Title: The World

Author: Cassidy304 / v-anillaheaven

Pairing: LightxL, BBxL, LightxBBxL

Genre: … idk, hurt/comfort, dark romance, drama, lolwhat? Is insanity a genre? It's really dark but since I like hope, there's hope as well.

Rating: M / R

Warnings: mxm, dub-con and non-con, ideologically sensitive stuff, people acting like they don't have all the cereals in the bowl, weird relationships and crazy people having sex and beating each other to bloody pulp. No gore, though, 'cause I can't stomach it. :D

Summary: What is it about insanity that is so fascinating? I'm gonna break your heart and get away with murder.

Disclaimers: The title is obviously the title of the first theme song of the DN series, "The World" by Nightmare. The former spine and ribcage of the story is "Get Away With Murder" by Jeffree Star, because once upon a time there was a rainy day and my iPod decided to entertain my ears with this wonderful song while I was reading The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases, and the stanzas just clicked. The idea I originally had was for a much longer story, though, and there isn't much left of it except for the weirdass relationship here. So, much to my dismay, the lyrics don't click that nicely anymore. XD Don't let it bother you.

A/N: What is it about insanity that is so fascinating? And would I even like Death Note if it weren't for the delightful loconess of almost all of the main characters?

Obviously, the ideas expressed in these chapters are not what I think. They are what I think these characters might think in these circumstances lol. So no, going on a killing spree and then telling the police, "but she said it was okay!" is not the way to go. o_o Please don't do anything like that. I don't think they let you read delicious DN por- I mean, fan fiction in prison.

Also, I'm super nervous about publishing this because, well, it's the darkest thing I've ever written. (Not necessarily this chapter but the whole story.) But hey, even the most devoted fans of fluff and humor need to pour all the crap out of their head every now and then, right? There are two more parts of this, and for once I can actually promise updating won't take six months. XD


i

Light: Rule the World

There's a mystery inside my head
And it's you dripping all in red
Did I hurt you?
Let me make it safe and sound

Can you feel me breathing down your neck?
You're just a perfect little human wreck
But I like you
Enough to destroy you, tear you down


I tried.

I tried so hard.

When the Death Note was safely in my hands again, the first thing in my mind was that yes, my plan had worked – worked so beautifully that even I found it hard to believe – that I had won. Nothing and no one could stand in my way anymore.

But three hours into the first night of my renewed freedom found me rubbing the scar around my left wrist, unable to sleep and with images of his jawline, his thighs, his sharp hipbones and his eyes (God, those eyes) running through my mind, and when the first rays of sunlight began to caress my room through the curtains, only to find me still awake, still thinking, still alone, I had to admit it.

I had allowed myself to become attached to my worst enemy.

Attached wasn't even enough. I needed him, wanted him so badly; I could no longer fall asleep without his steady breathing there, reminding us both (to my delight and his dismay) that he's human, and my mind needed his to compete with to keep my thoughts in order. And as horribly hormonal it makes me sound, I craved for him for his body just as much as I craved for him for his intelligence.

Once hadn't been enough.

Twice hadn't been enough.

A thousand times would still remain unable to satisfy me.

I started spending my nights in the Headquarters again, determined to use the remaining time to the fullest.

Because I had to kill him. He couldn't live. I couldn't let him live. Soon, so soon he would be taken away from me – I would take him away from me – and I would just have to have all of him now.

It took me days to realize that I had already subconsciously decided to not kill him, and by then it was almost too late; but my good fortune had yet to turn her back on me, and on November fifth he was declared dead (by a doctor who was going to hang himself a week later, finally breaking under the stress of his double life as a good father and a pedophile), stuffed into a black, anonymous body bag (by a killer-for-hire-nurse who was in for a nasty traffic accident the next day, along with her partner in crime and love), and transferred to the dingy little hotel room I had booked (by a morgue night guard with three rape-murders under his belt and a one-way train to Hell to catch a few hours later).

The Death Note was such a beautiful thing.

