Title: Victory
Summary: L had feared death once, a long, long time ago. But after he meets with his predecessors, he learns what his real objective is and the real meaning of victory. Plus, not forgetting how to have fun while at it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. If I did, I would -insert quirky quote here-.
Author's note: Just like how Mello and Near had somebody they were brought up to be, I figured that L would be the same too. So I wanted to bring in his unknown predecessors and have L meet them.
Not to mention I wanted to see what would happen if Mello and Near were to actually cooperate, which is why L's predecessors would be somewhat similar to Mello and Near. I totally adored writing L's predecessors. They just developed on their own. Also, I hope you like kid L.
And this will be concluded in the next chapter. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but for some reason, it exploded.
Confusion
L had feared death a long, long time ago.
When L was three, he remembered being brought to the orphanage at the dead of the night, after a seemingly never-ending frenzy of police officers, hushed whispers and pitying stares.
He had not known what was happening. To him, it was nothing more than a continuous sequence of events.
L was lying. He did know. He knew why he was being sent to the orphanage and why he never saw his parents after the day he came back from his dilapidated little kindergarten. People around him whispered about suicides and whatnot around him, and it was perfectly okay to talk it around the small little boy, he doesn't even know what suicide is anyway. He doesn't even know what's going on. It's okay to talk about it in front of him.
It's perfectly fine. So L would sit there and shut everyone around out and keep absolutely silent. He behaved as stupidly and ignorantly as he could and hoped he became as ignorant as they said he was, just for that moment.
However, he knew he could not. It would not have helped his situation and denial would only put him in more pain. He had seen it happen to one of his neighbours, how she would lay out a gift for a husband that no longer existed every Christmas, year after year ever since he was born. His parents had told him of the death when he questioned them. L listened, saw and understood. He could not allow that to happen to him.
He knew what suicide was and how his parents died. He knew how hanging would cause their tongues to stick out like a dog and their eyes to pop out in a grotesque manner.
He could imagine them, his mother's long black hair obscuring her face and the sharp angles of his father's face, sticking out their tongues, moving about like zombies.
His feet had ached terribly that day, and he whined for the shoes the children at his school wore. He had gone barefoot for as long as he could remember, and the constant teasing was getting on L's nerves.
Actually, he didn't really care about the teasing; it was simply just silly taunting. L easily countered their taunts with a biting comment about their mucus-eating habits and they avoided him after that. It was the cold, hard stones of the pavement cutting into his feet that made him wince in pain.
Yes, yes, Lawliet dear, we'll get them for you, don't you worry, you'll never have to walk around barefoot anymore. L felt satisfied and left.
And then he came back in the evening because he went to town looking for the most comfy shoes ever, and all he saw were police and nosy neighbours. He almost thought he was at the wrong house, but the cross on his roof never lied once. He rushed into the crowd, and the whole frenzy started.
--
He knew that reversing the situation could not be reversed, so he moved on and thought about more sensible things, like trying to figure out why his parents killed themselves.
He thought about their situation and realized that they could actually be poor and they probably borrowed money from someone they could never repay. He felt stupid for not realizing it earlier, it was no wonder he had no shoes and why did he need them anyway? Now his parents would never come back.
His feet ached, though the policemen gave him a pair of sneakers, the first pair he had ever worn.
It wasn't very comfortable, he found out. It made his feet feel trapped. For some strange reason, L felt abandoned.
This was why when that stupid, silly policewoman told him, "They're sleeping," L felt unnaturally unsettled, although he knew it was a nicer way of saying, "They're dead." He thought that his parents gave in too easily, and how they gave in to death happily. He thought about the paper Eiffel tower they were building just a week ago and how it was still incomplete and never again would it be finished.
So that's what death does.
When L entered the Wammy House, he was crammed with facts and concepts until he was like a walking encyclopedia. In the day, he had no time to think about childish phobias and the like. However, as the night drew closer he could feel the fear slowly creeping up his spine again, ever present, ever merciless. Even though he knew that the fear of the dark was an irrational fear, it did not stop him from fearing it. Facts are bits of information; they are neither comforting hugs nor a sense of security, never were, and never would be.
