So... First time with fanfiction on this site. Don't hit me!
I guess I have to do that disclaimer thing... Right.
I, Jinnabun, do not own Death Note. At all. Not even a bit. Except for a couple volumes of manga. But No copyright thingies. I wish. I also don't own Orbit gum...Oops. I'd feel bad about giving something away, but that plays such a small part in this, I don't think anyone's going to go 'AHA. ORBIT. I KNOW THE PLOT. MUHAHAH...' So I think we're safe.
Back to the point. I OWN NOTHING.
This is not going to be this serious for the whole thing. I promise. Just Matt and Mello's stories are kind of sad...
This is gonna be long, folks. Really long. XD
Oh. And right. Swearing, a bit. Uhm...Drug use. Murder... I wouldn't say it's M, but definitley not for little kiddies. :D
"Mail Jeevas."
"Mail Jeevas."
"Mail Jeevas!"
He didn't respond. The sugary sweet voice that called his name wasn't that of his mother. His mother. His mother… He could remember her hair, her voice, the feeling of her arms around him. He sat, dwarfed, in the small plastic chair, gripping the sides as choking sobs racked his small frame.
"Mail."
"Mail! Sweetheart! You need to come downstairs now! It's time for school! Your first day, don't you want to get there on time?" Mail's mother was a happy woman, smiling as she shook her son awake, her auburn curls bouncing.
"But Mamma! I don't need to go to kindergarten!" the boy moaned, "If I skip this year, by the time the other kids are done with it, we'll be the same kind of smart! Then they won't laugh at me anymore." He reasoned.
"No, sweetheart. You need to learn new things. Momma loves you, and you need to be as smart as you can be. That ways, when you're good and grown, you can be a doctor, or a lawyer like your father! That ways you can be great, and make money, and you can live anywhere you want to. My boy will be the smartest."
"But what if I can't be smartest? What if someone's smarter than me!" He hated the idea of his mother's disapproval.
"No, Sweet. You've misunderstood! You'll be the smartest just as long as you're you! And you are a boy who is going to be late for the first day! Up!" She laughed.
"Mail." The voice brought him back, "Are you Mail, sweetie?" Fake fingernails threaded through his knotted hair, smoothing the tangles, "You need to follow me."
He stood, holding her manicured hand, his chin tucked towards his chest, squinting.
She noticed.
"Hun, do you need glasses or something?" She was chewing gum; he hated to listen to it.
Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
She led him down the hall, her shoes clacking against the ground.
Clack. Clack.
"Yeah."
"Okay. Chomp. Chomp. I'll find you something." She sat him down in a more comfortable chair, down the hall from the first, "Stay here."
She wandered off. Chomp. Chomp. Clack. Clack. Clack.
"Darling. Do you like my new shoes?" His mother skipped into their small kitchen, skirt swirling, into the arms of her current man. Mail watched in silence, chewing on his cereal.
"You look good in everything." The man told her, as she laughed, swaying.
This one was good. He didn't hit her, just Mail. When she wasn't there. The man hated kids. Most did. They all loved his mother, though. She was a beauty.
"You look lovely, Mamma."
"Mail!" She left the arms that were encircling her. "Why don't you look sharp in that outfit?" She'd let the boy dress himself, and he scratched his head absently as he examined his outfit. His glasses slipped to the tip of his nose as he took in the black and white stripes of his shirt. He pushed them up as he heard the click of a lighter.
"Dear! Must you smoke in here?" She gasped, reaching to snuff out the cigarette before the man could take a drag.
"Fine." He huffed. Mail knew he'd just go get something stronger later. "Carrot-top. I've got something for you. A game, see? I thought you might like it!" The man laughed. They all did this. It was obvious to anyone that Mail was his mother's weakness, she loved seeing him happy, loved what made him happy. They spoiled him when she was there, and hit him when she wasn't.
"Here." Oh. Joy. The gum lady was back. Mail reached out, taking the goggles from her hand, "It's all they had. I didn't know that they made swimming goggles with prescription, but it's all we had left. Mail felt silly putting the goggles on, but they were nice, he could finally make out the soft features of the gum lady, and there was an orange glow that made things feel warm. His teal eyes probably looked brown in that glow.
"Come, boy, we need to know your story." She lead him towards a group of men who wore the same uniform as her own. He glared at the sign that marked the building as a police station.
