Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
A/N: Happy death day Soichiro! ...That's an odd thing to say to a person, but hey. Anyway, this was just something I wrote during second period, for Soichiro! :)
Premise: AU. If Light had been in possession of the Death Note when Soichiro was dying.
The machines in the hospital bleeped slowly, steadily, the loudest sound in the hushed silence of the room.
The tap of Matsuda's shoes as he shifted his weight. Aizawa coughing, trying to muffle it in his hand. The scrape of a cast against clothing fabric.
Soichiro's faint, labored breathing.
Light, although he was acting, because he was always acting, stood by his father's bed, holding his hand. The man hadn't woken up yet. The doctors said he might not, and that he could die at any time. They had left him with his friends and family to share his final moments. There was no hope of him surviving the night.
Jose had been the guy's name, that had shot him. But the gunshot had been Mello's order.
Not that Light- or his father- really cared.
He was holding tight to the Death Note, calculating. Could he get his dad to write Mello's name? How far could he push this?
Soichiro opened his eyes, slowly, and smiled at his beloved son.
No numbers. His name, but no numbers.
Very, very calmly, he closed his eyes again.
He supposed he had always known it, in the way that "a father always knows." He had known before even Light had that he was dangerously intelligent. He had known that he was attractive enough to manipulate anyone he wanted- any age, any sexuality, any gender. And he knew that something in his son had always been off. Distorted. Broken. He knew that he fit the literal definition of a psychopath- unable to tolerate boredom, self-centered, no conscience...
That last one had become obvious at a very young age: Light had always known and obeyed the rules, but it had nothing to do with his own desire to do what was right. He, honestly and truly, just found it more interesting to try to operate as he wished while obeying these rules.
He knew that his son had never actually studied a day in his life. He didn't need to. He went through the motions because it was the rules, and because he had to be perfect.
Perfect.
And who else, who else in the world could have done it?
Light.
Sachiko had known it, too. The moment the heart attacks had been declared a serial killer and not a disease, she had come to him, looked him in the eye, and said, perfectly calm, "It's him."
Soichiro had nodded, and they had never spoken of it again.
Of course, he had tried to convince himself that his son wasn't the mass murderer. And, even if he had known it in his guts, he didn't have proof.
He worried every day what he would do if he found some.
Two things mattered to Soichiro- family and morality.
Which one came first?
And now he had the proof. Light was Kira, period. His worst nightmare, come to blindingly undeniable life.
L was dead. No one else was going to be able to stop Kira, except him. It was up to him.
He opened his eyes again, slowly, and met his son's. Beautiful as ever. Off as ever. Kira.
No. Light.
He ignored what Kira was shouting and stared at Light. His beloved, broken, beautiful son.
Without a word, Soichiro closed his eyes.
The low, unbroken tone of the machine was the only sound in the hushed silence of the room.
"10:04 PM, November 11, 2009."