notes/warnings
+ let's do this thing, you guys.
Beginning
L's training finally kicks in, and he pins his assailant against the ground before realizing that the man is already dead.
How?
Spontaneous death?
Then, Rae must have saved him one last time. That is enough. L raises his head, warmth washing over him, grateful and smiling.
Just in time to see Rae crumble into dust. As if it were never alive. As if its body was nothing more than decomposing bones.
"Rae?" L calls out, anxiously. "Is this part of the process?"
Rae doesn't even know what the damn process is. L's mind whirls from anxiety to meltdown. He had never anticipated that things would go this badly.
"Rae," he says, louder, more shakily. "Rae, did you just extend my lifespan?"
He is talking to a pile of rapidly disappearing dust. He is talking to the remains of the only person he has ever been in love with.
No. He's talking to an empty parking lot.
"I'll wait for you to come back," L tells the parking lot, softly. He is shaking. He is completely alone. He doesn't know what happened and there is nobody here to tell him.
Nobody cares.
"Okay?" he demands of the air. "Okay?"
Jas brushes the hair from her eyes and makes an explosive, frustrated noise through her teeth. She is really goddamned sick of this world. Of these humans and all of their intricacies and their unpredictability. Of being proved wrong, when she was so very very certain.
You were never supposed to do this.
You were supposed to burn in hell. Forever.
You were supposed to be my charge forever.
That is how a hell-god operates. They only hang on to the people they hate. She should never have tried to hang on to Mello, because to do so would have been against the very nature of the universe.
They only hang on to the people they hate, but only if they have a good reason.
You were never supposed to be able to love.
She is angry. Annoyed, and bitter. But not panicked. After all, if he goes free, he has to live with the decision he made today. And he has to live with himself.
She's not completely stupid. She has contingency plans.
The counter over L's head goes backwards, adding a couple of months. Ross Greenpod lies dead. L will be okay, despite all of his mistakes. He'll get to live and go on and be without Rae. He's lucky, really.
And Jas is lucky too. She has the Prince.
So really, everyone will be okay.
Except Rae.
Well, okay. That isn't true. Nothing is okay and the third world is possibly completely doomed, but right now, Jas has something important to focus on.
She's going to enjoy this as much as she can.
Rae stares at the ceiling. High on the wall, a fan turns around and around.
After a few moments, it occurs to Rae that staring at a ceiling and contemplating fans isn't something that can be done if one doesn't exist.
With a sudden jolt of joy, it gets abruptly to its feet. Arms, legs, wings, head, fire. Everything is intact.
"I knew it," Rae crows to nobody in particular. "I knew that was just part of the stupid test."
It sounds a lot more confident than it feels. It just…it just sacrificed itself for someone. That isn't something Rae ever should have done. It feels debased, somehow, as if its entire core is missing.
And that dream. Oh god, that boy. Everything about the dream haunts Rae now.
The boy is me.
And the thing outside, on the ground – the sparkling thing – is flat and rectangular and black. Unremarkable. Not sparkling.
But revolutionary all the same.
This moment was right before everything happened. The beginning and the end.
Still, Rae is alive. And that means that it is the king.
"You're right," a familiar voice says. "That was all part of the test. You still exist, unfortunately."
It's the blonde, angel-like Shinigami from before.
"Hi," Rae says, brightly.
"Hi," probably-Jas replies coldly, and without even a hint of a smile. But that's okay. Rae is good at winning women over. It's just getting warmed up.
"So, what's the procedure?" it asks, sounding both confused and adorable. "You seem to know what's going on here much better than anyone else."
"I would expect so," she says, folding her arms. "I am the queen, after all."
Ah.
Rae considers its options, and then sinks into a low bow.
"Your majesty," it says, reverently.
When I am king, getting rid of you will be the first thing I do.
"Jas is fine," she says, upgrading her name from probably-Jas to definitely-Jas. "Anyway, how are you? You just upended your entire life's philosophy and desecrated your own personality. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Rae says. To be honest, it isn't fine. The dream, the test, the whole being-without-L thing is staring to bother it. Even this place is starting to bother it. It isn't a real church after all. It seems to be a large corrugated-iron shed, almost entirely devoid of furniture.
Rae wonders if maybe this isn't the abandoned church at all. If Jas has transported them somewhere else.
"So, are you the god of hell?" Rae asks, because L will definitely want to know.
"Yes."
"Ah," Rae says, shifting from one foot to the other. "That was more of a straight answer than I expected."
"Then have some more straight answers," Jas says, grinning unpleasantly. "One, you're a human, not a Shinigami."
"I know that," Rae interrupts. "I do know who I am, thanks. And I have a pretty good memory."
A painfully good memory, for some things. For some things it would be happy to forget, if only it were as easy as giving up a death note.
Rae has always known who it is.
"Two, you're in hell," Jas ploughs on, "and three, you will never be king. That was never even a possibility. You were only ever being tested. Any questions?"
Any questions?
Jas looks pleased, like she is enjoying saying such awful, horrible, untrue things.
"I understand," Rae says. "Can I please speak to the king now?"
"Don't you get it?" Jas asks, walking around Rae like a circling shark. "You've never spoken to the king. Everything was a lie."
"No, I was in the real world," Rae says. "L was real. I'm sure of that."
L must have been real. They built a fucking future together.
Jesus fucking hell, how did that happen?
"Yes, that's right. You were in the real world. You interacted with the real world. But you were still my charge."
Rae has the sinking suspicion that she isn't lying. In retrospect, in this awful place, Rae can see the pattern in its recent history. Setting it against L, offering it fame and power, the recurring dream, the steady uncurling of its most tightly-held ideas.
Jesus Christ, Rae is fucking screwed.
But not completely.
"Was your charge?" it echoes, finally. "So I passed the test? I'm free? I get to go to the third world, right?"
