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Title: Poltergeist
Author/Artist: temptationwaits
Fandom: Death Note/Another Note
Pairing: Beyond Birthday/L
List and #: Alternate #24 - the fall
Rating: PG (a little bit of profanity, shounen-ai)
Disclaimer: Death Note, L, etc. © Ooba Tsugumi, Obata Takeshi, etc. Beyond Birthday, Another Note, etc. © Ishin Nishio.
A/N: Spoilers for Another Note, B and maybe a little for L? I don't know, lol.

The day Satan fell, the Heavens cried.

Tonight, they'd cry for him, too.

Out of pity, he thought. They'll shed tears out of pity and pity alone.

For the past four days, it had been raining frozen hellfire and brimstone, cold and harsh, firing harder and harder as the days passed. Lightning had turned the sky into thousands of slashes, thunder moaning up and down the hills with the howl of the whipping, freezing wind.

Whammy's Orphanage had been closed down tight and sound. The storm had knocked off a few shingles on the roof, broken a window when lightning had hit only a few yards away with an angry boom of a pounding fist. So now the windows were boarded, and according to the pretty newscaster in the yellow dress and high heels, the storm would last another three or so days.

Awkward for what was suppose to be a sunny spring full of multicolored flowers and hoppity bunnies. But the flowers had been bent over by the rain, their pretty petals stuck in the blubbering mud, and all the rabbits sleeping and shivering deep in the cold bosom of the mother earth.

It felt all too prophetical, in a sense, so he thought. The day he had made plans to finally break out of this trap, the rain had come. Had it known of his plans? Had it felt empathetic with him? Or had it come to stop him? It didn't matter if it did, nothing could hinder him now. No one would get in the way of his agenda.

Except maybe, just maybe one person. If he allowed it so.

All the little children were tucked away in their beds, most sound asleep, while the younger ones shared beds when the caretakers were gone, afraid of the mean ole thunder and lightning. A few of the caretakers were up, but mostly settled in their rooms, grading papers, planning out tomorrow's classes. Roger was at his office, filing through various documents. Either way, with most everyone asleep, and those awake too busy with their heads in the sand, he would go on unnoticed.

As he moved like a shadow in the darkness of the winding hall, he heard a low growl from above his head. One brilliant red eye that seemed all most to glow like the tapetum lucidum of a cat turned to the ceiling then back down. It was the old building groaning; it did that often, being around for quite some time. Houses talk, they moan, they laugh sometimes, too; they hold memories, secrets, and the secrets they held meant life and death to many of its residents.

But he thought now of something he read about a few months ago. In a book regarding the mystical, the unknown, the world of which we do not see but sometimes, we hear and feel it. In one chapter, it was discussing ghosts; more specifically, poltergeists. He found that chapter the most amouring.

The book said that poltergeist are often the manifestations of a teenager's negative emotions. The stress from school, friends, family, home life. The necessary angst and attitude all of them get once they hit puberty. The fear of the world of responsibility, which they were now stepping dreadfully close to. All of it, if strong and heavy enough, could form itself into a type of matter, that inflicted what it felt. It threw furniture, attacked people; it caused angst, anger, fear and stress, because that is what it was and all it ever knew.

Could a poltergeist possess you? He didn't quite remember if that was possible. If it could, he wondered if one was possessing him now. Because even though he was no longer a teenager, he had felt such rage, such strong emotions, that it could double the poltergeists by two. Had he been consumed by the spirit?

However, could he be the poltergeist? Certainly, he felt like a ghost. Ghosts, they don't worry about dying or pain, and he, he didn't worry about none of that either. If you feel like a ghost, you'll start thinking like one, too.

If indeed he was the personification of the dark side of human emotions, who did he belong to?

L.

That was B's answer.

