Note: At the time of Timothy's and Allen's first meeting (and Mana's meeting with Allen), their respective ages start out as reversed, with Allen at age nine and Timothy at age fifteen (approximately), progressing from there.

Furthermore, certain liberties have definitely been taken with the timeline, so in case you notice any discrepancies concerning that, then they are probably intentional (or not, heh).

This is the result of another thought experiment. Make of it what you will.

Last edited on April 17th 2016.

-o0o-

Hands Held, Pledges Made

-o0o-

It was an old building; not ancient, but certainly old enough to have seen the infancy, the gradual maturation and the eventual decline of more than a few generations. Events both joyous and sorrowful had left their permanent mark on the building; some of them had lingered more profoundly than others.

According to rumour, it was a tragedy that had finally closed it down; a most joyous occasion ‒ a wedding ‒ had taken a turn for the worst, leaving the bride dead and the groom crippled. Since then, the building ‒ a church ‒ had stood empty to all but those vagrants brave, poor or merely foolish enough to venture inside in order to seek shelter from the elements.

The church was empty and dirty; humid but not excessively so, compared to the outside, where the night's rain had only just ended, leaving behind a rising fog in its wake.

He found that he could observe the weather conditions just fine, even though the window upon which sill he had found his perch was dirty and fogged up now due to their presence.

The world out there was grey but gradually growing lighter; it told him that hours had passed. As far as the latter was concerned though, the gradually increasing stiffness of his neck and the numbness of his right leg would have sufficed as indicators of just how long he had been seated there, balancing precariously yet effortlessly on the windowsill, his right leg carrying the greater weight of his burden and his left one dangling slightly.

Truth to be told, it was by no means the most comfortable position. However, with his charge finally catching up on some sleep, he reasoned that it ought to be a shame to wake the other accidentally by making any greater movement.

At the sound of wing beats, he finally tilted his head, suppressing a slight wince as his neck proved disinclined to approve of the motion.

"Timcanpy."

He spoke quietly, and was immediately rewarded with two wing beats in quick succession as the golden golem swooped down to settle on top of his head.

"Tim?"

He looked down at his charge. Bleary silver-grey eyes gazed right back at him in confusion before abruptly turning to their surroundings.

"What is this place?"

"Nowhere in particular."

Those eyes turned towards him anew, narrowing slightly in suspicion. "You're lying."

A wry smile spread across his features. "And you're a serious pain in the neck."

The kid finally got the hint. "Sorry."

Minutes later found them back on solid ground ‒ or just solid floor in case one felt it necessary to nitpick. "How long was I out?" Allen finally asked.

"A while," he responded easily ‒ because there was really no reason for him to be more specific than that ‒ and finished rifling through their meagre assembly of belongings, withdrawing the hand to instead tug at his headband, making sure it covered his forehead the way it should. "Because you went a bit overboard."

He got a somewhat guilty shift in response to that, and all in all, that was enough. After all, pressing the matter any further would just be a waste of time and energy, given that both of them were far too stubborn to give in to just about anyone. Cross Marian had somewhat disdainfully referred to it as a fatal flaw to their respective characters. Truth to be told though, when it came to flaws of one's character, that man really wasn't in any position to be passing judgements on anyone, least of all on them.

"Well, at least I got the job done," Allen finally snapped, having shifted his posture to accommodate the noticeable shift in attitude, which tilted towards constant defiance. "Tim."

Frankly, Tim ‒ who was not Timcanpy but rather the teenaged Timothy Hearst ‒ minded neither the attitude nor the insinuation; Allen had technically been the one to deal with akuma, given that he had dashed off in order to confront it.

However, it was just as true that Tim had been the one to deal with the aftermath, wherein an overexerted Allen ‒ who despite his age still retained the visual appearance of one much younger ‒ had collapsed and remained largely insensible to the world for the hours that followed, waking up only briefly during the ride to London.

If anything, then Tim had been stuck with a much greater part of the work. He hardly held much of a grudge though, having intentionally put himself into the position of caring for him. No one else had been even remotely capable and even if such a person did appear, then Timothy would hardly trust them enough to entrust them with Allen's welfare. After all‒

Allen squawked indignantly when Timothy ruffled his hair, and he scrambling away just as quickly, scowling openly now. "What the Hell did you do that for, you bastard?!"

