I do not own D. Gray-Man (DGM).

Written because several pictures feature Timothy clambering all over Allen, and it just hit me that he's nine years old and a parasite type Innocence, too.

Ephemeral

It wasn't a very well-kept secret, but no one had really mentioned it.

Emilia and Tsukikami had. Timothy suspected that Nyne knew, too, but she was always so careful to never overstep. It was something he was both grateful for and aggravated about, but he was slowly coming to understand why, perhaps, Nyne tread carefully with others.

Timothy adored Allen.

Of all the exorcists, Allen always had time for Timothy. He was the only one aside from Lavi that helped play pranks, and Timothy thought it was pretty funny how much Allen and Kanda fought.

It wasn't just that though.

Of them all, he welcomed Timothy. He looked at Timothy with a smile, indulged Timothy every time the boy clambered over Allen, always greedy for a touch.

Kanda didn't care, and frankly Kanda scared Timothy (he'd never seen an adult so blasé about hitting a kid).

Lavi was strangely distant, even if he joked and made a lot of fun. He felt like he didn't want to get close to Timothy, and Timothy didn't want to behis friend either!

Lenalee was... okay, he guessed. He liked her a lot too, but she nagged too much! She was as bad as Emilia!

The rest of them were too old or bitter, like Chaoji. And Chaoji hated Allen, so Timothy didn't like Chaoji much either.

But it wasn't just playing pranks and being present.

Timothy felt that Allen was... like him. Parent-less. Young. Alone.

"Allen," Timothy asked, snuggled up against the teen's side as usual. Allen had wrapped his arm around Timothy to grab the book he was reading, holding Timothy flush across his stomach as Timothy's leg stretched out in front of him on the sofa, back warm against Allen's side. They were the only ones in the library that evening.

"Hm?" Allen turned a page, but Timothy knew he was listening.

"How old are you?" He asked, shifting to peer up at Allen's face. He could see the pause as his mind left the printed text to blink and ponder. It felt odd to Timothy that Allen seemed to have forgotten.

"Sixteen," Allen said firmly, but with the air of someone who was sure of something only because they had been told it often enough.

"Only sixteen?" Timothy asked, aghast. Allen chuckled and Timothy elbowed him. "How long have you had your innocence?"

Allen stilled suddenly and distinctly, and Timothy knew Allen had followed the line of inquiries to its end. Timothy dropped his gaze to the math work in his lap, rolling the pencil between his fingers and palm.

"Since before I can remember," Allen answered carefully, shutting the heavy tome and twisting. Timothy squeaked in surprise as he slid across Allen's side to rest against his chest. He quieted when he felt Allen tighten his hold. "Most parasite users live short lives, yes, but you'll reach thirty for sure," and it was the strength of his conviction, the determination he heard in his voice that Timothy knew meant Allen refused to acknowledge the alternative - the inevitable. Allen would do all he could to keep Timothy safe and alive.

It was nothing he didn't already know - Komui had explained it shortly after his arrival - but guilt clawed at his stomach.

He was relieved.

He was so relieved, because Allen had his innocence for years now, used it almost more than anyone else and pushed it to the breaking point, and he was still alive. Sixteen years old. Seven more years...

"Oh, Timothy," Allen sighed, and Timothy wanted to elbow him again for treating him like a kid. "That cry of yours is still as distinct as ever." He leaned forward and set the book on the coffee table before gathering Timothy into his arms. Timothy gladly went, tucking his wet face into the crook of Allen's neck and wrapping his arms greedily around. Allen was warm and strong, firm even through all his wounds and scars.

"Don't die!" Timothy wailed, muffled and choked into Allen's shoulder. "Please... don't leave me alone!"

I don't want to die.

Allen carded the fingers of his normal hand through Timothy's hair, and he was vaguely aware of Allen gently rocking.

Emilia had cried when Timothy had relayed Komui's lecture to her. She had looked at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, and lifted a shaking hand to her lips. She murmured the years, reached a hand out to stroke the side of his face, then collapsed into a chair. He remembered vividly the way the sun looked on her back as she bent forward in her chair to cradle her face and sob. It was then that he realized that thirty wasn't old at all, wasn't a very long age to live to whatsoever. He had stilled, laughed off Emilia's tears best he could, and scampered off to do his homework lest Nyne catch wind of his truancy.

