Death note

- Chapter 0 Introductions -

♣♣

So. I'm Ichirou Carson, age 20.

I'm 5 feet 10 inches tall, with light skin, straight black hair that I wear in medium-length bangs, blue-gray eyes with slim glasses, and a medium-light build. I go to the University of Washington, where I study computer science and programming.

My dad is German-American, and my mom is Japanese, and that's where I got my name. I speak both Japanese and German fluently, in addition to English of course. I love cantaloupe, watermelon, and every other sort of melon, as well as good, unsweetened green tea.

I love gaming and technology, as you can tell from what I study. I'm also quite a fan of Death Note, and am vehemently anti-Kira.

My favorite character is Soichiro Yagami. I was immediately attached to him when I first saw him in the anime, and I almost shed tears for him when he died believing Light wasn't Kira.

♣♣

Hello there, my name is Hans Carson. I'm 49 years old. I'm a medic at Tokyo General Hospital, and Ichirou's father. My great-grandparents immigrated to the United States from Germany in the 1880s, and I was born in Sacramento, California, where I lived and went to college. That's where I met the love of my life: Satsuki Hikaru, an exchange student from Japan. We got married after graduation, and soon started a family. I was about 29 when Ichirou was born, and Satsuke was 25. He was the light of our lives. Soon afterwards, we moved to Tokyo, where I took a job as an EMT. I've since risen to the status of the best medic in Kanto. When Ichirou was 18, he decided to travel to Seattle, Washington to pursue his dream of becoming a programmer. He enrolled in University of Washington, and was a grade-A student.

He's currently in his second year of university. I'm very proud of him.

Now, about myself. I might seem lighthearted and fun-loving; however, I am very serious when it is needed. I love traditional Japanese culture, wearing kimono at every opportunity. Our house doesn't have chairs; instead, we sit on tatami mats.

Another quirk of mine is my penchant for wearing bright flower-patterned shirts. I am about six feet four, with a moderately heavy, slightly muscled build. I have wavy blonde hair, which reaches down my neck. My eyes are bright blue. I occasionally let a bit of stubble grow out, at least until Satsuki or Ichirou say that I look dirty.

I am also a CQC expert, CQC being a form of hand-to-hand combat that is based on disarming the enemy at high speed, and rendering them unable to fight.

♣♣♣

Hi. My name's Satsuki Hikaru-Carson. I'm 45 years old, five feet three. I have straight black hair, which I tie back into a ponytail, dark brown eyes, and I wear slim glasses, which I push up on the ridge of my nose when I'm annoyed. I have something of a short temper, although Hans' mellow nature takes the edge off of it. I love reading and writing, so I work as a librarian.

It's quite nice being surrounded by knowledge and stories, having the ability to just pick up any book off the shelf and start reading. I was born in Japan, and immigrated to the United States in a foriegn exchange student program. That's where I met Hans. He was a clumsy, jolly guy, and I fell in love with him, even though he seemed like an idiot. I later realized how much of a treasure he was. He may look stupid and irreverent, but he has a heart of gold.

After we graduated, we eventually decided to get married. Shortly afterwards, I had my first son. We named him Ichirou. When he was about seven, we moved back to Tokyo, and Hans found himself a job as a medic. We've lived there ever since. Once Ichirou started going to college, I took a job in the library to help pay for his courses. It was a good job, and I loved being in that environment. So that's where we are now. Ichirou's decided to come over here for the summer, as he's about to finish his second year of college. He's a great student; quite intelligent. However, the problem with that is he gets bored easily.

♣♣♣

I'm Soichiro Yagami, pleased to meet you. I'm the Chief of Police of Tokyo, as well as leader of the Kira Investigation. I'm six feet two, 250 pounds, smooth brown hair, brown eyes. I typically slick back my hair, and have a well-trimmed mustache. I always wear glasses, can't see very well without them.

The numerous scars on my body are from my early years in the police force... the one on my right arm was a knife wound... there're some gunshot wounds on my legs... and vertically along my chest and torso, I have a katana slash. I still wonder sometimes how I lived through all that. Moving on.

I was born in Tokyo in 1958. My parents were hardworking, honest citizens; we weren't well-off, nor were we poor. I joined the police force as soon as I finished college, and worked hard. Eventually, when I was 32, I married Sachiko, and we had Light, our son. About 4 years later, we had a daughter, Sayu.

