Chapter Text
It's dark.
And cold, of course. The two seem to go hand in hand, after all.
The revolting stench of rotting garbage and the dusting of dirt and other grime in the alleyway sting his nose and bare skin (an ugly, burning yellow). He's numb (dull grey), and it's snowing (too many flecks of pale, pale blue), but mostly.. it's dark.
And then it's not…
---
The first time he sees it, he doesn't understand.
It's a pure white edged with turquoise and a smattering of brown and yellow. The colors scream to him (safe hope warmth healing), and he screams back, but his voice doesn't work, and the grey is overwhelming, and then there's black and a horrid yellow-green, but it's all mixing together, and he can't breathe.
Just before he passes out, the beautiful white and turquoise flood his vision, and he thinks if he dies seeing this, he'll die happy.
-
He doesn't die.
-
Sometimes he still regrets that.
---
After a while, he figures out the meanings behind the colors. They help.
He can avoid Cosimov on the bad days where his usual dark green and malicious purple are tinted black at the edges.
He can get aid from people whose colors aren't completely focused because of their work.
He discovers the simple, unerring pink of a dog, who licks his red, misshapen hand as if he weren't a monster or a demon but a person. The pink is a sharp contrast to the dull, dark colors of the circus, and he never misses a chance to see the dog from then on.
-
He watches... that day.
A dark, black-purple-green aura, snuffing out the pink aura as it slowly grows duller and duller until finally, it's faded completely into black.
The dog is dead, and Cosimov walks away with black trailing behind him.
-
Red, stinging with dingy yellow and a faded red, drowns in the deep blues, holds his immobile left arm close because no matter how it has wronged him, it has always been turquoise and white. It's beautiful even with the deepest blues of his soul shattering in this too dark world.
-
He still wants that turquoise-white to be the last color he sees before he dies.
-
He wonders if a coward gets to see such beautiful things before death.
---
“He's dead..” The dog's pink aura has long since faded. “He's covered in bruises.”
The bruises match the color of Cosimov's dark aura.
Red glances over at the clown beside him, scowling. He really fucking hates clowns. Their colors are always contrasting; dark and gloomy against the brightness of their costumes. Yet this clown..
“Cosimov probably did it. 'Cause the audience likes you more than him,” Red mentions matter of factly. He can't seem to stop talking. “He hates when people are better’n him. He's got no talent, except when it comes to stuff like this.”
That's when the clown finally acknowledges him but only with words. His eyes remain on the dog's makeshift grave.
“He was an old dog,” he murmurs, orange-yellow-blue aura never changing. Strange. “He wouldn't have lived much longer anyway. It's alright.”
“Hmm..” Red hums thoughtfully, glancing up at the clown, looking for anything to imply what he might do next. There's nothing red about him. “You're not gonna get revenge?”
The clown claps his hands together in prayer. It looks fucking ridiculous in that stupid clown costume.
“If I do that, I'll get kicked out of here and won't get paid. I'm a newcomer, after all. After Christmas tomorrow, I'll move on to somewhere new.”
Ugh. This guy is a fucking lunatic.
Regardless, it makes sense. A logical lunatic, goddamnit. “I see.”
“Hmm?” The clown hums thoughtfully. Like an idiot. “Who are you anyway?”
Red ignores the irrational hurt he feels at going unrecognized and answers, “I do odd jobs around here… I've brought you dinner before.”
“I have a bad memory for faces,” the idiot replies, and Red scowls further. “Oh my! You're covered in bruises too, aren't you?”
A sudden, wet, murky brown-green sensation on his skin causes him to jump away from the clown, screeching, “Gross! Get your spit off me, dummy!”
“It's disinfectant,” the clown murmurs, disheartened. His aura doesn't even dull.
“Did Cosimov beat you up?”
“Shut up!”
“Don't you have any friends?”
“SHUT UP!”
Man, this idiot is getting on his nerves!
He spits out, voice ringing with the dim red in his voice, “When I grow up… I'm getting out of here as soon as I'm strong enough, so I don't need friends.”
To his left, the clown slides up close to him so suddenly that he almost flinches back, but all the clown does is make a ridiculous face. It's stupid.
