(no subject)
Title: Countdown
Rating: NC-17ish.
Fandom: Death Note.
Pairing: A/B, Slight one-sided B/L and A/L.
Summary: B is obsessive. A is fucked up. They use each other and it works.
Spoilers for Death Note: Another Note.
Warnings: This fic is pretty dark - dub con, manipulation, death, murder, foul language, etc.
Disclaimers: I don't own Death Note.
A comes before B.
It's a fact. B knows this.
A comes before B in the Latin alphabet.
A comes before B when Wammy's House is still just a house and Quillish thinks that L needs some socialization - a friend or two, like him, with whom he can connect. The genius detective is still a human being, after all, and a teenager at that. Social interaction is important for the development of any person - more so, even, for a person who needs to understand human behavior. He tells himself this, justifies bringing home the younger - but no less intelligent - boy with the polite smile and unyielding eyes. He calls the boy A, not because his real name starts with A (it does, but that's irrelevant), but because he is the first that is not-L and the letters have already been established as a precedent.
B - the next not-L - comes a couple of days later. Quillish thinks he will introduce the three of them together, but L refuses, and instead gets on a plane bound for another country where he can investigate in peace. L will not meet A and B for seven months, two weeks, and three days after he leaves (even then, it will be though a computer, as all their correspondence will remain). B knows because he keeps track.
The experiment fails from the start and Quillish thinks he cannot just throw these children back to the wolves, back to the orphanages that were too happy to see them taken away. Those people don't understand eccentricities as indicators of genius. They think A is a freak for his ability to play, with perfection, any musical piece he hears just once. A, Quillish knows, finds patterns in everything. They think B must be able to read their minds when he predicts what they will say or do. B, Quillish knows, is excellent at deduction.
During the seven months, two weeks, and three days that L spends abroad, L nearly dies. No one knows this, of course. No one except for Quillish, who realizes with a detached sense of horror that L is his best invention. L, as a teenager, already has the respect of multiple government agencies across the world. With time, he will become even greater, even more powerful. Quillish has invented true justice. He cannot lose L.
He has the new children tested, repeatedly. They are ranked on multiple levels.
A comes before B in these rankings.
A becomes Alternate L.
B becomes Backup Alternate L.
And Quillish becomes a man dedicated to the preservation of his greatest invention. He collects more children, and his home becomes an orphanage for the gifted.
A is very different from L, B thinks to himself, watching as A scribbles something in the margin of his textbook. He knows, of course, that A will fail, and thinks that the differences must be why. He arranges them in his head, running over the list he has compiled after living with the other for exactly six years, ten months, three weeks, and two days.
Sure, A has the intelligence, the correct scores, the ability to deduce and draw connections from very few clues. A works on minor cases as a hobby, to keep up his abilities, to remain strong in the running. He does remarkably well. Quillish praises him when they see each other. B doesn't care about the old man, it's L who matters, and B thinks that L does not like his replacement because L never wastes his time with visiting A (or B, either, but B is going to fix that).
B watches A, always, because L is not there to watch and A is in his way, always standing between him and his goal. B needs to understand.
A doesn't eat sweets. A doesn't hunch or speak in a bored, even manner. A is remarkably good with people and with social interaction, in a way that makes B sick. He wonders if that is what keeps A above him, because B is terrible with people. But no, that can't be it, because L stays away from people, too, and if that is what L does that is what B will do.
A can also be emotional.
B prides himself on the fact that he doesn't care about most things. A pretends he is similarly minded, but B knows. B has spent many hours in A's room, trying to learn more about his rival, trying to understand what it is that makes him tick and how B can interrupt that ticking. B has spent many hours hiding under A's bed after nearly being discovered, waiting until his is 95% sure that A is sleeping before slipping out.
B has learned a lot in that time. But he learned the most after A had a "meeting" with L that led him to storm into his room and, without missing a beat, reach down under his bed to grab B's arm and yank, hard. B wondered, then, how long A had known that B frequented that spot, whether A had set up any false leads for his rival, and why A was now revealing himself and ruining the game. One look at A's face - once, of course, he was off the floor and being shoved out of the room - confirmed it.
