Absolution

"Hello, B."

Slowly, thoughtfully, Beyond Birthday raised his head from where it had been lolling against his chest. He, with even greater torpor, blinked to clear the fog from his eyes and his gaze quickly sharpened from the sluggishness of tar to the dangerous glint of fresh blood. "B sends his greetings to Alain, as well."

From across the dim room, A's smile was lopsided and foppish. "What's with the formality? I thought we knew each other better than that…Beyond."

B looked away, trying to forget something he refused to remember. "So did I."

"D'you remember the games we used to play?"

In spite of himself, B grinned. Despite the fact that he had been widely disliked by the other children of Wammy's House, B had always found himself pulled into A's games. Hide and seek was always one of the most fun—everyone made him "it" out of disdain, but failed to realize just how natural hunting them all down was for him. Perhaps that was why the only one who had played with him was A. A had introduced him to riddles, spending hours coercing him into creating morbid answers to puzzles with no answer. In turn, B had taught A how to hide, how to push the rules so that no one could say he had broken them. Once, when they had been annoyed with L, they'd decided to spend a week of rebelling: playing innocent pranks and general mayhem. It was in that week that they had decided more appropriate aliases for themselves were "Alternate" and "Backup". And, despite the ups and downs, it had been…fun, if only because they were such an odd couple.

And then A had ruined it. His depression had grown out of control, slowly freezing him inside until A had shattered into silver glitter and fragments of pale crystal. As B's grin began to fade, A ran a hand through his mousy hair, his eyes (the same shade of wet sand as his hair) were soft and warm as he intoned somberly, "What's wrong?"

"I hate you," B choked out. His hands clenched, nails biting into his palms like daggers against his calloused flesh.

"I know."

"And I love you," B breathed, his anger fading from his body in a rough sigh.

"I know. You love me and hate me as you love and hate L," A replied matter-of-factly.

"Why did you leave? Why did A have to leave B?"

A crawled over to B—his customary way of moving about—and attempted to meet his friend's eyes. "B knows why."

B frowned at his knees and silently cursed that the numbers had run out. The numbers always ran out, slipping away like sand through his fingers. There was no point in trying to stop them. The doctors could call him mad, but the numbers were all that mattered. Dead numbers carved into the dead veins of a toxic world hidden behind a pulchritudinous mask; they were all dead.

When B next blinked, A had vanished. There was no trace of him to be found.

"Will you, won't you, will you, won't you—"

"Won't B, what?" Beyond inquired curiously, looking up at A from his cot.

A beamed at him. "Take my hand?"

Cautiously, B took A's hand and rose, unsteadily to his feet. He found it immensely troublesome that he'd happened to leave his body behind on the cot.

"B finds this…curiouser and curiouser," the black-haired boy remarked, following along with A's train of thought.

They stood together, staring at Beyond's body as is steadily grew colder.

"Was it—?"

"Kira," A confirmed quietly, cutting his friend off. For a six year old, B thought A was remarkably…grown up. A was serene, calm, accepting; he did not look on B with pity or disdain. He simply watched.

"I—B is dead?"

"Yes. For a while now." A paused. "Do you want to wait until they find you?"

B stared down at his body, possessed by the same morbid fascination that had always captured his attention in life. No jam today, he thought mildly, prodding himself speculatively. And no jam tomorrow. He'd always thought he was taller. B turned a mischievous smirk on his friend. "A and B can follow L?"

A nodded, something deviously playful creeping into his smile. B followed A out the door…and together they descended deeper into the rabbit hole.