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Redeemer	By : CocoaCoveredGods Category: Death Note > Yaoi-Male/Male Views: 21363 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note, nor any of its characters. We're not making any money off this writing.

Chapter List
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Author's Notes: The story takes place *after* Death Note ends, although the main characters have not died. Here the Yellowbox Warehouse is essentially the pinnacle of L's 6-year long offensive against Kira, who believes L to be dead, when he really isn't. L faked his death, and proceeded with the case behind the cover of his three top heirs, Mello, Matt and Near. Kira himself doesn't succumb to his defeat, but is instead rescued at the last moment by his nemesis lover who decides that a more apropos end to the God of the New World is not death--but redemption, in the form of a new case and a 5th so-called Kira, that L and Light must bring down together... or risk losing everything. Yes, there is actually a plot LOL Buuuut, this puppy has yaoi and pairing's aplenty. LxLight and MelloxMatt are technically the mains, but when you cut straight down to it, this is a story about Light and Mello and how they go from hate to need, from enemies to lovers, and maybe even something more...

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~ Prologue ~
J
Chapter 00: January 28^th

Over.

After 6 years, it was over. Not as planned, not really—Matsuda wasn’t supposed to shoot, if he’d miscalculated anything it was that. Damnit. Of all people to fuck things up at the last moment, it had to be Matsuda…typical.

Near’s voice broke over the headset:

“Kira’s on foot—“ he said dully. “The task force insisted on going after him.”

“How bad?” was his own flat reply.

“Leave him, he’s not going to survive this.”

“I make the decisions,” and it had been that way for a while now—a power struggle already. The boy was 19, barely on the field, but the threat was in his tense stubborn, silence—there would be a break between them—it was coming. Mello may have been right all these years.

“Which direction did he head in?”

“West along the pier,” Near replied. “They’ll find him eventually, or what’s left of him. He’ll bleed out—” but Near didn’t have to finish, because Light’s figure was suddenly stumbling into the doorway, covered in blood, panting, exhausted, drained, suit smeared with grime and gore. He managed a few more staggering steps before craning his head up to glimpse a set of metal stairs leading to the railways above, and the cold sun shafting through grimy windows made it appear almost divine.

“Radio silence,” he whispered, and Near obeyed, figuring that Kira was there, that the one in charge this whole time, would be the one to see it end at last.

Light only made it to the middle of the stairway before he sank down and did not get back up. He lay there not at the top or the bottom but in between—in limbo—a user of the Death Note could go to neither Heaven nor Hell and he knew it, it appeared as if he’d chosen his dying place on purpose—a last brilliant irony.

His breathing was labored, his blood dripping in thin lines through the metal slats, pooling to the floor below; but his eyes were still open, lifted toward the ceiling, pulled as if by gravity down, down still—until they fixed on him…behind a scaffold where he watched.

And what did Light think in that moment? Between worlds as he was—did he think they were passing each other? That it was a visitation? A spirit? That after six years, this was finality and they had met again after all? He didn’t know, he never even guessed…

That didn’t go for Ryuk, who floated down from the roof above, notebook open, pen poised, scrawling the kanji. “We had our good times,” he muttered, presumably in farewell to his favorite human. So he would be the one then—it would end as it began… except the death god paused, and turned.

“Eh?”

Ryuk saw him, and that Cheshire grin spread suddenly wider before he threw back his head—and laughed. On the steps, Light choked on blood, barely alive, though Ryuk didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, hey Raito,” he grinned “—look!”

So he was a quiet spectator no longer—and L stepped into the light.

“Raito, Ryuuzaki’s alive,” the shinigami chortled, “looks like you were set up, buddy,” and he found this far too hysterical.

L stood there a moment, his finger flicking off the com stuffed in his jeans pocket. “Have you killed him, Ryuk?” he said flatly, “Written his name down?” Was there only 40 seconds left? He sounded detached, wondering if the death god could see right through him, if he was as smart as L always believed him to be.

The shinigami snapped the book closed. “Nah,” he said, “Was gonna, but this is more entertaining.”

L winced a bit, his gaze fixed on Light, wondering if Kira understood now, if he realized that it had been a set-up, all of it, 6 years of it. Wondering if Light could concede that L was smarter, that in the end, it didn’t matter—all he had gone through to fight Near and Mello—because it was always L on the other side.

The detective remained motionless as Light’s eyes stayed fixed on him, those tired, amber eyes… those beautiful amber eyes. It had been six years since they were face to face this way… and L assumed they would be as stubborn as they always had been, even now… but he had miscalculated that too.

