A/N: So here's my first fanfic. Next part will be standard for all chapters:

I do not own -man, though I do own what I've written. Lots of milder swearing. Perhaps some pairings at some point. Please review. Thank you!

The last thing he saw was a rush of cloudy gray sky.

Pain – a blossom swelling from the back of his skull, petals turning the world to black. Voices, high-pitched, shouting. The words didn't make sense to him anymore – disjointed syllables. The ground, solid underneath him, the only thing he knew. The air - so cold. Pressure on his shoulder, a hand.

Someone was talking, babbling to him, but he didn't understand.

The words didn't make sense to him anymore.

"Is he dead?"

The words, they didn't make sense. They didn't make sense. Didn't make sense. They sense. Not make. Sense. Sense.

The gray sky dimmed as Allen Walker disappeared.

His hand, held in such a warm, warm grasp. His laughter bubbling out of his throat. He had been alone before, but now he was so happy. So happy. Buoyant. It had taken him forever to see his happiness, but finally, finally, he knew.

"Mana!" he cried. "You walk too fast, slow down!"

His father hadn't been walking too fast, but all he wanted was for Mana to turn around, look at him, smile. Smile he did, look at him he did, turn around he did. "You just have to keep on walking," he said, his voice deep and warm like a cello. "Just keep walking forward, Allen."

He felt discomfort at the name. It wasn't his, taken from the lifeless flank of a dog six feet under. He wasn't "Allen", he wasn't anyone. He was a nameless boy with a stolen name, the name that let him be with Mana. His father, adoptive of course, was the one who took him from the loneliness, the cold and pain of trailing after the circus. He frowned. What happened after he left with Mana? He couldn't remember.

No, he didn't want to remember. He didn't want to remember when the loneliness, the cold and the pain came back again.

Suddenly, he tripped over a large rock protruding from the dirt path they walked on. He stopped to rub his smarting toe, then realized he wasn't holding onto Mana's hand anymore. Panicking, he looked up, but Mana wasn't there.

He jumped up, glancing around wildly, but Mana wasn't there.

He called out, his voice crackling in the dark like a small fire, but Mana wasn't there.

Mana wasn't anywhere.

He sank down in the middle of the path, curling his bony little arms about himself. He didn't know what to do; he couldn't walk any farther. He rocked slowly, sobbing softly. He was so cold now, so lonely, lonely cold.

How much longer 'til the pain returned as well?

When he woke, he could feel tears sliding out from the corners of his closed eyes, running down the edges of his face. He immediately loathed himself for showing any weakness at all, both the sleep and the crying. He ran a mental check. Where was he? The last thing he knew, some great force had hit him in the back of the head, throwing him many feet. What had done that? An akuma.

Akuma?

What the hell was that?

For some reason, he knew that they were the pitiful souls of the dead, brought back as weapons. His lips tightened, paling slightly. Why were there years of information more than what he should know? Six years too much. He had been, what, maybe ten or so? Why was he sixteen now?

Damn, he felt like his head was all screwed up.

The last of the memories that felt like him was after Mana died. A large, portly figure with a rictus grin large enough to swallow small children whole – the Millennium Earl, some part of him whispered – loomed over him with an offer of what he wanted most:

"Do you want me to revive Mana Walker?"

They always say hope precedes the greatest despair, he reflected painfully. The weeks that followed were fuzzy in his head – everything gone, with the stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol permeating the air. That smell, whose was it? Cross Marian, exorcist. And from then on, his memories weren't his.

They were the memories of Allen Walker, not Red.

His fingers twitched, an outward sign of the confusion (and irritation at that confusion) within.

"Oi! Nurse! He moved!" a voice shouted.

"No need to yell, you loud young man! Did Bookman not teach you to be quiet when someone is sick? And may I remind you that you are still injured as well?" a matronly voice scolded.

"Yes'm," said the young male voice, subdued.

