[A/N]: I know I don't normally put notes before a chapter, but there's a fair amount of descriptive scenes involving blood here. If graphic depictions of blood or death trigger you, please skip that part of the chapter.

"How do you think you did?" Light asked as we filed out of the exam hall. Today had been the last day of the exams, and, as I'd assumed, L had shown up for each day of them. I hadn't been able to look at him clearly, considering I was seated at the front of the room, but I'd caught glimpses of oily, spiky black hair leaving and entering the exam room.

I stretched my arms out, cracking my knuckles as I did so. "Pretty well, actually. Those study sessions, plus the revision sessions with Kayumi, Shinta, Tatsu, and Yuri helped."

"Huh. Did Tatsu join after I stopped coming?"

I nodded. "Yeah, about a week after."

"Looks like you missed out, Light," Ryuk said from overhead.

The conversation lulled, and I bit my lip. Dad's gonna be back home today . . . and since B's home too, I can finally get proper answers from the both of them. And, as an afterthought, I added, Dad has a lot of answering to do. I still can't believe he and Mum both knew B well enough to break him out of prison . . .

My attention was drawn again by a light flick on my shoulder. "Are we still going to your house after? It's been a while since we've been at your place rather than mine."

Now, it wasn't like I could tell Light that for these last two weeks, I'd been trying to keep him out of my house since I currently had a serial killer with Shinigami Eyes living there, so I'd had an excuse prepared. "Dad's coming home today—in fact, I think he'll already be there, so maybe not today. There's some stuff I need to talk to him about."

Light nodded. "Alright, then I'll go home. Make sure you tell him about your arm, too."

"Yeah," I agreed. There couldn't be any compromising on that, I figured. "Though telling him that it's a gunshot wound from a busjacking's going to be difficult."

"It wouldn't be if he'd actually been around when it happened," Light muttered darkly.

I didn't know how to respond to that. On the one hand, he had been pretty much a textbook absent father since Mum died, so I didn't really expect anything else, but . . . on the other, I did still want to defend him, since at the end of the day, he was my dad.

"He's working, though," I defended, half-hearted as it was. Is he, though? Apparently, he's gotten B out of jail while he's been supposedly working in LA. Hell, I don't even know anything about his job . . .

"And he hasn't even called once?"

I shook my head. "International calls are expensive."

"It's been three weeks since the hijacking and you didn't call him either, because you figured that saving international call money was more important than letting your father know that you got shot."

"Well, now you make me sound like an idiot," I interjected.

Light sighed. "That's because it was an idiotic thing to do, Mikko. I thought you'd at least have informed him over the phone—"

"Can we drop it? It doesn't really matter now anyway, since I can tell him when I get back," I interrupted.

Sheepishly, Light nodded.

Really, though, Light was right—I should have called to inform Dad of what had happened when it did. Whether he cared or not would be another story, but no matter how little Dad was in my life, it was still technically my responsibility to tell him.

Maybe he'd have come back sooner, I thought for a moment, then brushed it off. No, he probably wouldn't.

Light and I picked up on our last discussion about Kira at some point on the train ride, and eventually, the conversation devolved into something about Mario Kart, which we continued until we got home, both of us ignoring Ryuk's input whenever he gave it. Though I had to admit, watching Ryuk get increasingly irritated when he wasn't getting attention was amusing.

"See you tomorrow, Light," I called, about to open my door—

Which was, for some reason, unlocked. B usually keeps it locked when he's at home, and Dad would never leave it unlocked.

Seeming to have noticed, Light came over. "Did you forget to lock it this morning?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm positive I locked it . . . and Dad wouldn't leave it unlocked, either." I could feel my heart pounding as I wondered what it meant. "Come with me," I mumbled, grabbing Light's hand before opening the door properly. Thankfully, he didn't object.

"I'm home!" I called out, both as a warning for B to hide (since I wouldn't normally do it), and to get Dad to answer if he was there—which he had to be, since his suitcase was right next to the entrance.

There was no response.

Light, ever calm, suggested, "Maybe your dad's asleep?"

"Mmm." I hoped he was right, despite the sinking feeling of wrongness that was beginning to form. There was no sign of B, either, I noted, gripping Light's hand tighter as we went upstairs.

Light's voice was quiet as he asked, "Mikko, do you smell that?"

I did—the air smelled acrid and sweet-ish and metallic at the same time, almost raw in a sense. "Blood," I whispered.

Light's grip on my hand loosened slightly as he pulled out his phone—probably to make a call if needed, while I made my way to the master bedroom, where the bloody stench was strongest, permeating the air. I felt sick to my stomach as I lowered the door handle and opened it slowly.

