A/N: Hello all! This is actually sort of a reboot of my previous story which was called "A True Ending". I wanted to write Matt's side of the story, from the very beginning, from his perspective. It's probably been done before, I don't know, but I really want to do it. Eventually the story catches up to canon, and you'll see where I take it from there! I didn't like how they died, and I don't like Near much…

But anyway, for now it's going to be a Wammy's kids story, sort of. Thanks for reading, and reviews would be much appreciated! I know the Death Note fandom is kind of dead right now (understandable) but hopefully there are still people out there who read fics? Here goes!

To the End

Chapter One

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If anyone cared enough to ask, I'd probably say I'm satisfied with my life right now. To be honest, I've never needed much to be happy. Perhaps that's why I was so different from most of the other kids at Wammy's. Wammy's is an orphanage by the way, although I don't remember ever referring to it as such. For me, and many other kids, it was simply a place to call home, and a very good place at that. It was also kind of a boarding school, when it really comes down to it. Other people used to call it an orphanage for gifted children.

To this day I still don't understand why I myself am considered 'gifted', other than because of my IQ, which is quite above average, I'll admit. If I'm so modest about my intelligence, it's probably only because I wasn't always who I am now. I didn't begin life with a head start. I wasn't blessed with rich parents capable of paying for my high studies, or even a rich heritage. I don't remember my parents, to tell the truth, because they abandoned me on a doorstep when I was very young. Which brings me back to the second requirement to be accepted into Wammy's: all the kids there were orphans. It wasn't a mere coincidence... To be worthy of Wammy's, you had to be able to renounce your name, along with anything that linked you to a family. For your own safety among other reasons, but I'll get to explaining those eventually.

For now, all I'll say is that I've said my own name out loud only once since I was about thirteen years old. It's okay though, because I've been going by another name ever since I joined the House. Getting back to the point though, I have to say I wasn't the best kid who ever attended Wammy's. So if you think I became very successful and rich thanks to my time at Wammy's House, you're very wrong. If I had to guess, I'd say I probably turned out the complete opposite of what Wammy's intended. Mostly, I've become a criminal. I'm an exceptionally smart criminal, mind you, but still illegal nonetheless.

But I like my job. It is one that requires very little human interaction. Come to think of it I was never the best at social interaction at Wammy's, either. In all my life, I've only ever had one true friend - but I'll get to that part later.

For the moment, I'm done rambling.
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Regarding my life before I went to Wammy's, there isn't anything really noteworthy... But I suppose the beginnings of my life still helped shape the person I became. It matters as much as everyone else's childhood has ever mattered, anyway.

I was born in a small town just outside of Chicago, in what is commonly referred to as 'Chicagoland'. This place in my life I don't remember much, or maybe I simply willed myself to forget it. It's not really that important. What's important is that for some reason, my parents suddenly didn't want the small, red-haired boy they'd then been managing for two years. I don't remember them, and don't even know what happened to them afterwards obviously, but I couldn't care less. So anyway, I was left abandoned on the doormat of the town's small orphanage, which was cosy enough considering what the rest of the town was like.

I certainly wasn't deprived of food, a bed and the opportunity to make friends. Food I took gladly, although it never seemed to make me gain any weight or help me grow. A bed was useful, as a way of playing my Game Boy late at night under the covers. But friends I had no real use for. And I always got the feeling other kids didn't like me just as I didn't much like them. Nobody ever tried to make friends with the scrawny geek playing video games in the corner, ruby red hair askew, thrown in all directions by thick, orange-tinted goggles. But that was fine by me.

What's more interesting about me is that Game Boy. It was my first material possession, along with my goggles. I've had both items for as long as I remember. Acquiring them was also my first crime, though I didn't quite realize it at the time. I remember being at least six years old, walking around in the bad neighbourhood near the orphanage (now that I think about it, the fact I was never kidnapped is amazing) and that's when I saw a yard sale. I went to check it out and quickly realized that people could come and go here, taking any items they wanted.

After looking around for a while, I set my eyes on the red Game Boy that would turn out to be my best, and only, friend for many years to come. Now that I'm older, I can only suppose that either nobody saw me, or that they thought I was taking the Game Boy to my mother, to beg her for it. Luckily for me (or not, depending on your point of view), I had no mother to go to, and so I calmly walked away with the Game Boy in hand. It had no cartridge inside, but I can remember staring at it in wonder all the way back to the orphanage.