"Is Allen okay, do you think?" a higher voice asked, a young woman from the sound of it.

A cool palm pressed to his forehead. Red jerked upward into a sitting position, slapping the hand away. "Don't touch me!" he growled, opening his eyes. The light was glaring and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

He was in an infirmary, that much was clear from the neat lines of beds with crisp white sheets; Red didn't think that he had been in such a clean or orderly place in his life. Yet, Allen's memories made the place familiar, a place he had been many times before, staining it with the red of his blood. Around him were a middle-aged nurse – the Matron, the memories said - , a girl with hair that reached to just past her chin – Lenalee Lee - , and a young man with red hair and an eye patch covering one eye – Lavi - . They all looked taken aback, the Matron rubbing her hand.

The girl composed herself first. "Allen, are you alright?" Lenalee asked.

Red glared at her stonily. He wasn't "Allen". That was the name he had taken for Mana, and Mana sure as hell wasn't here now. An ache settled in his chest as he remembered Mana. How had it been so many years since his father died?

He didn't realize that his eyes had dropped to his lap until he looked up again to see Lenalee lean forward. "Allen?" she repeated.

Okay, this "oh, dear Allen, are you alright?" stuff was starting to get really annoying.

"…not," he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" asked Lavi, leaning closer.

"I'm not him," Red said more clearly. "I'm sure as hell not your Allen Walker."

It had been almost satisfying to see their faces fall.

Then the girl, Lenalee, just had to run to fetch her brother, Komui, who was the Supervisor of the European Brach of the Order. All of this information was from Allen's memories, which Red had tentatively come to accept as his. He didn't really need the memories to tell that Komui was Lenalee's brother: the familial resemblance and his protective stance near the girl told Red all he needed to know. The memories portrayed Komui as some sort of genius idiot, but now the man was all seriousness with his damn interrogation.

"You say you aren't Allen?"

"Course not. I've said this already, haven't I?" Red replied irritably. Hadn't he already heard this from his sister?

"Are you suffering any amnesia? You suffered a bad blow to the head, which could've killed you. You were out for three days as it is."

Well, aren't you Sherlock? Red imagined himself saying. He would say that under normal circumstances, but at this point Komui held power while he was still bedridden. Damn. It was in his nature to not antagonize those who were stronger than him – plenty of bruises and even a couple broken bones from Cosimo had seen to that. Still, three days? Damn again. All Red said was, "I didn't forget anything."

"Alright," Komui said, adjusting his glasses. He was sweating some. "If you aren't Allen, then who are you?"

Do they think I'm the Fourteenth? Wait…who? The Fourteenth? He nearly repeated the name out loud, but stopped himself. They'll think that's my answer. After a moment's thought, he said, "I don't have a name. But if it's a name of convenience you want, call me Red."

"Red?" Komui repeated.

"Yeah. Y'know like my ar-" Red stopped mid-word and looked at his left hand. It was no longer red, but black. "Ah, that'un slipped my mind," he whispered. He stared at his hand. The deformed, ugly arm that had made his parents abandon him (he supposed), the scaly appendage from which he took his name, it was different. Black and smooth, with the ever present cross on the back of his hand, still hard as a rock and cold as marble as well. He wiggled his fingers in a fluid waving motion and relished the ease of movement.

Red noticed that the Supervisor was watching him, so he stopped and tried to explain his name again. "Red, like -" He stopped again and brought a hand to his hair. It wasn't its previous red-brown color anymore. It was white, he remembered. He grimaced, feeling like all color had been drained from him.

"Red," he stated lamely, all the while noting the prickly feeling of four pairs of eyes on him: the Matron, Lavi (although he only showed half a pair), Lenalee, and Komui. "Hey, snag me a mirror, would'ya?"

Komui frowned. "Allen would have had a please in there somewhere," he remarked.

"And in a less obnoxious voice," Lavi interjected obnoxiously, the only one besides Komui or Red to have spoken for a while.

