Note: Read a story where BB got his own Death Note, liked it but was disappointed at how they made BB into a pencil boy. Decided to make my own story about BB getting a Death Note, yet I still want BB to be a serial killer.
Disclaimer: I own it, obviously. Dumb asses.
Warnings: BB x L, Non-con, Murder, Gore, Insane!BB, Brainwashed!BB, BitofanAss!L, not all events in BB's life will match the one in the book, artistic license used, fanfiction, more than likely mistakes, spoilers; for all you dumb asses that go to ff to read a story before you know the series, spelling mistakes no doubt for all of you Grammar Nazi's that believe the world is perfect, slash for you dumb asses that don't know what BB x L means, yaoi for you dumb asses that don't know what slash means, gay for those of you even bigger dumb asses who still don't get it, future rape for those of you who don't know what non-con is, insert more sarcastic shit here, is anyone even reading this? Congratumalations on getting through that; you've earned an achievement.
More Warnings: Will probably never be updated, this story is merely one of the many I have written on my comp that I've dusted off to allow the world to view. Check my profile for adoption data, challenge info, et cetera...who actually spells that anyway? If I do continue this, updates will be slow in coming. VERY IMPORTANT TO KNOW: I am not a genius, so the words in this fic won't wow you and make you grab a dictionary to understand it. For those of you who are disappointed about that, adopt the fic and show me you can do better. -insert smiley here-
Things had changed the day he'd gotten that book.
No, that wasn't correct; for him, things had always been different. Eyes that remembered everything for as long as they'd developed in the womb had changed the boy known as Beyond long before he'd been officially born. He could still remember the feeling of hands pressing down on him, the taste of apricots and cream that his mother craved, the horrendous feeling of his head being squeezed as it was finally time to leave the warm cocoon of safety. Even then he was born to a world of red viewed through dark eyes, basking in the warm arms of his Asian mother and British father as the tick, tick, ticking of various clocks always caused him to cry in alarm.
In the beginning, he hadn't understood the numbers constantly ticking above people's heads, and his frustrations of not being able to question it had led him to quickly wanting to speak. And thus, spirited, he'd devoured book after book he could get his hands on. By the time he could finally ask his parents they thought he was merely joking about it; the nerve! Still, however, his parents spoiled him rotten, even if he was a bit strange (like all the kids at school pointed out).
"You're my kind of strange then," his mother responded.
By the time of Beyond's fifth birthday, he had already reached to a high school level of genius and showed no signs of stopping. His father, so proud, had called his mother home from her job early that week so that they could go out to celebrate his acceptance into ninth grade and his birth. Elated to have an excuse to spend more time with her boys, his mother had taken the next available train.
She never made it home.
The death of his mother was like a blow to the gut, leaving only scant pictures and a necklace behind, though the men of the household decided to be strong for her memory and pull themselves together for her sake. Before then, Beyond hadn't believed in angels, but (clutching her necklace) he hoped that, should they exist, his mother would become one. With that uplifting thought in mind, he continued to read and grow smarter, having already sat and passed a GED (out of pure boredom) on his father's insistence, though he still continued with his high school education.
He was seven on the day that he once again brought up the numbers that he saw swirling amongst people's names. The only reason that he'd brought it up was because his father's time had been rapidly declining, much like he recalled his mother's having done that faithful day. "Don't worry," his father had reassured him. "I promise that nothing will happen to me."
He lied.
Coming back from the store with offerings for his dead mother, they'd been ambushed and attacked. The man had been after money, the expensive ring on his father's finger would do, though it was his first robbery and he'd panicked, shooting Beyond's father right before his eyes. Horrified, the man had run off with the ring, leaving the child alone with the rapidly cooling body. It was then that Beyond realized what the numbers signified; and perhaps it was then that the insanity slowly started.
After telling the police everything he recalled about the murder (completely detached and with so many details they'd been stunned to silence), Beyond had been placed in an orphanage. For the first few days, everyone had been clamoring to know him, though they'd been put off immediately by the way he shied away from them. Some thought he was arrogant, others creepy, a freak, a weirdo; he simply couldn't help from constantly looking above their heads. Those numbers haunted him, teasing him relentlessly with their constant declining, a reminder that everyone around him was going to die. Disheartened and alone, he'd quickly tossed himself back into his studies, recalling the pride that his parents put into such actions.
And then, Quillish Wammy had come.
The first thing he'd done was give Beyond his father's stolen ring (which he quickly put on his mother's necklace) before giving his condolences. Then, he gave him a very hard test (or, at least, he was sure it was supposed to be hard; he pretended to struggle a bit just in case). The man had given him the option of going to a new orphanage afterwards, one in which he would only be the second kid there. Amazed after seeing the pictures of it (like some sort of church mansion!) and the education he would receive, Beyond had packed up the meager belongings that he'd had and gleefully followed after him. Unfortunately, by the time they got to Winchester, England, he had been completely disillusioned.
For one, he was no longer to be called Beyond, but B, and was forbidden to give out his real name. Second, it no longer mattered what his old life was or what dreams he had, for it was his job to train to become L; a detective, the greatest, it seemed, and the one who'd found his father's killer for him. However, despite the complete turn around to his life, there were still pros to the situation. For one, as long as he tried his hardest then he could have anything that he wanted (and he would, for he wasn't ungrateful). Also, the rooms that were given were amazing! Being the second child to Wammy's House he didn't get the best room, but the second best was better than any home that he'd ever lived in, so how could he possibly complain?
He'd met A the morning after he'd arrived. For the first time since ever asking about the strangeness of his eyes, B appreciated the fact that he could see people's names. Andrew Jackson, A rather, was a shy, mousy boy. He was a few years older than B and much smarter, having been alive longer and at the house six months before B's own arrival. Despite his friendliness, however, B never spoke much to him, because his numbers were far too low, the lowest he'd ever seen in a child.
