Current mood:	blah
Current music:	Bewailing - Shinra Etsuko

HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEEN!

Annnd!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, L AND LANCIS!!

Title: Birthday
Author/Artist: temptationwaits
Fandom: Death Note/Another Note
Pairing: Beyond Birthday/L
List and #: Alternate #23 - grey
Rating: PG-16 (minor profanity, minor sexuality)
Disclaimer: Death Note, L, etc. © Ooba Tsugumi, Obata Takeshi, etc. Beyond Birthday, Another Note, etc. © Ishin Nishio.
A/N: Spoilers for B, Another Note and L (name plus history). Although the prompt is 'grey,' you'd except something different. The 'gray' in the story is the clouds, rain and overall feel. (Plus it was the next prompt in line anyway. XD) It is also a birthday and Halloween gift. XD It's choc full of spoilers, so, be forewarned! This story takes place in 2001.

In England, the tradition of Halloween encompassed a period of three days. The first being actually Halloween, was also known as All Hallow's Eve. To follow would be All Saints Day or All Hallow's Day, and finally, concluding with All Souls Day. This intertwined mix of holidays was a blend of good and bad spirits. A day when both angelic and demonic forces proudly roamed the Earth. Religions proud, faith hardened, joy abound.

However, Halloween had lost most of its original meaning in a good amount of the countries that celebrated it. This day was not dedicated to the wandering of demons and ghouls, not to the evil spirits that danced Earth bound straight from Hell. Rather, it was about candy and horror movies and girls and boys dressing in costumes of various men, women and everything imaginable.

We've long forgotten the horror of the demons lurking visible and powerful behind our backs, long since ignored that sensation of fear that something is out there right now, watching you. Perhaps ignorance is best; the churches are more open to Halloween if its seen as silly, playful, a joke.

But there are still remnants of the culture of our pasts. They come, these weathered memories of the old traditions, when we walk alone down an empty street at night, the sudden wind blowing harsh into the trees, brushing off lingering leaves. You wonder what might be behind you, what might be crouched beside that tree, and how the wind feels much too cold than it did moments ago, and how much it reminds you of fingers as it brushes against your prickled gooseflesh.

That moment when you pass a church on a cold autumn day and you see how sad the angel in the stain glass is, and just how daunting those bells can be. There you remember then; for most of your life, bells were precious, soft and soothing, something you heard at Christmas or weddings. But in that instant, you remember that bells were also tolled to ward away demons, to signify someone's death.

For some, today was a day of darkness and light. Death, and birth.

It had been very chilly the evening of October 31st 2001. The trees outside were losing their colors, the leaves having turned burnt orange, light reds, soft yellows, much like the sunset. However, tonight the sun would go unnoticed due to the thick quilts of gray rain clouds bundled closely together in the air. They were thick nimbostratus mounds, like masses of cancer in the bright sunlit sky of yesterday They brought wind with them, cold, freezing wind, thunder and lightning that growled in quick, static flashes from within their cores. Soon they would release rain that would pour on for hours and hours.

It was unusual for him to be caught dead outside, but today, of all days, there was something that drew him out of his hole.

Maybe it was the rowdiness of the children in the building that finally forced him to move outside? Roger and the other caretakers would be taking the orphans into town for a little trick or treating. It was a great way to relax their overworked minds, stretch their little wings and remind them, despite their current living situations, they were still, above all, children. Only twenty minutes ago did the final class of the day adjourn and now kids were running wild through the halls, putting on and boasting their costumes.

Either way, he was there for a reason. His feet were bare and wet, flicked with specks of dirt, squishing mud between his toes with little gushing noises as he carefully climbed his way up the damp hill. The knees and bottoms of his pants were stained with mud after one false move caused him to fall. Hands were dry, yet clammy, dirty, but still pale and fresh.

Once on top of the hill, he now overlooked the countryside, seeing a local town in a short distance. There was even a peek of sun still managing to wiggle out beneath the clouds.

L placed his hand to the tattered bark of the skeleton tree; it clung desperately to its remaining few leaves. "Hmm," he muttered. His black eyes surveyed how steep the hill was on the other side, leading into a long slope and ending at the beginning of a field of tall saw-grass.

When a cloud rumbled thunder, his eyes flashed upward, just in time to see lightning finish off a brief appearence. Where it had once been flashing was directly above the largest church in the nearby town. His eyes focused rather interestingly on that alone.

