A/N: Alrighty, I have a good excuse why this chapter took so long. My computer broke down again in the space of a couple of months. My desktop did, anyway. Thankfully my laptop is still alright, and that's where all my doc files are kept (and backups on thumb drives) but it's still thrown a monkey wrench into the schedule. So, we may not get to chapter ten before the con, but I am working on it right now, and if it takes longer to show up hopefully it will just mean better quality. ;D

Exciting news, though. We are at 51+ K words, which according to the National Novel Writing Month guidelines counts as an official novel, albeit short. Yay! We're a frigging novel! A fanfiction back story to a spin-off back story to a manga and anime has reached a somewhat epic literary milestone. ^/^ Happy face. By the same token it means my marathoner energy is seriously starting to putter out. Cookies and cake as incentive welcomed and encouraged. ;D

Betas: Voice of the Shadow Realm & SkyTurtle3.

Music: Psychobabble by Frou Frou; In the End by Linkin Park; Saveoursoulissa by Michael Nyman & Damon Albarn (Ravenous soundtrack).

Warning: Rated 'M' for graphic and disturbing imagery, language, psychological trauma and gore, read with caution. Spoilers for both Death Note and Death Note: Another Note.

Disclaimer: Death Note and related characters © Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Death Note: Another Note and related characters © NISIOISIN.

...

What's My Name?

Part Nine, "Goodbye"

Raven Ehtar

...

"… If you can't help them, at least don't hurt them."
~ Dalai Lama ~

...

It's just a dream, it's the nightmare again. Just calm down…

It's hard to remain calm when you're being choked to death, even in dreams.

He didn't know where this was supposed to be; and really, it didn't make any difference. This was an in-between place of dreams and nightmares, with no solid landscape, only dark, nebulous shapes that lurked along the edges of view. If you tried to focus on anything, your target would boil away to nothing, only to reappear again in the periphery.

The background was inconsequential. What mattered here was the deceased figure that stood before him, totally eviscerated of its moisture, breathing soft, cadaverous breath across his face. It was the eyes of shadowed death staring back into his that held his attention, the whiteness of bone that sometimes peeked through the skin hanging from the body in patches and folds. What mattered were the hands, the fingers that somehow retained their strength after death that curled around his throat with the same inflexibility of iron. The boy clawed at them, as he always did in his nightmare, but only succeeded in tearing away strips of rotting flesh, some of the sickened tissue gathering under his nails like soil.

The specter only smiled at him with the remnants of what might have once been a pouting mouth, a mat of tangled hair falling forward to mask the blackened, empty eye sockets. It didn't matter how much he struggled, there would be no escaping from this monster.

But the undead thing didn't kill him right away. It didn't even start to kill him slowly. No, this was a nightmare where he would be given a chance to save himself. With a voice that was familiar but warped and roughened as it scarped over decayed vocal cords, the dead creature would ask him questions, washing him with the scent of putrid flesh. These questions he had to answer, and depending on the accuracy of the reply, one of two things would happen:

For every question answered correctly, some part of the monster that was choking him would heal, a piece of flesh would knit back into its framework or a dislocated joint would snap sickeningly back into place. It never showed any emotion, even so far as it was able to with only half of a face, and the fingers at his throat remained still, neither tightening or loosening. For each question answered wrong, however, the jointed steel rods that masqueraded as fingers would tighten ever so slightly, cutting off a little more air and raising his panic.

It's just a dream, it's just a dream…

The questions he was asked ranged in difficulty, from ludicrously simple to practically requiring a computer to solve. Despite that, he should have been able to answer the majority of them correctly. But this was a nightmare, and the rules of the waking world didn't apply. There were an equal number of hits and misses, with the kind of questions answered correctly or incorrectly being completely random. He might get one about applied physics on astral bodies correct when he knew next to nothing on the subject of astronomy, and then fail in addition. There was no rhyme or reason to it all, save the rule of right = regeneration, wrong = strangulation.

Fighting to get as many of them right as possible had no effect on the ratio of right to wrong. His air was slowly and inexorably cut off until he was gasping in tiny straw amounts, and the monster before him gradually became someone recognizable. Someone he knew.