The months passed quietly in the house of Wammy, where upon B studied everything that he could about this L that they were supposed to become, not wanting to let him down. He'd met Roger Ruvie, their lone caretaker, who didn't quite know what to do with them. This feeling of awkwardness only seemed to get worse as more older kids slowly showed up. First, there was X, or Xhosa Ranger, a blonde girl with an easygoing attitude; she'd made the place more lively just by coming through. Y, Yolanda Dewitt, was only a short month away, another girl who'd quickly broken out of her shell after arriving. Zackary Jean-Claude, Z rather, had been the last child for awhile.
They'd quickly caused the dynamics of Wammy's to change.
For some time, B had been disgruntled by their appearances, too busy trying to get a leg up on college and return L's thoughtfulness to play around with them. But X had been rather persistent and before long he had been joining in the fun. They'd planted trees, had gotten a playground set up, rearranged the rooms, gotten playrooms and toys to be given to them and had become spoiled and happy by the freeness of their new home. When B turned eight, that happiness had abruptly dropped.
Suddenly, Roger Ruvie, who was like the resident bogeyman for how much he showed his face, began to make them take classes. That wasn't so bad, until they started noticing that their treatments had changed. Whereas before, freedom had been given willingly, they now found it to be determined by their grades. A, being the best, kept all of his privileges, though subtle locks had been added to the others; this made a bit of competition (and the slightest bit of resentment) start up between them.
Just a week after finally getting serious, L had given them a speech. They hadn't actually seen him, instead sitting in front of a screen with a cloister black L directly in the middle of the white screen. It was…extremely motivational, if not a bit depressing that he spoke to them with a distorted voice. Still, to know that there was actually something at the end of the line, that their new dreams weren't just fantasies…Revitalized, B once again took an interest in his studies as more children slowly came in and the competition grew worse.
Roger hired actual lawyers and officers to teach them lessons, though those chosen would only perform the lessons online, letting them keep their faces hidden. Roger's own lessons were referencing L's past cases, where they had to pick out clues and see who had the most likeliness to L's thinking. He only sung his praises to those who made L like assumptions, making them try their hardest to get in a mindset to the man they were to become, even as they silently boggled over how much of a genius and a hero that L was. To become such a person would no doubt be the highest honor.
A began to get nervous as time went on, with B's performance gradually increasing as well as his likeliness of becoming the next L. B, they had found out, had a photographic memory and didn't need to read through books like a normal person; he'd only been doing so because he'd learned a long time ago that people were unnerved by it. Roger had found out when B had mistakenly recited a page word for word in an argument with Y over one of L's past conquest, where she had gave a few wrong dates and didn't want to admit it. Watari had actually pulled B aside to have a private conversation with L, who scolded him on hiding his potential.
"Do not be afraid to better yourself, B," the distorted voice had told him. "A person who hides themselves never gets far." As a result of the attention, B stopped pretending to struggle and started to read more books than required, visiting libraries for the free time that he was granted, buying books when he got his allowance and even being gifted a computer by a pleased Watari. That computer meant more when he found out that L had bought it just for him.
Yet A's nerves had steadily increased.
"You're a cheater!" A had shouted one day, upset when B had bested him on a test for the very first time.
"And you're a sore loser," B had responded dryly, not in the least bit caring as the boy stormed off, his numbers dangerously low. The rest of the week had been hectic and annoying, resulting in the first physical fight that A and B had ever had. Roger had to pull the older boy off of him, cursing and spitting, before he'd sent both of them to their rooms. Upset about how easily he lost, B hadn't been able to sleep, instead sneaking out of his room to grab a bite to eat; he'd heard the girls say that chocolate ice cream always helped. On his way to the kitchens, he'd paused beside Roger's door when he heard the man agitatedly speaking about the earlier fight, leaning in to get a good listen.
"…can't stand children!" He snapped, annoyed at the other speaker. When there wasn't a response, B knew that he was on a phone. "It was A and B," he muttered sourly. "A jumped the boy after he took the top spot; I take it that A is feeling upset since B's getting smarter than him." He paused. "Of course not. B's good, but he's not that good; honestly, I doubt there could ever be another L, or do you not recall why I chose their letter's? A is for Assistant and B is for Backup." Stunned, B's eyes widened.
"B is for…Backup?" Not Better, not Best; B is for Backup. With wide eyes, the small boy slowly made his way back to his room, sitting heavily on his bed when he got there. The phrase inched through his mind, leaving him staring at his hands for most of the night. B is for Backup. B is for Backup; There could never be another L. "I won't believe it," he vowed to himself, shakily taking in a breath. Because if they could never be L, then what was the point of dedicating themselves to him?
The next day, B decided to become better than he was before, reading ten times more than he usually did despite the major headache afterwards, reading through the dictionary, a thesaurus, learning a new language (his mother's native Japanese), besting everyone at everything and generally being a right bastard to the people he had once temporarily called his friends. The short dream that he'd had that night had made him realize something that he'd been blind to, something that A had no doubt picked up long before him.
Even if something did happen to L, there could only be one replacement.
A glared spitefully at him at breakfast a few days later, not even bothering to touch his food as B stared at him. Or rather, B stared above him, at the low numbers that showed less than ten hours to live. "A's going to die," he chanted in a sing song, the other children giving him strange looks.
"Shut up, B!"
"I wonder how it's going to happen," B continued, nibbling on a piece of toast. He was in a very bad mood, having been reading and reading for days on end, only to see that same disgust in Roger's eyes. As though he couldn't do it, as though everything was for naught; B is for Backup. His eyes narrowed. "Murder or suicide?"