"Alright."
He walked through the door. It was months later, and he expected to see her mothers current man drinking one of those smelly things that make his brain tingle if he tries to drink them, or taking one of the white pills that make him happy. It'd been a while since he'd been given the game, and but a few short weeks since another man had presented a computer with a flourish. He'd learned to do anything on the computer. With electronics. The lights of the game mesmerized him, and the computer made it easy to ignore things. His mother was glad to see him happy. Mail thought this new man was great. He'd come to Mail with a deal, recently. Mail got him money from other people's bank accounts, and the man gave him the pills. He hoped that there would be more each day. He hated the shaking, though. The shaking and the moaning that came when the happiness went away. The man always had more though. Mail hoped the man was home.
"Get me my money!" the fist came hard into Mail's cheek. There will be pills. There will be pills. The boy repeated this in his head over and over. It helped him not to cry. He glared up at the man.
"Momma's going to see that. It'll bruise. She'll know you did it."
The man glared at Mail, hate in his eyes. "If she sees this bruise, then she might as well see more! She'll be mad all the same." Another fist. A slap. A yank. Mail groaned internally at the pain and the sudden feel of loss…this meant no pills tonight. He blocked his mind off, avoiding the pain.
"I'm a fucking five year old!" He screamed, wishing his mother was home.
"And yer too smart for your own good! How'd a little boy get so smart?" Another punch. A wave of pain.
"She'll leave you!" Mail wailed, craving freedom, "She'll take me, an' we'll go. We've done it before!"
"No she won't. She's mine." The words rang with finality. Punch. Slap. Blood coughed onto the carpet.
"And that was two days ago," Mail continued, "I found her dy---dying yest—yest--yesterday when I got h-home." He stuttered. "She told me—She said it was him. She said that- that he didn't want her t-to be with an-anyone e-e-else." He could feel the sobs coming, as they'd come all day. The four officers looked at each other in disgust at the man, wincing as the boy continued, "There was----was blood—all over her chest. She said it was hurting." He shuddered slightly, "B-but then she said she was going to ---to sleep. So I---I let her. But. But she wouldn't wake up. I tried and tried. She wouldn't. So I went to the people in the room across the hall, and they took me here. I don't want to spend the night here again. I hate it here. I want to go home." He gasped, before shutting his mouth. His story was done.
"We'll be back." The police men whispered, shaken. They went out to the hall, leaving Mail to silence. He sat in the wooden chair for a few moments, swinging his legs, before getting up to go to the door. He needed to go to the bathroom. Badly.
"---an orphanage. She's gone. Dead. We can't do anything for her. The man's dead too. We just got word," A new man was talking to the police, "We just received word that her killer was murdered by the mafia, stupid scum killed the woman and then got on a plane to Russia, and he was killed less than an hour later. The boy has no family. Just a dead mom. The father was a lawyer; the child was born from one of his affairs. The father's dead. Both sets of Grand-parents are dead as well—"
Mail shut the door. Well, he thought, that was more information of his father than he'd ever received from his mother. Orphan. The word rang in his head. Orphan. His sweet mother wasn't going to kiss him goodnight anymore. He held in a sob. The man too, he was dead, Mail wasn't one for revenge, but it would've been something to live for, for once he wished he was just as duffle-brained as the other kids his age. Angst. He tasted the word. It seemed too dull for what he was feeling. He wished he had pills. He wanted pills. He needed pills. All of a sudden they were all that he could think about. The room was spinning. Faster. Faster. The walls turned white. Then there was a crack of pain as he fell to the floor. Mother. Dead. He slammed back into awareness. He wished he had a game. He sat against the wall, staring at the scars that laced his pale arms. They'd been from past beatings. He still had bruises from the last beating. From the dead man. There were scars slicing open the top of his arm from the pills. The pills made him see things, feel things, the pills had made him want to see blood once. He traced a scar with a finger. The blood hadn't been as cool when he woke up.
"Mail."
He groaned. Gum lady. She'd spit it out, finally, thank God.
"Uhm…dear?" She questioned, "We need to put you in a home. Just for tonight. Then Someone's going to come visit you. Okay?"
"Whatever." He was back to one-word answers. Momma's auburn curls, happy smile. Gone. Forever. Taken from him.
