Summary: This Is a story that has never really been told before. The story of the first child to become L's successor, A. Learn of how he came to be at the orphanage, known as Wammy's House and the friendship he strikes up with a strange, raven haired boy with crimson eyes. A x BB, L x A, L x BB. Slightly evil L.
Disclaimer: I still don't own Death Note or its characters.
Warnings: Suicide, Self harm, Alcoholism, Violence, Swearing and quite explicit Yaoi in later chapters.
A/N: This is just the prologue, explaining A's Life before and just after he came to Wammy's. Translations at the bottom.
For those of you that might recognise me (Although I highly doubt many of you will). You will know me as A, or Alternate, the first child chosen to become successor to the world's greatest detective, L. If you do know me however, then you'll know very well how my story ends.
But that isn't particularly important, right now what I want to talk about is how my story began.
I was born Aden Acros and raised by my father in a small two bedroomed apartment on the outskirts of Tulcea, in Romania.
My mother died giving birth to me leaving my devastated father, Costin, to raise me on his own.
Though I use the term "raised" rather loosely. You see my father was an alcoholic and would drink himself into oblivion near enough every day, trying to dull the pain of losing her, which meant that from an early age, I would have to fix my own breakfast and run around playing in the same clothes for days at a time. Not that that was unusual in my neighbourhood, many children had it a lot worse than me.
Now don't get the wrong impression, my father loved me very much and he tried to raise me as best he could on the little money he had and for the first few years I was happy, but my father was absolutely crushed by the death of my mother and from the few memories I have of him, I can't recall a time I saw him look genuinely happy, I only remember the occasional feeble smile when he was trying to pretend for my sake. It probably didn't help that my hair was the exact same shade of brown as hers or that my eyes were the exact same shade of green.
But by the time my fifth birthday came around he couldn't pretend any longer. It would also be a birthday i'd never forget.
The day my Father died.
Birthdays were never particularly happy occasions in our house to begin with, to me they were just a horrible reminder that my first act in this world was killing my mother. Although he never voiced this opinion out loud I know that's how he felt as well.
I'm getting a little off track here. Anyway back to the story.
The morning of my birthday started off pretty well, my father couldn't afford to get me a proper present but he took me to the local bakery and let me pick out my own birthday cake.
I ended up choosing quite a large sponge cake, with the words "Happy Birthday" written neatly in light blue icing. When we got back home, my father sang happy birthday, cut me some of the cake and then went straight in the cupboard and got out a bottle of whiskey and started drinking it.
He was drunk within half an hour and crying at the kitchen table, tears streamed from his heavily lined brown eyes, the bottle still firmly clutched in his hand.
Being five at the time and not having a clue what to do to console him, I just sat there staring at him sadly.
[1] "Sunt fiul rău" he slurred thickly, through the tears. [2] "Ne pare rău, Tati atât de patetic si inutil, el nici nu pot obține împreună și de a cumpăra un cadou adecvat de ziua ta blestemata! "
He started sobbing even, louder, I hated seeing him like this, I made my way over to the kitchen table and hugged him tightly.
[3] "Nu fi trist tati, aceasta este cea mai bună zi de naștere vreodată, promit" I tried to reassure him.
[4] "Nu trebuie să mint, știu că mă urăști, ai fi bine dacă aș fi fost mort "My father carried on, ignoring my words completely.
[5] "Nu fi prost Tati, eu nu te urăsc, te iubesc foarte, foarte mult" I said starting to cry myself.
[6] "Îmi pare rău, nu plânge Aden, ai dreptate, tata e doar a fi o prostie" he soothed wrapping his arms around me tightly, the smell of the alcohol almost choked me, but i endured it and cuddled closer to him. All i wanted was for him to stop crying.
[7] "Tati e doar de gând să se stabilească pentru o vreme, bine?" My father said staggering to his feet, trying to focus his eyes on me.
[8] "Bine, vise dulci tati" I smiled at him.
[9] "Te iubesc fiule"
Those were the last words my father said to me. When I went in his room later that day to wake him, he was hanging from the curtain pole, he had used his bed sheet as a rope.
And just like that I had No one.
My mind was completely blank by the time help arrived. The next door neighbour had heard me screaming and crying for my dad to wake up and came round to see what all the noise was about, when he saw my father swinging from the curtain pole he ushered me into the living room and called the ambulance and the police. I said nothing as I was brought into a police car, by a friendly looking police lady, my throat was to sore from all the screaming.
[10] "Nu plânge, unul mic" the police woman said kindly. [11] "Totul va fi bine"
I stayed silent, not wanting to hear her kind words, i didn't deserve them. I felt numb, it was completely my fault. I killed mother when I was born and my father committed suicide so he could be with her. I had caused both of my parents deaths. On that day I vowed never to let anyone close to me again.
