A/N: Thinking he probably shouldn't have saved himself the last turn, Street joins his friends in the eerie open-hearted sharing that's going on among 20-Davids.

Street's worst and best

Worst Christmas memory, you ask me? Are you sure you want to venture there? Because, you know, I don't like to brag, but I've had some pretty awful experiences over the years.

No backing away? Alright, brace yourself then.

The absolute worst had been when I was about seven, still living with both my parents in our little house down in Long Beach. How can that be worse than years of Christmas in foster care? Oh, you just wait.

You probably won't be surprised to hear that I've never believed in Santa Claus. My parents never really made an effort to make it happen. As a matter of fact, for my mom, celebrating Christmas has always been more about keeping up the appearances than living the spirit of it, and my dad… well, he'd always been more interested in another kind of spirit.

Not a lot of magic in my household, you can imagine. I had schoolmates that came back from the holidays talking about the noises they heard on the roof, sure it was Santa's reindeer and sleigh with the bells and everything. And I just knew it was only their parents putting up a big act for them, but I have to admit I was a little jealous all the same. If I just could have believed the noises I heard could be blamed on the fat man being there to drop some presents for me… But no.

That particular Christmas, I woke up early to very different, more unpleasant sounds. Just as those other kids, I faked to still be asleep, but instead of hoping to have a glimpse of what was happening outside, I prayed hard that those footsteps didn't approach my room.

Guys, don't. Please, don't look at me with those pity eyes. Yes, those terrifying thuds and yells went on for a bit, but that time, I got lucky. That time at least…

What… what was I saying? Yes, Christmas morning. It wasn't a complete waste. I got waffles and even a couple presents—don't ask me what they were though. And my mom, she didn't seem all that bad all considered. I was just a kid, and as long as my dad kept himself away from the kitchen where mom and I were, I was cool.

But my luck couldn't last, right? Dad found his way to the bottom of the bottle long before lunch was ready, and mom couldn't just maintain her calm for dear life. All I know then is that I hid. I put myself into a corner to not get caught in the crossfire, trying not to cry in front of my mom to not get things worse for her—even though now I'm not anymore sure if she would have cared…

Oh, come on! You asked for it. Now wipe those expressions off your faces. I survived, right? As I said, it had been the worst, even though I've spent Christmas with my parents for a few more years. And I admit that during my foster care time this holiday had never been my favorite, but I have a handful of good memories too.

Buck had always played a part whenever I had a decent holiday or birthday as a kid, but I think my favorite Christmas of all had been when I lived with Nate and mama Joan.

I was about fourteen, and I had visited my mom in jail on Christmas Eve. You can see why my mood was not great and why Nate had me sneak out after curfew to wander on the pier while trying to avoid Christmas lights and carolers.

Well, the consequence was that I woke up late on Christmas morning. My stomach growled, prickled by the smell of pancakes and chocolate wafting all the way up from the kitchen. Well, you know the fastest way to my heart is through my stomach, but that actually put me in an even lower mood because I was fully convinced that being the only one who'd slept in, the others had not spared me a single crumb of the breakfast.

Well, never been more glad to be wrong. Once I scooped down the stairs, I found mama Joan in her colorful Christmas-themed apron helping out Nate frying pancakes. And the other kids were out playing football or whatnot, so I knew I was not going to be annoyed. That was the most appreciated gift.

When mama Joan greeted me with the most genuine smile and Nate grinned from ear to ear while offering me a pancake, I swear that was the first time I'd ever felt the warmth of a family. A real family, just like the one you offered me when I joined.

Okay, enough with the cheesy stuff, and back to my memories. It wasn't actually a perfect morning, you know? Barely the time to finish breakfast that mama Joan started calling us Nathaniel and James, and I instantly knew I couldn't avoid chores even on Christmas Day.

I tell you what, I had not lived there for much longer, but that place changed my life.

Oh, what are those faces again? Pitying me for such a boring best Christmas memory? It wasn't that bad, having a taste of a real family Christmas for the first time. It gave me hope for the years to come, and I can say that after all these years, I finally found that atmosphere again thanks to all of you.

What, now? Too much?

We should really go eat something. I'm starving.