Disclaimer:If I owned Death Note, would I be writing FanFiction?

Rating: M

Warnings: Largely death based theme, very bad French, very skewed opinions on what Heaven is, mentions of rape/prostitution, eating disorders, language, self-harm, V fo Vendetta, and OOC-ness! (That's quite a list...)

AN: Does anyone else find the term 'police brutality' hilarious, or is it just me?

On a completely unrelated note, I have realised that the Repo! The Genetic Opera soundtrack is the awesome-est thing on planet Earth. If you have not heard Zydrate Anatomy, you have not lived.

And Amber Sweet is addicted to the knife...

Addicted to the knife?

Addicted to the knife.

And addicted to the knife, she needs a little help with the agony...

^^;; Can you tell that I love it?

Okay, so the ending to this chapter is abrupt. It's because I figured that I should upload something, rather than just having this half-finished mess sitting on my hard-drive, doing nothing.

Also, please don't complain about the extreme shitty-ness of this chapter. Real Life has actually started to become interesting, and most of my time has been occupied by me just thinking about it. In addition to this, I have just started eleventh grade. I have to admit that it is rather easy, but it also requires six hours of my time each day (apart from weekends, which are usually spent working or trying-and-failing to sleep).

Anyway, I have a million and one excuses, none of which are really relevant, at this stage, so on with the chapter!

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Chapter Four

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If Near's Maman was Heaven, then his Papa was, most definitely, Hell.

Nathan's sallow skin was stretched tight across his prominent bones; his hair was thin and his hairline was receding, and Near didn't like to think of how similar they'd look once Nathan's hair turned grey; his eyes were bright and watery, locked on Near's own; his long, thin fingers stopped tapping against the table in his surprise.

And so they continued to stare at each other, their eyes piercing and evaluating, until Near couldn't stand the silence any more - his heart was thudding almost violently against his ribcage, and his stomach was cramping painfully: he needed to say something.

"You look..." Near cringed. "You look... old."

Near's heart-rate accelerated dramatically, and he felt like kicking himself. What am I saying?!

Nathan's smile widened - Optimus Prime's arms was close to breaking off under the pressure that Near was exerting on it - as he replied, "Funny: I'd say the same thing to you. I haven't seen you since you were about two."

Near didn't remember ever meeting this man, and his memory was perfect - why was Nathan lying to him? What would it achieve?

His eyes narrowed and he spat, "Bullshit."

Nathan's eyebrows shot up, before he slumped against the table and laughed. It was an awful sound - rattling and cold and harsh and cruel - and it echoed when he said, "Are you kidding me? You've gotta be what... six? Seven?"

"I'm seven," Near stated coldly, "though it's really none of your business."

His confidence was a lie, a clever facade to hide behind: he was terrified. This man had done despicable things to Heaven; Near couldn't feel any semblance of safe around him.

"Awww..." Nathan mocked. "Not even an 'I love you, Daddy'? I'm disappointed. I imagined our meeting going a bit differently..."

With a quiet snort, Near sat down in his chair and said, "You're not my 'Daddy'. You're my biological father, and that's as far as it goes. I want nothing to do with you."

So why was he even here? Now that Near was presented with the reality of his father, he wanted to leave. His nausea was growing worse and he feared that he was going to be sick soon; there was no food left in his stomach, but he could feel bile swirling around unpleasantly.

"So," Nathan said, "is there actually any reason for this lovely visit?"

Near blinked languidly as he concocted his next lie. He couldn't be honest, because that would present Nathan with far too many weaknesses to use to his advantage. He couldn't say that it was because he wanted to meet his father, because they both knew that it was a lie.

"I wanted to see it for myself," Near lied coolly.

Nathan sat down as well and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head. "See what?"

"If it was possible for someone to be as truly pathetic as your profile said."

Far from appearing offended, as Near had hoped, Nathan grinned and replied, "I'm pathetic, am I?"

Near forced himself not to turn around and leave the room - Nathan looked possessive, almost predatory; like a trick - as he answered, "Very."

