Well, this is the first in a trilogy dedicated to Matt's life. There are spoilers for any and all names in this story, so be prepared. I fully intend to finish this series. I have actually already got the entire plot planned out, and varies pieces of each of the 3 different stories already typed out. I have no idea how long this series will be, but so far, all together, there is over 12000 words.
Anyway, if you didn't know, which you should if you're even on this page…anyway, IF you did not know, Matt is a boy from Death Note. A unimportant character, but still so much fun to play with. I've made him a redhead in this story, mainly because I'm a natural redhead and I absolutely love the thought of him sharing features with me! (green eyes and red hair ^_^) So, if you have a problem with Fan!Matt, then you might wanna go somewhere else.
Where was I? Oh yes. Matt is the 3rd in line at Whammy's behind Near and Mello. He assists Mello in the series and only appears in less than 20 different spots in the entire series.
Lets see…Mello will be in this one. But not for a while. This will mainly be focusing on Matt in the beginning and trying to give you a feel for his character. When Mello is introduced then he and Matt's relationship will be the main focus from then on.
I'm not yet sure whether this will become a slash or just stick with just being a strictly friendship fic. If it is kept only at a friendship level then be warned that it will be a close friendship, with possible shounen-ai references if you would wish to interpret them in that way. I guess you can review and tell me what you want. I suppose I could always put up two different versions if there is a need.
So…without taking up anymore of you're valuable time…here is the story!
MATT'S BEGINNING
Mail was a quiet child. Even as a baby he never made much of a fuss. So it came as no surprise to anyone who knew of him that he didn't speak at all when it happened. Friends of his parents and neighbors had gathered around the cops to try and explain that fact. They had all turned sad, sympathetic eyes towards the young boy. He didn't speak and, if you didn't count the soot and burns covering his tiny frame, he looked to be completely at ease. They simply assumed that he hadn't grasped the situation yet. They were wrong.
Mail was also a very intelligent child. Even as early as four years old, he knew what death was. And what it meant. And looking around at the sad faces that kept glancing towards him, he knew, without a doubt, that his parents had died in that fire.
Judging by the guilty glances full of pity and fear, he suspected that everyone was deciding on how to tell him and who should be the one to break the news. Not that he needed someone to tell him. He was well aware that his parents were gone and were never going to return. He didn't much care though, to be honest. Nothing much would really change for him. A new house would be a given. He couldn't very well live in the charred remains of what used to be his residence. Most likely, he would be sent of to a nearby orphanage. A thought that was most unappealing to the young redhead. He was not looking forward to having to share a room with anyone else. He had been an only child and was used to his privacy.
However, he was truly saddened by the loss of all of his gaming systems, with the exception of his handheld, which was conveniently residing in his pocket at the time of the fire. Where would he get new ones? And who would buy them now that his parents were gone?
Mail was never abused. He was a good, obedient child. He did what he was told and was, for the most part, left on his own. He had never actually considered himself neglected, but he had known that was the term for it. He was actually rather content with the arrangement they had all had. They would set out a plate of food for him every morning, afternoon and night, they would wash his clothes for him, and they would buy him whatever items he would request of them. Other than that, Mail Jeevas was alone. Just as he preferred. He was very happy just to be left in his room playing one of his multiple video games or messing with his desktop computer his father had provided. Mail had requested a laptop, but his father had claimed that they were just too fragile for a 4 year old to handle.
While Mail was reminiscing about the poor electronics that had melted down in the fire, he noticed, out of the corner of his eyes, a nervous looking cop edging his way over to the small redhead.
"Hey there, Mail. That is you're name, right? Mail?" The sad officer said gently. Mail looked up at the tall man clinically. So this was the one who had volunteered to tell a small child of the death of his parents? The poor, brave man. Mail nodded his head once.
The officer gave a noticeable shudder at the dull, emotionless green eyes staring up at his, as if staring deep into his soul. Those eyes had no place on a child. A hint of grief would be an almost welcomed relief from their piercing, stoic gaze. He took a deep breath, his horrifying job already feeling easier, and spoke to the child.
"I don't quite know how to tell you this but…"
That had been a week ago. They had tried to be kind to the poor boy who had just lost his family and all his possessions in the electrical fire that had taken out his entire home, but it had been difficult. They wanted to comfort the small boy, but he had all but turned them away. Some women looked on in sadness, thinking they understood the sadness in his heart, or the stubbornness that his family had been known for. A shame they could never really understand.
Mail was different than the others and he knew that well. It was hard not to notice with all the coldness in the eyes of strangers. And suddenly, that coldness that had once barely permeated through his outer walls, now surrounded him at all times. No longer was there anyone to look upon him with a warm gleam in their eyes. With a resigned sigh, Mail realized that he would miss his parents. At least they would properly look at him without mistrust and fear.
Today he was being moved into the St. Joseph's Orphanage. A small orphanage that barely sustained the large number of children it already held, let alone adding more to it's already cramped walls. The ride to the building had been very anti-climactic. He sat in the back of the police car during the drive, never speaking. A small backpack settled into his lap that held all of his new possessions. A few t-shirts, two pairs of pants, two boxers, and his beloved handheld.
When they arrived, he entered through the small double doors and sat down his puny bag of belongings he had carried with him as the cops who had attended to him over the past week, quickly turned away, thankful to never have to deal with the frightening child again.
The older woman in charge had smiled at first. It was a most welcomed relief. The first warmth in a week. And then, as expected, the smiles faded, like a memory of a dream. The longer she spent with him, the faster the faded smiles would grow into weary frowns. She quickly began to see something different in this child. Something, she knew, the other children and guardians would never come to accept. She quickly dropped the child off in his joint room, along with the other boys, and rushed off.
She had a phone call to make.
In the room filled with children, Mail felt more alone than ever before. A silence rang through the room as all the other boys had frozen, taking in their small, new roommate. Mail could only wonder what the others saw when they looked at him. Did they see a scared little boy? Mail could only hope not. Perhaps they saw the same strangeness that everyone else seemed to identify almost immediately. Mail suspected that one to be true when a couple boys turned away with frowns on their faces. Maybe, he thought, they thought I was just another kid like them and will leave me alone. But Mail truly doubted it. Mail just wasn't that lucky.
His second assumption seemed to be correct as the boys all slept in beds farthest away from Mail that night.