Timothy didn't retort, rewarding the insult with a mischievous grin.

-o0o-

"You don't need to carry me, you know?"

Timothy resisted the resurfacing urge to roll his eyes; it was an argument much too familiar. "For all intents and purposes, I do, because I'd really hate to lose you in this crowd," he deadpanned, hoisting Allen up further on his arm where they waited for their train to turn up.

His younger charge looked somewhat dissatisfied, but opted not to pursue the matter, knowing well the truth of his caretaker's statement. "You're taller now," Allen noted, scrutinising him.

"I'm seventeen now; it'd be strange if I weren't taller," Timothy responded, adjusting his grip once more. "No offence, bud."

The frown that had begun to form on his charge's face vanished swiftly as it instead smoothened out into a deadpan expression of neutrality and seeming disinterest. Then, it was hidden altogether from his view as Allen turned head straight to get a better look at what was going on around them. "None taken."

"You sure? Because I felt you tense up just now."

"Shut up."

Hearing the other's tone, Timothy came to a pause and shifted a miniscule bit to throw a glance behind them. It took him mere moments to notice the black-clad figure standing at the outskirts of the crowd, leaning against a pillar. Turning back towards the tracks, Timothy then addressed his charge, keeping his voice low but casual. "Tim's still with you?"

He could feel fingers digging into his shoulder, tightening around the fabric of his worn coat.

"Pocket."

Timothy dipped his head slightly to acknowledge this as fact, keeping his posture relaxed as he turned back to look whether or not their train would be arriving anytime soon. "Good. We're boarding the next train."

Allen said nothing, but lifted his head slightly.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Timothy mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and then back again. "I've got this."

Once again feeling the additional weight of the other's head on his shoulder, Timothy allowed himself a thin smile that remained in place as they eventually boarded the train. Then, after crossing paths with a white-clad and bandaged finder headed in the opposite direction ‒ first class, no doubt ‒ Timothy wiped the smile from his face.

Behind him ‒ or rather hiding behind his coattails ‒ Allen stood, observing the passerby with wary eyes even as they too moved along, set upon another destination altogether.

With some difficulty, they found seats for themselves, with Allen as per usual claiming the window seat, eager to look at the landscapes rather than at the people, though the latter also gained some attention from time to time, as was evident from the child's glances.

Timothy himself on the other side took the seat that was closer to the aisle, but he hardly remained there for long. Soon after the train had set off from the station, Allen had directed his young but keen eyes towards him, scrutinising him briefly before finally offering up the window seat.

A switch was made. Soon thereafter, Timothy's aching head hit the nearby windowpane as the lack of sleep from the recent night-time adventures finally extracted their long overdue vengeance upon him.

-o0o-

"No." Stubbornly, he stood, newly turned seventeen, arms folded across his chest, glaring outright at his opponent.

His opponent ‒ who was none other than his teacher ‒ gave rise to a dismissive wave, sinking further into his slouch where he sat at the kitchen table, sipping Romanée-Conti as though it wasn't ten in the morning. "I'll write a letter of recommendation, so scram."

"Don't bother," Timothy scoffed, standing his ground, glaring even harder. "As long as we do our job, there's no need to go official, is there?"

Cross Marian regarded him with clear disinterest bordering on displeasure. Then again, Cross' general state of antipathy as far as children were concerned was to be regarded as the rule rather than the exception. As a teenager, Timothy was by no means the exception to the rule.

Dirty brats; Cross generally referred to them as such, differing ages aside.

Either way, Timothy had had little patience to put up with Cross at the time. Usually, he did suffer the other's moods and attitude, not so much for himself but rather for the sake of another. After all‒

"This isn't about me. I don't have anything to hide. This is about Allen."

The glint in the other's eyes hardened slightly, though the slouch remained the same. "What about the brat?"

Timothy stood his ground, but shifted his posture slightly, determined to appeal to reason before resorting to anger. "You hate that place. I certainly wouldn't like it. And Allen‒"

"And what?"

