Demon Eyes

Author's Notes: I just want to wish you all a very gruesome, yet happy Halloween, All Hallows Eve. Anyways, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, L! If you were alive, L-sama, you'd be *counts* 31 years old! Fuck, you're old, L! …Okay, so this is a birthday fic for L. However, since BB doesn't actually have a birthday that anyone knows of, I'm letting this be his birthday fic as well. I love him so freaking much…as anyone who knows my other stories knows.

This fic…I actually don't remember exactly how I got the idea for it, however, much of it was written way back in September, when inspiration struck. I tried to keep both L and BB in character, but still adding in the whole…plotline to the story. There actually is a lot less plot than I would like. In a way, this is a response fic to my Light b-day fic. I hope you get that little hint, though the hugest giveaway is in the damn summary.

Obviously, this is called "Demon Eyes" for a reason. I consider this both BB's song and L and Light's song. I thought it fit extra well w/ this story and it was a scary coincidence that as soon as I started thinking about what I should call this, the song started playing on my iPod.

Warnings: Blood, gore, lusty thoughts…BB ((always calls for a warning ^_-)). Also, there's a POV change that you can easily figure out. Hopefully, I won't have to say who's first. It jumps from present tense to past tense, just to ease your confusion. One more warning: BB's name is switched nonstop. L calls him Beyond, Backup, and B. I refer to him as BB 'cause I like it. Just thought to warn you guys. Oh, and somewhat of a warning: This follows more w/ the anime than the manga, because I needed a…certain scene…

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. I do own this idea…to an extent…I guess…I also do not own "Demon Eyes" by the Answer, which is where the lyrics at the beginning and end are from. ((Beginning: BB, End: Light))

Demon Eyes

The way you smile all the time, crooked badge, you're spitting lies
I'm alone in my home, my only friend.

I tried to look you in the eye, I tried to tell you I'm alive
I tried, I tried to tell you.
When there's just no medicine for those lies of mine
I'm terrified what I might find what you hide behind those demon eyes.

Shallow breaths, that's all you need. Shallow breaths to survive. The air is worthless without that scent, locked away so tight, so far below them. But that's going to be okay…in the end. I can prove to him that I'm no monster. I will still beat him. I will die by myself. I will not have someone else kill me, destroy me, as I've already been destroyed.

I do not wish to die by another's hands. I want to know the exact time of death, the exact minute my fate awaits me.

That is, unless, I don't actually have a death. That could be the reason I cannot see those numbers above my head like everyone else's. I cannot watch my own numbers dwindle to zero, watching my life tick away before my eyes, locked away.

Like some abandoned toy, thrown carelessly into a box with other old children's memories, he carelessly threw me in here. But I saw his death. I saw it years ago, and will see it again, I know it. I will see his eyes, the dull-as-knives eyes, the sharp-as-raven's-beak eyes, shine one last time before flickering out. Ink black pupils, just like his hair, just like my hair, see the world one last time before being cut off for eternity.

Will his be messier or better than mine? I cannot see myself in any mirror not displayed for me. The walls are too blank. They're too blank, too dreary. They need some color to liven them up. And there's too much dust. That's the wrong color. It doesn't go.

No, no! My mind has wandered yet again. I can feel it, sense it…smell it. It's stronger than before. The forbidden scent. I promised not to after those murders. That was my final act, and so it shall be.

But I can feel it running down my fingers, warm and inviting. Pulsing underneath the skin. The guard is coming closer, that's what's wrong. But I can't give into it, give into that hunger, that thirst. I must die by my own hands, must die by my own choice. A self-fulfilling prophecy, that's all it is. So I wish it, so shall it be.

Nevertheless, if I breathe deeply, I can taste it, feel the warmth against my tongue, what I long for the most in the world. The one thing I crave more than beating him.