For a few minutes, he let silence do most of the talking, let the wind blow his hair in his eyes without a care. His eyes, they remained transfixed on that church, waiting for that very special something.

The hair did not stand on his neck, much like it would those who felt eyes of madness boring into the back of their heads, straight into the dark spots of their mind. L merely turned his head and stated, "You broke a twig back there. No need to hide."

"Too bad. I was looking for the perfect opportunity to frighten you. How I would have loved to see horror on your blank face."

From out behind a tree he crouched, much like that hidden beast who guards the lair of the place you seek. Silent, deadly, but yet delicate and thoughtful, B moved into the open with his spine curled against his back, much like L himself. However, he still had not quite adapted new features of L's old ones. There was still some Beyond Birthday in his physical appearance, excluding those eyes (they would never change, much like the dates they saw.)

"'Tis now the very witching time of night,'" B hummed, his sickly pale, long fingers holding a hollowed orange pumpkin, "'when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world.'" He laughed a little, just slightly, as he moved slow and straight to L. "The weathermen said there'd only be a 54 percent chance of rain today."

L corrected as B said, "94."

B smirked. "We both assumed right." His glossy red eyes shifted to those nimbo clouds, dyed blood in his field of vision. "Did you also predict the rain would start around 6:30?"

"More or less," L agreed.

"I see," B hummed. He walked closer to L, closer and closer, his entire being nearly colliding with his, until B quickly turned and stood on the other side of the tree. He noticed L's eyes were glued on something far away, but decided not to comment on it quite yet. "You know, a bit of wisdom from an elder, you should bring light with you when you travel on All Hallow's Eve."

L's eyes flicked to him. "Is that so?"

B grinned ear to ear. "Yes," he replied. He squatted on the rotting patch of grass, lowering the pumpkin on the ground. L saw a smile and a triangular nose had been carved into it, but yet there were no eyes. That's understandable.

"I thought you could use a little light." The red eyed boy slipped two fingers into his back pocket, producing a lighter. He struck fire on the device, and for a moment, a morbid fascination with the flame overcame him before he mentally shook off the fascination and carefully lit the candle placed in the pumpkin. Smoke in thin black streams billowed from its empty head; it smelt rotten, yet welcoming.

B sat down behind the pumpkin as light glowed from its wounds, the rear of his seat moist from the ground, legs bent and knees pulled to his chest. This familiar sight made L uncomfortable with standing, and he too sat in the exact pose. (It was his pose, however.) While it remained quiet between the two, L watched the church as B scanned the details of the world below, one hand above the pumpkin's open head, keeping the wind from blowing the little flame out. He could feel heat getting more intense the closer his hand was to the fire, but it felt good.

"Every year," Beyond suddenly said, cutting words into the breeze, "on this very day, you come to this exact location. Until now, I had only been observing your strange behavior from a distance. It was only until this year did I decide to personally join you." He chortled. "It is rather peaceful here. Despite the wind and the overcast, it relaxes the mind."

"It seems we both agree on this as well," L retorted, biting into his thumbnail.

B smiled a little, giving his own thumbnail a nip. "So tell me," he conversed, curious, "when do the bells toll exactly?"

The wind whipped four leaves from the gnarled skeleton tree.

"Not too far from now," L answered. His thumb traveled along his bottom lip. B watched him, watched his thumb with intense focus, his own tongue lashing out to taste his lip. "They ring them at dusk."

"Dusk?" B chuckled. "I suppose that's a fairly good idea."

"Oh?"

"Mm."

B needn't explain, L knew all ready. Pretty much like he did with everything else. With nothing to say to one another, they remained sitting there, in the same exact positions, doing the same exact thing, staring straight at the church miles away. It was not an uncomfortable or awkward silence. Neither were nerved or annoyed by the others presence, neither physically showed their concern or care that the other existed. One of them did, and oh so deeply how he admired the others existence, but he was a master at disguise.

It felt like hours had passed with the two merely sitting there in the cold, damp earth, silent and unmoving except for their thumbs on their mouths, fingers itching scalp or body parts. Most of the tiny candle in the little eyeless Jack-o-lantern had turned into wax, melted and dried on the base of its host. Soon the flame would die.

That's when it happened.