Unfortunately, I've grown a bit distant from my family, due to the responsibilities entailed by being Chief of Police. I especially wish I could've spent more time with Light. He seems to have become so distant recently.

Enough of my rambling. As for my skills, I am a 6th Dan black-belt in the school of Shotokan Karate. It's the only certificate I have on my office wall. I train regularly with some of the younger officers to keep myself sharp.

Other than that, I have the standard skill set of any other police investigator. That includes picking locks, door-breach and room-check, squad command, and a high degree of weapons expertise. I clean and inspect many of my squad's weapons personally; the scent of weapon cleaning fluid in the offices typically means that I'm somewhere nearby. I don't shy away from physical work. If a squad's going out to make an arrest in a case I was working on, I'll be right there, wearing a Kevlar vest and looking down the sights of an MP5 with everyone else. Death isn't a prospect that creates fear in me. I've gotten used to it; working as a police investigator for more than 30 years has desensitized me somewhat to death.

The name's Captain Johnathan Price, British Special Air Service, Mountain Troop. Call me Captain Price, for short. I'm 39 years old, five foot eleven. I have an athletic, muscular build, short, thinning light-brown hair, olive-green eyes, and a gray-brown beard. I almost always wear combat gear, even off-assignment. Charcoal lightweight military jacket, locale-specific camouflaged cargo pants, military load-bearing vest, and a camouflaged slouch hat is what my battle outfit consists of.

Ross MacMillan, my Scottish commanding officer, nicknamed me "the English bear" because of my beard; I don't mind it, myself. I'm not currently married, nor do I plan to be anytime soon.

The only individuals I have any emotional attachments to are MacMillan and the soldiers whom I command. We never go in with large attack forces; I prefer to do small, squad-based tactical missions, so I can get to know my men better and keep them at their peak condition. Don't take that the wrong way.

I don't think of them as human weapons. They are my men, and I sure as hell care about every single one of them. If any one of them is injured, inside or outside of combat, I will take it as my full responsibility to see them through to their recovery.

I would never consider asking one of them to do something I wouldn't do if I could; the only reason I request anything of them other than extra firepower is because I can't physically be in more than one spot at the same time, or if I don't have the prerequisite skill. If there's a risky task to be done, it'll be me who does it. Every single man I've commanded has trusted me 110%.

It's been over five years now since one of my lads was killed. That's been true in joint ops as well. I've worked in counterterrorism operations, hostage rescues, battlefields, and stealth missions, and I pride myself on getting my men home safely. Whenever I work with someone new, I try to get to know them as closely as possible.

Who they are, what do they care about, what pushes their buttons, their mental and physical strengths and weaknesses, the skills they specialize in. I need to know them inside out so I can know when they aren't at their best, what they can and can't do, how I should treat them.

In regards to civilians, I generally don't like interacting with them outside of hostage rescues.

I'm somewhat confrontational. Most people don't really get on my bad side, but those who do will get a mouthful. I don't ever physically assault anyone, of course. Just a little shouting sets most people in line. There are very few civilians who can ever get on my good side.

I'm actually a fairly decent listener, as long as the one speaking has something meaningful to say. Can't stand people who try to twist the truth. I don't like to talk much, myself.

My primary skill is battlefield medic; I suppose it's only natural I decided to go for that specialization, considering how much I worry about my men's condition.

I try to do the best with what equipment I have; so far, that method has served me well.

My weapon of choice is a suppressed M1911 Custom pistol. Barring firearms, I have a complete mastery of CQC, and can use my combat knife to great effect. I pity whomever finds himself on the wrong side of my barrel; I have zero hesitation to fire upon anyone who attacks me or my squad.

♣♣♣♣♣

Chapter 1

Theme: Beat Crusaders-Tonight (Bleach opening no. 4)

Good Morning, Ichirou

beep. Beep. Beep! BEEP! BEEEEEEEEE...

*smack*

"Aaahh..."

Ichirou stretched and yawned as he smashed his alarm clock's snooze button in a desperate attempt at gaining some much-needed rest. Forget bad professors, alarm clocks were probably the most annoying things on Earth.

"Oh. My. God."

Ichirou sat up bolt straight when he realized that today was finals day, and he hadn't tested his 200-point programming assignment. This thing was worth half his grade.

"I am not gonna get a bad grade on this class just because of some lousy syntax error."

