A/N: Hola. Wow, I didn't think this would get the kind of response it has. I'm in a really good mood right now because today was just straight up awesomeness. Anyway, a little about this chapter. The italicsare flashbacks. I really wasn't sure how to break this up. The flashbacks are to the previous day. And I'll tell you right now that Near's older than he looks. The current time sections are day two of Near's time at Wammy's. On with the story.

Thank you to Crisium, Con Fuoco, xxdemonchild, and Quarter Queen for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Death Note. Actually, I have yet to acquire a copy of Death Note 13.


"Who's the weird kid?"

"I don't know."

"I think he's new."

"Yeah. I saw him come in this morning."

"What's he wearing?"

"Forget that, he has white hair."

"He can't be older than four."

"What's wrong with him?"

Near sat in one corner of the large room, watching the others with a blank stare. He wasn't interested in them or what they thought of him. The old man, Roger was his name, had said that Near should try to meet some of the other children. Near didn't care. What he really wanted was a chance to be alone to think.


Near was up early the next morning. Breakfast was at seven and he hoped that if he got there early enough there wouldn't be many other people. Quickly he threw on a shirt and pants identical to the ones he had worn the day before and shuffled out the door.

When he reached the dining hall he was dismayed to find that his assumption had been wrong. Even though it was Saturday and only a few minutes past seven the room was full of children, although most of them were older and would probably take no notice of him. Without a sound he got a plate and scarcely enough food to feed a bird and went to sit off in a corner where he wouldn't be seen. Even so he managed to attract stares.

But it was on the way back to his room that he finally took notice of one of the people staring at him. She couldn't have been much older than him with brown pigtails and kind brown eyes. What caught his attention was the way she looked at him. It wasn't a cold stare, as though she thought there was something wrong with him, but rather almost sympathetic.

"I believe you'll do well here," the old man smiled. "You'll find that the people here are quite used to children like you." He paused to take in the tiny boy's puzzled stare and sighed. "Well, maybe not exactly like you. Our children come from all different backgrounds. You're very smart, you know. All of the children here are. That's why I think you'll be happy here."

Near just nodded timidly and followed the man down the hall, clutching his snowy white teddy bear to his chest and tugging on the straps of his backpack. This place was huge and just a little intimidating. And there were so many children. He wondered briefly where they all came from and if any of them were like him. He hoped not, for their sakes. Finally the old man stopped in a hallway that seemed mostly empty. The only sounds were the hushed voices of two little girls coming from a room down the hall. He watched Roger fish a key from his pocket and open one of the doors. It a small dormitory type room and Roger told him this would be his room.

"But perhaps you should meet some of the other children," Roger suggested.

Near just stared blankly up at him, and it was that same blank stare he gave the children Roger had been so anxious for him to meet. The ones who merely whispered about him instead of talking to him. The ones who offered only a cold criticism rather than the warm welcome Roger had assured him of.

But this girl, there was something different. It was almost as though she could see what had happened to him as clearly as if it had been written on his face and it made him uneasy. He quickened his pace a little and when he reached his room he locked the door behind him.

However, when the door closed he caught sight of the mirror hanging on the back of it, the one he had been so careful to ignore the night before. This time, though, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and couldn't look away. It was as though the figure in the mirror was staring at him, through him, repeating to him everything he had done, everything he had been too weak to defend himself from. He was pathetic and as he looked at his reflection he could see the stains of his past in the dark circles beneath his dull eyes, in his hunched shoulders, in his white hair, and in his smallness. He was weak and his weakness disgusted him. He was too small to fight, not strong enough to defend himself. Frail and worthless and utterly disgusting.

With a soft, strangled cry he sank to the floor and curled up into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible until no one could see him. Silent tears slipped slowly down his cheeks and he cursed himself for being so intolerably pathetic. If he hadn't been so weak, none of this would have happened. It was his fault. No matter what they told him, it was his fault. They had tried to convince him otherwise while he was still being kept at the hospital. They'd kept him there too long. They had said it was just a precaution in case he got sick, but he knew they thought he might hurt himself. The thought had crossed his mind, but he had rejected it out of fear. If he did that, it would make him weaker, and the weaker he was the less likely it was that he would be able to fight should he be attacked again. He was already weak, he didn't want to do anything that might keep him from defending himself.

And from somewhere in the haze the thought of his expectations for this place came to mind. He had hoped things would be better here. They would, to some extent, but he could never be rid of what had happened to him. He would never be anything but weak and useless and filthy. And no one here would ever understand.