Jas stares at it.
"I believe you are categorically, unyieldingly evil," she says, darkly. "If I could lock you up in hell forever, I would. And I firmly believe you will end up right back in hell, and I promise you, there will not be another chance."
Rae grins, and abandons its polite façade.
"Fuck you," it says. "Fuck you for everything."
Rae will go to the third world, set up base, and figure out a way to destroy the queen. Then it will figure out how to become the Shinigami king. Then it will find L.
This setback is annoying, but not unworkable. Rae is nothing if not adaptable.
It tries to still its shaking hands. This is okay. This place is transient. It is going to the third world. It got out of hell and everything is fine.
Got out of hell at what cost?
Everything is fine. Really.
"Send me to the third world," Rae says. "You have to. You have no jurisdiction over me any more."
"Correct," Jas drawls, twirling her hair around one finger. "I'm surprised you're so at peace with this turn of events. Don't you know that your coach is going to turn back into a pumpkin, Cinderella?"
"That didn't even make sense," Rae says, irritably.
Jas takes a few steps, closing the distance between them.
"What I meant," she enunciates, "is that you can't take anything with you. And that includes that body you're in."
Oh.
"No way," Rae says, with certainty. "This is who I am, and this is who I'm staying. This is my body, and you can't fucking have it."
And then it flies, very briskly, out of the shed, and slams the door behind it.
Rae peers around. It doesn't actually seem to be outside. It seems to be in some other similar-looking warehouse thing. There's another fan up high on the wall. And blood on the floor.
Filled with a sudden, directionless panic, Rae flies onward, through another wall and another shed. And another and another and another. Jas must have transported them to the centre of a maze of sheds.
Doesn't matter. As long as Rae escapes. Because nope, not doing that. Not going back into that old body. Rae is going to live its life and be with L and everything is going to be fine and that would be the opposite of fine.
Another and another and another.
Rae finally stops, after ten minutes of athletic flying. Thank goodness Jas was stupid enough to restore his Shinigami powers before they came here.
His?
Oh yes, that's right.
Rae has gotten so used to its new life. It doesn't want its old life back. It doesn't want to be that boy, and it doesn't want to be who that boy became.
It sits on the cold concrete floor, and waits for the queen to make her move.
"Haven't you figured it out yet, genius?" Jas asks, as if she was there all along. Rae tenses in preparation for a fight. Or possibly more energetic running-away.
But then Jas points to the blood on the floor.
"No matter how fast you go, you will always end up in the same room," she says. "These are all the same room. Your room. And by 'your room', I mean the one where you lost your final battle in the first world."
"Still nope," Rae says, and flies through the wall.
And runs smack into Jas.
She's in all of these rooms. All of them.
Rae is suddenly terrified.
Jas grabs his…its shoulder, and suddenly it can't move.
"Until next time," she says, sweetly.
"No," Rae begs. "No, please, you don't understand. I can't…I…what about L? You like L, right? Everyone likes L. You wouldn't do this to him."
"He is not my responsibility," Jas says.
"Nofuckingpleaselistenlistenlisten."
"No," Jas replies, callously. "Do better next time, assface."
And then the whole world shifts beneath Rae.
Jas blinks. The warehouse-sheds have completely vanished. She seems to be hovering in her regular space, near the hell-boxes. She also seems to still be hanging onto her least favourite human in the world.
"Oh," she says. "I guess it doesn't work unless I use your actual name."
She's never actually tried that before. There are some dimensions to her notebook that even she doesn't understand.
"What the fucking fuck?" Rae says, terrified. "Oh my god. Oh my god. No. No."
Jas smiles cheerfully. She remembers every single thing Rae has done. Every nasty thing it has ever said to anyone. She has Rae's whole life catalogued and mapped out in her head, right up until this moment.
And although she might have to let him go – godfuckingdamnit – she is not going to forget. And she is not going to stop watching.
Jas believes in good and evil. There is always a dichotomy. There is always some human there to prove a point.
What was it he'd said to Remira, all those years ago?
Are you happy? Are you getting what you want? Because I am.
No wonder she'd started laughing uncontrollably.
When this is all over, Jas will laugh. And then cry. And then worry about the fact that a page out of her notebook is definitely missing.
Her brief pause seems to be too much for her current charge to comprehend.
"Wow okay, you got me. You know for a minute there, I thought you were actually going to turn me back. Heh. Are we-"
"Fuck you," Jas says abruptly, preparing her powers, because she is definitely doing this. "Fuck you, Light Yagami."
And then she sends him on to the third world, and he doesn't even fucking deserve that.
You start writing books again. Shitty books, with fragmented sentences and poor grammar and little narrative flow, but still. You are actually doing something other than endangering people's lives. That's pretty good for you.
Mostly you write about L and Naomi Misora, because those are your two heroes. The people you would be if you had the option.
You are still bitterly disappointed that Misora is dead, and you'll never get to meet her.
But you write anyway. And you ignore Dwayne when he asks why every incarnation of Matt has long hair and no goggles in your stories.
You don't have an answer for him. It just feels correct, somehow.
"And I hope you don't do better next time!" Jas yells vindictively into the emptiness.
This year has not been a good year for her.
Raye Penber paces the room. Then he glares at his computer. Then he glares at his watch. And finally he glares at Mail, who is now busy defacing this particular office. Raye is really fucking sick of Mail. Second-hand grief might not kill a man, but second-hand smoke is another story and Mail is practically a chimney.
He has more important things to worry about right now. It's been five hours, and they haven't heard from L. He isn't answering his phone, and he hasn't come back.
Soon, he'd said. Soon.
This isn't fucking soon.
God, Raye is so sick of all this crap. He buzzes Watari through the intercom for the third time in fifteen minutes.