It's kind of ironic isn't it? How my story starts and ends with a rope. But again, I digress.
The police decided to place me into foster care because I had no other family left to take care of me.
I didn't exactly make it easy for the families who looked after me. Some of them were bad, It probably sounds really messed up but I felt like I deserved the mistreatment those families showed me.
I remember how one couple, a pair of heroine addicts, who only fostered me for the money (In Romania, the law is kind of lapse on things like this).I was sent to live with when I was six, beat me so severely i was put in hospital for five weeks, with four cracked ribs and various cuts and bruises. I was taken off of them as soon as I left hospital but I remember at the time of the beating I was just praying for them to kill me. I didn't deserve to live.
But even the kindest families didn't end up keeping me for long. I'd fly into violent rages any time they showed me the slightest bit of affection, or did anything remotely kind for me whatsoever. They just wanted to love me, but I wouldn't let them, i didn't feel like i deserved their kindness, I didn't deserve love ever again.
The various counsellors I came across, all said that I was a brilliant child, but I had some severe trust issues that i needed to address.
I lived like this, being passed from foster family to foster family, Care home to Care home, for the next six and a half years, until I was finally transferred to an orphanage in England called 'The Wammy's House'.
When the social worker, a middle aged man with greying hair and glasses, whose name I can't recall, drove me up the large gravel driveway, I was greeted by a large, grand looking, red bricked manor house. I pressed my face right up against the car window, my eyes widened at the sheer size and grandeur of it. I had never seen such a beautiful building in my entire life.
Me and the social worker made our way through the large oak wood double doors and were lead to a large ornately decorated office, where I was presented before two old men and a young boy, Who had raven hair and was dressed in a baggy white long sleeved T-shirt and faded blue jeans, and stood in a hunched posture, he looked to be about fourteen.
"Thank you very much, we'll take it from here" one of the men, whose name was Roger, told the social worker.
"Okay, call me if you have any trouble with the boy" The social worker replied. The two men nodded in response.
After the social worker left, the two old men talked to me. In my native language, Romanian first they explained that me and the raven haired boy were the only ones that were here, then they asked me all kinds of questions, that I think had something to do with testing my intelligence, and then they told me that from now on I'd be known as Alternate or A for short. The boy remained silent throughout this process, until one of the men, who I later found out was named Watari, turned to look at him.
"L? Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
The boy known as L, simply stared at me, his dark stoic eyes boring into me coldly. He looked totally bored and disinterested with me and my presence. I could tell that L was the one in charge around here and his influence would determine whether or not I stayed here.
"Hello Alternate" L said, after a long drawn out silence, in a voice as cold as his eyes.
"Hello, L" I replied politely in heavily accented English. I had only hurriedly been taught English a month ago, but being a fast learner, I was already semi fluent in the language.
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Watari smiled kindly at us both.
After they had finished talking to me, Watari and Roger suggested that L show me up to my room. L nodded and silently gestured for me to follow him out of the room, I picked up my small bag of belongings and did so.
He led me up a large staircase and down a long and quiet corridor, until we reached the bedroom right at the end.
I put down my bag on the bed and looked round the large, plain white room where I would now sleep.
L stood at the doorway and continued to fix me with the same cold stare as before. Then he began to speak.
"Alright A, I'm going to explain a few rules about the way things work around here. Rule number one; Lessons start at 8:30, so don't be late. Rule number two; Don't speak unless you're spoken to and Rule number three; Do not under any circumstances, piss me off. Do you think you can remember all that Alternate?"
"Yes" I nod quickly, I don't know why but I really wanted L to like me.
"Good, Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, so Roger or someone will call you down when its ready, See you round A" L gave me one last cold smile, before walking out of the room.
"Maybe he's just giving me a hard time because I'm the new kid" I thought to myself as I unpacked my stuff. "He'll probably be alright with me later".
I just prayed to god that I was right.
Translations:
[1] "I'm sorry son"
[2] "Sorry, Daddy's so pathetic and useless, he can't even get it together and buy you a proper present on your goddam birthday!"
[3] "Don't be sad daddy, this is the best birthday ever, i promise"
[4] "You don't have to lie, I know you hate me, you'd be off if I were dead"
[5] "Don't be silly Daddy, I don't hate you , I love you very very much"
[6] "I'm sorry, don't cry Aden, you're right, daddy's just being silly"
[7] "Daddy's just going to lay down for a while, okay?"
[8] "Okay, sweet dreams Daddy"
[9] "I love you son"
[10] "Don't cry, little one"
[11] "Everything will be fine"
