D. Gray-man Fan Fiction ❯ Send in the Clown ❯ Send in the Clown ( Chapter 1 )

 

Disclaimer: Not mine; always returned in fairly good condition to Katsura Hoshino and the assorted corporations that hold the rights to DGM.

 

A/N: Written for LJ's SpringKink community's July 2010 round of prompts. Based on the following: D. Gray-man (Allen/Lenalee) -fluff - Happy reunion and inspired by the artwork on pages 13-14 of DGM chpt.88.

 

Warnings: Fluff awaits with sharp, pointy teeth.

 

Bouquets and many thanks to my betas, Empath-eia, Ranuel and SilverOnTheRose.

 

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Send in the Clown

 

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White.

 

Weightless.

 

Cold.

 

She supposes that she could be upside down, but then presumably there would be black spots dancing through her vision. Since that isn't happening, she assumes that she's floating upright in a half-seated position, which is what her eyes insist her body is doing despite the lack of any sort of visual cue. Her skimpy black dress isn't doing anything to keep her warm in this chilly void and she rubs her bare arms to discourage the gooseflesh.

 

Better to pretend that she is merely chilled rather than acknowledge the terror eating away at whatever equilibrium she has left.

 

Gray.

 

Gibbering.

 

Dismal.

 

The formless milk-white curdles into bone-gray lumps, sprouting defleshed pates, chattering jaws and empty eye-sockets and she screams as animated death's-heads surge around her, clamping onto her arms, her legs, her ribs as if ravenous for her very existence. She tries to fight, to force herself to move, but there's nothing to push off against as the nightmare hordes worry their gleaming teeth deeper into her tender flesh.

 

Black.

 

Bottomless.

 

Despair.

 

Tears stream from her darkening eyes as blistering pain eats away at the fragile bonds of consciousness. Sinking deeper into the heaving mass of greedy skulls, she dimly sees an approaching maw, rimmed with crooked fangs and almost welcomes death for the promised respite from her agony. The sharp-rimmed jaws open wider, a guttural cackle echoing in the depths. Choking out a plea as her lashes flutter down, she nearly misses her answer, her salvation.

 

White.

 

Anchoring.

 

Warm.

 

Searing brightness scours the inside of her eyelids and there's an airy solidity surrounding her, buffering her against the emptiness as the pain is swept away. An arm wraps around her waist, at once comforting, familiar and protective. A heart beats powerfully against her back and harsh breathing rasps over her ear. When she can see again, there's a pale, gloved hand reaching past her shoulder, clamped over the yawning gulf, blocking its devouring intent and stifling that horrid laugh.

 

Confused, she glances back, only to see an unfamiliar mask like those worn in more gracious times by carnivale revelers. There's an exchange of words that includes a voice she recognizes, followed by a burst of power, and her tormentor retreats. Turning in her rescuer's embrace, she clutches his jacket, buries her face in his throat so that he will not see her shame at being so close to surrendering. His pulse flutters against her lips as he cradles her, warming her with his presence, so strong, so reassuring, his Innocence-elongated fingers lightly stroking her cropped hair.

 

“Lenalee?”

 

“Allen...!”

 

Happiness.

 

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