"I still haven't heard anything, R," Watari tells him, politely.
"Are you worried?" Raye growls. Sometimes he feels like he's the only person left in this team with actual feelings.
"I am…often worried," Watari says, hesitantly.
"He'll come back, though, right?" Raye presses. "L always comes back, even from shit like this."
"Except for that one time where he died," Mail points out helpfully, and Raye has to fight the urge to throw the phone at his head.
The thing is, Raye remembers Grace Backstrum. He remembers that she was killed by what was essentially a bunch of fucked-up supernatural shit that nobody understands. And now L is involved with a bunch of fucked-up supernatural shit that nobody understands, and Raye is actually scared.
He doesn't want to lose anyone else.
"Okay," he says, steadying his voice. "If there was a fight, we'd know about it, right? There would be something on the news."
"Not if it's a little fight," Mail deadpans.
"Shut up."
"Okay."
"But what if," Raye says, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "what if that Shinigami just takes him prisoner and disappears into Shinigami-space or whatever? Or what if they've been attacked."
"Then L will probably fuckin' die. He's out of practice."
"Or what if L voluntarily goes with that thing and abandons us?" Raye wails.
Mail pauses.
"I'd be okay with that," he says.
"You are never okay," Raye tells him, darkly.
"Of course," Mail agrees.
"Did he tell you where they were going?" Raye asks Watari.
"Something about an old, abandoned church," Watari says. "That is all that I know."
Raye groans.
"Well that's next to useless," he says. "There are hundreds of churches within driving distance. We'd have to drive to all of them to figure out which ones are abandoned."
"There are eleven abandoned churches within an hour's drive from here," Mail says suddenly. "Twenty-three within two hours. I can tell you where they are."
Raye stares at him.
"How do you-"
"I've been to all of them," Mail says, as if he's daring Raye to ask him why. "Let's go and find your fuckin' boss."
L stays where he is. On his knees, in the middle of a rundown carpark, waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
What is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to go somewhere? Speak to someone? How is he supposed to know what he should do for Rae if Rae won't tell him?
Rae isn't coming back.
Is it done? Is Rae turning into dust just part of the iniation ceremony? Surely if L waits long enough, Rae will stride back to him with a crown on its head, eyes sparkling, stronger than ever. And then they'll go and…
…play…chess.
Rae isn't coming back.
No, that's wrong! Rae is definitely coming back. Even if the hell-god has interfered somehow, surely Rae of all people will be able to get a message to him.
I knew all along things might turn out like this.
Okay, so Rae definitely didn't extend his lifespan because Rae isn't that stupid. But if it did, then his Shinigami is gone. Erased from all worlds. Dead. Extinguished.
No. They were going to be together.
Rae isn't coming back.
They are going to be together. If L waits just a little…just a little longer, surely.
Surely.
Mail helps Raye to find L, because it's what Mello would have wanted.
And because L is the only person left in the world who is worth worrying about.
A car pulls in. It belatedly occurs to L that he is huddled next to a dead body, which might not look great. And possibly – hopefully – this car is all to do with Rae's plan.
And god, L hopes Rae had a plan.
Has a plan, damnit.
But no. Raye Penber gets out of the car. And then Mail gets out of the car.
"There you are," Raye says angrily. "Seriously, what the fuck happened? We've been worrying for hours. You could have picked up your phone!"
L struggles to his feet as his employee approaches him.
"You're okay, right?" Raye demands. "What are you waiting for? Let's go home."
L isn't sure that he should leave. Rae might need him to stay right here. He can't stand the thought of letting Rae down now.
Especially since Rae isn't coming back.
Raye must read something of his mood in his expression, because his voice softens a little.
"What happened?"
L sucks hard on his thumb.
"Rae disappeared," he manages. "I mean, crumbled. I don't…I don't know what happened. I don't know anything."
"The Shinigami is gone?" Raye asks, frowning.
"The Shinigami might be gone forever," L says, and isn't that what he's been afraid of all along? Isn't that why he's stayed in this spot, unable to move. "Rae…Rae isn't coming back."
Mail lunges at L suddenly, and pulls him into an awkward, uncomfortable hug.
"I'm sorry," he says, quietly.
Raye waits for things to go back to normal. L spends a few days on the roof, crouching in the rain. He doesn't eat, and he doesn't sleep. He compulsively checks the news five times an hour. He doesn't take cases. He doesn't speak to anyone, except to ask whether they've heard anything unusual.
Remember the hell-god.
Raye wonders if the hell-god has something to do with the Shinigami's disappearance. If so, would that make that Rae was a person in hell? Or are the Shinigami just subordinates to the god of hell?
Just thinking about it makes Raye's head hurt. As if some unseen force is trying to stop him from thinking.
He wonders if this means the hell-god is real.
Wait, of course it is real. Remember Grace Backstrum. She had something to do with something. Yes.
Eventually, L comes in from the roof. There still hasn't been any sign of Rae. No proof that it ever even existed, except for their own memories. Raye wonders how long those will last.
Sometimes Raye Penber gets scared. Sometimes he catches himself wondering how much of this world is real, and whether things actually exist. Sometimes he worries that it will all disappear one day, like Rae.
Naomi is real. Of that he is absolutely certain. And everything else is secondary.
L spends a few days trailing Mail, embarrassingly similar to the way Raye acted when his wife died. Only L doesn't speak at all.
And Raye waits for things to go back to normal.
The Shinigami is gone. All supernatural influences are gone from their collective lives. Surely they can be okay now. Surely they can eventually get back to fighting crime. Near and Buzz are all over the news. Buzz is hailed as a mastermind, a force to be reckoned with. But Near – the new-Near – is hailed as an honest-to-god hero. A savior. A benevolent force of nature. A true 'prince among men' as one particularly silly news program had quipped.