"…We're going to have someone visit you. Okay? He's going to help us place you."
"Alright."
He was promptly placed into a cruiser, and sent to the 'home.' It was a large brick building, with plain windows. It looked sullen. It was overflowing with kids. Lovely. Mail was incredibly aware of the goggles he wore as he walked into an office, gum lady's shoes still making their clack sound.
"How can I help you?" The plump blond woman behind the desk asked.
"Hello, I'm here with Ma---"
"Matt. My name's Matt. I miss my mom." He might've picked a different name if Miss Chew hadn't already said Ma- but that was now unavoidable. Mail was his mother's right to call him. Mail was hers. He refused to listen to other people use her name to address him. They could have Matt. Lady Orbit looked at Mail quizzically. He glared at her.
"Uhm, yes. This is Matt. He's my charge, I'm Mrs. Po---"
"I'm going to look around. Bye!" Mail called out, cutting her off. Hearing her name would ruin his fun. He can just imagine that her name was Mrs. Popper, or something gum related. Mail raced out into the courtyard. There were kids all around. He spotted a girl with a gameboy. Perfect.
"Hello?" He mumbled, shuffling towards her. "I'm new. What's your name?"
She looked up at him, glancing at the goggles, before staring at his shirt, which was three sizes too big, went down to his knees, and had a police insignia on it, he'd changed because his old one was covered in his mother's blood. That'd probably draw attention. At the thought of his mother, tears began to bud into his eyes. The girl took in the scars, the tears, and the fading bruise on his neck in a flash. "Here." She sighed, "Have my game."
If he'd gotten what he'd wanted, why did it hurt so bad? He took the game and started to play from her level. He beat the entire thing in ten minutes. He handed it back, 'You won!' flashing, to the girl, who looked at him in shock. Then Mail left and went out back. This seemed to be the place where teenagers were. Perfect. On the rare occasion that the man couldn't supply Mail with his white ovals, he'd found a teenager to get him some. That was harder. Mail was five. Even dealers don't like selling a 'toddler' drugs. His height helped. I looked seven. Big whoop. Dealers didn't like to sell to seven year olds either.
There! A boy just handed a white pill to another boy, making the mistake of looking too guilty. Mail shamelessly approached him. "How much?" He asked.
The boy looked at him in shock. "Sorry kid. This isn't candy."
Mail looked down at the boy who was much taller than he was. "I know what they are. I need them. Fast." The proximity to his haven, the things that would make him forget he ever had a mother, intoxicated him. "So how much for one? Or two?" He continued.
The boy looked around, it was obvious that he wanted money. An internal battle won out, as the boy realized that Mail probably couldn't pay, and that if Mail had money, it wouldn't be hard to take, Mail saw it all in the teen's eyes.
"lemme stop you there." He began, "I don't have the money in cash, but if you can get us out for a 'walk' you'll get it, I can pay double what you charge if you get me a computer, if not, we'll have to see. I have nothing on me, so please don't beat me up, I'm bruised enough for now, and no, I'm not joking. I want the pills." Of course this sounded ridiculous coming from his young voice, but the pills were so close. Probably in the boy's pocket. His head was starting to hurt with desire.
"Fine." The boy said, "You give me money, I give you drugs. You tell, I'll kill you."
"I'm here for tonight only. Why should I tell?" Mail reasoned, drugs he filed the word away for later, "Computer."
The boy gasped in shock as Mail immediately broke into a low-security bank account, it only had three hundred dollars, but he'd take it all, they couldn't trace the theft once Mail pressed a few of the buttons. He only wanted a pill, but it didn't hurt to tip the boy, plus, while he was out, he might as well buy himself a new shirt. Mail sent the boy to request their 'walk,' he came back victorious. They boy hadn't caused trouble in a while, so it'd been authorized. They left, traipsing down the street, before the teen pulled Mail into a store.
"Your look needs fixing, you can pay me back with the money. I can't even look at you, let alone be seen with you like that."
"Alright." Mail had already seen a rack of striped shirts that reminded him of that day so long ago, he picked one out, a medium, he wanted it big. The dealer returned with a pair of tight jeans, similar to the ones that the teen had on.
"I'm Jerry. Call me Jerr." The teen allowed.
"Ma-Matt." Mail replied, the name was foreign to him.
