notes/warnings

+ more hallucinations and mental illness

+ there are probably only four or five chapters left before this story ends and the sequel starts. :)

Disappointment

Ross Greenpod walks slowly down the street. He's bored. It's a nice night, and there aren't many people around. He's kind of hungry. The good thing about jail was that there was plenty of food. But jail was also boring and the security guard was stupid and the roof over his head was kind of restricting.

Better to be free.

He thinks…he thinks he'll go for a blonde tonight. Yes. It was a brunette last week, and he's getting antsy again.

Some poor bastards do drugs. But there's no rush like killing somebody. No drug like murder, like standing over someone as the light dies from their eyes.

Someone is walking alone at the end of the street.

Ross smiles and heads in their direction. If they're blonde, he'll kill them. If not, well, he can always wait.

He's not in any rush.

Raye's head aches. He sits on the edge of his bed, tracing the outline of the skull that is inked onto his skin.

"Grace Backstrum," he says, under his breath. "Grace Backstrum. Holland. Grace Backstrum."

The weird thing is, he actually is having trouble remembering.

"You missed something," Rae says cheerfully, flopping down on L's bed. "In the second montage of Grianna's life, we got a clearer look at that plane ticket. She's going to Vancouver at ten o'clock tomorrow."

"Of course," L muses.

"You want to try and meet her?"

L chews on his thumb, thoughtfully.

"I want to, yes. I am not sure how much good it will do, or whether she will want to speak to anyone in the wake of what happened today, but I want to try."

He needs to try. He loves Rae.

He's pretty sure Rae isn't capable of loving him, but that doesn't matter.

"Okay," Rae agrees. "Tomorrow."

If there is a tomorrow, L thinks. He's still worried about what the fallout will be. People are remembering. People are bound to be panicking, after finding out that their memories have been suppressed en masse. And even if that doesn't cause any major problems, what revenge will the hell-god take on Grianna Jones? What short cuts will be required to quell the memories as quickly as possible?

Who is suffering for this? Because L cannot accept that such a bold move might go unpunished.

What is Grianna Jones trying to achieve?

Rae nudges him.

"What are you worrying about?" it asks, quietly.

"The world," L replies. "I am not sure what is going to happen now."

"I'm sure the hell-god will descend from the heavens and smite everyone," Rae says, rolling its chocolate-coloured eyes. "Seriously, you need to sleep."

"No," L replies. "Not tonight. Tonight I am going to stay awake and monitor-"

"Monitor what? The whole world?"

"News feeds," L corrects. "Cameras. Whatever I can find. Since the ceremony was held here, and Grianna Jones is still in England, it is most likely that something would happen here, if anywhere."

"Whatever," Rae says. "I'm going to sleep."

"I'll watch over you, too."

"That was the creepiest thing you've ever said," Rae complains, leaning in and they're playing now. L ruffles the feathers on top of the Shinigami's head.

"Sleep," he says.

He will stay awake, not only because he wants to be able to respond to a crisis, but because he wants to witness the world remembering.

Rae dreams.

The two chairs. The boy. The window. The shining thing.

Something isn't right.

Something has never been right.

"Don't look."

"Fuck you."

Rae has the exact same dream three times in a row. It wakes up alone and confused and yet, somehow, more informed than before.

"It's not the window," it gasps, to the empty room.

It's the chairs.

The chairs are wrong.

Ross won't kill anyone for a few more days. He cornered a blonde office-worker at three o'clock this morning. The name on his pass had said Tony. He'd begged for his life, terror in his eyes, yammering about his toddler and his fiancé.

Ross is still running on the high. He loves the way the knife feels, as it pops through someone's intercostals. He loves the way he can kill in a single blow.

Life is good.

"The chairs?" L says. "That's a surprisingly unhelpful revelation."

Watari is driving them to the airport. Rae fits in the car better than it used to before. The Shinigami is actually shrinking now. L tries to force himself not to dwell on that.

"Yeah, I'm not worried," Rae says, and L is pretty sure it's lying. "The dream isn't really important any more. Everything is going to be fine."

"Your wings have disappeared, your vision is barely as good as a human's, and I can outrun you," L says. "I don't mean to alarm you, but everything is far from fine."

"Okay, smartass, everything will be fine in a few days when you've written in the notebook, and I'm king."

"You are extremely confident."

"With good reason."

L smiles.

"Do you remember what you used to look like?" he asks, conversationally. "Before you were a skeleton."

"Oh, do you mean back when I was a person, because I'm definitely not a real Shinigami and I'm definitely really secretly a human being even though I'm first in line for the throne so that makes pretty much no sense?"