"Shut up, B!"
"I think it's going to be suicide," he continued, ignoring him again. "Especially when he learns that B is taking his room today; only the best get the best and B is for Best." He gave a wicked smile to the boy. "A is for Abandoned, because A isn't the best; Not anymore." He'd checked, after all, cracking into the system of Wammy to check for their scores before they were posted. B had aced everything and A, well, A was having trouble with his nerves. They only gave the largest rooms and freedoms to the best and B was officially the best in Wammy's now.
A hung himself in B's old room that night.
B hadn't particularly cared, hadn't even wanted to go to the funeral, but as the best he had an image to uphold and so he'd had to be P, for Pretend, because he had to pretend to give a damn about losing an obstacle in their race. Standing there with the sun beaming on their backs, the children watched as A was lowered to the ground. Everyone, that is, except for B, as his eyes was on something so much more amazing. The boy, a friend of Roger's, that was supposedly someone who helped to fund the orphanage, there to pay his respects to the fallen of the first child. He said his name was Bobby Robes; the name above him said L Lawliet.
He was completely cold and distant, hadn't even bothered to pretend like he cared about any of them; the children muttered about the strange man under their breaths. B, however, knew the truth, and perhaps he was a bit sore at not receiving any attention, though he merely figured that it was because they were so different. Maybe becoming L wasn't just about being the best? Maybe they had to look the same too? Thus, by the time "Bobby Robes" had left, B's new wardrobe looked exactly like his.
Roger hadn't appreciated the gesture.
"Now, B," he stated, "Bobby is a very good friend of mines; I don't want him to think the children are mocking him."
"But I'm not mocking him," B insisted, knowing that it wasn't wise to admit that he could see L's name. "I like the way he dresses!"
X, Y and Z, some of the first friends that he'd had, had begun to act strange around him, B noticed shortly after A's death. Whispers about how he had drove the boy to suicide sparked up, the younger children (no letters and worthless) having taken to staring at him with horrified eyes and leaving when he entered a room. The older children (obstacles for succession) had taken to staring at him with accusing eyes, muttering under their breaths about him. They spoke nothing but ill, he knew, having heard those gifted with letters call him a freak.
They were simply jealous.
Still, he'd taken to crouching now, crawling around the rooms to get out of eyesight when the others came so that he could avoid the fights they seemed to want to cause. He knew his stamina had picked up greatly since then, even as he began to lose color on his skin, confined to his rooms as he was. But that was fine, because he could still remember L and he was pale too. Not to mention he had more time to study and practice, even if Roger did try to force him to do other things. But what need did he have for playing? He had to become L; what would toys and movies do to help?
The next time said detective showed up at the orphanage, B was for Boredom.
Work was becoming too easy and thus, he'd finally stopped studying. Instead, he spent his time trying to remember details about his family and trying to remember why he wanted to finish college. Only the presence of his mother's necklace and his father's ring had kept him from dropping out, though he often found himself questioning who's jewelry it was (and then smacking his head when he finally remembered). Days were stringing together awkwardly before he finally took Roger's advice and found a hobby; reading manga.
He'd just begun reading volume two of Akazukin Chacha, a rather peculiar (though quite addicting) manga, when L had come into the kitchen. The man had barely passed him a glance before digging into the fridge and taking out a piece of cake. The hurt was still there at the silent dismissal, though B acted as though he was still reading, instead studying the man's movements. It was obvious, after all, that the reason why L still gave him the cold shoulder was because he wasn't like him enough.
He'd be sure to rectify that.
It seemed to be a glorious day when B's top spot was taken, as those in the orphanage had rejoiced. They'd expected to see outrage and anger on the previous number one's face, especially when he'd been bumped to number four by X, Y and Z, but B merely smiled at them in amusement. He had, after all, purposely allowed such a thing. The three children, some of the first to come, had gotten unbearable in their behavior toward him. He couldn't crush them physically and Roger didn't ever care about what they did, too busy with J, K and C, and thus he decided to get them where it hurt most.
For nearly a year, he allowed the three to lord their positions around Wammy's; many began to regret giving them their support. B, they'd realized, had never flaunted his knowledge (aside from when he'd bested A), had never made them feel like they weren't worth anything unless they had a letter, and had even been rather friendly the few times any had actually approached him. They'd begun to complain less than a month with X, Y and Z at the top spots, though B ignored their pleas.
He had more important things to do, like enrolling himself in acting classes (much to everyone's disbelief). He needed to do it, however, as they helped him imitate L to a perfection. After a while it became common to see him going around and practicing how to laugh; he'd even managed to play the parts in a few plays that he never told anyone about. When he could finally crouch in his seat and had a handle on various roles he finally began to listen to everyone's complaints about X, Y and Z. Though Roger also spent more time yelling at him for "mocking Bobby."
"Sit like a normal person, B!"
"Are you saying Bobby isn't normal, Roger?"
Finally back into the oppressive atmosphere of Wammy's House, B began to put his plans in motion to humiliate and ruin the children that had once broken him from his goals. To begin with, he began to make acquaintances with the worthless children, subtly spreading rumors about those at the top. Then he began to constantly mutter about Z's incompetence to the obstacles about him being number three for such a long time and behind two girls. When a grudging rift began to form between the three friends, he'd stolen the third spot and spread rumors about how happy X and Y were to get rid of, who they supposedly called, the fool of the group.
To say Z was angry was an understatement.
