A/N: This is my first shot at a fanfic..
Honestly, I had to... I just watched the last 5 episodes of DN and it bugged me.. all of it... So I wrote out what I thought could have happened.
I hope I didn't totally ruin the characters. And yes.. no names were used.. I am hoping people who watch it will be able to recognize who the characters are without them.
I don't know.. I hope you enjoy my bit of fluff.
Actually I have gotten good responses on DA.. So I sincerely you enjoy this and will review.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Death Note, or its characters (though there are a few I would love to keep in a closet for my own amusement ;P)
These wonderful creations belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.
I only hope that someday I will create something half as interesting as theirs.
Bite Offered
Rain streaming down the windows mimicked the emotions he couldn't show. Twirling his white hair around his fingers, he quietly contemplated the news that had just been broken upon him.
"You're sure?" He asked in his quiet way, strangely hoping there was some mistake. His reflection in the window, that he was now looking out of, showed eyes shining with sadness, something he rarely indulged in.
"Yes. I was there, remember?" the man lying on the bed whispered, his voice hollow and desperate. One arm folded around his slim stomach, the other cast over his eyes, trying in vain to hide the tears that now strolled down his face. A crucifix on a chain was clutched tightly in his hand, silent reminder of what he had lost. His blood stained vest and goggles were thrown on the floor, forgotten in his haste to distance himself from the events that had just happened over two hours ago.
"Then, we know what must be done. You did bring it, right?" Not even bothering to turn around, the man by the window dropped his hand and sighed. Combating the guilt that sat in his chest, weighing heavier than a boulder, he bowed his head, hating what had happened and what now must take place.
Waving his hand to the backpack that sat isolated in a corner, the red head simply nodded. He heard his companion walk softly across the floor and knew he was now knelt down in front of it. He heard the zipper pull open and closed his eyes. It had been the bane of their existence for the past six years, the infamous notebook. Simple unassuming, black leather bound, blank pages held within. Others held names, names of the slain.
The very book that had been used to kill his greatest friend, his brother in arms, was now resting in the lap of the man he had grown up with. Sitting up, he looked at the hunched figure on the floor, curiously turning the book over and over in his small, long fingered hands, hands not unlike his predecessor's. He frowned, realizing how much the two had had in common. Perhaps that was why he had always felt like such an outsider.
Until he had met that blonde rebel, the one who wouldn't accept second place. The one whose blood he now wore. Reaching into his jeans pocket, his fingers searching for a smoke, something to keep his hands from shaking, he felt nothing but lint between his fingertips. Realizing that he had none, he let out a frustrated sigh and mumbled a harsh curse, before returning his attention to the slouching man on the floor.
"So this is it. This is the book we have been after, the weapon of choice." The voice coming from the figure sounded almost in awe. That quickly turned to anger. He turned back around, holding the book up by one corner, as if by touching it, he had soiled his hand with all the blood split from the victims whose names were held therein. His usually wide eyes narrowed and his solemn face held a look of utter revulsion.
"This… thing. This is what killed them both." He spat.
Rubbing his head, his companion nodded, feeling a mixture of anguish and fury rise within him. Hearing the rain beat against the window pane of the room he had not been in for year, nostalgia crept in as thick and as wet as the London fog rolling in off the river. This house had once been filled with life, and laughter. Rivalries and friendships had been crafted here. That was a different time, a time before the notebook and the deaths.
Now they were the only two left. And they had revenge to exact.
"He did his job well. The dates, time, names. It's all right here. "The white haired man said, once again twirling his hair around his finger. Flipping through the pages, he paused here and there to look at a name, a detailed description of a perfectly executed death written in such elegant penmanship.
Suddenly he dropped it, causing the red head to jump to his feet in alarm. It made a soft thud on the floor, lying so harmlessly on the wooden slates. His face held a look of shock, one his companion had never seen before.
