Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: When L was 12, newbies A and B experienced their 1st Christmas at Wammy House. What could possibly go wrong? Or, for that matter, right. Rated T for language/violence. Some spoilers for The Worst Feeling Ever.

The Worst Christmas Ever

Part 1: Provenance

Really, if he'd had to pinpoint the moment, it had started with the singing. That morning had begun with a strange jolt, to be sure, but everything had seemed to be going smoothly enough until events spiraled out of control while everyone had been gathered in front of the tree to sing carols. He'd always loved Christmas, and he certainly had a fondness for music, but many of the others did not share his enthusiasm, not even during that first one he'd experienced at Wammy House some years ago.

Sighing, Aleister turned from the window, the grey sky beyond it promising snow it had yet to deliver. Tomorrow it would be Christmas again at the orphanage, but nothing felt the same. Watari had promised to be there, but Aleister was almost certain that L would not. L would undoubtedly have some logical explanation for why he couldn't attend, but odds were that the recent events in Toronto had more to do with it. Aleister was tired of thinking about it all.

Maybe that's not an entirely fair assessment, Aleister thought. L's never really seemed to take to the holidays quite the way some of us do. If the first Christmas I spent here was any indication, it's faintly miraculous he didn't spend every holiday away since then. Whereas that holiday was the true beginning of my friendship with Beyond. Aleister smiled softly, remembering.

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Grass crunched under their feet despite the complete lack of snow. Grey gusts of breath steamed out of their mouths as they hustled along, the mist leaping ahead before dissipating behind them. It's just got to snow, he thought. It won't feel like Christmas if it doesn't!

"Why are we running?" he finally asked.

"What are you, stupid? We don't want the old man to see us, duh." The other boy rolled his eyes, quickening his pace.

"Which old man?"

"Whichever."

Clenching his fists, Al moved to catch back up to the boy. He still wasn't sure why he was bothering to go along with him on this pointless quest to leave the grounds and head into town. Boredom, he supposed. "They'll find us out whether they see us or not. Even if we manage not to trip the alarm system –"

"If you're gonna be a chickenshit about it, just go back! I don't need you."

"I don't bloody need you either! And I'm not 'chickenshit' – which is a stupid epithet in any event." Al huffed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot – you only speak 'British pansy.' Which epithet would you prefer? How about whiny crybaby, or pathetic loser?"

"Suppose I'd rather be that than a syphilitic cunt, but enough about your mother."

The other boy stopped, bent forward with hands on his knees, breathing hard.

"What are you –"

"Henh, henh, henh, henh!" The black-haired boy was laughing, his eyes crinkled up and watering. "That's . . . the funniest thing . . . you've ever said!"

"Pfft – you haven't known me that long." Al put one hand on his hip. "Are we going for the gate, or are you going to stand there gasping like an asthmatic?"

Grinning, Beeb stood up straighter. "Oh, we're going for it. Race ya there, Ally-oop!" And he was off like a shot.

"Blimey . . ." Al hurried after him, wondering who might be watching them from the windows. Dawn had yet to grace the sky, but it was coming soon. He wouldn't have minded staying in all day. The mix of tedious chores with entertaining festivities held its appeal for him, but he still felt that strange distance. He'd been at Wammy House for just under a year, and it still didn't quite feel like home. Then again, the home he'd lost had never felt much like home either, so perhaps he would always feel this way. Al wondered if at some point this feeling would stop mattering to him.

Rounding the corner of the garage, he bolted after Beeb, the stone pillars and wrought iron of the gate now in sight. Al was determined not to let a boy nearly one year younger than him beat him in a footrace, even if they were, annoyingly, the same height. He swung his arms harder and leaned forward, feet eating the ground with increasing ferocity.

Ha! I'm doing it! he thought, catching up to Beeb. He'll regret challenging me to a race. Al sped up and overtook Beeb just as they approached the first looming pillar. Launching himself past it, almost stumbling on the gravel of the driveway, he ran right up to the gate and slapped it with an outstretched palm. "Take that! I win, you minging berk!" Out of breath and grinning, he turned around in triumph.

