I have committed another comment-fic.
The prompt was 'post-series Mikami, author's choice' on a general theme of 'aliens made me do it'. There are no actual aliens in this fic, though. Also, it's horribly depressing.
There's a reason Teru planned his days so carefully.
It's not the only reason. He just likes things to have their place, he likes a simple, ordered life, there's nothing abnormal about that, there's nothing. But. That's not all it was.
(He'd been sure they could see it in his face, the policemen. They didn't say so, they were very kind to him, newly orphaned as he was, but he knew they knew the truth burning off him - I did it I did it I did it - and it wasn't until later he realised they hadn't said anything because he was right, after all. That explained it.)
But he needed to know, after that, where he was, and where he'd been. To be certain that at the time the cars crashed or the fires started or the needles slipped, Teru had been elsewhere, studying or sleeping or at work. That proved that what was happening was divine, justice, that he wasn't somehow slipping away to kill with his own hands. Because Teru was right, and Teru was righteous, but he was still human and potentially fallible. And not a murderer, no, he wasn't that at all.
And now...
...they said it was a book. Kira's power was in a notebook, and they'd burned it, turned it to ash, and it had burned itself out of Teru's mind as it went. They said they were sorry. The young American said that anyway, the one who wasn't named Gevanni, Teru knew that even if he shouldn't have but they wouldn't tell him what the truth was even though he couldn't do anything now...
They said he couldn't be released, but that a fair trial was probably impossible. There were a lot of arguments. He should have been able to follow them all, that was his job, but his mind was full of holes and even things that weren't the book seemed to be falling down them, spiralling away before he could stop them. They're still falling, and it hurts, and it's cold, and what he can remember is cordite and blood and a lot of screaming and sometimes he hits his head against the wall to make it stop. Which he knows, in the very few quieter moments, is probably making things worse.
It doesn't really matter now, though.
Teru can't remember much, but he knows exactly what he's done.
There's a reason Teru planned his days so carefully.
It's not the only reason. He just likes things to have their place, he likes a simple, ordered life, there's nothing abnormal about that, there's nothing. But. That's not all it was.
(He'd been sure they could see it in his face, the policemen. They didn't say so, they were very kind to him, newly orphaned as he was, but he knew they knew the truth burning off him - I did it I did it I did it - and it wasn't until later he realised they hadn't said anything because he was right, after all. That explained it.)
But he needed to know, after that, where he was, and where he'd been. To be certain that at the time the cars crashed or the fires started or the needles slipped, Teru had been elsewhere, studying or sleeping or at work. That proved that what was happening was divine, justice, that he wasn't somehow slipping away to kill with his own hands. Because Teru was right, and Teru was righteous, but he was still human and potentially fallible. And not a murderer, no, he wasn't that at all.
And now...
...they said it was a book. Kira's power was in a notebook, and they'd burned it, turned it to ash, and it had burned itself out of Teru's mind as it went. They said they were sorry. The young American said that anyway, the one who wasn't named Gevanni, Teru knew that even if he shouldn't have but they wouldn't tell him what the truth was even though he couldn't do anything now...
They said he couldn't be released, but that a fair trial was probably impossible. There were a lot of arguments. He should have been able to follow them all, that was his job, but his mind was full of holes and even things that weren't the book seemed to be falling down them, spiralling away before he could stop them. They're still falling, and it hurts, and it's cold, and what he can remember is cordite and blood and a lot of screaming and sometimes he hits his head against the wall to make it stop. Which he knows, in the very few quieter moments, is probably making things worse.
It doesn't really matter now, though.
Teru can't remember much, but he knows exactly what he's done.