A/N: Post-game. Lots of spoilers contained within! You've been warned!

So I've been obsessed with The World Ends With You and have been absolutely infatuated with Minamimoto. Of course, I was pretty disappointed with what happened to him in the end. You don't even get a glimpse of him after you find his body (and steal his hat -- seriously wtf is wrong with you Neku). But -- I noticed, his body didn't dissipate like the other GMs' bodies had. Not to mention, the Secret Reports always refer to him in the present tense, and what with what Hanekoma had to say about Minamimoto -- all of it suggests that Sho was merely unconscious, rather than completely erased. Besides, with all the things Hanekoma invested in Sho, would he have let him get erased?

Absolutely not.

And so that's where this fic begins. Hope you enjoy.

~*~

Pain.

Pain was the first thing that came to mind, the first thing his otherwise numb body was able to process. He couldn't quite feel it per se, but there was a certain coldness in his muscles that told him it was pain he was experiencing, preparing him for the moment when he would fully regain consciousness and have to go through the chore of actually having to move. This realization did not dawn on him until the first actual pangs struck, not from moving a damaged limb but from the simple act of breathing, each inhale causing ice-cold needles to push in a little deeper into his lungs.

I'm...breathing.

It was almost a question more than an act of acknowledgement, the very concept of his continued existence seeming foreign and incomprehensible. Breathing meant he was alive. No, the pain meant he was alive, although the amount of pain he was in almost caused him to wish otherwise. Check: lungs, muscles, and now mouth – had he been eating sand or something before he passed out? His mouth was completely dry, and there was so little feeling in his tongue that he couldn't tell whether the pain was from dried gums, a pop to the jaw, or missing teeth.

This was one hell of a hangover.

Absent-mindedly he bit his tongue to cause himself to salivate, forcing moisture back into his mouth as his other senses slowly began to return. There was an eerie silence surrounding him, not quite like one would think oblivion to be – no, there was a soft cacophony in the distance, of cars and voices and the rackety tracks of the train, but it was all so distant. In his immediate area, there didn't seem to be anything or anyone around. Still, it was a reconfirmation that he was not dead. Awesome.

Sight was going to have to wait, as upon prematurely opening his eyes he was met with a painful, blinding whiteness that made him clench them shut again. In that moment, everything seemed to crash down on him at once, the pain that his brain warned him about suddenly breaking through the flood gates, almost causing him to scream. Why did everything hurt so much? What the hell had happened to him?

Joshua.

Damnit. It wasn't just a bad hangover. It wasn't even the aftermath of a brawl; he had gotten his ass thoroughly whooped, and that realization was absolutely the last thing he wanted to think about first thing in the morning. Afternoon. Whatever time it was, there was light out, and it burned. Regardless, it was something he was forced to contemplate – the jolts of pain that followed the slightest twitch, the burning in his lungs, the dryness he felt everywhere, the metallic taste of stale blood in his mouth, the way a couple of his teeth wiggled when his tongue prodded them – thank the angels he hadn't lost any, but regardless, all of it brought forth the memories of the events just before blacking out.

Joshua.

The Composer.

Forcing his limbs to work despite the agony, he managed to rise up on his elbows with a great amount of effort, only to find something obstructing him from rising up any farther. With a groan, he conceded to simply resting for a moment, willing the pain away to no avail. His eyes opened to slits, blinking rapidly, waiting until the whiteness faded to blurriness before opening them any wider. The lighting still seemed far too intense than it should have been and it hurt so much just to look around, but he had to make some kind of progress towards recuperation, and getting a sense of where he was and where he should be going was the first step.

Shadows. Shapes. Colours. Forms. Objects. Recognizable objects. Another flash of white as he turned his head to see what it was just above him -- OH. No wonder he was knocked out cold. Not every day someone gets bashed in the head with a vending machine. And the broken glass covering him and the ground beneath him probably explained where most of the now-dry blood came from – coupled with the horrible-looking bruises and the broken bones they hinted at, the pain was quite understandable. Infuriating, but understandable.

Well.

Some fifteen minutes of struggling later, the Grim Heaper was again strewn out on the ground, except now he was a few metres away from the wreckage that was meant to be his burial crypt. Looking back at it, the way the vending machine and the car and the street pole and all that other stuff laid stacked up against and ontop of each other like that – it was almost reminiscent of his junkpiles. Almost. Except that his junkpiles were works of art to which no one else could even hold a candle. It was a mockery.

Not only was it a mockery, it wasn't even symmetrical. Did the Composer do that on purpose? To purposely irritate his raging OCD? Not cool. Not cool at all.

"Factoring son of a digit..." Standing seemed like an impossible task, but it was one he was certain he could accomplish, and another twenty or minutes or so later, he did. His equilibrium was barely present, allowing him a few wobbling steps before sending him down on his knees once more. Lying down and sleeping seemed like such a more preferable option right now, but – no, he couldn't think that way. He had to press on towards the safety and comfort of his nearest art installation, the top of which could just barely be seen from his position.

It seemed like it was miles away. Really, he shouldn't have been moving at all in his condition, let alone getting up to climb a mountain. But if anyone was prone to giving up, it wasn't Sho. What probably would have been a ten minute walk at full health took about an hour now, but damn everything, he got there.

Despite the unstable appearance of the structure, it was really quite sturdy, each and every item placed in such a way that it could not be dislodged without a good amount of effort. Well, except the empty soda cans and other weightless items that were placed upon it, but those were more for decoration than for structural support, and right now he wasn't worried about how many were tumbling down to the base of the heap in his scramble to get to the top.