He jumped out of bed, sliding into his black mesh swivel-chair, and moved the mouse on his Thinkpad.

The screen lit up, and Ichirou typed the password, clicking furiously at the icon for Visual Studio. As he mashed F5 on the keyboard, the dark-haired kid threw a pop-tart into the microwave, punching 5 then start on the microwave keypad.

The young man pulled on cargo pants and buttoned his short-sleeved shirt, putting a fleece jacket and socks on over the whole combination. Ichirou combed his jet-black hair hurriedly, tossing the comb onto the bed. As he crunched on his instant sugar-filled breakfast, warning messages popped up continuously in the debug box. Groaning, Ichirou implemented a desperate, last-ditch effort to get the program to just bloody compile already.

(On Error Resume Next).

Yeah. Last-ditch indeed. The code would compile, all right. But would it run? With all errors being ignored, there was only one way to find out.

After class...♣♣

"Dude...how did you get your code to compile like that? You must be some kinda whiz!"

Ichirou smirked and told his classmate that it was just a stupid trick. And it was. Who in their right mind would skip merrily along, ignoring every error their program threw out as if it were a broken record? He would, if he was on a deadline to deliver a stupid assignment to a shallow professor who didn't care about anything except that the code compiled with no errors.

That's who.

As Ichirou walked back to his dorm building, something black, slim and shiny caught his eyes. He looked a bit more closely, adjusting his glasses, and noticed it was a fairly nice leather-bound notebook, with the words "Death Note" embossed in silver on its cover.

"A Death Note, huh? Seems like someone's really into that anime." Ichirou mumbled to himself.

He flipped it open, and glanced at the rules. They looked just like the rules in the notebook from the anime. There were no names written, and no fake rules in the back flap.

"Huh. Probably some collectible notebook that someone dropped." Ichirou tucked it under his jacket, and continued walking towards his dorm room.

Finders-keepers was his attitude; as long as something wasn't really valuable (worth more than $25) or obviously someone's, he had no qualms about filching it. It was a useful stance to take when you were a college student on a slim budget. And this notebook was no exception to the rule.

As Ichirou swung open the door to his room, he grumbled as he remembered all the cleaning he'd have to do. The wastebasket was overflowing with crumpled papers, granola-bar wrappers, and miscellaneous junk. The student's video-game collection was in chaos.

The minifridge was practically empty as well.

After about 2 hours of furious organizing, the tiny room finally had some semblance of order.

Ichirou crashed onto his bed, exhausted.

"And I still have that wonderful trip to Japan in 2 weeks. Woo-hoo."

He sighed. It wasn't that he disliked Japan, or his family there. It was that he hated traveling. Especially flying. He abhorred flying.

Ichirou slid off his bed and slumped into his computer chair. He flipped the slick matte-black laptop's lid open, hearing the machine hum to life. It was a pretty sweet system; his dad had gotten it for him as a gift just a few months ago.

He read the latest news as a cup of green tea boiled in his dinky microwave. As it dinged, he leaned back, and pushed the open button while absentmindedly scanning through the latest headlines. One caught his attention.

"Mysterious criminal deaths in Japan: A serial killer on the loose?"

(Wow. That's creepy. And I just found a Death Note. I wonder...?)

A shudder went through his body as he clicked on the article. The deaths were all heart attacks. They were mostly hardened criminals, but there were a few less-dangerous individuals in the mix. The Japanese police force were struggling for leads.

Ichirou sighed.

This was Kira, all right. He still couldn't believe it was real. Going to Tokyo, with a guy like this who had no qualms about killing anyone who stood in his way.

A shock ran through Ichirou's mind as he realized something.

Soichiro Yagami! He was real? Light? Ryuuzaki? The investigation team? Could he save the heroes? Stop Kira?

He was going to Japan for the summer anyway. His parents were staying there, and he didn't really have a place to stay here in Seattle after the school year ended and students vacated their dorms.

Maybe...could he sign up for a university in Japan? To-Oh University?

His grades were excellent...He spoke Japanese fluently, and was a code ninja, so he'd have no problem getting into their programming and computer science courses. Plus, he could stay in his parents' nice house in Tokyo. That certainly beat this rainy dump.

He grinned inwardly. This might just be the best summer vacation ever.

That thought was immediately dispelled from his mind when he remembered all the packing he had to do. And how loud and jolly his dad was.

