Death Note- Something Wicked

See-through

Hey there, welcome to my first FanFic on Death Note. Specifically, our favourite, slightly crazy ex-Wammy's house resident, Beyond Birthday. This is a little series of one-shots, but they are in chronological order, so no confusion there. I loved B as a character, and I hope my interpretation of him as a child can do him justice. Enjoy, and please vote/comment! :3

Something Wicked- Part I: See-through

The child stared through his doll-like hair into the mirror in front of him. Propped up against the wall in a basement, a violent smash in the middle, the image of his face glared back, and he saw in it an obstinate refusal to give him the one thing he could not see. His own death.

Because every time he looked at someone, he saw things nobody should be able to. He saw their name before they said a word, and he saw the numbers above their head that gave away the time and date of the day their life would end. Seeing death, nothing but death, ever since he could remember. In the eight years since his birth, he had already seen too much. His eyes portrayed a childlike innocence and a questioning that would never find an answer.

And so he grew angry, aimed a furious kick at the mirror and shattered it, and he kicked it repeatedly, laughing as he did so, sending himself into a zealous stupor.

"Kyahahaha… Yeah, that's it!" he said gleefully. "I can sound like that…Mum's not here, dad's not here… I can sound how I like!"

But then his glimmering, fierce joy faded as suddenly as it had come. Yes… that was right. His father had been dead for a long time. And today, he had woken up and realised that today was the day his mother would die in a train crash several miles outside Tokyo while on a trip. Looking up into her fair face that morning, he knew she feared him, because when he interpreted the numbers in their entirety for the first time, he let out a scream that caused her to tremble. She had forced a smile, told him to stop the nonsense, and patted him on the head before closing the front door behind her. That was the last time he had seen her. It wasn't supposed to have come as a shock. He had known it since the day he could see, but still, the sudden awareness…

He did not dwell on it. He took it in his stride and buried his grief underneath his veil of madness. He knew they would be coming soon, to take him away somewhere. They wouldn't let him be.

"Why?" he whispered, and laughed again. "Why must I be this way?"

He heard a distant muttering coming from the house above. He had been right. There were several people up there, presumably discussing his future. He considered it a fair exchange, since when he climbed the stairs and set his beady eyes on them, he knew their future.

In between two women, was one man, middle-aged and grey-haired, balding, wearing thick glasses, looking inquisitively down at him with eyes that bore something the boy recognised as kindness. The man's name was Quillish Wammy. The man would not die for years. The man blinked, to break the silent stare down that had ensued the moment the boy emerged from the basement with shattered glass sitting in his trainers.

Wammy held out a hand. "Good evening, young man."

The boy stared at the hand for a second, considering him, and grinned. "You are Quillish Wammy," he said.

"Why yes, I am. Do you understand what has happened? Why we're here?"

"I know! I know! Yeah, I know, I know…" the boy planted his thumb in his mouth. "Are you coming to take me away, Wammy? Where to?"

The boy's grin was transparent, and that annoyed him. He had practised this action so many times, hunched up in front of that stubborn mirror, and yet the man was looking at him as if to say that he knew the boy wasn't smiling in a natural way, like he was doing it wrong. Clearly, he needed to spend some more time. Yeah. And in front of- yeah- in front of a better mirror.

An exchange of nods took place between Wammy and the two women, one of whom muttered something into his ear. He nodded again, and smiled again, down at the boy, who was waiting eagerly for him to talk.

"Young man, would you like to come to England?" he asked.

"Why, is England important? Because here is important too. Yeah. Because mum and dad were once and I am here too."

"We can look after you there. You're special in many ways, and when your mum passed away, we thought you might like to come and play with boys and girls who are like you."

"Like me? Like, how?"

"They are clever, too."

"I'm clever… Yeah, I am. Mum said I was clever, but she was always looking worried. I never met other boys and girls. It will be fun?"

"Yes, I'm sure it will. But do you want to stay somewhere else until your mother's funeral? You must be very sad that she has gone, and anxious about your future."

The boy swallowed, and his grin dissolved in his thoughts. Was he worried? Did he worry? "Mum's gone, right? She is, and I can't stay here on my own. Adults don't like leaving kids alone, even clever ones like me. Take me to England, Wammy?"

He sucked nervously on his thumb and extended his arm out towards the man with his free hand; his fingers were curled towards himself, however. Wammy was made speechless with wonder as he reached towards the little boy, and clasped his tiny fingers in his hand. He squeezed it in silent reassurance.

"You will be B from now on," he said.

B nodded, and chortled, wearing the same transparent expression he had rehearsed before the mirror. They exited the house, B leaving it behind for the final time, leaving all his memories. His bed, upon which he had spent many a night lying awake, singing quietly to himself, unable to sleep peacefully. The kitchen, where he used to watch his mother cook, trying to not gaze at the numbers above her head. The front door, where in front he had sat with crossed legs, observing his father's back when he left for work, burdened with his briefcase.

Yes, all of those, and all of his nightmares.

On the plane, he swung his legs back and forth, peering out of the window, gabbling to himself in a curious whisper. "B… B is going to England."