Nathan leaned across the table, his hot, stale breath on Near's face. Near wanted to turn away; he wanted to do anything to get away from his father, but he couldn't, because that would have been admitting defeat.

"You want to know who's really pathetic?" Nathan asked, his teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Near pretended not to care about Nathan's warm, pungent breath on his face, and replied, "Please, do enlighten me, dear father of mine," fighting the urge to vomit. Nathan's breath was making him sick: it was hot and sweet; his skin burned, almost as if his father's breath was making it blister and searing him to the bone.

"You," Nathan stated as he caressed Near's ear with his nose; Near flinched away slightly, and hated himself for it: Nathan was laughing a moment later.

It was true, and Near didn't know what Nathan was trying to achieve by saying it; the tricks had always told him that he was useless, a waste, that he was worthless and pathetic, and he knew it to be a fact. Why else would he have left his Maman to burn?

It seemed that Nathan was not finished - he leaned in even closer, his lips pressed against Near's ear as he whispered so quietly that the cameras surely could not pick it up, "I raped her, you know - your mother... and the whore enjoyed it."

Near clenched his fists and stroked Optimus Prime's arm lightly, his blood boiling. What right did this scum have to talk about Heaven? He had defaced her in the worst possible way, so why was he icing the proverbial cake now?

"Come now, Nate... Don't act like that... She was a filthy slut... She begged me for it..."

Clenching his jaw until his teeth were pressed together so tightly that his jaw ached, Near tried to ignore Nathan's words. Heaven was beautiful and pure and wouldn't ever beg to be defiled; his father was lying in an attempt to hurt him. Near would not let himself be manipulated by a pathetic old man.

Nathan chuckled quietly and continued, "She wanted an abortion..."

Near's stomach dropped, his eyes widening. No... No, it's not true... No!

"What's this, then?" Nathan jeered, wheezing slightly. "She never told you?" He laughed loudly in Near's ear, and Near felt his throat tighten as he bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything stupid.

Near stood up abruptly, his stomach clenching - he feared, for a moment, that he would be sick, and dry-retched onto the floor behind him; his head was spinning and his hands shook so badly that Optimus Prime almost fell to the floor completely.

"No," Near muttered, though he knew that he was only playing into Nathan's hands. "Shut up!"

Nathan didn't move: he was still leaning over the table, smirking smugly as he murmured with faux affection, "Did she tell you she loved you, Nate? Is that it?" Nathan's smirk widened, and Near heaved again. "Come here, son. I want to tell you something."

Legs shaking, Near stepped closer to Nathan; close enough to hear the taunting whisper of, "She hated you...". He swung his arm back and slammed his fist into Nathan's face, hardly aware of what he was doing. One of his knuckles cracked painfully and there was a loud clattering noise as Optimus Prime hit the ground; Near wound his fingers in Nathan's hair and punched the man again.

"Shut up!" he shouted, his voice breaking. It wasn't true: his mother had loved him just as much as he loved her - she had tucked him into bed, kissed him goodnight, brought him toys, and hugged him when he'd had nightmares. She had loved him.

Nathan continued to smirk, and Near realised that Nathan wasn't hitting him back only because of the handcuffs that shackled his hands to the table.

"You ruined her life," Nathan said softly; his nose broke, in the next moment, the cartilage shattering under Near's fist with a satisfying 'crunch'.

"No!" Near clutched at his face, his fingernails digging into his cheeks - they were so like Nathan's, just like his mouth, jaw-line, and nose; he wanted to scratch away at them until there was nothing left of him that was at all similar to Nathan.

With a quiet, wet cough, Nathan said, "I'm not the one that killed her, Nate."

No, I didn't... She... He killed her! Near thought frantically, looking at anything other than Nathan. He didn't want to see the waste of a man who dared to call him 'son'; he didn't want to let Nathan's words hurt him.

His breath came in short gasps, but the oxygen didn't reach his lungs; he was starting to feel numb, almost like when he'd agitated his wound that morning, and tried to redirect his hatred and disgust away from himself.