Beeb was standing still, staring just past him, his expression unreadable.

"Oh, don't tell me you let me win – you're a tosser if you won't even try!"

As if he'd forgotten that Al was even there, Beeb started and met his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. We, uh . . ." He sighed. "Change of plans. We gotta go back."

"What?" Al was incredulous. "Now who's the chickenshit? Don't be a spoilsport about it, just because I got to the gate first, it's –"

"Who fucking cares about the race!" Beeb yelled. "We can't just leave her out there. I can climb over, easy, but there's no way I can get back –"

"Her?" Al shook his head, trying to clear it. "Who are you talking about?"

"The baby." Beeb pointed. "She's right outside the gate. I'm going back."

Al turned and looked down, through the iron bars. There was a bundle he hadn't noticed in his zeal to get to the gate first, but it was hard to tell what it was. Crouching low, he reached through the bars to poke it with an outstretched finger. In the dim light, the blanket appeared either grey or dark green and was scratchy to the touch. Even a woolen blanket isn't nearly enough to keep a baby warm in this weather, he thought. How long has it been out here? It made Al sick to know that someone had just left an infant out in the elements. There was no guarantee we'd have found it in time, and if a lorry'd come up to make deliveries, the driver might not have thought to look . . .

A sound not unlike static tickled his ears before it registered that there were people walking toward him through the frosted grass. Al considered standing up but decided to keep his eye, and his hand, on the bundle, which shifted slightly under his fingertips.

"A, please move away from the gate so we can open it." The warm, almost unaccented voice marked it as Mr. Wammy's, though it sounded rougher than usual.

Reluctantly, Al stood, turning toward the older man and looking up at him through the sandy fringe of hair tickling his nose. "It's still alive, but there's no telling how long it's been out here."

"Everything will be alright, my boy. Come here now." Wammy cleared his throat and gestured to him. Beeb stood just behind the man, hands in his pockets, looking resentful.

Al stepped to where Beeb stood and turned to watch as the iron gate opened toward them, swinging slowly wide, unaccountably silent. Wammy moved toward the bundle before the gates had opened even half way and reached down to scoop up the bundle. He was still peering down into the folds of the material when he started walking back toward them. A faint whine came from the bundle as he walked past the two boys, who were staring at the open gates.

"Inside, boys. It's too cold and too early to play out-of-doors." The unspoken accusation was clear in Wammy's stern tone.

Sighing, Al and Beeb followed Wammy back toward the house, the gates behind them now swinging silently closed, swallowing them back into the safety of the orphanage.

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Breakfast was well underway by the time Beeb emerged from Wammy's office. Al sat by himself, as usual, letting his eyes slip to the open doorway onto the hall and glimpsing, at last, the dark-haired 10-year-old with the irritated expression. Al wanted to find out what had happened but wasn't sure Beeb would even tell him. Probably told Wammy it was all my idea to scarper off, he thought. Serves me right for trusting him. Mouth twisting, he forced himself to focus on finishing his oatmeal. He didn't want the cook yelling at him for not eating again. He spooned some of the glop into his mouth, chewing absently.

"That looks gross."

Al looked up as Beeb plopped into a chair across from him. "Well it is gross, innit? Aren't you going up for your share of gruel?"

Smirking, Beeb leaned back in his chair. "Eh, I'll just tell 'em I had scones when I was in with the old man. They can't prove otherwise." He looked around the room, sneering at the wreath and the long swaths of pine fronds bound with red ribbon, silvery jingle-bells dangling from them, and from the chandelier. "I fucking hate Christmas."

Al tried not to roll his eyes. "So . . . what happened in there?"

Beeb shrugged. "Nothing important. They asked how we found the kid – I told 'em we went out for a walk. That's it."

"Right. I'm sure you didn't tell them it was all my idea to sneak out to stop them punishing you. That's definitely your style." Al glared, forcing another spoonful into his mouth.