The skin melted and melded together until it was whole and smooth, tone pale and limbs willow-slim. The tattered rags re-formed to a pair of worn blue jeans and a plain white shirt. The matted thatch atop the once bare skull filled out into a glossy mess of blue-black strands. The face, still half-hidden, regained its healthy flesh, the cheeks rounding slightly, the mouth taking a definite pout, and the barest edge of dark circles showing from beneath feathery bangs.

The renewed specter looked up at its slowly dying captive with eyes the color of gentle murder.

Any stared at Beyond, his world going gray around the edges for want of oxygen, Beyond smiling gently as he refused to loosen his grip. It was B, Beyond who was killing him a little with each wrong reply, and who was slowly coming back to life with each correct one. As he knew it would be, as it always was in this dream.

Any struggled harder to free himself, to no avail. He only succeeded in choking himself a little more jerking against the immovable fingers at his throat. This was a recurring nightmare with only a small bit in leeway for variation. That was coming soon, and Any dreaded it. Beyond held on, expressionless save his mild grin.

Finally they had reached that point in the questions where there could only be one more. One more answer, either right or wrong, would complete the process started. Beyond would finish his reanimation, or Any would die.

"Are you my friend?"

Any froze. It was such a simple, childish question, but it literally made the world around him stop for an instant. The freckled teen knew what would happen when he answered that innocent question. Here was where the nightmare allowed for variation, for choice in his actions. He could answer truthfully to this last question, or lie. Even with that choice, it didn't matter; either way Any would lose. In a way, Beyond would as well.

The red-eyed boy waited patiently for his struggling friend. The older boy swallowed with difficulty around Beyond's thumbs. The digits were pressing uncomfortably into his still developing Adam's apple, straining the cartilage that protected his trachea and making his quick pulse feel like hammer blows.

The dream wouldn't continue, and he wouldn't wake up until the question had been answered. He had tried that before, only to stay in a suffocating dream state for what felt like half a day before finally giving up and answering. He had to give Beyond some kind of answer if he wanted to wake. The choice now was what did he say this time?

Truth, which was 'right', or lie, which was 'wrong'?

Compassion or cowardice?

Death, or…

Any swallowed again, Beyond waited.

Tonight, it was the cowardice that won out.

"No."

There was no response at first, only silence as the single instant of time stretched and distorted beyond its bounds. Then the hands fell away from Any's throat, the last few unhealthy patches of flesh healing completely to leave a whole and wholly confounded boy standing alone. Strangely, Any felt no need to drag bucketfuls of oxygen into his starved system now his airway was clear. His breath was taken away far more effectively as he watched dawning comprehension in blood-red orbs. Those vermillion eyes filled with so much betrayal, so much pain, it physically hurt Any to look at them.

It was the end of one nightmare and the beginning of another. Any was alive, and Beyond was whole… both were far from jubilant.

...

Any, the most promising heir-in-training among dozens of highly intelligent candidates to the title of World's Greatest Detective. He was known to those monitoring his progress in the program as unusually bright, driven, and creative, with high energy and sprawling interests that would prove very useful if he could also learn to apply focus and discernment. To his peers he was the one to aim for, the highest ranked and highest skilled, while still keeping his youthful enthusiasm. To all he was known for his easygoing nature and steadiness. It was hard to rattle the teen, he would shrug off any adversity and continue along his planned route.

He woke from a fitful sleep several hours before dawn with a small scream, covered in sweat. The afterimage of accusatory garnets stared at him out of the darkness.

The boy breathed slowly, taking in long, steadying breaths of close, stuffy air, his throat feeling tight and constricted. He rubbed absently at his throat, touched his face to reassure himself that all was well. His skin was clammy and damp, and oddly numb to the touch, but with no trace of finger impressions around his voice box. He wasn't worried that his waking yelp would have disturbed anyone else; the most likely one to hear him was his next door neighbor, and that happened to be the newest 'C', the deaf boy.

He ran shaking fingers through damp hair, sighing into the pitch dark of his room. How many times had he had that damned nightmare, he wondered? A few dozen, a hundred, more? He'd lost count somewhere. Maybe it would be easier to count by how long he had been having the dream… how many years was it now?