Red was losing patience fast. "Look, I ain't the guy! I'm first, so stop acting like I'm some damn half-assed secondary attempt at a personality! Would ya get me a mirror, or won't ya?" His voice grew rougher in his irritation, less like the "Allen" they knew. Not like they realized that the boy they knew was just a Mana-like facade, not his true self. He didn't let himself think about how much "Allen" was real, or how he, Red, was not.

Nah, he just thought, Masks fall off, but true selves stay the same. A heartbeat. What does that make me to the Fourteenth though?

While he had been thinking, Lenalee had gotten him a mirror. She handed it to him with a tentative smile on her face. How fake. Red responded only by nodding curtly.

He looked down into the mirror.

His reflection stared up at him, cheeks paling in shock. It was strange seeing his body this old, with scars peeking out from his neckline. Now the scars were not from Cosimo, but the akuma "Allen" had battled on a regular basis. And his hair! It was white, blindingly so, and he recalled that "Allen" had been mistaken for an old man more than once. Only his eyes were the same, the color of storm clouds gathering on the edge of the sea. And there, the pentagram scar. A curse.

Red traced the scar with one hand. I'm sorry, Mana.

And there, looming behind him like a shadow, was the ethereal figure of the Fourteenth. It's leering grin was more than a little unsettling. Nasty looking bastard.

After a long moment taking in his new appearance, Red silently handed the mirror back to Lenalee. He looked at Lavi, who had the air of someone who wants to ask a question. Much longer and he'd be raising his hand like a schoolboy. "What?" Red asked flatly.

"Well, Al- , um, Red," Lavi fumbled the name. After a slight frown at himself for screwing up, he went on, "You said you weren't a secondary attempt at a personality, but were the first. What did you mean by that?"

"I'm not a damn Noah, if that's what you're insinuating." Red's head began to hurt, probably due to dealing with these people. "Allen" may have trusted and liked them, but Red sure didn't. They didn't seem to trust him either, so that was fine.

Komui blinked. "So you really do remember everything?"

"Haven't I already said yes?!" Red snarled rhetorically. Ugh, his head was really beginning to throb. He squinted against the light, which seemed way too bright again. Ow, ow, ow.

The Matron seemed to notice his pain and promptly scolded Komui and Lavi for keeping an injured patient up so long. She didn't seem to have any other setting but 'scold'.

Komui got up to leave and Lenalee followed, pausing in the door way and saying, "Good night, Alle-sorry, Red." Red gave no response, instead watching as the Matron bustled about, hunting down bandages and painkillers. It was only when Lavi settled on the bed next to him that Red noticed that the older red-head (for Red still thought of himself as a red-head) had an arm in a sling.

"Oh, this?" Lavi said, following Red's gaze. "Busted it after you nearly had your skull bashed in. Damn akuma slammed me into a tree. Got it back for it though," he continued, grinning somewhat malevolently. The guy was often grinning, or smirking, or something similar, never a true smile. "I was surprised though, when you just conked out. Usually your Innocence makes you fight, even after you are unconscious. Gets you pretty roughed up."

"Great, just what I need. More scars," Red grumbled. Lavi laughed, which both annoyed…and gratified…Red, although he'd never admit it. The Matron handed him a glass of water and some pills. He inspected the pills distrustfully. "What are these?" he asked.

The Matron bristled slightly, as if questioning the pills was the same as questioning her. What a sin. "They're painkillers and a couple sleeping pills, as well as some nutritional supplements, as we haven't been able to feed you while you've been unconscious."

At least they weren't poison. Though of course, if someone tried to poison him, they wouldn't just outright tell him. Red considered not taking the pills, but he was tired, his head hurt, and the memories told him to trust the Matron. So he sighed, brought the pills to his mouth, and swallowed.

They worked insanely fast. Red soon found himself falling into darkness, into dreamlessness.

He was gone.