Long, frail, bony fingers slipped through the silt of the door, each curling against its surface. One big red eye peered into the room, as the hand, as silently as possible, pushed the door open a few more inches. In the dark room, the only light came from the screen of an open laptop. It cast a large glowing shadow on the far wall, overlapping the hips of a young boy. The only habitant of the room was curled up on his side, knees to his chest, as if he were in the womb, his single red bed sheet most fitting for the metaphor. One thumb was pressed to his lower lip, the nail a nub. Infantile, so infantile, L.

Whammy and L had recently returned from a trip in Ireland, having been working on a case for nearly two weeks. B overheard Roger speaking with Whammy; according to Whammy, they had both gotten barely any rest during the case. Even for L, who was human, shockingly enough. For God knows how long, L's nerves were too worn out now to do any sort of proper calculating and thinking, so he forced himself to go to sleep. Most likely he'd get maybe six or seven hours, it really depended.

The thing with L is you never knew if he was is in a deep sleep, or if he's merely lingering near consciousness. B figured someone like L had to be a light sleeper, just in case he needed to get up in the night or, well, someone tried to kill him.

It doesn't matter if you can sense me or not, B thought, his eye widening as the pupil spread like a pool of black ink, if the hound is to pursue the rabbit, they must have a scent to follow.

Slowly, very slowly, B crept into the room, making sure the door made little to no sound as he opened and shut it behind him. Like a grotesque ballerina, he slipped along near the walls, ever so elegant and quietly. As he moved in front of the computer's glowing light, his silhouette was eerily familiar to Count Orlock, spine arched into his back, hands bent like a mantis, his fingers long and pointed with the shadow increasing his height by nearly three feet. His eyes reflected the static screen in doubles.

B slipped into his hands and knees, moving along the floor like a lizard, like Renfield upon the faint maid. Closer and closer to his victim, to the slumbering boy genius.

B's crimson eyes peered over L's shoulder, down into his face. It was void of emotion, blank, much like always, awake or not. B stretched his neck out and listened to the soft hiss of air moving in and out of L's mouth and nostrils. It was such a gentle sound compared to the snarling storm outside. B carefully brushed some oily black hair away from L's neck, leaned his ear to his throat, and could faintly hear a heart beat, the pulse of blood slithering through sugar coated veins. B couldn't help but smile and shut his eyes, as if he were hearing the tender coo of a mother's lullaby.

The sound of a heart beat is so docile. The sound of it stopping was so terrifying. Like the foot steps of your lover, your mother, your father, as they walked slowly away from you, leaving you behind in the dark, where the monsters lived, all by yourself. Step step, step... step step... step... step...

How B wanted to hear the sound of L's heart beating hard in his throat as he strangled it. L was defenseless right now; at least, he appeared to be. B knew L was nothing and everything at once; when you finally got him figured out, he changes his skin like a lizard and comes out as something new. Who would he be when B saw him again? Edward Coil? Danuve?

No, B wouldn't kill him; he wouldn't try to, either. No, because L's life, it wasn't meant to end this day. Would he be the cause of his death on that fateful day he saw whenever he looked at L? Only God knows, and God doesn't like telling. When He does, He's not very clear about it. But if God is all seeing, somewhat like he, would God be willing to help B out if He knew what His little black lamb was going to do next?

"God will not damn a poor lunatic's soul. He knows that the powers of evil are too great for those with weak minds." But who's to say my mind is weak?

It didn't matter if God was with him any longer, if He ever was. B had a new god to praise, a new god to defeat. Just like scientists, just like evolution; it fought God in its own way. L would be his new God. B would challenge him, B would test his skills.

One day Satan had come to God, and spoke of Job, one of God's most devoted servants. Satan had told God, "Look here, if You take away everything from him, if you plummet him into misery and sadness, he will turn his back to You. He will spit on Your name. How do you feel about that, huh?"

And the LORD said unto Satan, Behold, all that he hath is in thy power; only upon himself put not forth thine hand. So Satan went forth from the presence of the LORD.