Not ready to attempt going back to sleep, he swung his feet onto the floor, feeling more himself with solid ground under his soles. The water on his bedside table was warm and tasted old, but it was something to wet his dry throat. He drained the glass in one go, coughing a little as the last few drops tried to choke him, wiping at his mouth. For a minute he just rested, letting his pulse slow to a normal pace, elbows on knees, head bowed. He was still tired, he'd not gone to sleep until late and had woken only a few hours later, but now he was completely awake. Even without the threat of dipping straight back into the dream, trying to fall back asleep now would be futile.

He stood, sleep heavy legs complaining but supporting his weight. Walking assuredly in the familiar confines of his room even in the deep gloom, he found his desk, just barely able to make out the papers and their scrawled problems. It had been the last thing he had worked on for the night before trying to sleep. Picking up a pen, he scribbled a few words, then scratched them out again immediately. Every page was covered in such false starts.

"Are you my friend?"

The drawn problems filled Any's darkness adjusted vision, filled his conscious thought to crowd out all others. It was a series of formulae that had been giving him trouble for weeks, making him practically tear his hair out in frustration. He had to figure them out, or he would decline in his academic standing more than he already was.

"Are you my friend?"

"No."

He couldn't ask for help, either, not even from the teachers. The top student did not ask for help from anyone. It would suggest weakness, uncertainty, and he couldn't afford any amount of uncertainty to show. Another quick note, another violent crossing out an instant later.

He was the highest ranked in the Wammy House, the most likely to succeed L, the World's Greatest. Being number one here made him number two for the world. Second ranked on the planet - the fucking planet - didn't need assistance from those who were, by definition, inferior to him. Did a world-class builder ask for advice from a weekend do-it-yourselfer? Did a genius solicit opinions from students? Did the world's greatest potential need support? Friendship?

No, no, and no.

"No."

Pen clattered to the desk, the fingers that held it gone limp and listless. Any leaned forward, once again resting the weighty burden of his head into his hands. The dream would not leave him. He'd lived it so many times, knew its meaning, its portent, but still it hung in the air around him, clinging to his psyche, demanding acknowledgement.

A wrong answer he dies. A right answer Beyond lives.

It was easy to interpret. Anyone familiar with the workings of the Wammy House would understand the correlation between failure and death. To fail in the mission to succeed L would be almost as bad as death to the wards of Wammy House. Children who came from the very dregs of society, who knew the very real pain and terror of having no ties, no roots… the threat of returning to that kind of life was enough to set a blaze in every orphan's heart.

A right answer and Beyond lived… To understand that, one would have to be aware of Any's most hidden motives. On its face, and following the previous connection that success equaled life, Any answering correctly would not mean a return to life for Beyond. Logically, something good for Any in that sense could only hurt Beyond. Why then was his success the same as rejuvenation for the red-eyed orphan?

If one knew all the facts, the answer was simple: If Any succeeded in the mission on his own, then he didn't have to eradicate Beyond.

The best didn't need friends, only advantageous connections. The top ranked didn't require companionship, just leverage. The whole reason he had gotten close to Beyond was to gain that advantage, to be in the perfect position to make the boy stumble if and when the time came.

Any pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to alleviate the headache behind his eyes. How long had he had this pressure in his head? Weeks or months? Trying to remember a time when his head didn't hurt, memories unraveled behind his lids, taking him back years. Back to before something called 'the Wammy House' even existed.

Before the aged gentleman Quillish Wammy and his remarkable ward L had taken interest in a certain Winchester orphanage, it had been as many other homes for the homeless. A halfway place for those waiting and praying for somewhere they could belong. There was no greater focus in their lives than the vague hope that a nice couple searching for surrogate children would take a liking to you. There were studies, but they were general and held no purpose beyond teaching the basics. Their fates were completely outside their control. Nothing they did would affect it or give them promise of a brighter future. Decisions such as that were left to the adults, who were not as invested in the lives of their charges as might be hoped.

Over the years, Any had heard enough bits and pieces of Beyond's life in that same system to develop a fairly rounded picture. It was sad, but not unexpected for children in their position. Children were always unnecessarily hard on their peers. The countless cases of school bullying and persecution were evidence enough of that. In places like this, it was only worse. Powerlessness generates frustration and despair, and such emotions needed to be vented. The most available outlet for a child was on one's peers, and in an orphanage, there was nowhere to escape to relative safety.

Having red eyes wasn't the only thing that could make someone a target.