"You know what? Fuck you! You're never gonna know what I said or what happened now!" Beeb stood abruptly, the chair's scraping noise punctuating his words. "Have fun eating your steaming bowl of shit all by yourself!" Stomping out of the room, he didn't look behind him to see that every eye in the dining room was on him.

Blushing, Al swallowed and kept his eyes on his breakfast, trying to ignore those eyes as they turned toward him. He was used to being friendless, or he thought he'd have been used to it by now, but it still burned every time he was sneered at, mocked, or pushed around. He knew he didn't stand out much, but sometimes he wished that he was even less noticeable and could pass room to room unmolested.

"A?"

"Hm?" Al looked up to see an entirely different black-haired boy staring at him, and for a moment his breath stopped in his throat. "Um . . . yes?"

"Your presence has been requested in the main office. Please follow me." The slouching boy turned and walked away, apparently content to believe that Al would follow.

Disgruntled yet relieved to be done with breakfast, unemptied bowl notwithstanding, he did as he was expected and followed the boy in the rumpled oversized clothing to the door at the end of the hall.

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"I have one more question for you."

Sighing, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he slowed to a stop, Al waited in the middle of the hallway, not bothering to turn around, soft, slow footfalls approaching him. I just got done with their bloody interrogation, he thought, and now he wants more answers? "What is it, then?"

"How did you intend to get back into the compound?"

"Excuse me?" Al turned around slowly to look into the large dark eyes of the older boy. "What are you talking about?"

"You and the other one, B – you were leaving the orphanage, presumably to walk into town before daybreak. What was your re-entry plan?"

"What – no we weren't! We were just out walking, that's all –"

"Untrue. I saw you leaving – you mentioned something about a shop downtown and the other one said not to worry because it opened early." The boy's stare was intense, unblinking.

"You . . . you overheard us?"

"I could not discern your words on sound alone. I read your lips and observed your body language."

"Bloody hell . . ." Al ran a hand through his sandy-colored hair, feeling the blush overtake his face. "Wait – if you knew that much, why didn't you rat us out?"

"Hm. I suppose because I didn't think it was pertinent." The boy rubbed a bare foot against his jeans-clad leg. "And perhaps because I have considered doing the same thing, if with an alternate destination."

Al smiled. "Not quite in tune with the holiday spirit, are you?"

The boy's mouth turned down at the edges slightly, eyes becoming half-lidded. "Definitely not. And you did not answer my question."

"Oh! Right, well . . ." Al spared a look each way down the hall. "We would've walked back, stood behind that oak a few meters down from the gate, and when a lorry came round to make a delivery, we'd have got behind it and snuck back in that way."

"Ah." The boy put his thumb to his lip. "Yes, a sensible approach, but with one flaw."

"Why? What's the flaw?"

The boy smiled. "Perhaps I will tell you later." He walked past, heading toward the kitchen.

Clenching his fists, Al resisted the urge to shout at him. The pompous bastard, he thought. He probably just asked so that he can prevent us getting back in if we try the plan later – I should have known. As many times as I've seen him, he still won't say what his name is, not even his code. Al decided to go up to his room to read in self-imposed exile. A few children darted by him as he made his way down the hall, past the kitchen and the great room with the tree in it, to head toward the stairs.

"Don't tell me you're giving up already."

Al's grip on the banister tightened, and he looked down through the slats. "Giving up on what? I'm just going to go read – it's too noisy down here."

"You always go off and read. It's boring." Beeb rounded the curved end of the banister.

"I assure you, reading is the antithesis of boring. Well, depending on what sort of book it is. And whether you can read." Al arched an eyebrow.

"I'm not an illiterate moron." Beeb snapped.

"Well, I imagine not if you got in this place."

"Noticed that too, eh?" Beeb grinned. "It's weird, like somebody had a 'smart kid' fetish."

"Ugh – don't even joke about that." Aleister shook his head. "If I thought this place was run by that sort of people, I'd have legged it straight off the day after I'd got here."

