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In his defence, Light was expecting a dead body. A dead FBI agent apparently not called either Thomas O'Connor or Raye Penber. He had been looking forwards to reading whatever name he had written for himself in the red highlighted box (Light had had to dig out his old felt-tip pens from high school, buried beneath piles of economics and maths homework, and run the tip around the edge of the cut out slip, watching as it bled into its crevices).
He sauntered around the corner into the warehouse, calm and collected, brimming with nothing at all. What should have been nerves or joy or sadness was just… Nothing. Nothing with a name anyway. Either way, Light was really way too calm. He definitely should have been less calm, even for thinking he only had to face a dead body. This dead body was still a dead body he had put there. All his fault. (Their fault for following him, trying to stop Kira- for trying to protect the bus? No, stop it , the FBI agent was wrong, he was wrong, not kira, not kira, kira was not).
(He was not Kira, Kira wasn't human like him).
(He couldn't hide from this)
(Judgement day would come)
It was polluted around here, even the air had a musty orange haze in the summer heat, and the air tasted like filth; soot and garbage on his tongue. It was the perfect place for a corpse. He wasn't stupid, L would undoubtedly have trackers on each of the men 'Raye' had sentenced to death, and he would find this one here, in this perfect place to die.
Raye was poised exactly as Light had pictured him. That probably should have been a red flag. He was gripping his chest with one hand, sprawled out on his front in the dirt, paper bag right by his head. Light was sombre for a moment, before that too was swallowed up by the raging tide of his thoughts and he moved towards the remains. Just for a moment, one he swore couldn't have been that long, Light stopped and stared- intensely, unbecomingly curious. Would this man have the same look of death as his mother? No, of course not. This man wasn't anything like her. Not even the same species.
He also wasn't dead, apparently.
'Raye' grabbed his ankle with a strength and suddenness that make Light jump halfway out of his skin, screaming and scrambling back, crashing into metal baskets. His bad shoulder ached. Slowly, yet with a fury that caused his limbs to shake, 'Raye' reached down and picked up the bag himself, grabbing the papers within which he began to remove from their casings as he screamed.
"What is this?"
Light looked around, anticipating back up at any moment. That bastard. He had written down every name except his own.
"Light Yagami- no, Kira," he growled, "just how are you killing people?"
He doesn't know? He still hasn't figured it out? Light stared blankly at the paper, reeling. NO, no, no, this was all wrong, it wasn't supposed to go like this- why would he- how could a man kill everyone else except himself? He knew, he must have, surely, that in writing their names down they would die.
(He hadn't known. And he hadn't gone through with it either).
Despite his wordless gawking, 'Raye' continued,
"Does this paper have something to do with how you kill?" His voice was a growl now, dangerously loud.
He saw it. Light thought with more anger than he had expected. He looked at his own page. Cheated.
They locked eyes for a dragging moment, neither one daring to make the first move in their deadly dance. Light licked his lips nervously, glancing through his eyelashes over and over, calculating, something, something more sophisticated than-
He dove for the papers, and his fingertips just brushed the edges before 'Raye' ducked away, sending him thudding into more crates and boxes. His damn arm- Light turned, crouched and ready to attempt again when- His eyes focused on what was pointed between them. A gun. Raised and ready, aimed just in the space between his eyes, deadly still.
"If you don't want to answer, don't." 'Raye' gritted (Light wanted to know his name-) "Because as long as you're alive my fiancée, whose name and face you know, will have to live her life in fear until the day she dies." the man shouted, though his sorrowful voice ached with rage, dripping off of it like rivulets. Cathy Campbell. Light gritted his jaw and moved, so slowly that he hoped it was imperceptible. He didn't know where to, he hadn't planned for this eventuality at all, not in the slightest, and now his best hope was- was what? To make the eye deal and kill this man while he pointed a gun at his head? "I'm doing this is to protect my family." 'this', shooting a student point blank in an abandoned warehouse. (kira not a student not a person kira kira was doing all this not him not him it wasn't him) 'Raye' was a selfish man, protecting his closest, letting anyone else die, killing them himself. But that resonated too much for Light's liking.