"Try these on, Matt. I don't know how you got this way, but the least I can do is give you your own style." Jerr whispered.
"Ah." He grabbed the jeans and the shirt and went into the changing room, shrugging out of his shorts and his oversized cop shirt, and sliding on the tight denim, sticking his head into the sleeves of the shirt. It dwarfed him. He loved it. His boots looked strange with it, but in a good way, at least to a five year old. Apparently Jerr did too, because when Mail stepped out, Jerr clapped his hands together.
"Great! You look almost human!" He laughed, "I grabbed you a vest in case you get cold" He said, tossing something furry at me, he frowned, reaching for the goggles.
"They stay." he said, stepping back, he put it into less strange terms, "They're different." he mumbled, Mail wanted to say 'I want them because they make the world turn orange, and it makes me feel all warm inside' but Jerr might find that odd. The thought of Jerr, standing two feet away brought Mail back to the pills. He changed fast, once Jerr paid, and then they left the store. He put on the vest, but left it unzipped. The outfit made him look older. Mail felt older.
"C'mon." he mumbled, dragging Jerr towards an ATM. He'd thrown away the slip of paper with the account information on it when he threw away the clothes, but it didn't matter, he'd memorized it. He took out all three hundred, feeling slightly bad for Tom Chewey, but the name reminded him of Gum lady, so he wasn't that upset. He approached Jerr warily, but if the boy ripped him off, Mail could just hack in and cut the service to Jerr's new cell phone, which the boy was currently using. When Mail told him that, Jerr paled, and nodded. Mail didn't see that as harsh. He could also hack police reports and sexual predator lists, but he trusted Jerr a little. And he needed a pill.
He headed back to Jerry, and flaunted his three hundred. Jerr's eyes bulged a little, and he dug in his pocket and pulled out a pill. "This had better be real, Jerr." Mail warned, "If it's fake, you'll regret it." Jerry handed it to Mail.
"I can't believe I'm doing this." He whispered, "Giving drugs to a fucking kid. A fucking five year old kid."
"Let's go back." Mail grinned. He'd swallow it when we got back to the 'home.'
A half hour later, Mail was laying on his cot, Jerr was watching him from the floor, waiting for his high, as Jerry had called it, the happy feeling. Mial could feel it trickling in. He felt strange with Jerry there, no one had ever sat through it with him, not even the dead man. Jerry had refused to leave him alone, opting to keep a clean watch on Mail. On the kid. Mail grinned as it kicked in. His reason for living. His last thought before he soared off was of his mother.
The next morning, Mail woke with a huge headache, but Jerry had left a bottle of water on the bed beside him, first, Mail stumbled across the hall, into the bathroom, throwing up all that was in him, racking his body with retching and dry sobbing. Then he got in the shower. He stood in the hot water until it ran cold, before crossing the hall naked, not caring if anyone saw, he was five, he could do stuff like that. He struggled into the clothes from the day before, they smelled like sweat, but he didn't care. They didn't smell bad, so he didn't care. His vision swam in the light from the window before he remembered his goggles. With a snap, they covered his eyes, and things were better. He took a swig from the water bottle. The shower had helped his head, and the retching had helped settle his stomach, but young Mail still felt as though he was going to faint when there was a sharp rap on his door and a call of "New boy! Visitor!"
He stumbled out the door and down the hall, stopping to nick the gameboy from the courtyard, where the girl must have left it the day before. Finders keepers. He ended up in the office, looking around, glad the goggles masked how baggy and bloodshot his teal green eyes were.
A voice called from behind. "Mail?"
Mail turned, and looked around in confusion. The only person there was a teenage boy. He wore a white shirt, jeans, and was holding a pair of sneaker in his hands, Mail looked down, the boy was barefoot. Wild black hair, pale skin, bags under his eyes. Mail decided to state the obvious. "I don't know you."
"I know."
Mail felt his headache worsen slightly. "I'm not Mail." He said, "My name is Matt."
The strangers brow creased. "Mail. You are Mail. Jeevas. Age five. Orphan." The boy held up a picture of Mail at his fifth birthday between his thumb and forefinger. "Mail."
Mail sighed. This was creepy. "Alright. This is strange, you may call me Matt. Mail is out of use." Let us go walk outside." Then
The strange teen smiled. "I see." He laughed, "Let's go outside." He then walked in a slouch to the front door, stepped out, and crouched down on the stoop. Some walk.
