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It was so… tiring, to be beyond existence.
That would probably be because he hadn’t woken up. The rules were harder to work out, in the afterlife, but L was making determined progress towards a grey horizon that never got any closer. It was the only thing keeping him going, even if there was nothing to go for.
Actually, now he considered that, alongside every other aspect of everything, L wasn’t sure he was still going, in any way that mattered. He was incapable of dying, here. That had been checked off the list reasonably early on, even if his internal clock meant nothing in a sunless land. The likelihood was high that he’d lost his mind, and even higher that he was never going to find a handy objective assessment of whether someone else would agree with him on that.
So, if there really was nothing he was existing for, or could do to influence his own existence, why was he still thinking at all?
Probably because he couldn’t stop.
There was nothing he was doing here, really. Nothing that hadn’t been done before, or he wouldn’t do for the rest of eternity. L continued the pattern he’d established in life, sleepless nights having become a sleepless purgatory, entertaining puzzles consuming him without a single distraction.
Theoretically, there were other things to do. There were things in this world. L could have built a rocket ship out of the ruined scraps he trudged past in his journeys across the wastes, pointed it at the grey-yellow-blue smudged sky and seen if it hit the roof of whatever enclosure some higher being had trapped him in for its amusement.
There could be even more out there, behind the dunes made of dust and the endless, grey landscape, wrecked structures that might once have been houses, long-corroded vehicles buried in the trodden land like they were drowning.
L had never particularly gone far enough to check. He’d marked his home camp, as near to where he’d arrived here as possible, and every time his weariness began to make him feel ill in a way that now divided what he would call days, he returned home. And sat. And didn’t eat. And didn’t sleep. And didn’t move, until either his baseline for the endless discomfort rose, or something within him calmed itself.
Then he headed out again.
Walk, think, stare, lie down, return, repeat.
There was nothing more to do. He could eat the dust under his feet, lick whatever crumbled wall he passed as he wished, and it seemed to have less ill-effects than it would have if he were still alive. It still made him feel awful, but that had been a brief consolation, before even the appeal of eating grey dirt had lost its lustre.
L couldn’t sleep, whether he tried or not. Which he didn’t. That one, at least, his body seemed to respond to as it had in the world of the living, only now, there was no hard limit on his own decay. He just went on, exhaustion stacking into itself until he barely felt conscious, until he would have slept, no matter how unpleasant the experience was. But there was no point at which it did anything more than feel unbearable. He just spiralled down, and down, and down, and still, no sun showed itself over that horizon.
It was unpleasant. L had lost most concept of otherwise, but he’d always been a creature unwilling to tolerate discomfort, so his existence had become one of vague, bitter longing for something he’d forgotten, the idea that everything could be better.
He occupied himself. Thinking. The one thing no one had ever taken from him. He’d died thinking. He’d spend his death thinking, until even his mind crumbled to dust.
Strange, L still had the vague idea that he didn’t want to die.
Absurd, when he’d felt his own heart clench, when he’d seen Light Yagami’s smile, and known it meant there was as good as no escape, but L wrung enjoyment outside of this strange, determined idea clinging on in the back of his mind. It suggested that, somehow, this wasn’t quite the end of the road, if something in his being still clung to this purgatory as an improvement on something else.
It also suggested that this wasn’t death. Which- strange, again, because one of L’s few certainties for the past hundred, thousand, millennia of days, had been that he’d died in Light Yagami’s arms.
It showed how far L had fallen, that his major intellectual challenge these days was wondering whether to believe the last true memory he had over a persistent wishful thought.
Well, there was little else to do.
It had been years, L imagined, because he saw little point in not continuing to count things in human terms. Years, since he’d last touched another being, since he’d last said a single word above a murmur, since he’d slept.
It was a sign of his intellect, really, the he remembered anything. That he still wished to remember. L was sure a weaker man, at this point, despite every rule he’d deduced of this sunless land, would have managed to lose his mind, and lost himself to the sweet ego death of true insanity.
