Chapter Text
Rosa bracteata
His name was Allen, his father was dead, and he’s choking, drowning in his grief, spilling his guts in the graveyard. His shoulders shook and he heaved until he collapsed, fingernails clawing at his skin until they left red scratches. Metal in his mouth as he vomited roses that, under all the blood from thorns tearing up his throat, were white.
“You want me to retrieve Mana Walker?” the grinning clown asked, curiously staring down at him.
Another rose petal fell from Allen’s mouth as he screamed his father’s name.
Ornithogalum umbellatum
Cross was too late.
His mistake couldn’t be any clearer, standing in front of Mana’s grave, holding a casket that was bound to be empty, looking at a child that was meant to disappear. Allen’s face was covered by blood, and thus Cross did not pay any attention to the flowers surrounding him as he picked Nea’s host up and carried him to safety.
The little brat never should have been caught up in this war of theirs and Cross almost wanted to laugh at the irony of a Noah’s host being so deeply connected to Innocence, it took over his body. Laughing, drinking, and sex would certainly be better distractions than screaming in rage and lashing out at a kid that couldn’t be blamed for any of this, but right now, Cross couldn’t afford to do either.
All he had left were the curses he could hiss under his breath as the child screamed himself hoarse from the pain, choking until Allen threw up on him, the remains of lunch and flower petals ruining his shirt.
“Fuck no,” Cross exhaled, fingers twitching for a cigarette. “Since when does the brat have fucking Hanahaki?”
Mother only huffed. “Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you know since you watched him?”
“Well, he certainly wasn’t spitting up little snowdrops when he was running around with Mana!”
No, when the two clowns had been traveling together, Mana had been the one choking on the same red poppies he’d always cried for his brother. Fucking Nea, this better be worth it. From a scientist to an Exorcist to a nanny for traumatized little Noah hosts, who pissed their bedding.
“Those aren’t snowdrops,” Mother said, picking at the few flowers Cross had cleaned off the blood. “Aren’t you a bad priest that you can’t even recognize these?”
“Why the fuck should I recognize any flowers—”
“Stars of Bethlehem!”
Cross turned to the door where Barba was standing with Allen’s clean sheets, pointing excitedly at the little flowers. “Those are stars of Bethlehem. I’ve always wanted to decorate with them for Christmas because of the name, but they’re pretty sad flowers.”
Sad flowers, huh? “What do they mean?”
“Atonement,” Barba replied. “And reconciliation, guilt, and fear.”
Sighing, Cross leaned back in his chair and grabbed the entire bottle of wine. “Of course, the brat has grief flowers.”
Parasitic Innocence and Hanahaki? Nea better woke up soon, or the boy might die before he had the chance to erase him.
Calendula officinalis
Allen’s new Master was a bastard, so unlike Mana that he wanted to scream and return to his grave, spill more father’s day gifts and stars. But if he returned to Mana without having saved a single soul, he could never forgive himself.
And thus Allen stayed, carried his bags, found a routine with his Master, wondering when he’d finally learn how to use his Innocence against those Akuma.
“Hurry up, stupid apprentice, we’re going to be late.”
“Late where—” Allen froze as his gaze stopped at a lone man in the crowd and his left eye suddenly exploded in pain as his vision changed, shifted, and the man turned into a shadow, a skeleton wrapped in chains and guts, screaming, tearing at their constraints, begging for salvation.
Allen fell to his knees, his father’s screams echoing in his mind as he began coughing, struggling for breath, orange blooms landing on the dirt road.
“Allen— what are you doing!?”
His Master’s voice thundered through the air, commanding and another note he couldn’t identify.
“The man,” he stuttered out, swallowing down the bitter taste, the copper. “The man, Master, he’s like— like Mana!”
Cross’s head whipped up just in time for the man to see them.
And then all hell broke loose.
Tagetes erecta
The marigolds continued to haunt Allen until he learned to swallow down the blooms even as he fought against the Akuma.
No matter the Akuma’s level or origin story, orange petals always begged to leave his mouth. It made their stay in India more taxing than any other, marigold garlands covering the streets at all times. How strange that a flower that had always represented pain and grief to him was celebrated here so. Allen had met quite a few people suffering from the same ailment as him, though the taste of their hurt was a different one; unrequited love, fear, hopelessness – the number of emotions that could evoke Hanahaki seemed to be as varied as the stars above.