"Henh, henh, you never know, Ally-oop. Even when people seem OK, they can surprise you."

"People can surprise you even when they don't seem OK." Placing a hand on his hip, Al skewered Beeb with a look. "Which brings me to this: why did you take the blame entirely? You didn't have to – I went along with it. I even helped come up with the plan."

"Eh." Beeb shrugged, looking away. "They were gonna figure at least one of us was up to no good. Might as well be me. Look on the bright side." He cocked his head to one side, grinning deviously. "It means you'll be able to get away with more than me. They'll never suspect the shy little goody-goody. Just think of all the things we'll be able to do – I'll be causing distractions and getting in trouble, and you'll be sneaking around when they're not looking. We're gonna make a great team." Still grinning, Beeb moved up the stairs past Al.

"Now wait a minute – I didn't agree to anything, and who says we're a team? You barely talked to me until last month!"

"Oh, but I watched you." Beeb looked over his shoulder. "Who needs books when I can read you like one? You're just as frustrated and bored as I am, whether you admit it or not."

Exasperated, Al found himself following Beeb up the stairs anyway. It wasn't until they'd reached their floor – second floor, for the under-twelves – that he asked the question that had been nagging at him since that morning. "How did you know it was a girl?"

Beeb stopped walking, foot paused on the floorboard that always squeaked. "I guessed."

Al frowned. "No you didn't, you knew. You had absolutely no doubt – you looked right at that formless blob in the dark and knew not only that a baby was inside but what gender it was. How did you know?"

There was no humor in Beeb's voice when he spoke. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Don't ask me again." He walked away, feet dragging on the worn carpet runner.

Swallowing, Al considered whether he wanted to follow this strange boy or not, and if he even wanted to be on his 'team.' He decided to ask a different question. "Right then. So who was the other boy in the room when they interrogated us? Or is that question off-limits too?"

Beeb faced him, grinning as he walked slowly backwards. "Oh that guy? He's L. I thought you knew."

Al found himself gaping and reclosed his mouth with a snap. He had thought that "L" was the code name for an adult detective and had suspected that the person was associated with Wammy House somehow, even considering Wammy himself on the short list of possible candidates, but if L was someone not much older than them . . . That explains a lot, he thought, remembering his other encounters with the perpetually disheveled older boy. He'd always thought it was odd that no one referred to him by name (though there were a number of nicknames), not even at his birthday party. Most of the children avoided him. And there had been long stretches when the boy hadn't been seen in the orphanage, though Al had always chalked it up to his just missing him or the other boy's possible introversion, something Al could relate to all too well. He hurried to catch up to Beeb.

"Then why do you call him lollipop?"

"Because it annoys him, of course."

"Is that why you smashed up his birthday cake and threw it at him?"

"Henh, henh, I mostly did that because I didn't want to be here, but the expression on his face was priceless."

"Doubt it was worth being grounded."

"Oh, it so was! That guy's a total fucking snob – I'd totally do it again."

Al rolled his eyes. "Somehow, I think we can come up with a more interesting scheme than that."

"You don't say?" Beeb's grin lit up his dark brown eyes. "Told ya we'd make a great team."

"That remains to be seen." Al let his arch expression slip into a sly smile as they headed toward Beeb's room at the far end of the hall. Of all the people to befriend me, he thought, I get the loony anarchist. Bloody figures.

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Author's Note: Yes, I know – this is way too late to be posting a Christmas story. I started this in early December 2010, but stopped a few pages in and didn't get around to even looking at it again until a few weeks ago, after I'd already started another story I haven't posted yet. I almost let it be, but then I realized that there were some details I wanted to work out about Aleister and Beyond – what they were like as kids, and how their friendship formed. Plus, I had made a few references in other fics to L having less-than-optimal experiences during the Christmas of his 12th year, so I decided to flesh some of that out. This would have been a one-shot, but it got too long and turned into a 3-shot. I'll post the next two parts soon, and I'll get to the other story when I can.