And the door opens, much to my dismay. The metal creeks, the air is suctioned, the footsteps grow infinitely louder, and my bloodlust grows infinitely stronger. A guard, standing there, innocently holds a tray of inedible food. None of it is sweet enough; none of it is red enough. And the eyes of the guard…they're dark brown. I'd rather him have red eyes. Blood red eyes.

I guess I need to fix that.

Time would run together if my internal clock did not haunt me. Time is one thing that makes no sense to me. Why grow older, why age, why mature, when we all die in the end anyway? Why try when death is certain? Why help others when I'll be gone soon enough? It's inevitable, for everyone.

Especially for him. Why is my thinking mind conscious right now? What awoke me from my dazed slumber? It was not the guard, or I would have noticed. No, it is another smell altogether. A much more forbidden smell. His.

Again, grueling agony as his dull footsteps come increasingly closer. They're slow, as if he wishes not to enter. But why would he wish to see me? Has he heard about the de-eyed guard? I could only hope.

A crazed grin on my face, I look into his guarded eyes. "Yes?" I inquire politely.

"How did you gouge out a man's eyes when you're securely chained and tied up?" he questions back. Ever so blunt and quick to the chase.

I smirk and continue to stare, glancing above his head to see unchanged numbers, glancing below, to his neck, to see the pulsing artery. I decide to answer, for my own amusement. "I have my ways." He just glares at me. "Wish to see a demonstration?" I ask.

His eyes widen and my smirk grows to a full-blown grin. Yes, this is perfect. I know exactly what I must do to ensure that I win. I will be the first to die. I will win at something!

I let instincts take over.

He came at me more quickly than I expected possible. I honestly thought he was tied up. He was tied up; I could see his arms struggle slightly at my entrance. The binds were tight, pressed to his skin. Then how was it possible?

One moment, he was chained. The next, the binds were clattering against the metal chair and ceramic ground, and he was lunging towards me. I never agreed to a demonstration, but he took my silence as a quick yes.

I soon learned how it was possible.

Searing pain welled from my neck. I could feel all my blood lurch towards the sharp canines literally biting into my skin. I didn't realize that teeth could be so sharp. The only answer—though I could not call it logical, by any means—was for those teeth to be fangs. He must have sharpened them somehow in his time alone. That was the only answer. How was a whole other question.

I could still feeling the throbbing ache long after I noticed the cold, sharp pain leave me and his lips pulled away from my neck. Those tainted lips pressed against mine and I could taste the metallic tang of my own blood, mixed with…mixed with the sweet, addicting taste of his blood.

He wouldn't pull away, wouldn't let his tongue stop invading my mouth, drinking in his own essence. I didn't want it, didn't want to be this close to such a monster. But it was as if a spell had taken over me. No, not a spell. He must have poisoned me, drugged me somehow. That could be the only explanation for what came next, what never went away.

Finally, he pulled his mouth away from mine and I breathed heavily, trying to smell something that wasn't he and his vile blood. But there was no other smell in the small, cramped, empty room. Nothing to distract me but his own panting, and the creepy smile on his content face.

"B-Beyond…" I stuttered out, dizzy. "Back…up…" He glared but refrained from attacking me again. There was some sort of resistance in his eyes.

Eventually, the room stopped spinning enough for me to stumble into the hall and order the guards to tie him up again and clean up his red mess. But when they came back out to report, he apparently was bound again, and the floor was clean. The only evidence of his attack was the drops of blood on my white shirt.

I went home and changed right away.

I sat in front of my computer, tea and sugar in hand. The sugar smelled less sweet than it usually did. The tea was almost sour. I asked Watari if he was using a different brand, but he replied negative. Everything was the same…except for me. Something was wrong with me, and I could easily attribute it to whatever drug that horrid man had given me.

Symptoms of some sort of sickness like this continued. The next time Watari came to me—cheesecake in hand—his smell was enough to almost make me gag. I was able to control it, but he smelled so…stale. Was he turning into an old man—the old man smell I've read about and heard a few victims in my time describe? Or was my nose acting up?