'Raye' clicked the safety off. His face twisted into something like a grimace.
Light could see, vividly, as if he were there now, his father saying the words he had spoken the night before, begging him, in the way his father could beg, to look after Sayu if he died. He needed to protect his own family. Kira was trying to protect the world, how dare this man take that away? His hands curled into fists, shaking with rage in a way he hadn't expected. Light was scared, scared to the bone of dying like this, with a hole in his forehead, here in the dirt, but somehow anger was suffocating him.
He was never angry.
"Family…" Light whispered, not soft or gentle, more of a pledge, a curse, preemptive vengeance. Maybe something to still his executioner for a moment. He turned his head, undoing his flinch, and steeled his nerves. I can't die either. And I can't apologise.
"I won't let you keep doing this!" snarled the FBI agent, but sounding more like he was convincing himself every second.
His hands trembled as the brought out the paper and pencil from his back pocket- but to write what? There had to be more painless ways out than a gunshot, or anything he'd considered before.
If only I knew his name.
"We can't submit to evil."
Was Kira evil? Was that what he had become? What the world thought?
"prepare yourself."
His name, please, God, Ryuk, anyone, his name.
Light felt his breathing grow heavier and more sporadic, although his mind was elsewhere, anywhere else, trying to conjure another option than accepting his fate. He heaved, feeling the bile rise in his throat as he realised he could see deep inside the barrel, the tip so close to his eyes it went fuzzy. Would his eyes be the first to go? Would they burst? Would he feel it?
The man who was not Raye Penber or Thomas O'Connor, but certainly was a nuisance, grabbed his chest. Light felt weightless. The agent fell to his knees with a thud. He gagged, choked on nothing but his lungs. He was dying. Light had never seen it so close before. Heart attacks, at least. Someone on high had listened to his prayers, some demon or shinigami, someone had saved him. He wanted to laugh. Or scream. He was the luckiest man in the world, he should go buy a lottery ticket or something, saved from the verge of death, moments from-
The gun went off.
'Raye Penber' was dying- dead- on the ground but whether it was a last ditch effort or just muscle spasming, he still fired the gun- connecting the white-hot bullet with Light shoulder.
"FUCK!"
Light yowled something animalistic as he clutched his shoulder, not yet feeling anything other than overwhelming heat. Well, the bullet was hot, it exploded out of a chamber fragments of a second ago. His bad fucking arm. Why did he let the bus-jacker slam him around again?
What the hell was he supposed to do now? Just go home with a bullet buried in his shoulder and his flannel dripping in blood, already starting to run down his forearm in hot rivers and plopping slowly off his fingertips, pooling at his knees that he hadn't quite realised he'd dropped onto. What was he supposed to tell Sayu? What about his professors, his friends? What about the future, would the god of the new world have a burning scar and a arm that ached if he moved it funny? Some god he was turning out to be in that case. He didn't like to think about his future at the best of times, and this was turning out to be a real dark blotch over his idea of a plan.
There was a twinge, a throb that was starting to radiate now, like electrical static. Every fresh lightning bolt caused a spasm, and each spasm made his shoulder hurt more violently. Light couldn't feel his own body much, least of all his arm, but it was all crashing into him with visceral clarity, every nerve ending was catching fire slowly, an inferno engulfing him. He realised as his senses grated more and more that his breathing was ragged, he was hyperventilating, there was no reprieve. He listed from side to side slightly, light-headedness growing on him.
Gingerly, he raised his other hand to touch the wound and found that it came away slick. He reached behind his shoulder and felt for an exit hole, but found nothing. That was… good? in his delirium, Light was having trouble remembering all those bullet-wound-facts that he had lying around. No, he was studying to be a civil servant, he didn't have the first clue about what you were actually supposed to do when shot. Pressure, right? Pressure was good? But before or after he got the bullet out? Was he meant to pry it out with any means necessary, dig his fingers into the soft flesh of his shoulder and grasp around for the little metal casing? He needed help, he needed someone to hold him, to know what to do, to tell him they could fix this.