It was only when he had settled against Allen, warm enough to be considered near unbearable - Komui had said this too, that parasite types tend to run hotter than normal and Timothy mused that between him and Allen they were probably feverish - that Allen's, and his own, sudden mortality struck him.

"Promise me!" Timothy begged, pulling back to look into Allen's eyes. He scrubbed furiously with one hand at the tears on his face. "Tell me you won't die!"

He felt Allen's hesitation, and fisted a handful of Allen's shirt, pressing hard enough to feel the edge of his collarbone. "Don't lie me!" Timothy commanded, then, "Please, promise me you won't die!"

Allen melted into a gentle smile, and raised both hands from round Timothy to cradle his face. Timothy shivered at the alien feel of Allen's innocence. "Don't worry, Timothy. I promise to keep walking."

Timothy knew it was an old promise, knew it was a roundabout way of avoiding the final swear, but it was enough. He wrapped his arms around Allen's neck again and sighed into his shoulder, knowing even through his stuffed nose that Allen smelled clean like freshly washed linen and of citrus. Allen hugged Timothy back, rubbing a steady hand up and down his back.

When Timothy woke later in his bed, the moon told him it was closer to dawn then evening, but he still slid from his sheets, shivering at the cold touch of the floor. He hissed as he stubbed his toe on his rollerblades at the foot of the bed, and stumbled into to the dark hallway.

Link would be angry, Timothy knew, but the threat wasn't enough to deter him. Having made it his personal mission to scavenge through every nook and cranny of the new headquarters, it was easy to find the shortest path to Allen and Link's room.

It was when he stood in front of their door that he hesitated, fist raised uncertainly. He yelped in shock and jumped back when the door opened. Link stood with his hair down - something Timothy had never seen - and with an impressive glare. "Yes?" Link asked, brow cocked. "Is there some business you have this late?"

Timothy swallowed, determined he wouldn't be pushed away. "I want to see Allen."

"Walker is asleep."

"I don't care," Timothy declared, and without warning darted under Link's arm. He only made it a foot into the room when Link's hand shot out and tugged him back at his collar.

Allen stirred and sat up uneasily, and Timothy squirmed in Link's grasp. "Lemme go!"

"Link? Timothy? What's going on?" Allen asked, and it unnerved Timothy had quickly aware Allen became. Link let go of Timothy who scurried over to Allen's bed, clambering over it hastily. "Woah! Timothy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Timothy muttered, flipping over Allen and settling in on the side Link's bed wasn't on. His face burned, but he couldn't help the clawing worry and need within him. He curled up against Allen and buried his face into the pillow. "I just want to be here." When Allen remained silent for too long, Timothy peeked up at him. "Can't I?"

Allen glanced sharply at Link and said, "Of course you can, Timothy. Come on, get under the covers. These rooms get cold at night." Allen shifted to lay back, and Timothy gladly slid closer to Allen, curling his knees up to pull the covers from under him, then over him. He grinned when Link grumbled beneath his breath and finally shut the door. Link's muted steps back to his bed were hidden beneath Allen's shuffling as he rearranged Timothy, wrapping his arm around Timothy so that he could rest his head against the teen's arm.

As Timothy snuggled in, he whispered fiercely, "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Of course I won't," Allen assured, patting Timothy's hair back and bringing the blanket up to firmly cover them. "Go to sleep, Timothy."

Relieved that Allen wouldn't embarrass him, Timothy tucked his head into Allen's arm and, shyly, let his hand fall on Allen's chest. Between the two of them the night chill was easily chased away, and Timothy felt the unease in his belly finally uncurl. He sighed into the warmth.

A/N: I could've sworn up and down that there was a term for "sudden realization of one's own mortality," especially as it relates to children, but an hour of internet browsing brought up nothing. So I decided on Ephemeral.

Children typically understand death somewhere between the ages of 5 to 9, but in that notion that death happens to 'others' and won't happened to them until they're 'old'. When someone close to them dies, they suddenly realize what that mortality means, and at times it occurs to them that they, too, are not immortal. As a child Exorcist, Timothy is being forced to face the very real possibility of his own sudden death, and, even if he survives the war, the strong possibility (inevitability) that he won't live forever.

Also cross-posted on AO3 under [Kohmu}