By instinct, L stood, and B, naturally, joined him. Just as the two climbed to their feet and bent their backs forward, the bells of the church began ringing, barely visible from the steeple. They rocked heavily back and forth, making the beam creak with age. The sound of the bells were loud throughout the whole town; from here, it was quiet and soft.

B turned his head to L and smiled wickedly. "Happy Birthday."

"Twenty-two," L informed, opening and closing his hands twice, then raising two fingers.

The corners of B's smile twisted a little. "Three more," he said quietly.

"Hmm?" L turned his large black eyes to B, who reminded him of a caterpillar near the end of his metamorphosis. He hadn't been listening, and yet, he had.

"Something relevant, nothing you'd care to know," B answered, eyes watching the little bells sway. He remembered how L never asked nor cared to know his death date.

A was the same way--he didn't want to know when he was going to die. But he wasn't like L. L didn't want to know because he didn't need to know; all people die eventually, and so would he, that was that. A didn't ask, didn't want to know because he didn't believe. Or maybe he did, but he was too scared to know. Or maybe he knew, because shortly after he hung himself in the middle of the night in his bedroom.

L turned his face back to the church. The bells would stop tolling in another minute or two. He could see specks of people running into the streets in the town. The bell also signaled the official start of trick or treating. L had never gone trick or treating, not even as a child, but he was notorious for stealing candy from all the orphans as they slept. (That or he manipulated them into giving him some--being highly admired and respected, it was quite easy. Never mind that they were children.)

"And now, what do you do?" B inquired. "My observations got no farther than this."

L glanced thoughtfully down the steep hill, tapping a finger to his lips. "Mmm. Whammy usually brings me three different birthday cakes." He rose three fingers to emphasize.

B laughed softly. "How nice," he crooned lowly. His eyes darkened as they sunk into their sockets, and a gloominess usually traditional of such weather lingered on his smile. When was the last time he had cake? For that matter, when was the last time he had birthday cake? For the life of him, he could honestly not remember, and he usually had a very intricate memory. So, the only explanation that was plausible was, perhaps, he never had a birthday cake.

How ironic.

"I never thought to invite anyone," L added, for the sake of just adding something, "because it wasn't something I cared much to celebrate. And like everyone else, all documentations and records of our existence have been cleaned, deleted and swept away."

B smirked a little, the unregistered distasteful feeling having been blown away with the cold evening wind. "I was always available," he gibed.

"Perhaps the only reason I remember my birthday at all," L wondered, "is because it's on this holiday."

"That's very convenient."

L's eyes creeped from the church as the bells were silenced. They stared deeply into bright red. "Do you remember your birthday," he inquired, blank of emotion but eyes boring into a person's soul, "Beyond Birthday?"

B just chuckled. "If I told you, you'd know my age," he answered, touching hand to his cheek, "and then I would blush with embarrassment."

"I see. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable," L replied, naturally curious by default.

B's lips curled back in his smile to show teeth. "Neither would I you," he agreed, his voice deep in his throat, "L Lawliet."

L and B let their eyes wander to the sky when thunder growled loudly. There he could see rain start to pour over the town; the way it fell, the long strands of rain, thousands of streaks and even millions more worth of rain, looked like thin spider legs. As if the clouds were webs hiding monsters from within, the lightning and the thunder. It was exactly 6:40.

"L, do you know?"

"Hmm?"

The sun was setting in the thin space beneath the clouds in the distance.

"They say on Halloween, all travels must finish their journeys before the sun sets," B informed, "less they might be spirited away by the many demons roaming the mortal world."

L looked at B from the corner of one eye. "The sun has set."

A smile, so grim, danced along his face. "Exactly," he said.

The candle blew out with a hiss.

There was, of course, some confusion as to why he hadn't stopped him, but right now, that didn't matter. As far as he could tell, he had the upper hand. There was no sign of escaping, not even by his standards.

L's back throbbed as it hit the ground with a hard thud. He could feel the moisture of the earth sink into his sleeved shirt. When he opened his eyes, thumbs brushed along his Adam's apple, fingers tightening around his throat; not a strong enough clutch to strangle, but just a little more, and he'd be gasping for air.

L gazed up into B's eyes, hanging over him like orbs of dead light, long, ragged bangs curtaining the sides of his face. B held onto L's throat, propped on his knees over L's waist, not sitting, just resting his weight into his knees, deep into the dirt.