Timothy finally bristled, but withstood the rising urge to pounce; it wouldn't end well, for him in particular. Knowing this, he restricted himself to elocution, even though violence would certainly have lain closer at hand.

"Look, bâtard‒" He unfolded his arms, curling his hands into tight fists to suppress the urge to claw at the other's face. "I might not understand every damn thing you've got going on and all, but that grandma ally of yours and companion dropped enough hints for me to know that Allen coming under the scrutiny of the Order would be a very bad thing. Oh yes, it would. If you send the letter of recommendation, then it's only natural that they'd look into our backgrounds and it's a given that we'd be placed under some sort of scrutiny‒"

"Look‒" Timothy forced his fists to uncurl, staring down at the crescents forming from his nails in order to distract him from Cross' continued and utterly infuriating indifference. "I know for a fact that you haven't been in contact with the Order – If you were, then you'd be living off their money instead of that of your sponsors. Your movements, along with the fact that you've picked up us along the way, are a secret – and if you send us to the Order, they'll learn what you've been up to and will probably start tracking you down soon enough… which is probably what you've been planning all along, but I won't go along with such a stupid plan."

"If our presence is somehow a hindrance, then I'll just take Allen and leave," he went on to say, keeping his voice and demeanour calm despite the rage still simmering beneath. "We'll go hunt some akuma, create a bit of havoc and divert the attention from you and‒ I'll train him – properly – unlike what you've been doing, you arsehole."

That earned him a scoff, before his teacher ‒ who he steadfastly refused to refer to as any master of his ‒ continued to sip the wine as though Timothy's words had been of little consequence; a fact which probably held true as far as Cross himself was concerned. "What can a dirty brat like you do?"

"What can I do?" Timothy snapped right back, voice teetering on the edge of becoming an outright snarl. "Quite a lot actually, because unlike Allen, I aim for where it really hurts."

The way in which his teacher paused ‒ attention shifting to him and lingering there briefly before once again shifting ‒ told Timothy that at least some of his words had hit home. Then, Cross Marian downed what little remained in his glass, seemingly having come to a decision. "If you want to take responsibility for the brat, then be my guest."

"And the catch?"

Timothy gained another look for this, but he didn't back down. After all, there was always a‒

"When I need him, I'll get in touch," the other finally yielded, pouring himself another glass.

Again, Timothy found himself dangerously close to bristling. "And you expect us to come flying, just like that, at your beck and call?"

"Evidently."

No hesitation, as though this type of action was naturally expected of them.

"You're full of shit, you know that?" Timothy snapped. "But fine, if you ask for our help in this elusive mission of yours, then we'll turn up to provide assistance."

"However‒" He turned and headed for the door, pausing once he reached it, turning his head to catch the eyes still lingering upon him. "Up until that point, we are free to wander however we want, yes? Then, there'll be no need to involve the Order along with a lesser risk of the Earl being able to track you down; that'll be beneficial for all of us, don't you think?"

Judging from the wry look crossing the other's face, Timothy could definitely tell just what the other thought of him and his words and he turned around fully, leaning against the doorframe.

"Look‒" he said, exasperated. "I'll take responsibility for Allen; I won't let him get hurt, and I'll teach him to the best of my ability without interference from the Order. If neither of us are official exorcists, then we are also less likely to be targeted as long as we keep a moderately low profile… which we wouldn't if we went around sporting the same garb as you do, because that's basically the same as painting a big target onto our backs… I'll do my best to keep him safe, and to teach him to protect himself."

"As I said," Cross relayed, regarding him just the same as always; as a dirty brat that was ultimately of little use other than as a shield at best and as cannon fodder at worst. "If you believe that you can handle the responsibility, then be my guest."

"But?"

Cross removed the rim of the glass from his lips, smirking; a disquieting sign to say the very least. "As far as the Order knows, I might as well be dead," he proceeded to remark, downing what little remained in the glass before slamming it down onto the table's surface with a tad more force than necessary. "There are a few things I need to drop off, and since I'm busy being dead at the moment, I guess you'll have to do it for me."

