evandar

Title: Lawliet
Chapter: 5b/?
Author: Evandar / yamievandar / hikarievandar
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note and I make no money from writing this FanFic.
Warnings: AU, yaoi, shonen-ai, shota.
Spoilers: L's real name and Mello and Near's existence.
Summary: Lawliet is an autistic, genius super-detective, hidden from the world under the moniker of L; Light is an indigo child struggling under the expectations of his family; Mello is a Mafia brat who wants both to get out and keep his life; Near is a mute orphan ripped from everything he knows by the horrific death of his father. When fate throws them together, the consequences will echo around the world.

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5a

The Wammy House

June 1999

Near was eight when he arrived. At the time, he was sitting in his usual spot on the floor of the playroom, working on a puzzle. He could hear the excited voices of the other children coming closer, even though a quick glance at the clock told him that break wasn’t yet over, and as it was still sunny outside, they had no real reason for coming indoors en masse.

The door to the playroom burst open, and a large group of over-excited children poured into the room. Near flinched at the noise level: how could they be so loud?

“This is the playroom,” one of the girls – it sounded like Electra, but really, most of the girls just sounded the same to him. “Oh, and that’s Near. He’s been here for, like, ever, but he won’t talk to you so you shouldn’t really bother with him.”

Near looked up. It was Electra, and she was standing talking to a young boy a couple of years older than Near. He had shoulder length blonde hair that was shining red in the sunlight that filtered through the window, and he had strange, copper-coloured eyes. He was pretty, Near thought, and he was staring right back at Near curiously.

Electra was glaring at him for stealing the attention of the new boy away from her. Near simply raised an eyebrow at her and returned to his puzzle: he’d never understand girls, especially boy-crazy girls like Electra.

He didn’t look up as the new boy and his crowd of admirers left the room. He listened to them go and sighed as the room’s noise level returned to normal. In a few weeks the novelty of having a new kid in the orphanage would wear off and everything would go back to the way it had been before. The new boy would find his own group of friends and a subject to specialise in, and he would just blend into the background as all the others had done.

Near had made his assumptions on past experience, and he was very wrong. He was about to learn that the new boy was nothing like the others, and that he would not be pushed aside quite so easily.

Mello Near

“What’s wrong with him?” Mello asked as he was herded down the corridor and away from the playroom by an escort of at least twenty children. His question was directed at the girl who was hanging off his arm, and who would flick her long dark hair at him every so often. He wanted her to let go: she was preventing him from reaching his weapons – a knife in each boot and strapped to each arm – and it was making him twitchy.

“Who?” she asked, looking up at him through long black lashes, giggling slightly.

“Near,” he replied. That had been the boy’s name, hadn’t it?

It made sense for the owners of the Wammy House to strip each child’s real name from them as they were accepted into the orphanage, especially if they came from backgrounds that were in any way similar to Mello’s own. He could see the point – although he was glad he hadn’t been made to change his name again, as he’d got used to being called Mello, and he rather liked it – but he wished that the names weren’t all so strange. Who in their right mind called a kid ‘Near’?

“Oh him,” the girl, her name had been lost in the myriad of introductions he had received upon entering the building. “We don’t know. He can’t talk so he can’t tell us what’s wrong, and even though he has this writing pad with him all the time, he doesn’t really bother with any of us. He’s not important: all he does is sit there and play with toys.”

“Oh.”

Mello’s fingers twitched as he was dragged into another room – the dining hall. He really wanted to have her let go, and to have a calmer tour around the building. Preferably one that didn’t involve flirting.

Mello didn’t like loud noises, and he didn’t really like being touched by people he didn’t trust. This tour was turning into his own personal hell.

“Excuse me!” called a voice. Mello turned sharply, and sighed with relief when he saw Watari standing in the doorway. “May I borrow Mello for a moment, Electra? I need to sort out where he will be staying.”

“Oh,” she looked disappointed. “Okay. Come and find me when you want the rest of your tour, okay?”

Mello didn’t answer as he detached himself from her grip. He jogged over to Watari and let the older man lead him through the halls in a much more subdued manner than his charges had done.