"You're lagging behind," Raye tells L. "These two are so well publicised that people will forget about detective L if you don't start working again soon."
He's not convinced of what he's saying. He just wants to scare L into action. He hates watching someone else grieve; it's like he's falling back down that slippery slope himself.
"I'll start working when Rae comes back," L says.
Raye sighs. Behind L, Mail looks almost properly sad.
And then there's a huge terrorist attack in Ireland and a freak super-storm in Australia and L is spurred into entirely the wrong sort of action. He disappears for a week with Watari, attending both events, desperately scrounging for clues. As if the hell-god is just going to turn up at every big event.
Then he comes home, miserable, knuckles bloodied and clothes ripped, and stands out on the roof again. Watari shakes his head at Raye, and goes to his office.
Fuck.
What is the point, if L is going to give up just because he lost one more employee? He managed just fine when he lost Matsuda and Wedy and even Naomi. Rae isn't more important than any of them. They should be getting back to work by now.
"What should I do?" L asks, when they go out to see him. "What on earth am I supposed to do now?"
"You should take on a case," Raye says, trying not to sound impatient. "You should forget about the Shinigami."
For all he knows Rae was going to try and kill them all anyway. He sees no reason to grieve.
And then L starts crying. Actually crying. With tears.
"I will never forget," he says, hopelessly. "I have to…I have to try."
"He loved that thing," Mail says to Raye, as if that's some sort of argument.
"And I loved Naomi. I still got by."
Mail punches him, and that's the end of the conversation.
And still, Raye waits for things to go back to normal.
"I'm scared," L admits quietly, hunching his shoulders against the bitingly cold rain.
He's taken to avoiding Raye Penber. Mail is his only companion, and Mail is a terrible substitute for Rae. But at least Mail seems to understand.
Everyone turns to you in their times of grief.
What have I done to you?
If Rae really is dead, then L killed it. L is responsible. L got Rae killed, along with Naomi and Grace and Wedy and Matsuda. He destroyed Rae's life along with Mello's, and Mail's. He is the worst person in the world. And he is so, so alone.
"Do you think that whoever killed the skeleton is coming back for you?" Mail asks. He lights his cigarette for the thirtieth time, scowling at the raindrops that keep extinguishing it.
"No," L says. "But with Rae, I was safe. Now I feel terribly vulnerable. And I have nobody to talk to."
He cannot tell Mail he is frightened of Light's return, now more than ever. Light is clever. He would have waited in the wings, hidden and watching, until L was defenseless. That's how he works. But L cannot tell Mail about redemption, or about how hells sometimes overlap with the second world. He cannot give Mail any reason to hope.
"I'm fuckin' sorry," Mail says, genuinely. "This shouldn't have happened to you."
"Thank you," L says. His back aches. He wants to go back inside and get into bed and curl up with Rae. He wants to be understood.
"So I don't understand much of this," Mail says conversationally. "But you said that supermodel might know something about Shinigami. Can't she help you either?"
L lifts his head in surprise, because he'd completely forgotten.
Grianna Jones.
Of course.
When Mary Samuels puts her hand into her mail bag and finds another tape and a note, she just sighs.
"Can't famous people even converse normally?" she complains.
"More viewers," Cheryl says, pleased. "If this goes on, we might even be able to ask for a pay rise."
"He's definitely in love with her," Huck adds, enthusiastically. "Look at this. He wants her to meet his agent at the place where they first laid eyes on each other. Oooooh."
Mary rubs a hand over her face. She isn't surprised Mister L is sending notes, if the alternative is talking to one of her idiot colleagues.
"It's sooo romantic," Huck continues, wringing his hands dramatically. "Mysterious, enigmatic superdetective, and thin, skinny, petite supermodel, courting over-"
"Very gallant choice of adjectives," Mary says, drily. "Good job."
"Thanks!"
"That was sarcasm," Cheryl informs him helpfully.
Mary ignores both of them. They'll have to broadcast the message, of course. The boss would fire her on the spot if she turned down such a nice little earner.
And if L is still sending messages, then he must have survived last time. He's the greatest detective in the world for a reason, after all.
"Okay," she says out loud, even though neither of the others is listening. "Let's do this."
The alleyway just off of 17 Baker Street isn't a particularly glamorous meeting place. But it is an address that no-one could possibly know or guess from the message.
He's getting smarter.
Grianna examines the worn-out, mask-wearing man in front of her.
"I am starting to suspect you are the real thing," she says, calmly. "The real L. Or at least, one of the people who has genuine claim to that particular alias."
He just shrugs. No answer. No glib quip. No deflecting. Whether he is L or not, her suspicions are irrelevant. Whether or not he is L is irrelevant.
Grianna always wanted to believe L to be a good, kind person. A person who would come running for help if someone's life was in danger. Any mother would want to believe their child was employed by a good man, a caring man.
"I lost them," he says. "The person important to me. I lost them."
Grianna isn't surprised.
"Hell?" she asks, without sympathy. She is no longer capable of sympathy.
"I don't know," he says. "They…they died right in front of me. And they once told me that if they died, they would disappear from all of the worlds. I fear they will not…will never come back."
There is a hitch to his voice. He is upset. His grief is new.
"I don't even know if they really were in hell," he says. "I don't know if they were lied to, or-"
"All people in hell are lied to," Grianna says. "I can tell you that with absolute certainty."
The man stares at her quietly.
"How do you know if someone is in hell?" he says. "Can you tell me that with any certainty?"
Grianna points to her eyes.
"Make a deal," she says, and then she realizes. His life span is visible. "You don't have a notebook any more?"
"No."
"Oh. When you have Shinigami eyes, those in hell have their names and life spans replaced with unintelligible squiggles. Not that it will help you, if your precious person is already gone."