One glimpse into the room left the image imprinted into my mind, even when I slammed the door shut the second after.

The room was filled with blood—some of it seemed relatively fresh, crimson pooling around, but most if it already seemed to have dried; the sheets were a dark red-brown where splatters of blood had landed, but some was still almost garnet in hue—as though someone had been stabbed repeatedly and the blood had splashed everywhere.

I squeezed my eyes shut as vomit rose in my mouth while I tried to force it down. It didn't help—the image only became more vivid in my imagination.

I hadn't seen a body there, though. Not that I was willing to go in again and look for it.

"Light," I whispered hoarsely, not quite sure what I was going to say.

Light just held my hand tighter, pulling me away from the room, having already called the number he had dialled earlier. He was already reporting the situation, but his pallor gave away that he was probably sickened by it too.

A moment later, he hung up, and we both got outside the house, and were waiting outside for officials to show up. "The sun's already set," I murmured, trying to distract myself from what I'd seen.

Light nodded. "You're staying with us tonight," he murmured. It wasn't a question or an order—just a statement, and I was in no position to disagree.

Soon, the police showed up, but everything at that point was a blur. I answered questions when they were asked, as did Light, but none of it really registered, even as they arranged for someone to search the house and put police tape around it.

It took a while for me to work up the courage to say it, but eventually I managed to get out the words I'd been thinking. "That was . . . Dad, wasn't it?"

Light didn't meet my eyes. "Mikko . . ."

I shook my head. "Dad's . . . gone," I mumbled. I felt like I was going to throw up—the phantom tang of blood was still clogging my nose. "He's really gone . . ." No. No, no no, he can't be gone.

B must have killed him. My legs gave way, and I felt myself collapsing to my knees on the lawn. This is why I shouldn't have trusted a goddamn serial killer, I'm an idiot and now Dad's dead—dead—I indirectly killed him—"God—shi—f—"

Light's hands clamped down on my shoulders, bringing me back to reality. "Kimiko!"

All I could do was stare at him, but I was listening.

Light's face was ashen and he looked about as sick as I felt, but somehow he managed to keep it together. "Let's go."

I didn't get up. For whatever reason, my legs wouldn't let me move. I just sat there on the grass, frozen.

"Mikko . . ." Light said quietly, then lifted me to my feet. Somehow, I managed to keep my balance after that as we got to the Yagami house.

"Why on Earth are you back so late—" Aunt Sachiko started, but cut herself off when she looked at us. I supposed it must have been obvious that we'd been through an ordeal. "Sit down," she said quietly, and both Light and I shuffled to the couch in silence.

A few minutes later, she reappeared with two cups of steaming tea. "Sayu's in her room," Aunt Sachiko continued, "so tell me what happened."

Neither Light nor I spoke. The words wouldn't come. A glance at Light showed me that he looked completely lost—his eyes were unfocused as he stared in the general direction of his cup of tea.

It took a moment, but I managed to say numbly, "Dad . . ." I inhaled sharply and deeply, then finished, "Dad was killed."

Aunt Sachiko's eyes flared, and she looked like she was about to say something, but instead, she pursed her lips.

"I'm gonna . . . bathroom," I mumbled, standing up abruptly as I made for the stairs, stepped into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me.

And then promptly threw up in the sink. My fault, my fault he's gone.

I washed my face after—and I looked bad, even after. I turned away from my reflection. Dead.

Dead.

Dad's dead.

I felt the urge to retch again, but I'd already emptied the contents of my stomach. I shuddered, inhaling, and tried to distract myself. God, I'm going to need some sort of counseling after this.

But I really did trust B too easily, just because he gave me info and said he knew Mum and Dad . . . He's a killer, what should I have expected? For him to be a chilled out roommate when I'm directly involved with someone L's after?

Plus, there would be attention drawn to us now that this had happened. This was a loss in every way possible.

I didn't go back down after. Instead, I went straight to Light's room, pulled out the pullout bed, and let myself fall onto it, still in the clothed I'd been wearing all day. I didn't have the energy to change into pyjamas.

Both my parents are dead now. I'm . . . alone, I thought numbly, just before I fell asleep.

"Still gonna write in the Death Note?"

"I . . . I cant risk L relating the fact that no new criminals have died to the fact that Uncle Hayato died."

"You really think L's going to find out about this?"

"If the cameras were anything to go by, I'm already a suspect, Ryuk. L probably knows about Mikko, too, and if criminals stop dying these next few days, it would be obvious that either Mikko or I could have had something to do with it."

"I didn't think you'd push yourself this far to be Kira, heh. You look like you're almost about to cry."

