Detrimental

Onesmartcookie78

Summary:"'God, if you have any mercy, please kill me now,' I prayed. 'Sorry, I'm currently on hiatus,' Light's voice was tinged with amusement." Even psycho teenagers with god-complexes deserve somebody. Too bad for Yagami Light that I ruined everything. Light/OC. Includes Beyond Birthday and plenty of strawberry jam! Psychological-thriller piece with mentions of mental disease, romance, and murder. Extremely AU.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, only my OCs.

A/N: So I decided to start posting this even though I have three other stories started... The next chapter of "Ancient History" will still go up tomorrow, like it usually would. I will be updating this every 2-3 weeks, at the very least, every month at the most, unless I get caught up in something crucial. Keep in mind that this is the prologue, just an introduction, and does not contain all the characters we know and love yet.


"A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back from or from which to look ahead."

– Graham Greene's The End of the Affair


Prologue

Getting on that plane was the worst decision I've ever made, though I didn't exactly know that then, now did I? I only knew that I had received a letter from a school in Japan requesting me for a student exchange program. A translator would be provided, housing would be provided by a local family and they had sent a list of cultural instructors for me to get in contact with in order to avoid a faux pas.

It had seemed too good to be true –and in retrospect, it was– in the best of ways; my brother had just accepted a job from Interpol and they wanted him in Japan anyway. Not to mention, I had just finished Upper Second Form and was on my way to Uni regardless. The letter had the grandest timing– and I hadn't found that at all suspicious, at the time.

But now, here I am, unable to think of anything but all the clues I should have picked up on back when I had the chance to avoid this situation.


"How can you never have seen Death Note!?" my best friend, (read: casual acquaintance. She just thinks she is, for some reason, and I swear I'm not leading her on) Sasha, shrieked in my ear. Even through the phone it sounded remarkably similar to the sound a cat might make if it was run over by a lawnmower. Though that is how she usually sounds...

"Uh-huh," I grunted non-committally. My mobile was wedged between my shoulder and my cheek, the buttons digging uncomfortably into my skin. If only I had a smartphone. Then, maybe, my hands free function would actually work! Or, really, if I got a new mobile in general. I swear, the one I have currently is ancient. It belonged to my mum ten years ago, which is reason enough for me not to trash it.

"Are you even listening to me?" Sasha whined like a child. "I don't have to talk to you, you know," she threatened. The message was clear: to her, I was replaceable.

Her question snapped me out of my musings on my lack of useful technology, making me realise that I must have missed a prompt. A prompt, with Sasha, was a pause in between her constant yammering where I was meant to agree with her and nothing else. She says my brother is hot, I tell her "yes", she interprets it as "go for it". She never actually asks me questions that involve a response more detailed than a "yes" or a "no". And a "no" is an inadvisable response, even if she says something totally mad like: "I saw Light in a dream last night. Do you think I'll die and go to heaven?"

I didn't even know what she was talking about. I came to understand, later, the implications of that particular question.

"Yes." I decided it would be wise to quit my mumbling even if it was for only a second in order to appease her.

"I mean, you've watched awful anime like Fruits Basket–" she continued, disregarding the warning growl I gave.

I could deal with Sasha preaching to me the reasons why I should watch Death Note (granted, I was only half-listening...) but I couldn't stand it when she criticised my taste in manga or anime. "Fruits Basket is brilliant–" I retorted, but Sasha continued like I'd said nothing.

"-and Ouran High School Host Club–"

That didn't even make sense!

"You were the one who showed me that!" I reminded her, stopping the very important Further Mathematics homework I'd been doing in order to cross my arms.

"That's beside the point. Go home and watch it. And then we'll talk manga."

Sometimes, it was best to cave. At least she hadn't insulted the limited nature of my manga archives this time. "Dubbed or subbed?" I questioned, lifting my pencil off the page again. Great. Now I was going to have to restart number three, as I'm certain De Moivre's Theorem didn't require a crudely drawn picture of Sasha with devil horns.