"They are," he says, miserably. "I just want to know. If they were in hell, then there's a chance that they are still alive. That they haven't been completely erased. That they're in the third world now, even as we speak."
Grianna folds her arms.
"What would you do, if you knew?" she asks. "Kill yourself and go to the third world?"
He tilts his head to one side and considers this.
"I think so," he says. "I would have to make sure my colleagues were okay first, but I believe I would do that."
"Huh," Grianna folds her arms across her chest. "Well, there are no similarities that I've noticed between the different hells. Nothing that you could look for. Nothing that would give away the work of the hell-god to someone without Shinigami eyes. I cannot give you any hints as to whether you should hold out hope. If you still had the killer notebook, maybe I could help."
"Why?" he asks immediately, curiously.
Oh, Grianna realizes. So you did keep part of it, after all.
Very clever.
"Well, there's something I've always wanted to try," she says. "But I haven't, because the chance of success is laughably slim. But if you are desperate, and you still have some of the paper, why don't you try writing your own name down."
"What would I look for in the third world?" the man asks.
"Nothing. Write down visiting the hell-god as a condition of your death."
"Will that work?"
Will it work? Does anything in this godforsaken place work? The god of hell is infinite, and monstrously powerful. They can control space, and minds, and realities. They are endless and roaring, and they do not care about people like Grianna Jones and sad little maybe-L. Grianna has spent her whole second life fighting them, and achieved absolutely nothing for her efforts.
But.
"It will get their attention" she says. "That is the best that anyone can hope for."
L returns quietly. He comes into the office where Raye and Mail are working and sits down at a spare computer in silence. His shoulders are still more hunched than usual, his head still low. He does not eat. His typing is louder than normal, as if he has lost some of the fine motor control in his fingers.
Raye wonders if they're all actually fucked now. He could make a living on his own, if he had to. He could freelance as a spy. He could probably market himself as a private detective, although the job market is pretty harrowing these days. Everyone wants to be a private detective. Everyone wants to be the next L or Buzz or Near. Some department stores are even selling L dress-up costumes, which are essentially Sherlock Holmes costumes with a big question mark over the face area.
Raye would bet his life that none of L's fans have even the slightest idea what their hero is really like.
"Hey," he says, quietly, as if trying to converse with a drowsing child. "Hey, there's a serial murderer-kidnapper operating around the Chelmsford area. Do you want to look into it?"
"Near left a message for you," Mail adds. "I mean, Buzz left a message for you. He's abroad chasing a big-time fuckin' fraudster or something. He wants you to deal with the Chelmsford case."
Raye stares at his youngest colleague.
"You didn't tell me anything about that," he says, a little put out.
L turns his head slowly, and looks at Mail.
"What did you tell Buzz?" he asks, voice deathly quiet.
"I told him to get fucked."
The corner of L's mouth trembles, like he's trying to smile and he's forgotten how.
"Thank you," he whispers.
And then, without Matsuda. Without Wedy, or Rem, or Naomi, or Rae. Without Mello – and without most of Mail's soul – L's team sets out to catch another criminal.
The murderer-kidnapper targets families with disabled children. He's struck in the Chelmsford area seven times. He leaves the dead bodies of the parents behind. He abducts the children.
L approaches the case as he would any other. He visits a few of the crime scenes. He takes photographs and tries to identify behavioural patterns. Raye speaks with neighbours and other potential witnesses. Mail generally stands around staring forlornly into the distance.
And then, like any other case, they go back to headquarters. L gathers all of the evidence they've collected, and pins it to the walls of his office. The work feels intensely familiar. For a moment, it is as if no time as passed, as if nothing has changed. Sometimes L makes a quiet comment to the giant creature he half-expects to find right behind him.
Sometimes L feels lonely. It occurs him just how easy it would be to just open his watch and pick up a pen. It would be over in seconds. He would maybe have answers, and he might even get to see Rae again.
But only if Rae really is a person in hell, and if Rae as a person in hell successfully passed their test and was sent to the third world, and if Rae as a person-formerly-in-hell hasn't died or moved on from the third world yet.
Percentage likelihood of L seeing Rae again in the near future: 6%.
Percentage likelihood of L seeing Rae again ever: 18%.
And there's Mail. L is supposed to look after his son.
L spends another fifteen minutes staring at the walls, and then slowly makes his way to Mail's bedroom.
Sometimes, Mail is convinced that everyone else in this godfuckinforsaken world is only here to annoy him. He's sprawled on his bed, one cigarette behind his ear and a second in his pocket, tattered sketch of Mello laid reverently beside him. He's trying to pray, trying to bargain with every theoretical god he can think of for Mello's life, Mello's safety.
And fuckin' L is crouching at his feet, waiting patiently.
"I'm not helping you solve the case," Mail says, eventually, once he gives up ignoring L.
"What would you do if I left?" L asks, by way of response.
Mail rubs at his eyes. Sometimes, when he isn't paying attention, he can still feel the pull of elastic across the back of his head. Sometimes he's momentarily bemused by the fact that he can touch his eyes directly.
Sometimes he vaguely remembers who he used to be.
But the important thing is, even when he remembers, he doesn't care.
"Probably not do anything differently," Mail replies. Then he processes the implications behind L's question a little better, and sits up abruptly. "Why?"
L stares at him, steadily.
"There is something I can do," he says. "If I do it, there is a small chance I may find Rae. There is a slightly larger chance that I would at least learn of Rae's fate. But if I do it, I will definitely die. Given your decision to remain in the second world, we may not see each other again for a very long time."
"Did you find some sort of workaround in the notebook?" Mail asks, so interested that he forgets to swear. "Like, writing 'will die and find Rae', or something?"
"Or something," L says. "I'm not involving you in the mechanics, but I did want your opinion. I have a duty towards you."
"Duty?" Mail echoes.
