-:- My Autistic Brother -:-

Author: deunan4eva

Summary: At his young age, Nate River was mis-diagnosed. Bored, Mihael Keehl wants nothing to do with the boy who screams and bangs his head on the wall. But slowly, through a poetry journal Roger forces him to keep, Mello begins to see that Near may need more help then he lets on…

BeforeNote:

All right – I promise this will be a short one. I don't have anything much to say here, other than woot woot! Two chapters up in record time! If I get ahead, and type faster than I post, I promise I won't put up like, a thousand chapters at a time – it's an exaggeration, but I've done something like that before, with a Maximum Ride fic and my SSX 3 fic, and I'll try not to make that mistake again. Sorry about that!

Mercy

PS – Yes! I kept it pretty short this time! MAJOR ACHIEVEMENT! ALERT THE MEDIA!

Yes, I DO feel pretty high on Pepsi right not. ^_^.

Mello's Journal Entry #2

4/5/97 (April 5th, 1997)

-:-

Two days have passed and I still haven't picked anyone to do this assignment on. Gosh, won't Roger be impressed? I don't think so.

I've been talking to L over the phone – he's not too sure what I find so hard, but I can't think of anyone who does different things daily. Lily plays with her dolls, Nigel with his trucks, Cameron with that make-up kit that Roger got her, Andy with his cars, Joyce with her play-doh and Near with his stupid puzzles and other toys.

Wait a minute…

Near had a screaming fit this morning – it woke up the whole junior wing – I don't think there wasn't a kid in here that didn't hear him. We all rushed to the dorm, I guess we all thought someone was in there with a knife or something, but there wasn't anyone there – just Andy and Near. Andy was still in bed; his hands clapped over his ears, but Near was on the floor, screaming at the window. Wendy, one of the staff, pulled the curtains closed, and Near stopped, just like that. Roger let him stay in his room all day. Lily and I went to check on him, even though I didn't want to, and found him sitting in the corner by the window, sucking his thumb like a baby and mumbling. We left him there; I think Lily was scared he'd start screaming again.

Near had never done something like that before…it was a big thing – I could still hear the other kids whispering about it in the dining room. Roger said that Near was sick – he had to be alone for a while and Andy was to move into another dorm. Joyce and Pierre have been told they've got to let him stay with them in their dorm until Near gets better. No one knows when he will – but I haven't seen any doctors go in to his room or even come to the Wammy House.

I know I shouldn't have, but I went down to the basement today, during our lunch break, to where all the files on all the kids are kept. It was a bad thing to do, and I know Roger's going to find out, because he's going to read this when I hand it in, but I felt so excited to be doing something that the other kids were too chicken to do. I was crossing a line – and it felt…weird, but a good weird.

I found what I was looking for: the records on all of the kids that were admitted to the Wammy House a couple of years back. I was admitted in 1993, when I was four – so … that means I've been here for four years. Creepy. Anyway – I found my own file, saw my picture of a four-year-old-me scrunching up my face as the camera clicked, but I couldn't stop – I didn't have lots of time. I found Near's file – and I put it into my jacket and closed the filing cabinet and left the basement.

I've been reading his records – according to his family doctor, he's got Aspurgus Syndrome, which can make a person really closed off from others. That sounds about right – it also said they were could be compulsively obsessive, which also sounded a lot like Near. He was always playing with puzzles or toys.

So, I decided, as much as I hate the little squirt, I'd do this assignment on him. It sounded like fun – and fun was what I needed. And a bit dangerous, which is also fun. But I guess I've still got to write the poetry side of this journal, so I'll give it a shot tonight. Near isn't banging his head against the wall – when I went passed his dorm to mine and Nigel's, Wendy came out and said she'd given him lots of pillows, because he had a big bruise on his head from all the banging and wanted him to be comfortable. Maybe I'll sleep okay, tonight. I hope so. Anyway – I'd better write that poem…

They Said

They called it Aspurgus,
And said it was fine.
They said it couldn't hurt us,
And said "give it time".
They said he'd heal,
They said he'd get better,
But now his name's Near,
And he's not any better.

Wow…did I write that? It's like it just…came out on it's own. Huh – maybe this won't be so bad after all. In fact, it was kinda fun. But geez – I wrote that using the notes and comments the doctors left on all of Near's medical reports…and I couldn't think of anything to rhyme with "better", but oh well. I think I should get some sleep now, or at least try.

Well, goodnight for now –

Mello.

AfterNote:

Is that how an eight-year-old would write a poem? I mean, Mello's really smart for his age, right…? Anyway – chapter three is on the way! You all rock for reading this! I love you all! ^_^

– Mercy