"Who are you?" Mail asked, joining him.
"Answer a few of my questions first, please." The teenage boy sighed. Before allowing Mail to answer, he began, "Do you consider yourself smart? Do you like it here? Do you have talents that use your brain? Have you ever left the country? Do you like criminals? Do you see others as inferior? What's your favorite type of music? Can you follow these rapid questions without faltering with an answer or asking me to repeat?" The teen fired off in rapid succession.
Mail was interested. This was like a test. "Yes I do. Jerry's okay, but I'd rather leave. I'm good with electronics. No I haven't. What kind of criminals? Only when they make stupid mistakes. I don't really listen to music, but if I do I like anything loud. Yes…?" Mail replied, making sure he hadn't missed a question.
The teen thought it over. "I'm interested by your response to my question about criminals, Matt-kun. A criminal is one who breaks the law, is there one type of criminal that is superior to others?" Kun, Mail thought. He must have at least spent some time in Japan.
What do I say to that question? 'Oh hey mysterious stranger. I hack computers to get money for pills, but I like myself.' No. "Uhm. I guess criminals are bad."
The teen smiled. "My name's L. You're coming with me to England. To a place called Wammy's house."
Leave America? Leave New York? Leave where he grew up? His mother?
"I'm an orphan too, Matt-kun." The boy named L mumbled, "I know how it feels."
This was it. Mail burst into tears. He hugged his knees and cried harder than he did in the police office. His entire body shuddered. "I miss momma!" He wailed.
L hugged him. One moment he was on the stairs, crying, the next he was in L's lap, tears coursing down his face. His tired eyes burned from the tears, and he slowly calmed down.
"I'll go." He whispered.
"Good." L replied, smiling down at Mail, "I'll send for you in a few days. I need to take a trip to Russia, then a man named Wammy will come for you. We are, after all, going to his house." A black car pulled up to the curb, and L stood, placing Matt on the step, "Goodbye."
The entire meeting took five minutes.
It was two in the afternoon when the older boys came to halt his game playing and 'beat him up," Mail looked up, blinking, as a lug of a boy grabbed his shirt. "What the fuck?" Mail asked, forced to his tippy toes, "Go away."
"We don't wanna, runt." The boy sneered.
"How now. What sort of play is this. Young boys should play a rousing game of football or some such. The Yankees are on television inside." Mail turned to gape at Jerry's mocking face.
"Whatever, Jerry."
"Yeah! Get a life."
"Ruin our fun."
They boys slowly cracked under the gaze of an elder, even if only by seven years or so, and they went back to kicking puppies, or whatever they'd been doing before.
"How are you, my pint-sized friend?" Jerry laughed. Mail glared at the cracked screen of the game.
"I was about to unlock the battle armor", he groaned, kicking it across the pavement.
"Well at least that wasn't you." Jerry joked, "I figured the money you gave me yesterday would include bodyguard detail." Mail was suddenly very glad that he'd given a tip.
"This had better be legit." Jerry mumbled, looking the man named Wammy up and down. Mail was already holding his hand, ready to go, "Because you're going to England with people you don't know. It just seems shady."
"Jerr!" Mail laughed, "Look who's talking!" They cracked grins.
A quick hug, and Mail was gone. Into a luxury car. Gone.
"Bye, Matt." Jerr whispered to no one.
Two minutes later, Mail put his hands in his vest pocket, only to feel a piece of paper. Expecting a tag when he pulled it out, he found Jerry's cell phone number, scrawled in sharpie, under it was a simple note to call, if he ever got into trouble.
He had no idea that on the other side of the world, L was tracking down a member of the Mafia, the six year old boy who had stolen Mail's revenge.
Hey. Jinna here. Please don't flame me. Please. xD But if you must, you must. What can I do about it? Sorry about the OC. Jerry's only in this chapter, I believe. I have no future plans of bringing him back. Matt just wanted some Ecstasy. Sorry about all the drugs, I hope I wrote him okay. It was harder than it seems to write a five year old genius, who's also an addict, an orphan, and just odd. Correct me right away if I screwed something up, and I'll change it. My BETA went MIA. Next Chappie's about Mello. P.S. I don't plan on killing them off. I have insomnia and haven't slept for three days...but that isn't an excuse. Sorry.
