A short one shot dedicated to Toitsu over thinking EVERYTHING! Toitsu: I DO NOT!

Yami: Anyways!!! Toitsu thinks that Cross has a good reason for being a total asshole most of the time. She looks for the good in everyone like Hikari. Geeze. The good ruins everything! Anyways, so I came up with this idea watching an AMV to look through my eyes.

I wrote this late at night. Please excuse some parts. Our kitten, Allen (yes named after THIS Allen) has vanished without a trace. He's only a few months old, doesn't even weigh 6 pounds, and it's raining and cold outside. He hates both, so we're worried. So this is a stress relieving story.

Summary: Allen has nightmares about the incident, and the only one to comfort the boy is Cross.

Pairings or hints of pairings: None. Cross is not a pedophile. It's just a little brother/big brother father/son kind of thing.

Rating: I guess K+

Warnings: None really, except for a little OC on Cross's part. Just a little.

Disclaimer: Do you really think I'd even be writing this if I owned DGM? NO! I'd be writing the scene where Allen and Lenalee kiss romantically after the final battle, but NO I DON'T own this.

My Master

Outside, snow swirled around the houses and buildings. The bitter wind kept the temperature well below freezing. Yet the strange thing was while it snowed, thunder roared and lightning crashed. This town, found at the meeting point of several weather fronts, was known for its thunder snow storms.

Tonight, no strange creatures roamed the streets like they had for so many a nights. Before the arrival of a man in a black coat, they came out during the day too. People acted strange, only to vanish soon after. Now, that all stopped.

The women gossiped and giggled whenever said man walked down the street. They whispered of how handsome he looked, and mysterious. So dignified wearing the black cloak baring the cross. A wide brim hat shadowing his face, half covered-on the right side- by a white mask also baring a cross, sat atop his red haired head. Only one forest green eyes was visible, the other veiled by the mask.

And the little boy that always followed the man, the exorcist, did not get overlooked by those who followed the two with their eyes. At first glance, he appeared old. Hair white as snow proved easy to mistaken age with. But at second glance, it proved to be a young boy, short, and adorable. He couldn't have been more than ten-he was eleven-with those adorable large sky blue eyes. The only disfiguration about him came in two forms. A scar upon the left side of his face that stretched above and below his eye. Above was a pentangle, crudely cut into the skin. Below a line slanted and than fell all the way to his lower cheek. A scar: a momentum from his father.

The second issue about him came with his left arm and hand. Skin rough and red as blood, nails black as ink, with a cross embedded in the top side. The hand drew attention from the crowd, for it was all they could see of the arm otherwise concealed by the sleeve of the boy's shirt.

The boy, noticing the stares, clung to the older man. His guardian's black cloak proved useful to hide his young face in. They might have been father and son if not for the man's obvious attitude towards the boy. He did not brush him away, but nor did he comfort him. He regarded the child as a teacher might regard a student. And that's what they were. Cross Marian, an exorcist general, and his student, Allen Walker.

But back to the present. In a hotel room, the exorcist and student slept. At least one did, the other lay, glaring at the ceiling. Cross would sleep, if he could. But about ten minutes ago, Allen stared crying, and whimpering from the other bed. He was having another nightmare.

Cross found the boy about three months ago, sitting in the snow, leaning against a tomb stone with the scar that now mutilated his otherwise innocent face. A gift from his dearly doubly departed adoptive father, Mana. Mana Walker died, leaving Allen alone in the world. He was abandoned at birth by his real parents. Mana found him. When the man died, Allen lost hope in living. Till the Millennium Earl came along and promised to resurrect the boy's father. Allen accepted the deal.

Mana's soul returned from whatever dark or light abyss it had gone to after death. Allen thought things would return to normal. They didn't. Not in the least. In dealing with the Millennium Earl, and agreeing to his words, Allen had turned his father into an akuma. A damned soul stuck inside a machine of dark energies, forced to do the bidding of the evil earl. If not for the innocence embedded in the boy's hand, he would have died. Instead, he killed the akuma of his father, thereby releasing his soul. He escaped with a scar, and a traumatic shock that turned his chestnut brown hair white.

And ever since that night, Allen suffered when he slept. Reliving the worst experiences and the incident all over again with no escape by the waking hours. And even they did not offer comfort, for the boy had chosen the path of an exorcist. He hunted down akuma like his dead father, and destroyed them. That released the souls bound to the incarnations of evil. Each akuma killed reminded the poor child of his father, and his mistake.

'You can stop crying now,' Cross said mentally to Allen. 'Stop crying. Please. I need sleep." He turned over, hiding his head under the pillows. Timcampi, the more sympathetic one, flew over to Allen, and gently nudged his head. Timcampi was a golem, created by Cross. The little yellow creature was the size of a golf ball most of the times-he could change size. With wings to fly, and a tail, the golem proved a favorite target of cats.

Allen sobbed, and reached over, batting away Timcampi, and shielding away like the little creature had the plague. After several more failed attempts, Timcampi flew back over to Cross. Now he tried to get his master up to deal with the child. Cross knocked him away, pulling the blankets over the pillow.