Allen had never known which one Mana had suffered from, but his flowers had also never changed, blooming for the same purpose and person.
He stared down at the abandoned bowl, his arm still aching. He had been so careful that any of the marigolds he brought Narain were not stained by those expelled by his body. But now, covered by the Akuma’s blood, it hardly seemed to matter.
They looked just the same.
Mentha arvensis
Allen’s introduction to the Black Order was chaotic. From his meeting with the angry Japanese Exorcist he absolutely did not want to work with ever thank-you-very-much to the confusing words and touch of the guardian Hevelaska. Komui, his superior, seemed like a fun and kind man, one Allen wouldn’t mind working alongside.
This place truly felt like it could become home if one were to believe Lenalee. Allen even had his own room that was his to do with as he liked, given that he didn’t destroy it. That certainly was an entirely new experience.
Allen hadn’t really had a home in a long while, though, when he was just feverish enough, feeling more like a child than an Exorcist, he would consider his Master’s coat on his shoulders shelter his home.
Not that he’d ever admit that to the man out loud.
“Is there anything else we need to know?” Komui asked, looking over Allen’s file, hopefully not cringing too much over Allen’s handwriting. Just because he had gained dexterity didn’t mean that his handwriting was particularly great. “Your personal data isn’t exactly precise.”
Allen tried to keep his smile in place, but he was well aware that his life had gaps. The entire first half of his childhood was one giant black hole, and as much as Allen sometimes wanted to solve that particular mystery, he was sure he hadn’t forgotten for no reason.
Mana’s memories had been full of empty spaces, and that for a good reason too.
Allen still remembered his screams when his nightmares overwhelmed him, begging for his brother to save him, forgive him, stay by his side eternally.
“I’m sorry,” Allen apologized regardless. “I know my background is not that easy.”
Komui only smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Allen. We care more about your own welfare now than anything else.”
His throat tickled and he desperately wanted to believe Komui, perhaps a bit naively too as his childhood self would condemn, but he tasted mint and knew it was for naught. Komui might care, God, the man had given everything so he could be here with his sister, but that didn’t speak for the entire Order.
“There actually is one more thing,” Allen admitted. “I have grief flowers.”
Komui’s eyes widened, fear and pity flashing through them. “How long?”
“Since General Cross took me in,” Allen said, knowing that for most, that would mean he was as close to death as he could be. “But I have it handled. My Innocence keeps me steady and heals my lungs.”
It was probably not as good of a reassurance as the man was hoping for, but it was all Allen could give. As always, he was lacking.
Lathyrus odoratus
Dealing with Innocence always interfered with his sickness. His own shard kept him healthy enough to continue on even if the number of flowers he’d displaced over the years should have long since killed him.
“What the hell, moyashi?” Kanda shouted as Allen doubled over in front of Lala and Guzol, covering the sand with blood, baby’s breath and sweet peas. Baby’s breath was nothing new given the presence of Innocence. Allen had filled Maria’s casket with it multiple times already, but he knew the sweet peas were for Lala, the sentient doll, and her dearly beloved human, her accommodator.
“Let her sing,” Allen begged through the pain, wheezing, still pathetic and weak. “Let her sing, please.”
And they remained as they were.
Gypsophila paniculate
God’s true apostle was a little girl that made Allen freeze. No matter how much he wanted to fight, to protect the world he had learned to love with his father’s smiles and jokes, he couldn’t anymore, his eye destroyed, bleeding.
Time running out and out and out until—
Rewind.
Miranda’s Innocence, baby’s breaths on his tongue, was as cruel as it was kind, giving Allen more time to fight, to understand, to choke down the marigolds as Road ordered the self-destruction of the Akuma and he watched that screaming soul disintegrate.
He knew there would be a price to pay.
The Noah’s door, a checkered form that seemed so familiar, closed and Allen stumbled back to Miranda’s side. Sweet reassurances were all it took to get her settled, to allow time to return to them.
Allen blacked out with a cough so deep, he thought he was crying at Mana’s grave again.
Papaver nudicaule
Lavi was curious by nature. It was the reason Bookman had picked him in the first place. Their kind needed to be curious, interested in the world, but only ever as its silent observers. Bookman Junior could recite his entire lecture on the topic, the ever repeated ‘know your duties’. Junior knew that he wasn’t Bookman’s first apprentice, and given how much Bookman insisted that Lavi stayed impartial, he knew there was a story to discover, history to inherit someday.