After being pushed down to fourth again, Z picked up his studying, even going as far as to beg B for help. Positively amused, B helped him gain the second spot, though he himself remained in third, pushing Y to fourth place herself. With more time, freedom and hormones happening between X and Z, B had enough time to approach the sulking and jealous Y. Much like Z, she picked up on her studying with his help, though she also had quite a bit of resentment for her former best friend X; Seemed they both were after the same guy. "So that's what she meant," B had murmured, lying through his teeth at the emotionally vulnerable girl.
"What are you talking about?" Y's question had been wary.
"When she asked me to tutor him," he responded, biting back the gleeful smile that wanted to spill on his face with practiced ease. "Said she needed to get rid of obstacles; I guess she was talking about you." Y had been positively crushed at the information, though she hadn't been too out of it as he'd offered her the chance to crush the competition herself. By the time the next scores had come out, X was in fourth place, B in third, Z in second and Y at the top. "It's like a bad Shoujo Manga," B mused, spying on Z cheating on X already. After snapping a photo of it, he'd happily left it for X to find beneath her doorway, chuckling under his breath before pausing and going for a more diabolical laugh.
The next morning proved entertaining as everyone's dirty laundry was aired at breakfast, eventually leading into a fight between X and Y. Hair was pulled, blood spilled, plates destroyed and food wasted as they fought over Z. While the other kids either ran to get help or chanted and cheered for the fight, B simply continued on eating, amused at finally being on the other end of a fight. Just when Y started winning (even he couldn't help but cheer when she grabbed that chair) an exasperated and displeased Roger had separated them and locked them into their rooms.
Disappointed at the ending yet pleased that the house was quiet, B had happily continued on with his schemes of pitting person against person, causing that month in Wammy's to be pitiful and bleak for those at the top. By the time it ended, he'd reclaimed his throne and completely ruined their relationships, the three students moving out to pursue tamer jobs and to leave "that rotten hellhole of a place" that those inside noted as Wammy's behind. He'd practically radiated smugness since then, even though the visiting Watari had scolded him in disapproval.
When B had wondered how the man knew about his involvement, he had brushed it off. However, after some careful digging, then breaking into Roger's office and seeing camcorders around the home, he finally realized that they'd been watching him. Roger had been most displeased when he'd caught him in his office, though when he asked why the other children hadn't been punished for bothering him, the old man went silent. Even Watari hadn't answered his question, making him storm back to his rooms angrily (and, though he'd never admit it, very hurt).
When next L showed up, B was for Baffled.
After finding and ripping the small camcorders from his walls, B began to wonder if just Watari and Roger had been watching him. He wondered if L had seen all the times that he'd been banished for something that he didn't do. Or if L had seen him practicing his lines to a script. Or if L had been watching him studying and change and mutter about taking revenge against X, Y and Z. He'd been sulking in the living room about it when L had slumped past, instantly making him perk up. However, he was once again doomed to being ignored, making him sigh in disappointment even as he stood up and followed the man. Obviously, he'd rationalized to himself again, obviously he still hadn't gotten enough details right.
L, or Bobby as he'd been introduced, attempted to walk by him when B blocked his path. However, B hadn't allowed it, instead getting a good look at all of the details that he'd missed. Black rims around the bulging and awkward eyes, the noticeable slump in his posture, now he was biting his thumb, those were definitely sweets in his hands (did he only ever have sugar?) and his hair was in disarray. Nodding absently to himself, he let the scowling detective leave as he headed back to his room and sat in front of X's old vanity.
The black under the eyes was easy; just add make up. Although the bulging eyes would be harder to imitate (he widened them until they watered). Quirks were also easy to imitate, though he'd have to watch him more closely to get them all, and a quick run of his hands through his hair took care of that problem. He'd taken his acting classes for just this reason, so it wasn't like he would fumble with the problem; he was prepared. As he opened the drawer to search for a coal eyeliner, the sun shined light on a ring and necklace, making him turn his attention to it.
With hesitance, he lifted them up, tilting his head to the side. Vaguely, he remembered that the ring was somewhat important, that L had-had he given it to him? The necklace, however, brought nothing to mind. Or maybe he was reading too much into things; the vanity was X's so they could have easily been hers. With a sigh, he tossed them back into the drawer, thoughts going back to L as he once again searched for the eyeliner. Jewelry wasn't important, after all.
By the time B turned thirteen, college was over with.
Birthday's weren't celebrated at Wammy's, but B spent this one in his room silently, trying to recall why it was such an important day to him and why graduating college filled him with such pride. Vaguely, he recalled a woman singing him a song, recalled a man with strong arms lifting him into the air and laughter and cake. He also vaguely recalled a conversation with a pretty Asian woman, who lamented about not wanting the teen years to come anytime soon.
But whenever he tried to truly remember it, his mind would instead lead back to Wammy's, back to the newer letters entering the fold and trying to take his top spot. Went back to the disgust in Roger's eyes, even when he did his best, and the fondness he showed for some of the newer and younger children. Went back to the lessons about childhood not being important; only becoming the best. Only becoming L.
Sitting alone in his room on his thirteenth birthday, B vaguely remembered the name Beyond and a black haired man who ruffled his head. A man who said that he was proud of him, or that someone was proud of him; B wondered if anyone was proud of him now. With a sigh, he stared down at the paper that he wrote his age on, smiling as he realized that he wrote it too close; the thirteen looked more like a B than anything. "Happy Birthday, Beyond," he told his reflection, snickering a little. It was funny how he recalled his name on his birthday.
A week after, L returned.
The man looked rather startled to see him, his head twisting in awkward angles as he bit his thumb nail and examined the changes. B was thrilled at the bit of attention, even if the man hadn't actually said anything to him. Elation coursing through him, he'd spent the remaining time virtually stalking the man, not even caring when Roger vehemently scolded him for it. L had paid attention to him, so obviously he was doing something right!
That was the same week young M had come to the institute.