“While in the Wammy House, I would appreciate it if you called me Mr Wammy,” Watari said calmly. “None of the children here know of my double life: they just think that I own the orphanage. I’m sure you understand the need for secrecy.”

“Yes sir,” Mello said. “I won’t tell.”

“Good. Now, this is where you will be staying.” Watari – Mr Wammy – opened a door and showed him in. If Mello’s calculations were correct, they were now on the top floor of the building, in the East wing.

The room itself was nice enough. It was large and airy, although for some reason the curtains were closed. It held two large beds, two bedside tables, two desks, two chests of drawers, a toy chest, a sink with a mirror above it and a lot of book cases. One half of the room, the half with the toy chest, looked occupied in a disinterested sort of way, as though its occupant didn’t really spend very much time there. It was very neat though, which made Mello smile. Whoever his roommate was, he was certainly well organised.

“You’ll be sharing this room with Near,” Mr Wammy said. “Have you –“

“I’ve seen him,” Mello interrupted. “He’s the one who doesn’t talk.”

“Yes,” Mr Wammy said. Mello looked up at him. The old man sounded sad, as if Near was important to him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“That, I’m afraid, is something only Near can tell you,” Mr Wammy replied. “I know some of it, but the exact details are something he has never divulged. He may never do so, though I suspect that his voice will return one day.”

Mello winced. Scenarios raced through his mind: what could make a child stop talking? Something bad, obviously…

Mello Near

The new boy had vanished. Some of the other children – Electra among them – had gone looking for him, claiming that Mr Wammy couldn’t have kept him occupied for over an hour, but they had returned from their search disappointed. The new boy, whoever he was, had disappeared.

Near walked down the hall towards his room. It had started to rain and the others had all been dragged inside by the carers and shoved into the playroom. With his peace disturbed, Near was planning to spend the next hour before dinner in his room, away from the noise.

He opened the door to his sanctuary only to stop dead in the doorway. The spare bed was now occupied.

The new boy was lying curled up on his side, his long hair spread over the pillow behind him, and his left hand under the pillow. He was fast asleep, his even breathing whispering through his parted lips. One of his sock-clad feet twitched, and he shifted to pull it out of the draft coming through the door. He didn’t wake up.

‘He is pretty,’ Near thought.

He closed the door quietly behind him and settled on the floor to play. He would wake the boy up in an hour so that he could get something to eat, and maybe he would find out what he was called.

Mello Near

Near paused by his new room mate’s bed. He didn’t like the way that the other boy’s hand seemed to be gripping something under his pillow. He had thought about shaking the other boy by his shoulders, but realised that that was too close to save him from any reflexive lashing out. He shook his leg instead.

The new boy jerked awake in an instant, hand coming out from under the pillow, revealing a wicked looking knife. Near gulped: he had been right. The new boy blinked at him, looked down at his hand and winced.

“Um…sorry,” he said.

Near raised his hands in the universal action for ‘it’s okay’ and watched at the knife was placed in a sheath on the older boy’s ankle. His heart was racing, and his legs suddenly felt very weak. He sat down on the bed.

“Are you okay?” the new boy asked. He had a strange accent, Near noticed. It was Slavic, but it was faded slightly, and something about the other boy’s vowels sounded American.

Near nodded, and looked around for his pad of paper and his pen. They were on the floor near where he had been playing, but he didn’t feel quite up to getting them yet.

The other boy seemed to realise the problem, and turned to rummage through his bedside drawer. He produced an old notebook filled with doodles and embarrassing outlines for fairy stories he had never written and turned to a clean page. He passed it to Near along with a black biro, and was rewarded with a faint smile.

“My name’s Mello, by the way,” he said. Near nodded, and jotted his own name down in case the other boy had forgotten their brief and not very polite introduction.

“How long have you been here?” Mello asked.

Five years was the neatly written answer. Mello gave a low whistle. That was…quite a long time.

“I’m sorry about the knife,” he continued. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I’m fine. Really. Why did you have the knife anyway?