L looks away for a moment, gazing around the room. Mail is proud of his room. Every blank space on the wall is filled with 'Mihael Keehl'. If he added any more, it would become illegible. Mail has done as much as he can.
And on the dresser is the gun he used to kill Kiyomi Takada.
But L doesn't look at the things Mail is proud of. His eye lingers on the stained, crusty bedspread, the mildew on the carpet, the filth on the walls. And then he grimaces.
"Yes," he says, almost to himself. "I shouldn't leave you alone."
"Fuck that!" Mail says, outraged.
L blinks at him.
"What-"
"No, seriously, fuck that," Mail spits. "I hate you. I hate everything about you. How dare you come in here and talk about the person you fuckin' love like it's easy, like it's something you can just give away. How dare you even suggest that you might fuckin' stay here with me when you have a chance, an actual goddamned chance, and you might not even try?"
Mail is panting. He can hear the blood rushing to his face, the arrhythmical thump of his own heart. He wants to punch L, wants to dig in his nails and draw blood. He wants to destroy the universe, take it apart and build his damn time machine. He wants Mello to come back for one second – one second – so that he can breathe.
And L says I shouldn't leave you alone.
Mail wants L to die.
Because Mail would die in a heartbeat, even if it was only a one-in-a-million chance.
"But I love you, too," L says, sounding surprised, as if Mail is the one saying incomprehensible things. "You were modeled after me. You suffered for my cause. You are one of my children, and you are the only one I have left."
"You should have had him," Mail croaks, throat tightening. He doesn't understand anything else L has said. He doesn't understand what it means to love someone in a way that doesn't sacrifice everything else.
Mail's is not a mindless grief. It is a chosen grief. A decided grief. A mindful grief.
And it will never, ever end.
"I would have liked to have had both of you," L says.
"You should do it," Mail says, overwhelmed. "You should go and find your skeleton. I don't care if we never fuckin' see each other again."
L hesitates for a moment. It belatedly occurs to Mail that maybe it hurts L, to hear something like that.
Maybe. He doesn't understand.
"Okay," L replies. "I will, soon."
L throws himself into the Chelmsford case. He has Raye and Mail investigate empty buildings and warehouses around the area, in the hope of finding the kidnapped children. He sends Watari into the poorer areas of Chelmsford, posing as a sleazy door-to-door salesperson, to plant video devices around the homes of likely victims.
By the time Buzz calls, L has narrowed his suspicions down to just three suspects.
"I expected you to be more precise," he tells L, by way of greeting. "Trying to protect an entire town? You're acting just like him."
"Is that why you wanted me to take this case?" L asks. "You didn't want new-Near to have it?"
"I don't imagine you've got much time left," Buzz says, ignoring the question. "Near is currently in Saudi Arabia, but he'll be back within a week. And he will be all over this case."
"I am not getting involved in your petty rivalry," L says, diplomatically.
"I have no interest in rivalry," Near says, sounding almost indignant.
It's probably good for him, to actually have feelings for another human being. Even if only resentment and jealousy. Near was always too cold, too removed, too much of everything L had tried to be.
Humanity is important. Kindness is important. L cannot bring himself to dislike anyone who would prioritize such things.
"I see," L says. "I will do my best."
Then he goes to hang up, and thinks better of it.
"Buzz," he continues. "Nate. I have something to ask of you."
There isn't anyone else he can ask.
"What is it?"
"I suspect I may die quite soon. If I do, I want you take the mantle of L in my place. And…I want you to employ Watari and the remainder of my team in my stead, if they agree."
Mail probably will not agree. But Raye will want cases and secure employment, and someone has to take care of Watari.
This is the best that L can offer them.
"Yes," Buzz replies. "I can do that, yes."
Six days later, they find the murderer-kidnapper. And a dozen terrified, orphaned children. Mail isn't sure how L figured it out, and he really doesn't fuckin' care.
They drop the children off at a local orphanage. One of them cries. There are tulips growing under the huge, wrought iron fence that marks the boundary of the orphanage courtyard.
"Hey," Mail says to crying-child. "There are flowers here. Maybe you'll make a friend. Maybe you'll…"
He cuts himself off, amazed at his own stupidity.
What am I fuckin' saying?
"You did it," Raye says, wearily, when they get back. "You solved a case on your own, without Rae's help."
"Yes," L says.
And it goes on. L takes on a notorious counterfeiter before the week ends. He finishes the case in three days, earning himself acclaim with police forces in several countries. And then he takes the case of a serial thief, who turns out to be a Robin Hood-esque woman who sells all her treasures to support charities. She knows Wedy by name, and L doesn't ask how.
Working cases without Rae is strange. L feels like a person walking without crutches for the first time, even though their leg is still broken.
He gives Raye and Mail significant pay rises and doesn't tell them. He wants them to be provided for, whatever they choose to do.
And then another serial killer makes the news, and L promises himself this is the last time. One more case, and he'll use his precious scrap of notebook paper.
It's time.
Jas realises what has happened.
Jas panics, does the only thing she can do.
The day after they catch the serial killer, L shows up in the kitchen unannounced.
"I'm afraid the key lime pie isn't quite ready yet," Watari tells him, gently. L's hair is messier than usual, but his eyes are still bright. He must be sleeping at least sporadically.
Watari worries all the time, but there isn't anything he can say. He isn't sorry. He doesn't regret making L into the hero the world needed.
L seems to get lost for a moment, staring intently at the marble-topped cooking bench as if he's trying to remember something important. Then he touches his upper lip and turns to face Watari.
"I wanted to say thank you," he says, gently. "And I wanted to say that I will not be needing any more cake from now on."
Watari clamps down on the initial impulse to worry, to beg, to touch L's arm.
And when confronted with a seven year old who had just killed his own mother, Watari had clamped down on the impulse to be compassionate, to walk away.
