here is another companion piece to Mana. i wanted to write their meeting from Allen's point of view. so this one shot covers the same story from another perspective. all characters and themes are the intellectual property of their respective creaters.

WARNING: this story contains some disturbing elements dealing with Allen's difficult past, that some may find upsetting. i try hard to avoid anything graphic, a lot is implied, but not enough to really warrent a higher rating.

that being said i hope you all enjoy.

The boy was cold. Cold would be his first chosen memory. There was so much before the cold, but he didn't want that. The cold numbed the hunger, soothed the bruises, froze the blood and made him sleep. He wanted to sleep, a long deep sleep; he didn't want to wake again.

There was a crash, a collision of animal and waste bin. It startled him out of his self induced trance and forced him back into the present. The present was all he really knew. There was a past, a time before right now, but he chose to ignore it. He didn't really have a sense of time, no idea how long he had been here; it was always 'right now'. There was never a future to worry about, only 'right now'.

He was small, so incredibly small. His clothes had long ago become rags; he scavenged through the waste bins to find more, anything he could wrap around his tiny body to try and hold in the heat. He knew he had real clothes in the time before here. The woman with the brown hair gave them to him.

He didn't like to think about her. She wouldn't touch him. It was her that first showed him what he was, trash. That was why he was here now, hunkered down amid the rubbish bins. He remembered watching her leave and running after her. There was no way he could keep up but he ran until his little legs gave out. He sat and cried.

He cried until he couldn't cry anymore. He returned to where she left him and settled in to wait. He was still waiting; no one was coming for him. More than anything he wanted someone to come find him.

He shifted and tried to make himself more comfortable in the snow. It had soaked through his clothes. He stared straight ahead and willed his mind away. It was one of the few things he could do. As far as he knew, he knew how to talk; he couldn't actually do it, but he knew how. Talking only led to pain so he didn't bother anymore; it never stopped them anyways. With years of disuse, his vocal cords didn't work well enough to form words. He still understood them though.

There were others in the alley. They talked and he hid and listened. The boy didn't trust them. They hurt him, so he learned to stay away. There were monsters too. They hurt him much worse.

He didn't understand; just thinking about it made him want to cry. They hurt him, touched him, made him do things he didn't like and didn't understand. He just knew it was bad. They were so much bigger than him; no matter how he fought he couldn't get away. He learned to stop fighting, to block out what they were doing to him. He learned to lie still until the bleeding stopped and his body drained of everything.

One monster took him home. He offered the boy food and he had been so very hungry. The monster kept him bound in a pantry. It was warm there, but there had never been any food. He didn't know how long, how many weeks he stayed crouched in that dark corner trying to turn invisible. The monster enjoyed pulling him screaming from the pantry and sharing him with other monsters. He didn't understand why… He learned to pick the lock and ran away one day, but the monsters knew where to find him; he always returned to the alley, just in case someone came to find him.

The boy was startled back to reality as a hand closed on his throat. He wailed and struggled, clawing at the hand. His thin wrists were pinned to the wall and he shut down. His eyes went dead and he imagined he was somewhere nice.

He woke on the ground. He fixed his clothes and did a quick assessment of his body; his eye had swelled shut, he had been bitten. The unwanted memory of teeth on his shoulder rushed him; he lurched and threw up. The boy could only scream for a moment as he remembered. He was too tired to keep it up for long. He finished checking himself over; nothing was too badly injured. The boy scooted to lean back against the cold brick wall. He just needed to hold still for a while longer.

He took a deep breath and returned to the nice place he had been imagining. It was warm. He dreamed of a soft bed. There would be gentle hands, not hands that hurt. His arm would be normal. No one would pin him to the ground and try to slice the grotesque skin from his body. There would be food there.

His stomach growled loudly and forced him to move. Hunger was one of the few impulses that made him move. It was too soon; he groaned and began bleeding again. The child curled up and lay on the ground. He hurt; he hurt so much. It was too much to take his mind away so, he did the only other thing he could do; he prayed.

He didn't know who he prayed to. There were no words in his prayers, just images and desires. He only had the vaguest notion of what he wanted. It was the same things every child wanted, needed to have. He prayed for someone to come find him and take him away from this place. He wanted someone to care for him. He needed desperately to be loved. He would give anything to be loved.

Carefully he climbed up and walked on shaking legs to the nearest wastebasket. The lid slid away with a clatter and he stood on tiptoes to reach inside. It smelled terrible, like rot. The boy dug around until he found dinner. The slice of meat he pulled free was slimy, discolored. It was spoiled. He carefully wiped it on some newspaper. He pretended the paper was a plate and carefully arranged his meal on it.

He was just sitting down when he heard the first of the dogs. He hated the dogs. The streets were full of stray animals that formed vicious packs; they stole his food. He wasn't going to let them this time; he was too hungry. It was a small pack, only five dogs but they were bigger than the boy.