"What? What is it?" He asked, stunned by the tortured dark eyes that were now raised to his. Reminding him of the beautiful blue eyes he had had to close, knowing his friend had taken the bullets meant for him. His hands covered in the warm red liquid that poured from the twisted lithe leather clad body of the man he had devoted his life to. The last words on those lips, scarred, but still able to convey much emotion. The words he would have died to hear, if only it would have saved that golden headed man.
"Their names." The voice cracked, backing away from the book. "Their names are in there."
Silence engulfed them. Nothing needed to be said; they both understood and accepted the unspoken vows.
"When do we strike?"
"Soon"
"Might I be of some assistance?" An otherworldly voice asked, a strange being appearing before them.
...
Pushing back from his computer console, the brunette grinned a grin akin to evil. His plans had gone well. One of his foes was now dead, the others would soon follow. Who had ever thought that having such stanch followers would work out to his advantage? Yes, the death of his spokeswoman was regrettable, but necessary. And he felt not the slightest twinge of guilt in her demise. All, in his eyes, were expendable. Once they served their purpose in his scheme for domination and world utopia, he had no further need of them.
He stretched his arms up over his head and laughed. Power was like a drug that coursed as quickly as poison through his unholy veins. God like in his own mind, he ruled his world with a deadly hand. Neither friend nor foe was safe. Even his own family had come under his vision of a vice free world, and had paid dearly for it. Nothing but his own desires held value in his eyes.
He glanced at his priceless watch, a timepiece with a secret.
A vicious secret.
Time was soon approaching for the next part of his plan to take place. Flipping the huge screen before him on, the latest news break-though flashed up on the screen simultaneous with his cell phone ringing. Scowling at the number that showed, he put it up to his ear with a smirk.
"Yes?" He said, trying to calm the triumph in his voice.
"We may have hit a snag." The voice on the other end said shakily. "One of the passengers apparently escaped."
He leaped to his feet, one hand clenched in a white knuckled fist.
"What?" He roared into the phone, startling the other men standing about.
"Sorry sir. But the police only found one body at the scene, and witnesses have confirmed there were two men inside the car."
"Who?" he asked, sweat starting to form on his forehead and trickle down his face.
"The body was identified as Keelh Mihael. We don't know who the other one was." The man said.
"Mello." He said, the smile returning to his face. "No matter, the man I wanted taken care has been eliminated. The other is of no threat to me at this time. Return here as soon as possible, please." Hanging up, he spun around and walked on light feet out of the room, not wanting his followers to see his look of glee.
"Check mate." He whispered.
...
The two raised curious eyes the eerie being before them.
"You must be the Shinigami." The calmer of the two said, not particularly surprised at his appearance.
"I am." The death god stated nonchalantly.
"Why would you want to help us?" the red head asked, bending to pick up his goggles and perching them on the top of his head. This certainly threw an interesting curve in their plans. With a god on their side, he was sure they wouldn't fail.
Laughing his ghostly laugh, the red eyed god shrugged. "A man believing he is a god is something of amusement." Then his expression changed to one of anger. "While we as Shinigami aren't beings of much feeling, on occasion something does strike a sour note with us. Rem was my friend, and he manipulated her to her demise. I have been waiting for a chance to repay him for his actions. Up until now, everyone who has had the note has been a follower, with the exception of your Mello. I was going to used him to exact my revenge. However, he didn't know the identity of Kira, where as you do and are already planning revenge." He bowed in mock submission. "I am at your disposal."
Two sets of eye brows shot up and they looked at each other, a bit taken aback. Neither was sure they could trust the death god. One shrugged and the other nodded. They didn't have much to lose at this time.
"Ok." They said in unison. "What is the plan then?"
"We shall stick to your original one. With one change." The Shinigami said, picking up the notebook with his long skeletal claws. He then handed it to the red head and nodded as the man took it in his hands, a sneer marring his face.
"That is?" He asked.
"You shall hand this back to him, just before he dies. I want his last visual to be me." He turned his bony back to them, and then glanced back, the smallest hint of a smile on his grotesque face.
"By the way, do you have any apples?"