A boy who was overweight naturally became one; when he was also far and away the most intelligent, only made it that much worse. Any became severely withdrawn and solitary, which made it easier for the others to get to him.

He wondered sometimes if the adults then had known how often he had been beaten for his oddity, or if they had even cared if they had.

Then… then hope had come to hell.

Years of enduring, of living in a state of acceptance of his circumstances, of working and excelling in his studies because there was no other distraction from the every day, and then being punished for it, of never hoping for more improvement than the day he reached an age he could leave on his own feet. And then an aged man with a gentle face took him aside and gave him something he'd never had before: a reason to live.

The orphanage, the old gentleman had told him, would be becoming a kind of training facility for promising children. They would be preparing themselves mentally, emotionally, and even physically for one of the most worthy professions as could be found. Likely candidates would be brought in from all over the world as they were discovered, and those who were already living here moved to more suitable facilities.

Except for Any, then known as Anwyl. He, out of the entire pre-existing population of the orphanage, would stay.

To a young Anwyl, it was a revelation, a new life being offered to him. Not only because his cabal of tormentors would be leaving and himself remaining, but from what the gentleman had said, he could finally have some measure of control over his fate.

He would not be dependent on the whims of prospective parents, who in any case would likely prefer a young, placid child to a jaded, overly-intelligent boy already edging into his teens. No, he was the one in control of what became of his future under the new scheme. Not everything came down to Anwyl, of course, but his actions and performance in the new program would dictate the majority. And he was sure he could do whatever it took to not just meet the Wammy House's expectations, but exceed them. It was an opportunity for a life of more than listless hopelessness and pain, and he had grabbed it with both hands and dug in his heels. No one would shake him from it.

He took the name Any, a tribute to his new benefactors, the simple removal of the 'L' and 'W' from his true name, and set to work on his new life.

A pair of headphones settled comfortably over Any's ears, and the gentle notes of Beethoven's "Moonlight" trickled over his nerves, soothing him.

He had thrown himself into the new program with an enthusiasm that shocked those in charge, devouring every subject presented to him and demanding more to satisfy a suddenly whetted and voracious appetite for knowledge. Sciences, arts, logic puzzles, creative paradoxes, mathematics, sociology, psychology, he plowed through it all with unprecedented accuracy, and still asked for more. Roger, the new administrator and Quillish Wammy were both delighted, and gave him whatever he wanted, convinced that their first aspirant would also be the most promising they would ever get. Any certainly intended to do his best to keep it that way.

But only a fool goes into battle with only one weapon. There was still the possibility that, no matter how hard he worked, he could be surpassed, stepped over, forgotten. With candidates coming from all over the world, the possibility was a very real one. The future so temptingly offered to him could still be snatched away…

… Unless he did something to prevent it.

He was still in control, his fate was still his own playing piece, he just had to secure some insurance.

He was 'A', the first one in the Wammy House program. The first threat to him would be 'B', the second. His first piece of competition could also be his first piece safeguard, if he played his part well enough. That one would be his first priority, if or until any subsequent additions proved themselves too dangerous to be ignored.

B came, and it was ridiculously easy to become his friend. A freak with red eyes, he was even more solitary and withdrawn than Anwyl had ever been. Adopting an attitude of sympathetic understanding and persistent friendliness had been enough to win him over. He was so inexperienced with social interaction, was so used to the responses the color of his eyes generated, that any disgust or discomfort Any accidentally let slip was either ignored or overlooked. His quiet desperation for companionship was Any's greatest ally, his starvation for interaction his most useful tool.

Keeping him from forming similar attachments to any other children had proved to be the greater challenge.

As more orphans for the program were brought in, it quickly became apparent that B was the only one he had to worry about usurping his position. He could focus entirely on the red-eyed monstrosity, which simplified his task. B had to trust him completely, had to depend only on Any for all sources of companionship and support. For that to be possible, Any had to be his only friend.

At first it had been as simple as monopolizing all of B's spare time. He didn't seek out others in his quiet moments, preferring instead to remain on his own. That eased Any's burden somewhat, but he was still careful to always be the only one to spend private time with the younger boy. It made him gradually more accepting of Any, and unconsciously dependent on him.

