Author's Note: Hello and welcome to my second Death Note fanfiction. Thank you very much for dropping by! When I set out to start another fanfic I had this idea in my mind that I wanted to deal with B in a much more direct way than in "Dust and Mirrors", but was unsure as to how to go about it since B is such a difficult character. I eventually decided that half the charm of B is seeing how others react to him. Just try to imagine B eating jam without Naomi there to be disgusted by it! Taking that into account I chose a third person voice rather than the first person that originally seemed so tempting. I think the result feels a little flat, but hopefully I can get used to it and spice things up. The title of this fanfic is borrowed from the name of a Kaizers Orchestra song. Here's hoping I don't get my butt sued by my favorite band… Okay, I've rambled way too long. This author note is practically longer than the chapter itself. Please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the characters used in this story.
Trees and mailboxes flew by in time with the gentle music flowing from Roger's car radio, but despite the tranquil surroundings, he just couldn't loosen his grip on the steering wheel. He desperately wished he could back out, but things were already in motion and he had already given his word.
When Quillsh Wammy had come to him asking him to be a part of his newest philanthropic project, he had jumped at the idea, sure that it would offer him a blissful distraction from his newly obtained widower status. He had no idea what he was getting into.
Philanthropy should remain just that, Quillsh. Once your own motives get mixed in, it is bound to fail.
But of course he wouldn't know that. His background was in engineering. He was the kind of person who could conceptualize and build with minimal effort, but could never even begin to fathom the subtle nuances of business.
That's where Roger came in.
Neither of them liked to look at the well-being of children as a business, but when you boiled it down, there were funds to manage, facilities to maintain, and employees to supervise.
On top of that, though, there was L, the young prodigy who had consumed Quillsh Wammy's very being. That's what this was all about. That boy had practically become his son.
When your son is a baseball player, you go to the game and cheer. When your son is a world-renowned detective, you don a trench coat and deliver his faceless messages.
Now Quillsh wanted back-ups for that force of justice he had raised, and in theory it seemed very logical. When someone's mere existence drops the world's crime level, you can't very well just let the game end when he throws down his glove. No, there had to be someone to take his place.
That's what didn't sit right with Roger.
In his time as a professor at the university where he and Quillsh Wammy had met, Roger had seen all kinds of young adults. The most unfortunate were always the ones who were taking classes only to live up to their parents' expectations. They strove and strove and strove, but in the end they had to face the realization that no matter what diploma they had, they could never be good enough. If that kind of stress destroyed college students, what would it do to children?
Roger sighed and turned the car into the gravel parking lot of a small building.
Regardless of how he felt, there was no backing out now.
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"Ah, Mr. Ruvie! So glad you made it here alright. Did you get lost at all? I know my directions weren't the best."
"I got here just fine," Roger said with a smile. "Thank you."
"That's good," the woman said with a sigh of relief. "We're just about ready to go on this end. I just need you to fill out the last of the paperwork."
Roger nodded and followed the woman into the main office of the tiny orphanage.
"There is something we wanted you to know about the boy. I already told your boss, but we felt it would be best if you knew too."
The woman removed her glasses and breathed on them.
"He seems to be suffering from some extreme grief."
"That's to be expected," Roger said, watching the woman finish cleaning her glasses.
"Yes, but this borders on the unhealthy. He keeps drawing pictures of his parents with these odd, red halos above their heads and labeling them with their full names. When we ask him what it's about, he just says it's how they looked when they died. Now, we're sure you've got a wonderful psychologist over there as well, but I wanted to give you the heads up anyway."
Roger hesitated for a moment before producing another fake smile.
"I appreciate it."
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After the paperwork was completed, Roger stepped out into the hallway again to find that his newest ward was already waiting for him.
The boy looked to be about ten years of age with wide, piercing eyes and black hair. Roger nearly gasped. It was like looking at a younger version of L. The only difference was the shape of the boy's face. Even though L was only a teenager, he had already acquired a kind of sickly gauntness which this boy was lacking.
The child stood and stared at Roger with a very rigid and untrusting posture before picking up his suitcase and walking quietly to the door.
On the car ride back to Wammy's House, Roger did his best to ignore the boy's eyes drilling into the back of his head, and wondered how the rest of the staff were doing with their assigned pick-ups.
"Where are we going?" the boy asked after a good hour of silence.
"Wammy's House," Roger replied gently, glad that driving gave him an excuse not to make eye contact. "Your new home in Winchester."
"How come I couldn't stay where I was?"
It took Roger a moment to come up with an answer.
"You have special talents. Living at Wammy's House will give you the opportunity to develop them."
Roger watched in the rearview mirror as the boy turned his head to look out the window.
"What's this sticker you gave me?" he asked after another brief silence.
"That's your nametag. So you can introduce yourself to the other children when we arrive. Everyone will be wearing one. Even me."
Roger attempted a reassuring smile and reached across the dashboard to grab a white rectangle with his own name printed on it.
"I think you made a mistake," the boy said. "Mine only has one letter on it."
Roger winced.
"Th-that's not a mistake," the older man stammered while still trying to maintain his air of encouragement. "That's what you will be called while at Wammy's House."
"B? But that's not even a name. Why can't I be called what I always have?"
"It's just a safety precaution. You'll get used to it after awhile, I'm sure."
The boy sat up straight and grabbed onto the back of Roger's seat as if someone had just jabbed him with a hot iron.
"But I don't want to get used to it!" he half yelled, half gasped. "I want to keep my real name!"
Roger glanced over his shoulder nervously.
"Please stay in your seat."
The boy glared at Roger and began to cry very forcefully without returning to the sitting position Roger requested.
"This isn't right! I don't want to be a stupid letter!"
Roger tried to keep his worried eyes on the road and swallowed down the dread rising in his throat.
Raising these children to be L was going to be like teaching them to dance on a rainy rooftop. Some of them would slip and be washed away with the water. Some of them would be struck down by lightning. And those that did succeed? They would never be able to dry themselves of the cold, cold rain.
I hope you know what you're doing, Quillsh…
Author's Note: Yes, things were pretty Roger-centered in this chapter, but I plan on switching focus as certain events happen. I figured it might be fun to take a look at him too since he's usually just a background character. Oh, and by the way: red halos = zeros. Thank you for reading. Please leave a review if you enjoyed or have any ideas for improvement.