It's not my fault. I didn't kill Maman. Nathan did. Near repeated those three sentences to himself over and over, as if hoping to force himself to believe them, and started tugging harshly at his hair. He hadn't killed her. It wasn't his fault.

Near finally looked up from the ground at Nathan, who was smiling at him bemusedly, as if unaware of the blood that coated half of his face, and Near felt a surge of absolute hatred. Everything that he'd felt until this moment - all of the hurt and longing and pain - seemed insignificant; he had never felt something so consuming before, and reacted out of instinct: he punched Nathan again, and let out a quiet 'ha' when the man groaned with pain.

"S-See?" Nathan slurred, spitting out blood onto the floor. "You kn-know it, too."

"No!" Near exclaimed, finally giving up on raising his fists to Nathan and settling for simply wrapping his throbbing hands around the man's throat. Near wanted to break everything about the scum who felt no remorse for ruining his life; he wanted to destroy Nathan completely; he wanted to remove every trace of evidence that proved that Nathan had ever lived at all.

Far from seeming terrified or even mildly irritated, as Near had hoped, Nathan choked out a laugh; his self-satisfied smirk did not fade, and Near tightened his grip on his father's throat.

Nathan gasped for breath as he forced out a stilted, "P-Pathetic."

"Fuck you!" Near snarled, digging his nails into the soft skin of Nathan's neck.

Nathan's face was starting to turn blue and his eyes bulged unattractively; he looked deranged and inhuman, and Near couldn't quite believe that this man had had anything to do with his creation.

Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the handcuffs chaining Nathan down to the table: Near jumped as Nathan's hands wound themselves in his shirt and tugged him down to Nathan's level so that the man could whisper smugly, spittle flying onto Near's face, "Th-That... an o-offer?"

Near wrenched himself from Nathan's grip and resisted the urge to leap away from the man completely; the feeling of Nathan's dry, calloused hands brushing against his skin was disgusting, and made him feel filthy and vile.

"You're... ju-just as bad... as your... mother," Nathan managed to gasp, drawing in quick, shallow breaths between words. "Y-You... disgust me... you whore..."

Near felt the insult on his cheek distinctly, as if he'd been slapped; a blotchy red covered his cheeks as it would have had Nathan raised a hand to him. He felt disgusted and sick; more so by the fact that he believed Nathan than that his hold on Nathan's throat was loosening.

Nathan's smug smirk remained, and Near knew that he had just failed something crucial; as if to add insult to injury, Nathan shook his hair out of his face and rasped calmly, his voice hoarse, "You couldn't even..." he paused to take a great, shuddering breath, bruises already forming on his neck. "You couldn't even kill me, even after you know what I did to your slut of a mother. You're pathetic."

Near took a step backward and slipped on Optimus Prime. His head hit the ground with a dull 'thunk' and pain erupted in the back of his head. His vision swam for a moment, and he barely managed to roll over onto all-fours before he vomited onto the floor, his stomach clenching and his throat burning.

"Pathetic," Nathan muttered again, and Near choked on his own bile; he clutched at one of the table's legs so that he didn't fall when his trembling limbs threatened to give out.

The loud ringing in his ears hurt his head and he felt himself slip out of consciousness, for a moment; his vision faded to black as he swayed dangerously, and he woke up on the ground, his lip stinging and blood filling his mouth. He gingerly reached up, feeling horrified and nauseous and angry and disgusted and upset and scared, and his fingers met something sticky and warm.

Suddenly, there was the sound of rubber squeaking against the cold, linoleum floor, and Near looked up to find the driver and Cat standing in front of him. Cat gave him a barely concealed look of disgust, and the driver merely stood silently and observed; Near felt shame burn his cheeks and quickly wiped his bleeding mouth on the back of his sleeve, standing up shakily as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

Near's knees shook and he held onto the edge of the tables until his knuckles turned white as a wave of nausea almost forced him to fall back to the floor. Nathan smiled smugly at him and he wanted to turn away; he wanted to turn on his heel and leave, but he found himself held in place by a sick sense of fascination.