Eventually, though, Any had to actively discourage others from approaching B. Even with how quiet and reserved he was, and being the second in line, other children were still willing to approach him, to try and spring up a friendship with him. If Any hadn't acted as a buffer, turning back all such attempts, they might have succeeded. The easiest way to deter the would-be companions would have been to reveal B's little secret; he doubted anyone would be quite so willing to buddy up to a red-eyed mutant. But doing that would only backfire, he knew. B couldn't have any friends other than him, no one to turn to for comfort or advice except Any.

It wasn't childish jealousy, but tactics. If B could turn to a half dozen close companions, then the sway Any held over him would be lessened accordingly.

Because B was Any's insurance, his guarantee that he wouldn't descend back into the hell that had once been life. Any's backup plan was, should B ever make good on his potential and threaten Any's position, he would use his trust in Any to topple him down. If it was possible, it would be done subtly enough that bonds wouldn't be entirely dissolved, but the situation would dictate the degree of betrayal needed. If he had to completely break the red-eyed boy, then his own future was worth it.

Beethoven's masterpiece sonata was slammed down into the failed attempts to solve abstract mathematical equations.

That was the plan, and now was looking to be the proper time to finally use it, when Any's forward momentum was beginning to falter and Beyond was speeding along as well as ever. Now was when he should use his leverage on the second boy to knock him back and protect his own position.

Except… something had gone wrong.

There was something unexpected in the equation, something unforeseen in the formula that made it impossible to carry out his oh so carefully laid plans. Now was the time, more than the time to start sowing the seeds of doubt and confusion that would make Beyond stumble and fall. He was getting too close, his scores and aptitude tests too high, while Any… He wasn't actually failing, not yet, but it was taking more and more effort just to stay in the same place. Soon, he would falter.

Except…

… except visions of Beyond, curled up under a tree, soaked to the bone with freezing rain, blue to the lips and joints oozing blood rose up in his memory, clear and sharp as ice crystals.

The weeks after finding him like that, when the boy refused to leave him room, even after he'd been allowed to, remained fresh in Any's mind. How he would sometimes start at small noises or sudden movements; how he would stick close to Any's side, even now, depending on him for protection…

If Any had allowed him to have friends, the… events of that day might never have happened. Beyond might not need to hide scars now, given to him by other children jealous of his rank.

Just as Any was jealous.

The right answer and Beyond could live… but then he would know everything.

Any couldn't do it. He couldn't hurt the boy who had suffered as much- more than he had. It wasn't right, and Beyond… he'd become more than insurance. He'd become Any's friend in truth, not just in name. Even if Any couldn't really be called Beyond's friend.

But he'd hit the wall as far as how much he could do for himself. If something didn't change soon, then…

Any stood abruptly, sending his chair clattering to the floor and made his way to the door. It had been a long time since he'd snuck a look at the official Wammy House computer files, now seemed be a good time to see if security measures had been improved or if his basic hacking skills were still sufficient. He needed to know exactly where he stood, how much time he had to save himself.

He closed the door softly and walked silently into shadow.

...

When Beyond woke, it was just after dawn, and it was with the sense that something was wrong. What it was eluded him, but as soon as he opened his eyes, a kind of foreboding settled over him like a shroud. A cursory glance revealed nothing immediately out of place in his immaculately kept room, and no matter how much he searched his memory, there was nothing scheduled that would cause the stubborn, mysterious feeling of unease.

He tried to shake it off as he went through his morning routine, preparing for a full day of classes, but it clung to him stubbornly. Unable to get rid of it, Beyond determined to ignore it as best he could.

Leaving his room to find Any and head downstairs together for breakfast, he did notice one thing he had missed in the first few bleary-eyed minutes of waking up. It wasn't anything out of place so much as something not meant to be there. Very neatly stacked on his desk were several volumes of manga. They had to be Any's. His obsessive hobby with comic books had recently led him into Japan's more compact counterparts, and there was no one else who would sneak into Beyond's room in the middle of the night to leave them.

Come to think of it, why would Any sneak in to leave them when they saw each other every day anyway? Leaving the books untouched, Beyond decided that would be the first thing he asked the older boy when he saw him.

When he knocked on the heavy paneled door there was no reply from inside. Beyond frowned; Any wasn't a heavy sleeper. Most days it was Any knocking on Beyond's door and hurrying him through the morning. This morning had been odd in that Beyond had been left to wake at his own pace, to have to rouse Any from his bed was unheard of. But here he was, pounding repeatedly on the unresponsive door, shouting abuses that received no answer.