One latched onto his arm, tearing the skin. He screamed and struck out at the animal. He pounded at it until he felt the bones of its jaw give in; even then he didn't stop until it was still. He gasped the cold air; he was terribly dizzy. He had gone too long without food, lost too much blood. There was no way he could fight off the other animals for much longer.

He didn't have to. An adult had come into his ally way. He looked silly charging in and crashing into things. He tripped on the waste bins and sent them clattering to the ground. He threw things at the dogs, yelled at them and somehow scared them off. The boy crouched in the corner and tried to disappear.

The man leaned against the wall, gasping. He looked surprised by everything. The boy's mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do. He looked around for an escape route, but the man had blocked him in. He was trapped. There were only so many reasons the man would come here. He was talking to the boy, but he didn't comprehend what he was saying.

The boy moved slowly, he picked up his meal and held it out to the adult. Maybe he would just take the slice of meat; maybe he would be happy with that. The man made a confused face; he didn't want the meat. The boy made a desperate sound and offered it again. If the man didn't want his food, it meant he was after something else.

He wanted to cry. He set his food back on the ground. Little hands went to the waist of his pants; the sooner he got it over with, the sooner the man would leave. He let his mind start to slide away and tugged at the material. Suddenly hands were on him and he panicked. It was too soon! He wasn't ready and he cried out. Desperately he wondered why the man couldn't wait.

He was still hyperventilating as he realized the adult was fixing his clothing back into place. He jerked away and fell into some of the spilt garbage. The man sat back looking horrified. He sat in the sludge across from the boy and looked at him. The boy stared back. The man talked. He said nice things.

Something sparked in the boy. It was small and fragile, but it was hope. The man looked uncertain; he laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. He said something about going home where there was food and warmth. He stood and walked away, leaving the boy confused. The man hadn't hurt him; he hadn't taken his food. He just scared off the dogs and now he was leaving.

The man paused in the mouth of the ally. He turned and held out his hand. He smiled warmly. He told the boy they were going home. The child stood. He didn't know what to do. He knew what happened when he went with others. This time felt different; he wanted to trust him so badly. He had the chance to hurt him, but he didn't. He worried that he would just wait till he got the child inside to do it. He wasn't sure he could escape again.

That warm smile never faltered. The outstretched hand didn't waver. The possibility of food and safety overpowered his fear and the boy stumbled after the man. He kept his distance as they walked. He wanted the option to run, just in case.

He was dizzy. The figure before him kept blurring. When he fell, he landed in the cold snow and cried. Now the man would leave him because he couldn't keep up. He was exposed out here on the sidewalk; it would be so difficult to crawl back to the ally.

A pair of shoes appeared in front of him and startled him. The man had turned back for him. He said something and the boy was terrified he would leave him. He grabbed the hem of his coat and whimpered. Hands were on him again and he struggled and kicked as he was lifted in the air. The man patiently held him out until he stopped fighting. The boy was embarrassed by it. With a smile he unbuttoned his coat and closed it over the child.

He didn't know what to do. The man was carrying him. No one ever carried him, not like this. The man spoke, telling him he was safe, that no one would hurt him. He asked the boy to trust him. It was everything he had wanted so badly to hear.

Carefully he let himself relax against the warm body. He slid his small arms around the man's neck. Strong arms held him closer. With a relaxed sigh, the boy buried his head against the man's neck. It smelled clean there. A steady heartbeat echoed from the man's chest and through the boy's body. He snuggled against him. Warmth seeped through him. It was good here; the man never stopped talking. His voice was soothing and it was so very, very good.

The building the man brought him too smelled of food. There was an old woman there. She yelled at the man. The boy whined when the man set him on a cool wooden counter. He didn't want him to let him go. The adults talked back and forth and the boy took a moment to look around the room. It was a diner. He smiled; there really was food here.

The man carried the child upstairs to another room. A sharp jolt of panic raced through him when the man set him down and shut the door behind them. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor while the man walked around turning on the gas lamps. He was leaving the boy alone. He started crying; he had been waiting to get the boy inside. He didn't want to use him in the ally so he brought him here. He was trapped now.

There was a worried look on the man's face when he returned to the boy. He gave him another gentle smile and took him into another room. The man set him on the closed lid of the commode. It was a small room; the boy didn't like that, he was breathing hard as he tried to hold back the panic.

He asked the boy to remove his clothes. His little body shook as he started pulling the rags off. To his relief the man didn't watch him. The adult was filling the big tub with water.

He stopped before he could fully remove his little shirt. His body was wrong; he didn't want the man to see it. He wasn't normal. He was a monster. His hand was hurting; it did that a lot. The man was going to see it and then he would hurt him. Everyone who saw the reddened flesh beat him for having it. It was so wrong. He didn't understand why; it just was. Sometimes it hurt so bad that he lost control of his body.