"Hello," Nathan said not unkindly, and Near's stomach lurched again. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Nathan. Who the hell are you?"

The driver did not reply; he took Near's arm and led him out with a quiet, "Come on, Near."

Cat may have stayed there and said something to Nathan - Near did not know - but, as soon as the door closed behind them, Nathan called obscenities after them, and Near tried to block them out.

He succeeded in this ploy, until Nathan shouted, "Come back here, you little shit! Come back here and finish what you started!" Something suddenly cut of the rest of it, and Near clutched weakly at the driver's arm; he couldn't have handled much more.

The driver seemed to have realised: he handed Near Optimus Prime - whom Near, to his shame, had completely forgotten about - and murmured, "Don't listen to him. What he said isn't true."

Near tried hard to believe the man, but he couldn't find it within himself to be deceived by a few kind words: his mother hadn't gotten an abortion because she did not believe in such a thing; she was against wasting life, no matter how worthless it was.

Instead of replying, he hugged Optimus Prime and tried hard to ignore the aching in his hands. He understood, now, why he hadn't gotten into a fist fight before: the dull throbbing in his knuckles was enough to convince him to never do it again.

"You killed her..."

Near's head gave a particularly painful throb and he stumbled, his free hand shooting out to break his fall; however, the driver caught him before he could hit the ground, and he choked back the bile rising in his throat as he managed to mumble, "Thanks."

He felt weak and pathetic, leaning on the driver for support. He could hardly stand upright, and his head was hurting so badly that his vision blurred with every step that he took.

"If you're not feeling well, I could carry-"

Near immediately straightened up, regardless of the hot pinpricks of tears behind his eyes, and interjected, "No. I'm fine." The thought of having to depend on someone for something so simple as walking made Near feel anxious; he needed to be self-sufficient, because no one in their right mind would help him when they realised just how disgusting he was.

The driver shot him a doubtful look and said, "If you're sure..." He trailed off; it was apparent that his offer still stood, and that he expected Near to accept it.

"Yes, I am," Near replied firmly, and the driver fell silent.

Progress back to the limo was slow because, though he managed to retain his straight-backed posture, every step made Near's stomach churn, and he didn't want to return to the car: though he didn't vomit again, he felt queasy, and he was sure that sitting in the cold, confined space of the limo would only make him sick.

When they finally reached the limo, Near took a deep breath and said, "Thank you for everything, but I'd like some time alone."

He knew that his reasoning was ridiculous: he needed time alone to think in a familiar setting - a dark, deserted alley would suffice - but how could he explain that to the driver? How could he ask, 'I would like to sit alone in a disgusting alleyway somewhere'? The driver would surely ignore him and drive him back to Wammy's.

However, if he played on the driver's weaknesses...

"I can't let you go anywhere," the driver said, as Near had expected. "If I don't get you back to 'the place' safely, I'll lose my job."

Near squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will his headache away until he'd finished doing what needed to be done. "You heard what Nathan said to me. I'd like some time to... reflect on it." It was clear on the driver's face that he still didn't believe Near (and Near didn't blame him, because he was not being very convincing), so Near continued, "Please... If you do this for me, I'll keep an eye on Abel for you. I'll even give you weekly reports on his health and well-being."

The skin around the driver's mouth grew taut, his eyes narrowing as he responded, "That's not a fair bargain."

Near inclined his head and clenched his fist in his hair, trying to ignore the pain in his head. "No, it's not, but are you going to accept it?"

He wished that the driver would just hurry up and accept his offer; it was clear that the man would, and that they both were just wasting time.

"I don't exactly have a choice, do I?" the driver said dryly. "Look, I'll give you a mobile phone, and you have to promise me you'll call if you get into any trouble. My phone number is saved onto it." He produced the device from his pocket and held it out to Near.

"Okay," Near replied quickly, taking the mobile phone. He smiled to himself, and quickly left the driver in front of the gaol and walked down a promising-looking road; it was dark and deserted, and looked exactly the same as the alleys in Kent, but without the old, perverted men loitering in there.

The road was lined with deserted buildings and rundown houses; Near turned down a small gap between two of the buildings and met a dead end.