"Don't make me kill you," I chanted to him while he slept like a corpse, with his hands crossed over his chest, white and unmoving and so dead there in the moonlit room. I suppose utter calm always follows the fiercest storms, in so many ways – it wasn't that many hours ago when rain and lightnings and the low, heavy rumble of thunder had been battering the Headquarters with enough force to drive us indoors. "Open your eyes and say yes, because if you don't I'll have to kill you. Don't make me kill you."

In time, he did open his eyes, momentarily confused that he was a live, momentarily relieved, thinking it had been a nightmare, and momentarily enraged when he realized that it had all been true, down to the fact that his heart had actually stopped beating for a while.

And then, for quite a long moment, saddened to the point of looking like a lifeless corpse again when he realized that no, Watari's death had not been a nightmare.

"I swear it wasn't me," I told him, unable to bear the look in his eyes – what was it, anyway? Sadness, hatred, loathing, sorrow, no, it was nothing like that. It was just a... look. An unnerving stare through his unshed tears. "I swear. Not me, and not Rem, and not Misa, and in no way orchestrated by me. I swear."

It was true, too, though I wasn't going to tell L that having Rem kill the man had been my plan. Now I knew why she had looked so strange when I had talked to her some days ago – explaining to her that no matter what happened, killing L was not a solution, that he had to remain alive – I had hoped she would still get desperate enough to kill the old man, effectively ridding me of them both. It appeared that the man had been destined to die that day in any case, and it had been yet another stroke of my incredible luck – and at the same time the incredible lack of it – that he had passed away just moments before the drug in L's tea had taken effect.

And as the scrawny detective clung to me and cried, possibly for the first time in his life, over someone else, I was immensely happy that Watari's blood was not on my hands.

Later, when he had cried and slept and cried some more, he listened calmly when I ordered, demanded, and finally, begged him to remain by my side - "- I can't do this alone, L, I thought I could but I... can't... and I can't risk turning into a tyrant, and that's what I'm going to become, what I've already started to become, you must live to keep me from turning into a monster, you are the only one who can keep me as myself because you are the only one who knows me, and I know I'm asking so much of you, but then again if you don't agree I'm going to have to kill you anyway, and you're dead already -"

I was no longer sure how much of it I had said out loud and how much of it I had merely thought, but we both knew that either L or Kira had to die so I could keep him forever, and -

"... and quite conveniently, L is dead to the world, now," I heard him murmur against his thumb. "Fine, then. I agree."

It did not matter that he agreed for purely selfish reasons rather than the betterment of the world or the questionable love for me I suppose some part of him felt – those two beautiful words were all it took to help me regain my composure, and in a fraction of a second I was calm and collected again, looking at him with a pleasant, confident smile. "I figured you would," I said, unable to keep the slight sneer from my voice.

Because now that the panic was over, I knew there had been no way he would pass a chance to change me, affect me, bring me down, instead opting to die a meaningless death out of sheer stubbornness. There had never been a chance that he would say no.

He just looked at me from beneath the veil of his unruly bangs and smiled thinly, like he knew something I would only find out later. Infuriating, as always.

I moved out from home and rented a small apartment in Harajuku. I kept him there, in a golden little cage where we could play house and no one else could enter; not even my family. Not even Misa, who never said anything though I have a feeling that she had known all the time, from the very first time I had kissed him. Like my father, and Matsuda, and everyone else – from the moment L had first uttered my name as the name of a Kira suspect, they all had known, deep down, who I was, but they all refused to let it seep into their conscious mind.

Pretending, just like -

"... just like we are, Light-kun," L whispered against my lips when I came home one night, greeting him with a kiss in the kitchen. "I do not know how to be a housewife. I will not learn to cook, to clean, to do the laundry, and I will most certainly not provide you with an heir. Give me something to do. I'm bored to death, and you of all people know what happens when someone like us is bored out of his mind. I will not slave for you here at home while you're away trying to capture yourself, and I will not sit here doing nothing, just waiting for you to come home so you can fuck me -"

His left eye was purple for three days after that, and his lip took forever to heal because I never gave it the chance to.

He bruised so easily. Maybe it was the pale skin. But he never broke – no, I could kick him around and beat him with anything I could get a hold of, and sometimes he would cry and sometimes he would laugh like a madman while coughing blood, but he never broke. The furniture did, repeatedly.