When he finally decided to kick the lazy teen out of bed physically, he was startled to find the room empty. The bed was rumpled and unmade, books stacked haphazardly on every surface, the desk an unruly mess of papers, and in general was in a state Any usually kept it in. It made Beyond cringe a little, but Any always preferred a little disorganization in his environment. But there was no Any.

Beyond scowled, cursed under his breath. Had he already gone down to the dining room without waiting for him? He knew how Beyond felt about going around the orphanage alone, what the hell was the idea?

Well, one day of solitary exposure wasn't going to kill him, but he was going to chew the elder boy's ear off when he finally found him.

Beyond didn't get his chance to verbally flay his friend for his thoughtlessness over the morning meal, however, and not before or during the first round of classes, either. The highly esteemed and zealously studious orphan was not in attendance for any of them, nor was there any word on where he was. Beyond began to worry into the second period, wondering where it was that Any could have got to that had him out of bed so early and not in his usual place in classes. He thought about asking the teachers, but they looked like they would only put him off if he did, so he sought out Roger instead. Roger at least give Beyond a clue if not a full-fledged explanation.

Searching for that respected oldster also proved futile as Beyond searched not only his offices and personal rooms, but every other area he was in the habit of occupying. All to no avail, Roger was nowhere to be found, and Any still refused to make an appearance after the lunch hour.

Into the afternoon, his worry began to dissipate. It was unlikely that anything so serious that would cause both Any and Roger to disappear would go uncommented on by all the teachers. If Any was ill or injured, then they would have told everyone to quell any such worries. The boy wasn't likely to be in so much trouble as to keep him from his studies all day, or to keep the administrator equally unavailable. It had to be something all their teachers were aware of, but were remaining willfully mum about.

The more Beyond thought about it, he eventually came up with a theory that seemed to fit. Any's sixteenth birthday was very near, and even though that made him a legal adult in the United Kingdom, the Wammy House - being more a training facility than a proper orphanage - retained a kind of guardianship of their wards for an additional year. With that milestone year coming up, it wasn't inconceivable that Any would be subject to some special curriculum or training course. In fact, it made more sense the longer he thought about it. It would explain why both boy and man were missing from their usual places, and depending on what kind of training Any was receiving, why he had said nothing to Beyond about it or why none of the teachers did, either. It was only logical that the highest ranked would be taken aside on the verge of his official adulthood. Or so Beyond convinced himself.

Thus reassured, Beyond ceased to worry over the missing teen and concentrated on his work. The feeling of unease that haunted him since wakening refused to leave quite so easily.

By the end of lessons. Any had still not appeared, and he hadn't returned to his room when Beyond peeked inside. Resigning himself to spending the day alone, and glad he could do so for the remainder without having to leave his room, he settled in to peruse the reading Any had left for him to find.

Min Ayahana's 'Akazukin Chacha'.

Beyond shook his head at his friend's tastes, but started reading it all the same, picking out the first one and setting aside the rest for later. It was a cute, girlish story, and far from a difficult read. He'd finished the first volume and was a quarter of the way through the second when he became conscious of a sound just outside his door.

Excited voices and racing footsteps; a constant stream of them.

For some reason the unease around his shoulders settled heavily in his gut at the sounds. Which was foolish, there was no reason for them to make him feel uncomfortable. None. Voices raised in excitement and running down the halls were common in a place that housed children, even Wammy House.

Yet he was frozen, perfectly still in his position at the head of his bed, the open manga in his hands a blur of script and illustrations as his eyes unfocused. All of his attention was on what he could hear, the muffled words streaming past his door. He could make none of them out, but it sounded as though every orphan on the third floor was rushing by.

When the door banged open, Beyond nearly jumped out of his skin. For a wild second he thought it was Any, sprinting into his room to tell him where he had been the whole day with his boisterous energy. But it wasn't Any hanging in his door. It was a much younger, skinny boy, about nine years old, with ruffled red hair and flushed cheeks. He stood for a moment in the door, gulping down air. Behind him, fellow orphans continued to stream past, their voices an incoherent babble.

Finally catching his breath, the boy pointed down the hall, the same direction the flow of children were hurrying. "They found Any!"

