a/n; another drabble, link and allen. angst. musings. not really a pairing, but take what you will! standard disclaimer applies, and leave a review on your way out!



Most teenagers were out and about with their friends, having a good time without having to worry about problems, instead choosing to focus on what they were going to do that day, or what they'd be having for supper at home that night. The odd time, they'd fret about nails, or fights with friends that would just be reconciled the next day anyways.

War, war, war –

"What do you think of the recent killings, Link?"

"Probably akuma. Innocence may be there; the finders are looking into it."

But for them, their problems were more based around death. They woke up in the morning thinking about various assignments. Food, though important to Allen at least, wasn't a priority – other then for energy to fight. Instead of fretting about broken nails, they fretted over broken limbs; fights with friends were pale in comparison to the demons they faced everyday.


Kids at best, kids at play.

Link sometimes forgot Walker was a kid at all.

Because Allen Walker was one of the youngest exorcists, save for Timothy – another child of war, God have mercy – and wasn't ever a child to begin with. Though he knew little of the hazed past of the supposed heretic, Link knew enough to know that Allen wasn't brought up with toys and games and treats; no, he was brought up with beatings and beatings and –

"Another assignment for us. When are we leaving?"

Then again, it's hard to forget something that isn't really there.

The maturity of the fifteen year old was both frightening and sad.


Paperwork and knives in sleeves.

Allen sometimes forgot Link was still young.

The thing about the Order was that they were secret, an unknown organization working to save the world from impending doom that most were oblivious too. Those within the confines of the secrecy had grown up too fast, living with everyday guilt and battling everyday danger. But Link, he was raised with Central – the Vatican, dear God – and was trained with astounding fighting skills and spells and secrets, secrets, secrets. He was expressionless most of the time, though Allen worked to get a smile now and then, because it was hard to believe Link was the age he was –

"Later today. Be ready."

Then again, it's hard to believe someone was trained with death.

The harsh truth hurt, but it was real.


He fought for the demons and the humans.

The world had forsaken him, left him for dead, yet he worked to restore the peace that was still far off.

Link had to wonder where the kid – not a kid, never a kid – received his constant effort from, because Allen had an undying courage that was as bright as a flame, that no drop of rain or tears could touch. He was a light to everyone, fought for reasons most would consider unnecessary. But Link had to wonder something painfully true –

Did anyone see what truly went on in Walker's mind?

Link could tell, the way his eyes dimmed and his shoulders sometimes sagged, that Allen was carrying a burden too big for his shoulders. A burden that was inescapable, that left the boy ragged and weak, more mentally then physically.

While most kids decorated their bodies with make up or something of the sort…

…Allen decorated his skin with scars of war.


"I'll beat you up!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

He couldn't help but laugh sadly when he passed young people fighting pointlessly over something that was petty in comparison to what went on everyday. They didn't realize that demons ran amok around them, itching to rip their flesh and spill their blood. Yet there they stood, arguing and threatening each other as if it was acceptable and alright to do such a thing.

Normally, it didn't bother him.

Because it proved that they lived in blissful not real, not yet peace. But watching them waste their days left an ache in his heart, because it was something none of them would ever have the luxury of doing. Their days were not timed by the rising of the sun and the appearance of the moon; they didn't 'hang out' or spend time with friends because it was an easy way of passing time.

They were timed by the Three Days of Darkness. Their days began with death and Innocence, and ended when all was taken care of, or until their bodies just couldn't take the strain any longer. They spent time with friends within the confines of their tight knit society, be on missions or the rare time they had a day to themselves to recuperate. Time passed quickly, but it also quickly reminded them of the darkness approaching.

Allen doesn't always understand them.

But then again, he barely understands himself anymore.

Oh, what the world would be if they knew true sin, true horror. Link knows what that is like, what it indescribably means to bear witness to death, to catastrophe, to the crimson stained hands they all must suffer with.

And while most think about the world in a lighted sort of way…

…Link and Allen think of it in the twisted, sorrowful way it truly is.


The way the war has touched them – not just them, but everyone truly involved – is in a way that is locked in place forever, and Allen knows that even if the peace is returned, they may not be around to see it. Link doesn't question that pessimistic thought, because it is the only one Allen allows to pass through his mind.

Link sometimes forgets that Allen is a child, and not the boy who's touched by both light and darkness.

Allen sometimes forgets Link isn't much different, and not the man with stained hands and an unchangeable way of seeing everything and everyone.

War, war, war –

It's undoubtedly tainted them.