Some part of me was horrified that I had become so violent, so rash, so abusive – I, the pure one, the Savior, the one who was supposed to protect the innocent – but another, a much larger part, knew it was alright. L was not an innocent, and when I had decided to purge the world, I had known it would change me; I had known the blood of hundreds, thousands, millions would be on my always so clean hands. I had accepted it, sold my soul to the Devil so that others – good people like my parents, my sweet little sister – could live peacefully without fear.

Ryuk once said that if I killed all the criminals, the only bastard left would be me. Only when I had to kill the FBI agents sent to investigate me, and Naomi Misora after them, did I realize that he had been right. I was changing the world – individuals did not matter.

The agents and Misora – innocent though they may have been, sacrificing them was necessary, and I came to realize that sacrificing myself would be necessary as well. Despite everything, I had been born as a human, and human faults were engraved into my body and soul; in time, the power I held would corrupt me, and once there would be nothing else left to fear, the people saved by me would come to fear me.

And then someone would have to defeat me, the one who had saved the world by drowning it in blood, and then that person could reign peacefully, because they would only have my blood on their hands. The world needed to be purged, I knew, but the people needed someone to blame.

I was a sacrifice just as much as every innocent who died for Kira, as much as Misora, and as much as L. Misora's fate had been to make way for Kira, which meant her death; L's was to stand as a shield between the world and the tyrant who had meant well, taking the blows that could have otherwise wreaked irreparable destruction on the world; and mine was to become that tyrant, to become hated.

And I had accepted that too.

L knew it, too, on some level. At times, I felt guilty for keeping him prisoner, but the truth was that he rarely missed his freedom. He had never liked going out or meeting people, and I could provide him with almost anything he could wish for – in time, I even allowed him to start working on cases again under a new alias, though I always read whatever he sent to the police very carefully to make sure he was not sending encoded messages to his former allies. The greatest detective alive – or dead, if you asked the Kira Task Force – was actually very easy to keep entertained: a bunch of fresh cases, a kitchen full of sweets and fruits, a soft bed he could avoid like plague until he collapsed or until I threw him onto it, and enough mind-games and physical closeness with me was all it took to keep him relatively happy.

No, happy is not the right word... but after mourning for Watari for a while, he was not unhappy either.

I could never be entirely sure what he thought about our relationship. I think he must have known that I hated the mere idea of hurting him just as much as I couldn't help doing it nevertheless, that I had to keep him safe just like I had to try to break him, time after time getting so close to succeeding that it was scary.

Sometimes he seemed to sense an approaching storm and managed to calm me down with a few words and a well-placed kiss. Sometimes, there was no need to calm me down, and my hands were gentle and his eyes were very shy, and his smile was sweeter than all the sugar he could consume. Sometimes, it took the sound of his skull cracking against the floor, or his sobbing, or a breathless, desperate, "Light-kun..." to shake me out of the blood-red haze, and sometimes he fought me tooth and nail, screamed bloody murder or even begged me to stop when I entered him without his permission.

Sometimes, I swear he knew I was in a bad mood, and he provoked me on purpose, taunting, jeering, mocking me until I snapped.

It felt so good, so exciting and yes, even arousing, to know that my greatest antagonist was so completely under my control – that I could do anything, anything to him, whether he wanted it or not. He had no way of stopping me.

I had won.

But sometimes, when his kiss-bruised lips twisted into a slow, taunting smirk, when his eyes flashed behind the tears of pain and humiliation, and especially in those dark, dark moments when he was on the floor, curled up in pain, lips bloodied and still laughing wildly... I was no longer all that sure about my victory.

Sometimes, I was dreadfully aware of the fact that I had won merely because he allowed it, because he had said, "I agree", and that L, the very person I was so tempted to shatter into little pieces, was the only thing in this world keeping me together.

And sometimes I would apologize wordlessly, kiss away his tears and spend hours trying to ease his pain, and sometimes I would leave him to lick his wounds, though never without guilt.

L had not been innocent when I had first took his frail body into my arms, and he was even less so now, and yet I felt bad for hurting him, even though it was his part, his fate to take those blows.

I guess I loved him after all.


There. Hope you liked it, or at least weren't too much mentally scarred to leave a review. It would be much appreciated.