But for now, he had to chat up the Destroyer of Time.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Lavi said with a mild smile. “Yu-chan already told me so much about you!”
Kanda had been unusually chatty, complaining about Allen Walker for minutes, which was as good as ranting for an hour for normal people. Lavi had learned a lot about Allen during that time, mainly his sickness being of interest to Junior. The number of people suffering from Hanahaki was low enough that they had yet to find a proper cure or cause.
There were enough speculations, the church was particularly fond of going on about Eve and Lilith, Eden’s curse, but it was as good an explanation as a shrug and a disinterested ‘I don’t know’.
Although, perhaps, remembering the glass of flowers in his coat pocket, a cure had been found, just not one readily available for the masses.
“Here! Miranda collected them for you. It’s tradition in Germany to save them.”
Lavi handed Allen the glass full of yellow poppies before the youth could protest, waiting to see what his reaction would be. He had already gathered that Allen was used to his sickness, had learned how to live with them.
These flowers should not surprise him.
And yet they did, the boy almost dropping the glass when he saw what was inside.
“Poppies,” Allen breathed, his face twisting into shock, the kind of which Lavi had never seen before. “But they’re Mana’s—”
Mana Walker, the father that had been turned into an Akuma.
Lavi had to hold back a grin.
This was bound to be interesting.
Roseanne giganteus carnivorus
Roots took ahold of Allen’s heart and lungs and he reminded himself repeatedly that Mana loved him, that he had friends now and a home, that he was cared for. His father may have cursed him, but only so Allen would have something to live for so that he’d continue and not plant his roots at his father’s grace and let his body decay to feed the soil.
“I never wondered if Akuma could love,” Allen confessed to Lavi while Krory was still knocked out, head resting against the window of the train. “I thought them incapable of forming positive relationships unless they were modified.”
“Modified?” Lavi echoed, keen eyes, fake smile.
Took a liar to find another.
Eliade had felt something for Krory, even if it might just have been possessiveness, staking her claim on her victim and prey, waiting for the Innocence to get strong enough that its destruction would be interesting.
I love you, Mana’s words rang in his ears.
The flowers settled.
Glaucium flavum
The Exorcist cheated them right out of their money, and if Tyki didn’t feel like there was something familiar about the boy, he would have ripped his Innocence and heart out right there. He’d learned restraint, how to curb Joyd’s hunger. It had been insufferable when he’d still been a child, giving in to pleasure much too quickly.
But the three Exorcists right in front of him were taunt and temptation.
And still, Tyki resisted, especially once he got close enough to that white-haired menace to catch his scent. He’d excused himself after one round, saying he needed to freshen up. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it also wasn’t the truth.
“You smell like flowers, menino,” Tyki commented, watching as the boy quickly wiped blood from his mouth, something yellow disappearing down the drain. “Hanahaki?”
Fraude A flinched, looking like he’d been caught in the act. The cheerful if devious demeanor from before had all but faded away, leaving behind an exhausted teenager. The bags under his eyes were heavy, and the Innocence in his hand must be sucking away at his lifespan as well.
What wouldn’t Tyki give to turn that crystal into dust, play savior for this damned child.
“It’s not contagious,” the boy said immediately, probably thinking that Tyki was one of those fools who avoided flower bearers like the plague.
“I know,” Tyki said. “Don’t worry about it, menino. You seem to be doing as well as you can. I want to ask about your sickness if you don’t mind.”
The boy eyed him suspiciously but nodded.
“The child we have with us, Eeez, he has Hanahaki as well. His family threw him out because they could not afford to care for his health.”
Not that Tyki and his friends could afford his treatment either. Whenever Eeez, Momo, and Clark slept, Noah’s third disciple reached far into the lungs of the boy and ripped out the flowers stealing his breath, drenched his fingers in blood to see the child take another pathetic breath.
“Oh.” Understanding flashed over Fraude’s face. “Which kind?”
“Fear,” Tyki replied and there was so much to fear for weak little human boys in a world as cruel as theirs. “And you?”
“Grief,” the boy said, almost apologetic as if he’d trade his variant for a chance to help Eeez. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t offer you any help. My method of coping won’t work for him.”
Flores de tristeza and an Exorcist, the boy was truly detested by fate.
