Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. :)

A/N: I know I know guys. I'm sorry it took so long! D: Thank you Danicasdeath, Posies, crazylittleperson, ActionFry and HarajukaSushi for reviewing! :D


Tender arms carried the bundle of towels and L back up the stairs, gently uttering comforting words, though Mrs. Wammy seemed to be pretty shaken up herself. Unsure footsteps took L back to his bedroom. The sanctuary of stars beamed down and winked at him, causing another wave of tears to crash down his cheeks and for him to shudder more than he was before.

He was held close to the lady who was acting just like the grandmother he had never had as she made sure he didn't fall apart and he was shielded from any nearby dangers. Awkwardly she managed to pull open the drawers that stood in the room and tried to find another set of clothing for him to wear

Another blank shirt was pulled over his head and more plain jeans were given to him. The towels had absorbed the moisture that had clung to L after his recent shower and now although a little cold and his hair damp, he was mostly dry.

It was only then when he realized what had happened in the past few hours. His mother was gone forever. He was alone. What would happen now? Realizing that he would never be able to hear her laugh or whisper words to him again he cried out in partial surprise and once again buried himself in Mrs. Wammy's arms.

"I know… I know…" she muttered sympathetically, rocking him slightly as if he were a baby. In the distance, she could hear sirens and knew that help was on its way. L wasn't aware of the approaching vehicles. It was all just irrelevant background music over metallic clanging.

Dizziness swept over him and the room swam around him, spiralling and whirling; the stars now a vortex of colour. He was no longer supporting his own weight. A swift movement laid him on the ground and rested his trembling legs against the pile of sodden towels in an attempt to make his legs higher than his head. If L had eaten in the past twenty four hours, he would probably have thrown up.

There was the clatter of other people arriving and the rabble of what appeared to be six voices talking. If you concentrated you could have heard the grimace in their voices. If L hadn't been half unconscious he may have heard them stating that it was such a shame. Hurried footsteps stomped upstairs and three people entered. Two were from the ambulance and had a stretcher. Both were male. One had ebony hair and a stern look. The other had chestnut hair and a concerned face. The third was a policewoman with wavy fiery red hair and a soothing voice. Gasping and juddering in dismay, L was lifted onto the stretcher and carried out of the house.

L had no idea how long it took for the ambulance to get to the local hospital. He felt as if he were far away and looking down on the scene. The numb feeling of emptiness felt… wrong. He'd rather feel pain so that he knew he still had emotion than nothing at all. Vision flickering; he couldn't feel the surface beneath him. The moment a gentle hand brushed against his fingers and squeezed them in comfort was the moment he plunged into a frozen reality and once again made contact with the world. Something cruel had stolen away his ability to cry and all he could do was choke desperately.

It was if he were in a bubble. From inside the bubble, everything was in slow motion, time no longer relevant and the only thing mattering was the air that rushed in and out of his lungs. Outside of the bubble, figures zoomed around at speeds that were impossible; voices promising him safety didn't register in his mind.

As the world overpowered him and crashed down, he found that he could no longer take everything in. Exhaustion was taking over and giddily, he allowed himself to fall into a deep slumber.

Scarlet blades and sinister shadows clouded his mind as the nightmares were unleashed. Figures crouched beside dying people, the glint of a grin as they dipped fingers into warm blood. Hunched monsters flashed through L's mind and everything was happening so quickly. Nothing was clear. Nothing but the dark coppery smell and taste.

Electric eyes shot open and met the bright room of the hospital and a strangled noise left L's lips as he sat up and looked at the people sat around him. He saw the two Wammy's looking concerned, a woman he recognized as Mrs. Larsen and a nurse.

"He's just shocked. We'll be able to send him home. That is if the social services hurry up and find one for him." And with that, the nurse left the room.

Mrs. Wammy took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently. He looked up at her with no facial expression. She returned his stare with a concerned and almost heartbroken gaze that showed sympathy on all her features from the soft eyes to the unhappy wrinkles engraved in her powdery skin. He was a lot warmer now.
"They stitched your head back together." Mr. Wammy informed the young boy. L was patiently waiting for an explanation of why Mrs. Larsen of all the people in the world was beside the bed as well when a polite knock on the door interrupted the scene.