In a realisation that shocked even himself, Light realised he was begging for his father. At least he might have more experience with injuries like this.
A cold hand touched his face. Light yelled and jumped back after a second too long spent processing the sensation.
That… couldn't be right. Only he, bleeding out in a warehouse with a useless arm and a corpse nearby would hallucinate Misa Amane.
Well, maybe Kamoda would too, but Light really didn't want Kamoda to be his point of reference on the relevance of Misa Amane in everyday life. This was really not a situation that merited the face of hit idol group Ichigo Berry. He certainly wasn't upset, but he would have thought he'd see someone a bit more relevant as he was bleeding out, maybe his mother or something. Misa wasn't dead anyway, Ryuk had been mightily confused about it but she wasn't, his shinigami eyes had been off somehow, so it wasn't as if she was welcoming him into the afterlife-
"Tsuki Yagami?" her voice snapped Light from his stupor, his ragged breathing paused for a moment. Misa was gazing not at him anymore, but just above his head, eyes scanning back and forth. "are you ok?"
"…MisaMisa?" he coughed, because fuck it, it was his hallucination, he could talk back to it.
"I killed that man for you," she looked up through her long lashes with a coy smile layered on top of a hesitant expression. "I took care of your problem like you took care of mine."
"…What."
"Tsuki- Kira- you healed my heart. I just wanted to try begin to repay you- what- what happened to your arm!" she gasped as she moved the hand that wasn't still resting on Light's cheek to his shoulder, flinching back at the steady flow of blood. Light groaned again, more intensely, at the spiking pain, wrenching his head backwards our of her grasp. He was coming to the surreal realisation, bit by bit, each bite of pain at a time, that this may… Somehow, some way, she might be real. Light may not have been thinking completely clearly but he was still fairy sure that hallucinations of popular idols couldn't try to mop up blood from his arm, or send spasms down it as they did so.
"MisaMisa- or- I mean- Misa-"
She hummed up at him, still kneeling down at his shoulder level.
"Why- why are you calling me Tsuki?"
"Is it not said like that? I love interesting names!" She replied with a strained levity, pulling at his flannel sleeve.
"It's Light."
"Spelled 'moon' but said 'Light'… how cool! But- Light- what happened? I killed that horrible man for you-"
"why do you-"
"I knew it!" she jumped, and Light shouted out. "You didn't make the deal for the eyes! Of course, you would have known it was me at the same time that I saw you- that just makes this all even more special… I can be your eyes!"
"You- what? You have…"
"Mine's pink," she winked. "And I knew you had to be Kira because I can't see your lifespan! super handy, I know… but I saw that man following you for days," (Light considered for a moment how she knew this) "and when I caught up to you and he had his gun out- oh Light, I thought I'd got him before he could shoot!"
So did I, thought Light through gritted teeth.
"He got me as he collapsed." he heaved. "I thought he was dead already… But no, I couldn't be that lucky… He killed all his coworkers but left himself alive." Light spat the bile building in his throat. Misa looked surprised, but not particularly revolted.
"A man out for himself." she shrugged. "a murderer."
"we're murderers." Light breathed.
"not like them."
The sensation of blood drip drip dripping from his fingertips gave him goosebumps. Lost for a moment in the swimming of his head, Light veered to one side, propped back up by Misa's nervous grip. A sound that was caught between a wretch and a yowl resonated from him, neither entirely pain or self pity. As he grabbed hold of his spinning consciousness, the sound of distant sirens echoed. His eyes flew open.
"Misa- thank you but- you need to go- the police are coming and you can't be found here-"
"I'm not leaving you here alone with a gunshot wound!" she looked aghast.
"Knowing my luck it'd be my father who finds me… either way, I'll get my own way out, you need to leave."
