Obnoxiously Long Author's Note: Thanks for deciding to check out my story.

The first author's note is long, I apologise. It's to avoid too much blathering at the start of chapters.

Before we begin, there's a few things that I should probably clarify. The first and most important is that I like to make my readers think. I've been told that modern readers don't like to be made to read between the lines… but I think better of you. There will be things that are left unclear, and opportunities to let me know what you think might be going on.

The second is that some of the things mentioned in this story may have been featured outside the 'main' series – that is, outside of the manga and anime. Some facts will have been picked up from Relight: L's Successors, and also from the post-series oneshot manga.

The third and final point is the obligatory disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. If I did, this stuff would hardly be fanfiction. To those of you who are still here after all that… well, thank you, and I hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter One: Bang

Age Four

The air was tense.

A husband and wife sat in front of a large, cluttered desk, in a room full of toys, brightly coloured pictures and puppets. Behind the desk sat a doctor. On the desk was a nameplate reading "Dr. Luke Warburton (MD) – Paediatrician".

On the floor next to the desk, fascinated by a toy train set, was a small, boy with curly, pale hair, and next to him was a stuffed teddy bear. His mother and father thought that, despite his discomfort, he appeared relatively content, normal. Dr. Luke Warburton, however, did not.

"Of course, I can't be sure right at this moment," he was saying to the two parents he was sure were only half-absorbing what he was saying. "We'll need to do further tests. I'd like to refer him to a child psychologist, if you'll let me."

Neither the mother nor the father responded.

"Mr. and Mrs. River… I know this is difficult for you," he continued patiently, glancing sideways at the little boy who appeared to have no interest in anything they were saying. "But it's better knowing sooner than later. It could be a false alarm. But if it isn't, it's better we find out now, for his sake, so we can help him."

A further silence followed. After a few seconds, a devastated Mrs. Rivers finally nodded, indicating her consent. As Dr. Wharburton wrote down the details of one of his colleagues, she looked down and watched her son play. She'd never thought there was anything unusual about him. She had thought he just liked to play, was shy of other children, enjoyed being by himself with his toys: a quiet, oddly intelligent, but completely unremarkable four-year-old. But now she was being told that there might be a problem. There might be something wrong. No, not wrong – different. She couldn't say wrong. This was her baby. Whatever he was diagnosed with, he was perfect. There was nothing wrong with him.

Just different.

"I know this is hard on both of you, but please don't forget to pick up his antibiotics," the doctor reminded the couple as they left with their son, a phone number in the woman's bag. "As long as he takes that his ear infection clear up in a few days."

"Thank you, doctor."

o-o-o-o-o-o

"It's your fault."

"Please, dear, not tonight."

"There's something wrong with him, and it's not in your family…"

"Josh, please, he's right there, he can hear you…"

"He's four, Fiona. He doesn't get it."

Nate River observed his parents' distress with understandable confusion. After all, he was only four years old. He was a surprisingly intelligent child, but he didn't understand what infidelity was and what genetics meant yet. However, he what he did know what happened when his father started to talk loudly and his mother put her hands up near her face. He left the kitchen, trailing his teddy behind him. This was the bang bit and he didn't like the bang bit.

"He got this – this brain disease from him."

Nate pushed the door closed behind him, walked down the hallway, and began to climb the stairs on his hands and knees, as he often did.

"This is your fault. This happened because you couldn't keep your hands off that – that sleazeball!"

He got to the top of the stairs, and he hadn't been fast enough, because he wasn't very fast. They already gotten to the bang bit that scared him, and it wasn't just voices anymore, and his mother didn't use words and his father started to shout so loudly that he could hear it even when he was all the way up here. His mother wailed, and his father said 'not mine' and 'cheat' and also lots of words that he didn't understand yet.

"If I have to deal with this because of him – I'll – he's not even mine, Fiona! Think of the doctor's bills! If he's… you'd better hope he's normal or so help me I'll teach him to be normal the hard way!"

Nate went into his room and shut the door tight behind him. He found his robots, red and blue, sat down with his back to the door, and he made them fight each other. He tried to pretend that they were the ones making all the noise. Because he kind of knew that they weren't real, and you could rebuild robots if they broke.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Sometimes, his father went outside for a long time, and when he came back things were a little different.

His mother would have gone to bed much earlier than usual. Nate would always wonder why the landing light went off at a different time when his father wasn't around.

When his father came home, he would sing. Nate didn't know if he was happy or sad when he sang, because sometimes he would cry, and other times he would laugh. Nate didn't know why his father did either of those things, and his father never said.

Tonight was different again. Instead of going to bed early, she came into his room holding his little backpack and switched the light on.

"Oh, honey, you're awake," she said softly, already opening the chest of drawers near the door. "Listen, Nate, I was thinking we'd go out for a little while. A little adventure, how does that sound?" She caught him watching her intently and, after a moment's pause, picked up the nearest toys to her and handed them to him – his red and blue robots.

Something was different. Within seconds his mother had crammed some random clothes into his bag, and had lifted him out of his bed and carried him down the stairs. She set him and his backpack on the floor by the front door, picked up her car keys from the little table in the hallway, and took hold of a suitcase.

"Take your bag, Nate," she said as she opened the front door, and he followed her outside, his backpack and teddy dragging behind him from his right hand and his robots tucked under his left arm.

She buckled him into the car and got into the driver's seat. And then they were off on their adventure.

"It'll be okay, Nate. We're going to start over," she said, but her face was wet. But she was his mother, and so he believed her, because mothers are always right. He felt safe in the warm car, and the dull drone of the engine lulled him to sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o

When he woke up, he didn't believe her anymore.

It was dawn, and her face was still wet, and Nate thought they were going very fast and his mother was staring at the rear view mirror instead of at the road. Everything around was moving far too fast, and then the car lurched around and he heard a scream that his mother and the car did at the same time and then –

Bang.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Drunk driver…"

"Seems like he was her husband…"

"Kid shouldn't've been in the front seat…"

"It's a miracle he's even alive…"

There was orange sky and people in all the same green clothes. They made him stay inside the car for a long time and they wouldn't let him look out the window. They told him that everything was going to be okay and they'd like to know his name, please, and whether he could feel that he was hurt anywhere. He told them through tears that almost choked him that his name was Nate River, and that he had an ear infection and that had hurt this week. He asked them why he had red on him even though he wasn't cut up and why his mother was looking at him like that, and they told him again that everything was going to be okay and that he should look at them right now instead of his mother.

Not even a scratch, they'd say later, and they'd talk about how they didn't understand it, not when they remembered the mess the two cars were in.

The next time he saw a child psychologist, they would talk about lots of things, and he would say that he missed having his mother and his father very much, even though his father made him feel scared sometimes. The child psychologist would write down that Nate River had a photographic memory, but tell Nate himself that his brain was 'like a big sponge that could soak up and hold everything', and show him with a real sponge and a bowl of water. He'd tell the doctors and social workers that this was not a good thing for a child who had experienced what Nate had. And one day, when Nate was a little older, he would agree, because he could never erase the sight of his mother's cold, unblinking eyes staring right through him and reflecting nothing but the light of a wintery dawn.

AN: Next to no dialogue! Sorry about that. So, what's going on? Anyone want to tell me? Hope to hear from you guys in the form of reviews. Many thanks for giving this story a go!