Weak men, after all, were capable of changing the fabric of reality itself, as long as they believed in it with such foolhardy stubbornness.
But, L, arrogant, overconfident L, who’d challenged a god and died as tribute to his ascension, was above burying himself in the dust and lying there to rot, so he wandered.
In his truly wishful moments, when he sat on what might once have been the roof of a car, he waited for Light.
There must be a purpose, after all. Must was a strong word, but one of the few concessions L had made towards his own insanity was accepting that if a possibility was unrelentingly unpleasant to consider, he would simply discard it as impossible. He kept a small track, at the same time, just so he could calculate how his odds of a preferable outcome had shrunk time and time again, but for the most part, he considered the best option and the paths leading forward from there.
So, presuming this place was a place, and not some strange infinite psychological suspension before the moment of brain-death. Presuming L was truly still himself. Presuming there was a form of purpose to every stage of existence, endless purgatory included. Presuming Light Yagami was still capable of death, somewhere far above, in a world of noises and people and problems. Presuming the powers that were ever deigned for them to meet again.
Yes, L had hope of seeing Light, at least one more time.
Yes, it was a hope, that sat innocently, a lump of coal hoping for a flame, weighing him down to whatever reality had become.
That, if he ever got a chance to speak to another psychiatrist—and he would, at this point, despite everything he’d so curtly told Watari—was likely his most prominent sign of madness. The belief that the man who killed him would one day materialise in his afterlife, and, in that somehow-case, his appearance would be something L should be looking forward to, at all.
This place made L feel powerless, after all, and maybe his weakness would sway the universe, since genius had done nothing but get him killed.
The ghostly remnants of his final moments grasped him, sometimes, when L lay on his back, making dust-angels in the plains, staring into the sunless sky. Pain. Pain had been such a pleasant, human sensation, really, and the muted version he overdosed himself on now was hardly even a comparison.
Oh, but the feeling of another person’s hands, holding him as he choked on his own blindness? Unmatched.
Even better, really, that it had been Light.
L craved Light’s touch again. That would fix him, undo these endless years wandering a landscape of desolation. It was why he stayed close to where he now called home, it was why he ever did close his eyes, not to sleep, but perchance to dream, of the only person he’d ever truly enjoyed.
L liked to savour the people in his life like hard candies, but no matter how enjoyable they were to the taste, they all faded. Some turned out tasteless, some he had to bite down on, to be rid of them quicker.
Light Yagami’s flavour had never dimmed.
The ramblings of a long-insane man. L doubted Light would recognise him, or maybe he hadn’t changed a bit. He’d never liked mirrors, and now there were none to be found, and really, he hardly lived so differently now. A solitary, explorative, mediative existence.
And he still didn’t sleep.
At this point, all L wanted was to sleep. To rest. To calm his mind, for the first time in the eternity that had unrolled before him like a red carpet guiding him down into his penance, for ever thinking he could best such a cruel godling as Light.
L certainly wasn’t going to apologise. But perhaps a few centuries in isolated, hopeless boredom had been the thing to make him just a little more inclined to hear Light out.
And, it would feel so good to kick the face of the man who’d killed him, then fall asleep in his arms.
No, L didn’t need to sleep, to dream.
——————
If Shinigami existed—they must—and some attention was being paid to him, L liked to think himself among the most interesting humans they must have tormented.
Childish. Ridiculous. Absurdist, really, and he should have listened to the insults Light had thrown at him. He’d have more to bounce off his own mind now.
He had equations, at least, and L had taken a liking to writing. Sticks were impossible to acquire, as all the rubble in this land seemed entirely manmade, but he could find a thin, bent piece of metal, and that did exactly as well. Then, he just crouched on the ground, and wrote.