B didn't like Mihael Keehl, Mello, M or whatever anyone else wanted to call him. The kid was loud, rude, obnoxious and, worse, was the only one able to hold a conversation with "Bobby Robes." L, for some strange reason, liked M, talked to M and even helped M; to say B was hurt was an understatement. Crushed, devastated, confused; he'd even been sick to his stomach just thinking about it. He'd tried for years, years, years to get L to even glance at him, and M is there for a day having a full conversation with the greatest detective!
The moment L left, B, in a fit of rage, attacked M. It was completely quick and without warning, surprising even himself by the end of it. When he finally came to his senses, there was a group of beaten people laid out before him as Roger desperately pulled him away. Apparently, the others had tried to help M and he'd lashed out at them too. Stunned, B tried to control himself when he was finally pulled out of confinement, but every time he came across M he would remember all the years that he'd tried to get L's attention. He would remember every last single hurt when dark eyes brushed past him. Every second of disbelief he'd felt just seeing M talking to L.
Solitary confinement became his best friend in the passing months.
B scowled as he sat next to Nate Rivers, Near, N; the boy was another new one, smart and quiet, emotionless and a favorite of becoming L's successor. Despite that, however, M hated the boy, and that was enough reason for B to not bruise that pretty face. His red eyes glared at M as the boy entered the room. He growled, then froze, having been warned by Roger for the tenth time that if he hurt the boy again then consequences would be dire. However, animalistic rage always filled him at the sight of the blonde, especially as his mind constantly showed him speaking to L as though they were equals. Resolutely, he turned away from him, kicking over N's almost completed, card and domino created, eighteen story castle instead.
"B!" Roger scowled, storming into the room. B stood up and ducked under his reaching arm, glaring daggers at the pale M as he stalked by. The main reason for the boy's paranoia, he knew, stemmed from the fact that B had tried to kill him. After beatings simply weren't satisfying him anymore, B had strangled him in the middle of the night, though he hadn't killed him. Everyone, he knew, thought it was because he'd realized that he was about to kill someone. In reality, he simply hadn't been able to kill the boy. He'd been clenching with all of his might, hoping to crush that delicate throat beneath his fingers, when he'd suddenly just stopped, completely full of rage and unable to finish. Watari had been the one to restrain him then.
Storming into his room, B kicked open the door to his balcony and sat outside, staring down at the box of dead animals he had there. Despite the problems that he had trying to kill M, when it came to animals that barrier seemed to suddenly vanish. Still, they were a rather poor substitute for his anger, even if he did enjoy chucking their carcasses through the open windows around there at night. With a grunt he lifted Mittens, M's recently vanished kitten, and chucked her split open body through the blonde's open window. Who cared if Roger finally figured out it was him? As far as he was concerned, the boy should have been dead; if he could speed it up with a disease then by damn he would try.
B was fifteen when he'd finally left Wammy's.
It hadn't been a sudden decision, not really. Instead, it had been one of those nights that he hadn't been able to sleep. Restricted to his room after maiming M and N (M for crunching his chocolate too loudly and N because he'd stepped on a toy in the middle of trying to kill M), B had gotten hungry. Breaking out of his room was easy and quick, his steps silently leading him ahead despite the darkness as he wondered what it was he wanted to eat. He'd picked up quite a taste for strawberries, mainly because L loved them, though he really loved it when it was in jam. Although, he wasn't sure that they had anymore bread…
As he'd been enjoying his jam, bread-less though still delicious, distant footsteps had made their way to his location, making him quickly duck under the table. He'd had to put his spoon down as it clanked against the glass jar, though he continued to eat with his hands as he heard the distant voice of M speaking. He grinned, hoping that the boy was with his little friend Matt; it would make it so much easier to wound him then, especially since the younger boy was scared shit-less of him. His grin, however, faded abruptly as L's monotonous voice had joined him. A well of anger had gone through him at once, though he remained motionless as they joined him in the kitchen.
"…don't understand why he hates me," M muttered sourly. "I didn't even do anything to him." L's bare feet bypassed him, heading for the refrigerator, followed closely by M's. B resisted the urge to reach out and grab him. "I mean, is it because he knows that you're-you know?" B's eyes widened, wondering when it was that M had figured out that Bobby Robes was actually L.
"No one else here knows who I am," L stated dryly, the light from the fridge making their shadows splay out. "B has simply taken a liking to me for some reason; I fear that I may be the reason for your woes, Mello." There was a clink of glasses.
"W-why would it be your fault, L?" M stuttered slightly, grabbing something from the detective. B glared at his shadow, his hands angrily dipping into the jam jar.
"He didn't start these violent acts until the day I talked to you, correct?" The detective closed the refrigerator door, the light extinguishing as they headed back to the table. "I am ninety percent certain that I am the cause of your problems."
"B is crazy," M muttered. "He's crazy and I hate him. And I hate how he always imitates you and-and wears your clothing!" Too bad, B thought viciously, his eyes narrowed into slits as the young boy sat down right in front of him. "Some of the older kids say that he killed A and caused X, Y and Z to leave, too!" L chuckled at the words, though B was feeling far from merry.
"I suppose B had his fair share in the problems around here, though I can tell you now that those rumors are only minimally accurate; B may have helped things along, but he only responded as he's been trained." A swell of affection came and went through B at the words; affection for being defended by the man he wanted to be, though tampered by the fact that he'd never done anything to help him in those situations.
"L," M kicked his legs, making B scowl as he moved awkwardly to avoid it, "why don't you ever talk to B?" The question caused the kitchen to plunge into silence, even as B anxiously turned to the pair of feet sitting in the chair behind him. He'd always wondered the same thing, after all. He'd wondered if it was because he wasn't good enough or because he didn't look the part enough or-or something?