As he climbed, he finally gave his full attention to his memories, contemplating frame-by-frame the events leading up to his losing consciousness. He was so certain he could take the Composer on with his Taboo-enhanced body. So. Certain. Where had he miscalculated? In his head, all of the events were translated into equations, scribed in his handwriting upon a blackboard with infinite dimensions. He had thought it through so thoroughly...where? Where was the mistake? What hadn't he taken into account?

Damn it. It was so obvious.

He hadn't taken into account that the Composer was operating at a much higher capacity than when he had first attacked. If that were the case, he would have wiped him out no problem – but no, he hadn't been expecting him to have that much power while still in that form. And why not? How could he have made such a gross underestimation?

"Damn it."

A damaged bathtub protruded at an angle from the heap, close enough to the top to provide for a wonderful view of Shibuya, as well as a somewhat awkward but adequate place of rest. Reclining against the porcelain, Sho finally allowed himself to relax, tired golden eyes gazing out over what should have been his domain. There was something different about it. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something different about how the radians in the RG were acting – for one thing, they weren't still chanting that stupid mantra. Evidently, someone had gone and freed them from the red pin's spell, which means the other Reapers were probably freed as well...

That orange-haired mass of polygons?

Did...did someone else knock off Joshua?

"Well well, what happened to you?"

The pain flared once more as Sho tensed in startled response to the voice, sucking in a sharp breath that exhibited both his physical injuries as well as his currently unstable emotional state. He held that breath for a moment before exhaling just as loud, relieved but still somewhat on edge once he realized who was addressing him.

"Nothing a zero like you ought to concern yourself with."

"Nothing?" the Harrier repeated, stepping down to perch cautiously on a busted television beside the tub. Upon getting a better look at Sho's condition both eyebrows rose, and he paused, not quite able to hide his surprise – though his voice, of course, stayed cool. "Sure doesn't look like nothing."

"Let's just say I didn't doublecheck my homework."

"Fair enough," Kariya shrugged, picking up on the bruised ego that was bleeding through Sho's tone. "We were worried about you, that's all. Hadn't seen you in days."

"How many days?"

"Five."

Five? He was out for that long?

"We just figured you got erased," the Harrier continued, pausing for a moment to twirl the lollipop on his tongue. "The Iron Maiden did. So did a lot of Reapers, really – our numbers have been cut like you won't believe. We might have to work another week just for recruiting purposes..."

"SOH CAH TOA. Her Iron Frostiness went down?" Sho asked, voice holding a mellow tone that was more of curiosity than surprise. He tilted his head in Kariya's direction but kept his gaze elsewhere, trying not to show too much or too little interest. So she didn't take out Megs or the Composer, I'd estimate...

"And the Conductor."

"Megs?"

"Well, he didn't get erased, but he got pretty roughed up. Not as bad as you, though." Turning a bit, he stuck the candy in his mouth and glanced over the top of the junkheap curiously, as if looking for something he might be able to use. Silence reigned for a few moments, and then Sho shifted and felt pain all over again, the resulting grunt drawing Kariya's attention back to him. Though he didn't say anything about it, the Harrier could tell something else was on the Grim Reaper's mind, and Sho's lips parted as he considered voicing it.

Another moment of hesitation.

"And the Composer?"

Kariya quirked an eyebrow.

"He's fine." Lowering the lolly, he took a step lower to try and read Minamimoto's expression – to figure out what that bizarre tone in his voice was. He only barely caught a glimpse of Sho's face before the expression changed – he could of sworn it was a look of...anger? Spite? Disappointment? And now he was looking away. Kariya's brows furrowed.

"Why?"

"Well, isn't it my business as to whether or not my employer gets subtracted from the equation?" With a grimace of pain he shifted again, leaning forward and bringing his thumb up to test his teeth. His upper left canine was loose, as were a couple of teeth on the bottom left, but other than that he seemed fine – apparently he was a good enough combatant to avoid getting hit in the face, for the most part. The canine hurt the most, but they would all heal in time – so would the rest of him, once he got enough strength back to draw.

"You sure he's still your employer?" Kariya asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. Sho turned to face him, slightly widened eyes imploring him to follow up on that question. The Reaper met his gaze with one of warning. "Creating Taboo Noise is one of the most serious offenses. Surely you know the consequences–"

"Erasure. Duh." He almost rolled his eyes, confidence beginning to radiate from him once more as he contemplated his own escape. "But I'm sure he'll overlook it. There are worse offenses, after all..."

"Overlook it? Sho," he pointed his lollipop at him, "The Conductor gave a direct order to take you out. That's not exactly a slap on the wrist, you know –"

"Yes, yes, and my punishment was carried out. Everything's equal now."

"–and you actually came back as one! I don't – I don't even know what kind of retribution that would incur once the Composer finds out–"

"He already knows." It wasn't until he caught Kariya's stunned expression out of the corner of his eye that he questioned whether or not saying that was a good idea. The pregnant pause afterwards convinced him to keep quiet about having actually taken Joshua head-on.

"I hope you know what you're doing," the Reaper warned, shaking his head and turning away. His wings spread in a gesture that signalled he had elsewhere to be, but he hesitated a moment before taking leave, head turning to glance at Minamimoto over his shoulder. "You're playing a dangerous game."

Without missing a beat: "It's a game I'm going to win."

"Will you?"

Silence. Kariya's brow quirked as certain suspicions arose in his mind, and he considered probing the Grim Heaper for more answers – but a casual wave from Sho clearly signalled the end of the conversation. Kariya made an uncertain 'hm,' not quite sure how to interpret his encounter, but said nothing. A second later and he was suddenly gone from Sho's peripheral vision, allowing the mathematician to relax once more.

"Of course I will," he mused to himself, tongue glancing over his injured canine. "Just need to do the math."