"No! I'm not-"
"You want to help Kira out? Get away from me and take that bag with you." he ordered with an unfamiliar, stern face, gesturing towards the small paper bag with his chin as his uninjured arm held him from collapse on the dirty ground. He didn't know how far this would work, how happily she was to take commands just because he had killed for her. Maybe she already saw their debt as paid and would continue on as if he didn't exist, but he doubted that somehow. "Get away!" barked Light, half from anger, half from the rawness of his throat that was worn from dry, open-mouthed heaving.
To his mild surprise and contentment, she did as she was told, backing away like she was leaving a wounded animal, palms raised and open, and grabbing the bag. She darted around the corner as the wailing sirens drew closer, deafening to Light's ringing ears.
His shoulder was numb except for the throbbing pain. His thoughts were blurry and incoherent, no longer sharpened by adrenaline, but warm and slow like he was thinking through treacle. Light could hear padding footsteps approach as though miles away, and the part of him that was still screaming forced itself to be present despite how much it hurt to do so, because he needed a damn good lie to explain why he was here, and why an FBI agent would have shot him.
Soichiro (because of course it was Soichiro) stared flatly at the body sprawled out. The gun was still loosely in his fingers, his thumb and forefinger still tucked by the trigger, but he was far from warm by now. He glanced down at his watch. How long since his tracker had gone offline? Easily 30 minutes by this point. Bending down to check- in a futile effort, he knew, but procedure all the same- for a pulse, Soichiro suddenly became aware of a heaving behind him. A deep, ragged breathing, someone in pain. A pause. He moved his hand from where it was about to touch the neck of the agent, to the man's gun instead. It was warmer than the body was. He had shot someone. And they were still here.
Probably scared out of their mind.
A fury boiled in him. He had never killed anyone- anyone- before, never even connected a shot- and L thought he could go around bringing in rash Americans who pulled the trigger before asking questions.
(unless)
(L did seem particularly insistent that he went here first. 'there are dozens of other police officers who can find the rest', he had said. 'You go after Dwellton')
(Did L think Kira was here? cowering like a wounded animal?)
It was impossible. The FBI agents were only investigating police families, and there was no possibility that Kira was among them. (Wasn't there)?
"Are you alright?" he asked no one in particular; the air behind him, because he hadn't yet turned around, not ready to acknowledge the presence.
He was met with harsher breathing- sobs trying to dampen themselves- but there was something familiar in the voice behind it. He couldn't place it.
Gently, Soichiro stood and pivoted on his heel, actually taking in his surroundings.
It wasn't as if Light had particularly hidden himself, now he looked. He was just slumped against the opposite wall, one arm dangling uselessly at his side and coated in blood, his face wrought with pain.
"Dad," he whimpered, trying to push himself up and failing miserably. "I don't know what happened."
Soichiro's heart dropped through the floor.
"Light," he dashed over, dropping down to his knees and gingerly moving towards the wound. "Tell me what happened. Why- Are… Are you alright, first of all. Are you ok?"
"Dad… I don't- I don't know what happened. He- He shot me, he was dying and he just- just fired- ten- ten minutes ago?"
Ten minutes? Soichiro loathed to think what might have happened if the bullet had hit a major artery. He could have found two cooling corpses, not one. Luckily for him, it seemed to have 'only' clipped through dense flesh. Light whined again as Soichiro tore his flannel off at the sleeve and wrapped it tightly around the bullet hole.
"I know it hurts… I know… You'll be alright, Light." Soichiro wasn't really sure what he was supposed to say to his own son. It was easier when it was impersonal, with an ambulance team shortly following. "I'm here. You'll… You'll be alright." he continued holding even more pressure even as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialled emergency services, requesting an ambulance, trying to keep his voice steady while his son sobbed violently into his chest, his loose hand gripping his father's shirt.
(his poor boy)
"Light…" he began again, still feeling as if his heart were tearing in two just staying here. The itch of flight grated on him. "I need you to tell me what happened."
"I…" Soichiro was going to be sick, he couldn't stay here, he couldn't let his son tell him that he had murdered hundreds, he had to leave he had to leave him (again) "This guy was following me everywhere… I'm not stupid, I noticed him… And after that phone call from L and seeing his ID on the bus I assumed he was some sort of foreign agent working for L- but he can't really have been right? Why would he shoot me?"