A was upset.
"What's wrong, Alternate?" B asked, sickeningly sweet, while being pushed through the threshold.
"Fuck off," A replied.
"L doesn't like you very much, does he?" B deduced, tone still coated, grinning a twisted grin. Compulsively, his eyes flicked upward, to the numbers, to his countdown. Oh yes, he thought with pleasure.
A slammed the door in his face, but that was okay, because B knew that A had sought L's admiration.
Unlike Quillish, L is not quick to give praises.
The first time they fuck, it's because B has the urge to strangle A for still being first and this manifests itself into a fist fight. Somewhere in between a black eye and bruises around the neck, B manages to force A down into the bed. As he fucks him, shoving A's face into the mattress, violently raking his fingernails down A's back, B whispers A's real name. A goes rigid, his skin begins to pale, and B comes so hard darkness creeps around his vision.
They continue to fuck. A continues to remain first and B finds he has more fun when he pretends A is L - or even better, himself as L, a thought that instantly hardens him. He hates looking at A as they fuck and always shoves him into the blankets, fucks him when A's face is hidden and his rival can barely breathe. A often tries to top him, but B knows his name, his weaknesses, his fears. B will never submit to the likes of A, or anyone.
One day, A "meets" with L again, a progress report of sorts. A returns as he usually does after his meetings with L - enraged, hurt, and - though B thinks he may be the only one who realizes it - somewhat broken. B knows that A is searching for something from L, something that L cannot provide. A doesn't kick him out of the room this time because B is not hiding. B is sitting on A's bed, watching.
A is ablaze with emotion and B thinks he is being very foolish when his rival turns on him and says, "What is it that you know?" B knows that this isn't about L - not exactly, though that must be how it started. Something is churning in A's mind and B can tell, based on the way A is pacing and biting his lip, that A's thoughts are racing so fast that A cannot even keep up with them. He thinks A is weak. B's eyes flick to the name, the numbers.
"I know," he replies tauntingly, grinning and pressing his thumb to his lip in a chilling manner, "that out of A, B and L, A is the most human of us all." Then, with a shrug, as though it is a simple deduction, he adds, "And that will be A's downfall."
A seems ready for this comment, B thinks, because he responds quicker than B would have liked. "I am going to tell L," he says.
B's eyes do not widen the way he feels they should, because he keeps himself controlled, but he is surprised by this remark. He maintains a facade of calmness, even smirks. "About what? Your humanity?"
"Not about me," A replies evenly. "About you. About the hours you spend in front of the mirror, practicing. About the makeup. About what you think about when you fuck me." He stops pacing and turns on B, shoving him. "Of course I know," he responds though B has said nothing, has not even reacted. "I know you better than you think, B. It's all a game, after all."
And then B flips him around, shoves A onto the bed, and tears his rival's pants off with such force and anger that A gasps despite himself. Without warning, B is in him, and A's cries are from pain, not pleasure, and B is pounding and ripping at skin and thinking about how beautiful A's corpse will look when the countdown is over. He comes and pulls out and shoves A away.
There are tears.
At first, B feels a sense of triumph. He has hurt A, and that is a success. He begins to murmur a gloat, when it dawns on him.
A had wanted to cry. A had coaxed him into it, had played B like a toy until B offered him release.
B had helped, not hurt.
Suddenly, B is disgusted. He punches A, right in the face, so hard he thinks he hears bones splintering in complaint, and then he leaves because he needs a fucking shower.
The night before the countdown ends, B strolls into A's room, grinning his grin. He slouches most of the time, now, and finds that he likes the saunter it gives him. He has a plan in motion, one that will begin at the end of the countdown. B wants him to know, so he tells A with pride, "I am about to be first in line," and waits to see A react.
A nods. His calmness is infuriating.
Then, the natural deduction: A knows.
B narrows his eyes, which instinctively check the numbers that have been above A's head since the day he was born. They remain unaltered. A cannot see them, because even if A had his eyes - which he doesn't, of course - A wouldn't be able to see his own. If he knows, then that means...
And then B knows.
