Sorry for the delay in updating! As an apology, I've given you guys a long chapter. XD Thanks for all the support and I hope you will enjoy this.

Heartbreak.

That was the only way Matt could describe what was ailing his friend. Mello wouldn't go out to play, he rarely ate, and Matt had to literally drag him to classes. For some reason, Mello's groupies thought that picking on Matt would bring the blond out. Unfortunately, Mello didn't come out to save him, and Matt always hid the bruises. Taking a beating was nothing for him. However, seeing his friend in mourning was eating him up. Where was the happy and energetic Mello? Each day it was becoming more and more painfully obvious that B had left with that carefree child.

"Melly, you need to go outside," the brunette stated as he sat next to his friend. Mello just ignored him and scooped a little bit of jam from the jar that he was never seen without. The jelly-coated fingers made their way into that warm mouth. "Come on, I'm being serious! You can't stay in here!"

"Go away," Mello sighed as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth.

Hearing that, an idea popped into Matt's head. It was a terrible idea, but it was bound to get Mello outside.

"Fine. I'll leave, Mello." Aquamarine eyes glanced up, measuring out what Matt meant by that. "Since you obviously don't want me, I'm leaving here."

Panic flared in those eyes. "Wait, no!"

"Sorry Mello, but I have no reason to be here if you don't want me." Standing up, Matt ruffled his own messy hair. "It was nice knowing you."

The next thing he knew, Matt was seeing stars and pain exploded on his chin. Falling hard on his butt, the brunette was too surprised to do anything but stare wide-eyed at a tear-stained Mello towering over him with a clenched fist. "Don't you dare!" the blond angel screamed as a few more tears slipped down his cheeks. "I won't let you leave me, never! You promised!"

Ginning stupidly, the younger boy just rubbed his sore chin. "Yeah, I'll never leave you; I'm not like the rest of them."

"D-don't joke like that," Mello hiccupped before he fell into Matt's arms and squeezed the younger boy tightly.

"Sorry, I won't ever say that again, m'kay?" A nod was the only response. "Come on Melly, teach me that stu- er, ah, football."

Having successfully convinced Mello to come play outside, Matt forced himself to act interested in soccer, which the weird British call football. The rules were simple enough and the game required lots of physical exertion, but it was still so damn boring. Besides, Matt hated physical exertion. It was bad enough to sweat when you weren't moving, but it was completely stupid to purposefully move around enough to make your sweat glands go into overdrive. Gross.

But still, a boy's got to do what a boy's got to do. At first, Mello barely go into the game, but after a few minutes of the brunette proving his inability to get his foot to even touch the black and white ball, a giant grin spread across the older boy's face. Poor Mattie was trying so hard, but he was an utter nightmare on the field. The other team knew this as well and was taking full advantage of it.

Deciding to salvage the game before his teammates decided to lynch his Mattie, the European blond took a deep invigorating breath. With a loud war cry, he charged through all the startled players. It was a beautiful scene as the golden child dragged his team to victory single-handedly. Blood flushed his cheeks and sweat made those thin strands of hair stick to his neck and forehead, but those striking eyes were focused on the ball. Those feet moved with god-like speed, making the child fly down the field and it almost seemed as if angels themselves guided the ball as he kicked it into the goal over and over.

Seeing that smiling face, Matt couldn't help but think that forcing himself to play such an awful game for his friend's sake was the nicest thing he had ever done. Besides Kennedy, Matt had never lifted a finger to help others but he was pleased to find that it gave him a nice warm fluttering feeling. Yeah, it was definitely worth it to pull Mello out of his little slump.

That and now he was able to just sit in the corner of the field just like he wanted to. Now that they were winning, all the other players completely forgot about him. Plopping down on the itchy grass, Matt began to fan himself with his long sleeve. Ever since arriving at Wammy's, the American had refused to wear anything that wouldn't cover the scars on his hands, so now he was outside in the blazing sun with a sweater. Of course, the shorts he was wearing helped to cool him down a bit, but it was still overbearingly hot.

"Damn, I'm gonna give myself a fucking heatstroke," he grumbled, dabbing the sweat off his forehead with his other sleeve.

A shrill victory cry sounded out through the humid air and Matt couldn't help but grin widely. Mello was doing a strange little victory dance at the goal and the other team was hanging their heads in shame. The victorious team tackled Mello to the ground and showered him with praise and all kinds of words of adoration. The young boy practically glowed with pride and he enjoyed the attention. After a few minutes, the other team demanded that they play another game and that new teams needed to be formed. Of course, the winning team disagreed and an argument ensued. Matt just chewed on grass as he watched the kids argue over something so retarded. Seriously, how old were they again?

Three games later, Matt had finally convinced Mello that it was time to go back inside. Miniscule welts covered the brunette's legs from sitting on the grass, and he had to bend over and scratch at them every fifteen seconds. Evil Mello couldn't help but giggle at his poor friend's misfortunes.