"B…" L mused, sitting his fork down slowly. "I suppose, I feel a bit guilty when I look at him."
"Guilty?" M repeated, thankfully drowning out the noise of confusion that B had uttered. What reason could L possibly have for feeling guilty? He was B's hero, idol, inspiration and heart.
"B is from the first generation," L continued. "The last of the first genius' brought to Wammy's House as my potential successors. They were the…test stages."
"Test?" M leaned in, his legs stopping as B mouthed the word test over and over. B was for…test?
"In the beginning, no one quite knew how to go about it," L mumbled, having shoved a bit of cake into his mouth. "They were given free reign to do as they pleased, though all of them had been told to drop their previous lives, names and dreams to aspire to become L." His fork clinked on the saucer. "After giving them everything they wanted, all of it was taken away, gained only by how well they could perform; for quite some time, it was A who was at the top. Thus, he wasn't as pressured as B, X, Y and Z. However, Roger discovered that B has a photographic memory and we…scolded him for not using it to his fullest abilities."
"He…he has a photographic memory?" M whispered the words in awe, completely unaware that he'd nearly kicked the boy they were talking about.
"Yes," L confirmed. "When he finally stopped hiding his ability, his intelligence increased rapidly without half of the problems that the other children had. It wasn't long before he surpassed A, who tried very hard to keep up with him to no avail. A hung himself after realizing that he would never be able to surpass B. Afterwards, we installed camcorders around the house."
"But why?" M wondered. "Why did A kill himself?" L shifted at the question.
"It…was the classes," he admitted awkwardly, a bit of emotion penetrating his voice. "Brainwash, really, though we hadn't realized it until A hung himself. They were told to abandon everything, from their names to their dreams, and to aim towards becoming L. Back then, there were no other options for them." He took another bite of his cake as the silence stretched for a bit. "A killed himself because, if he couldn't become L, then what good was he?"
"That's…" M trailed off, swallowing thickly.
"X, Y and Z managed to breakaway from the brainwash," L continued, not bothering to let him find his words. "B's manipulations helped with that, which is why we allowed him to play a few games with them and why we let them leave."
"Then why is B still here?" M wondered.
"Photographic memory," L sighed, shoving a larger piece of cake in his mouth. "B has a photographic memory, yet when we installed camcorders in his room it was blatantly obvious that he'd forgotten his childhood."
"I don't get it," M admitted sheepishly, his foot kicking out again. "What does B forgetting his childhood have to-?"
"B has forgotten that there is more to life than becoming L," the detective interrupted waspishly. "Things that he use to treasure means nothing to him now; he has even forgotten his own name. B has simply become B, a letter waiting to become L." He sighed heavily. "B has no hobbies, no dreams, nothing that doesn't involve becoming L; the only entertainment he ever stuck with had to deal with me, conveniently." He went quiet again, letting the silence stretch between them once more. "To send him away now, when this is all he knows, do you know what that would do to him?" L smiled bitterly. "As it is, even if I were to die today, B would only become L temporarily; He is the backup, the last of my copies.
"How do you tell someone that?"
Hours after they'd left the kitchen, a stunned and wide eyed B continued to lay on the floor and deny, deny, deny everything that he'd overheard. Brainwashed, him? It was impossible! He remembered his childhood! He remembered his name, even if he didn't consider himself it. He remembered the-the Asian woman who…The white man that…Or maybe there was a…? Crawling from under the table and covered in jam, B slowly made his way back to his room. It was impossible; L was for Liar because he was lying, lying, lying about everything! He remembered his childhood; he did!
Entering his room, he looked around, his eyes wide and devastated. The vanity! That vanity belonged to-no, he'd gotten it-no, no, he'd used it to practice-to practice…?
Becoming L!
And the computer! He'd gotten it as a gift! L had given it to him for being so smart! And the clothes in his dressers were-were bought because-because white and blue-because of L! And the strawberries that-because they were good-no, because of L! And, and the jewelry! He remembered the jewelry! The necklace was-belonged to X! It was in X's-in her? And the ring! The ring was-wait, there was a ring? No, no ring! No ring! But the picture that-those people that…? The books then; he'd brought those books to study because-because L…
Because of L…
Stunned, B stared at himself in the vanity; no, he stared at Backup. At the copy, the clone, the fake, the-the…B collapsed in front of the mirror, staring at himself with wide eyes. He…remembered nothing, nothing that didn't have to do with L. And, he remembered nothing…because he was B?
B is for Backlash.
B is for Breaking.
B is for Backup.
B is for…B is for?
"B is for Brainwash."
Wide eyed and empty, B continued to stare at his reflection. He wondered when he had lost himself; did that make him insane? Did that make him unable to become L? L; B could not become L. Why? What had he done but what they'd asked him? Why did that disqualify him from becoming L? That was his dream, wasn't it? He was number one, wasn't he? Didn't that make him next in line? Didn't that make him Best?
"He is the backup, the last of my copies."
"No!" B shut his eyes, ignoring his talking reflection.
"B has no hobbies, no dreams, nothing that doesn't involve becoming L."
"It's my dream, it's my right!" He shouted, putting his hands over his ears. "I'm next in line! I'm next! Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me!"
"B has forgotten that there is more to life than becoming L."
"Of course there's more!" He shouted desperately, opening blurry eyes to his reflection. No, to L. "But I'm next! Roger said…Watari said…YOU SAID-!"
"To send him away now, when this is all he knows, do you know what that would do to him?"
"He is the backup, the last of my copies."
"He is the backup."
"B is the backup."
"L is for Liar! Liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar!" Jam covered hands beat against the mirror, desperation in every hit. It had to be a lie, had to be! Because, because if something did happen to L, there could only be one replacement.
