A/N: My second ever Death Note fic! I thought of this when I realized the fan-base for Matt was quite large even though he only has like, one line in the anime. Before I had realized this, I happened to like Matt and was quite sad that he died and found it quite ironic that there were plenty of others who thought the same thing. A note for reading this- all this runs parallel to the anime, like the age, rather than the manga.
Disclaimer: It's a moot point. Obviously I do not own Death Note
Warnings: Rated for vulgarity. Though, if you're a fan of Death Note, I would say you're used to that kind of thing. I don't think there are any spoilers (except for the one in the A/N).
The thing that Matt hated most was people asking him questions. And, more specifically, people asking him stupid questions and questions whose answers were none of their business. Matt experienced a lot of these type of questions, all of which he found annoying.
As he sat in the dark room, playing Grand Theft Auto, he couldn't help but wonder why so many people asked him questions. Just now, Mello had questioned his reason behind smoking before resigning to sit back and watch Matt play his video game silently.
"You know, it's not good for your health," he pointed out, a common argument. Matt had merely shrugged, flicking the ashes of his current cigarette onto the floor of the warehouse they were stuck in.
"Neither is chocolate, when you eat too much of it. But you still do so." Mello had let the subject drop after that.
After another hour or so of subdued silence and watching Matt play the X-Box 360, Mello had announced he was going to bed. And, as such, stood up and left the room. When he was gone, Matt paused his game, dropped the controller to the ground, lit another cigarette, and leaned back in the overstuffed sofa he was sitting in. He exhaled slowly, the white smoke emitting from his open mouth and circling around his head.
He didn't particularly like smoking or playing video games- the two things that had identified him over the course of the years, and yet he still did them. They were just habits he'd learn to pick up. (Smoking, of course, he had picked up recently since he was just sixteen.)
And then again, once he thought about it, both tendencies had been gained after he had left the orphanage with Mello when he was eleven years old.
Matt huffed angrily; why was he thinking such pointless things? It didn't matter what he did or preferred doing. He was there to help Mello catch Kira, not to worry about his hobbies.
When he had finished the cigarette, he went to sleep himself on the couch, not bothering to turn the television set off that still showed the paused game he had lost interest in playing.
-0-0-0-
A small, copper-haired boy watched as a fairly young woman with the same copper hair bustled around the small kitchen area, appearing to fix dinner. The boy, a quiet young lad, was around the age of four years and usually liked to preoccupy himself with puzzles. That night was no exception as he idly shifted the blocks of a Rubik's cube. There were times when he was able to solve the puzzle, matching the six colors for each side. The first time he had did so, his mother- the woman who was making their meal- beamed with incredulity and pride. His father, who was currently at work, had contemplated the child with narrowed eyes and muttered something along the lines of "pure chance."
Despite the father's negativity, the mother continued to believe that her son was a true prodigy. Her assumptions, of course, were proven correct when the boy continued to solve the Rubik's cube more often and with more ease. The father pretended not to notice, or- to the very least- not to care. That, however, did not dampen the spirits of Mrs. Jeevas as she continued to brag about her son's intellectual level to the other parents of the day care her son attended to. They, like the father- Mr. Jeevas- appeared disinterested. Or, maybe, jealous would be a better term here.
An elderly man nearby, who had overheard the conversation, had stepped up to the young woman and introduced himself as "Watari." Watari, to the contrary of the other parents, seemed immensely interested in Mrs. Jeevas' son's intelligence. And, Mrs. Jeevas had proved her claims by handing the boy next to her the Rubik's cube. Which he had solved within the span of five minutes.
Awed, Watari went into detail of an institution he was founding, established specifically to train extremely gifted children, such as Mrs. Jeevas' son, and Watari ended his very long monologue by offering to accept Mrs. Jeevas' son into this institution. Mrs. Jeevas' ecstasy was too great to put into words and invited Mr. Watari over to dinner that night to talk more into details and to go over it with Mr. Jeevas. Watari obliged and set up a time of seven o'clock.
And so, now, Mrs. Jeevas was enthusiastically preparing dinner for the guest. Her son blinked up at her when she handed him a carrot stick to munch on to help cut his teeth.
"Why is Mommy happy?" the boy asked, before obediently placing the carrot's tip in his mouth. Mrs. Jeevas turned away from her stovetop and beamed at him once more. She did that lot, the boy realized- smile at him. And he liked it- it made him feel special.
"Mommy is happy because her son is the brightest boy in the whole wide world!" she said in her breathy, soprano voice, long copper hair swishing as she turned to check the oven as it issued a piercing beep.