L hadn't really expected Rae to answer that honestly, but it was worth a shot.

"If there ever was a time that you were not a Shinigami," he says, "then you ought to at least consider the possibility that you may be in hell."

"Nope."

"Fine."

L gazes out the window. If he's lucky, Grianna will help him. But he's never been particularly lucky - not since the Kira case began - and he doesn't hold out much hope. Rae's confidence is a curse. It isn't worried about anything any more.

Is that because we're together?

Or just because you think you've figured me out?

There's still no reason for L to use the notebook. Nothing that Rae could possibly be sure of.

L still doesn't have any answers.

Jas still doesn't move. She barely has any physical presence at all. She's devoting all her energy into being a force of nature.

She thinks there might be other Shinigami around, but that doesn't matter. She thinks her notebook might have fallen out of her pocket, but that is irrelevant. She can write on the pages with her mind. She is the notebook.

Everything hurts and she is exhausted. One by one, she deletes the news articles, wipes memories, rewrites experiences. She works haphazardly, prioritising those humans that are likely to tell many others. Damage control.

And thousands of people in self-contained hells are having their worlds fall apart, are suffering and frightened because she doesn't dare make mistakes in the real world and she isn't powerful enough for this.

Mihael is so scared, and Jas feels terrible for that. Making him feel like he's going insane isn't part of any of her plans for him, but she's eroded his self-confidence to the point that he can't even question the horrors around him.

She never meant for this to happen to him.

Still, it works. It's a nice way of fast-tracking the steady progression of shittiness that is his apparent life.

When this is all over…

When this is all over, she's going to make him an offer. And he will not refuse.

The flight will be full of celebrities, so the security at the gate is pretty good. Grianna only counts seven weak points. She goes and sits next to one of them in the lounge – a fire exit that leads straight out onto part of the tarmac.

She always likes to have an escape, just in case. Nobody has ever managed to convict her of anything yet, but there's a first time for everything.

The hell god can manipulate reality, and has every reason to be angry with Grianna. It's amazing that she hasn't been arrested a dozen times over, with convincing and yet hastily-manufactured evidence.

That's what you do, isn't it? You let other humans do your dirty work.

At least, that's what happens to those who have their hell in the second world. There are countless others that you keep for yourself.

I know you, hell god.

The problem with what she did, of course, is that there's no easy way of knowing if she was successful. The tracking library shut her out permanently a long time ago. There's no way to tell if someone has escaped from hell into the second world except by actively finding them. And when the person you're seeking is also a criminal, well…

I'm so sorry you had to live that life.

I'm sorry for Marvin.

I'm sorry for everything.

The maid remembered yesterday. They had a whole conversation online about how none of Kiyomi Takada's victims were real, messaging each other well past midnight. Grianna had been desperate to help someone remember.

This morning, the entire chat box had vanished, and the maid claims she went to bed at nine o'clock. Then Grianna's computer had shut down and refused to start. Her mobile phone isn't looking too healthy, either. The battery keeps running out.

At least the hell-god sees her as a threat, then, if they want to cut off all her means of communication.

Grianna Jones crosses her legs, glancing momentarily at her berry-pink, faux-skunk-trim designer shoes. No matter what is going on, she always feels better when she's wearing fabulous shoes. Shoes make her happy. She wonders if Mary also…

It doesn't matter what Mary would have done. Her daughter is dead in this world. They say it's hard to find someone again, once you fall out of sync. If one of you is in the second world and one is in the third, it's hard to ever meet up again. Of course, some of them say there isn't a third world at all. But Grianna doesn't believe that. Something as controlling as the hell-god has got to be egotistical. They've probably made sure they have thousands of successive worlds to rule over.

A glamorous-looking actor swans into the lounge, nearly tripping over her legs. Grianna glares at him and he glares back. He can't be too famous, or he wouldn't be trying so hard. People who are truly famous are tired of the world, hiding behind masks or oversized sunglasses.

Grianna's sunglasses are roughly half the size of her head.

Anyway, she doesn't have time for assholes like him. She's always working. Always fighting. She's learned the Shinigami system of counting, she associates with violent and expansive criminals without getting hurt or caught, and she remembers more of the hell-god every day.

Nobody can say that she isn't trying.

A little old man shuffles in. He looks so out of place that he's either properly famous, or lost.

Or at least, that's what a lesser person would assume.

Grianna gets to her feet. She's seen him before, on the night Takada was arrested. He works for L. It's the same mask and the same man behind it, judging by the hair, the shuffle and the stance. And also by the name. L Lawliet. She wonders if all of L's underlings have the same, single-letter first name. That would be an excellent hiding strategy. When one legally changes their name, the letters over their head change, too. L would be a fool not to use such a strategy.