Ichirou Carson sighed.

Yeah. Probably not the best summer vacation ever. But it still beat staying in Seattle.

One week later...

"Finally! Everything's packed!" Jesse exclaimed. She was one of Ichirou's friends from high school, and a fellow Death Note fan.

"So...you heard about those killings in Japan?" Ichirou asked as he mixed a pitcher of lemonade for the two of them. It was a hot early summer day, and they were exhausted from all the packing they had just done. Ichirou's entire dorm was boxed up and ready to ship.

"Yeah...they're creepy, aren't they?" Jesse responded as she took the glass Ichirou poured her.

"Mmhm. It reminds me of Death Note, don't you think?"

"Death what?"

Ichirou's eyes widened.

"Death Note! You know...the anime?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Ichi. Is that some new series you're watching?"

"Yah...musta been some stupid thing I heard of. I dunno. So whaddya think of the new story arc in Bleach? Crazy or what?"

As Ichirou listened to Jesse enthuse about how awesome the new season of Bleach was, he thought a little. How come Jesse, of all people, didn't remember Death Note? She was a huge fan; in fact, she was the one who'd gotten him interested in the series in the first place.

"...and did you see how Ichigo looked when he did final Getsugatenshou? He was so awesome!"

"Yeah." Ichirou answered. He was still thinking.

"Hey Jess. Gimme a minute, will ya? I need to check my flight time."

"Sure thing, Ichi!"

Ichirou walked over to his laptop, which was perched on a cardboard box, and checked his flight time. In another window, he ran a search for Death Note Anime. Nothing relevant came up. He wiki'd Death Note.

"Did you mean: suicide note?" The page suggested.

"Hm."

So...all references to Death Note were gone, along with everyone's memories of it. He closed the browser and walked back to Jesse.

"Ichirou?"

"Yeah?"

"I just wanna say...have a safe trip. And don't forget to email me."

"Don't worry, I will."

"Thanks for the lemonade."

"No prob. And thanks for helping me pack."

"It's cool."

"See ya, Jess."

"Bye, Ichi."

She gave him a little wave and smile, and skipped out of the door.

Ichirou sighed.

♣♣♣♣

Chapter 3

-

Chapter 2

Theme: Yellowcard-Life of Leaving Home

Hello, Tokyo

The day of the trip...

Ichirou had already shipped all his furniture and books to his parents' Tokyo address. His carry-on backpack had his laptop, PSP, a charger, some snacks, a jet-black waterproof jacket with the Google logo on its sleeve, a blue and green Sounders FC baseball cap, and of course, his Death Note. He was wearing his usual khaki cargo pants, except this time he wore with it a dark green long-sleeve shirt and a black fleece vest. The weather was the usual Seattle drizzle. How depressing, Ichirou thought.

Sea-Tac Airport was a disturbingly noisy place. There were little kids shouting, announcements blaring over loudspeakers, and the clanging noises of luggage carts. On the bright side, the ticket lines were fairly short for coach class.

"Do you have any luggage you'd like to check in?"

"Uhh..no."

The ticket-desk attendant gave Ichirou an odd look.

"All right then. May I please see your passport?"

He displayed his passport to the attendant.

"Ok. Now you'll want to go right over there to go through security."

"Got it. Thanks!"

Ichirou jogged off to get through security.

After about an eternity waiting for the bloody lines to clear up, it was Ichirou's turn. He slid his backpack into the scanner after removing his laptop. Then, after taking his shoes, vest, and belt off, and removing all the change from his pockets, he walked through the metal detector.

Whew. It didn't freak out about his pants zipper. That would've been awkward.

As Ichirou gathered his gear and put back his clothes and items, he thought about Death Note. About how he might go about affecting the story. How could he keep Soichiro from dying. Keep L from dying. Protect them from Kira, from Misa...Misa. What if he had Misa's note? He could give it to the elder Yagami. But...wouldn't that lead to...an acceleration of the conflict between Mello and the investigation team? Could he give it to L?

(What if...I kill Light? I could do that. It'd stop the killings, L would live...Soichiro would live. I could also kill Misa to be safe. But then Rem...no. Killing Misa was out of the question. Rem would nail me as soon as I did that. Plus, I don't want to kill anybody, especially not with a Death Note. It's not worth the risk of my soul being destroyed after I die. And anyway...who knows what kind of consequence killing the Chief's son would have on him. No. I must not use this note. I may need a Shinigami, however. So I can't dispose of it. And if I give it to Soichiro or L or Matsuda or whoever, Light will probably kill them to get the note. Kill his own father. Wow. That's cold.)