"Damn it! That's why I hate fucking grass! And why do you always see people chewing grass in all the motherfucking movies?! It's fucking gross!"

"Damn straight," Mello giggled. He didn't really understand the use of expletives that his younger friend used, but he had picked up on the habit.

"Grrr, I wanna cut all that damn stuff down."

"Why don't you?"

"…do you really think I'd do that? I'm too lazy to even take my goggles off before going to bed and you think I'd gather enough energy to mow then entire grounds?"

"Er, no?"

"You wound me, Melly."

Both of the children laughed at the absurdity of their conversation. As they began to ascend the stairs, three teens caught their eyes. X, Y, and Z walked down the carpeted steps. Their condescending eyes looked down on the other two children before dismissing them. After all, how could they even consider Mello a rival for their position? He was nothing more than a stupid little kid who had a knack for commanding attention. The only attention they sought was L's, and he wasn't here to be bewitched by that blond-haired devil. They were safe as long as L never showed his face to the other children, and that was something that they assumed would be true forever. L hadn't even shown his face to the three of them and they had helped him work on the bio-terror case.

Matt flipped them the bird as they passed. He absolutely hated the way that those three looked at him and Mello. It was just like all the other bastards who had seen him outside of his home in New York City. As if he was nothing more than a piece of trash.

"Well guess what, bitches," he hissed, more to himself than to anyone else. "Look where I'm at now. Not dead in some ditch like you all expected."

"What are you talking about?" Mello asked worriedly. Sometimes his friend would go off on things that didn't make sense at all or he'd just zone out for long periods of time. He was afraid that maybe Matt wasn't all ok in the head.

"Nothing, Melly, nothing at all."

"Ok."

Still not sure that Matt was ok, Mello continued to stare at him as they went into their…no, his own room. When Matt abruptly came to a halt with a horrified look on his face, Mello tore his attention away to see what the matter was. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he felt as if something was squeezing the life out of his heart. Tears brimmed and threatened to fall as he stared at the mess.

Red jam glistened on the floor with the shattered glass frozen in the sticky prison. The hardwood floor seemed to be bleeding from a terrible wound as the jam continued to spread out slowly. For a moment, Mello could hope that this was another jar of jam, not that one, but that was crushed almost immediately. The night table he kept the special jar on was empty.

"I'm so sorry," Matt whispered breathlessly. 'Oh hell, I'm such an idiot! Because I made Mello leave the room and that jam someone was able to come in and…and ruin it! It's all my fault, he'll utterly hate me! I'm really nothing more than a screw up and now Melly's lost something precious because of it. I suck, I don't deserve to be here. Yeah, I deserve to be in a ditch somewhere unloved, alone, dead-'

"It's…not your fault," Mello managed. Clenching his fists, Mello tried to rein his fury in. It did not take a genius to see who had done this to his precious gift. "I'll make them pay," he hissed as he struggled not to let those tears fall. B would be ashamed to see him always so weak. If B didn't cry, then he shouldn't cry either. He could be just as strong as his dearest friend wanted him to be. "I'll utterly destroy them until they are nothing more than pitiful garbage quivering at my feet!"

Matt looked at his friend in alarm. This was the first time he had ever heard such hateful and vengeful words from the blond and it was quite intimidating. There was no doubt in his mind that once Mello put his mind to something it would get done. Those unfortunate idiots had just placed themselves in Mello's line of fire and he was going to utterly demolish them. Still, it wouldn't be fair to let Mello do all the work. After all, he was the cause of the jar being left unprotected, so Matt felt that he needed to back up the blond on this.

"You can count on me, Melly," he replied softly. "I'll back you up, ok?"

A truly fearsome grin spread across Mello's face. "Hey, you know how to hack into computers now, don't you?"

~_~_~_~_~_

"L, there are some new cases that are ready for you."

Obsidian eyes peeked out from behind the soft fluffy pillow. "Of course," came the muffled answer. "I'll get right on it."

Shaking his head, Wammy added the folders to the ever growing stack on the rarely used desk. If it weren't for the fact that Lawliet was splayed out on the bed, belly-down like a squished frog, Quillsh might have been upset with the boy. His compulsive lying seemed to be getting worse; after all, L was lying to him now! Still, the sight before him was so pitiable that all thoughts of anger were swept away.

Groaning softly, Lawliet buried his face back into the pillow to try to hide his pain and discomfort from the old man. His gaunt back had an unnatural pink shade accompanied by the pitch black ink that had been cruelly shoved into the flesh. Quillsh was pretty sure that L had no idea that tattoos hurt so badly. As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure that the only reason L requested the Tabori style of was because of some movie or television show. Media would never give out details like how much it hurts if only to make the men getting the tattoo seem more macho. Poor boy.

"Do you want some more tea?" he offered. L shook his head. Smiling sadly, Wammy stared at the Grim Reaper that had been outlined. "The outline is just fine, you know. You don't have to go back and get the details put on."