How many people think they've killed L?

She's impressed, and at the same time, disappointed.

I single-handedly overloaded the god of hell, and all L sends me is the same grunt as last time?

Nice.

She's insulted, but she approaches him anyway. She's pretty sure he isn't here to catch a plane.

"What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" Grianna asks, softly.

L is momentarily overwhelmed by a rush of familiarity, like he's suddenly back in the first world and talking to someone else.

"Why did you say that?" he asks, stupidly.

"You're really smooth tonight," Rae snickers.

"It's my favourite phrase," Grianna says, primly. And favourite phrases aren't hereditary, it's just a coincidence, but god L misses Wedy.

"Of course."

"And this," Grianna continues, pointing to the nigh-unnoticeable crease in her shirt, "is my favourite gun. Just in case you were going to try anything."

She's smart, but she's also brave. Smart and brave are antonyms. No individual thing is both at once. Right now, Grianna is being brave. Taking a gun through airport security definitely isn't smart.

Looks like you were expecting me.

"Understood."

"This is a fascinating conversation," Rae comments helpfully. "I'm so glad we came all this way to chat with her."

"Your boss seemed pretty desperate to talk to me," Grianna says, thoughtfully. "Yet he's only sent you. Are you his right hand man or something?"

"No," L says, truthfully. "That would be the one called Watari."

"Ah yes, the legendary Watari," Grianna says, and then her tone changes. "Enough small talk. What do you want from me?"

"I came here for myself, not for L," L tells her. "The thing is, there is someone important to me who I believe is in hell-"

"You believe wrong," Rae interjects, floating near the ceiling.

"-and I am worried for what will happen to them when the hell-god starts interfering."

Grianna doesn't move. She doesn't smile. She gives no indication that she's even heard. L ploughs on.

"I thought you could help, since you have the eyes, and so much knowledge and experience."

Grianna actually bares her teeth, and her expression makes L briefly want to hide under the chairs.

"But this person is close to you. Right now, you are with them?"

"Well…not for much longer," L tells her.

"I think you've really won her over. She is definitely about to help you save my obviously fake-Shinigami ass."

L pretends to stretch and swats at Rae in the process.

"Then I don't care," Grianna snaps. "Come back when they've been torn from you and vanished from the world. Until then, I have no sympathy."

"We have a common enemy," L argues.

"I am not your ally," Grianna says, and turns to walk away.

L lets her go. He will not gain anything by force.

"You lost a child, didn't you?" he asks, quietly. "I said that I knew your eldest daughter, but you had a second child. I saw the photograph in your room. Were they-"

"The answer to the first question is yes," Grianna says, crisply. "The answer to whatever your second question was going to be is 'none of your business'. If you love this person, then use L's boundless resources to save them. If you can't save them, then you're not good enough."

"You won't help someone unless they're as hurt as you are," L says, with a heavy heart.

"Wow, you really are a genius. I've only been telling you that for the past few minutes."

"I like this woman," Rae declares.

"That is your prerogative," L tells Grianna, softly. "I have every intention of fighting the hell-god when our paths cross. If…if I fail, then I will find you again."

"Sure," Grianna says sarcastically. "You do that."

She walks away briskly, like she can't stand being near him any longer. But when she reaches her chair, she stops, turns, and mouths the words good luck.

"You too," L murmurs back, deeply disappointed.

He hadn't really been expecting her to help him.

"Are we done here?" Rae asks, brightly.

"Yes. We are done."

The hell-god might be struggling, but they are still managing to oppose him at every move.

Is there really nothing that I can do?

It will be a relief when the five years are finally up, and L stops trying to learn more about the afterlife. It's to be expected, of course, but it's still irritating.

Still, Rae has nothing to worry about. The only person who could tell L anything incriminating would be the Shinigami king. And he's unlikely to start talking to random human detectives.

Well, the queen probably knows, too. But no-one is supposed to talk about the queen - let alone talk to the queen - and Rae isn't concerned.

L is huddled up on the car seat like he's trying to physically comfort himself, brow furrowed and knuckles white.

I seriously can't believe you're this upset.

This upset about me.

Huh, now Rae feels awesome again.

"I really don't understand how you ever thought this would work," it tells L. "You couldn't save Mihael from hell. What made you think you could save me?"

"I don't know," L says, quietly. "But I had to… I have to try."

"No more trying," Rae says, firmly. "I'm not human, I'm not in hell, and I don't need saving."

Two of those things are definitely true.

When they get back, Raye accosts L in the doorway.