Ichirou

shivered. He hated all this. He just wanted to be in Tokyo with his parents. Even though his father was a little...boisterous, he still loved the old man's cheerful attitude. And his mom's cooking was beyond compare.

A few hours later, he was in the ridiculously cramped coach-class seats of a Boeing 747 headed for Tokyo International. He had barely slept the night before, so he eventually fell asleep in his seat, despite the lack of legroom. He woke up about 5 hours later with a terrible leg cramp as the attendant shook him awake, notifying him of the plane's imminent landing.

"Sir...please fasten your seatbelt."

"Mmhm...fine..."

Ichirou lazily clicked his seatbelt on as he felt his ears pop with the descent of the airplane. His stomach felt a bit floaty, and a subtle feeling of nervous nausea crept into his gut. He was fully awake when the landing gear of the airplane clunked and the wheels made a squeaking noise as they kissed the tarmac of the airport runway.

He was finally in Tokyo International Airport. In Japan. Several miles away from home. He sighed as everybody mashed into him, in a mad rush to get off the plane. Ichirou picked up his backpack, and slunk through the plane, apologizing in Japanese to anyone he ran into. At last, he reached fresh air.

And it was raining in Tokyo too.

"Well, crap then." Ichirou thought.

So much for getting away from the Seattle weather.

As he walked down the stairs, he surveyed the airport. There didn't seem to be a metro system leading through the airport like in Frankfurt. Thank goodness. He strode rapidly up the entrance ramps leading to the interior of the airport, eventually reaching customs. He was scanned once more, and got his passport stamped for entry into Japan.

Now that the legalities were through, there was the issue of finding his parents; his dad, Hans, had promised him that he'd drive him to their house and that he wouldn't need to take a cab or the metro, or even call him.

Ichirou sighed. One of the good things about his dad was that he was distinctive, with wavy blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a penchant for flower-patterned shirts. Although, sometimes he wished he'd be a little less conspicuous, as the six-foot-tall doctor ran towards his son, crushing Ichirou in an enormous bear hug.

"My little Ichirou! I missed you so much!"

"Yeaaah..me too dad..." Ichirou gasped as he had his breath squeezed out of him.

The big guy finally released him from the rib-cracking hug, and Ichirou gasped for breath.

"How have you been, my boy? Doing good? How'd you like Tokyo, huh, son?" The older man gushed.

"I'm fine, dad, thanks. And Tokyo's great. Did you hear about all those criminal deaths, by the way?"

The stupid grin on Hans' face melted off, replaced by a somber look.

"Yeah. I heard. It's really bad. Some of your mom's distant relatives have ties with Yakuza, so I've been worrying about our safety. Maybe we should all just... move back to Sacramento."

"No way, dad. Tokyo is where we belong. You love it here, and so do mom and I. You know that."

"Yeah. We do, don't we?" Hans slung an arm over his son's shoulder.

"Yeah."

"So...how're you feeling? Not plane-sick or anything?"

"Nah. You know I don't get sick easily. Not like you." Ichirou poked at his dad's ribs as he said this.

"Hey! That's not nice, Ichi!" He chuckled.

"Whatever, dad." Ichirou grinned.

"So... You guys got all the boxes yet?"

"Yeah...were there 12 of em?"

"Yep."

"We got em all then. They're all stuffed in your room, waiting to tumble down in an avalanche when you open the door." Hans grinned.

"Dad!"

"Nah, just kidding. We set em all on fire. Had to burn something to smoke all the fish hanging in your room."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Ichirou chuckled.

"No, really, though. They're all in your room."

"Thanks, dad."

He climbed into the passenger seat of his dad's dark-red Impreza wagon, savoring the smell of the leather seats.

"Ahh. Finally, legroom."

"I know what ya mean. Those airplane seats are atrocious."

As the two drove home, they bantered on about everything from the weather to which color they should paint the living room to what Satsuki, Ichirou's mom, was making for dinner tonight.

