Happy Christmas
Title: 'A Never-ending Hope Enduring Restles Odium' or alternatively (and appropriately) 'Thanatos Instinct'
Rating: M
Pairings/Characters: Near, A, B, L and omniscient descriptions of Mello and Matt; Implied Mello/Matt
Word count: 2544
Warnings: Isn't the fact that I'm writing it a warning enough?
Plot: Near contemplates what he and the other successors were really striving to grow up to be.
Note: Written for saphira112 . The prompt was "different takes on suicide". I also must thank hervictory for listening to me ramble about how much I procrastinate and how much I love the show House. I also realized that if I feel nauseous when I'm writing a story, I'm doing it right.
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons, even death may die.
-H.P. Lovecraft, “The Call of Cthulhu”
There were colors that were unimaginable to the human psyche. Colors, which were before him that he knew no man on earth could ever witness by normal means. They filled his cerebrum with collective clouds of unfinished assignments and conversations that have long-since never existed. They writhed and sang, moving in and out of direct vision-distorting before him in a plastic bag filled with his staunch mint-coated breath and stench of tears and sweat evaporating and misting on the insides, hazing the outer world from the range of his view.
Acetaminophen, ibuprofen, dextromethorphan, acetylsalicylic acid, phenylephrine, diphenhydramine, codeine and maybe a little bit of caffeine were saying hello to tired liver cells processing, metabolizing everything for their first-pass. Trudging slowly through the boy’s system, they made the world spin with every millimeter of movement he would barely dare to make. His stomach contorted and bile drained bitter out of his mouth onto the surrounding plastic and skin. Gastrin burned his lips but it was all too beautiful to interrupt him with this knowledge.
A’s last thoughts, and even in the reeling waves of anti-matter and colorful worlds existing and co-existing in and out of space-time, consumed only L. He could only think of the joy to remember that monochrome man of disjointed tastes of refined sugar and awkward sensibility. Must a boy who now sees no darkness or light, nor black or white-but color, imagine a being that epitomizes the grey-matter of the brain?
Warm welcoming tears flooded his eyes and their salt intermingled with the fermented meaty smell of his vomit. A’s face was red from carbon dioxide and he smiled at the opening door to his and his room that he could barely see from the cloudiness of the bag. He was already too far along to be saved-it invaded too many of his cells and disintegrated them apart by the time the other boy walked in.
B poked his head in the room, “I dearly hope you still aren’t having thoughts about last night. In fact, we can have a go at it again to be sure you like it. Hm?”
A fell over onto the empty pill bottles and puddle of vomit that had started leaking from the bag over his head. He stiffened and his stomach contents pooled around his skewed face.
“Oh A, your excitement thrills me,” B stated calmly. He stared at nothing but the air between what was once his rival and himself. His mouth spewed tasteless melodies of rehearsed vocalization that most definitely must be maintained accordingly, so as to mimic their predecessor’s humdrum monotone.
His lips tightened in an amused purse. Well, interesting indeedy!
B walked forward to take again, flesh that will be reused and rewasted for his own accord.
Near always imagined there was a reason behind the exhibition of every human action. Perhaps it was the threat of normalcy, or maybe even instinct. For whatever the reason, he still was unable to fathom why it always ended the same for his predecessors. Was it a factor of age? Was there a limit to the greatness genius could hold without forcibly causing its own end?
Would he suffer the same fate?
Black leathery wings resounded deep and rhythmic in the chilly night air. He couldn’t help but feel that he was somehow tainted from the image of a shinigami on his retinas. Near wanted to wish that he didn’t have to see the shinigami first hand. Was it like breathing airborne mercury? Would it kill him, slowly, much later?
How much did the shinigami know? How much did anyone ever know? Would he also live on forever and exist indifferent to the torrential enthalpy that occurred to constantly change the human world? Would he be there in whatever dimension he resides in and watch Near die along with all the other genii before him? When the world ends and the death gods have subsisted long enough to start seeing the beginning of eternity, and when all the humans are gone, will they just eventually waste away as long as the universe keeps expanding? Do they eventually die as well?
The tower of Legos that was beginning to rival Near in his height suddenly looked very tiny. It was too Euclidean-too precise. The boyish man shoved a socked foot into the miniature obelisk and it fell over and broke into chunks of plastic bricks.