After a moment of consideration, L lifted his head up again. There was a secretive smile playing on his lips and his eyes were shining with an unnamed emotion. "No, I'll finish it. After all, I wouldn't want to disappoint him."

"Who?"

"No one."

Plunk, his head fell back onto the pillow. Quillsh stood there, watching the boy softly breathing. When had this child grown up to the point of keeping secrets? Wasn't he still that little boy who would make snow angels in nothing but his underwear? No, it had been a long time since Lawliet had done something like that.

Shaking his head before he thought too much on the fact that L was growing up in his own warped way, the elderly man went to the other room to check up on Roger and the orphans. Before he got too far, the familiar voice muffled a command.

"Please bring me the reports X, Y, and Z are supposed to have sent me by now."

~_~_~_~_~_

Impossible. Twelve months of extensive, meticulous work, completely gone. Vanished. Every bit of information on the reports that were to be sent to L had disappeared overnight and the three potential successors panicked. At first, they had tried to recover the document in every way imaginable, but those wasted hours brought forth nothing. Their second plan was to write everything from memory, but since all three had been mingling all of their reports, the second plan ended up being a worse disaster than the first. With only two days to turn in the reports, the three teens were forced to try to get all their resources and complete all that work again in the limited time.

Failure. The horror etched on their faces as each time they began work a new computer problem arose. Viruses infected the damnable machines, processors were overloaded with useless garbage, and keyboards refused to work; everything imaginable went wrong. Having no other alternative than to turn to paper, the three worked without eating or sleeping for 28 hours straight. But all was for naught; their task had been impossible.

"Telephone call," Roger informed them. His wizened face scrunched up in worry as he noticed their expressions. It was as if he had issued a death sentence.

"W-who is it?" Y asked, the nervousness easily heard.

"Watari. He wants to know where the reports are."

Z began to chuckle, eyes never even blinking. It was all over for them. They had failed.

"Reports?" X repeated. "These are our reports, sir."

Scattered paper across the carpeted floor.

"You're not finished?!" Roger gasped. How could they not be finished? L had given them an entire year to work on that stuff and they had been working so diligently on it. "What happened?"

"It…it all just vanished," Z whispered before chuckling again. "Poof!"

"It can't have just run off!" Roger reasoned. "Surely you-"

"We searched everywhere!" Y cried. "All that work was gone, without a trace!"

"Roger?"

"Ah yes," Roger replied into the telephone.

"Do they have it?" Quillsh asked as he poured some tea for the pitiable L.

"Well, uh, no. They say that the work just vanished."

Wammy frowned as he set the kettle down. "Didn't they back it up?"

"Did you back it up?" Roger asked, hoping against all hope that they had.

Their silence was confirmation.

"Well then, I'll inform L of what happened. We will be in contact shortly."

Click.

Roger felt sorry as he watched the three of them struggle to keep their composure. L did not have a reputation of giving second chances. In his stern eyes, once was all it should take to get things done. Any failure was evidence that the child, or children, were not suitable to replace him.

"Perhaps he'll give you an extension," the old man tried, but the Letters couldn't even bring themselves to hope for something so far fetched.

All the while, two younger children sat and watched everything unfold. Soft pink tongues darted out to lick at their icicle pops. A contended grin spread across the older boy's face; it was all over for them now.

"They deserved it," Mello announced without an ounce of mercy. Lick.

"Yup," Matt agreed before wrapping his lips around the cold treat. After a bit of silence, he looked over at his buddy. "Hey, I'm really sorry about B's jar."

Mello's eyes saddened for a moment before he turned to the brunette. "It's ok, Mattie. Besides, I have B here in my heart. I shouldn't need a jar to remember him by."

Still, it was obvious that he missed the shattered jar. Reaching into his pocket, Matt pulled out a little gift and held it towards Mello. "Here."

Gasping in surprise, Mello took a delicate and well crafted bracelet. Dark glass beads were strung up nicely and there was a cross in the middle of it. Raising it up to the light, the blond could see that what he thought was black beads were really deep red glass beads. "Wow, Mattie," he breathed in awe. "How did you get this?"

Scratching his head in embarrassment, Matt looked away towards the wall. "Well, I took all that glass from the jar and gave it to Gena. She's here at Wammy's House because she's good at making glass jewelry, so I figured that she could do something nice. Er, the beads were painted red because, you know, the jam…"

Before Matt could get any more embarrassed, Mello tackled him with a tight hug that nearly knocked them both off them banister they had been sitting on. "Thank you so much," Mello whispered against the younger boy's chest. "Thank you."

Blushing madly, Matt barely managed to get a reply out. "Y-you're welcome. I owed it to you an-anyway."

"Thank you for staying too," Mello continued. When those aquamarine eyes looked up, it was impossible for Matt to remember how to even breathe. "That's why you're my best friend, because you'll never leave."

If that was all it took to keep Mello near him, Matt would willingly oblige. "Yeah, I'll never leave you, Melly."