The boy also noticed how his mother liked to refer to herself as an outsider, "third person," as his father had called it. He found it funny so it was no surprise that he gave a small laugh now.
More time had passed and soon thereafter, the kitchen became filled with a warm, savory scent. The boy inhaled deeply; his mother was really good at cooking.
Seven o'clock had come with the harbinger of doorbell. And, when Mrs. Jeevas went to open the door, discovered Watari on the Jeevas doorstep.
"Come in, Mr. Watari!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Dinner is almost ready!"
"Why, thank you madam," came his voice. The boy watched as both entered the kitchen. The old man, the same one from this morning, sat across from him and stared at him with closed eyelids behind a pair of eye glasses. The boy cocked his head eagerly.
The evening progressed, with no Mr. Jeevas. After a point, Watari had voiced his concern on Mr. Jeevas' absence but Mrs. Jeevas put him off with saying she was sure nothing was wrong. However, it was becoming evident that Mrs. Jeevas was growing more anxious with each passing minute.
The boy didn't know why she was getting worried though; his daddy would often come home late. And on those nights, he came home as a different daddy than the boy had known. A daddy with wild eyes and a short temper.
At around eight fifteen, Mrs. Jeevas insisted that Watari not stay any longer at the expense of his own convenience and tried to quickly usher him out the door. Before, however, he had made it across the kitchen threshold, the front door had banged open- as if by its own accord- and revealed Mr. Jeevas. And this Mr. Jeevas seemed to have quite a short temper.
"Who is this man?!" he demanded thunderously, his voice roaring throughout the small household. With a shaking voice, Mrs. Jeevas tired to explain everything to soothe her husband. When she had said about everything she wanted, Mr. Jeevas looked as though he was about to yell some more, however, Watari interjected with his own remark.
"I apologize for being an inconvenience to you. If it helps the situation, I was just leaving." And with that, Watari agilely edged past Mr. Jeevas and made it out the door.
The boy was watching this occurrence from the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wide with fear; he hated seeing his daddy like this.
Mrs. Jeevas turned from her husband before he could respond and picked up the boy from his spot.
"Time for bed," she whispered to him urgently. The boy understood this. When daddy came home late like this, she tried for a carefree tone that only reflected her stress, and she would always put him to bed early while in the next room, he would hear them yelling at each other. Well, daddy would yell. He could barely hear his mother's voice during their fights.
The boy could sense that tonight would be worse than the others; Watari's appearance seem to anger his daddy more than usual.
Mrs. Jeevas quickly tucked her son into bed and left, leaving his room in utter darkness. He didn't like the dark; he would always fear his daddy would slip through the darkness and yell at him like he did his mother. And the darkness brought uncertainty, you couldn't see who was lurking in the shadows- like the monsters he'd feared after watching Veggie Tales. Vegetables weren't made to talk; it was unnatural.
The yells of Mr. Jeevas were barely muffled by the thin sheetrock of the walls and the boy could even decipher some of what of his mother was saying.
"It's just a foolish idea you've got stuck in your head! He's a regular kid with nothing special to him!"
"Mr. Watari seems to think -" came the small reply from Mrs. Jeevas before her husband cut her off.
"You're going to let some random stranger waltz right in here and tell us how to raise our son?!"
"No just-"
"And who are you, exactly, to be arguing with me, your husband?! Didn't you ever learn respect?! Eh!? Bitch, I'm talking to you!!"
There was a loud bang, the shattering of glass, and the small whimpers of someone unmistakably female.
The boy listened with wide eyes that refused to close. He wanted to close those eyes, to put his hands over his ears, to shut out the world, and to escaped beneath his covers. He wanted to believe his father wasn't a "drunk" like his mother had mentioned once and he wanted to believe that his mother was perfectly fine now and wasn't severely injured like the sounds suggested. He wanted to, but the boy had long since learned the difference between the truth and lies.
Another bang resounded throughout the house and all became silent, eerily silent. A silence that made the boy tremble with fear.
Impulsively, the boy shoved the covers away from him and he stumbled through the darkness of the house, trying to find his way into living room- the place where the voices of his parents and the terrifying sounds had come from.
He stepped into the living room tentatively, able to see with the aiding moonlight streaming though the broken window. What he saw was the figure of his father bending over another form. A form that didn't move and whose face was masked by copper hair…
"Mommy?" the boy squeaked, feeling hot tears creep to his eyes and still at the young age unable to comprehend death.
At the sound of his son's voice, Mr. Jeevas turned slowly to face him and the boy saw that his father had his own tears streaming down his face. A face with an enraged expression.