"I already told you, Ryuk. It isn't about me, it's about protecting the people who need to be protected. Things like this . . . like what's happened to Mikko, to Uncle Hayato . . . I can't let them happen to anyone else. Even if it has to hurt me."

"Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk! You're entertaining, if nothing else!"

It was a good thing that it was the weekend. I didn't really want to do anything. Especially since there was nothing that could be done, at least not until April, when university would start.

Clearly, things would play out as they did in the manga, at least for now. What can I even do, anyway? I couldn't even protect my dad from a killer; how can I protect Light from the world's best detective?

I tried to push the thought out of my head. Thinking like that would leave me worse than I was already feeling. Not that it was easy.

Light sat down next to me, and he looked worn out already, even though it was barely ten in the morning. Then again, it made sense—he'd had to be the one to tell Uncle Soichiro and Sayu what had happenedIn fact, he looked like he hadn't slept a wink last night.

Still, I didn't expect to hear what had come out of his mouth next: "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

I swallowed. "Why are you apologising? It's not like you were the one who killed him."

Light shook his head. "That's not . . . what I'm apologising for. Yesterday I got upset that he wasn't around more, and now . . ."

"And now he'll never be around again?" I had meant for the comment to sound snappy or sarcastic, but it just came out as a weak whisper.

Light flinched. Of course, it wasn't like Dad was his father, but Light had always had a soft spot for him. They had been close, and I knew for a fact that Dad had seen Light like his own son. And until Mum had died—why did both of them have to die and leave me like this—Dad had been around a lot more than Uncle Soichiro had, so he'd also been a big part of Light's life.

"Mum's death wasn't this . . . hard," I admitted quietly.

"The circumstances were different, though. And now you've had time to accept it and heal from it, so it feels like that now."

"I miss Mum."

". . . I do, too."

"I'm glad I still have you guys."

"We'll always be here for you, Mikko. I promise. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you, too." My hand found his, and I laced my fingers with his. I have the Yagamis, I told myself. I'm not alone . . . but . . .

A choked sob spilled from my mouth. "Light . . ."

Wordlessly, Light wrapped his arms around me, and I did the same to him, resting my face on his shoulder, and let myself cry. Light did too, if the tears that I felt land on me were any indication.

Light and I stayed like that for a long while.

I wasn't too involved in the police investigation that followed. I answered all the questions they asked, leaving out everything about letting B stay there, since that would obviously get me into trouble.

But on the third day after it happened, I was surprised to see who was standing outside the house, notebook in hand. "Naomi?"

She turned towards me, eyes widening in recognition. "Did . . . you live here?" she asked incredulously.

I looked over at my house—it was dark and lifeless, sealed off by police tape—and nodded.

Naomi bit her lip. "So the victim was . . ."

"My father," I confirmed.

Naomi pressed her lips together—it had been just a little over three weeks since I'd last seen her. "I . . . was assigned to this case because of its culprit," she explained. "Last time, I told you that one of my convicts broke out of jail. The perpetrator was Beyond Birthday, the one behind the Wara Ningyo Murders—now the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. He's the one who did this." Her gaze was hard as she looked at the house. Clearly, neither of us recalled B fondly.

The growing impulse to storm into my house and look for something that could serve as a hint was becoming overwhelming, even when the image of blood everywhere filled my head and the phantom stench of blood clogged up my senses. "I . . . hope you find him." I meant every word of it.

Naomi nodded, just as Light called me over for dinner. I exchanged a quick goodbye with Naomi, and followed.

Uncle Soichiro and Aunt Sachiko were both sitting at the dining table, and they looked like they had something important to say as Sayu, Light, and I seated ourselves across from them.

Uncle Soichiro spoke first. "I know this is hard for all of us," he said, "so we were discussing whether or not it would be a good idea to have you go to grief counseling."

"Why?" Sayu asked.

"Like I said, it's something that's affecting us all. Sayu, you haven't done anything but watch TV these last few days, and Light and Kimiko, both of you were almost completely unresponsive when it happened."

I could feel an instinctive no about to leave my mouth, but I took a moment to think about it. I wasn't . . . disabled by this loss, that was for sure, so I wasn't really sure I needed it. But then again, getting counseling would help me handle it better.

Before I came to a decision, Light asked, "How exactly . . . would this counseling work?"

"There will be two hour-long meetings with a counselor each week, for four weeks," Aunt Sachiko explained.

So it wasn't a long term thing, then. That . . . didn't seem like a bad idea. Especially if just stepping into my house was enough to trigger the exact memory of what had happened.

"Okay," I said quietly.