was anything to go by. It didn't matter, what mattered was getting rid of it. Getting rid of death plaguing him. Death was not allowed to linger, only that right was reserved for life for where there was life there was untold histories to be formed.

Bookman Jr. felt flesh pounding against his fist and he hit the face that represented – no, was death into useless submission.

Go away; go away… he calmly sang as the screams all around were the same as chirping birds to an indifferent ear.

The face kept changing like firecrackers exploding with each impact and red head saw hundreds of thousands of faces and lives gathered and sung away like a swan's wings along the wind.

He hit death again and again while Lavi slashed blindly like a bat at night at the figments that only impersonated death.

Stop it, stop it, stop it…. Lavi pleaded like a child who spoke against the imaginative monster under the bed despite still being afraid to check.

Death wasn't real; Lavi almost succumbed to its belief once, but not again. It didn't matter, it didn't matter that the card with ink like blood blacker than night tying him to death was dripping into the water of life! It didn't matter that the Allen wasn't real but still dying as if it was Lavi's fault –againlikethefirsttime- for not believing.

Death can't happen to you, death can't happen to us…to me

bookman Jr. informed his namesake in the same manner an aloof older sibling informs a younger of the dangers they could have avoided a bit longer.

Lavi watched the last ink slide like blood off the impossibly white card as the specters of fake deaths plunged into him with indifferent haste.

Huh, Allen received the card from his death just like I received the card from my own.

The speculative thought made Lavi narrow his eyes as he breathed out words to his mirror self.

Lavi felt the ripples of the card caressing against him and heard distant cries of heat and flame heralding the rising hand of death.

…And plunged the dagger into what could have been his own - or maybe it still was?

bookman Jr. shivered, clutching at his own existence like it was the only thing holding the world together. Why, why, why, he screamed. Was he scared? His current namesake was leaving? Did he ever want Lavi to leave? Bookman Jr. heard a distant cry from above and was surprised to feel he was reacting to Lavi's name.

Oh right, he thought with clarification as the ripples from the card now pressed encouragingly against him. Death was calling for him, it wasn't the same as dying or leaving this time, it was offering a death from this stagnant abyss.

You wanted that as well, and this time there was no difference between Lavi and bookman Jr. for that would be as illogical as a bookman with no history, despite whatever they or anyone may say.

Lavi/bookman Jr. came out of the abyssal ocean and into the bright flames, trusting in his own pride that death would save him from this nightmare as he blacks out with flames of ash licking his tongue.

He vaguely dreamed of spadile, smug with honesty at his confusion of an empty hand that felt warm.

When Lavi's awake, his vision is filled with the white grim reaper panting by his side and inhaling oxygen of ash as if were the same as cool water.

Oh…, Lavi thought, you're gonna kill everything everyone ever had the comfort to distrust about this world.

But Lavi never saw Allen's face when he said such a thing, only the eye less sockets that became windows to dimensions of the world teetering between history and death as with the mocking mystery of life.

With no answer, Lavi laughed, for once happy with no logic in mind other than the one he was glad he wasn't the only one alive.


"The ace of spades (also known as the spadille) is traditionally speaking the highest card in the deck of playing cards, although the actual value of the card varies from game to game. In popular myth and folklore, it is also known as the death card. It's also been used as a symbol of good luck for some soldiers in WWII who painted the symbol on their helmets because of the cards fortunate implications in the game.

Allen's role in this story was more of a allegory which I hope would explain some things better.

Originally there was going to be some more Allen resentment from our bookman here, but Lavi was too disctracted and bookmanJr. was too... emotionally stunted during the parts he could have been. Ah well.