"What does this mean?" he demands. "I keep drawing this skull and crossbones on my arm like I've lost the fucking plot."

"Grace Backstrum," L says, politely.

"Holland," Raye says, suddenly, smacking his head. "Geeze, I'm getting so forgetful. Thanks."

L gives him a sad little smile. He can't even remember enough to be worried that he's forgetting.

Nothing will stay. The hell-god will suck everything away, in the end.

But not Rae. Not if L can help it.

Later that day, Raye draws a map of Holland on his arm, and stares at it confusedly saying 'grace…skull…grace?' under his breath. L reminds him of the truth.

The next day, Raye gets freaked out by the drawings on his skin, accuses Rae of putting them there, and then hastily washes them off.

L doesn't remind him again after that.

It's pointless, really.

Hours pass before she can get up. Before the world is under control again. Grianna Jones escapes to Canada. L Lawliet falls a little more for the abomination in his life. Raye Penber forgets. And Mail Jeevas doesn't change, never changes.

Jas almost feels bad for him. Almost.

Jas rolls over, gets to her feet, and straightens the skyline. She plumps up the pumpkins, and erases a few more memories. She retrieves the notebook from the ground. It's lying further away than she remembers. Still, nobody seems to have paid her any attention.

She's fairly sure she'd know if anyone had tampered with it. Ninety-nine percent sure. She is the notebook, after all.

She wanders into her house, furnishing it as she goes. She puts the kettle on, gets out two teacups, and then puts one away again. Sometimes she forgets that Remira won't be coming around any more.

Still. She won't be lonely for much longer.

Jas pours herself tea, sits down on a stool, and turns her attention to straightening out the worlds of those who are in hell.

The walls are off-white, and strangely warm-looking. They meet the roof smoothly; no corners, no sharp edges. You keep staring at them, constantly terrified that they'll crack and split open and all hell will come pouring out.

"You'll be safe here, sweetheart," Jasmine says, touching your cheek. "You'll be fine. They'll make the nasty visions go away."

The nurse smiles at you. Her pinafore is the same colour as the walls. Her skin is smooth, no corners, no screaming hell-eyes, no jagged teeth. You wonder what is hiding inside her.

It's only been three hours since the world went back to normal. You found yourself suddenly in a car with Matt and Jasmine, heading towards this place, where moments ago you had been fighting a thousand snake-headed demons, trying not to be dragged down into a sea of bile and sharks.

You're physically terrified that that world will come back at any moment.

Your sanity is fragile. That's what Jasmine said during the drive, when you finally surfaced. She told you that it's all in your head and everything is actually okay, you just can't see it.

You don't tell her that you saw her husband lying dead at the foot of a ratty pink car, blood dripping from his goggles. You definitely don't tell her that that haunts you more than the hallucination where you were dismembered slowly with a small, jagged spoon.

Because it was only a hallucination. That's what everyone says. It only happened because you're weak and mad and ill.

You are so scared. Matt is standing right next to you, but he doesn't touch you. He doesn't even put a hand on your shoulder. He's scrolling through his phone and murmuring under his breath. He's busy, and you wish he wasn't. You wish he understood how you felt. You wish somebody would comfort you.

"This is a good hospital," the nurse says, and you can practically hear the inverted commas around the word 'hospital'. "Your friends can go now, okay?"

You don't answer her. You stare at the carpet, checking for flaws in the weave. Flaws that might conceal tiny eyes. You wish Gemma were here right now. You want to hug her. You want her to talk to you about her perfectly normal ridiculously-named plush toys. You want to be okay.

You want your family.

The only problem is, you don't have a family. You've never had a family. Both your parents were dead before your first birthday, and since then, you've had nobody.

"Mihael?" the nurse prompts.

"We have to go," Jasmine adds, briskly. "We have to-"

"We have to get back to headquarters," Matt chimes in, finishing her sentence like the perfect spouse that he is.

There are other people standing against the wall. Square-jawed, buff-looking people. People to stop you from causing any trouble. People to make you stay here, no matter what.

"I don't want to be here," you mumble, under your breath. "I don't want to be alone."

"It'll be fine," Jasmine says, patting you one last time. "We'll be back to visit you in a fortnight. Maybe sooner if we can. You get better soon, okay?"

You feel like you'll be dead before the fortnight is up.

Matt and Jasmine turn their backs on you and walk away. You move to follow them, and the nurse grabs your arm.

"No," she says, firmly. A warning. "Stay!"

"Please," you say, blinking back tears. "Please."

tbc

a/n

+ thank you so much for reading

+ updates will now be weekly for the next few weeks.