A/N: So in order to break my writer's block, I wrote this one-shot… I don't know if you'd call it extreme storyline editing or AU or canon or what, but I just stuck a very OOC Cross into some key events in the first two or three seasons of D. Gray-man, and then tacked some events I made up on… And there is character death in here… And I just wrote this to break writer's block. It's from Allen's POV :I He's talking about our OOC Cross and his exploits throughout Allen's life.
Disclaimer: I don't own D. Gray-man or any related characters, Katsura Hoshino does.
You're a huge part of our lives, old man.
You, and Maria, and Timcampy… you're all huge.
You saved me from the streets a second time. You patched up my wounds and kept me alive, and in your own crude way, you gave me the tough love I needed.
When we were in the Ark, you came in and pulled all of us out, and even though you frowned at our teenage stupidity- we ended up collapsed by your feet, clinging to each other, sniveling and shuddering in the revelation that we were alive—you just stood there and let us cling to your boots and ground us to the not-so-safe Earth, and eventually you knelt, to pry us off, but ended up as part of our awkward group hug that lasted for hours. I think at some point, we fell asleep—and when we woke, you were still there, with Lenalee's hands caught in your hair, and Kanda, Lavi, and I all trapping you down by being firmly attached to your front. Maria, who stood silently behind you, had a pallid hand on your shoulder, and Tim had squeezed into the middle of the group, probably looking to be included… and you still just sat there, with that stupid, confused look on your face that said you had no idea what we were doing, but you felt obligated to sit there, and was still there when Tiedoll, Miranda, and the remains of Anita's crew hurried up and froze, seeing their friends clinging to the infamous General Cross in such an unusual way.
Then, there was that time when you told me that when-if-the Fourteenth took over my mind and body, that I'd have to kill a loved one—and you hugged me, of your own free will—and I remember the warmth of your chest, the scent of the old black leather hat made up your coat—your familiar scent of cigarette smoke and fine whiskey caught in all the little folds and creases. Your hair—which was always so beautiful, lovingly cared for, with not a strand out of place—screened your face, even as you rested your chin on my head and broke the truth to me—and when you finished telling me about the Fourteenth, I felt something break, something you couldn't fix with crooked stiches, hasty cauterizing, or stolen bandages, like you so often had to administer, and I realized that I'd probably miss you most of all.
Then, you lost Judgment, leaving only that and a smear of blood as red as your hair. I remember Tim's mourning, and often missing him, as my last physical piece of you, I joined him by that drying pool of blood. I suffered while you were gone—I beat down the damned Fourteenth, and I won.
When I woke to you, maskless, thin, and your perfect hair crusted in the filth you loathe, gently brushing my hair from my eyes, murmuring comforting things, yet in your own world; I had lifted my hand—which looked cadaverous—and touched your shoulder. You jumped, and stared at me, and stared sternly into my eyes, with a look that asked, "Neah? Or Allen?"
When you saw my eyes weren't the gold you dreaded, but the same lively mercury, I remember – and to this I swear—you had tears in your eyes, and I couldn't help but think that you'd really lost it, you, the great General Cross.
After that, I found myself—steadily regaining the strength lost in the three weeks spent unconscious—staying by your side more and more. You seemed lost without your Innocence—when I asked what was wrong, you told me everything that had transpired with Judgment, and how Maria had blocked herself away, and not yet reopened the ability to be summoned. Tim, when he was let in, had nearly tackled you—pretty impressive for such a little golem. You'd grinned, and then you'd really cried.
I guess you needed a good cry, to just let out all the pain you kept bottled up throughout your life.
We recovered, we beat down the Earl, and we eventually saved the world. Akuma didn't vanish—they just became harder to find. Mostly, they hid, and when they attacked, they died easily.
It eventually came to the point when you began to pressure Lenalee and I to get together—you'd finally regained your old spunk, with Maria back, and although Judgment never returned—in fact, the old weapon had destroyed itself—you didn't seem to care. Finally, I'd broken, and asked her out, while you restrained Komui and grinned like a fool.
So months began to turn to years, and eventually, with the exorcists blissfully unaware of the Akuma banding together for one last attempt at pleasing their dead master, Lenalee and I married, and for some reason, you were our priest. Even Komui seemed content—he remarked later that you had made a good choice in who you demanded your apprentice date.
Lenalee and I… our children had been born shortly before the first fight that led to us, the exorcists, realizing that the Akuma were back, and in greater number than we'd thought. We were yet again blissfully unaware of the impending crisis, only brought to light after we had happily named you the godfather of all Walkers to come.
Lenalee. I'd promised her that I'd be home again.
And now I'm laying here, with my head in your lap—you're here again, old man. My guts are basically spilling out onto the ground, and I know I'm dying.
I have my cold, bloody hands wrapped around one of yours. You're shaking—your idiot apprentice just took a deadly blow for you. The one you not-so-lovingly raised from a stupid, filthy street whelp, into a powerful, young exorcist. The man you managed to make me into—the one who fathered the children you came to love.
I'm dying, and it… annoys me. I would have thought I'd be scared. I guess I'm not, because I know you're gonna be there for my family, like you were before.
It hurts. My eyes are probably going flat by now, and my skin is already cold. You keep shaking my shoulders, keeping me awake.
"It's gettin' dark, old man. I think… my clock's run out. Don't you dare run away from my family, now," I whisper.
The last thing I see as my vision blackens is your muddy red gaze, glazed with shock and misted with unshed tears.
Don't worry old man. I'll keep an eye on you yet, I think, as the world blinks out one last time.
A/N: First of all, that was writer's block. Second of all, I went hyphen crazy. Third of all, I killed Allen :I
I think I'm gonna write a sequel, from Cross's POV.
And just so you know, I had trouble staying in first-person XD
Read and review, please :3