~_~_~_~_~_

Late in the evening, Wammy called the House again. L had been disappointed and surprised that the three promising teens had failed to deliver. However, he still needed the reports and was in no condition to do it himself. His first instinct was to give the report to Mello who would fall as the next successor, but Mr. Wammy was worried that such a heavy responsibility was too much for the young child. The older man badgered his charge until the weak boy finally gave in and allowed X, Y, and Z to finish the report. Once that message was delivered, the two friends let their conversation drift to things more personal.

Sipping some white tea, Roger shook his head. "I'll never understand you, Quillsh," he conceded. "How can you let that brat continue to disregard your authority? He needs a good whipping now or he'll never learn respect!"

"No, it's not that, my old friend," Wammy chuckled light-heartedly. "I think it's good that he's finally going to kill me."

"What the bloody hell?!" Roger after his mouthful of tea had been sprayed over his desk.

"Ah ha ha ha! Not literally, mate," he quickly interjected before his poor friend succumbed to a heart attack. "He's finally reached his Oedipus stage; it's time for him to kill his father and marry his mother. I have raised him and led him in place of a father, but it has come time for him to make his own way in the world."

"Who's this 'mother'?" Roger asked wearily.

"Justice, my friend. Justice."

~_~_~_Near_~_~_~

Five years. One month. Sixteen days. Seven hours. Twenty three minutes. Eighteen seconds.

And counting.

That's how long he had lived in this hell hole. A large innocent farm in the middle of nowhere. Mountains could be seen in the distance and wheat billowed gently in the refreshing breeze. The faint sound of the lawnmower lazily floated through the air. Any sane person would have considered this place a haven, a place of peace and tranquility. Everyone went to church on Sundays and had social lunches on Thursdays. Children hung out at the small public school and parents cheered at the local basketball games. The weather even seemed to impart its blessings around these parts. One had to be nothing short of a demon not to enjoy such a wonderful place. That's why he hated it.

'I'm nothing but evil.'

Nate River absolutely loathed his "new home".

'I'm ungrateful.'

He hated the glaring sun, he hated the aggravating pollen, and he even hated attending church.

'No one cares about me.'

But most of all, he hated that man. His "new daddy." His "new mommy" wasn't that far behind.

'Let it end.'

~_~_~_~_~_

"Hurry up, y'all!" Evelyn called out to her children. Everyone was preparing to go out roller skating with some friends from church. The heavy set woman was wearing a brand new dress and sandals with her hair done up nicely; it was obvious that she had no intention of engaging in any potential exercise. On the other hand, all of her children were running around trying to get something casual to wear. A shoe couldn't be found and a hair tie was missing.

"Mom! I can't find my new hair tie!"

"Hon, you don't need to wear the new one! Come on kids, we need to get out of here!"

"Aw, don't worry, Evelyn," the father of the house chided with a smile.

"Are you sure you don't mind staying with Nate?" she asked uncomfortably. "We can make him sit in the car."

"It's fine, darlin'. Besides, I'm sure that he'd rather watch that NOVA (1) stuff than just sit in the car."

"If you say so," the uneasy woman replied with a faltering smile. Her husband wrapped his burly arms around her and pressed sweet kisses to her lips.

Soon enough, the three older children were rushing their mother out the door, barely pausing to wave good-bye to their father. Before the engine of their old truck even roared to life, Gerald's calloused hands were already stroking his adoptive son's delicate arm. Those sweat-stained lips kissed his pale neck and those thick fingers began working the child's pants off. "Mmm, I can't wait to fuck you," the older man purred. "Let's take it to the kitchen today, ok?"

Nate only sighed and allowed the man to do as he pleased. After all these years, the young boy saw no point in fighting. He had told his brothers about the sexual abuse and they had only shrugged and told him it would only last two years at the maximum. Liars. He had told his sister and she had wrinkled her nose before warning him not to say a word about it to anyone or she would take him out to the mountains and leave him to deal with the bears. Cruel. He had even tried to tell his mother, but she refused to listen and instead accused him of being an evil, lusty boy; she even went so far as to punish him every time Gerald was away. It didn't even matter that she had walked in on them once; no, she had blinded herself and had taken her anger out on Nate.

In this small corner of the world, Nate was alone, unloved, and abused. He couldn't help but wonder what he did to deserve such a life. Maybe they were all right and he was an evil, lusty boy. How could he fix that? Sometimes he even wondered if there was any hope for him. Maybe there wasn't a way to fix him.

The large man had taken the naked boy into the cool kitchen, shuddering in anticipation of the weary body that would always please him so much. He wasn't worried about being caught and sent to jail or anything. His wife loved him too much, and besides, she had no family that would take her in. Gerald was her everything. Not to say that Gerald didn't love her, he truly did. However, she had been unable to sate his sexual appetite for a long time now, and just as he was worried about never being able to get hard again, this little angel showed up. Snow white hair, soft round skin. At first glance he knew that he had found the solution to his problems. Even better was the fact that Nate was an orphan with no one who cared about him. No one in this part of the country would care for him and he would grow solely dependent on his family. It was all so perfect. The little doll was all his to monopolize, and even if Nate squealed to other people about what was going on, no one would believe him. After all, Gerald had been here all his life, and he was an absolute saint in their eyes.

