This is a musing on the events on episode 25/Chapter 28. I had a bit of a challenge for myself about writing a random story (not necessarily a fanfiction. I actually type more normal- than fan-fictions.), using pronouns for one character only, and not giving anyone names. So, the he/him/his is referring to L and no one else. L is not referred to by any other pronouns but 'he/him/his' Make sense? Me either... That's why it's a challenge. Try it sometime, see how far you get. ^.^

I heard Demon Hunter's "Carry Me Down" and... this...flowed out of my head.

A few extra scenes based on what happened in the Manga, I made them to fit the feel of the story and flow a bit more.

I might need to make it longer... maybe repost it? It's a oneshot, yes. Sorry, hopeful fangirls.

He fell.

He didn’t even get to finish his last audible sentence. A sentence that was most likely the farthest from what he would have wanted his last words to be.

Then he fell. Him, the chair, and his spoon, held carefully in his slender hands- until her dropped it and fell. The sliver, simple utensil hit the floor, the resonance sounding like the tolling of a bell in the large, tiled room.

Bells always mean funerals. Sadness, death.

Cradled in warm, demonic arms, he saw his killers’ face. First, an almost genuine look of pity (had it really been genuine?), and then a bastard’s smile- a grin of victory.

Then, his eyes closed. These most sensitive of organs, the eyes, and the skin which protectively covers them (what should have been) every 3-4 minutes, and yet never closed on him- finally slid over his black orbs.

He saw his home, the windows of a particular chapel, the gears of what might be a clock. So many faded memories.

Myocardial infarction
Heart Attack
Cardiac Arrest

Over a quarter of all heart attacks are painless.

Thankfully, his was.

Or else he was stubborn to his death- refusing to show weakness to anyone.

That was who he was.

He hadn’t even finished his last sentence. So many things fade. Just like a name.

The murderer, still keeping up the act, had refused to let his corpse go, hands clenching in ‘fear’ ‘remorse’ 'shock'

The group wondered what to do after the murderer had finally released his grip. Then, the detective, father to the murderer, helped carry his body.

He was surprisingly light, his limbs not rigor yet- he was not yet dead, but barely alive.

The group helped carry him. Carefully, out to the car, looking on as the detective declared that the group should find the inventor.

His body was carried in with his caretaker, the inventor. The bodies carried into the stark white lobby.

He had no ID, no name. He went to the hospital as a John Doe, a Nanashi-no-Gonbei.

He had never had a true name for himself- so many he lost count.

Anonymity was a blessing for him.

The world didn’t need to know that was him. Even the choice doctors that the inventor had chosen still treated him as a Nanashi-no-Gonbei.

Which is not to say that the doctors treated him any less than other patients because the doctors did not know who he was.

His black hair floated against the white backdrop of the hospital bed, a heart monitor barely beeping, keeping time with his weak heart as nurses and doctors clucked and ticked about him, keeping watch over his near-gone life.

The detective paced the floor of the lobby, muttering silently. So young…

It was raining again. Plop, platter- the rain hit the windows of the hospital- now a place of despair instead of a place of hope.

The check-in nurse stared at the detective who was whispering incomprehensible phrases. The nurse offered the detective some sort of help, but the detective ignored the nurse, not hearing what the nurse had to say. The despairing detective had too much to worry about to rest.

The detective had sent the group home to console the murderer. The murderer was the same age as him.

Young and nameless.

It was raining. Still no lighting to jolt the father from scared musing on his fate. The doctor walked in, head bowed.

He was gone,

Sorry.

The detective expected that, knew that would happen. Still, it was a burden heavier than his body had been.

His death certificate was dated 11-05-2004, Cause: Myocardial infarction

Name: Nanashi-no-Gonbei

The detective drove back to the death-room with a heavy heart. The announcement shocked the group- the murderer still keeping up the glorious act.

'pity'
'remorse'
'fear'
'sadness?'

Everyone was still there, save for him and his guardian, the fated inventor with the black coat.

Foreshadowing was ironic.

Black eyes, black coat and hat, black eyes, black car, black logo. Death is black. Death is nothingness. Black is absence of all colors, black is nothing.

That is why death was also.

A simple procession- no need to raise attention and let the world know that he was dead.

Black street as the group slowly rode down the road to the cemetery.

The coffin progressed down the path, a small crowd of the remaining group.

He was gone.

Lowered into a black hole, his inquisitive eyes closed in eternal sleep.

Death is cliché. But, here he was. A simple cross, no epitaph- no meaning. He died without a name.

Nanashi-

no-

Gonbei

And here comes the murderer…

Laughing. Pawing at his grave in a victorious show of insanity.

Proclaiming his loss, and the murderer's victory.

The inhuman god looked on, hoping he would not become bored again. Now that he was dead.

Grey rain clouds formed as the sun set.

Rain again.