As the two men climbed up the stairs to their 3rd story Tokyo apartment, Ichirou thought about how blessed he was to have such awesome parents. His father was a little too talkative, and his mom was a little bit too serious sometimes, but they were, all in all, wonderful people. Ichirou wondered what kind of a man Soichiro Yagami was in real life. What was his personality? Did he ever think that Light was Kira? Was he a gentle or rough person? Did he even look like he did in the anime, with that rugged face of his? How did he act in day-to-day life? Probably not remotely like his own dad.

"Hoooneeey, I'm hoooooome!" Hans sang out.

Ichirou ducked to dodge an ill-aimed spoon that was meant to hit Hans.

"Hans, Hans, Hans. You know just how much I hate your singing. And you still do it, full-well knowing that a small object will be promptly tossed at you when you sing like that."

Ichirou smiled slightly. Satsuki was in a good mood right now. He could tell from the way her voice smiled a little bit. It had become a ritual of sorts; whenever Hans came home, he'd sing out in his disastrous voice, and Satsuki would throw a spoon or chopsticks at him casually, not even bothering to look away from her cookbook. It was one of those little games they played with each other. Interestingly, if Satsuki was in a bad mood, she wouldn't bother throwing anything at him.

"Hi mom. How're you doing?"

"I'm doing wonderfully, Ichirou. Come, come. Give me a hug."

Ichirou gave his mom a big hug.

She was about 5' 3", so Ichirou towered over her. She had a light frame, straight black hair done back in a neat ponytail, a serious look, and brown eyes with slim glasses, in contrast to Hans' thick, burly body, wavy blonde hair, slightly-no, make that excessively-goofy nature, and sparkling blue eyes. They made a wonderful contrast. The thing that tied them together was their passion for Japanese culture. At home, everybody took their shoes off, and they sat on the floor on tatami mats, in traditional Japanese style. Instead of pajamas, they wore kimono. Satsuki had a plain eggplant-colored kimono, Ichirou wore a dark blue one, and Hans wore a salmon-colored cherry blossom-printed kimono. Ichirou slightly envied how manly his father was, to be able to wear something like that and still look like a tough guy, despite his silly, flippant attitude.

As they had dinner together for the first time in ages, Ichirou regaled his parents with stories of college. He told them about his friends, the kinds of professors he had, what his dorm was like, and so on and so forth.

After dinner, Hans changed into a kimono and plopped down in front of the small TV in the living room, flipping on the news.

"And today, more criminal deaths by this so-called 'Kira' throughout Japan and the world. More than eighty-seven people died of heart attacks today alone, most convicted criminals, and some fugitives..."

Hans sighed and flipped the set off.

"Kira, Kira, Kira. That's all we hear about these days. It's driving me up the wall. I swear, someone has to catch that guy, or else I'll go nuts!" Hans ranted.

"Yeah. I think I already have a clue on who it is." Ichirou said calmly.

"What?" Both his parents exclaimed in unison.

"Someone from Japan, most likely the more densely-populated Kanto region. Many of these criminals were reported only in Japan. It has to be someone with a strong sense of justice, most likely someone with a big ego as well, who thinks they're making the world a better place. Probably a younger person, in their late teens to early twenties, who has associations with either the judicial system or law-enforcement. As in, a parent or older sibling or some other role model is involved in those lines of work. They can't feel ostracized or alienated by a certain group, or else they'd use whatever power they're using to kill the criminals to eliminate that group. It's more likely to be a guy than a girl, since men are typically more likely to be violent than women. However both possibilities are open for now. So...a young man, in Japan, most likely Kanto, fairly well-educated, not ostracized by any one group in particular, strong sense of justice, and a god complex."

"Sounds like you, Ichi." Hans snickered.

"Ha ha ha. Very funny, dad." Ichirou answered.

"Shouldn't you maybe leave the investigating to the police, and unpack your room?" Satsuki questioned.

"You're right, mom..."

"She's ALWAYS right." Hans said. "Always."

After Ichirou had unpacked most of his boxes, he looked up at the clock. Midnight already, huh? Time sure flies...He sighed, changed into his kimono, and laid down on the living-room couch. He pulled a blanket over him, tried to sleep, but...something didn't quite feel right.

He stood up, walked to the bathroom, washed his face. His eyes looked tired and dull. He needed to sleep. But his brain didn't let him. It wanted something to do.