“What're you doing?” He scowls, hoping the clown is intimidated by his red and refuses to look at the dummy.
“You didn't think it was funny?”
“Sorry,” not really. “But I don't like clowns and stuff. In fact, I hate 'em.”
“My, my.” The clown says hotly, and still his colors don't change. “Well, I hate crowds and children who don't laugh.”
“Hmph.” Red scoffs. As if he'd care what this clown thinks. And yet.
“Aren't… you gonna cry? He lived with you for a long time, didn't he? Aren't you sad?”
“So sad I could die!” The clown acts as if he were to hang himself, but he wouldn't because his aura hasn't changed once since Red started talking to him. Orange-yellow-blue.
“Quit it!”
Then…
“But I can't cry… Maybe my tears are dried up… they just won't come.”
Red, deep blue overtaking the simmering red, turns away, mumbling to himself, “What's up with that?”
Weighing his options, Red decides to ask, “What… was his name?” He continues without really meaning to, driven by the drowning heaviness of the blue. “He licked my hand yesterday. His tongue was warm.”
A bright, golden yellow that held back the grey of most days. The reminder sends a wave a deep blue through him, and his voice wobbles as he continues.
“So how come… I'm crying over him?”
The blue streaks down his face in ugly sobs and tears, and he can't stop, so all he does is wail louder.
“I see.” He hears the murmured words.”You were Allen's friend, too.”
---
When it comes time for the clown to leave, Red goes with the him.
Mana.
His Mana
-
Red grows used to the constant orange-yellow-blue. It never changes, and maybe that means something is wrong with Mana, but he can ignore that because Mana loves him… right?
-
His name is Allen now. He's being named after the dog, he is…
He is..
-
Mana teaches him what colors are, describes them and teaches him new ones, not just ‘yellow, blue, green, red’ but 'sunshine yellow, sky blue, rich green, scarlet’.
Colors are beautiful.
-
The world is still dark.
-
Mana dies.
There's no more unchanging orange-yellow-blue, only black, and it hurts, the deep, drowning blue is back, but now it's shrouded in black, and he can't breathe.
Then a man, big smile, top hat, and completely black, appears, and he must be Death; who else could it be?
He says yes.
Then Mana is alive, but he's still black but now there's purple and blue and red.
The turquoise-white appears, and he screams, but Mana still dies, and this second time, it's still his fault. His face burns red-yellow-white and then scarlet-orange and gold appear, and he wishes he could've seen the turquoise-white one more time before he dies.
---
He doesn't remember much in the next few months. There are flashes of searing white, burning red and munsell yellow, and he hasn't seen the beautiful turquoise tinted white in so long. Then there's a moment; one moment that he remembers:
Scarlet-orange is here.
“Did you really love Mana that much?”
He doesn't respond. It burns.
“Fight it, Allen. Remember… what he said?”
“Don't stop.”
A flash of orange-yellow-blue, white face, a painted smile, a top hat.
“Keep Walking.”
One last smile. A 'thank you’ that ripped his soul to shreds down to the drowning blue and turquoise-white.
The blue is too much, and he feels it leaking down his face in tears.
-
Scarlet-orange-gold is named Cross Marian. Master.
And the turquoise-white, though the man doesn't call it that, is named Innocence. It's oddly appropriate.
He turned Mana into an Akuma, into black and purple and blue, and he's going to save the Akuma. He's going to save them all.
-
He can see their souls. Apparently, that's not something everyone can do. He wonders if anyone else can see the dark purple and too blue, but doesn't have time to ask before he's forced to dodge another Level 1 Akuma’s attack. The white edged turquoise of his Innocence shines yellow and brown and orange as he fights.
This is the shittiest training exercise ever. He better not die.
-
Cross is a fucking asshole.
-
The scarlet-orange and gold of his Master's aura has become a comfort to him. And through the nights where he can't sleep, where even the turquoise-white of his deactivated Innocence isn't enough, he'll take in the grey tranquility of the man's slumber, and note the ever present white-red-gold-silver of his Master's Innocence, Judgement, by his side.