"Sweet doll," he cooed as he stretched the boy's swollen entrance. "Tell Daddy how much you love him."

Dead eyes stared at the wallpaper without even blinking. "Take me hard, Daddy," he whispered. "So hard that I'll never think of anyone else."

Fragile bones grinded against the cold hard tile as the large man thrusted into the small boy. By now the bruises were close to permanent and Nate's cries of "pleasure" were tearing past his raw throat automatically. There was no thought involved, only the robotic performance. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nate couldn't help but wish that it would end quickly so that he could return to the comfort of his toys. They had never done anything to hurt him. Each lifeless toy would listen to his complaints without judging or punishing him. They never lifted a hand against him and they never uttered those hateful words. "You're the Devil!"

Hot liquid spurted inside his body making him shudder in disgust and pain. When Gerald pulled out, the semen oozed out with some fresh blood and Nate couldn't help but cough harshly after all that screaming. Before he had the chance to crawl away in pain and humiliation, the panting farmer grabbed his sore thighs and flipped him over onto his stomach.

"W-wait, no!" Nate begged. It always hurt so much and he was sure that he would literally break if he was forced through another round. "Please, I c-can't, I-"

"You're just too fuckable," Gerald groaned as he pulled the sickly boy to his knees.

His insatiable cock was pressed against the swollen and abused entrance before he shoved back in without a second thought. Tears stung at the child's blood-shot eyes and he struggled to even breathe under the constant strain on his tiny body. Each frantic heartbeat seemed to rattle his ribcage and each painful gasp for air took more and more effort.

As he was shoved into the cupboard door, a frightening thought occurred to Nate. It was almost certain that he was going to die in a few minutes. His miserable little life was going to end in an equally miserable way. He was going to be raped to death and no one in the entire planet would give a damn. Clawing at the wooden door he was pressed against, Nate came to realize something. A choice had to be made; he could either remain still and let death take him, or he could fight it. Another coughing fit racked his body and saliva trailed past his quivering lips and down his chin.

'I'm much too tired,' Nate thought. 'There's no point in trying to stay alive. It'll just hurt more. I want to die.'

At that moment, something within his weak body finally gave way under the pressure. A loud crack sounded out in the tiny kitchen before a surge of searing pain shot through the lower part of his body. There was no feeling but pain from his stomach down. Screaming in utter agony, an unfamiliar feeling flooded through Nate's veins. For the first time in his life, his base survival instincts kicked in.

Through watery eyes he spotted the plug end of a cord on the edge of the counter above him. In a swift motion, Nate snatched the dangling cord of the toaster and yanked it down with all his strength. The heavy metal appliance easily slid off the counter and crashed into the man's head. Falling back in a daze, Gerald tore out of the boy and warm sticky blood began to pour down those milky legs. However, the new injury didn't faze the nine year old. His pain threshold had already been crossed and adding to that the rush of adrenaline and endorphin, the unfortunate child was too far gone to make rational decisions.

Sweeping up the nearly broken appliance, Nate looked down into the confused face of his rapist for a moment before swinging it down. A sickening crunch echoed throughout the kitchen as the bones of the man's face collapsed. Screaming in pain and fury, Nate lifted up the heavy toaster up once more and swung it down. Blood was everywhere: blooming over the smooth tiles, painting the broken doll.

The screams became louder, tearing through the abused throat. Each hoarse scream echoed with the tortured boy's pounding heart it wasn't enough it wasn't! Dropping the bloody toaster, Nate scooted across the slick tile and jerked out the drawer full of knives. All of the sharp instruments crashed to the floor, their sharp ends glittering dangerously. Tiny fingers wrapped around the wooden handle of one of the knives and Nate forced himself back to the twitching and gurgling man.

Tears streamed down his swollen face as his grey eyes stared at the now flaccid member. Hatred swelled inside of him, nearly suffocating, and it pushed him forward. Sobbing, he swung the knife point down, stabbing that evil thing.

"No more!" he screamed, stabbing the flesh mercilessly. "No m-more!"

Even more blood sprayed over him and his own blood puddle with Gerald's. One of the stabs slipped and cut into the man's hairy thigh. Suddenly, blood shot out of the wound and spilled out onto the floor rapidly (2). The sight of all that blood shocked Nate into realizing what was going on. All that anger and adrenaline drained away, leaving the child feeling nothing but sickness and horror.

Gagging, he dropped the knife and pressed his trembling hands against the bleeding wound. It seemed to pulse against his bloody fingers, fighting to slip through his fingers. His own blood loss made him dizzy and tired, but he forced that wound close. Why? Why was he helping this man?