"Dubbed is good if you're doing something else, but Light's laughter in the subbed version is more chilling," Sasha replied. "Does that mean you'll watch it?"

"As soon as I get off the phone with you," I promised, rolling my eyes. Now what was the power of-?

"Okay, bye!" Sasha screamed loudly in my ear.

I jumped, my hand twitching and succeeding in drawing a solid line across my final solution. "Dammit!" I growled, barely registering Sasha's laughter before the line clicked. "Gah!" I erased the jerky character, noticing that it looked like an 'L'. I snorted; Sasha would've been pleased to know that her favourite character's name was currently scratched over my paper due to her interruption.

If I believed in the supernatural, I would've seen the occurrence as a sign.

But I didn't, so I left the London Library, choosing to walk home to my flat in Westminster, where I lived with my older brother, Kyle. On my way in, I grabbed the mail, flipping through it quickly. Most of the mail was for Kyle, and bills. His pay cheque was also mixed in with various junk offers that I quickly discarded. I myself had received three letters from universities, most notably Oxford.

I grinned. The moment of truth; would I get in, or not?

Distracted, I ran into the door of our flat. I rubbed my nose after I predictably dropped all of the mail and fell on my bum. The clasp to my backpack mysteriously broke and my books spilled across the dirty brown carpet. I grumbled to myself as I began collecting my items off the ground, only to get hit in the face with door again. As it turned out, Kyle had heard my fail and come to investigate.

He laughed at my luck for a good few minutes, allowing me ample time to gather the majority of my belongings.

"I'm sorry," he snickered, bending down to pick up the last piece of mail staining the floor. "But that was too funny!"

"Glad to see my pain amuses you," I glared at him, rubbing my nose. "I'm just a magnet for bad luck today," I complained, dumping my broken backpack onto the island in our kitchen and resorting the mail into neat piles. "This morning, I took my bike to school and was ten minutes late. In chem, my daft lab partner added water to a large quantity of an alkali metal. Can you image? KA-BOOM. Oh, and someone stubbed nails in my tires. I had to drop it off at the shop to get it fixed.

"Then, at the library, the librarian told me I had checked out three books that I hadn't and I owed money on them. When I showed her my library card, it turned out that she had let someone ELSE use my account. The old cow said she allows people to check out books without their card so long as they have some form of identification. She mistook my name for a bloke's name and let him check out books on my account," I ranted, pacing the tiny space our flat allowed.

"If the librarian is as old as you're saying, it's likely that she's familiar with the fictional detective, Ellery Queen, who was, in fact, a bloke. Though, in general, Ellery isn't a very popular name, so she could've just assumed that it was a bloke's name," Kyle soothed from his spot on the couch. He stood up and put a hand on my shoulder: "So just calm down."

I raised an eyebrow as he smirked at me. "Why are you all dressed up?" I questioned, straightening his blue striped tie and his grey suit jacket. The former matched his eyes and his dark brown hair was perfectly mussed somewhere between I-don't-care and, well, perfect.

He ignored me temporarily, buttoning his suit jacket and messing with his cufflinks. He brushed imaginary dust off of his clothes. "How do I look?"

"Like you're going on a date," I deduced, putting my hand on my chin in a stereotypical thinking pose.

"So?" Kyle asked, annoyed.

"Hmm," I drew my response out, ruffling his hair childishly. Kyle shoved my hand away, whining: "Ellery!" before fixing his hair with a glare.

"Better now," I gave him a thumb's up. "So I'm on my own for dinner tonight, then?"

"Yeah," Kyle confirmed, shrugging on his nice coat and looping a chequered blue scarf around his neck. "Be good, don't burn down the house, and if you go out at night, do try not to get mugged."

Yeah. That's my older brother. Kyle Daniel Lawrence. Able to joke about things that most mothers would ground their children for even suggesting.