The boy started to panic. The man would hate him if he saw it! He had been so nice to him, but this was going to ruin everything. If the man saw just how wrong he was then he would treat him just like all the others did. He dropped to the floor where the adult was crouched and made a desperate little sound. He touched his knee and silently begged the man not to make him expose his horrible skin.

The man told him everything would be alright. He wanted so badly to believe him, but he couldn't stop shaking. The man put a large hand on his and helped him ease the remaining bit of fabric off.

There was a crash as the adult's back collided with the wall. He had jerked away at the sight of the deformity. The boy's world shattered. He screamed and screamed. The man was going to kill him now; he was certain of it. He would be drowned in the tub or pitched out the window; he would be cut or beaten. He wanted to die right there.

The little body near convulsed with the force of his screams. He shut his eyes tight so he wouldn't have to see the disgust, the hatred on the adult's face. He braced himself for the flurry of blows that was sure to come. Then the man surprised him; he started apologizing, begging him for forgiveness. The boy settled on the floor, still hiccupping and sniffling after his throat gave out.

There was concern on the man's face; he asked if it hurt. Confused, the boy shook his head. The man held out his hand; he wanted to touch the ugly appendage. Hesitantly, the boy set his hand in the adult's. He flushed with embarrassment as the gentle hands explored his arm. The skin was sensitive and the thorough exam raised goose bumps on his normal skin. The man bent his fingers, his wrist and elbow. His touches were almost tender and his words were calming.

He had almost relaxed when the man touched his cross. The boy made an urgent noise. He couldn't let him touch there. Something terrible would happen. There was something in his hand; he had touched it himself before and it had hurt so much then. White hot agony raced through his body, making him arch. It took his vision away. He couldn't even scream; the pain was so intense, so all consuming that he lost all senses before it.

Sensations returned one at a time. First, came touch. A thumb was running softly and soothingly over his cross, over the source of all his hurt. He was nestled into the man's lap, securely held. He trembled with the aftershocks and arms tightened around him; he was safe there. The man rocked him gently. He tightened his grip on the man's shirt, twisting the fabric into knots. Hearing returned next. The man was talking again, apologies and little nonsense words that helped him relax.

He moved around until he was comfortable. He knew the man didn't mean to hurt him; and he didn't take advantage of him when he was helpless with pain. The boy was content with that realization. He sighed and nuzzled the man's clean smelling shirt. It was nice; it was safe. As far as he cared he could stay seated like this forever, just enjoying the comforting touch of another human being. He needed it so badly.

The man was being so kind; he decided that he would let the man use him. He wouldn't fight or resist him. The man was so kind; he wouldn't try to make it hurt any worse than it had to be. The boy would let him do it gladly; even pretend he liked it, if he would just keep holding him so tenderly. He was oddly happy after making the decision; the man would be happy at how well he would listen. He would want him to stay for sure.

When the man set him down, he cried out and tried to hold on. The man refilled the tub with hot water, helped him shed the rest of his ragged clothing and put him in the clean water. He ventured a smile; he didn't remember having a bath like this before, not with actual warm water anyways. The man knelt by the tub and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He showed the boy how to work the soap into his hair. The feel of fingers on his scalp was pleasant; the man put a hand behind his neck and coaxed him to lean back in the water to rinse the soap out. He worried briefly that his head would be held under the water, but that didn't happen.

The man went and sat down and let the boy splash and play in the water. He asked if he had a name. The boy didn't have one; he was ashamed, he didn't deserve a name. He was nothing. The man's name was Mana; the boy worked hard to commit it memory. It was a nice name and he didn't want to forget it; it would make the man happy. He watched the man play with a watch, flipping it open and shut with click. He suddenly laughed, making the boy jump.

"Hey… how about Allen?"

He peered over the edge of the tub at the smiling man. He named him, a real name. He really was going to keep him. His wide eyes watered and he hid so the adult couldn't see. He had a name. The man wouldn't bother with giving him a name if he was going to throw him away. He was going to keep him. The child was overwhelmed.

The man, no, Mana brought over a clean fluffy towel and helped him out of the tub. He called him Allen and the boy could barely contain his glee. He carried him to the other room and set him on the bed. It was soft, very different from the hard brick and dirty ground he was used to being pinned against. The blanket had little bits of fuzz on it. He lay down and picked at them while Mana dug around for clean clothes for him. He didn't expect clothes yet; he had been trying to relax his body for the adult, but the man didn't seem to want anything from him. He was a little confused. Gentle hands helped him pull on the softest clothing he'd ever worn and carried him downstairs to where the old woman was waiting.