Watari would come every night, trying to coax the four-year-old L into sleep with sweet, hot milk and cookies. L would gobble them up and sip the hot milk as slowly as he could, dragging the time so Watari would stay with him longer. He soon developed a penchant for sweet things; he realized that the sugar increased his blood glucose and enabled him to stay up longer. Plus, it tasted great. L's parents could never afford this sort of luxury and he relished it.
Watari would then tuck the blanket around him and leave the room. However, once L thought Watari had left the room, he would kick the blanket off and bolt upright.
L would then stay up the entire night, feeling inclined to outstare the shadows that surrounded him. Sleeping would mean giving in, and L disliked losing. Losing to what, he did not know, but he disliked it anyway.
So he stared.
Watari looked through the tiny crack he left while closing L's door. He had not closed it fully as he wanted to see why L looked like death though he tucked him into bed every night.
Now he knew why.
Watari sighed sadly. It had already been one year, yet L would adamantly refuse to voice out his feelings to his counselor. The only things that he would consent to doing in his counselor's presence were reading law books and building towers out of sugar cubes. It was there and then that they realized L's immeasurable intelligence, with him going through five law books within a day - remembering every single detail of it - and solving all the toughest puzzles his counselor provided. But as Watari saw it, L was nevertheless, still a kid, and a very frightened one at that.
He decided to call them. He keyed in the number in the orphanage's phone, and dialed.
Glowing computers glowed and highlighted two figures; one crouched on the ground, the other with his legs spread lazily open.
"Quillsh just called. He said that the little genius he told us about has a little kid's problem." Eager hands wrapped themselves around a thick wad of money, feeling the smoothness of the banknotes.
"It is of no concern to us. He was merely chosen to be our successor, nothing more." Block 'X' went on top of Block 'W'.
"He's not a tool, you insensitive freak. He's a kid and he's our successor. You know perfectly well that he's the one who will take over us if we were get our little asses wiped. If I were you, I would visit him to see whether he is truly worthy of being called our successor."
"……" Block 'Y' went alongside Block 'X'.
"And if you're not going, I'll go there myself." An agitated hand crushed a 50-pound banknote, wrinkling the once smooth banknote.
The crouching figure paused momentarily before cautiously placing the last building block - Block 'Z' - on top of the rest of the 25 toy blocks.
"…I never said I wasn't going."
"You're such a jerk." The once quivering, irked lips curled themselves into a grin. He straightened out the note and kissed it.
"So says the person who is probably going there to amuse himself at the child's extent."
Taunting eyes swiveled to the other end of the room where the smell and the crinkling sound of money – with him, money was always a living thing – originated from.
"Ah," he chuckled, feeble gasps of laughter exiting his lungs, "You know me so well."
He brushed his hand over the money before continuing, "Quillsh mentioned his birthday too; 31st of…May, I think. That means it's two weeks later. Let's go visit him then. "
"I hope that date's correct. The last time you almost caused the wrong person to be hanged because you were so impatient."
"Well, this isn't a hanging; it's a birthday. It won't cause anybody any harm even if I misremember things. And anyway it'll be fun to see someone who is actually considered worthy to be our successor at such a young age..."
"You don't misremember things, you just don't listen--"
"…because in all honesty, I was getting a tad worried that our search for a new successor was coming up short…Why are you staring at me like that? It looks gay."
Huge eyes stared back at the crouching figure, one eyebrow arched.
"……That's exactly what I mean."
He shook his head, and knocked down the tower.
Both of them imagined a scrawny kid with neat, swept back hair with thick, black glasses weighing on his nose. They remembered all the "genius" kids that were brought before them, how they had dead eyes, dead expressions and an equally dead personality. They were like robots. Intelligent, but they could only do what they were programmed – taught – to do.
How wrong they were this time.
Yes, their names actually do appear in the Death Note manga. L mentioned them before. Anyone care to hazard a guess? Well, at least one of them must ring a bell. It's the money
Warning: The next chapter will contain traces of bratty L. Review and tell me what you think about L. It's my first time attempting to write L as a kid and I am certain that I can make a few mistakes along the way.