The sound of the front door clicking open sent terror through his entire body. "Daaaad," Kent wined, "Jane got sick!"

"We're home," Evelyn called out. "Gerald? Where are you?"

"Wait," Dan ordered. "Is tha' cryin'?"

Not knowing what to do, Nate only sobbed harder and continued to press on the wound. Footsteps rushed to the kitchen before they all stopped and a scream rang out through the house.

Everything seemed to pass by in a blur. He was torn away from the man by Dan, and Evelyn was screaming orders. Call 911, stop the bleeding, and wash the precious blood off the devil child. A choked cry spilled out from Nate as Dan hauled him towards the bathroom. All that pain hit the child full force, but there was no way that he could physically cry harder. Everything just hurt too much and his brain finally decided to shut down his consciousness.

~_~_~_~_~_

Things faded in and out for a while. Nate recognized the clean pastel blue bathroom and after a while he was able to determine that warm water was running over his body. Strong hands held his body up in a sitting position as the shower hose sprayed down his body. All evidence of the rape was swirling down the drain along with the water. After a while, the hand eased him against the tub and a wash cloth ran over his tender flesh.

At this point, Nate was in no condition to do anything bus subject himself to that warm water and his brother's hands. Surprisingly, those hands were gentle as they washed his body and Dan didn't seem particularly upset about what had transpired. In fact, he was smiling. It was unusual, but then again, it was too tiring to think much on it.

"Thank ya, Nate," Dan whispered before planting a kiss on top of the wet head. "Sorry it's gonna end all crummy."

If his face wasn't so swollen and hurt so much, Nate would have cried even more. This whole family confused him so much. Why would Dan thank him for doing something so horrible before making it clear that he wasn't going to help this situation at all? It didn't make sense. Renewed pain wracked his body making it impossible to set all his conflicting thoughts in order.

Evelyn walked into the bathroom calmly. "Fill up the tub, Danny. It'll help wash him all the way."

Now Nate was terrified. What was wrong with everyone?! Why were they all so calm? The faint sounds of sirens could be heard, but the strange look in his adoptive mother's calm eyes demanded his full attention. She stared right into his slate grey eyes as she walked forward. Dan looked at her curiously, but did nothing. Once she reached the tub, she gently wrapped her fingers around the boy's delicate neck.

No one breathed.

Suddenly, water drowned all Nate's senses. His head hit the ceramic bottom and the sharp fingers dug into his flesh, forcing the air out of his tired lungs. The images above him were all warped as the water sloshed around; refracting, magnifying, distorting. That burning feeling clamped down on his now empty lungs and his own pathetic fingers tried to pry off the furious woman's hands.

Nate would have laughed if he could have. The entire situation was ironic and ludicrous. Didn't he fight off Gerald thanks to the damned self-preservation that was inherent in his body? What had he gotten for surviving? Unbearable pain and agony coupled with more suffering. Why couldn't his body just give up? The afterlife, if there was any, couldn't be as bad as his life had been. Hell would be a welcomed change. Water flooded into his lungs and another firm squeeze finally brought the sweet unconsciousness for the final time.

~_~_~_~_~_

Light, blinding light. At first, everything seemed kind of hazy, but slowly everything cleared. He was in a hospital room and there was a man sitting on the only chair in the room. Looking down Nate could see the bandages and the IV in his arm. As he tried to sit up, pain shot through his body.

"Don't try to move," the man suggested as he stood up and approached the bed. "You have a hip fracture and it hasn't been fixed yet. Your surgery will be tomorrow."

"S-surgery?" Nate shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was hollow and hoarse.

"Nate Childress, I need to read your rights. You have the right to remain silent…"

The boy just stared at the man in confusion. What was he talking about? You only read the Miranda rights to criminals, so why?

"What are you…why?" No sooner had the words left his mouth than a terrible sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

The man sighed. "My name is Vaughn Peterson and I'm a cop. You've been charged with the attempted murder of a Mr. Gerald Childress. Since you can't afford an attorney, the state will provide you with one."

"Attempted…murder?" Horrific images flashed through his mind, but Nate carefully kept his face void of any expressions.

"Do you remember what happened last night at approximately 7:30 PM?"

/…/…/

"Take me hard Daddy."

Blood, agony, hatred.

/…/…/

"N-no. I…I don't know!" Tears welled in his eyes, but inside a completely different emotion was bubbling up. It was not fear, but hatred. For crying out loud, he had been raped by that sick man and they were charging him with attempted murder?! What kind of nonsense was that! It had all been in self-defense!

"Nate, how old are you?" the man asked carefully as he pulled out a notepad.

It took the sickly child half a second to evaluate the situation and produce the best possible response. "F-four? W-where's my mommy?"

Mr. Peterson wrote down some stuff before looking up again. "Your mother can't come here right now," he replied in a soothing voice. "I need to ask you a few more questions. Is that ok?"