She scooped him from Mana's arms and he shrieked in protest. The woman chided him softly and he settled. She set him on the counter and pulled his shirt off. Soft hands checked the cuts and bruises that decorated his body. She clucked her tongue and fetched a bottle and spoon from a black bag.

The woman spooned a foul liquid into Allen's mouth. He smacked his lips and coughed. He watched her setting out bandages and other medical supplies and with a streak of panic wondered what she was planning to do to him. She gripped his chin and forced his mouth open; a careful finger checked his teeth. She hummed softly as she ran her worn hands over his skin and pressed his ribs looking for any breaks.

Allen wrinkled his nose at the compound she put in his hair to kill the lice. Despite his best efforts he was feeling tired. Strange warmth was washing over him, turning his limbs to jelly and overpowering his senses with a pleasurable calm. He sighed and stretched his suddenly heavy and warm body. The woman checked his eyes and nodded to herself. She made a little bed of soft towels for him to lie on.

He smiled deliriously despite the increased intimacy of the woman's examination. Hands on his skin felt nice and he didn't mind being stripped of the remainder of his clothes. The woman told him everything she was doing before she did it, so he wasn't terribly surprised when she checked to see if he was still bleeding there. She put some sort of soothing balm on the places his skin had been bruised, torn and abused. She bandaged the blisters on his feet and the open sores on his legs. She put soft gauze over sensitive places on his chest that had been bitten and irritated. Careful attention was given to his arm; the woman checked it over like Mana had and worked some of the nice balm into it to soften the skin.

Allen winced when she checked an infected wound on his face. It ran pus and smelled foul; there was another on his back. The woman frowned and gave him another spoonful of the gross medicine. He gave a content sigh and lay down on the counter. The woman chuckled and helped him roll over onto his stomach. With something thin and sharp she lanced the infection on his back; warm damp washcloths were settled onto the wound to help draw the infection out. He whimpered and the woman ran her hand soothingly up and down his back till he calmed. When the wound was clean she stitched it closed; Allen didn't feel much, just the light pressure of the needle and the disconcerting sliding sensation of the thread as it pulled.

She repeated the whole process on his cheek, save the stitches. The sight of the needle so close to his eye frightened him too much. The old woman redressed him and told him stories. He copied making the shapes of the words with his mouth. He wanted to talk. He had the feeling that it would be alright to talk here; no one would hit him. The sounds wouldn't come.

The woman understood what he was trying to do and exaggerated the movements of her mouth for him. He tried to say the man's name and the sweet old woman told him how happy that would make the man. It sounded like a good idea. He wanted the man to be happy with him.

When Mana came down the stairs the boy stretched out his arms and tried to tell the man to pick him up. Allen chanted his name without sound and was very pleased when the man understood.

Mana carried him to a table and the woman fed him. The boy had never been treated like this. It was like waking up from a nightmare. For the first time in his short life, the boy could imagine a future that wasn't filled with hunger, pain and cold. It was warm here. There was food. Most importantly there were gentle hands that soothed his hurts and made him feel safe. His eyes kept drifting shut and he fought it. The boy was so scared that if he fell asleep he would find this had all been a dream.

He woke in the middle of a large bed, tangled in the blankets. Allen was alone and he choked. He didn't remember most of what happened the night before. The medicine had blurred his memories. He whimpered and carefully tried to free himself from the soft blankets

When the man entered the room and flopped down across the bottom of the bed Allen shot as far away as he could and stared at him. He offered food and held out his hand. Allen took a deep breath and moved towards him. Mana caught his hand and pulled him into his lap. He automatically tensed; remembering the decision to let the man do as he pleased with him; but the adult just rubbed his back and rocked him until he relaxed. He stayed there for a long time with his face buried in the safety of the man's shirt.

"Hey Allen? I'm going to take care of you from now on. I've decided that, well…you're my son now, did you know that? Everything is for you now. It won't be easy, I don't have much, but … I'm going to be your father and give you the best life I can…" he paused as the boy pulled away to look at him, "…is that ok?"

Allen frowned and studied his face, looking for any sign of deception; he had been lied to so many times before. He really wanted to keep him? Mana wanted him to stay? He said he was going to be his father. It dawned on him that the man had no intension of ever using him; Mana wanted him to be his son. That was more than the boy would have ever dared hope. A parent…

With a soft sigh, Allen's eyes slid closed and the unshed tears that had been building finally fell. He buried his face in the crook of Mana's neck and held on tight. He couldn't remember ever being happy like this. He had prayed for so long and God, God had listened! Someone finally came to find him and take him away from that place. In his young mind, it all made sense. He wondered how long the man had been searching for him. He had waited so long that he had almost lost faith. He should have known God was listening and sending Mana to come pick him up.

Allen cried with impossible happiness. The nightmare was already fading away; it was over. He was safe; he was loved. His father had finally come to find him.