The cheesecake also had an unwanted tang to it. It wasn't sweet enough. And no matter how much sugar I piled on, it just wasn't the same.

After a few days, I accepted the fact that B had done something to me, given me some poison, venom, something that just…turned my world around. Sugar wasn't the same; I needed more of it. Being around Watari was harder—he smelled increasingly…rotten, moldy, stale. And on the rare occasions that I was around other people, depending on who they were, I would want to do more than just get a taste of their minds.

Bloodlust. I had actual bloodlust, as B no doubt had. My mind raced when a young man or woman was in a one-mile radius of my nose. My vision would turn red if they were too close, and I would have to stifle the urges to attach my mouth to their neck, wrist, or even thigh, as B had done to me.

But it made no sense. Whatever he had injected me with should have been gone from my body by now. If it was some venom in my blood, my immune system should have taken over. It couldn't be anything associated with lower immune systems; I was still completely healthy. If it was something from his blood being ingested, then I could easily have flushed it out of my system by now.

The effects seemed permanent, while the cause seemed nonexistent.

I was losing my mind.

The Kira Case was a nightmare. I moved from a desolate house in Europe to hotel hopping in Japan just for the case. It was painful to be around the humans surrounding me. I piled on the sugar to keep my taste buds happy. I refused to sleep, for nighttime terrors always awoke me in a famished, thirsty state of mind.

And then, I welcomed the Task Force into my lair. I could easily smell them, the blood circulating through their systems.

Yagami was older, and thus well on his way to smelling much like Watari. He was the easiest for me to be around for that reason. I still had to suck up staying close to my guardian, but Yagami smelled just bad enough that I did not thirst for him, yet also not horrid enough to force me to cringe and back away.

Mogi had such a bland, yet inviting smell that I could not decide if I wanted to taste him or not. I was able to grow used to it enough that it helped me grow less susceptible to others.

Aizawa's scent was fiery, spicy, much like his anger-filled attitude I easily discovered. It was not sweet enough for me, of which I could only be thankful. The attitude itself, I could have lived without.

But then there was Matsuda. He, being the youngest and closest to my age of the four—after Ukita had died by the second Kira's hands, though his blood was similar to Mogi's, but a bit more stale because of the tar inhabiting his veins—his scent would obviously be the most…intoxicating. It was sweet, savory, with just the right shocking edge that I wished to taste it often. That is why I refused to be kind to him; he always put me on edge, close to the breaking point.

I believe it was because he was virginal.

A teenager's blood, especially a teenager as self-confident and cunning as Light Yagami, has the most alluring smell. The first time I smelled him, he forced me to double take. The red-blue tint just below the surface of his skin made him glow.

To think that I resisted all those others around me at that entrance exam, in my opinion, was what some would call a miracle. I concentrated my mind on the strong memory of Watari's scent, filling my proverbial nose with the smell. It blocked out everyone in the room, except those in immediate distance of me.

Somehow, being with the Kira Task Force might have actually made me stronger, instead of weakening me. The virus, or poison, B had injected me could have been wearing off, as a part of my mind—easily stifled—hoped.

When Light and I stood up at the entrance ceremony, I smelt his blood and his blood alone for the first time. It was much more inviting than many of the other students, much like his charming personality. I almost let my guard down as he talked to the crowd. I almost reached for a taste.

There were several choices I could have made when seated beside him after our speeches. I was instinctively calling out to him, leaning towards him. At that point, only two choices remained. I opted for the less risky one and revealed my identity to him.

At that precise moment, his blood changed from a very pleasant, enticing aroma to one slightly similar to Aizawa's on one aspect—fiery, adrenaline-filled, addictive, and…stimulating. I had no doubt at that moment, and many afterwards, that Light was indeed Kira.

And so, when he began work on the Case with me, I had my fill of him, or so I hoped. Before I had smelled him, I was starving. The sugar, cake, and tea were never enough for me. Even the natural sugars in fruits never satiated me. I learned to live without food, without sleep, without strength.

