A/N: Wow oh gosh...I uh, haven't written fanfiction in a LONG while, to be quite honest with you. Long hiatus, let's say. But over this time, as you can obviously see, I got into No. 6. After watching the last episode, well... I felt like writing out what poor Nezumi must've been feeling part of the way through the episode.

In case you're wondering about the title, "There is a Willow Grows Aslant the Brook" was the name of the speech Queen Gretrude gave when announcing Ophelia's death in the story Hamlet. Considering everything within this fanfiction that you'll read soon (Perhaps, I hope.), you will soon see why I thought this title was fitting for this piece.

I also honestly apologize if it's a bit OOC, or if any of the wording feels...strange, awkward, rushed, etc. Feel free to R&R, and every little bit of criticism is welcome! And without further ado, onto the story~

Quick Disclaimer: I do not own No. 6, it belongs solely to Atsuko Asano!

He could tell, as soon as he used his full strength to reach out and grasp that hand, as soon as he had held it.

Although the building was still exploding and overheating, Shion's own warmth was slowly slipping away already. It was being replaced by the unnatural warmth of the nearby fires, and perhaps, Nezumi's own warmth.

This couldn't have happened.

No… It shouldn't have. Not at all.

Similar thoughts along those lines ran through the literati's head, all filled with the same guilt of having even brought Shion along. Even if the boy was of help, even if he saved his life multiple times today… even then he shouldn't have brought him along.

Denial. That's all he could hold, too. When they had landed, Nezumi could see those red, lifeless eyes just barely through dark-blue strands of his own hair, and the transparent-like white hair of Shion. Blank, like when Shion had protected him. When Shion shot that captain. And it took strength for him to look away.

Rikiga's words had brought him back to reality after they had gotten away from the exploding room. "He's gone," to be specific. They weren't the words that Nezumi wanted to hear, in fact, part of him just wanted it to be some sort of cruel joke of Shion's, to just wake up from some sort of sleep.

He can feel Inukashi's desperation to get out of there as she tries to help him up- but no, he doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to leave Shion alone, even if he's gone. His own feelings on wanting to stay don't even allow him to hear Inukashi's shouting when he attempt to go to Shion's side- but he doesn't care if he's left here to die.

…What had become of him? Just a few mere days ago, he'd be leaving with Inukashi and Rikiga, without a problem. When he'd first taken the boy out to the world, he knew that one day Shion's attitude would kill him. And here he was, dead, but not only after he had grown to accept the nature of reality- when Nezumi didn't want him to.

Such irony it was. Perhaps the blood loss had gotten to his head? But the change that had overcome the boy… Nezumi had told him to stay as "Shion". He told him to not change. In the end, it was a futile plea that meant nothing. And it was before the blood loss- so perhaps it was more than just that… Something perhaps Nezumi himself couldn't tell.

Now, now it seemed like everything was falling apart. Shion…had been the one thing that had helped him through, more ways than one. He'd helped him through the Correctional Facility, and Shion was the inspiration to run out of there quickly. To get the boy out safe and sound.

But Nezumi was careless and got himself shot. No…both of them were. Even though he didn't want to face it, weren't they both careless? "The ones who have things to protect always lose", huh? Nezumi let out a slightly pitiful laugh, that sounded more of a slight cry as he finally reached Shion.

The boy's eyes were now closed, but he looked at peace. Like Juliet, upon her grave after having drunk the sleeping potion, Nezumi recalled from a previous enactment of the tragedy. Only now, Shion wouldn't wake up unlike Juliet. That was the one and only difference.

I'm sorry.

It was the one thing that Nezumi could think of, but couldn't find the strength to say to Shion.

I shouldn't have brought you.

I shouldn't have let you come along.

I shouldn't have allowed myself to become so careless when escaping.

…I shouldn't have allowed myself to let you change.

I'm sorry.

Shion, would you ever forgive me…?

Unable to even look at the boy anymore, Nezumi took off his coat and laid it down upon Shion, hands trembling slightly as he did so. Without even thinking of anything more, he found himself singing. The very song of Elyurias.

Perhaps it was because it was the first song Shion had ever heard him sing, or perhaps it was because it caused Nezumi pain. It could be one reason or another that he had begun to sing this particular song. And even though Shion was gone…perhaps it could still put his soul at peace, even from afar.

His eyelids grew heavy once he had finished, and he felt light-headed, the anemia finally setting in. All Nezumi felt that he wanted to do now was to sleep, and just sleep forever, perhaps seeing Shion in a dream. He laid his upper body against Shion's chest carefully, and felt a bit more unsettled at how much more cold the body was.

Nezumi could remember the last time the white-haired boy was truly warm. When Shion carried him, when he had hugged Nezumi from behind when he least expected it, when Nezumi held the boy closely when falling…and then four years ago, when Shion had held him when he suffered from a fever. If only once again these lukewarm arms would hold him like then…

…And if only death could come easy, then perhaps he wouldn't have to wait longer to possibly feel that warmth again in the afterlife. Wasn't there still one more knife left, though? Nezumi couldn't remember, and while he was able to find courage before to move, he no longer could find any more strength to search. To lift his wounded arm would be like lifting up something extremely heavy without much of muscle.

It was even more irony that such thoughts were even going through his mind; He now understood why he fitted the roles of Ophelia and Juliet perfectly in the plays though- they both had committed suicide, had they not? Ophelia in a trance-like insanity after her beloved had killed her brother, and Juliet by Romeo's own knife, but her own hand.

Nezumi gave a heavy breath. This very boy had changed the very fabric of who this mouse was- even when four years ago, he was just a running fugitive. Shion could've turned him in… but rather, helped him. And even though the encounter was still short-lived, Shion had remembered and recognized him instantly after those long four years…

"Thank you," Nezumi murmured once, closing his eyes from the fatigue that wracked his whole body.

...There was once an injured mouse, who believed he was only born for a cruel and pathetic death to accompany his cruel and pathetic life. But he was noticed, and helped-and rescued. That day when he was injured, he'd either hoped for death…or a miracle. He had gotten the latter, and was grateful for it.

But now, that mouse was injured again, and the one he cared the most about was gone. He wished once more that he could feel the warmth of that person's arms… but this time, a miracle would not be likely to happen in a world where the dead stayed dead.

And for the first time in his life, Nezumi wished so for death than to live on.