Speaking of mothers, our parents died in a mugging (which makes his joke in even poorer taste than I'm sure you thought earlier) when I was eleven and Kyle was seventeen. I went to live with my Aunt Jenny in Bristol for the six years it took for him to finish university and get his degree. He currently works for MI5 as an enterprise architect, a posh term meaning... well, I'm not really supposed to even be saying that he works for who he does, so I'll leave it to you to figure out what that means.

"Oh!" he called, making me realise that during my rumination, he'd left, and he was now in the door frame after returning. "And you forgot to pick this up!" he tossed a letter that I'd apparently left in the hallway to the floor, again, and slammed the door. I could hear the pounding of his feet down the steps. He must be late.

I rolled my eyes and picked it up. The envelope was from out of the country and printed in either Japanese or Chinese. I wasn't sure. I started up the computer, sitting the envelope next to it, and went to the fridge for a bottle of water.

When I came back, I put the dubbed version of Death Note on and went to Google Translate. I managed to figure out how to put in the characters (it took me twenty minutes, in which I finished the first episode solely by listening) and came up with my name and address from a school in Japan.

Apparently, my Spanish, English and French teachers from over the years had corroborated to submit my name to a foreign exchange program. Since I was "good with language", they were confident that I'd be able to learn Japanese between my graduation from Upper-Sixth Form and my first year at University.

I didn't have to accept the offer, which relieved me. I may have an eidetic memory, but I didn't want to put the unnecessary stress of learning a new language on myself. It was enough to be following in my brother's footsteps. I was content with the idea of getting a Psy.D in psychology and criminology, with an emphasis on science related courses, in hopes of being a criminal profiler for the MI6. It was all very ambitious, and would likely be difficult to complete. Which is why I plan on being an intern throughout university.

Life goals in a nutshell.

After watching the fourth episode of Death Note, I went to the kitchen to retrieve my wallet, purse, and phone. A quick stop to the closet saw me sporting a black coat and on my way to get some food. I was hoping for sushi, (watching anime always brought that upon me) but if the line to my favourite takeaway place was too long, I was willing to go to the store to buy something of the pre-packaged variety.

As it so turned out, the line was too long and I was going to have to go to the store. Terrible luck today. Seriously.

When I was on my way home, I couldn't help but feel like someone was following me. I never heard footsteps or saw a shadow that wasn't mine, but I felt like someone was drilling holes into the back of my head. I ran home and the rest of my evening was uneventful.


After seeing L die, I almost stopped watching the series. Honestly, I figured that Yagami Light was your usual stunningly-handsome brand of sociopathic serial killer while L was a self-serving sociopathic detective. I thought Matsuda was a loveable idiot with good intentions. I thought Misa was sycophantic, preppy blonde, and underneath my initial dislike of her character was an inert feeling of pity; her naive views on love and loyalty were what had gotten her into trouble, after all.

I thought Light's intentions were admirable (ridding the world of criminals did indicate a strong sense of justice) but that the way he went about it made him a stark-raving mad hypocrite. L was a liar and on the right side, but slightly evil himself. Basically, I conclusively decided that the ends never justify the means.

I wasn't sure if that's what I was meant to get out of it, but that's what popped into my head.

I didn't see my brother again until after school, at which point he told me he'd seen the letter next to the computer. He immediately wanted to know my response.

From the beginning of our conversation, it was clear that he was all for moving. His date must not have gone very well. Anyway, he pushed the whole time, telling me he knew I could learn the language, that I was extremely intelligent and more than capable. That I had the social skills (yeah, right) to fit in and charm everyone with my good looks.

I called B.S. and he admitted that Interpol had offered him a job in Japan. His main concern being me and school, Kyle originally wasn't going to talk to me about transcontinental moving until I graduated Upper-Sixth Form.

Considering how much he clearly wanted to move and the hope my teachers had looked at me with when I remembered to confront them, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, moving would apparently please everyone around me, most specifically my brother, whose existence practically started revolving around me when our parents died. And I really wanted to make my brother proud. On the other, I really didn't want to move and I'd been accepted to Oxford, my dream university.

