Title: Survival of the Fittest

Summary: Mello, Matt, and Near all all bound for camp, but Wammy's isn't what any of them expect.

Disclaimer: I don't own DN or anything referenced, and the idea is far from original, but here's my take on it.

Author's Note: A lovely update for my wonderful readers. (Unfortunately, not much happens.) Don't forget to review and keep me motivated. XD -ALSO! I'M TAKING SUGGESTIONS FOR FUTURE CHARACTERS TO KILL OFF!


Between the silence and screaming, conversation seems to be the key to sanity. In low volumes, words are exchanged... but those words are never substantial.

They mean nothing.

L tells a story. Then he admits that he never really tells the same story twice. He says: "when you've exhausted the truth, stories are all that's left."

And the redheaded youth contemplates this while a blonde companion bites back a growl of irritation.

But L pays them no mind. Oblivious to their concerns, he's talking again. Another fib. A tall tale. An adventure that could have happened but never did. This one's about a stray dog he once befriended... until it grew rabid and attacked him. -L claims that he and Beyond are not twins, but after the attack L's face was gone -mangled and bloody with loose meat hanging from his jawline like heavy, wet frayed fabrics - and it had to be completely reconstructed. "All old photos were lost so the surgeons based their sculpting and skin graphing off of Beyond."

Such an incredible tale -that is, if had been true.

And because of this, Mello's anger finally bubbles to the surface. His emotion ranges from that of a steaming tea kettle to an erupting volcano.

It's the disaster with Mt. Vesuvius all over again.

His hair is a frizzy, tangled, dirty mess of dishwater blonde, and his face is red from heat and aggression. But he takes several deep breaths and calms down; his face gradually returns to a more normal color. Then he takes it upon himself to say "no more stories, L."

"But I like the stories," Matt says.

And L pats Matt on the head in a way that is almost affectionate; the act seems out of place under such circumstances.

Then L turns his attention to the blonde and gives a rather simple order. "In that case, you tell me a story. A true one, if you're tired of nonsense."

So Mello racks his brain for things he might share. True things. But almost anything he can come up with isn't much better than what L has already told. Still, he presses on with determination. "My mother was lovely but mad; she held my hand as we walked through the park -I could smell the cool, crisp air that carried the scent of wildflowers. We saw some ducks, and I wanted to feed them. But she said no, I didn't get to feed them. Then, when I ignored her denial and leaned in for a closer look, Mom pushed me into the water and left... and I think she knew I couldn't swim."

To this, Matt says nothing; in place of a plausible reaction, he's tearing the bandages off his face and gently running his fingers over the mess that was once his eye. The eyelid is both dented and swollen, but this time it is shut. Pus and blood are crusted around it, and it looks exactly like it would in the movies -shiny and bulging, and a little wet where fresh fluids have gathered and seeped. A poorly sculpted prosthetic attached with a medical-grade adhesive.

In regards to the blonde camper's story, L simply looks bored and apathetic. Then he says: "you should have lied. Now I know that water bothers you, and I could use that to my advantage if I wanted. I could drown you in a pond. I could hold you under water until you stopped breathing... but, lucky for you, I have no use for your body parts right now. I would have been much more entertained if you would have told me about-"

And Mello has no intentions on furthering this conversation; his face turns pale, a shade to rival a certain film artist. Between L's statement of possibilities and Matt's sudden fascination with the swelling mass of emptiness on his disfiguring face, he feels sick all over again. He grabs the redhead's hand tightly and pulls him closer. "C'mon, Matt. We need to go before L's crazy starts to rub off on you."

Matt stumbles from the force of Mello's movement but recoils quickly, withdrawing his hand and whispering something incoherent.

And L sighs quietly. "One week. Play by the rules for six more days, and then I'll help you out. It doesn't get any easier than that."

"I want to go home now," Mello declares childishly, stomping his foot to stress his eagerness.

Then L responds with: "one week. -Besides, what are you missing by being here? Do you honestly want to go back to the mundane? Do you want your life decided for you?"

Mello thinks about L's words but does not comment.

However, Matt does verbally respond, voice slightly louder with an assertiveness that had been foreign to him before. "I'm not missing anything. Back home, I was a failure; I wasn't good enough. But here... -Here, I have a sense of glory." And he holds up that shiny rock like it has all the answers: the physical incarnation of God's will and testament. A fortune teller. An omen of blessings.

But Mello swipes his hand and takes that rock, throwing it as hard as he can and then shoving his redheaded peer against a nearby tree. "It's a damn rock." He grabs the front of the redhead's blue and white tanktop and twists the fabric, warping the large 03 that is printed on it. "And I need you to at least pretend to be normal."

"And you were trying to hide behind a smile, but it wasn't even a nice smile," Matt counters, closing his good eye and feeling a sense of accomplishment run through him. Standing up to the blonde, he's a hero, if only for a moment. "At least when I smile, I'm not faking it."

And L is there to intervene, with a hard kick to Mello's ribs, knocking him to the ground and away from Matt. "That's enough, Mello. Matt is entitled to his words just as you are. Now, if you're going to continue this line of behavior, please pick a direction and go."

At this point, Mello's reeling from shock at being kicked and he's at a loss for words, so he doesn't say anything; he keeps his mouth shut to avoid stammering.

"What about our group?" Matt asks, good eye opening as he moves away from the tree. "L? What about the group? Beyond, Near, you, Mello, and-"

"There is no group," L bluntly interrupts, leaving two confused faces to stare at him before he continues. "I'm sure either myself or Beyond has mentioned that there are no groups at Wammy's, and any group that forms never lasts for long. Arguments start and people turn on one another. -Killing a camper, that's fine. But killing a camper that you considered a friend, that's a bit different."

This is a fact, dully stated, and Mello understands it. "Like politics. -Well what the fuck's the point of staying here to get away from that shit if the same logic applies here?!" And just like that... his inner politician is destroyed. That well-crafted smile, those careful words -all gone! He scrambles to his feet and gives the raven a piercing glare before reaching for the redhead's hand once more. "As you wanted, L, I'll play by the rules for a week, and I'll live, dammit. Matt and I will BOTH live. And when that week is up, you have to help us out. -Now, do we have a deal?" -The politican returns.

L is skeptical, but he gives a slow, thoughtful nod to affirm.

"No," the sharp and demanding tone; it's Mello's voice again. "I want you to shake on it." And he extends his hand, awaiting the grasp of the veteran camper.

L almost hesitates, but his hand slips into Mello's.

The physical manifestation of a promise is made and the two part their ways, L trekking further into the woods and Mello dragging Matt as far away from the dirt path as possible.

...

Meanwhile, Near and Beyond are staring each other down, neither backing off nor furthering the confrontation. Their wits are seemingly passed back and forth through some kind of telepathy until Beyond remarks: "The sun is moving westward. Don't you have a quota to fill?"

To this, the paler, younger camper responds with a shake of his head. "No. Because, unlike the others, I do know all the rules and technicalities. I know how Fat Camp began; I know a lot of the stories that go with it; and I know why people are sent here."

And Beyond's face splits to reveal a set of crooked teeth. "Then... why would you come here so willingly?"

"For the same reason that people stay here so willingly."

Then the dark haired Camp Counselor nods, red eyes blinking. "In that case, I have a proposition for you..."

...


/Next chapter will have more on Near and Beyond. Plus, I've already planned two or three gorey scenes and the introduction of another character. Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Review./