"People say that as they are killing their victims," B whispered hoarsely, shaking slightly, "the sight of their life dwindling in their hands, living or dying depending on your control... How their eyes glow with fear and pain, how they beg and plead for mercy. They have everything they want, it's as if they've become oxygen; they are the only thing that determines their victims' fates now." He chuckled darkly. "One teenaged boy, after killing six girls, he commented on the matter, saying, 'It was fucking orgasmic.'"

"It's the endorphins, the surge of adrenaline," L added, relaxed despite his position. "That is why they feel so high."

B nodded in agreement. "When I was studying his case, I became so... envious of him. That freedom he had chosen, over the freedom he was given. He died trying to find life through killing," he explained, thumb gently stroking the soft flesh of L's throat. "I wanted to know what it would be like to feel such intense happiness. A high unlike any other."

"What the feeling you are describing, this high," L stated, "is what they call 'madness.'"

"Hahaha, I suppose so," B laughed, maybe a bit too happily.

"So?" L asked after a moment of silence. "Do you intend to kill me, Beyond Birthday?"

"Not here... Not now. Not yet. There's still a distance to be achieved," B assured with a morbid, gentle smile. "I'm very sure you would not allow me to kill you either."

"That may be," L said, "or perhaps, it was not you who will kill me?"

B pouted. "I'm envious of that person," he taunted. His hands then loosened and moved from L's throat. L's lips parted to take a breath of relief. B gently pressed a finger to their pale surface. "I don't want to kill you, either way. Perhaps all I want to do, is give you nightmares," he chuckled. He then straddled L, before sliding up his chest and sitting there, knees bent. His eyes were soft as they burned a hidden passion L would come to know the meaning of in good time.

"You're an Alp then?" L retorted. "A heavy one."

"You're the one who eats too many sweets," B countered. He swooped down and took L's mouth with his, letting his tongue slip freely beneath the other. L did not seem to be pushing away, but neither was he replying or accepting. He merely took the kiss as nothing; at least, nothing to be worried about. B didn't care; as long as he got what he wanted, everything, everyone, would be okay.

The back of B's long fingers swept along L's face. Above them, the clouds grumbled, and what started as little droplets, became a downpour of cold rain. They didn't say anything; everything needing to be said wasn't important right now. If he talked, he wouldn't listen. That was how it was. B's voice couldn't reach L's, and so, if he had to use his hands, if he had to speak through his actions, just to get L to turn his head, he'd do it very willingly.

The rain soaked their clothes, muddied their bodies, the white fabrics of their shirts sunk into their skin. But the flesh was pallor, just like the shirts they wore, so it didn't matter either way. Black and light hair clung to their faces, but their eyes remained bright, their mouths spewing hot air.

"Happy birthday," B murmured. His hand snaked down the front of L's pants, clutching. L grunted softly, but remained still. As B fondled him slow and hard, he leaned his face closer to L's, kissed his wet lips as they turned blue from the cold. As their bodies shivered, the places where they touched and held one another remained warm by their stifling body temperatures.

Beyond Birthday dropped his lips to L's ear and whispered, "'They that are born on Halloween shall see more than other folk.'"

L blinked his dark eyes, pondering. Maybe, he thought, but isn't that more like you?

He thought and thought as his eyes slowly sunk close.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.</i>
- Emily Dickinson

---

After Notes:

I did a little research on the England tradition of Halloween, and it pretty much mirrors American's traditions. I got a little help from this site here.

This was also originally going to be smut, but due to my brain being tired, strained and the fact I have another story to work on, I just cut it. OH I'M SURE YOU'RE FINE WITHOUT IT. 8P

While I usually don't like making up histories or events in a character's life who does not belong to me, there are four things about B, L and A I use in each of my stories that never changes.

For B, originally I envisioned him a blonde, so to me he was born with short, messy blonde hair. Also, I gave B the fan birthday of 8/1/71. Why? It's a long explanation. @_@ For A, I made him creeped out by B and his eyes and his suicide is by hanging (it was never specified how.) For L, I always say he never asked or care to know about his death date, which I'm sure L might've done this too if in canon.

Alp: An Alp is a mythical figure known to cause nightmares. At night, while you sleep, he comes and sits on your chest. He's one of my favorite creatures to write about. (Read more.)

QUOTES:
'Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world. - William Shakespeare
They that are born on Halloween shall see more than other folk. - Unknown