The following weeks, I only went back to the orphanage for meals and bedtime, spending the remainder of my days at the old arcade down the street. Thanks to my early-developed thieving abilities, I had managed to swipe several dollars in various places. I think that's when I decided to start wearing stripes, like a robber or something. Though stupid, it was an attempt at being funny… I try, okay? For a long time I'd been meaning to come to the arcade and try my hand at these games (having by then given up on ever getting a game cartridge for my Game Boy) and now seemed like a good time.

At the arcade I found a new skill: beating video games was more fun than anything I'd ever done. I played continuously, stealing money to pay the machines, and sneaking out of the orphanage to play until my name was at the top of every high score list. I didn't even know at the time, but the arcade was having a contest of sorts (perhaps to try and make the dusty arcade machines more alluring), offering prizes to any kid who could beat high scores.

So that was when I received my goggles, the first true reward I ever got, on my first true life accomplishment. I also received a free Super Mario Land Game Boy cartridge, a Yoyo and coupons for free Coca-Cola at the bar of the arcade. I hardly need to say it: the next years of my life were spent bent over my Game Boy, goggles strapped around my head, ignoring the outside world as much as possible. Of course, I had to attend classes like any other kid, but hiding my Game Boy behind books during lessons was also a handy trick I discovered.

Needless to say, even though my Game Boy was often confiscated (however I was able to sneak into the principal's office and trick the lock in order to get it back easily) my efforts at completing school work were greatly lacking. When I reached the age of eight, some concerned teachers and attendants at the orphanage had me take some tests. To this day I still think they thought I was retarded or that I had autism or something, but their tests never proved anything. I always liked taking tests; there's something satisfying in beating questionnaires or complicated mathematical problems. It was never as fun as beating video games, mind you, but I still enjoyed the befuddled looks on people's faces when they saw my test results.

I was often scolded for my lack of attention in class, but I always did well at exams, which confused teachers. At least this way, they let me do whatever I wanted in class – to a certain extent – and I was left in peace for a while.

Shortly after my tenth birthday, I began getting very bored with school and started cutting classes. Of course, this didn't go unnoticed, but I ignored all the help I was offered by teachers and attended detentions obediently. That's when I discovered books. Having long outworn my copy of Mario (God only knows how many times I beat it) and since I couldn't exactly afford a new game, books were my next refuge. By refuge I mean a way of escaping reality. I can safely say that I read through the entire book collection the orphanage possessed in a short few months, so my next turn was towards the public library.

It was a grimy place, all covered in dust (doesn't anyone read in this godforsaken town?), but it would have to do. Thanks to the library, I had access to limitless information; all the encyclopaedias I could wish for and also the internet. Computers were my next meaningful discovery, and also the love of my life. Well… the love of my life that wasn't human, but I won't say anymore about that right now. It must've been a curious sight, such a small, shabby boy hanging around in the library every other day, immersed in a book he could barely keep balanced on his lap or clicking away, discovering how computers worked, with two or three books stacked between him and the chair so he could see properly.

This routine went on for over a year and it was January, nearing my twelfth birthday, before anything interesting happened. As it turned out, the people managing the orphanage were tired of putting up with me and decided I had to go see some 'mental doctor' to take some 'aptitude tests' again. As exasperating as this was, I had to admit I couldn't blame them… So I was off again, waiting in some paediatric clinic for some doctor to make sure I wasn't mentally retarded, for the umpteenth time.

The doctor was a tall, burly man with greying hair and glasses. Not stereotypical at all. He made me do all the same things as I had to do last time; tests with pictures, drawing exercises and all sorts of stuff I didn't care about. I kind of rushed through it all to be honest, and hoped he'd notice I wasn't into it much, but I completed the tests with reasonable scores, which was good considering my lack of concentration at the time.

In the end, he looked carefully at me for a while and asked me to take a final test. It was not a long test, but it involved many puzzles, which I enjoyed doing. By the end of this test, I noticed that the doctor didn't seem cold and professional anymore. Once I was done, I saw the computer screen freeze for a moment before displaying that I had an IQ score of 187.