Timothy steeled himself, particularly when Cross pulled out his trusty Judgement and began polishing the outside of it with a clean rag. "And if I refuse?"

-o0o-

"Tim?"

Timothy startled awake to a small hand on his arm, fingers digging into the fabric.

To one side was the carriage window, and it was dark outside; a telling of just how long he had been sleeping. To the other side was a hooded Allen, awake and alert, pulling at his sleeve now; urging him to come along. Timcanpy was on top his charge's head, partially hidden beneath the hood. "We need to get off of the train."

Though still a tad disoriented, Timothy gathered their things and allowed Allen to lead him.

They made it out just in time before the whistle sounded for the train to depart once more. It soon did, leaving them standing alone at the platform of a community that was big enough to count as a larger village but rural enough to lack any greater importance in the world, despite the castle towering eerily over it in the distance.

Even in the dark, Timothy found that he knew what he was looking at with little difficulty, considering the fact that he had visited this place not so long ago. "Why here?" he asked, hoisting the bag containing their things upwards, slinging it over his shoulder.

Even in the dark, or perhaps more because of it, Timothy felt the force of multiple eyes bearing down upon them. And, judging from the way in which Allen shifted closer to him, the other had definitely felt it as well. "Akuma?" he questioned, his voice barely audible.

Allen was now so close to his leg that Timothy could actually feel it when the younger shook his head repeatedly.

Despite feeling wary, Timothy took a step forward, in direction of the village.

Though reluctant, Allen followed, hooded and hiding in his shadow.

Determined not to make themselves look any more suspicious than necessary, Timothy extended a hand towards Allen, who despite seeming uneasiness took it and followed along as Timothy lead them deeper into the village, disregarding the eyes that still followed their movements.

Even in the dark, Timothy navigated the village without much difficulty. He found his way to an inn, only to find it along with a whole lot of other buildings boarded shut and seemingly abandoned, which was a worrying sign to say the very least.

Admittedly, there was still light visible in some of the windows. The curtains were however drawn, though some moved on occasion, giving way to the spying eyes of hidden villagers. It was unnerving to say the very least, but Timothy had experienced his fair share of unnerving situations, and this one did not even come close to being the worst. "Let's go."

"Where?" was Allen's immediate but very quiet response, barely audible over the sound of his stomach rumbling.

Timothy pointed off in direction of the castle, its silhouette sharp against the night sky, light emanating from more than a few windows. "There."

There was doubt being reflected back at him, but no protests followed as they headed off, passing through the village and into the woods that followed, riddling the hillside on the way up to the castle.

Once they had made it several yards into the woods, the feeling of eyes upon them ended suddenly, their presence fading soon thereafter. Even so, they continued onward for a bit before either of them spoke, speaking softly even though they were by all means out of earshot by then.

"I'm hungry."

With a sigh, Timothy came to a stop and shrugged the bag from his shoulder, putting it on the ground and reaching into it, finding what he had been looking for almost right away. Moments thereafter found him dangling a chocolate bar in front of his younger charge, whose eyes lit up at the sight of it. "Will this do?"

Allen snatched it, and Timothy let him do so, seeing no actual reason to take offence; they had after all had more than enough time to get used to and to accommodate each other's quirks, whatever said quirks may be.

As they continued uphill, Allen unwrapped his sweet, offering up a piece of it to Timothy, who graciously accepted it, popping it into his mouth. "What does he look like?"

Somewhat puzzled, Timothy sent Allen a look, but didn't pause. "Who?"

"Tsukikami."

It was a strange question and a sudden one at that, but Timothy saw no actual reason not to answer.

"Back when we first met, he looked older, kind of like I do now, except a tad more eccentric," he explained as they continued onward. "Nowadays, he looks like a younger me."

"Why?"

He shrugged mildly in response. Truth to be told, he hadn't really thought much of it.

"I think that in a way, he embodies my wish to remain a child," Timothy finally decided, pausing when he heard Allen's steps come to a sudden stop.

Then a quiet voice spoke out of the darkness. "Why would you want to do that?"

Timothy turned, looking back at Allen where he in turn stood, looking up at him, Timcanpy airborne and darting about, seemingly mapping out the area now that there was little risk of him being seen.

