A/N - this has been in my head for a long time now, ever since I learnt about L's past...enjoy! Please, no flames, this is my first ever fanfiction and I am 12 and a terrible writer. I think.

Spoilers. Quite a few of them.

Disclaimer: I do not own death note or L. I wish...

"The century's greatest detective, advertised as solving every case imaginable. How great his burden must be, how much pain must he go through every single moment: past, present and future...a burden so great it would leave you hunched over. A bitter taste in your mouth that would leave you longing for sweets." - Mello, Death Note Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases

"The century's greatest detective, advertised as solving every case imaginable. How great his burden must be, how much pain must he go through every single moment: past, present and future...a burden so great it would leave you hunched over. A bitter taste in your mouth that would leave you longing for sweets." - Mello, Death Note Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases

Life for the greatest detective in the world. Sounds great right?
Wrong. Since the beginning it had been hard. Since he was left alone, abandoned on the street after witnessing his parents death. Their murder. He was alone and left to pickpocket on the streets with a lonely broken heart...that was, until the man under the name Wammy took him in to the orphanage for geniuses. Yes, he was the only one he was close to...It didn't make much better, though. He couldn't go out to play. He couldnt go out to live. He was trapped and forced to train for all his years. Sometimes he smiled, and his only father figure would smile with him, but sometimes he would sit in his bed and wonder why he couldn't go out and why he was so strange and why his parents had to be killed...

How would you react if you were told you were meeting the famous L?

Excited, you say.

How would you react if you were meeting an insomniac, hunched over sweet loving eccentric man?

...exactly.

He was hated, shunned, because he was different. He couldn't connect to anyone, he would never be understood, he would never truly understand. Always on the edge longing to be normal, always disconnected, because he was different.

And then he became the greatest detective. He kept going even when he cried just wishing that his parents would still be here and he could just be accepted and normal, with Wammy by him, and did what he did best. He used his brain and intellectual skills, and his first name - L - became famous.

Everyone strived to be him. But no one cared about the true him, would anyone care if it weren't for his abilities? He tried to keep that thought away but it always clouded his nightmares - he didn't sleep often because of that. He could never be normal, or have friends...

What a burden, to keep this facade. To no longer be contained in walls of an orphanage but walls of self hatred and doubt.

He was a liar, he used others, without regret. But was anyone there to tell him? How it hurt? Was there a parent, was there a friend? No-one taught him how to act and no matter how he tried he couldn't understand their pain.

And when a man called Beyond Birthday made him realise the pain he was causing he couldn't erase his mistakes.

He tried to be normal but never reached.

He was alone.

Those who loved him hated the true him, no one understood him with not a single friend, a burdening pressure, a life with no smiling. Those who hated him forgot he was human. He was justice right? He certainly tried to be justice - he tried to be a good person. But everyone forgot he was human - all humans make mistakes and have emotions. Even if they are bottled away, trapped inside yourself.

Such a pressure to keep this up, to keep up such a facade. To never be understood. To always be alone.
Such a guilt to know people died under the pressure of being him, being his copy. To know he couldn't do anything about it. To know it was his fault but not know how to stop it. To know people hated him for the things he hated himself. To be called a lying monster and call yourself a lying monster. To lie so naturally without being able to stop until he even himself couldn't tell the difference between his own lies and truths.

He hasn't counted the times he's stood at night with the razor against his wrists, hesitating, hesitating. Before stopping.
Because he was needed for justice. Because he could still make a difference.
It was almost a daily routine.

To be normal, was that too much to ask?

Guess it was. But at least he had Watari, at least he had his job and his 'friends' (even if he had to worry about them being murderers) at least he was famous, he was given everything he ever asked for, the sweets to satisfy the bitter taste in his mouth...

at least one person had cared for him.

One person...

Even so, he knew when he died L would be greatly missed. But would anyone remember Lawliet, the orphan who was so different he was inhumane?