Ichirou left the bathroom, noting that now his father had a spot on the couch, and was curled up cozily, watching an old samurai movie. Ichirou grinned and sat next to his father, who wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulder. Satsuki came soon enough, and Hans moved aside, patting a spot on the couch next to him. She smiled and sat down, leaning her head gently on his chest, putting her right arm behind the blonde's shoulders, as he curled closer to her.

Ichirou smiled a little at this, and turned his attention back to the film.

By about an hour in, Ichirou's parents were both asleep, Satsuki resting her head on Hans' burly chest, as the older man snored loudly. A smile played on the young man's lips as he slipped back to his own room, leaving his parents to sleep together.

When he opened his door, Ichirou almost jumped out of his skin at what he saw. A Shinigami, more specifically Rem, was floating over his mattress, its (her?) red eyes glinting in the cool white moonlight, like a demonic cat's irises.

"You...you're a Shinigami!" Ichirou stuttered quietly.

"Yes, I am. My name is Rem. I am your Shinigami."

"So...the Death Note is real."

"Yes, it is. Although I don't know what would lead you to think that it isn't."

"I'm a cautious person. Don't like falling for stupid pranks."

"I see."

"Is there another person using a Death Note right now?"

"I don't know, and I don't care."

"Fine then. So...nobody else can see you, right?"

"Yes. You're the only one who can see me, unless someone else touches your note or any part of it."

"That's good to know. Well...uh. If you don't mind. I'll be going to bed now... So could you stay outta my room?"

Rem was taken aback. How come this pathetic human have the nerve to say something like that with such impunity? But...it wasn't worth her while to get all riled up about an insignificant human. If he really got on her nerves, she could kill him later.

"Fine then. As you wish, Ichirou Carson." She said in a sneering voice.

"Appreciate it. By the way, what kinda food you like?"

"We Shinigami don't need to eat, unlike you humans."

"But if you were to eat something, what would you eat? I mean, I've heard of Shinigami liking apples."

"Well. I do like melons."

"All right, cool. I'll try to get you some tomorrow. Night, Rem."

"Good night, Ichirou."

This human kid wasn't too bad, Rem thought. Maybe he'd be a nice person. She didn't like killing people with no reason, so she'd probably leave him be for now. As long as he got her some melons. Melons were tasty. Especially honeydew melons. Those were the best.

Hans woke up with a snort, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes, and grinning as he saw Satsuke's head laying on his chest. He slid out from under her sleeping form quietly and remarkably gracefully for a man his size, laying her back on the couch. She'd been working quite a bit at the library recently, and he thought she deserved some extra rest. It was about nine o'clock on a Sunday, and he could manage making breakfast himself. How hard could it be?

Ichirou grumbled and turned over in his bed, his hand reaching reflexively for his alarm clock. As he flailed his arm around aimlessly, eventually feeling the plastic buttons of his small black alarm clock and smashing snooze, Ichirou slowly came to realize that the noise didn't stop. He knew his dad would never be able to sleep through that...so what was it?...

His eyes widened when he smelled something smoky.

Ichirou jumped out of bed and slammed the door of his room open, running into the kitchen to find his dad desperately attempting to fan the smoke from burning toast away from the fire alarm, completely oblivious to the fact that the toaster was still on, and that it posed a very real fire hazard.

Ichirou dove for the electrical plug, yanking it from the wall socket just as the smoldering toast burst into flames. He spun around, grabbing the fire extinguisher from beneath the sink and firing away at the burning appliance.

Throughout all this, Satsuki was sound asleep, dreaming about that one time Hans had tried to cook breakfast on Valentine's Day and ended up with burnt waffles and runny eggs.

Hans was still vigorously swatting at the fire alarm, until it eventually turned off of its own accord.

Ichirou looked at his dad's shocked face, they stared at each other for a beat, and then both burst out laughing. Nothing was really damaged, except for the toaster and Hans' already-terrible reputation as a cook, so it didn't hurt to laugh about it.

After they cleaned up and had breakfast, Ichirou being a more competent cook than his father was, Hans woke up Satsuki, and the two decided to go to a park together, considering that yesterday's storm had cleared up.

"You coming, Ichirou?" Hans asked.

"Sorry...I have a few things I need to take care of. Maybe some other time."

"All right then. Stay safe, and don't go provoking any Yakuza!" Hans joked.

"Don't worry, I'll just send them to you to deal with." Ichirou retorted.

"Cruel, cruel fate..." Hans dramatized.

"See ya, dad. Mom. Bye!"

"Bye, hon!"