Title: With These Broken Wings Chapter 2
Fandom: D.Gray-Man and 07 Ghost crossover
Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Action
Summary: Non-Innocence user Allen Walker works as a part time chef in the Black Order, feeling useless in the bloody war. In an unexpected dream, why does that jade eyed boy seem so familiar? Who can he trust and who are really his enemies? Soon, the wheels of fate begin to turn and nightmares slowly haunt reality..
Warnings/Disclaimer: I do not own D.Gray-Man or 07 Ghost, rated T for blood/violence, this is a crossover fic but it focuses mainly on the D.Gray-Man world, OOCness may occur 
Notes: Sorry to any Kanda fans for making him a bully. Is he too OOC? :/
Alternative source: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7426829/2/With_these_broken_wings

Allen was alone.
 
In a suffocating blanket of darkness, his ashen eyes could barely make out the path before him. Cobbled slabs of bricks were overlapped clumsily and its cold exterior sent shockwaves through Allen’s bare feet. The road was crumbling on the edges, fistfuls of rock falling silently into and abyss of gloomy black. The same black swirled around in a heavy fog across the skies above and mercilessly trapped Allen. Still, even in this foreboding scenery, Allen kept on walking.
 
“Don’t stop walking, Allen.”
 
He could still hear a voice in his faded memories murmuring that precious sentence. A warm, kind, gentle voice that was deep and loving, yet those words held an undercurrent of urgency. Why? Why couldn’t Allen remember who that person was, when those four single words had given him strength in the hardest of times? Clenching his fists, he concentrated instead on placing one foot in front of the other, one, two, one, two-
 
Suddenly, Allen tripped and gravity grabbed him down to the rough floor. Sandy grit scraped his face and left raw tracks of bruises on Allen’s pale skin. All injuries were left unnoticed, though, when Allen stared at transfixed horror at what had caused his fall.
 
A dead body.
 
With limbs splayed at unnatural angles, the corpse gazed back at Allen with glassy brown eyes, like a broken plastic doll. Fresh blood was still flowing from a deep gash in the man’s skull and pooled around his matted hair. He was young, probably once called handsome, but it was difficult to tell from what was left of his smashed face.
 
Trembling violently, Allen staggered to his feet, his knees threatening to collapse at any moment. He kept his eyes fixed to the corpse and took a trembling step backwards, only to have his escape route blocked. The boy spun around and saw another dead body crumpled on the floor, its wounds also fresh but this time it had a sword impaled into its guts. Feeling nauseous, Allen turned and saw a young girl with an amputated leg, a soldier with a barely attached arm, an elderly lady pockmarked with arrows…all of them bathing in a sea of crimson, all of them staring at him.
 
Allen felt a sticky dripping from his hands. He raised them to his face to inspect- they were smothered in dark red blood…had he killed these people? Was he a murderer?