Released from his paralysis, Beyond started upright, dropping the book to the sheets. Any had been 'found'? What did that mean? Beyond was so distracted he didn't even take note of the boy's name or lifespan. "What?"

"They found Any!" he repeated, motioning frantically for Beyond to follow. "In the old bell tower, c'mon!" And he was gone.

Beyond frowned after the redheaded boy, still not understanding what he meant. Any was in the bell tower…?

The bell tower…

Beyond got up, raced down the halls so fast he was soon dodging between his slower peers to pull out ahead of them. That's what it was, the uneasy feeling he had had all day, not Any's disappearance, although it looked as though the two were related. That thought only made the heavy, writhing sensation in his gut worse, and he poured on more speed.

The bell tower, and the bell. The ever-present sound that had become so familiar he'd only noticed when it was gone. He hadn't heard the bell all day.

...

The day was bright and cool, the early May sky a dazzling blue dotted with high, fleecy clouds. The sun warmed the earth, and gentle breezes caressed with chill fingers, carrying the scent of early season flowers. Insects buzzed, and birds busied themselves about the task of finishing up nests with only an occasional burst of avian song.

It was a perfect spring morning, but did nothing to lighten the mood of the hunched figure standing over a fresh grave. The breeze ruffled his mane of ebony, tossing strands across his eyes and dimming his view. He ignored the flickering of his vision, stayed still as a statue, his hands jammed deep into his pockets and back as curved as a man four times his age.

One who was approaching such an age stood in attendance behind the younger man, his straight and relaxed posture a stark contrast to the other's slouched but tense one. The weathered, graying gentleman watched his companion carefully, but without much anxiety. He knew that L could hold a single position for hours at a time without trouble, and it was only natural he would want to just now. Quillish would not interrupt his thoughts until he was invited to do so or until the sun began to sink over the horizon.

For his own part, L was only dimly aware of the patient presence waiting behind him. All of his attention was taken up by the unremarkable scrap of recently disturbed soil at his feet. There wasn't even a stone to mark the place as yet, but there didn't need to be. The memories, like the churned earth, were still fresh.

An hour passed in silence and stillness, and another before he bestirred himself from his reverie.

"It's been three days," he said, his voice perfectly modulated, revealing nothing of his state of mind. "What does Roger report on the general mind-set of the orphanage?"

The old man shrugged slightly, a force of habit as the one it was meant for couldn't see it. "About what one would expect following another death, exacerbated by the manner A was found. There was no way to contain his… discovery. Word spread almost instantly, and though only a few actually saw him, everyone knows how he died. Or a close enough version." Quillish paused, considering his next words carefully before offering them. "B is faring the worst out of everyone. By far."

There was no physical reaction to this declaration, but the curved frame of a man projected an air of attentiveness. "Have you seen him?" His tone was still unreadable.

"Yes, from a distance, at least." Eyes of worn cornflower blue joined the hematite pair in examining the sign of a recent addition to the cemetery. "He's withdrawn completely, but he still goes about his daily activities. It's as though he's lost, numbed. A's death took him as much by surprise as anyone else, and he doesn't know how to deal with it."

"A reasonable response, considering how close the two of them were."

"Agreed." The old benefactor looked off in the direction where, a couple miles distant, stood the building and its few dozen wards, once again sunk in grieving gloom. "It's… a shame to see their bond severed so abruptly."

A sound came from L that might have been a disgusted snort or a stifled sneeze. Whatever it had been, it was followed by a silent sigh, a small heaving of breath that raised and dropped his rounded shoulders. For a while, the grave once again became his sole point of focus, although it was obvious to the man waiting behind him that while his body was still, his mind was working furiously.

Such was always the boy's way, Quillish reflected. He could be active enough in body, but even if he had been the world's best athlete instead of detective, it still wouldn't match his mind. Even when he had been a very young boy, an orphan in his turn, he would sit off to a corner, knees drawn up to his chin, thumb resting at his lips in a childish remnant of when he used to suck on it, and watch everything that went on around him. Those huge eyes in a child's face would absorb all that went on around him, the mind behind them filing and cross-referencing so efficiently that when he made some observation based on his considerations, those around him were startled by their sharpness. They weren't privy to the many mental steps he had taken to reach his voiced conclusion, which was partly to blame for the surprise, but even if L had explained every step, they might very well still be left behind.

