Disclaimer - I do not own D Gray Man

Chapter One - Pain

Pain.

There are many different kinds of pain; there's the physical kind which leaves your body aching but your mind largely intact and then there's the mental kind which leaves your body functioning but your mind cracked and shattered beyond repair. Both forms of pain leave scars; the physical scars mar the body and can be plainly seen while the mental scars mar the soul and are invisible to the naked eye. During their lives everyone is destined to experience pain in one form or another, it is an inevitability. But few are so unfortunate as to experience a level of mental and physical anguish that leaves them wondering to what purpose they were born. Was it simply their fate to be born, to suffer, and then to die?

Standing off to himself in the front yard of a gloomy looking building surrounded by a rod iron fence the little boy appeared, from a distance, to be normal. He was rail thin and small in stature, appearing to be around the age of four or five, and had a mop of messy brown hair on top of his head. The hair fell in front of his eyes and served to obscure eyes that were the cool gray of the sky just before a storm.

Eyes that were haunted by pain.

Pain was the one thing that was consistently present in his life. Most people would be completely overwhelmed by this fact but the little boy didn't dwell on the fact that his existence was miserable on an unimaginable level. It wasn't something that he thought about; it simply was. The child knew that his name was Allen, he had been told this by the faceless people who ran the orphanage and pretended to care for him. He'd never been given a last name to go with it but then what did an unwanted child need with a last name anyway?

He was worthless, merely a burden to all those whom he came in contact with. This fact had been drilled into his brain from his earliest memories; so much so that it was only natural for the child to assume that it was true. After all what reason would he have to doubt this fact when even his own parents, the people who should have loved and cherished him above all others, hadn't been able to stomach the sight of him. That was why he had been dumped at this horrible place as an infant, left to the care of the faceless people who ran the orphanage.

He was probably lucky that he hadn't been killed.

And it was all because of his left arm. Allen had been born deformed, different from everyone else in the world, which was the reason why his parents hadn't wanted him. The skin of the appendage was a deep red color and the skin was rough in both appearance and texture. The finger nails on that hand were midnight black and the joints overly visible.

In short it was wrong.

Allen didn't know why it was wrong but he had been told that it was so many times that he really couldn't help but to echo the thoughts of others as his own. He was nothing more than a worthless child with a deformed arm. The orphanage was filled with unwanted children but at least they had the prospect of being adopted and going to a new home.

Allen wasn't as lucky.

The people who ran the orphanage; he had no faces or names to go by, just voices that haunted his dreams at night, didn't even bother to show him to the people who came to the orphanage looking for a child to call their own. No one would want such a cursed child so why would should they even bother to waste people's time? The time and effort was better spent on one of the normal children who actually deserved a home and a family that loved them.

Allen tried to convince himself that it didn't matter that people tended to look around him rather than at him. Tried to convince himself that it was better to never be seen, better to always be overlooked. Constantly being ignored was difficult to deal with, loneliness eating away at your soul, but at least when you were being ignored you weren't being struck. It was all a form of torture.

The physical pain was harder to deal with at the time however the mental pain was much harder to recover from in the long run.

Due to his neglect and abuse the child had formed a kind of shell around himself in an attempt to protect his mind from the feelings of hopelessness brought about by his circumstances. He had been trapped here for so long that he no longer had any hope of escape and as a result he closed himself off from the world. No one could penetrate his shell and as a result no one could hurt him.

Or at least that's what the little boy tried to tell himself. He tried to tell himself that he didn't care about the others, that he didn't care about anything. And he might have been able to convince himself of this fact if that single tear hadn't betrayed him every time that he watched one of the other children leave the orphanage hand in hand with someone who wanted them.

As he watched this scene unfold yet again Allen vaguely wondered what it felt like to be wanted. Then the child felt the single tear that was trickling down his face and swiped at it furiously with his right hand. His left hand, his deformed hand, had always been stiff and difficult to use so Allen had adapted to doing things with only one hand. He had learned to be very resourceful during his relatively short life. It had been necessary for his survival.

He was angry at himself for crying over something that couldn't be changed. He was young, it was true, but he was already far more knowledgeable about the world than a child of his age should have been. He knew that life was a series of hardships one after another and that there was no escaping the pain. You could run and you could struggle but in the end it was all for nothing.

A difficult life surrounded by people who loathed his very existence had taught him that lesson and he had taken it to heart.

The faceless people who ran the orphanage took care of him, to a certain extent. He was given shelter, clothing and just enough food to keep him alive. But he wasn't educated as the other children were and was kept separated. Except out in the yard when they were taken out for their brief playtime.

During those times Allen was completely at the mercy of the other children.

The children often proved to be more cruel than the adults. At least the adults were open with their loathing and quick with their words and blows. The children often allowed Allen to briefly join in their play, making him think that perhaps he had finally been accepted.