(his poor boy)
"Why did he shoot you, Light?"
"I- I don't really know! He was talking to someone earlier- I- I only noticed because he kept looking at me as he spoke into his collar- some sort of transceiver or something- and then he ran off. I know I shouldn't have followed him but- what if it was some emergency- Kira? I might not want to be a police officer but I don't want to stand by if… I don't know… It was stupid, really… No. No, I… I was just curious, really. I… I guess… Then when I got here he pointed a gun at me- said I was Kira and that was why I followed him and he wouldn't listen- why wouldn't he listen, dad? Do people see me as dangerous? Me? How could I ever do something as impactful as Kira is? Do I honestly seem like the kind of person who believes they can change the world that much?"
Maybe once upon a time, years ago, when they were a family of four and the house had warmth, Soichiro would have said yes, yes of course, you believe you an do anything you want, but he could not. Those times were far behind him and their house was cold.
Soichiro found that words had escaped him, and instead of answering, putting a word to that swirling in his chest, he just pulled Light closer. His son (his poor boy) buried his face in his shoulder with one arm slung around him, the other… Soichiro didn't want to think about the other. There were a lot of things he didn't want to think about.
"Dad," Light whispered, like a secret, like the words were burning, "It hurts."
"I'm sorry." His father replied, because something deep down told him he needed to apologise. There was a biting feeling that Light wasn't speaking strictly about his shoulder. He tried to push it down. As he brought his hand up to hold the back of Light's head, stroke his hair, slicked down with feverish sweat, Soichiro gasped out a little sob of his own.
His son had been shot.
He had been shot in the shoulder and Soichiro hadn't found him for 10 minutes, and only had because L had sent him here. His son, that little boy who played cops and robbers with a toy walkie-talkie, was collapsed into him with a bullet buried in his shoulder and blood drenching his arm, deep sobs wracking him. It wasn't as if he didn't notice how much his breathing sped up every time he jostled- every time his shoulder moved. Soichiro could see the visceral pain in every micro-expression, every rise and fall of his chest, every single blink of his eyes that were glassy and far away and wet.
His son had been shot.
And Soichiro was starting to feel it.
The ache he pushed away.
The disdain for his own life
He could not turn back now, couldn't undo 10 years of poor decisions.
And now look where it had landed him.
His poor boy.
Clinging to him even as his eyes fluttered. He was fighting it, but the pull was one of a thousand warm hands and even before he was closing his eyes Light wasn't seeing anything, wasn't thinking much.
"Light," Soichiro intoned, shaking him as little as he could. "Light, stay conscious. Please. The ambulance will be here any minute so please don't close your eyes."
"'m dizzy." came the murmured reply, sounding for all the world like the little boy Soichiro would carry in from the car and up the stairs, tired and car sick and no more than 8.
"I know, but you can't go to sleep here."
"Dad… I… I can't. 'm trying I swear, but I feel sick," slurred Light. Soichiro checked on his makeshift tourniquet and found it soaked through. "Dad… am I a bad person? I'm trying not to be, I promise. I really tried…"
"Light…"
"'t's not me. Not…"
"I believe you. Don't worry. Just keep talking to me. A few more minutes… Just a few…"
"It feels like dying." Light laughed.
"You're not dying, you've lost a bit of blood but you're not dying, son."
"Maybe it would be nice to."
"Light."
"Maybe I'd get to see mum again. I thought it was her earlier but it was just…" he mumbled into his father's shoulder. "I don't really wanna do this anymore… Stop laughing."
"I'm not laughing, Light. No one's laughing at you,"
"No, no, not you- 'uk"
"Who?"
Light slurred something inaudible, slumping deeper into the fabric of his dad's suit jacket. Soichiro continued to jostle his son gently, ruffling his hair as his own breathing hastened, speaking in a growing voice that he Must stay awake for just a little bit longer, just a little.
Eventually, longer than he felt like it should have taken, his mind too clouded by fear to judge the time, wailing ambulance sirens closed in and the paramedics sprinted by, taking both Mark Dwellton and Light Yagami with them. Going to different places, Soichiro breathed.