That was why I was so surprised when I played tennis against Light. I could smell his adrenaline-filled blood the whole time, and it somehow filled me. It was just enough to get through the game. Just smelling him was like drinking from him, I'm sure.

So, just imagine the energy and strength I received when around him as often as I was. He became my source of strength—mentally and physically.

I started to become more than addicted.

When Light was in confinement, I had no choice but to live without his smell. I could faintly smell a memory of it, as it wafted through the air to me. Unless sleeping, his scent was that fiery, stimulating one. When asleep, and at other times, it had the softer edge to it.

And then, one day, the remaining edge, the rest of the raging fire, just…disappeared. He had somehow stopped becoming Kira. That could be the only explanation. And his smell—of what I could pick up—had turned even sweeter, even more intoxicating.

Eventually, I was weakened enough from only getting little wafts of his smell, and my nose being positively blocked to the others—besides Matsuda, but he just put me on edge—that I let Light out of confinement under one condition. The condition would either endanger his life immensely, help me catch Kira, or give me the strength I needed for the rest of my life.

Our wrists were forever chained together, his body only a maximum of five feet from myself.

But with no new leads for Kira, and Light "officially" not Kira, I was in a constant depressed mood. It didn't help that my mind couldn't stop wandering to disturbing things having to do with blood—Light's blood, to be specific. And for some reason, though his blood was sweeter, the edge that was lost made me lose something, too.

The fight in Misa's apartments was a miracle. Suddenly, his smell was the fiery, adrenaline-filled scent I had practically tasted before. The sharp edge to it was utterly gone, but it made it even more inviting. I was worried that I would actually get to taste him right then and there, a forbidden dream. But then Matsuda interrupted us with a call. About Misa, no less. She smelled too…too much like bubble gum, the only sugar-filled thing I could never stand. Fruit and tang don't go together.

After that, Light's blood always had a bit of fire to it, just enough to let me draw strength and power from it, let it quench my thirst. I was utterly addicted to it, like a drug.

My last time with B came to mind often when thinking about the drug-like addiction. I had thought that whatever he had put in my system was a drug of some kind. Could blood be a drug as well? Someone else's blood? A substance that entered my system and screwed around with my mind and body, only to force me into a bizarre, almost supernatural world.

But the supernatural didn't exist.

I often repeated that to myself.

Kira killed by a magic notebook. I could not accept that. There was no such thing as supernatural. Then how come a Shinigami appeared? Why were the names in the notebook confirmed victims? My world made no sense.

And my mind would not stop traveling back to my own personal predicament. Light was becoming harder to resist. I often found myself drawing near to him to catch a stronger scent, and perhaps…taste for real that blue-red liquid beneath his skin.

But I always stopped myself. I couldn't do anything that could harm my reputation, or send the teen away from me.

When we found the notebook…or better yet, when the Death Note touched Light's hands, immediately, the extra fire, added punch, sharp edge, something, came back. He was Kira once again, no doubt. But I didn't have any proof without revealing my odd nature and abilities.

I only realized too late that I actually had developed some sort of abilities far beyond those of a normal man. Soon after the Death Note landed in our hands, Light and I got into another fight. His lip was cut in the process—probably from grazing a tooth—and his blood began to collect at the wound. I almost lost it. I almost ran to him, grabbed onto him, and attached my lips to his.

But I stopped myself.

Since he was unchained by then—which definitely didn't help my health at all, seeing as I couldn't draw strength from him continuously—I was able to fish the tissue he used to apply pressure to the small wound out of the garbage once everyone left for the night.

The following happenings were just another reason I hated Matsuda.

He stumbled back inside the building, having forgotten his tie; he had taken it off earlier that evening, in order to relax. I was in the process of inhaling the smell of the dried blood on the tissue when another scent invaded my nose. It was inviting, sweet, innocent, Matsuda's.