That made the pain all the more difficult to bear when they eventually turned on him. And they always did so, after awhile, Allen grew wise to their ways and ceased his attempts to fit in. After that the boy would hide in the shadows, making every attempt to remain completely unnoticed by everyone. Always hiding in the shadows and watching all that went on but never making any attempt to join in.

It was an exceedingly lonely existence but it was all that he really knew.

"Allen!"

The child was surprised by the harsh voice that called out to him and he cringed as he watched one of his so called caretakers walking across the yard toward the spot where he was standing with his back pressed against the wall of the orphanage. He could tell, by the tone of the voice that had spoken, that the faceless person was angry with him and the child frantically tried to think of anything that he might have done to earn such displeasure.

Nothing immediately came to mind but then again Allen was well aware of the fact that people didn't really need a reason to be angry with him. His very existence irritated most people and by simply being there and breathing he caused the people around him to be angry.

And when they were angry he ended up hurt.

It was sad that he merely accepted this fact as the way things were but it was all that he had ever known. With trembling legs and vacant eyes he awaited whatever horror the caretaker wished to inflict upon him. After all, it wasn't as though he could run from her with any hope of actually getting away. He had tried that a couple of times and it hadn't ended well for him. The angry woman seized the small child by one thin arm and dragged him toward the front door of the orphanage. Feeling as though his arm was going to be torn from it's socket Allen was forced to jog in order to keep up with the tall woman's rapid steps.

The faceless woman pulled him up the stairs and to the most feared room of the entire orphanage. The Headmasters office. This was somewhere that none of the children wanted to go and Allen had to force back a sob as he realized their destination. He knew that crying wouldn't really help his situation and there was a stubborn part of him that didn't want to show them his tears.

"Here's the boy Headmaster," the faceless woman said as she roughly shoved Allen inside the large office.

A tall man nodded his head in the woman's direction. "Thank you. You may leave us."

The woman nodded politely to the man and then left the room, closing the door behind herself as she departed. Allen felt his heart rate quicken as the man gazed at him through cold eyes. This man, the Headmaster, was the only one whose face Allen had relegated to his memory. This man was the cause of most of the physical pain that he had endured during his hellish life in this place and Allen hated him above all others.

The man lived to intimidate people and, although his heart was racing and he couldn't keep his legs from shaking, Allen managed to keep the fear from showing in his eyes as he lifted his gaze to meet that of the man.

"Allen," the man said, his voice as cold as his gaze as he regarded the small child who was standing near the door. He was always irritated by the fact that this particular brat never showed even a trace of fear when in his presense and he made it his mission in life to see this boy cower like the worthless piece of trash he was. "Come here."

It was a command that Allen knew better than to ignore and, wanting desperately to be somewhere other than this particular room, the boy slowly made his way across the large office. He came to stand in front of the Headmaster's desk, his hands held behind his back in the hopes that the man would ignore his freakish arm. The long sleeved shirt that he wore was about two sizes too big for him, the sleeves so long that only the tips of his fingers were visible, but that was enough for most people.

All it took was a mere glance at his deformity to set off people's anger.

"It has been brought to my attention that a gold pocket watch has been stolen from one of the staff," the Headmaster said, his gaze focused on the child as though to gauge Allen's reaction to this news. Allen didn't know anything about the watch in question and could only gaze at the man with a questioning look in his gray eyes.

"Did you take it?" the Headmaster asked.

"No sir," Allen whispered in a voice that was barely above a whisper. The child never spoke unless it was absolutely demanded of him and therefore his voice had a rasping quality that came from lack of use.

The Headmaster glared at the child as though he could force Allen to change his story by sheer force of will. Allen felt a shiver run though his body however he was speaking the truth and refused to confess to a crime that he knew he hadn't committed. He was unwanted, useless and deformed but he wasn't a thief.

The Headmaster got to his feet and stepped from behind his desk, his gaze still resolutely locked on Allen. "I thought that you would say this however I was informed that you were seen hiding something under the mattress of your bed. We searched and found this..."

Allen's blood ran cold as the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold pocket watch, holding it up by the chain. "I... I didn't..."

It was obvious from the man's facial expression that he didn't believe the child and Allen realized that he had no way to prove to the Headmaster that he was speaking the truth. He knew that he was going to be severely punished for this and he was afraid.

He refused to show the fear and he would refuse to show the pain but it would still be there.

It was the one thing that was always present in his life. He couldn't count on anything else but he knew that the pain would always be there.

A/N - This fic is probably going to turn out to be depressing but I decided that I wanted to delve into Allen's possible past before Mana. Judging by the child that Mana found his life had to have been difficult and so this idea was born. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought. If enough people like and review this story then I'll continue with it.

Allen: This isn't fair, you shouldn't be telling them these things
The Musician: Damn kid. Personally I think that you're better off with my memories.
Allen: Shut up!