‘Death’ was always a concept hardly touched upon in the orphanage. It must have been the demise of the first successor or maybe the crimes of the second that caused it. But where were the teachers to shield him now? Though somehow, it seemed like he was still an ignorant child. So why was he left to fend for himself in this putrefying world?
The successor secretly wondered if L purposely risked his life just so he would have an alibi to escape.
Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap taptaptaptaptap.
“Rapping rapping, so gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.”
“That isn’t how it goes, Backup.”
Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap taptaptaptaptap.
There was an incessant knocking on the concrete wall of Beyond Birthday’s cell. It was not from the visitor, but from the inhabitant himself. At the sound of his former alias, his gnarled body tensed and curled into itself. He stopped tapping on his wall.
“Rapping, tapping, snapping, crapping-it’s the same fucking thing.” He snarled, not bothering to look back.
“Incorrect.”
“Nothing is ever right to you. I’ve always been incorrect. That’s why you look so good.”
“Your execution-
“My extermination has not interested me, and nor will it ever. I think most of all, I’m just depressed.” He began to tap again.
“Depressed?”
Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap taptaptaptaptap.
“I’ve always wanted to be the one to do it. Myself. I wouldn’t allow anyone else to kill me.”
“You are so selfish Backup.”
At that last comment, the mangled successor skittered to the bars of his confines and hunched with an empty stare that was clouded with a reddish haze of blind madness.
“I suppose I could use your judgment as collateral when I state my claim for admittance in the City of Dis.”
Beyond Birthday licked his lips and snaked a mutilated hand layered with scar tissue into the front of his trousers. “Like A,” he stated, and then he squeezed and shuddered.
Unrepulsed, there was a reply, “His suicide?”
Suddenly he shook his head, “No, no wait it wasn’t. It was, ah, a sacrifice.”
“There is a concrete distinction between sacrifice and suicide.”
“Is there? Or are they just one in the same?”
“Perhaps his intentions were for both.”
“No, I just think he wanted to die.”
The conversation was travelling nowhere. Contractions and contradictions-Beyond Birthday was nothing more than a jam of scratched records replaying the same blip of noise that at one point collected together to create a song. But nevermore.
“I have convinced your supervisors to allow for your occasional indulgence of strawberry jam.”
“Thank you,” He breathed. “Hannibal Lecter would be jealous.”
As Beyond Birthday’s company turned to leave, he couldn’t help but look at the murderer one last time to ask a question.
“Why did you try and do it? I understand the murdering and the motive, but there was something more, wasn’t there? Why end your life?”
The burned man chuckled and cringed. His body shook with painful ferocity and his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. Beyond Birthday’s head bowed as he laughed hard enough to feel a scab in the back of his throat start to irritate and grow angry.
“Heh… heh heh. Hee hee ha ha ha haa haaa!”
His lips trembled but tears that would never fall did little to soothe his face when he whispered his reply.
“To be more like you.”
Near supposed the reason could be that life was just too intolerable. Did L tire of all of his work? Was it too much? Did the endless denial of Hypnos for the detective allow for the work of Thanatos? Did he want Kira to kill him?
Near supposed, the detective wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The thought confounded him and made him think about Mello. If he was going to fail anyway, why risk his life? Why did Matt help him? Hadn’t Mello wanted to kill Near at one point? Why would he do that much for him? Didn’t he know he was going to die?
Thoughtless questions dwindled in relevancy and complexity exponentially. Near thought he might as well ask, ‘If he-then what?’ No human, no god would ever answer them. Why question? For as many questions as he could fathom, twice as many humans will have taken their lives in that very given moment.
Optimus Prime would not have that.
The flaxen-haired successor crawled under a model highway and held up his Transformer to fly and crash-land to earth to combat the dust bunnies and Yu-Gi-Oh! monster figurines.
It was over before it had begun.
There was no time allotted for Mello to mourn over his friend’s death as he sped quickly in the truck to escape from Takada’s bodyguards. Quickly, he swerved towards the Catholic Church that was on the outer limits of Kanto. Sensing that no one followed him, he released pressure on the acceleration so he could begin slowing down. However, sooner than he thought he could imagine, his heart palpated and there was a crashing sound. All too fast, his head was knocked forward as he slammed the breaks and took a deep breath. This was it. This was finally it.