It was strange to be comforted by something that had haunted his nightmares for years, Near knew, but he couldn't help the overwhelming sense of relief he felt when he saw the familiar environment - this was almost like a second home to him.

He sat down against the brick wall marking the end of the alley and let out a low moan when his head throbbed painfully. This pain, it was so similar to what he'd experienced that morning, and he reached up to touch his gauze-covered wound. It burned and stung; he pressed against it harder and smiled at the hot, numb sensation spreading throughout his body.

He deserved something much more horrible and painful than a headache: he had ruined his mother's life. Nathan had forced him into existence, purely to destroy Heaven. What did that make Near? The by-product of devastation, or the cause itself?

Optimus Prime set its accusing gaze on Near; its eyes seemed to glow in the dark, blaming him for Heaven's death, and Near's hands trembled as he put Optimus on the ground beside him, so that he couldn't see the toy anymore.

It's my fault... I killed you, Maman...

Near hugged his knee and squeezed his eyes shut, releasing a shuddering breath. He remembered his mother clearly; her bright smile, her sweet perfume, her long, blonde hair, her beautiful, blue eyes, her soft voice as she whispered, 'Je t'aime, Nate', the quiet pattering of her feet against the carpet, the 'click' of her opening a bottle of pills, the sound of water running from the shower mingling with her quiet sobs.

Something inside of Near's chest ached, and he cried out. He missed his mother more than ever before, and he knew that she didn't want to see him; she had never wanted to see him. How must she have felt, being forced to care for the reminder of her trauma every day? How had she ever looked him in the eye or hugged him close? Why had she sacrificed her life for him, when she should have just pushed him into the flames and watched him burn?

Near wiped at his face and wasn't surprised when his hand came back wet. His guilt weighed down on his shoulders until it physically hurt him, and he let out a quiet sob.

He had only ever tried to be good to his mother; he had done whatever he could to see her smile, to feel her hair tickle his cheek as she hugged him to her chest and ran her hands through his hair, but there was no point.

She had cared for him so well that Near could almost swear that she felt some form of affection for him; he would have, had he not known about the rape, and, for the first time in his life, he resented something about his mother - her acting skills. Why had she not admitted that she didn't want to see him? Why had she nurtured him so lovingly?

Unless...

Near's eyes widened.

No...

She had seen his filth every day, but she had done nothing to rid herself or him of it: no, she had fed it, nourished it, until it encompassed him so completely that he wasn't even aware of its presence.

"She hated you..."

With a strangled scream, Near turned around and hit his head against the brick wall behind him, choking as he gasped for breath. He had wanted to believe that Nathan had lied to him; he had believed it, for a few blissful minutes of ignorance.

"Sortez, Nate! Laisser! Courir!"

Oh God... Please...

She had let him run because she wanted him to live in pain; she had wanted him to suffer with the knowledge that he had killed her.

"Courir! Laissez-vous vite!"

Near screamed again, his eyes burning as he cried. In that instant, with his mother's screams ringing in his ears, he realised the truth: she had wanted to die that night. She had wanted him to live; not because she loved him, but for reasons much more twisted.

Nathan was right: He had killed her.

What did that make him? He was worse than scum, worse than the lowest form of filth to inhabit the Earth.

Every name that the tricks had ever called him, every insult that had ever been shouted at him - they were all true, and now, with a broken street-light flickering overhead and cold, hard bricks digging into the side of his face, Near understood why everyone he'd ever met hated him, and saying that he didn't agree with them would have been a lie.

He wanted to see his mother again; he wanted to apologise for existing, but he didn't want her to ever have to see him again.

He clung to Optimus Prime, stroking the toy's face, and sobbed desperately, "I-I'm sorry! I'm s-so sorry, Maman! You sh-should've- You should've j-just killed me! I-I... I d-didn't mean-" The words refused to form on his tongue and he eventually gave up on forcing them; his breathing was too strained, choppy, and fast to let any words out, and he clutched at his throat.

I can't breathe.