"Growing up ain't all that fun to be completely honest." Timothy shifted his posture slightly where he stood before continuing. "When you grow up, you get lots of responsibilities, and people start demanding more of you. I mean, it ain't all bad, but it's just‒ you don't…"

He trailed off, averting his eyes just the same before turning his attention back to what lay ahead. "On second thought, forget about it. It's nothing important."

For a while, they continued onward in silence, Allen once again trailing behind him like a shadow and Timcanpy tailing them in turn, the sound of his wing beats bouncing back and forth between the trees on either side of them.

"You don't want to grow up," Allen finally concluded, speaking quietly but with a great degree of certainty. "You don't want to grow up because you want things to be the way they were before."

"Yes."

"Me too."

Timothy did not pause, though he did send the other a brief look before once again directing his eyes ahead. "Is that why you no longer age?"

In spite of his own curiosity, he kept his voice perfectly level and neutral. "It's been nearly two years. As far as I can see, you haven't aged."

Even without looking, Timothy could feel the weight of silver-grey eyes levelled upon him. "You didn't think that I'd notice, did you?" he commented softly.

A quiet mutter resounded from behind him, as the steps tailing him came to another stop. "Didn't think that you'd care."

Timothy actually scoffed at that and stopped as well, taking note of Timcanpy's nervous fluttering. "Do you really think so lowly of me, you brat?" he snorted.

Above them, a gust of wind blew through the trees. There was a slight rustle from the undergrowth, though nothing of any greater significance to either of them, just like they were hardly of any greater significance to anyone or anything dwelling in these woods.

Again, a rustling sound was heard. This one however was significantly closer at hand, and it originated from Allen, who closed the distance between them in silence, reaching out to grab hold of Timothy's sleeve once he was close enough, speaking softly. "I'm sorry, Tim."

Timothy scoffed. "Doubt it."

"I am sorry," Allen snapped, tightening his grip on the sleeve, pulling at it.

"Why don't you want to grow up?" Timothy asked, deadpan.

"Does it matter?" was the frustrated response that he got, and the grip on his sleeve tightened slightly before loosening, before Allen let go altogether.

"Dunno," Timothy responded, deliberately challenging him. "You tell me."

Silver-grey eyes settled upon him briefly before Allen averted them, noticeably uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. "Doesn't matter."

Sensing this was a matter of greater importance than that of reaching the castle, Timothy slid the bag down from his shoulder, depositing it onto the ground next to them as he crouched down so that they could look at each other more evenly, without either looking up or down on the other. Even so, his eyes were serious when he regarded Allen, who only pointedly avoided making eye contact in return. "If it doesn't matter, then why did you bring it up?"

Allen stood his ground, continuing to keep his silence and his eyes averted. Normally, Timothy would just have let it go. Tonight however‒

He remained in a crouch, his brown eyes calmly regarding Allen who shifted uncomfortably beneath the keen scrutiny. In the end, they were both stubborn. Timothy however had the benefit of a few more years of experience, and had learned the fine art of patience from dealing with the utterly infuriating Cross Marian.

Soon enough, Allen cracked, eyes flickering to meet his very briefly before being averted once more.

"When I'm old enough…" Allen spoke softly, voice barely audible over the sound of Timcanpy's wing beats. "When I'm old enough, he said he's going to take over my body…"

"Who said?"

Silver-grey eyes remained averted. Brown ones hardened.

"Allen. Who said?"

Finally, those eyes snapped towards him, slightly wide and pupils very much dilated, though the latter probably had more to do with the lack of light than with anything that had just passed between them. Even so, those wide eyes and dilated pupils did give Allen a very eerie appearance, coupled with the pallor of his skin and sheer whiteness of the hair peeking out from beneath the hood.

First there was silence. Then came three words uttered in a quick voice that bordered on a whisper. "The grinning shadow."

Timothy stared right back, imagining that his own appearance ought to look fairly eerie as well when it all came down to it. He imagined himself looking puzzled, because that was what he was. Temporarily at a loss as for what to say, he instead motioned for Allen to continue.