"Ok, Mister," he sniffled. That idiot was nothing; he didn't know a thing about Nate and the boy used that to his advantage. It was the same trick that had failed with his real mother. "Can I (sniff) have Mr. Bunny?"

"Um, I don't have him right now."

Large crocodile tears rolled down, leaving angry red streaks as the tears reacted to the sensitive skin. "M-mr. Bunny is g-gone?"

Panic flashed across the police officer's face. "Don't worry! No, uh, don't cry. Hey, I'll get you another toy, ok? D-do you want another bunny?"

A pathetic wail was the response and the man turned on his heel and ran out of the room quickly. "I'll be back!" he called out before completely disappearing. Nate was tempted to drop the charade immediately, but he was afraid that the guy would come back any minute. After several minutes, he quieted down and stared at the door angrily. Idiots, he was surrounded by idiots.

Disgust filled him as he looked at the needle resting in his arm. He couldn't help but wonder once more why he was still alive. What was the point of living if all that life offered you was pain and suffering? Why did he constantly fight to live when there was nothing to live for?

A petite nurse came in and checked on his vitals. She had fake blond hair (her roots were showing) and poor make-up. Everything about her screamed that she tried to hard, even Nate could see that. Still, she smiled brightly at him and treated him kindly, far more kindly than anyone else had. As soon as she was finished checking up on him, the police officer came running in with a stuffed lamb in his arms.

"There (pant) wasn't any…any bunnies," he gasped, leaning over to catch his breath.

Back to acting. Nate reached out his hands to take the new stuffed animal. "Thank you," he mumbled as he snuggled with the doll.

"Is that…that fine?"

"Mmm, hmmm."

A couple of minutes later, Mr. Peterson caught his breath and he proceeded with some more questions. Nate knew that he had to lie and keep up the act of having regressed to his four-year-old self. If he did that, there was no way that they could send him to juvenile. The worst they could do was send him to another orphanage and force him to attend sessions with a psychiatrist. All of that was better than the hell he's been living with all these years.

~_~_~_~_~_

The next few days were all a haze to the nine year old. He had a painful surgery, was approached by numerous people, had to appear in a small courthouse, and was eventually driven out hours away to a mental institution.

"This is ridiculous," Mr. Peterson hissed as he pulled up to the asylum. Nate just barely managed to keep his heavy eyes open. That pain medication was some pretty potent stuff. "Look, I'm really sorry about this kid. Social Services will come here to pick you up whenever they get around to it, but for now you've got to stay here."

"Where's 'here'?" the white-haired boy croaked.

Peterson sighed. "This is a…mental institution. It's a place where doctors help people with brain problems. Supposedly, these are the only doctors close enough that will be able to take care of your problems until the Social Services pick you up."

"Where will they take me, Mister?"

"A nice orphanage. It'll be far away from here."

Nate supposed that he should have been happy, but he couldn't muster the energy. It wasn't worth the effort. The police officer stepped out of the car and came around to open the door for Nate. A few nurses came out to meet them and the ladies showed the guys inside. The smell of bleach hit Nate's nose making him feel sick. There was always that damnable bleach, always burning his nose.

"Thank you for bringing him here, Mr. Peterson," a short lady said. "We'll take good care of him."

"I hope so," Peterson replied with a little more harshness than he intended to. "He's just a kid."

All too soon, Vaughn Peterson was gone and Nate was left alone with a new set of strangers. A red-headed woman leaned over to look him in the eye. She stared for a few minutes as if trying to read him, but he stared blankly. There was nothing for her to read. He was just another miserable little boy. "Well, take him to his room, Anne," she ordered after straightening up. "Carry him since he can't walk on that gimp leg."

The young boy didn't really know how he felt about having to live in an asylum for a while, and after a few weeks of life there, Nate still had mixed feelings. The bleached white walls and perfectly kept halls wore him out and all the people seemed to just walk around as if they were somewhere else completely. It was a sad place with very gloomy vibes and it was slowly seeping into his personality. One could almost say that the building and the patients within it were a most wonderful expression of his soul. Cold and dreary. Lifeless.

On the other hand, there were a few things that he found who could entertain him. One old man would sit at the same table everyday with a chess board. He would try to play by himself, muttering nonsense, but every time he would get frustrated and throw the board. Nate watched as some of the nurses tried to play with the man, but he would throw the pieces at them. Eventually, Nate decided that it wouldn't hurt to try playing this game. After all, it looked simple enough. The old man, Harry was his name, watched with a critical eye as the child struggled to pull himself up on the seat. Once he was on the seat, Nate just sat there and stared at the man. Harry would be insulted if he tried to make the first move, so Nate just waited. Three hours later, a small smile tugged at those wrinkled lips and Harry made his move. The first game was an utter loss for Nate, but the second, third, and fourth were his undeniable victories. Such an easy game.

Second, there was a man who would write the same formula over and over on paper and on the chalkboards he was allowed to have. The same letters, numbers, symbols, and parentheses. Nate found that formula intriguing and he studied it daily. It reminded him of a show he watched regarding quantum physics.

