AN- This is my first Mello story, and why is it rated Mature right off the bat? Because it needs to be. This is the story of how Mello came to Wammy, and it is...not...pretty. That being said, I want to get this out of the way. I am in no way biased when it comes to sexuality. I support love, in all it's forms. The views I portray here are not my own, nor do I really think they're accurate. I am not a member of The Catholic church, and this does NOT represent the view of all catholics. Minds wide open, people, because I will be dealing with some touchy subjects. Why make Mello gay? Because I don't like stories where characters are gay just because it's taboo and exciting. If they're gonna be gay, make it realistic...there are hardships that go along with that decision. I am a psycological writer, and therefore, I will be going into a lot of mentality, the cause and effect of action and emotion, and generally playing with the human mind. This is a serious story.

I do not own Death Note.

All that being said, if you're still interested, hang on.

Chapter 1 Saved.

"And He doesn't speak?"

"Not in English, sir."

"What then?"

"Well…we think it's Latin. He wears a rosary…we suspect he's reciting catholic prayers."

"And he's still violent?"

"Only when men touch him, sir."

"Abused then?"

"We don't think so. Not physically anyway..."

"You said he came from the Italian orphanage?" The file was flipped through, lain open on the desk as papers were thumbed aside. The hands paused and drew out a photograph of a young boy, about age nine, with iron-straight blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Yes sir, though it was more a catholic child reformation center than an Orphanage."


"Yes sir…they took in disowned children, or children with flaws, and attempted to fix them through the power of Christ."


"Yes sir, I'm sorry."

"The Catholic church had nothing to do with it…the orphanage was run by an old priest and some would-be men of the cloth. Why is he here?"

"He's highly intelligent sir."

"How do you know this?"

"He's memorized the bible in English, Italian, and Latin, Sir."

"I know people that can recite the bible…"

"He was only in that orphanage for a year sir. Three languages over the course of a year."

"…I see. Why was he at the orphanage in the first place? He's obviously gifted…"



"He's gay, sir."


He lifted his head from his arms at the sound of footsteps approaching. The familiar anger that he kept close to his heart sprung to life like a feral cat. No, he would not yield unto temptation, and damn these vile sinners to hell.

He stood shakily, leaning back on the wall. Lithe and wiry at nine and a half, he knew he was no match for the men coming, but he'd die before he let them off without a scratch. The sound of the lock opening reached his ears, and his hands unconsciously tensed, his fingers spread like claws.

"Back away from the door, kid." He was in the center of the room when they stepped in, half crouched, the long Rosary swinging from his neck. The younger workers entered slowly, and the boy growled, refusing to be backed into a corner. There was a gleam of panic in his eyes as they started to circle him however.

It was inevitable he supposed, with five young men against a small boy like himself. He was never large or overly strong, so after a moment's struggle and some vehement cursing, he found himself pinned to the floor.

Panic beat in his chest like a rabbit in a snare, until he felt his heart would burst. He kicked, struggled, bit available fingers and spat at nearby faces. They would not release him yet.

"Where the hell is Nona?! C'mon, He's gonna hurt himself!" One called over his shoulder, and he knew then that someone was coming. Someone with a needle, some one who would take his thoughts away from him…real fear, like an icy shot alongside his anger, hit his system and he did the first thing that came to mind.

He prayed.

"D-Domine Iesu!"

"Oh god, here we go…"

" Dimitte nobis debita nostra, salva nos ab igne inferiori…" He kicked and fought, the Latin coming easily to his tongue, but leaving with difficulty as he struggled to breathe. " …Perduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim eas, quae misericordiae tuae maxime indigent!"

Oh, Lord Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell; Lead all souls to heaven, especially those who are in need of your mercy!

"Would you shut him up, Eric? He's creeping me out."

"He's just a kid…I'm not gonna knock him out, he's scared enough already."

A woman darted through the door, small, thin, and headed straight towards him. The small plastic tool in her hand nearly brought his heart to a stop. He shook his head, no, chanting his prayer like a mantra as his struggle doubled in vehemence. His arm was twisted behind his back, his face pressed painfully into the floor, but he never stopped, his voice steadily raising in its frantic pitch and volume.

"Domine Iesu! Domine Iesu Dimitte no…" He heard the click of the cap coming off.

"Hold him boys…I don't want to hurt him."

"For God's Sake, just dope him Nona! Let's Go!" He felt it slip into the bared flesh of his arm, and wrenched with all of his strength.

"NOBIS DEBITA NOSTRA, SALVA NOW AB IGNE…" The cry died on his lips as the drug hit his system…"In-Inferiori…perduc in ca…caelum omnes…"

The world was gone.


He awoke with a start, strapped to a chair, in some kind of office. Sunlight was warm on his pale skin, coming in through a window over his shoulder, and it was painfully bright as the sedative left his system.

The words came unbidden to his lips. "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccáta mundi, dona nobis pacem."

Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world; grant us peace.

The door opened behind him, and he froze, staring stoically ahead.

"You speak English?"

He nodded once.

"Will you speak with me?" He answered with his eyes, distrusting. The old man nodded and sat across from the desk from him. He glared pointedly at the retraints on his wrists.

"My name is Roger…and your name is now Mello." He returned his eyes to the kinder blue ones. "We know who you really are, but you're attitude suggests that you no longer wish to acknowledge that past. Are we correct?"

Mello, as it were, nodded slowly.

"Good. Do you know why you are here?" He shook his head no, throwing his dirty hair out of his eyes…he felt terribly unclean. He hadn't bathed in two days, and the medication made his blood feel thick and slow.

"You're very intelligent, yes?" Mello nodded, a small flare of pride rising his chest. He quelled it instantly, for it was a sin.

"This is a special place. We're here to help children like you…give you a future." But Mello had heard that one before, oh yes he had. His face twisted in unspeakable loathing and he spat on the floor, turning to stare at the wall. People didn't give sinners like him a future…they gave him leave to punish himself, repent. He had no future.

"Mello, please don't be rude. I speak the truth."

"Said Satan to Adam in the sacred garden. I speak the truth and make it so."

"Ah…you do speak."

"When faced with sin, one who speaks the truth of Christ is armed with his sword."

"Mello…We know why you were in that place." Mello eyes snapped back to his, and if he could have, he'd have been across the desk already, clawing the kind face from it's bones.

"I am broken, and made wrong, but Christ will forgive the devout!"

"Mello…we don't care. It's fine."

"Then you shall all burn for allowing sinners their obscene desires!" The older man sighed, standing again.

"If you are quite finished?"

"Christ is never tired, his judgement always swift."

"Mello, we are keeping you in solitary confinement until you come to terms with your new surroundings. When you are ready, you will be given a bed, three meals a day, and the opportunity to learn anything you want." Mello perked at that…they would teach him?

"And you will understand soon enough that we know that God has gifted you with an amazing talent. We do not take his blessings lightly." The elder man to turned to leave.

"Roger!" The elder paused, turning in the doorway. Mello craned his head to look over his shoulder.

"If they do not touch me, I will not fight. Please, Elder, do not drug me again…I will not fight, in God's Name I swear it." Roger regarded him quietly for a moment.

"Very well Mello. I will tell them. If I hear otherwise-"

"You won't. The biggest mistake a man can make is to lie to his God." Roger stared at the nine-year old in the chair, with something not quite akin to pity in his eyes…more like a tired resolve.

"I will tell them."

As the door swung shut, he heard the young boy quote. "Misereátur tui omnípotens Deus."

May Almighty God have mercy on you.