“I understand.” Oh, he did. That parasite leeching on the boy’s lifespan kept him alive, healed him over and over again so he could keep fulfilling its cursed mission. Tyki wondered what his lungs looked like, whether they were entirely scarred over. “Thank you still, menino.”
Aquilegia atrata
Lenalee was excellent at reading people, even if she couldn’t keep up with Lavi. It was a skill she had learned out of necessity during all her attempts at escaping the Order, searching for weaknesses in her guards, moments where their attention slipped just enough for her to throw herself out of the high towers they kept her in.
No matter how much Allen lied and cheated and smiled, Lenalee could see that it wasn’t true.
And that he was putting too much pressure on himself.
Surrounded by all the Akuma, hunting down Allen’s Master, the fall was inevitable.
Lenalee just hoped she would be there to catch him when it was the time as Komui had been there for her.
Dianthus caryophyllus
Innocence was good and holy.
God’s dearly beloved crystal, sent to save humanity.
Allen had known this deep in his heart, had clung to it when the appearance of his arm had still made him insecure because it gave him purpose. He was not so foolish as to think himself special, one of God’s chosen, but he chose to believe that Innocence mattered.
That it was kind and protected.
“I’m sorry,” Suman Dark apologized under tears he could not cry as Allen kept on screaming, begging him to live and go on, no matter how much the Innocence was eating away at him.
This couldn’t be true; it shouldn’t happen. His own Innocence would never do this to him, had it loved and protected him even against his own father. Yet it was failing him when Allen tried to dig through the violet butterflies, the violent pain. His shoulders trembled terribly as he swallowed down the sharp taste of carnations burning him as much as the artificial insects left nothing of Suman behind.
Cercis siliquastrum
“Fraude A?” Tyki exclaimed, surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t be. He had known that the tristeza boy had been an Exorcist, these plagues liked to flaunt it after all, with their shiny expensive uniforms, and he’d known that they’d eventually clash on the battlefield.
He had just, foolishly perhaps, hoped that it would be a fair battle, one where the boy could give it his all despite his failing, scarred lungs.
Allen Walker.
How pitiful that his name was on Tyki’s list.
“Don’t worry,” Tyki told him. “It doesn’t hurt.”
His words weren’t even a lie, and Tyki knew he could very easily put the boy to rest without him feeling a thing, and yet, he couldn’t help explain his work, act it out, because he wanted to leave his mark on his victim, have Allen Walker grieve flowers for him.
So Tyki crushed his hand, his Innocence, destroyed it with Dark Matter, let the Tease bite into his heart, and left the boy in tears.
Taking his dying breaths, unable to spit any flowers for Tyki. With a grin, he reached deep into the boy’s lung, retrieving judas tree blooms and a silver button.
How sad.
Tyki had hoped for poppies.
Bellis perennis
Allen lay on the ground, his Innocence above him as mist as he struggled for breath. It had never been this bad before. He couldn’t remember a single time where his flowers had been coated in so much blood, he couldn’t tell which kind it was right from the bat.
“You can’t overdo it,” Fo told him, rolling back on her feet almost playfully if not for the severity of the situation. “Your Innocence isn’t healing you anymore.”
I know, Allen wanted to reply. I know, I know, and it is all my fault.
He only wanted to continue on, do as he always had, push through the pain, and fulfill his purpose. Why was it so difficult, why did he struggle so much? Did his Innocence think him a betrayer, nothing worth saving anymore?
Please, he begged into the quiet, his flowers for the first time since he’d started blooming posing a threat to him. I just want to do my duty.
He grabbed his bloodied flowers with his one good hand and thought about springtime and Mana teaching him how to make daisy chains.
Tagetes lucida
Marigolds were comforting, almost. Allen could feel his throat put itself back together, healing as his body still decided to punish him. He wondered whether the other parasitic Exorcists had felt like this as well, torn between being weapon and host, beloved friend and tool.
He wondered what it might have been like for Maria to be the host of Innocence and spit flowers whenever she needed her throat to sing.
He wondered what her Innocence’s name had been once upon a time before it had become nothing more than Grave of Maria.
(Wondered whether his Master loved him enough to turn him into a doll to be used for battle as Allen would want.
Whether Cross Marian loved him too much to do so.)
“Tell me where my friends are,” Allen ordered and the Akuma complied, truth tasting like marigolds and poppies.