Suicide.
I'll be there, B thinks, because he knows A and knows how his rival will do it. He knows his rival will succeed.
B knows a lot of things about the future.
He finds A on the top floor study with the tall windows, one of which is open. A sits, feet dangling over into nothingness, and smiles when B arrives, as though he has been waiting for him.
"We are not that high up. There is a 42% chance you will survive," B volunteers lazily, leaning against the door frame. A knows this, of course, and B knows that there is actually a 0% chance because he sees the numbers. A will succeed.
"B," A murmurs affectionately, still smiling. "B, it's all pointless."
It is not and has never been pointless.
"B. Backup. The soon-to-be-first-not-L." A shakes his head, somewhat sadly. "You are going to fail."
B is about to cross his arms, but chooses to press his thumb to his lip instead. "I am going to succeed," he declares with pride. A knows nothing. A is about to die.
"You were correct," A continues, looking away from B and out into the early morning, the sun just beginning to streak the sky. "I am too human." He laughs, surveying himself, poised before the moment of death. "But you - you are the least human of our little triad. You, too, will lose."
B approaches him, slowly, but with an anger he cannot contain. A needs to shut up.
"And L knows we're his failures." An experiment gone wrong. He has already aborted the project, has already seen the darkness that exists in A and B. A knows about X, Y and Z. He knows there will be more, too, after. The orphanage is full, and growing. A knows they will never get it right. No one will ever be L.
"I will not fail," B replies, voice cold, empty. A smiles patronizingly, pityingly.
"Will I be your first, then?" A asks calmly. "I won't struggle."
B grits his teeth. "Either way, you aren't surviving beyond one minute and thirty-nine seconds from now."
A nods. Acceptance.
"I bet," he ventures, "that L hates you more than he hates me."
B shoves him, then, because A needs to die already and because it is not true. A topples and falls and hits pavement. B counts until he knows it's done. Then he sticks his head out of the window, into the growing morning light. He stares down at the corpse.
Now it is only B and L.
At first, Beyond Birthday thinks of A - not L - when he strangles Believe Bridesmaid.
Rating: NC-17ish.
Fandom: Death Note.
Pairing: A/B, Slight one-sided B/L and A/L.
Summary: B is obsessive. A is fucked up. They use each other and it works.
Spoilers for Death Note: Another Note.
Warnings: This fic is pretty dark - dub con, manipulation, death, murder, foul language, etc.
Disclaimers: I don't own Death Note.
A comes before B.
It's a fact. B knows this.
A comes before B in the Latin alphabet.
A comes before B when Wammy's House is still just a house and Quillish thinks that L needs some socialization - a friend or two, like him, with whom he can connect. The genius detective is still a human being, after all, and a teenager at that. Social interaction is important for the development of any person - more so, even, for a person who needs to understand human behavior. He tells himself this, justifies bringing home the younger - but no less intelligent - boy with the polite smile and unyielding eyes. He calls the boy A, not because his real name starts with A (it does, but that's irrelevant), but because he is the first that is not-L and the letters have already been established as a precedent.
B - the next not-L - comes a couple of days later. Quillish thinks he will introduce the three of them together, but L refuses, and instead gets on a plane bound for another country where he can investigate in peace. L will not meet A and B for seven months, two weeks, and three days after he leaves (even then, it will be though a computer, as all their correspondence will remain). B knows because he keeps track.
The experiment fails from the start and Quillish thinks he cannot just throw these children back to the wolves, back to the orphanages that were too happy to see them taken away. Those people don't understand eccentricities as indicators of genius. They think A is a freak for his ability to play, with perfection, any musical piece he hears just once. A, Quillish knows, finds patterns in everything. They think B must be able to read their minds when he predicts what they will say or do. B, Quillish knows, is excellent at deduction.
During the seven months, two weeks, and three days that L spends abroad, L nearly dies. No one knows this, of course. No one except for Quillish, who realizes with a detached sense of horror that L is his best invention. L, as a teenager, already has the respect of multiple government agencies across the world. With time, he will become even greater, even more powerful. Quillish has invented true justice. He cannot lose L.