He varied through every language he knew. Sometimes equations, sometimes theorems, sometimes he rewrote every detail of the Kira case from scratch, and ended up making himself retch behind a dust dune. There was nothing to throw up, but it still felt like he had, and L rubbed those out as soon as he returned, only to rewrite them the next time he failed to sleep.
It was the scratchings of an ant, that, even if observed by someone above him, likely looked nothing more than nonsense. That was fine. L had learnt to need less than acceptance.
Sometimes, he listed off everything he knew, and didn’t know, collecting proof like trophies of what he could have done, if he’d been given a little more time.
Every scrap of metal he’d tried to slice open his own wrists with, only for his skin to prove impervious to all of them, and the pain so miserable he gave it up.
All of the things he’d tried to bite into.
The bricks he’d slammed his head against, in an effort to knock himself unconscious.
A sketch of his attempts to draw shadows, concluding that they didn’t exist, and he’d needed to close his eyes and lie face-down for a while after for fear he was hallucinating.
Still unproven.
Still unproven, because he was going to have to conduct vigorous testing, to ensure he wasn’t’t hallucinating right now, as he blankly stared down the only human who had ever been of interest to him.
Light looked just as upset to be standing there as L was becoming at his presence, at least. He wasn’t sure why hysteria was rising inside him, smashing through every cobweb that had grown itself over a part of himself that he’d forgotten, and burning up inside his chest, fuelled by lumps of coal he’d stacked inside his throat.
Light.
L felt like a child. On Christmas Day, perhaps, or Halloween, watching a monster he didn’t yet know wasn’t real stand before him.
His knee made satisfying contact with Light’s gut, and L would take it as the first point in evidence of either his complete sanity, or complete insanity, as Light collapsed instantly, retching just as L had done the first time he’d made himself vomit.
“It doesn’t work.” L dropped right beside Light, his normal murmur that didn’t strain his throat or disturb the dust turning to something of a hiss. “There’s nothing to throw up.”
“Wh- what?”
Hallucination. Clearly. His Light would fight back.
L sighed, and moved to stand up-
And Light grabbed his ankle, wrenching him into the dust beside him, and climbed over L’s shellshocked body, pinning him down with a knee resting threateningly on his stomach and a trembling, iron-tight grip on both of his unscarred wrists.
“What the hell are you doing? Why the- the fuck are you still trying to kill me? Are- are you even-“
“Yes.” L was breathless, staring up at Light, his Light, feeling like the sun had finally risen on him again, and his skin was burning in the shine. “It’s me. I can’t prove anything.”
“…fuck.”
“Is Light-kun dead? Or is he not real after all?”
“Oh, I’m real. And-“ Light’s face screwed up, and in that moment, he seemed to decide that he still had such a concept of mortal pride, and that he’d probably be trapped here long enough that between those two, it wasn’t worth saying it yet. “I’m real. Never thought I’d see you again.”
That made L’s face fall, a little, and his voice still hadn’t quite risen past the barrier of what would still pass as a whisper, as he spoke again.
“Did Light-kun not think of me while he was still alive?”
Light scowled. L felt like he had blood again, and this was such a better way to prove it, as opposed to attempting to spill it onto uncaring dust.
“I did. I saw you, and I thought that’d finally be over.”
“Oh, but we’re finally together again, aren’t we? There’s no one but us.”
Light looked up. Idiot.
Grinning, L wrenched his hands free, and threw his wrists to lock on either side of Light’s neck, hurling both of them over in the dust until he was on top, and he shifted one arm so he could apply enough pressure to Light’s throat to make him choke.
“You- bastard- you’re lying-“
“I’m not, Light-kun.” L leaned down, close, closer than ever, and his body ached, more than anything else, more even than the exhaustion tinting his breathless laugh like alcohol on his breath. “Just us.”
Light carried on gasping, for a few seconds, before it registered. L watched, gleeful, as realisation dawned in his favourite monster’s eyes, and Light’s hands fumbled slowly for his own neck. His chest didn’t move.