It took a lot of strength for Light to reach his arm up at him, bloody fingers outstretched, and L’s expression knotted, knotted worse when Light gasped his name.

Fuck, Matsuda wasn’t supposed to shoot, wasn’t supposed to end it until L had a chance to proclaim his victory… but that voice—Light’s voice—was something L had missed, something that conjured memories of arms entwined and hearts beating together and skin so soft he often imagined sleeping against it still…whenever he slept. But L had told himself that fate would write this course, that he would not interfere when the end came, not even if it was this end… but if Kira was to die…

He didn’t have to die alone.

L moved toward him, took his hand, and the minute his cool fingers folded around Light’s bloody ones, Light shut his eyes—shut them tight because there was his proof—after all this time, L was alive after all. He’d done it. He’d tricked him. He’d won. And how did Rem fail so miserably? Unless she never wrote it? Or she’d fucked it up… or L had so many goddamn names that not even a death god knew which one was the correct one.

Light wheezed, choking as his lungs continued to swell with blood, “L—” he managed.

“Shss, Raito-kun,” L said softly, folding into a crouch beside him, and Light was squeezing his hand so tight it hurt, those deep and shattering wounds wrenching the agonized groans from his throat, “..don’t…” Light panted.

“I’m here,” L replied—and had he planned to be sympathetic? No. No he’d planned vengeance, six tenacious years of vengeance and a plot so insane it actually worked, and this was not the way he intended to react when at last faced again with Kira. He was supposed to be composed, victorious…cold. But he’d miscalculated that too hadn’t he? Miscalculated how it felt to look into those eyes once more—eyes that made him believe, even foolishly so—that things were different.

“L…don’t,” Light managed again.

“Shss,” the detective murmured, going so far as to stroke Kira’s damp hair, to lie to him. “It’s okay—it’s almost over now.”

“…don’t wanna die—” Light finally finished, clenching hard with another wave of pain.

Fuck.

L didn’t move, and his head was telling him to just hold off—it would pass. This would all pass and Kira would be gone. It needed to happen this way, even Ryuk understood that. Besides, it would be so much worse if he survived this. Kira was too good for what Near had in mind—too perfect, too close to L’s own self to just lock him away in a cell to rot…

“L, please…” Light managed again, “I knew,” he said, “I knew you were—I felt you…L please—pleasepleaseplease,” it was a fading mantra and L was frozen for just that moment longer…

…

He flipped the cell phone open and had a momentary flash of signing his life away on some proverbial dotted line.

“I need medevac at the Yellowbox, Pier 19,” he said into the receiver. “Immediately.”

Light was breathing hard, and L clasped his other hand around him. “Hold on, Raito-kun,” he whispered. “I’m not going to let you die.”

And he had to wonder, just how many times those words would come back to haunt him after this moment….

* * *

He hated that sound. The endless beeping of machines penetrating the otherwise dead silence of the lonely hospital room. It wasn’t so much the beeping he detested as the association, the need to be there at all. Especially when he had pulled the strings that had got them here.

That had gotten his life-time partner and lover pumped full of lead and left lying on the crimson-tainted pavement to bleed out.

Regardless of whether or not Mello had had his own hands full at the time, it did not matter. He had blamed himself then when he got the forecast feed on that tiny little screen and he blamed himself now as he sat in the dimly lit hospital room. The shades were slanted and the late afternoon sun added a somber glow and long shadows across the narrow bed. It was upon that bed he leaned, having tugged the visitor’s chair closer so that he could cross his elbows upon the mattress (many times falling asleep in that unnatural position) and keep watch. It had been two days and Matt had yet to show any true sign of coherency.

He’d come around, sure, once or twice through the haze of morphine and whatever else they were keeping him on. Mello hadn’t asked. He felt better not to know. Instead he sat a silent vigil, uttering only quiet prayers under his breath as he clutched his lover’s hand and begged for forgiveness.

The plan was supposed to have gone off without a hitch. He wasn’t supposed to have been followed but… hell, neither of them could have guessed that bitch Takada to have such an entourage of goons to protect her. Only they weren’t doing too good a job as they chased the wrong man. What they also had not guessed was that the Kevlar would only do so much under the storm of bullets fired out of automatics – bastards. Cowards. Who the fuck shot automatics at a single unarmed kid?! Mello remembered the panic, the regret – the latter which he still now felt, although the panic had changed regardless of how many times doctors assured him that the redhead was going to be all right. Just fine, once he recovered. He’d been lucky. Yea… they both were.