Without waiting for the door to be answered, a police woman with very short and spiky blonde hair and a police man with brown hair and a fringe that swept into his eyes walked into the room.
"We're sorry to intrude but we're here to question L Lawliet about the death of Amber Lawliet." The woman said. She turned to the other adults in the room. "Are Quillsh Wammy, Molly Wammy and Noxa Larsen all present?" There was a murmur of confirmation.

The lady sat on the side of the bed and stared into L's eyes, the man standing nearby, pen poised over notebook.
"How old are you L?" she asked calmly. He opened his mouth, lips trembling and head tilted slightly to the side.

"It's my birthday today." His voice was strangled and painful to hear. The police woman was patient and knew he was still in shock. Realising that he really needed a friendly conversation, she didn't demand an answer to her question immediately.
"Your birthday is on Halloween?"
"Yes. I'm eight years old." He replied steadily.
"And where were you at about five minutes to twelve on the 29th of October?"
"I was playing in the garden." He responded, casting a nervous glance at Mrs. Larsen whose garden it was.

It was at that moment that the police man stopped writing and stepped in.
"Surely you would have seen or heard the murderer if you were playing in the garden?" With a broken gasp at the reminder of how much L had lost, he replied to the question with a guilty tone.
"I didn't specifically state which garden I was playing in."

"Whose garden were you playing in and why were you there at the time?" he asked. L clenched the bed sheets in his fists and released them to calm himself.

"I was in Mrs. Larsen's garden."

Mrs. Larsen's eyebrows rose slightly yet L didn't apologise.
"I was exploring." He said calmly.
"Is there anybody to clarify that you were there at that time?" the woman asked.
"I was." Mrs. Wammy interrupted; remembering that she had spotted L in Mrs. Larsen's garden.
"Did your mother say anything to you before she died?"
"My name." The questions continued. He answered them all as well as he good, clinging to the sheets every time he felt the tears well up.

They turned and began questioning the other adults. L brought his legs up to his chest and held himself together.

"I called the house at half past six, seven o clock and nine and there was no reply." Mrs. Wammy explained sadly. "They were supposed to be coming to dinner with us." Mr. Wammy then leaned forward and spoke.
"It was Mrs. Larsen that knocked on our door at about ten this morning and said she had a suspicious phone call about the Lawliet household. We were already worried about them because they never showed up. We then went to the house and discovered L and his mother. The police looked at Mrs. Larsen in interest.
"What did the person say to you?"
"I'm sure it was the killer! They told me that if nobody were to check the Lawliet household soon, more damage than there already was would be done."
"And what time was this phone call?"
"Five to ten."

More and more questions were asked. L silently listened, wishing he could have something to eat.
"L, did you hear the phone ring at all when you were upstairs?" he nodded, remembering the bells in his head being interrupted.
"Do you know what time they called?"
"Before they found me. About five to ten." He explained. The police glanced at each other and the man wrote one final thing in his book then snapped it shut.
"We'll return to ask more questions. For now, we are done with you." The man said and with that they left.

The nurse entered the room once more; frowning in disapproval.
"It's really not good for him to be surrounded after this." As if to punctuate her words, a lady wearing a while blouse and above the knee skirt walked into the room. L stared at her in disbelief. She looked so much like his mother that it hurt.
"L Lawliet?" she asked. It finally occurred to L that she must be the social worker.
"Yes." The nurse said in a tired voice.

The social worked looked at a big binder and flipped through it until she found the page she was looking for.
"I understand that a Noxa Larsen has offered to take L in?" she asked, looking at the three adults. Mrs. Larsen stepped forward, brushing her curled, dyed brown hair out of her green eyes. She was about fifty years old with a firm jaw and a sense of authority. A bossy woman who was strong and tall.
"That's me."
"Well I have the paperwork here." the social worker said as she eased a few sheets of paper from the file.

Mrs. Larsen signed a few papers and nodded at a few things the social worker said.
"You'll be taking L home as soon as he is ready to leave the hospital, I'll be checking up on you every week for at least two months. We'll see how it goes from there." Mrs. Larsen nodded once more as the social worker left. She turned to L and looked him in the eye.

"I'm going to take care of you."

Staring into the eyes of this woman, L got a gut feeling. That moment was an eternity as he realised what this woman was capable of. She was capable of killing a woman; even if the woman had a child. L knew as he stared into the eyes of Mrs. Larsen that he was starting into the eyes of a killer.