“I… don’t need to breathe.”
“Glad to see Light-kun’s wits haven’t been dulled by so long without me.”
Light scowled, and threw L off. He went easily, and somehow, despite the ever-present feeing of decay for years and years and years, L didn’t feel like his muscles had atrophied.
Clearly, nor did Light, as he pushed himself to his feet, and glared down at L, breathing harder than there was any need to and sprawled in the dust.
“You’ve been waiting for me, unless this place brought me straight to you.”
“Waiting.”
“How long have you been here?”
L shrugged, slowly puling himself into a crouched position, taking in every inch of Light’s older body.
“Days. Years. Longer. No way to know.”
“It…” Light stumbled, and they both sensed he was about to give information for free, but L just waited politely. He wasn’t going to stop Light telling him things. “It’s been five years.”
L considered. He tasted dust, again, all those old habits coming back stronger than ever in the face of the creature of eternal habit that was Light Yagami, his thumb tugging at his lip.
“That sounds about right.”
“You’ve been here for five years?”
Light sounded truly aghast, and L looked up, his thumb slipping out of his mouth, as he stared.
Light cared. Light sounded truly upset, and he hadn’t even been here for a fraction of that. True, he might have just been seeing his own eternity unfold before him, but he was staring at L in sheer, unbridled…
Not pity.
Guilt.
Light Yagami, capable of guilt. Or horror, perhaps, and guilt for damning both of them together.
L smiled, and all of his tiredness hit him at once, knocking his head down to hang limply. He’d seen Light. Maybe now, he’d be allowed to die.
The idea still held little appeal.
“L?”
Oh, the things Light could feel, apparently, when he finally realised that some things in his endless existence could be limited. Like the options of contact available to him, which L had suffered without, for five years.
That could be too harsh of an opinion, but L wanted to keep as much suspicion of his killer about him as he could, even as Light forced his head up, and L gazed at him placidly, exhausted.
“No way are you dying on me again. This- probably isn’t real, this is-“
“A hallucination. Yes, Light-kun, I’m haunting you as punishment for your crimes. You have to watch me die every five hours for the rest of time.”
It wasn’t bad, for conjured purely off his own sleep-deprived mind. L had always worked best as his own mental structures crumbled.
It was enough to make Light scared, and L revelled, briefly, in controlling every truth of this world he now shared with the only person he’d ever felt the desire to see again, after the fact.
It was nice, for Light’s fingertips to dig into his cheeks, as L’s head moved to fall forward again, only to be caught in place. The only truly interesting things ever to happen to him happened in Light Yagami’s arms, it seemed.
“That is a lie, because you know things about this place, and you wouldn’t have consciousness here if you weren’t you. And you are never going to die solely for my sake.”
L grinned, resting his cheek into one of Light’s hands, smiling up at him with the exhaustion of half a decade hanging in his voice.
“Still everything I remember. Now, is Light-kun prepared to let me sleep, or does he have more questions I won’t listen to?”
Sleep had become something of an alien concept. It was a logarithmic graph, L had deduced, as his exhaustion either plateaued or moved into realms beyond his comprehension. But it had been a long, long journey to rock bottom, and he was tired. He wanted to know if he was still capable of sleeping.
“…You can sleep. Then I have questions.”
“Wonderful.”
L fell into Light. Light, who let go at just the right moment, and sunk to his knees. It really was good he was smart like that, because L wasn’t doing anything to help, and nor did he want to. Frankly, Light could shove him to the floor and kick him, but L just knew that any moment of the next thirty hours he spent in contact with his killer was going to spell near-immediate sleep for his exhausted body.
It was like a physical thing, a weight dragging him down, limp in the dust and the dead manifestation of Light Yagami, whose arms circled around his back without protest, and held on tight. It weighed L down, pressing his head into Light’s shoulder, forcing a soft sigh from his lips.
Let it never be said he never slept again.