"Ready, set, go."

The roles would be reversed, of course, B told himself as he gently rubbed a finger against one thick vein bulging against L's pallor throat. God, L, he would be Job, and B, he would be Satan. I won't touch you, that's the one rule.

B carefully crawled over L, taking his cold face in his cold hands. And a grin so angry and so insane spread across his face, it sent wild ripples through the room, the air trembling. No, B's mind whispered as he drew his face closer to L's, I will kill others instead. I will break necks, twist spines, tear out organs, rip out eyes, cut off their tongues, peel off their fingernails, grate their skin, slash their ankles, their wrists and hips. Turn them into threads of creamy white and peach and red flesh, like ribbons fair maidens tie in their hair. I'll bash their fucking heads in and all the while scream out your name, as if you're the one I'm destroying.

Before he could unleash a cackle that would frighten off the very lightning outside, he forced his mouth on L's. Before he could draw back, L sunk his teeth hard into his bottom lip. B hissed and twitched, drawing back as liquid coins slipped down his tongue. L let his lip go and his deep, black eyes stared into B's bright red ones.

For a moment, the both of them stared, stared as if they were speaking a thousand words, screaming a thousand confessions, threatening a thousand threats, screeching a thousand warnings, I'm going to bring you down! I'm going to bring you down! echoing in unison in utter silence...!

"You..." L groaned softly. ... won't win. His eyelids sunk until they closed.

B remained still, unsure how to react. He waited a minute or two, before realizing L was fast asleep. Had he been awake at all in the first place? Had he seen B, had he tasted the blood powdered on his pale lips? Had it been just some natural reaction, as if he thought those freezing lips were a sweet strawberry popsicle, maybe his own little thumb?

B let L go and pressed his hands hard to his mouth. He laughed. He laughed and laughed and fucking laughed. It doesn't matter, B thought to himself, as tears of amusement hung from his thick lashes, nothing matters anymore, but breaking you into pieces. Even if I must break myself in the process.

Just as quietly as he came, B went, leaving the room as it was before, not bothering to wipe the blood from L's lips, not bothering to pay the little cut on his own any attention. When the door shut, the air in the room settled back down.

Beyond Birthday slung a backpack of supplies, mostly clothes and money, over his back. He picked the lock to the front door, and with eyes squinted, headed out in the freezing cold rain with only his flimsy hooded coat to protect him from the harshness of the storm. Two miles down the road there was a bus stop; he'd take it clear across town, to the nearest air port, where a single ticket to Los Angeles would finally be put to use.

If B was L's poltergeist, if B was L's Satan, he'd give him nothing but pain, nothing but misery, bitterness and anger. Because that was all they, he, knew. He didn't mind, though, if that was all he knew and would ever know.

Sometimes, angels prefer to jump when they fall.

Do I divide and fall apart?
Cause my pride is too sly to hold back all my dark
And the ship went down in sight of land
And at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands

I know you'll come for the people like me
But we all got wood and nails
Tongue tied to a hating factory
The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me by Brand New

THE END

---

After Notes:
There are a handful of vampire related themes in this story.

Count Orlock: This is the main character from the Dracula rip-off inspired classic, Nosferatu. The character is quite terrifying, and the actor even believed himself to be a vampire. It is also a homage to vagrancy, who is fond of him and comparing his fingers to L's. XD [Pic that inspired by said silhouette for the curious. And another.]
Renfield: Dracula's servant/raving lunatic from Dracula. The scene I am referring to comes from the classic Dracula 1931 movie. The best... with Dwight Frye. Oh man so sexy. The quote B thought of, "God will not damn a poor lunatic's soul..." is also a line said by Renfield in the same movie.
Story of Job: Pretty much explained above, really. The quote in italics is from Job 1:12, I believe. [Read the story, for those who are curious.]
Cut text: The text used in the quote is by John Milton (presumably from Dante's Inferno.)