Near's fingernails drew blood but he didn't care: he couldn't breathe, and he didn't want to die just yet - his mother wouldn't want to see him, and he didn't want to upset her anymore, especially when she'd finally escaped the pain of having to care for him.

The flickering light of that the street-lamp provided was burning and bright; the sound of footsteps against the cement-covered ground was far too loud; every shallow breath burned Near's throat until he gave up on breathing completely - the oxygen wasn't reaching his lungs, so there was no point in trying.

"Is everything alright?" a deep, kind-sounding voice suddenly asked, and Near instantly sat up straighter, holding Optimus Prime in front of him like a shield.

The man who had spoken walked toward Near quickly, his hair smartly combed back and his business suit pressed neatly.

Near felt slightly safer - this man didn't look like one of the tricks: he looked far too professional - but he didn't let his guard down. They were alone in this alley, and no one would be able to hear anything if something were to happen.

"What're you doing back here?" the man asked when he came to stop in front of Near. He crouched down so that he was at Near's level and said, surprised, "You're a bit young to be out here by yourself. Where are you parents?"

Near hated himself for not being able to answer; he wiped his face on his sleeve and held Optimus Prime in front of his sore throat, his knee shielding the rest of his body from the man's gaze.

With a soft sigh, the man said, "My name's Eli. What's yours?"

"My name is Near," Near replied hoarsely, his throat stinging. "I'm not too young to be here by myself; I lived on the streets for two years in Kent. If that's what you were concerned about, please don't be." He was trying to encourage Eli to leave. The man had no business here, watching Near break down; Near did not need a spectator.

Eli sighed again. "What're you doing out here at this time of night?"

Near found that he could think of no reasonable excuse, and answered, "I'm not doing anything."

It was obvious that Eli didn't believe him: the man rolled his eyes and said, "Alright then. If you're not doing anything, then why don't I take you home? You do know the way back to your house, right?"

Near stood up too quickly; his vision turned black for a moment, and he slammed his palm against the wall to keep himself standing. Taking a deep breath, Near stumbled out of the alleyway, the phone feeling like a deadweight in his pocket, and said, "I don't know the way back, so I'll call someone to pick me up. You can leave now."

Eli smiled and replied, "Don't worry about wasting your call credits. Come on; I'll take you to my house, and you can call from there, okay?"

Near did not trust Eli at all. The man was a stranger and, though he looked far cleaner and more respectable than the tricks, he could very well be something horrible, like a serial killer. However, did Near really have a choice? If Eli wanted to hurt him, he could do it easily - Near couldn't defend himself, much less against a fully grown man. Resisting would only earn Near more injuries, but going with Eli almost certainly meant something much more painful.

Finally, Near decided that his best chances were pretending to go with Eli, but 'losing' the man along the way, and responded, "Okay."

They walked out of the alleyway in silence, and Near clutched at the phone in his pocket with trembling hands.

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AN: 'Eli' is pronounced 'EE-lie'; I just thought that I'd let you guys know, because that's one of my favourite names and it's very easy to mispronounce ^^;;

Also, in response to someone's question, the NearxMello/MelloxNear will not be showing up for a while, in case you hadn't realised. I suppose that I should have clarified that earlier, but I'm lazy.

This is not going to be a love-at-first-sight 'ZOMG LET'S HAVE SEX NAO KAIIZ!' story, so if you're looking for something like that, don't look here. This will be a rather depressing story, with love as merely a sub-plot. There will be no cheery 'You know what? I'm gay, and I'm totally cool with that, even though I only realised it, like... two seconds ago... I don't even know if you're gay or not, but who cares? Let's screw!' moments. Ever.

For the most part, Near will not be comfortable with the feelings that he will develop toward Mello, because no one in his situation would be. He will not instantly accept it, he will not fantasise about having sex with Mello every few seconds, and he won't masturbate every night to thoughts of Mello.

Please, if you are looking for a love story that is instantaneous and deals with no issues regarding sexual preference, rape, prostitution, self-harm, and eating disorders, then find something else to read, and don't complain, because I have now officially warned you.