I could live in Japan, I could probably learn the language, but did I want to? Well, sorta? I wasn't even really sure. I had no guarantee of my own happiness, nor was I sure of how things worked in Japan. I didn't know the customs, which were far different, and which I'd have to learn on top of the language.

So, a week later, I had my brother schedule my first Japanese lesson, despite the fact that the university would be providing a translator.


Months later, another letter came through the mail addressed to me in Japanese. My brother wasn't going to be able to transfer to Interpol straightaway, so I was going to stay with a family in Japan for my first year of university. The letter gave me the name of the family (Yagami, which was ironic considering my new obsession) I was to be staying with, along with directions from the airport to their house, and from their house to the university.

University didn't start for at least two months (and even still, it would be the second term of Japanese university... they were willing to set me up with classes and a tutor when I arrived), but the school insisted that I come a month early to familiarise myself with the city (and start the coursework from the first term), used to the speech patterns and integrated with the customs. The fact that my departure was on the horizon was both nerve-racking and a relief; to know that I finally had a set date was relaxing, but to know that it was so imminent was stressful.

Nevertheless, I began packing all of my clothes, the sheets I wanted, the majority of my bookcase, (I had to sacrifice some of the clothes for them) hygiene items, and any other mementos that I was going to want. My carry-on consisted of my crappy phone (of which I planned to buy a nicer and cheaper upgrade of in Japan), my laptop (which would soon be replaced by the one the university was supplying me with) three books (I read fast and get bored easily) and my writing journal.

The journal was old and unused. Something my dad had given me before he died. Maybe one day I'd be able to write something in it. I remembered a time not so long ago when my life goal was to be a mystery-thriller author. Then I saw death, real death, and changed my mind.

I contemplated this as I absentmindedly tossed nice clothes into my trunk, unaware that my brother was calling for me until he threw a pillow at the side of my head.

"Ellery Justine Lawrence! Are you listening to me?" he scolded from his flopped position on my bed. It was hard to take him seriously when he was looking at my ceiling rather than my face and pouting.

"No," I admitted casually, smirking when it prompted the desired response. Kyle instantly sulked further off the side of my bed, until he fell. His buttons were so easy to push.

"Do I just have that kind of face?" Kyle complained from his newfound position on the floor.

"Yes," I deadpanned. "Now what is it?"

"Will you miss me?" Kyle questioned, suddenly serious as he walked towards me.

"It's a year at the most," I reminded him. "Probably less, to be honest. Not to mention I lived without you for six years and took care of Aunt Jenny. The Yagamis will take care of me. They have a son who's only a year younger than me and a daughter. I'll be in good company, you'll see."

"What if they're criminals or something?" Kyle worried as though he'd never asked me the question before. As though he hadn't used the software he'd invented to look into the Yagamis and find out that they were a perfectly sane, normal family. As though he wasn't really thinking about how much he would miss me.

He had spent six years missing me. He'd been so much more mature than me. He'd understood so much better than that eleven year old girl. She had barely known her older brother, but he'd remembered every moment of his little sister. He remembered holding me after I was born, playing with me as a baby, as a toddler. Reading books to me as soon as he was able to read decently, playing music for me when he'd learnt piano and then teaching me. He'd helped me learn to write, to read.

And I could hardly remember any of that. The difference between seventeen and eleven.

Twenty-three and seventeen.

"I'll miss you," I said abruptly, hugging him. I wasn't one for physical contact. I had hugged him when he'd come for me after he'd bought a flat and graduated university. After that though, Kyle and I had never hugged. He could tell it made me uncomfortable and I knew it made him feel feminine.

Kyle reacted quickly, squeezing me tightly enough that it hurt and lifting me off my feet. "You're my responsibility, Ellery," he reminded me, putting me down and staring straight into my blue eyes. The same ones that adorned his own face. "If you get hurt whilst I'm not there it's my fault." He was distressed and he wanted to protect me.

My brother is a softie.

"Everything will be all right," I assured him.

I was wrong.