Finally, there were all the toys. Because he was the only child in the asylum, all the nurses and doctors would bring him various toys to play with and he didn't have to share them. They were all his to do as he pleased. The feeling of hard plastic or the soft material was such a comfort. Toys were his only true friends, they had always been. Never judging, never hurting. These toys were no exception.

Everything was predictable, in a precise pattern. Wake up, eat breakfast, play four games of chess, eat lunch, study the formula, talk to the psychologist, eat dinner, play with toys, go to bed. Repeat. Repeat. Of course, Nate had to keep up the façade of having regressed, but he didn't worry too much about it. There were plenty of patients that needed more attention than he did, so most of the time no one bothered him.

However, there was someone watching him. The nurse he had met on the first day had been suspicious ever since she laid eyes on the boy. He had an intense air about him, one that could not belong to an average and stupid child. Her brown eyes watched him carefully and what she saw only confirmed her thoughts. As a matter of fact, he had far surpassed anything she thought possible.

At first, she thought that what she was seeing was merely coincidental or luck, but the more she watched, the more amazed she got. It only took the boy one short game of chess before he had grasped the rules and the strategies with an understanding that professional players dreamed to have. He could soundly beat Harry every time now. Nate also seemed intrigued by the formula Eric Stephenson would compulsively write. He would sit awkwardly for hours, curling some of his hair around his finger as he stared at that mathematical enigma. After the third day of doing that, she saw a light go off in his eyes, but he didn't do anything until about four weeks later. Having got bored with Eric not being able to solve his own problem, Nate struggled to his feet. Grabbing a piece of chalk, the boy stood shakily on his tip toes and proceeded to write the solution on the board.

Then looking around guiltily, he slid back down to the ground to innocently play with his stuffed lamb while Eric stared dumbfounded at the solution. A few minutes later, the man began to scream incomprehensible things and some nurses rushed to calm him down. Instead of being terrified of the man's behavior, Nate continued to play calmly. A mischievous smile even graced his lips for a few seconds before he pulled up his blank mask.

"He knew what was going to happen," she mumbled to herself as she watched the scene unfold. "How did he do that? Why did he do that?" Her curiosity forced her to investigate. Perhaps he himself had a mental disorder and he was able to empathize with the patients. An event two days later made her even more desperate to get to the bottom of the child's strange condition. After two days of Eric bemoaning the fact that his formula had been solved, Nate broke his pattern. He arrived at the chalk board early in the morning, before Eric arrived, and carefully wrote out a brand new formula. It was different, but similar. After that, Nate reverted back to his pattern and the nurse couldn't help but smile. Eric was ecstatic to find the new formula, and this time he refused to let Nate see it which only added more humor to the situation.

Days of research all brought her to one place. Wammy's House, an orphanage for especially gifted children. It was founded by a Quillsh Wammy, an inventor and a super genius. Surely he would be able to help her uncover the secrets this boy held. Her hand shook as the dial tone droned. Would he even be willing to help her? After all, surely he didn't have time to deal with a nurse in some backwater asylum that happened to be babysitting a child while the government took their sweet time.

"Hello? This is Wammy's House, and I'm the current caretaker Roger Ruvie. How may I help you?"

"Um, hello, this is Jessica Lynn. I work at Falstrom Mental Institution in the United States. I understand that Mr. Wammy has experience with gifted children?"

"Why yes, he has an orphanage specifically for raising geniuses."

"Would I be able to ask him some questions?"

"Ah, I apologize, madam, but he is out of the country at the moment. However, I might be able to answer your questions."

Taking a deep breath, Jessica figured that it wouldn't hurt. "I'm calling about this boy I know. His name is Nate River…"

Author's Notes: (1) NOVA has TV. shows that show scientific stuff. Things like string theory, dark matter, super volcanoes, etc. are common. (2) Nate hit the femoral artery; with an injury like that, it is literally possible for a person to bleed to death in a minute or two.

Did you know that Tabori style tattoos are how the Yakuza would get their "armor" done? This makes another wonderful twist to the reasoning for L getting that type of tattoo. "Armor" is what full body tattoos are called; the only parts of the body not tattooed are the head, hands, and feet (I'm pretty sure). Now, L isn't getting armor, but he's getting a highly detailed, thus painful, tattoo of the Grim Reaper on his back. It's kind of fun to think that B had compared him to a murderer, a criminal, and now, he's getting the sign of a murderer inked on his back as well as in the very style as some of the most fearsome criminals. Cool, eh?

Hehehehe, and I loved how Matt looked down on the kids as they argued about picking new teams. He never really realizes that they're all older than him and he should respect them. Nope, that never crosses his inherently American and rebellious mind.

Finally, don't be confused with the fact that Nate's name changed throughout this chapter. He was adopted, so he took his new family's name: Childress. However, after they charged him with attempted murder, they disowned him so he took his real name back. Nate River. Please review!