If the forces of good are not as cruel as the forces of evil, they cannot succeed.
And it isn't the first time L has come to Watari talking about his own imminent death. But this time there is no Light, no terror, no sadness in L's eye. No unchecked terrorists. But there is someone that L misses, someone who is already dead.
And there is a substantial promise of a third world.
"Are you sure?" Watari asks, sounding only obliging.
"Yes," L says. "Very soon I will disappear."
"I would go with you," Watari says.
Even in the first world, Watari didn't intend to die by L's side. It only happened that way. L was already a man, already capable of looking after himself, already thoroughly shaped by all of Watari's ideals, as well as his own.
He is a different shape, now. This second world has softened him and saddened him, driven him to madness and back again.
"I do not request that, nor do I require it," L replies. "Your choices are your own. Buzz will employ you if you desire. Or you could start another orphanage."
They are living with a daily reminder of how well Watari's last orphanage worked out.
Still. Near and Mello were exemplary in the first world. Maybe he will.
"I understand," Watari says. "Good luck."
I hope you find what you're looking for.
I hope you don't change too much.
The world still needs you.
"Good bye," L replies, and smiles.
Raye orders takeaway Japanese food from a store in the next suburb. The three of them sit in one of the east-facing offices and pretend to watch television together.
Or at least, L and Raye pretend. Mail just lays face-down on the floor and doesn't speak to either of them.
L keeps touching his watch nervously. He tries to inhale the feeling of being here with the remaining members of his team, celebrating their latest victory, familiar and comfortable. He eats five sticky rice cakes, even though they're stodgy and not very sweet.
"I'm pretty sure there's peanut butter in this sushi roll," Raye says, frowning. "This is the least Japanese Japanese food I've ever had."
Naomi always valued authentic cuisine. Maybe that's why Raye sticks to the bad replicas now. Maybe it's his own small way of mourning her.
Maybe, if she were here tonight, L would be scared. If Matsuda were here, he would definitely be scared. If Rae were here, he would be desperate to live. L would fight death tooth and nail, if Rae were here.
L hasn't been thinking clearly. He's been desperate, lonely, and frightened. And here and now, for the first time, he is a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit less lonely. And he finally has clarity. Saying goodbye to Watari brought him to his senses.
If L writes his name in the notebook, L might just die. L might disappear and never come back. And that is not an acceptable price to pay just for the chance to be with Rae.
"Did you ever wish for a different career?" L asks Raye.
They could go on like this, the three of them. The three widowers, fighting crime and saving lives. L battling Buzz for the brightest part of Near's shadow. The occasional Sunday afternoon where nothing is happening.
"I don't know," Raye says, smiling a little. "When I was really young, I remember wanting to be a racecar."
"A noble pursuit," L says, and hopes that Raye understands that he isn't serious.
Raye chuckles and L feels pleased with himself.
"Yeah. And then when I first came to the second world, I wanted to be a…what do you call someone who makes a career out of killing Light Yagami?"
"L," Mail mumbles into the carpet, by way of answer, and L feels like he can finally breathe.
Dying is not an acceptable price to pay just for the chance to be with Rae. They are here and they are together.
And when the evening is over, Raye goes upstairs to bed and L kisses Mail in the forehead and goes to his room and locks the door.
And then he takes the scrap of death note paper out of his watch and lays it on the table. Because this is what he has decided.
Dying is not an acceptable price to pay just for the chance to be with Rae. But he loves this world, he loves so many of the people in it, and that is why he has to die anyway. Somebody has to stop the god of hell before they ruin everything. And this is L's only chance of getting to them.
His phone buzzes and the display shows an incoming text message from Mail. Two words. Good luck.
Yes. He needs luck. All of the brains in the world will not save him now.
L takes a solitary toffee from his pocket. He wants to die eating dessert. He wants to die eating dessert and in the room he spent so much time with Rae. He wants to die nowhere near Kira, and he's getting all of those wishes met. He's already lucky.
He uncaps a fresh pen and does not hesitate.
"L Lawliet dies and meets with the god of hell immediately upon dying."
He is going to miss this world so much. From the window in this room, it almost looks like the rain outside is easing.
And then, quietly, abruptly, L Lawliet dies.
Well.
Jas smiles. She should have expected this. L is a genius, and now that she actually needs his help, he is practically begging for her attention.
So she takes him. She snatches him from his fleeting path to the third world, and brings him into her house.
Everyone turns to L when things go wrong. Even the god of hell.
L tilts his head. No time has passed, but his room has disappeared, replaced by a cozy little cottage kitchen, complete with teapot boiling on the stove. A woman sits at the table, her white-blond hair drawn up into a bun, mug in hand.
This isn't right, he thinks, morosely. This looks like another ordinary world.
But then he sees her wings, as white as the wall, stretching from ceiling to floor.
"Are you a Shinigami?" he whispers.
His voice works just fine. He is dead, but he is fine. The floor under his feet feels like ordinary vinyl. There are thousands of tiny photographs on the walls.
"I started out as a Shinigami," the woman says. "I'm not sure what I am, any more. But I believe you wanted to see me?"
"Hell-god," L murmurs, suddenly understanding.
He feels a rush of loathing, a sudden burning desire for revenge. He wants to take the pot and bring it down over her head. He wants to demand Rae. He wants to demand an explanation for Naomi. He wants to take this place apart and find Mello.
"I know what you want," the hell-god says. "But what will you do?"
L grinds his teeth. Okay. She can read his mind. If she is truly a tyrant, then she knows he hates her. She is probably planning his eternal torment as he thinks.
"I plan everyone's eternal torment. But sometimes I never get a chance to use those plans."
"So there are infinite worlds?" L demands.
"Or perhaps there are only three," she replies, and her words are not as evasive as they sound.