Do not judge by his actions, Cross was a caring person. Given, his personality proved sadistic at times, but he did care. That's why he became an exorcist: to help. But having to deal with the same problem every night grew on his nerves. A person can only take so much.

At a particularly loud cry from Allen, his teacher threw off the blankets that covered him, and stood up. Cross had had enough of this. He needed sleep. Whether the boy had to stay up all night, it didn't matter, as long as he stayed very, very quiet.

Cross had planned to shake the boy awake and tell him off for being so noisy. But upon reaching Allen's bedside, he knew he couldn't be that cruel. Allen's face looked similar to white marble. Big, salty tears traveled down the pale cheeks, leaving wet tracks in their wake. Emotional agony written all over his face.

Cross sighed, and watched the boy for a moment. There had to be a way to silence him without yelling. Timcampi nudged him a few times. He couldn't talk, but his little prods somehow managed to convey what his thoughts were.

With another sigh, the exorcist general sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled the boy-blankets too-into his lap. Like a mother would hold a crying infant, he cradled the weeping boy, rocking back and forth slightly. A hand strayed to Allen's forehead, brushing back to white bangs, he whispered reassuring things, making sure the boy heard him.

The action proved right immediately. Allen's sobbing quieted slightly. The tears came out slower. His breathing evened out, interrupted only by the now occasional sobs.

After ten minutes, his sobs vanished. Only a few tears squeezed out from between his closed eyelids now. Allen mumbled something, his hands grabbing onto his master's shirt. His head rested near the older man's heart, the steady beat proved a catalyst in calming him.

A small, rare smile graced Cross's lips. His apprentice looked so innocent, sleeping like a newborn infant. Had he been younger, he probably would have been sucking his thumb…

Cross chuckled softly when Allen removed his right hand from his master's shirt, and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Okay, maybe he was still young in the mind. Timcampi, who had been flitting about the room, came in for a landing on Allen's chest, above the arm crossing over it. He curled up, and contented himself with some sleep.

The storm outside continued to rage. Inside, however, the atmosphere couldn't have been calmer. Allen's nightmares had dissipated with the comfort of Cross. The boy slept peacefully-for once- resting in his master's gentle hold. Cross seemed perfectly fine about this. Though he would have a bit of trouble when he put the boy back in his bed, seeing as Allen had his fist clinching a fistful of his shirt.

The fire crackled merrily in the grate. Dancing shadows jumped around on the wall, floor, and ceiling. It always amused Cross-the shadows. Things spawned from light and something blacking the light's path. Shadows represented evil and darkness. Yet they come from whatever blocks the path of light. Even exorcists had shadows.

'Well…' mused Cross, looking down at Allen. 'Maybe not all exorcists do.' Allen's shadow, no matter where the light came from, always looked so small, hiding near his feet. It acted as shy as the boy who cast it.

The church bell rang, signaling it was two in the morning. Feeling this was a good time to go back to bed, Cross stood. Carefully, he placed his apprentice back on the bed and covered him with the blanket once more. The boy's clinched hand took a bit of work. He had to slip his fingers into the strong grip so that he could tug his shirt free. But once Allen got hold of his hand, he didn't want to release that either.

Sighing, more amused than annoyed, Cross bent down and ran his hand comfortingly over Allen's head. The feeling relaxed the boy's hold. Cross quickly freed his hand, and quickly and silently returned to bed.

Before he closed his eyes to sleep, the general looked over at his sleeping apprentice. His smile grew. Allen looked like a child, innocent, and free of anything in the world that could chain him down. Perhaps it wasn't completely true. But the young boy was still just that, a young boy. Let him grow up later, when he has to face the reality of the world. But for now, let him sleep in a fantasy world all his own, free of nightmares.

'Perhaps taking him on as a student wasn't such a bad idea.' Cross nodded at his own thought, closing his eyes. Yes, he had, at times, thought he should have left Allen sitting in that graveyard, dropped him at an orphanage, or brought him to Head Quarters. But at times like now, where Allen surprised him, improved in one skill or another, or made him feel almost like a parent Cross knew he'd made the right decision…

But he sure as hell wouldn't tell anyone that! No way in the seven hells!

The morning dawned cold. But you expected that in winter up north. Allen was rudely awakened from his dream-though it was turning into another nightmare-but a fist on his head. He yelped and sat up, holding his pounding head.

Cross stood next to his bed, arms over his chest, waiting. "Well? What are you waiting for, moron? Get up!" Allen scrambled to get up and ready. Within ten minutes, he hurried to Cross who stood by the door. "Took you long enough," snapped the red haired man.

They left in search of breakfast. People on the street started to stare again. Shy as always, Allen grabbed onto Cross's coat and hid his face in the black material.

Unseen by anyone due to the shadows cast upon his face, Cross smiled.

&&&&&

Okay, done. Well, there you are. Not many stories with Cross in it, and here's one. I made him more OC than he should have been out of spite. It's annoying when we know little to NOTHING about him. And I like to know things. So yeah, his lack of information pisses me off.

Hope you liked it. Read and review please. Come on, I know you can. The buttons right there, a little farther down…a little more. Good, now click it and review.