AN: I recently finished Death Note: Another Note. Truthfully, it disappointed me a bit. But, I fell in love with Beyond Birthday, BB, B. He has now risen to the status of "favorite character in Death Note"...next to Matt, of course. xD

Been reading some BB related fanfiction for the past day or so. It inspired me to do this. Not my best (nor, actually, my worst), but I wanted to post it, so here it is.

Turned out completely different from how I planned, but ah well.

Warnings: You won't really understand this unless you have read Death Note: Another Note. BB (as well as L) might also be a bit out of character. :| Also, took some artistic liberties with A. He is hardly mentioned in the original, so I suppose it's not a big deal. This is rated T mainly for safety. (Rating anything with Beyond in it with a K+ is kinda...)

Disclaimers: Death Note: Another Note was written by Nisioisin. The original concept is by Ohba and Obata. If I had written the spin-off, then the names would be more believable (I mean, Backyard Bottomslash?), Mello would not be narrating the story (caused more inconsistencies than not), BB would not have the shinigami eyes (completely useless plotpoint; great for fanfiction, horrible for an "official" spin-off), there wouldn't have been so much damn red herrings about the true identity of BB, and BB would have won.

If you see any mistakes or any areas where I can improve, please tell me. I love and worship those who give me critiques. :)

"Hours!" the boy screams in glee. "It is hours!" He is staring at the corpse of what use to be a cat and grinning as if it is the happiest day in his life.

It is so unexpected that the other children actually stop what they are doing and turn to look at him. (They hardly ever do that anymore; they already know that little B was strange, was "crazy"—though L told them not to call the boy that to his face.)

"What's hours?" A asks, before anyone can turn away. A is always curious. A is always the leader, the one in command of everyone else, or so he wishes.

"The numbers! The red numbers!" Then, as if remembering a private joke no one else knew, he bursts out laughing maniacally.

A and the others look at him, uncomprehending. They do not bother to ask him to explain (little B never explained even when asked) and goes back to their game, but not without some whispered words about the outcast.

"B's at it again."

"Why is he still at Wammy's?"

"Even if he's smart, he's creepy as hell."

B knows what they're saying. He has heard it before, and it only makes him smile more, makes him laugh more. He knows that they do not understand. He never expects them to, and he knows they never will.

Of course, none of that matters anymore now that he knows what it means.

The numbers. Ah, the red numbers. He knows that it is about death, that when the number runs out the person dies, but he does not—did not—know the measure of time. He did not know whether it was in seconds, in minutes, in hours, in days, in months, or in years.

But, he has realized now!

Oh, how wonderful death could be. The dead cat was the thing that gave him the answer. He had seen it, two hours before, with a mere two hanging on its head. And, now it was dead! So, the measure of time was hours! Hours!

What a fantastic day it has been! Or, maybe it should be what a fantastic day it shall be?

Well, that does not matter now. Not really.

"Seventy-eight hours," B reads to himself, not at all silently. He does not care if anyone hears. "Only seventy-eight hours then!" And, he once again erupts into a fit of laughter. (The others do not even bother to turn around this time.) After he finishes laughing, he reads everyone else's time too, in the new measurement that he has just discovered, but they all have far more time (months, years even), so he is disappointed.

Later, B sings the first one (the shortest) like a mantra as he prances the halls of Wammy's long after the day is over. "Alternate is going to die in seventy-two hours. Alternate is going to die in seventy-two hours." He purposely sings it especially loud when nearing the big, oaken doors that the children are not suppose to go near, much less go in.

And, sure enough, the door opens, and B finds the detective that he admires (idolizes, worships) looking at the boy with his usual deadpan expression. "You should not be up at this hour, B," he says, as if speaking to a disobedient child. (B was a child, sure, but he didn't consider himself disobedient. Not at all.)

"Do you like my song, L?" B asks, innocently, as if he had not heard a word that had just been said. (Actually, he has heard and memorized everything, down to the syllable, down to the tone.)

"You should not be singing such things, B."

"It is true, though." B cannot help but smile his usual maniacal smile. "A is going to die in seventy-two hours."

L obviously does not believe him. "You should really hurry to bed, B."

"Then, let's make a bet, L," B proposes. "If A dies in seventy-two hours, I win. If he does not, you win."

L sighs. The detective realizes that he will not be able to get rid of B as easily as he wants. "Very well, B. But, do you know how he will die?"

B frowns. He does not.

"Then, let us make a bet about that as well, B. If A dies of an accident or murder, it will be your win. However, if A kills himself, it is my win."

B is surprised, but his face does not show it. (Or, is it more accurate to say that his face could not show it?) He merely blinks and considers. A does not seem like a type to commit suicide, but L is always right. (But what if he is wrong this time?) B does not know what to say and only stares.

"So, do you agree, B?"

B knows L is never wrong. B knows L has never been wrong. B knows that L probably never will be wrong. But, B wants to surpass L. (He wants to become L.) He is sure that he is not wrong about A dying. And, with the chances that L has set for himself, B clearly has the advantage.

"I agree, L."

(Even so, L is never wrong.)

Six days later, A is found dead.

Six days later, A has killed himself.

It is B's loss.

(He had a cheat. He had the shinigami eyes. L had nothing, but L guessed the method of death so easily.)

L is never wrong.

L is perfection.