He has the new children tested, repeatedly. They are ranked on multiple levels.
A comes before B in these rankings.
A becomes Alternate L.
B becomes Backup Alternate L.
And Quillish becomes a man dedicated to the preservation of his greatest invention. He collects more children, and his home becomes an orphanage for the gifted.
A is very different from L, B thinks to himself, watching as A scribbles something in the margin of his textbook. He knows, of course, that A will fail, and thinks that the differences must be why. He arranges them in his head, running over the list he has compiled after living with the other for exactly six years, ten months, three weeks, and two days.
Sure, A has the intelligence, the correct scores, the ability to deduce and draw connections from very few clues. A works on minor cases as a hobby, to keep up his abilities, to remain strong in the running. He does remarkably well. Quillish praises him when they see each other. B doesn't care about the old man, it's L who matters, and B thinks that L does not like his replacement because L never wastes his time with visiting A (or B, either, but B is going to fix that).
B watches A, always, because L is not there to watch and A is in his way, always standing between him and his goal. B needs to understand.
A doesn't eat sweets. A doesn't hunch or speak in a bored, even manner. A is remarkably good with people and with social interaction, in a way that makes B sick. He wonders if that is what keeps A above him, because B is terrible with people. But no, that can't be it, because L stays away from people, too, and if that is what L does that is what B will do.
A can also be emotional.
B prides himself on the fact that he doesn't care about most things. A pretends he is similarly minded, but B knows. B has spent many hours in A's room, trying to learn more about his rival, trying to understand what it is that makes him tick and how B can interrupt that ticking. B has spent many hours hiding under A's bed after nearly being discovered, waiting until his is 95% sure that A is sleeping before slipping out.
B has learned a lot in that time. But he learned the most after A had a "meeting" with L that led him to storm into his room and, without missing a beat, reach down under his bed to grab B's arm and yank, hard. B wondered, then, how long A had known that B frequented that spot, whether A had set up any false leads for his rival, and why A was now revealing himself and ruining the game. One look at A's face - once, of course, he was off the floor and being shoved out of the room - confirmed it.
A was upset.
"What's wrong, Alternate?" B asked, sickeningly sweet, while being pushed through the threshold.
"Fuck off," A replied.
"L doesn't like you very much, does he?" B deduced, tone still coated, grinning a twisted grin. Compulsively, his eyes flicked upward, to the numbers, to his countdown. Oh yes, he thought with pleasure.
A slammed the door in his face, but that was okay, because B knew that A had sought L's admiration.
Unlike Quillish, L is not quick to give praises.
The first time they fuck, it's because B has the urge to strangle A for still being first and this manifests itself into a fist fight. Somewhere in between a black eye and bruises around the neck, B manages to force A down into the bed. As he fucks him, shoving A's face into the mattress, violently raking his fingernails down A's back, B whispers A's real name. A goes rigid, his skin begins to pale, and B comes so hard darkness creeps around his vision.
They continue to fuck. A continues to remain first and B finds he has more fun when he pretends A is L - or even better, himself as L, a thought that instantly hardens him. He hates looking at A as they fuck and always shoves him into the blankets, fucks him when A's face is hidden and his rival can barely breathe. A often tries to top him, but B knows his name, his weaknesses, his fears. B will never submit to the likes of A, or anyone.
One day, A "meets" with L again, a progress report of sorts. A returns as he usually does after his meetings with L - enraged, hurt, and - though B thinks he may be the only one who realizes it - somewhat broken. B knows that A is searching for something from L, something that L cannot provide. A doesn't kick him out of the room this time because B is not hiding. B is sitting on A's bed, watching.
A is ablaze with emotion and B thinks he is being very foolish when his rival turns on him and says, "What is it that you know?" B knows that this isn't about L - not exactly, though that must be how it started. Something is churning in A's mind and B can tell, based on the way A is pacing and biting his lip, that A's thoughts are racing so fast that A cannot even keep up with them. He thinks A is weak. B's eyes flick to the name, the numbers.
