Title: Sinner, Saviour, Martyr
Author: Calenlass Greenleaf
Disclaimer: D. Gray-man belongs to Hoshino
Spoilers: Major spoilers for 200 and 201. Will probably contradict 202 once it comes out because Hoshino is a troll who likes to do crazy things to my predictions and generally ruin them, heh. Some spoilers for the new DGM Reverse novel, "Fragments of Snow." Even if that novel hurts my brain a bit. ;;
Rating: High PG-13/T
Warnings: Blood, angst, violence/torture. Half-broken!Allen later. Abuse of Innocence-usage. No, this is not a happy fic, but uh…at least there is no character death? *runs now*
Pairings: Nope. Not a shipping fic. Nothing sexual.
Summary: Who in this world is not a sinner? Yet few are saviours, and even fewer are martyrs. He is all three, and more. Allen, Post-201 speculation. Post-201 speculation. Introspective-heavy twoshot. No pairings.
A/N: Written in two/three days; pardon the typos and possible dramatic-nature of some of this. It's been in my mind ever since DGM 201 was out, and written during a bad, bad week of RL while trying to deal with stress amidst stupid, loud neighbors smoking weed. Canonical stuff in regards to how Innocence works and how the Fourteenth is sealed should be correct; if not, let me know. Hoshino art has been weird, so I'm going for the fact that Allen is still human.
Sinner, Saviour, Martyr
'You can no longer live in that place, can you…?'
Such ominous words. Stating the obvious, really, but when those words were said aloud, they seemed far more condemnatory than had they not been said aloud. They hung in the air until everyone began to realise that the Noah were gone, leaving a slaughtering in their wake.
The adrenalin was fast fading now. First his leg started hurting. Then his shoulder. Then the multiple gashes and cuts. Then the other bones he probably had broken. Finally the gut-wrenching, sickening pain from the stab wound in his abdomen began hurting, and he ended up choking on his own blood when he tried to breathe.
Too many people…were talking all at once. Too many people shouting his name. He couldn't keep track of who was shouting, and then someone's hands closed over his shoulders, hauling him up. All the blood was rushing away from his head, and he gasped as he breathed—or rather, tried to breathe. The fact that he was in deep, deep trouble only settled in when he tried to speak but was silenced by Link (who glared at him so fiercely), and his last conscious thought was "Why is Timcampi being sealed?" before he lost consciousness.
'This is a serious betrayal. Do you have any idea what you are doing?'
Of course he did. Hadn't he stated numerous times why he did the things he did? Why he destroyed to save? Why he made his choices?
He stared up at the white ceiling of the room—they hadn't let him stay with the others—and his mind run free. How difficult was it to understand his desires to help?
Or maybe he loved too much. Could he even help himself? You show kindness, you don't ask for payment, but you know inside yourself that you've done a good thing. Then why…why was his heart this heavy, right now?
Allen coughed; dull pain spiraled down from his head to his other wounds as he stiffly tried to keep from moving too much even while his shoulders spasmed. It had been a couple months since he had last been this heavily injured, after all. Level Four attack…
So long ago.
Such a long time since he had fought side-by-side with people.
Because since then, he had been fighting alone.
He fought the accusations they brought against him. He fought the suspicious looks and whispers. He even fought himself.
They all wanted and didn't want him. They wanted him to be their soldier, but at the same time, they called him a traitor. They wanted him for their war, but they also didn't want him to walk in his own convictions.
Grey eyes finally shut against the stark whiteness; he had been starting to see patterns in the cracks that quickly morphed into faces.
They had drugged him so that pain was barely there, but the drugs, he knew, were also for another purpose—to numb him enough so that he "wouldn't be a threat."
Ah, hah. The one deemed "the Destroyer of Time," was also being heavily watched. Seals on his Innocence arm and around his bed were a heavy reminder of that.
I hate being drugged, he thought as he shifted one leg up and tried to move his shoulder slightly to alleviate an ache in his back. He didn't like being without sensation. Actually, he was terrified of it because there had been a time he hated everything and everyone and no matter how hard he had tried to be unfeeling, it simply hurt all the more. But he finally learned that feeling was something he needed. But why did have he feel so much that it caused him pain like this?
The Order had been his second home—and for a bit, he had hoped it would have been a permanent—and for a good few months it had been good. Only until untold secrets had spilled out did he start feeling like a stranger. And now? He was clearly unwelcome.
One hand curled into a loose fist; he was near half-consciousness, and he couldn't even make himself smile even if he wanted to. They could have let him die a few days ago, but instead they took him back here. They could have killed him on the spot, but they chose to bring him to the Order. He hadn't spoken since the time he had tried to ask Link what was going on (and…it's been a while since he had last seen Link, strangely enough), hadn't needed to say anything. Just nod or shake his head, and wait.
Waiting for his execution, probably, he darkly imagined. Maybe they wanted to do this formally, but he knew they weren't going to kill him so quick if they were taking pains to transport him back and patch him up.
…what did they want from him now? His actions had spoken for him, so what was left?
Truth be told, he didn't want to find out what they wanted.
Allen held a breath, and then slowly let it out.
What did he want right now, anyway?
He couldn't even answer that.
It occurred to him that he didn't know everything about the Order the he had joined, about a year ago. They fought in a war against the Earl, and they also used less-than-moral means of trying to win.
But had there ever been someone labeled a traitor?
He wasn't a Fallen One, after all. He hadn't betrayed his Innocence; it was still there; bound, but he could still feel it. Betraying Innocence and betraying the Vatican where two very different things—that, he had only begun to understand. So what did they want with him? Typically, a traitor is executed for his heresy. Unless he had been working for the enemy, he was quite useless. And Allen hadn't been working for Enemy. Unless you count the Noah inside of him, who's wants were just as unclear as everything else.
He suddenly tensed.
Did they want to question the Fourteenth?
Or, maybe they think he was withholding information about the Fourteenth.
He wasn't. There was only a name, a name he didn't want to think about. If anything, he'd like very much to not have someone taking over him. If he could still help it. But so many things made it difficult. At least he now knew what trigged the Noah—Innocence. Would Crown Clown, he wondered idly, some day turn on him because that?
He clenched his jaw.
I won't let that happen.
Despite that he probably was no longer officially recognised as an Exorcists, technically, he still was one.
God help him, he had been born to be an Exorcist. The time he had lost his arm had shown him that, without it, he had no purpose.
He lived for this.
It wasn't about rules or thing limiting him. It was the want to save, the want to see sadness gone.
It was not simply about winning.
Winning could be done without this much pain, he knew. But the Vatican chose this way; maybe in their mind, they thought this war had gone on too long; it had to be ended. But when you trade morals for unethical…
Was it right?
God was White, the Earl was Black.
Allen Walker was considered Grey.
The door opened, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leverrier and several Crow.
Even if he were more White than the Vatican would ever be.