"Even if I were to die today, B would only become L temporarily; He is the backup, the last of my copies."
And if he couldn't be L then…then who was he to be?
B spent the rest of the day in his bedroom, the bed pushed against his door to block Roger from entering. Seemed he was caught out in the morning on the cameras; they probably thought he'd committed suicide like A. Suicide; it was a pleasant thought right now. It would certainly clear all of the confusing thoughts from his head. B was…is worthless. He could only guess at when they'd figured that out; worthless B, kept for a temporary dream, a backup, a copy of the real thing and worthless.
"B?" The voice was closer than he wanted it to be, making wet eyes look up to his balcony. It figured that it was Wammy himself that used the balcony to get into his room; the man that had brought him to this place of broken dreams and brainwash.
"Quillish," he answered back, his raw and scratchy voice getting a wince out of the man at the use of his real name. "What do you want?"
"Oh, B," he sighed, the guilt evident in his posture.
"Come to get a look at your last failure?" The hissed question made the man flinch violently, though B found no joy in the action.
"B," Watari continued, hesitantly stepping through the messy room. "Please understand, there is more to life than being L; Not getting the position isn't the end of the world."
"Isn't it?" He questioned bitterly, hysterically. What more was there to life than becoming L? The old man took a step forward, once again causing B's attention to snap towards him. "What do you want, Quillish?" Hysterical, crying; B shamefully folded into himself. "Haven't you done enough?"
"I just want to help you," the old man gave him a shamed look. "Please, let me help you? Let me help you, B?" B stared at him blankly, slowly unfurling as Watari grabbed his arm. He quietly allowed the man to remove the bed, following after him and ignoring Roger on the way out of the room. The rest of the children peered at him as he walked past, his hands bleeding and covered with jam, his face dead to the world, even deader than N's face. They would no doubt rejoice when he was out of earshot. Once outside, B waited until Roger left before questioning where Watari was taking him. "To get help," he'd answered, unaware of the brick in B's hand.
A hard blow to the head and he was unconscious.
B stared down at him, before turning and walking off lifelessly. They wanted to help him, did they? Where was that help when the other children were bullying him? Where was that help when he'd been forgetting things? And where was that help when he'd been starved for attention, L's attention, anyone's attention? Anyone to tell him that they were proud of him, that he wasn't disgusting, that-that…
It was amazing, really.
Fifteen years old, a genius, bright enough to be the next L, denied because of L, and officially homeless. No doubt he'd be captured and put in a mental ward in hours, those in Wammy tracking him down; L tracking him down. B grit his teeth, frustrations bleeding out of him as he realized that everything, everything, everything always came back to L! L; who didn't even bother to see him off. He wondered if he would have agreed to "get help" if L had been there, biting his tongue as he knew the answer; Of course he would have, if L had been giving him attention.
With a sigh, B turned his attention to the city ahead of him, wondering what he was going to do now.
For two days he lived off the streets, waiting for the eventual track down of his person. He was just giving up on the thought and making his way back when he finally realized no one would come to collect their wayward failure; there had been no news of his disappearance, after all; before something went through his mind that made him stop cold. B could feel nothing but shame, anger and embarrassment as he realized what Watari, what L, was trying to do. They were waiting for him to come back, assuming…correctly assuming that he would return for L.
Well, he wouldn't.
Why should he? L couldn't even be assed to come for him when he needed him most. Squeezing his eyes shut on incessant tears, B turned back to the bleak city, feeling lost and empty at his own defiance. Was it truly brainwash that made him feel so ill at the thought of defying L? Stumbling, he made his way to his favorite haunt; the library. He needed to think on what to do, think on how to overcome such a loved and hated part of himself.
The library was as quiet and comforting as always, the woman on duty smiling at him as he checked in on his favorite computer. These were the people who knew him as the genius child that had graduated college and devoured the library. Sitting in the computer lab, B ghosted his hands across the keys of the comp listlessly, going over his own academic records as he tried to figure out what to do what himself. Most of his files were locked, no doubt by L himself, but cracking them was inherently easy for the boy who had spent forever trying to become him.
B gave a bitter chuckle as he went over his files, noticing right away that most of it was deleted; His own childhood didn't even exist in his records. There were no pictures or names of his parents, just a file on his father that proved L had solved the case of his murder. The only thing that remotely linked him to his past was his given name, Beyond, the name he had vaguely recalled on his thirteenth birthday, the name he'd used throughout his beginning days of college.
Then that was who he was to be.
Not B, but Beyond; the name of the child that someone had once given him, someone who had probably been proud of him before. As he was about to close the file, a chat box suddenly popped up, making the recently rechristened boy narrow his eyes.
L: B, stop this foolishness and return to the orphanage at once.
"I suppose, I feel a bit guilty when I look at him."
Beyond closed his eyes as the words went through his mind, clamping down on the happiness he'd gotten from L's sudden text. How long had he waited for the man to speak to him? Why did their first official conversation have to be in text? He could speak to M so freely, but B wasn't worth the same respect?
L: B, come back to the orphanage and all will be forgiven.
"He is the backup, the last of my copies."
L could explain himself to M, but he couldn't even apologize to B? He had to have known that B would have forgiven everything he'd ever done; Beyond wasn't so loving.
L: I am waiting for your arrival at the moment.
"How do you tell someone that?"
B: Why, Lawliet…Are you actually worried about me?
As he knew it would, the usage of L's real name caused a pause in the conversation, allowing Beyond to print out the pages he was looking at. He knew straightaway what L was doing, cracking through to get a look at his location; with such knowledge, there was no way he could possibly ignore Beyond now. In spite of himself, a thrill of excitement rushed down Beyond's spine, the phantom feelings of a happy B.