Because I was so intoxicated with Light's blood, I had not noticed until too late Matsuda having entered the investigation main room.

Instinctively, I turned to him and told him, "You did not see what you just saw." Not only did the words come out in a deeper voice than my own, but Matsuda's eyes became blank and he nodded his head. Somehow, I had controlled him, made him forget something he so clearly saw.

Supernatural does not exist. Then why is this case surrounded by nothing but mystery and illogical conclusions and answers?

I needed to get rid of this bloodlust.

Months earlier, at the approximate time of B's untimely demise—by heart attack, no less—I had felt a sudden wave of fear wash over me before I felt a part of me was lost. A thought of the impossible happening came to mind, as if something occurred that wasn't supposed to. B dying by Kira's hands must have been that.

He was still connected to me in ways about which I refused to think. Soon before the death, dread had soaked through my body straight to my heart. It only stopped when I felt my own heart stop for one frightening moment before picking up again. After that day, my bloodlust practically doubled, as if I needed twice the amount to survive. That was why I was so thankful for Light's scent.

Several days after finding the Death Note, the day I was going to test to see if one of the rules was false, the same dread spread through my body. It was stronger, and I knew that my time was coming, my end was drawing infinitely nearer.

That day, the fire in Light's blood was much too strong. It was encasing my whole body in want, in desire. I escaped to the rain, to the roof. All smells mixed together in water. My nose was clearer than it had been in months.

This was why I had grown to love the rain.

I could barely pick up the scent of Light, if I did at all, when he stood atop the roof with me.

He somehow convinced me to come back inside. I was quickly shocked back into reality as smells hit me once again. His especially. As he sat on the stairs, drying off, I had to restrain myself. His neck, his wrists, they looked so inviting…

I contented myself with massaging his feet. Did he figure out the hidden meaning in the action? That I was admitting my defeat? He had become my source of power, of life. If he died, I died. If he wished my death, well, he was going to get it rather soon. Light had become my God. Kira could go to hell, but Light Yagami held my soul—if such a thing existed—in his hands.

But I needed my God's blood before I died. Just one taste. And though I wouldn't die in peace, though I wouldn't die happily, I'd die satiated.

As we were sitting on the stairs, the fire in his blood was slowly decreasing, the sweetness overpowering it again. His Kira was waning for the moment, letting the real Light show for just one more minute before the world would lose him forever, before I would lose him forever.

But my phone rang and we had to stop. So close, yet so far, as the old phrase would go.

As we were heading back to the investigation room, me ready to face my death, Light turned to me and asked, "Why do you like to smell me so often?" I just turned to him, mind racing but face blank. "I mean, when we were chained together, when you thought I was asleep, you smelled me…deeply."

Bringing up those memories, talking like before Kira took over once again, was becoming too much. I glanced over to see a trickle of rainwater gracefully slide down his neck. I couldn't help it; my eyes and vision turned red and I lunged for him.

Light was pressed against a wall, my lips pressed to his neck, teeth ready to puncture his delicate skin, so tan against mine. That's when I felt it, the cold, yet hot feeling of my canines elongating, growing into fangs. The tips eased their way into Light and I tasted his warm blood for the first time.

"What are you? Some sort of vampire? Get off me!" he screamed, but with a slightly dazed voice. He had been silent up until then, speechless.

His blood was too good, too intoxicating. I needed more, almost took it all. Most of my self-control was gone, but his words shocked me out of my…feeding frenzy. I pulled back immediately, his blood rejuvenating me, making me feel more powerful than I had in years, since before B exchanged blood with me. He just stood there, panting, wide-eyed, and scared.

Vampire. The word had crossed my mind numerous times, but I always shot it down quickly. There was no such thing as vampires.

Vampires didn't exist.

The supernatural didn't exist.

Then why did I exist? Why did the Death Note and Kira exist?