My breath hitched and I looked at him questioningly. I knew what an IQ was, but I honestly had no idea if this number was good or not. Define 'good'. I mused to myself, if I do turn out to be retarded, maybe that's not a bad thing. I like who I am, and I wouldn't want to change. The doctor removed his glasses and set them on the desk before smiling at me. Was he smiling because I did well, or to lessen the blow of being told I'm a moron?

Unexpectedly, he said that he had to go talk with my teachers and that I shouldn't be worried because, in fact, I had a very good score. That reassured me somewhat so while I waited for him to return, I pulled out my Game Boy from my jacket and started playing through Mario again.

I had the politeness to close it when the door opened again, and when I looked up I saw the doctor was back with my teacher Mr. Pritchard. Was he really my teacher though? I didn't even remember when I last spoke to him. Suddenly I felt pretty stupid, despite my recent IQ score. Shifting in my seat, I watched the two men sit before me, and waited in silence.

"Mail." Mr. Pritchard said slowly, "I don't know if you realize what this IQ score means, but it is quite above what's considered normal." As he spoke I recalled him shouting at me a few times, because I hadn't completed an assignment that had been given weeks ago or something like that. He was strangely calm at the moment now, though, but I still couldn't forget the anger in his face when he'd caught me playing with my Game Boy under a desk one day.

Seeing how I hadn't responded, the doctor spoke next. "It is my professional opinion that you should be sent somewhere that would better fit your mental capacities."

"We agree," Mr. Pritchard said quickly, "all the teachers."

I smiled at him while putting my Game Boy back in my coat pocket. "You're just happy to get rid of me." I wasn't surprised by the quirk that occurred in his jaw when he realized what I meant, but it still amused me.

He avoided the issue. "You're wasting your time in this school, Mail. If you were to attend a better school, you would have the chance to better develop your mental capacities than we can help you do here." I knew he was right, of course. Besides, It wasn't like I wanted to stay in this rat hole forever… A thought occurred to me, however, and it was very important.

"I understand, but I don't have any money to pay for a better school." How could they have overlooked this fact? It was nearly painful to have this opportunity placed before me, only to have it snatched away an instant later. The doctor smiled at me, causing me to sit up cautiously. "We have had an idea. You will receive an important phone call some time tomorrow if everything works out…"

And indeed I did.

The following day I was lying on my bed after lunch, thinking in silence as I often did, when a caretaker, a woman whose name I'd never bothered to learn, came to tell me that I had someone on the phone for me. I mechanically followed her to the principal's office. Having so often been there awaiting a punishment of some sort, it was kind of strange going there with something to look forward to. The principal pulled out a chair for me to sit on when I arrived before handing me the phone. "Hello?" I asked, not sure what to say. It had only just struck me that this was the first time I was ever talking to somebody by telephone.

A calm, soothing and deep voice answered me. "Hello, Mail Jeevas. My name is Quillish Wammy. I trust your teachers have already told you about Wammy's house?"

I paused to gaze up at the principal, but he wasn't really paying attention and, of course, he couldn't hear Quillish Wammy anyways. "No," I replied slowly. "What is Wammy's house?" Quillish Wammy's voice radiated kindness. I wasn't the least wary of him and when he next spoke, I listened intently. "Wammy's house is an orphanage for gifted children like you. The classes we teach here are far more advanced, and the children there are all, for the most part, child prodigies." He stopped for a moment, as if to give me time to take this in, and then went on. "You may never have heard of it because it's not in America. The orphanage is situated in Winchester, England."

Ah, England? So that's why the line was kind of fuzzy… Everything sounded very quiet on his side though, so his voice was clear enough. "So it should be a quarter to nine where you are? Sir?" I asked, quickly adding the 'sir' afterwards. A moment before Quillish Wammy responded, I swore I could almost feel a smile appear on his lips. "That's right." He sounded pleased. "Mail, I need you to consider this carefully as it is a decision that will greatly affect the rest of your life."

The line was silent for several moments, and my eyes turned to the principal again, but he was immersed in some cabinet of paper files. "Yes." I then said quietly. "I'd like to come."