"I know," he replies tauntingly, grinning and pressing his thumb to his lip in a chilling manner, "that out of A, B and L, A is the most human of us all." Then, with a shrug, as though it is a simple deduction, he adds, "And that will be A's downfall."
A seems ready for this comment, B thinks, because he responds quicker than B would have liked. "I am going to tell L," he says.
B's eyes do not widen the way he feels they should, because he keeps himself controlled, but he is surprised by this remark. He maintains a facade of calmness, even smirks. "About what? Your humanity?"
"Not about me," A replies evenly. "About you. About the hours you spend in front of the mirror, practicing. About the makeup. About what you think about when you fuck me." He stops pacing and turns on B, shoving him. "Of course I know," he responds though B has said nothing, has not even reacted. "I know you better than you think, B. It's all a game, after all."
And then B flips him around, shoves A onto the bed, and tears his rival's pants off with such force and anger that A gasps despite himself. Without warning, B is in him, and A's cries are from pain, not pleasure, and B is pounding and ripping at skin and thinking about how beautiful A's corpse will look when the countdown is over. He comes and pulls out and shoves A away.
There are tears.
At first, B feels a sense of triumph. He has hurt A, and that is a success. He begins to murmur a gloat, when it dawns on him.
A had wanted to cry. A had coaxed him into it, had played B like a toy until B offered him release.
B had helped, not hurt.
Suddenly, B is disgusted. He punches A, right in the face, so hard he thinks he hears bones splintering in complaint, and then he leaves because he needs a fucking shower.
The night before the countdown ends, B strolls into A's room, grinning his grin. He slouches most of the time, now, and finds that he likes the saunter it gives him. He has a plan in motion, one that will begin at the end of the countdown. B wants him to know, so he tells A with pride, "I am about to be first in line," and waits to see A react.
A nods. His calmness is infuriating.
Then, the natural deduction: A knows.
B narrows his eyes, which instinctively check the numbers that have been above A's head since the day he was born. They remain unaltered. A cannot see them, because even if A had his eyes - which he doesn't, of course - A wouldn't be able to see his own. If he knows, then that means...
And then B knows.
Suicide.
I'll be there, B thinks, because he knows A and knows how his rival will do it. He knows his rival will succeed.
B knows a lot of things about the future.
He finds A on the top floor study with the tall windows, one of which is open. A sits, feet dangling over into nothingness, and smiles when B arrives, as though he has been waiting for him.
"We are not that high up. There is a 42% chance you will survive," B volunteers lazily, leaning against the door frame. A knows this, of course, and B knows that there is actually a 0% chance because he sees the numbers. A will succeed.
"B," A murmurs affectionately, still smiling. "B, it's all pointless."
It is not and has never been pointless.
"B. Backup. The soon-to-be-first-not-L." A shakes his head, somewhat sadly. "You are going to fail."
B is about to cross his arms, but chooses to press his thumb to his lip instead. "I am going to succeed," he declares with pride. A knows nothing. A is about to die.
"You were correct," A continues, looking away from B and out into the early morning, the sun just beginning to streak the sky. "I am too human." He laughs, surveying himself, poised before the moment of death. "But you - you are the least human of our little triad. You, too, will lose."
B approaches him, slowly, but with an anger he cannot contain. A needs to shut up.
"And L knows we're his failures." An experiment gone wrong. He has already aborted the project, has already seen the darkness that exists in A and B. A knows about X, Y and Z. He knows there will be more, too, after. The orphanage is full, and growing. A knows they will never get it right. No one will ever be L.
"I will not fail," B replies, voice cold, empty. A smiles patronizingly, pityingly.
"Will I be your first, then?" A asks calmly. "I won't struggle."
B grits his teeth. "Either way, you aren't surviving beyond one minute and thirty-nine seconds from now."
A nods. Acceptance.
"I bet," he ventures, "that L hates you more than he hates me."
B shoves him, then, because A needs to die already and because it is not true. A topples and falls and hits pavement. B counts until he knows it's done. Then he sticks his head out of the window, into the growing morning light. He stares down at the corpse.
Now it is only B and L.
At first, Beyond Birthday thinks of A - not L - when he strangles Believe Bridesmaid.