“I lived on the streets for a bit,” Mello explained. “In a rough area. I’m paranoid, I guess.”

Near’s shoulders trembled slightly, and Mello realised with a start that the other boy was actually laughing.

“Hey, what’s funny?” Melo demanded.

My other friend is paranoid too, but even he doesn’t keep a knife under his pillow. You’re safe here.

Mello smiled. “Where’s your friend? You were alone before, and the other kids said that…”

No one likes me? It’s okay to say it. Ryuzaki’s away most of the time. He works in foreign countries with Mr Wammy.

Mello’s breath caught. This kid, Near, he knew L? He was friends with him?

“What’s he like?”

Strange. Near paused before he wrote the word, as if he was trying to find a single word to sum up his friend and was trying to be polite about it. But everyone here is strange, really.

Mello Near

The next time Mello saw Near – he had been swept away by a crowd as soon as they had entered the dining hall – was in their room later that night. Near was standing on a small plastic stool in front of the sink, with his hands up by his face. Mello watched, curious, as Near removed something bright green from his eye. Mello only caught a glimpse of it before he turned away. There was something strange about watching another person take out contact lenses that made him feel uncomfortable.

He wondered what Near’s natural eye colour was like. He suited green, in Mello’s opinion.

Mello sat on his bed and picked up his notepad from where Near had left it earlier. He flipped through it, snickering at the cartoon Watari he had drawn on the plane, until Near was done with the mirror. Then he darted over to where Near stood, putting on thin wire-rimmed glasses, and leaned down so he was staring right into Near’s eyes.

Near blinked.

He grabbed his notepad, wrote something, and held it up so that Mello could read it.

What are you doing?

“Looking at your eyes,” Mello told him. “Some of the other kids at dinner said they were weird and I wanted to see.”

Near frowned but lowered the notepad, letting Mello get a good look. They were a very pale grey, and Mello knew why the other kids thought they were creepy: they were so pale they were almost white.

“You’re an albino,” he said.

He didn’t need the notepad to read a “well obviously” from Near’s gaze.

“That’s why the curtains were drawn, and why you sit with your back to the light,” Mello said. “And why you wear contacts: albinos are usually really sensitive to light, so coloured contacts can lessen the glare as well as help them see. Are you astigmatic?”

Near nodded, looking confused.

“I read a lot,” Mello said, answering the unasked question. “Loads of really useless stuff, mostly, but I remember it.” Near was looking at him as if he was talking rubbish, which Mello realised, he was. “Science books mostly, and fairy stories, but I like studying Biology.”

Near held up his pad. Law and philosophy. Fairy stories?

“I suffer from an overactive imagination,” Mello explained. “And neither of my parents would let me read them either, so when I got the chance to, I took it.”

Near smiled faintly. Mello was strange, but he was pleasant enough, and he wasn’t too loud either. He was also intelligent, but unlike some of the other kids, he acted as if it were completely natural. Near liked him.

“Hey Near?” Mello asked. Near had just been about to get into bed, but he paused and looked over to where Mello was standing, now dressed in an oversized black T Shirt and loose black shorts. He looked much younger than he had before.

“Can we be friends?” Mello asked. He looked nervous. “I’ve never had a friend before, so I’ll probably suck at it – “

Near’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter again. He nodded, smiling over at Mello, who grinned back at him.

He was happy.

Mello Near

It was strange, having a friend around my own age, and I was right: I did suck at it. Quite badly, in fact, but Near had had so few friends that I don’t think he even noticed. We are very different people, and that led to fights – have you ever had an argument with a mute boy? You’d be surprised how easy it is to lose, or maybe that’s just Near. I was certainly the only kid in the orphanage with enough pig-headedness to try.

But despite the arguments – we still have them – we got along pretty well. I would defend him from the other kids, and he would let me hang around with him. In class we would compete for the top spot – the little bastard always beat me too – and behind the scenes, hidden from the others, we would compete for the position of L’s successor.

Ah, but you don’t know how that came about yet, now do you? Well, that’s a story for another day.