So there is a third world.
L pauses to consider this. The god of hell is giving him information. Either she likes him, or she is trying to manipulate him. Either way, that pales into insignificance next to what he has just learned.
"Are the others in the third world?" L asks. "How does it work? Is it different?"
"So many questions," she says, smoothly. "But my time is limited. I will answer one question only, and it must be specific."
It's tempting just to ask her what happened to Rae, but that isn't the only reason he came here. And if there time is going to be truncated after he asks one more question, then he isn't going to ask until he's said his piece.
"What you are doing is wrong," he says. "Manipulating the second world is wrong. You are hurting people. You ruined lives. You have killed at least one of my friends."
The hell-god looks almost sympathetic.
"I do what I am meant to do," she says. "What I have always done. I cannot change my function. And I have only killed one person who was not my charge. And... that was a mistake."
For someone who only wants to answer one question, she is giving away a lot of information for free.
"Then Rae was your charge."
"Rae was a construct," she says, holding up one hand. "There is no person called 'Rae'."
"But there was a real person who was Rae in their hell," L says.
"Correct."
Then Rae either continues to be in hell or is in the third world. Either way, it is not gone. L suddenly feels lighthearted, happy, okay. Everything is okay.
"Don't be like that," nameless hell-god says. "That person was, and is, dangerous. I strongly, strongly advise you to give up on Rae. Don't try to find them. Just accept what you had and move on."
"Don't tell me what to do," L says, politely.
If she's telling him not to contact Rae, then Rae must be out of hell. L grins to himself. He is going to find Rae, and they are going to be together. He is never going to stop looking for Rae.
"That is a terrible idea and you should rethink it."
"Please stop commenting on my thoughts."
The hell-god smiles.
"You realize I could crush you completely, without even lifting a finger."
"Oh," L says. "Are you allowed to hurt people who are not your charges?"
If you ever hurt Mail, or Raye, I will find you and I will destroy you. Did you get that, hell-god?
"I got that," she says. "And my name is Jas."
"I don't care."
There are so many things he could ask. He wants to know if Mello is okay. He wants to know if he will get to see his family again. He wants to know if the third world is better than the first or the second.
And perhaps, a lesser detective would ask those questions. But the hell-god is the most powerful force L has ever met, and there is something even more demanding weighing on his mind.
"Why did you bring me here?" L says. "Meeting you should not be within the mechanics of the notebook. You brought me here yourself."
"Yes. I wanted to thank you," the god of hell – Jas – says, "I used you to test a lot of people. I know it made your life difficult at times, and I wanted to express my gratitude. I'm going to erase the memory of your real name from everyone who is in the second world, in hell, or who was recently in hell."
That's not the real reason you brought me here, L thinks.
"I would appreciate that," he says, out loud. "Please do that. But no matter what, I want Rae to remember my name."
Jas gives him an agonised look.
"Seriously," she asks. "Haven't I just explained to you that Rae is bad news? And anyway-"
"Mello, too," L says, abruptly. "Mihael Keehl. I need him to remember my name in case he gets out of hell. I can use that to identify him."
Jas eyes him.
"Optimistic, aren't you?"
"Parents often are," L retorts. It's sort of surreal, arguing with an all-powerful god-being.
"Fine," Jas says, waving her hand. "One more thing, though. I can't erase memories in the third world except for people who have recently passed out of hell. Therefore, there is someone there who will also know your real name."
L's heart takes a dive.
"Who?"
"I think you know who," Jas says, sounding apologetic.
L thinks. It can't be Light. Light used Rem to kill him, so Light never learned his real name. Which means…it must be…
She's not in hell. She's not in hell.
What have you done?
"Why can't you erase memories in the third world?" he chokes. "Is there another god of hell there?"
Someone I can appeal to?
"No. Only me," Jas says, chewing on her lower lip. "The thing is, well, it has recently come to my attention that a page from my notebook was given to a human in the third world."
"Your notebook, which does what?"
"The only damage control I could do was to remove the notebook's ability to cause omniscience in that world," Jas continues, ignoring him. "Which means I can't see everything in that world, either. And I don't know who has the stolen page."
L tries to imagine what someone could do with an omniscient notebook.
He tries to imagine, and then his imagination runs away screaming.
"Just a minor problem, then," L says, horrified.
If that notebook could previously cause omniscience, what else can it do?
Omnipotence?
This is just like Kira, only worse.
"I'll sort it out," Jas says. "Once they start using it, I'll be able to track them down relatively quickly. Anyway, I have no more time to spare. Would you like me to send you back to the second world? I can reverse your death, just this once."
L stares at her. In the third world is Rae, a more powerful and hidden version of Kira, and a woman who badly needs to be sent back to jail.
"No," he says, quietly. "Send me on. I'm ready."
"Very well," Jas says, and smiles.
the end*
*of part one**
**except for the epilogue
please read - important fic information
+ this fic is ending, but the story is not over.
+ in a few weeks (or maybe sooner), there will be an epilogue to this story focusing on a handful of minor characters.
+ at around this time, the second half of the main story will also be posted on this website. it will be a fic called 'Third Time Lucky', and I will link to it from Second Chances.
+ this fic won't be a sequel, it will be the rest of this story.
+ for those of you feeling as if certain arcs weren't completed, that's because they're intended to carry over into TTL.
a/n
+ a shout out to every single one of my readers for being so fucking awesome I can't even stand it. even if you never reviewed, even if you only read like one chapter, I think you are great and I am grateful for your time.
+ and a further shout out to an ffn user called scrambled-eggs-at-midnight, who way back in September 2010 - when chapter eight had just been posted - said 'Rae reminds me of Light, in a way...'.
+ and a nod to all of you who predicted some or all of this particular ending. I really loved hearing your theories.
+ okay guys, see you in a couple of weeks.