"He lives in my dreams now, but he said he'll leave them once I'm old enough," Allen said, averting his eyes once more and shifting his weight from one foot to the other and then back again. "Says I promised."

"Promised what?" Timothy finally asked, keeping his voice perfectly level and calm even though he himself was not.

Again, Allen's eyes turned towards him. "To let him do that."

"Did you?" Timothy questioned, and Allen's eyes once again flickered elsewhere.

"I don't remember."

"Since when?" Timothy pressed, laying his hands on top of Allen's shoulder in an effort to keep him reasonably grounded in reality and reason. "Since when is he in your dreams?"

"Since I…"

Allen trailed off again, looking at nothing in particular; really just staring out into the darkness. Timothy shook him slightly, and his head whipped back and forth, unresisting and still staring blankly at something ‒ or nothing ‒ to one side.

Gaining no favourable reaction ‒ or any reaction whatsoever ‒ Timothy opted for another approach. He moved his hands from Allen's shoulders to the sides of his face, turning it towards him and tilting it slightly upwards.

Like he usually did when in a daze, Allen offered up little to no resistance towards being manhandled, which was something Allen normally resented.

"Did you tell Cross?" Timothy asked, keeping his voice calm as he moved his thumbs slightly against Allen's cheeks, caressing the area beneath the eyes.

As intended, the additional sensory stimulation had Allen back to focusing on him. He stared right back at him now, a bit unfocused still but decidedly less dazed than previously. "No."

"Why not?" Timothy questioned, continuing his ministrations as a worried Timcanpy finally settled on top of his head to overlook the proceedings.

Allen stared up at him now, face as blank and empty as the voice uttering the words that soon followed. "He wouldn't care."

"Okay, fine," Timothy yielded, conceding the point because Cross Marian was an outright bastard who was severely stunted as far as basic human decency was concerned. "But this shadow; does he talk to you? Often? About what?"

"He only spoke to me back when I first met him," Allen relayed, looking right back at him, his eyes wide and pupils so dilated that they looked dangerously close to consuming what little remained of the iris. "His eyes are round and glow in the dark."

"Sounds creepy," Timothy instantly conceded.

Following the comment, there was a rapid blink, followed by another and then…

"It is," Allen responded, pupils no longer as dilated.

"Did he tell you his name?"

The answers came more rapidly now; more certain. "No."

"Does he know your name?"

A heartbeat. "Yes."

"And you're positive you don't know him?"

Hesitation, followed by a slight frown. "I don't remember."

"So, no?"

No answer.

Timothy finally let go of Allen's face and straightened back up, taking a step back to allow Allen some space. "Sounds like the bogeyman to me," he commented idly.

It was apparently the right question to ask, because Allen's attention snapped to him and it was focused at that. "What's a bogeyman?"

Timothy stared back at him with disbelief and no small amount of scepticism, Timcanpy still riding on top of his head. "You don't know who the bogeyman is?"

Apparently, Allen did not.

"Well‒" Timothy began, turning back to face the path that still lay ahead of them. "He basically is this shadowy thingy that hides beneath children's beds or something… or in their closets."

"He exists?" Allen sounded sceptical, but also a tad unnerved.

"As a figment of small children's imagination, yes," Timothy yielded, motioning for Allen to come along as he himself resumed the walk uphill.

With about a moment's delay, Allen followed, struggling to keep up with Timothy's quickened pace. "Do you believe in the bogeyman?" he asked a bit breathlessly, and Timothy slowed down some to accommodate for the other's much shorter legs.

"Not anymore, no."

For a while, they continued onward in silence. Soon thereafter, they reached the end of the woods and stood in the deeper shadows of the castle that now towered directly above them.

"When did you stop believing?" Allen asked, keeping his voice steady but quiet as he brushed his hand against Timothy's larger one.

"Dunno," Timothy responded, fingers instinctively curling around it.

For a few moments, they just stood there, hand in hand, looking up at the castle towering over them.

"Do you sense anything?" Timothy finally asked.

The response proved flat, as well as immediate. "Low-level akuma."

"How many?"

Allen raised the index finger of his left hand.

"Well then…"

They stepped forward, and onward; together.

-o0o-