"Forget what just happened," I ordered Light, again, almost instinctively, just like with Matsuda. My voice, yet again, was an octave lower and hauntingly real. Light nodded his head, his ferocious, cunning eyes blank for once.

We turned and walked back to the investigation room. I with a new energy, he with a robotic step.

Once with the others, and my plan starting, the dread and tension in my gut came back full-force. And his Kira-blood came back as well. But I had tasted Light, had tasted the blood of God. I could worship his very being if he hadn't been Kira. If he wasn't, I probably would have. But, then again, if he wasn't, then I wouldn't be about to die, and therefore would never had drunk his blood in the first place.

Kira soon killed Watari, his stale blood suddenly stopping its flowing. The room turned red. I thought it was from my anger or bloodlust again. No, I was not a vampire; I had no bloodlust. It was some sort of chemical reaction. And it was the screens that were red, not my eyesight. I was not B; my eyes did not glow red.

But then the fear washed over me, the shock and fear from B's death. My heart stopped yet again, but wouldn't restart. B wasn't dying this time. I was. Kira had finally won.

I had begun to eat something sweet as soon as we reentered the room, to wash the intoxicating taste of Light out of my mouth, hoping that that would stop my mind from traveling down the wrong path ofr desiring more of Light's addictive blood. It didn't work, but the spoon fell out of my hand, landing on the floor with a clatter.

I fell from my chair, unable to support myself any longer. The energy from Light's blood suddenly the only thing keeping me alive…but it wasn't enough.

For one second, as I felt arms catch me before I fell, the fire in the adrenaline-laced smell vanished…before I saw Kira's smirking face above me.

A sense of the impossible happening yet again, of supernatural existing, of supernatural dying, ached from every bone in my body. But, I still couldn't believe that I was who I was. Something chemical or even psychological must be it. I was not a vampire, could not be…

I died in my God's arms.

Why'd you take the time you're taking to under mind my name?
Does it help you sleep at night to play that righteous game?
Why'd you say those things you said, words that you don't mean?
Two faces telling lies, telling lies to me.

The way you smile all the time, crooked badge, you're spitting lies
I'm alone in my home, you'll bury me.

Author's Note: Did you catch that every section ended with an "I..." statement. I thought it added an extra, connecting touch. I ended the first BB section and thought it was cool, so I just kept it for the rest.

Light became L's God. Wow, that wasn't meant to happen...And as I said that he needed a taste of his God's blood, I thought of that thing in church w/ the wine=Jesus's blood. Please don't make that reference; it was an accident. But I really like that God touch. If you don't, I'm sorry. I mean, I was trying to keep L in character, but I had to lose some of that for him. If you're completely addicted to something and can never get enough, wouldn't you view it as higher than yourself? What L said was true, anyway.

Light had a huge part, but only had two lines of dialogue? Haha, I didn't want this to be dialogue heavy of a fic. It's meant to be a recap of L's life, mixed w/ BB. Did you like how he didn't accept the supernatural/vampires existing even at the very end? That's L for you, in my mind. I think he was always skeptical of the Death Note, and he being a vampire should make absolutely no sense.

So, to help you guys out, the vampire thing. This is a new type of vampire I've created for this story ((every story I write w/ a vampire in it is different, just saying)). This one, BB is indeed L's Sire. Therefore, they had a strong connection that only was triggered when BB died. Vampires are pretty much immortal, which is why L felt it impossible for BB or himself to die ((well, his instincts felt it)). BB was indeed born a vampire, thus with the red, Shinigami Eyes. However, his parents didn't know 'cause born vampires are just born when another born vampire dies ((somehow)). Only born vampires have the Eyes, not sired vampires. And BB's powers did go to L when he died, because he was his only "child." The only ways ((that I know of)) for a vampire to die is supernaturally, aka the Death Note, or by not taking in nutrients, aka blood. I think that about covers it. Any questions or concerns, just ask in your review! Thanx for reading! ^-^