L: Where did you hear of that name, B?
B: Are you still waiting at the orphanage, Lawliet?
B: I get this feeling that you're suddenly nervous.
Beyond waited impatiently, his fingers ghosting over the keys as L didn't respond again. He was tired of being ignored; obviously L didn't think he knew much. Obviously, L still didn't think he was important.
B: Mello is Mihael Keehl.
B: Near is Nate Rivers.
L: B, you are being unreasonable.
Finally, another response, but not the one he was looking for. Beyond felt his eyes sting as his…B's idol, B's hero, B's everything continued to try to ignore him. He was not going to allow it; B deserved so much more than what L was giving him. Beyond would make sure B would get it.
B:Z was Zackary Jean-Claude. Y was Yolanda Dewitt. X was Xhosa Ranger. A was Andrew Jackson. Watari is Quillish Wammy.
Beyond ignored the tears on his cheeks as he waited for another response that didn't come, before he typed his final words and left, knowing that L would be arriving at the library soon.
B: Bobby Robes is L Lawliet.
B: B is Backup.
B: Did you know that B wished for your comfort, Lawliet?
B: Why are you never there when B needs you, Lawliet?
B: B won't let you ignore him anymore, Lawliet.
B: Come find B, Lawliet.
B: Come find us, Lawliet.
Beyond stared from the shadows across the street, eyes on the limo that parked in front of the library. A rather nervous looking Quillish came out, going into the library to receive the news that the sweet young boy on the computer had already left in tears, leaving important documents wide open on the comp. Pictures of the children of Wammy's Orphanage, their real names, his conversation with L.
The old man came from the library after a few minutes, the programs closed and his fear immense. He got in the limo and drove off slowly; Beyond wiped at his eyes and looked upon the phone in his hand. It had been rather easy to swipe it from a passerby and it was even easier to hack back into his conversation with L.
B: Are you scared, Lawliet?
L: Where are you, B? I'll come get you.
B: Will you really, Lawliet? You didn't even come out of the limo for B.
B: No response, Lawliet?
B: B watched Quillish go into the library, Lawliet; don't you recognize B anymore?
With a scowl, Beyond turned the phone around and snapped a picture of his face, before sending it to the unresponsive L. With another typed message, he placed the phone on the ground and took off, a bitter laugh leaving his throat; L was such a liar.
B: B looks like you, Lawliet; do you think the police will believe me?
The next few months in Winchester was spent in a game of Cat and Mouse, though for once it Beyond, rather B getting chased. He knew he was causing a panic in L, a panic that he could reveal secrets that the public should never know, and he was making true on his threat of sending words to the police.
Did you know that L is a liar?
The fax had been sent to every police station he could, along with a blown up picture of jean covered legs, crouched as they were in a chair. With the distraction directed to the police, Beyond had been able to forge his own records, to give himself a new life that was slowly becoming official. Beyond Birthday, his new last name in remembrance to the day he'd recalled his first, was now a citizen born in the U.S., a man of average intelligence and worth.
Did you know that L loves strawberries?
The next fax had been sent to the police with a blown up picture of gangly hands gripping a strawberry. With the newest distraction, Beyond wired money to a fake account, removing it before anyone could realize it was all stolen. Then, he bought his passports and made it seem as though he had visited Britain for a vacation. Thankfully, acting classes had long since taught him the importance of creating roles.
Did you know that L makes mistakes?
The next fax was part of a face, a face that revealed lips curved in a discerning smile on a pale face. The newest case was being kept under wraps, but it was quite obvious that L was getting desperate; he'd even revealed to the police force that the teen in question was in fact someone he knew personally. His revelation made the police eager to capture him, to get some information on the illusive B, but this was made hard by the fact that L wasn't giving up a picture of him.
Beyond read through the police reports with a tiny grin as he sat upon the plane, glad that he was finally thinking straight again. He had been depressed for so long, depressed to know that L would never look upon him as an equal, but the thoughts had long since left him as he realized he was acting weak. Foolish and weak, like A, thinking of merely ending life and being done with it. However, he was still B, rather brainwashed or not; the thought of ending his life without getting L's affections made him shudder in shame.
Truly, he could never be L, could never be The World's Greatest Detective so long as L Lawliet lived. But Beyond didn't want that title, not yet, not when it meant that L would have to die. For L to die, that meant that Beyond's efforts…B's efforts had all been for naught. L would not die without acknowledging his pupil first; L would not die before he realized that B was better than he was.
Beyond had to become someone that L would pay attention to, someone that L couldn't ignore. He wanted L to look at him and see everything that could have been, that should have been, that would be as it should be. He held secrets that people would kill to know, secrets that could end the detective quickly. It had come to his attention during his months of Cat and Mouse, when L had so willingly followed along behind him, finally paying him the attention that he deserved.
Beyond grinned wickedly.
L, did you know that Backups can replace the original copy?
The fax made many officers shake their heads in horror, the final picture revealed. It was a man posed awkwardly, his feet propped in a chair as his hands gripped a strawberry, his mouth in a sculpted grin. His eyes were bulging, revealing suffocation as the true cause of death as he was surrounded by piles of information that the police were not authorized to move. Pictures of L, their faces carved out, letters on their shirts changed. L in black marker, B in red. L to B, L to B; shaking hands gripped the pictures worriedly.
No, Beyond could never be L until his superiority was acknowledged. He would never again lower himself to that letter at the orphanage, always passed over as though he didn't exist, crushed to tears in a room that he was secretly monitored in. If he couldn't be The World's Greatest Detective, then he would be The World's Greatest Criminal.
He doubted that L could ignore him after that.