Oh no, oh God no no no no no… This couldn’t be it. Why did it hurt? Trembling gloved hands gripped the small plastic rosary around his neck and he shook. No… Not now.
Mello winced and tore at his hair once the pain in his chest started to become unbearable. Don’t panic, it will all be over soon. After all, L went through the same thing.
He chuckled a gasp, but soon clutched his chest and yelled in pain.
What was this? A cop-out? A sacrifice? Mello knew not such useless things but only for what little they stood for in the test of time. What mattered was the moment and he soon would be living no more. If he survived, then he was the winner.
Or at least that was what he lied to himself about for so long.
In death there is significance-there may be no remembrance, but if there was a difference made, that was all that mattered. Wouldn’t-Wouldn’t it just be enough to exist for something beautiful?
The successor was fully cognizant of his decision to kidnap Takada. He knew that it meant death. He was very well aware that she was not his killer, but he brought it upon himself. Doesn’t God punish those who willingly seek their own demise and cause their own deaths? So this was it… Mello never denied his faith in God but in the end, hell was always the goal which he never tried to seek but managed to fall into.
But he realized it didn’t matter to him where he went-just as long as L was there.
No, not L, but Matt. At first he thought L, but no. He wanted to become L, not be with him. Because in Matt’s eyes, he was number one and Mello didn’t bother to care what anyone else thought. He laughed when he recalled the loser said he wanted to die next to his weighted companion cube.
The car horn blared when his head fell limply onto the steering wheel. His sight had gone before his hearing finally left. There was a roar of flames and then-
Nothing.
“… I turn my back to the east,
“From whence comforts have increased.
“For light doth seized my brain,
“With frantic pain.”
Backup slouched as he muttered meaningless poetry from the gyri of an overly defiled brain. He scratched his scalp, again and again, picking out the lice that had infested there. The boy didn’t bother to look up as the much smaller white-haired boy entered the common room to sit across from him.
He wore a vacant gaze that penetrated Near enough to see through him-to see into him.
“A is dead,” Near stated calmly.
“No shit,” B muttered, and he kept staring, unblinking, not daring to move his eyes from the spot in front of Near. But he couldn’t conceal a smile when he thought of the dead boy.
Near shifted, “You aren’t allowed to say words like that.”
Backup didn’t respond, but merely looked at his surroundings as if he were seeing them for the first time. For some reason, he couldn’t meet Near’s eyes but stared around because the world around was just more interesting.
“It seems,” B licked his dry lips, “A has mimicked the objective before any of us.” Beneath his tone, he insinuated the objective.
Always quick to come to an accurate conclusion, Near asked, “You’re saying L wanted to die?”
“Oh yes, he always did. And-Hee hee-I think for once he’ll be happy soon. Oh, we‘re all just lemmings aren‘t we?” Narrow eyes clouded with imminent prophecies and dreams of strawberry jam, and roar of an inferno.
Near shook the memory from his mind.
He frowned when the traffic of Hotwheels cars didn’t gain enough speed to go through that loop he built. He could’ve sworn he charged them enough. No matter, his remote-controlled helicopter had been neglected for too long anyway.
How long could he exist like that? Hiding away from the world like that? Of course he had his toys to occupy his time, but infinity (because time is subjective, but that is another discussion) rolled by, laughing at him and his petulance. When the batteries run out of energy and once the plastic grows old and metal rusts, there is no longer a use for them, is there? Are humans like toys-in which they survive and eventually fade away from the erosion of time?
Or was it will?
Still the child holding onto his youth, Near always thought he could defy age. If not, then he didn’t. Every human dies eventually; he has no inclination to hasten his own end.
He would not be like A, nor like B (who failed, miserably), not like Matt, nor like Mello and definitely not like L. The detective lived briefly yet he shook the world with his catastrophic mind. Of course, it made perfect sense that he threw himself to an investigation that would kill him. The day L entered the Wammy’s Orphanage, every child after him was doomed to a lemming.
But what of Near? There are no eyes looking down on him now, scoffing at him-judging him at the right moment when he will think to bring upon the same end as his predecessors.
One day he’ll realize.
There will come a day where he won’t be able to stand it all.