Almost not. He was going to be imagining he was 10 minutes too late in his nightmares for the rest of his life.
What was he going to tell Sayu?
What was he going to tell L?
Should he? He would only take it as a proof of guilt for Light, after all, he would never believe him at his word. Soichiro trusted his son to tell the truth in a moment like this. He wouldn't die in a lie. (He didn’t die).
So who had killed the FBI agent? Light had mentioned someone else there, maybe Kira was watching, looking out for him? But… why? None of this made any sense at all. His son, his pride, his poor boy, mild and meek and content to live uneventfully and somehow in the firing line of a demented American man with a crazed sense of righteousness in his the barrel of his gun.
Soichiro held Light's hand in the ambulance while drips stabilised him and machines made worrying noises.
They were lucky, the paramedics told him.
He knew.
His phone buzzed. He turned it off without looking.
Light was not conscious anymore and seeing him lie there unresponsive scared the life out of him but he was on enough painkillers to sedate a horse so Soichiro reassured himself that things were going to be fine. They were going to take him into surgery as soon as they reached to hospital, the paramedics had informed him, to remove the bullet and any of its fragments, and close the wound as neatly as possible. He would need physical therapy, and would have lingering pain for a long time to come, almost certainly. Soichiro felt winded. He kept a stiff upper lip about it all, though.
His gut twisted. He needed to call Sayu, probably, but Soichiro was acutely aware of whose calls he had been ignoring, and was loathe to turn his cell back on again. Oh, whatever, Light was probably being tracked too, it would take more than switching his old brick phone off to prevent L from keeping track of him at all times.
As if on queue, Light's phone began to ring in his back pocket.
"Yagami," came the voice on the other line when Soichiro answered. "I assume you found more than you expected?"
"you knew? L- I- You dare send me out there knowing your man had shot my son-"
"Ah." L choked out lowly, tinny down the line, and Soichiro stopped his rant for a moment. The detective didn't have any of his previous gloat in his voice. "Light was shot."
"That what I just told you isn't it? Mark Dwellton or whatever the hell his real name is shot my son in the shoulder and now we're on our way to the hospital because you can't stop your blatant obsession with my boy! Are you happy now, L? Happy to have injured him like this?"
"…I'm very sorry that this has happened, Yagami. I didn't intend for this at all. Dwellton was… Well, he was supposed to be bait, and I suppose he was. He is dead too, I assume."
Soichiro grunted affirmation.
"Light was the only suspect to have led an agent to report directly to me about an incident so I assumed Kira would want him gone the most. It seems he, ah, went rogue, in the end. I… I am deeply sorry this happened to Light. This was all in pursuit of Kira. That is more along the lines of what I expected you to find. Some transceiver or clue to his methods, as 'Raye' mentioned-"
"How many innocent lives is your campaign of justice going to hurt before you decide enough is enough?"
A long moment's pause. "…As many as it takes, Yagami, I'm afraid is my exact answer. But justice will always win out eventually."
Soichiro's hand burned around the phone in pure rage and he pulled it away from his ear, the thought crossing his mind to hurl it out of the window with L still connected, but instead, he lowered it slowly, pressed the end call button, and placed it back in Light's pocket. He slumped forwards, head in hands, sweaty and seething and bone-deep tired.
What on earth was he supposed to do now?
The paramedic let him know they were almost there. There could be a chair ready for him outside surgery if he was going to stay.
Stay.
Yes, he figured he probably should, this time.
L did not attempt to call back, but Sayu did receive a knock on the door from a tall dark haired man who told her her brother and father were at Tokyo General Hospital, and could she please take this with her. He turned around and left her utterly confused, with a small, sad bouquet of pale, mostly white-ish flowers- apple blossom, pale yellow marguerite, wild rose, pink hyacinth, she later googled. Where he got them and who he was she didn't ever know, but they sat wilting on Light's bedside either way.
The Kira killings slowed. For his part, L pretended not to notice that.