He had been - still was - a prodigy. An unbelievable well of intelligence and insight wrapped in a tiny orphan body. Finding him all those years ago, practically invisible in his shadowed corner and worrying a procured lollipop, had been like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

And now, now they had that same haystack, the orphanage, and were attempting to spin it into gold.

"We missed this somehow," the detective said suddenly, startling Quillish out of his woolgathering. "No one saw it coming at all, and we should have. There will have to be stricter measures for acceptance into Wammy House. A full psychological and emotional stability profile taken early and updated often if the project continues."

Quillish caught the hinted assertion. "'If' it continues?"

L didn't back down from his half-hidden intention. "If," he said firmly. Then his voice softened, took an almost pleading tone. "We have to reevaluate, Quillish. One of our children, a life we were responsible for, has been lost because of our little project. Every aspect of it will have to be very carefully looked at and weighed before we can move along with it… If we do."

"I agree that we need to change the procedure," the elder man conceded, shifting his weight. "But think of the amount of time and effort already invested into this project. Almost five years in operation, three before that simply in the planning stage, a global network put into place… not to mention the children already here."

The thatch of black nodded slowly. "I know. Everything will be brought to bear and reviewed." L turned, looked at Quillish for the first time since they arrived at the cemetery. The old man hoped it was the morning sunlight that made his skin so much paler, the circles under his black eyes heavier. "Our experiment isn't worth the lives of children."

Quillish had grown used to holding that bottomless stare over the years, but still found it harder than usual now. "It may never come to that again, L," he said softly. "As you said, this is an experiment, and there were bound to be some teething problems." He let his gaze flicker briefly over Any's grave. "We always knew that some of them would fail."

If black eyes could contain expression, L's lost any trace of it at Quillish's last words. "We are the ones who failed them, Quillish. Please remember that." He turned away once again, the discussion at an end. Quillish knew better than to press, at least for now. He could see the young man was toeing a line, and had no desire to push him over.

He waited patiently for minutes, to see if L would continue along the same line. When it became apparent that nonesuch was forthcoming, he asked, "What are your plans, L?"

L stirred, as though waking from sleep. "There's a case in Australia that needs attention," he murmured. "We fly out tomorrow."

"What about the children?" Quillish asked, motioning uselessly back to the distant orphanage. "You didn't want to put in an appearance to reassure them?"

A silent headshake was the old man's reply.

"And B?"

The detective paused, considering the question before answering. "… I think it would be best if I distanced myself from the orphanage for awhile, Quillish. Considering the manner of Any's death, B probably blames me." The head rolled slightly to one side. "Seeing me now… it is not what he needs."

Quillish nearly argued, but thought better of it. Instead he lapsed into silence, once again waiting for L to conclude his meditation over A's grave. It was the second grave filled in five years; it would be some time before they left.

...

A/N2: So the first question I'm sure is on everyone's mind is "Was I planning on doing this with Any from the beginning?" One of the questions, anyway. The answer, with the exception of a few minor details here and there, is yes. Yes, I was. Mwah ha ha. Now go back and re-read previous chapters with this one in mind, bet ya it's a different experience. ;3

Now my question to all of you, my lovely readers, is this: What do you think of Any now, and how does it compare to previous impressions? I don't often ask for reviews - this is a first for 'WMN?', I think - but I'm genuinely curious what everyone thought about him. For all intents and purposes he was an OC, which I hate making because they usually flop, but I worked hard to really give Any some depth and have him fit with the existing cast; even if it only became apparent in the eleventh hour. So; love him or hate him, love to hate him or hate to love him, hurt to see what he was going through and sad to see him go or glad to see the back of the sneaky little backstabber? Any and all thoughts welcome and appreciated, no matter how small or odd. (This is a tiny taste of what I put my betas through regularly. They put up with so much. Love ya, honeys!)

Anyhoo, there's chapter nine, chapter ten up next, and it's a big 'un in terms of the story, I've been planning it out since in the beginning, a year or more ago. …meep.

See you all there, and if it's not until June that I post again, hope to see some of you at AO!

(For some reason FF's formatting isn't allowing dashes, so I'm using their page breaks instead. I don't like them, but there has to be something. -.-)