"Excellent." Said Quillish Wammy. "I shall set everything in order with your tutors over the following week, and then you can take a plane to England." Wow, a plane… I wondered how that must be like. If anything, it made me even more excited. This time, I couldn't hide my grin; I was finally getting out of here. Not that this orphanage was horrible… It just wasn't the right place for me. "I… But, uh, thank you sir, but you must know I have no way to pay for a better school…" I told him a little timidly. But he answered as cheerfully as ever; "No problem, no problem, Mail Jeevas. This is why the school is an orphanage. We give a chance to children who otherwise wouldn't have much to look forward to."

I was amazed. Then I figured he must have other things to attend to because he old me gently; "I'll speak to you again soon, Mail. It was a pleasure." And then the line hung up. I suppose I should have answered, but I wasn't quite sure what to say. Considering I'd never held a telephone conversation before that day, I'd say I did pretty well. After I had replaced the phone receiver back on its stand, the principal came to sit back at his desk and looked at me. "I'm going to Wammy's house." I told him with a small smile. He nodded, and I took that as a cue to leave the office.

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The next week went by like a flash. I even tried to be good and paid a little more attention in class, as if I was scared the orphanage would be having second thoughts about letting me enroll in a better school if I reminded them how poorly I'd been doing at theirs. Isn't it strange how the mind works? I was one week from getting out of there… wouldn't the logical reaction be to let go completely? But I wasn't a very logical person. Not in real-life situations anyway. I liked to be impulsive when it came to these kinds of things.

I didn't have much packing to do; some clothes, the few books I actually owned, my toothbrush and stuff for the shower, my Game Boy and a notebook I liked to doodle in when I was really, really bored. I flicked through it once and found nothing of interest, but threw it into my bag anyway. After a little hesitation, I also packed the Yoyo I had won at the arcade so long ago. Then I chuckled; I didn't even have a suitcase, yet I was off to take a plane to England and go stay at some fancy school. As I left my room for the last time I caught a glance of myself in the mirror and studied myself. Baggy clothes, unkempt hair, my goggles plastered over my eyes, slightly frontward shoulders from being hunched over playing video games so much… I looked more like a kid you'd find living off the street than a 'child prodigy' considered to be enough of a genius to pay for his plane ticket and very advanced tuition.

That's when the thought occurred to me that Quillish Wammy didn't even know what I looked like. What if he took one glance at me and decided I was too scruffy for his establishment? Would I be left abandoned in an airport in Winchester, with nowhere else to go? I swallowed and attempted to flatten my hair a little, but it was no use. My hair has a mind of its own, I swear. Resigned, I shuffled out of the small bedroom, not even sparing one last glance at it. I had already closed this chapter of my life… No use reminiscing now. Not that there were many really happy memories anyway.

The farewells I exchanged with the orphanage's caretakers were short and awkward, but I was soon called to my taxi waiting outside and turned without looking back at them. I was away.

The flight went by so quickly too, now that I think about it. I played with my Game Boy for the larger part of the trip, chewing bubble gum because it helped lessen the sensation in my ears. Once I ran out of batteries for my game, I looked around the plane for the first time since sitting there. The people around me weren't interesting at all to watch so I looked outside for the remainder of the flight. I asked for an apple juice at some point when the hostess passed, but otherwise, my eyes were glued to the slowly appearing scenery of England. It was so… green. Leaving the United States, it had mostly all been lights and roads, and grim little towns. England was practically one big field! And the water around the European island was darker than the Atlantic Ocean around the coast of America…

As we descended I saw that there were many buildings, but not as much as in the States. Perhaps we were too far into the countryside? When a voice announced we had landed I nervously closed up my bag and followed the people around me leaving the plane. I was very anxious, I had to admit, but I followed the crowd automatically, mindlessly. This airport was smaller than the one in Chicago. I carefully followed the instructions I'd been given previously and soon arrived at the gates, where people from various planes were reuniting with loved ones.

After a quick scan across the mass of people, I spotted an older gentleman in a suit and bowler hat. He had a small moustache, bushy eyebrows and kind eyes. Then I lowered my gaze and found he was holding a small sign with the name Mail Jeevas neatly scrawled across it. I shuffled awkwardly towards him and, if I still had doubts at that point they were all erased as soon as he spoke, in a perfectly posh British accent; "Welcome! I'm glad to see you. Come along."

I followed with a smile and he led me to a rather fancy car outside. It was strange, this feeling, but I felt like I was at home with him.