"You," Mr. Jeevas hissed, slowly rising to his feet and jabbing a crimson-stained finger toward the child. "This is your fault," he continued.
"What?" the boy said in a small voice, taking a step back from the advancing man.
"You heard me! She always had to stick up for you, saying you were some child prodigy! And for what?! You're nothing but a stupid boy!" And, quite suddenly, Mr. Jeevas lunged toward the boy. Fortunately, for the boy's sake, Mr. Jeevas was unsteady and intoxicated so the boy easily dodged out of the way and scrambled, terrified, to his room.
Once when he was inside his bedroom, he shut the door and locked it, just the way his mother had showed him, and squeezed himself under his bed, hands clasped tightly over his ears. It wasn't long before there was a loud pounding on his door that he could still hear, accompanied with the bellowing of Mr. Jeevas.
"What do you think you're doing boy?! Hiding?! You can't stay in there forever!"
The boy didn't move from his spot and soon after, the poundings stopped and the house was filled with silence once again. This time, the boy didn't investigate.
Somehow, through all of the boy's fear, he managed to cry himself to sleep, feeling desolately alone in the darkness. And, the next morning he was awoken by the sunlight pouring through his window. And still, the boy didn't move. It wasn't until several hours later did anything happen.
Someone had managed to unlock his bedroom door from the outside and stepped into his room cautiously. Wide-eyed, the boy could only see shiny black shoes from where he was huddled. The black shoes carefully walked the length of the room, paused, and then the owner of those shoes bent down to peer under the bed as the boy held his breath.
It was Watari.
"There, there," the old man said calmly. "It'll be all right. You can come on out now."
"Daddy?" the boy asked, his dry throat giving him a hoarse voice.
"He's gone now. You don't have to worry about him anymore." With that resolution, the boy slowly inched out from under the bed, still shaking. When he was free, he slowly stood up on his feet. When he was sure he could be steady, he looked up at Watari who simply patted his mane of auburn hair. Before he could help it, the boy threw himself at the old man, hugging his pinstriped legs tightly and staining the good pants with even more tears that, despite all the moisture, made his eyes feel even drier than his throat.
"It's all right, Mail," Watari said, patting his head again. "I've come to take you to your new home."
-0-0-0-
Matt shot out of bed with a sharp jolt, discovering that he was sweating and panting heavily. Like that night so many years ago, his blue eyes refused to relinquish their wide open stare and Matt was forced to hold his head firmly, squeezing his temples.
He'd always hated that dream. That dreaded, God-awful dream. Matt tried breathing evenly through his nose but the shock of it still stayed. He looked up, taking a deep breath, and realized the room was pitch black- television set turned off. At this realization, Matt could feel his heart rate accelerating and he gave a yelp of surprise, at the same time managing to somehow fall off the sofa.
"Did someone have a nightmare?" teased Mello's voice from the darkness. Matt strained his eyes but could not see him. Blindly, his hand reached out and felt around until he found his cigarette lighter. With a flick of his thumb, he produced a flame.
"Dammit Mello," Matt hissed angrily, feeling slightly more at ease with the light of the flame even though he still couldn't see anything. "Why did you turn the TV off?"
"Well, you didn't seem to be using it, seeing as you were asleep," Mello dismissed calmly. "Why? Is Mattie afraid of the dark?" Matt clenched his teeth together in irritation.
"No, Matt is not afraid of the dark," he hissed, referring to himself in third person, realizing how his mother used to do so.
"Hmm," mused Mello, still within the darkness. "I'd say Mattie is, considering he's overreacting just a tad bit. What's wrong with, Mattie? He's usually so quiet." Matt grimaced.
"I can't see a thing, jackass," Matt said. "And I just woke up. How do you think I would feel?"
"Just calm down, there's no need for that kind of language," Mello sighed.
"Just shut up and turn the light on, Melon head," said Matt, feeling more a bit more calm with each passing moment.
"Whatever you say, princess." With a flip of a switch, the central light of the warehouse turned on, illuminating the entire room with the ugly yellow light of the fluorescents. With a sigh, Matt blew the flame of his lighter out, threw it across the room irritably, and climbed back onto the sofa, violently trembling for an inexplicable reason. Mello came over to sit beside him, examining him with a small smirk. After a moment he spoke.
"I think Mattie is afraid of the dark," he chided, jokingly.
"Shut up!" Matt exclaimed, feeling a flush rising to his face.
Well, my first shot through Matt's perspective! I actually think it's not that bad. (Side Note: Matt's fear of the Veggie Tales, is derived from my own fear of them when I was kid. I'd thought that might be nice detail to throw in.)
Please review!
-Nuit Songeur