Maybe it had been that distraction which had made him slip earlier that evening; the heist had gone off without any problems, but the details were all wrong. A moment of misplaced chivalry had almost gotten Mello killed. The scattered attention span had almost gotten him killed. It was pure chance, or an act of God Himself that had allowed him to look in that rearview mirror just as Takada found the necessary courage to write down the appropriate name. From memory, ah Kira you cruel bastard—he’d prepared her. Mello thought himself dead and yet the emotion did not show, could not show. Gloved hands gripped the steering wheel as the truck pulled into the church ruins. This was it… a fitting end and yet a he counted down the seconds, eyes glued on that screen, that lifeline ticking away – what was Matt thinking now? Was he even…

Forty seconds. Nothing. She’d fucked up, spelt it wrong—remembered it wrong. Fool. A mistake like that could finish her life. But for Mello it was easy to pretend, crumbling there against the steering wheel and buying himself time, making her think she’d been successful when she called her God on the phone. Realization drew on the blonde, however, as he heard her talking… pieced together the disjointed desperation with which she spoke, trying as she might to remain calm for Kira… for Yagami, that fuck, he’d never planned to save her. She was expendable like all the rest. He’d romanced and seduced her and she was little more than a pawn in the end. Mello could have felt pity, but it was more vindication than anything, until it dawned on him—the smell of smoke. Goddamnit, and he shoved the door open and dropped to the ground.

The explosion was not anticipated. Mello had flattened himself against the ground as flames burst and the heat washed over him with a wave of too familiar recollection. The van burned and with it, the rusted cross upon the ruined church’s peak, was set aglow.

Irony, he had thought, sitting there, gasping sharply for the air that did not seem to reach his lungs. Would have been a fitting end, some would say, but not yet… there was still work to be done...

Matt. Oh God, Matt!

Mello remembered springing to his feet, abandoning the girl to her fate – no doubt at the mercy of another piece of the killer notebook – and ran. Ran hard to find a way back, to steal a goddamned vehicle if he had to. It was stupid of course, to go back into the city. To go back to the scene of the crime, even if his face had not been seen. It was that slight remnant of rationality that had made him reach for his phone and dial the one person who could work around this mess.

The conversation was a blur, but he remembered the tears. Remembered his desperation as he rattled off into the phone, wishing there was more he could do, wishing to simply hit a button and make it onto the scene. But no… L had told him to stay away, at least for a few extra hours. To stay away and lie low until further notice. It had been torture. The wait, not knowing… not knowing anything until at last someone did show. Someone to pick him up and drive him directly to the hospital he had not left now in two whole days.

And Mello wasn’t sure why he kept thinking of it, kept reliving that night over and over in his head as if it would solve anything. Matt was ok… or rather, he would be. And he was alive due to a stupid mistake. Borrowed time… That’s all this was. Borrowed fucking time.

But that hand twitched beneath his and Mello’s head jerked up. He had his rosary in one hand, Matt’s hand in the other, which was raised gratefully to his lips, pressing a kiss to his partner’s knuckles, watching those features change ever slightly. And even though Matt wasn’t entirely coherent – which only made Mello wonder just what they had him on – he was awake, however briefly.

Dark lashes fluttered and hazy blues stared up at the ceiling, then gradually down to peer at Mello’s too relieved features. “Hey…” he murmured, throat dry, lips chapped.

“How do you feel?” Mello asked tentatively, leaning forward in his seat.

“Like shit,” Matt muttered, feeling too damned sluggish. “…I need a smoke.”

Mello laughed. Of all things, perhaps that’s what he had wanted to hear above all. Things were all right in the world so long as Matt kept wanting to smoke. Mello pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed – several times he’d crawled up to fall asleep there on the edge, pressed carefully against his lover’s body. But now he sat, looking down at him and without warning, stole the kiss he’d longed for since that night.

“What day is it?” the redhead asked several minutes later, looking up at the little TV in the corner of the room. It was off.

“The 28^th…”

Blue eyes shot to him and Mello only shrugged. “I’ve been out of contact since I got here,” he said and then after a momentary pause, added, “According to the news, it’s over…”

“They got him?”

Mello nodded and Matt exhaled, closing his eyes. Tired. Too bloody tired.

“Good…thank God…”
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Redeemer