B: Uhhh, I'm sorry?... ;^; Um, just to warn you, it gets worse... Um... I'm so sorry. *hides*
Well, in any case, I'm glad you think I've improved, at least. ^^; Ah! It snowed where I am, too, the day I updated! I love the snow~

Guest: It's okay. We all have problems here. Um, I want to say she may or may not get pregnant like I usually do, but-uh, not this time. *bows* But maybe...in the fuuuttuurrrreeee...

Guest: Not completely sure you're the same guest, but hi. ^^; Yeah, I haven't even tried at laundry yet... Whoops.

TheBlackArtist: Wahhhh, thank you! *hugs back* And happy birthday; my goodness!

Blarg... Jack really is a jackass. u^u I do believe it was Real-life Sierra that first dubbed him as such.

WARNING: For more child abuse...

This is terrible. Why did I write this.

...Yet, my goodness, I do love his father. So much. ;^;

Enjoy?

"Can I learn how to do the laundry?" he asked his father that night as the man folded clothes.

His father looked at him confusedly. "Why?"

"Well, I want to help you around the house," he lied, though the answer was really 'I don't want to be wrong again. I don't want to get yelled at.'

"Oh, Son," Daddy chuckled, and set the clothes he was holding aside. He crouched down to be closer to L's height. He was smiling. "Look, you don't have to be helping with laundry anytime soon, okay? I can handle that. I appreciate it though. How about… you clean your room more often, huh?"

"What? No!"

Daddy laughed, and L huffed. The incident with Uncle was forgotten and pushed to the back of his mind.

"Oh, come on," he told Daddy, "it only looks messy. I know where everything is."

"Where's the chess set Grandma passed down to you before you were born?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

L furrowed his brow. "That's… not in my room. You took it out to use it; you had it last."

Daddy straightened up and scratched the back of his head. "Oh, did I? I guess I have to find it…."

L crossed his arms and smiled up at his dad, raising his own eyebrows.

Daddy looked at him, and chuckled again. "Alright, alright, fine. I get it. Fine," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of giving up. L giggled, and Daddy smiled down at him.

L was eating cookies and milk at Uncle's the next day, thinking of how he'd have to remember to ask his father again to teach him to do the laundry. But as he turned to glance thoughtfully back at the hallway Uncle often emerged from, his elbow hit his milk glass and it fell to the floor. Thank goodness the cup was plastic.

L frowned down at the pool of spilt milk on the ground and got up to climb up onto the counter, dragging over a chair. He'd need to wipe it up with a paper towel. And fast, a part of him said, and he looked back at the hallway as he ripped off the paper towels he needed. Then he got back down and pushed the chair back in before getting on his hands and knees to wipe up the milk. He didn't look up when the shadow fell over him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I spilled my milk, Uncle. So I'm cleaning it up. I figured you'd want it wiped up, right?" He looked up at his uncle just as the man's foot went to his side, hard and painful. Uncle was wearing shoes, he remembered well. L fell to his side and crashed to the ground, grimacing. L opened his eyes and looked up at the unjust man. "What? What, I was cleaning it up!"

"Don't spill it in the first place," his Uncle said coldly.

The three-year-old pushed himself up with his hands. "It was an accident. Accidents happen!" The foot came at him again, and he let out a yelp of pain without meaning to.

"I can say that this is accident too, huh? Huh?" The foot left, but it kept coming back again and again and L found himself curled up on the floor, just waiting for it to end, unable to do anything but endure it. Even after the foot stopped coming and Uncle left down the hall again, muttering something under his breath in a low voice, L didn't move. He only lay there, curled on the ground, afraid to unfurl for fear of earning another onslaught of kicks. He still hurt. He found himself crying.

Eventually, he uncurled slowly, looking wearily about him before crawling cautiously over to the spill and finishing in his cleanup. He kept thinking of how unfair Uncle had been; kept thinking of how much it had hurt; kept thinking of how he was going to try not to spill any more milk….

L got his father to teach him how to do the laundry that weekend, so he could do it right on Monday. And he did do it right on Monday. Uncle got mad at him anyway for tracking mud in the house. It had been a wet day; it had rained the night before. His birthday, Halloween, came soon enough, though, and though his birthday was on a Monday Daddy took off the whole week just to spend time with him. They went trick-or-treating around all of Axbridge on his birthday, and that week they were just able to spend time together. It was a wonderful time for L.

But the week would end, and on the seventh of November, he had to go to Uncle's again. He'd come to start calling it 'Uncle's' rather than 'Auntie's' at this point…. Perhaps because Auntie never seemed to play a part. He hesitated in letting go of his father. He didn't want to leave him. He was coming to really not like going to Uncle's house. But he had to let go eventually, and then he could only watch as Daddy walked out of that black metal gate. He considered simply not going into the house, but it was a cold November, and so he decided he'd have to go in eventually. Uncle would be mad if he didn't do the laundry anyhow. And that was the first thing he did: the laundry. He was extra careful to get things right.

He came out of the laundry room to find Uncle waiting for him. L closed the laundry room door behind him, looking up at his uncle cautiously. "I did the laundry," he said carefully.

"You think you're special," Uncle said in a low voice.

L stared up at him and tried to figure out how to respond in the best way. He thought of every scenario. If he said yes, he'd be hurt. If he denied it, he'd be called a liar and hurt. If he tried to walk away, or run, he'd be hurt worse. If he was silent, he'd be asked again, which would only lead back to the same thing. If he acted confused, he'd be called an idiot…. He frowned slightly.

"What are you talking about?" he asked Uncle.

"You know what I'm talking about. Little genius," he spat. "You know, your Aunt just loved your mother, you know that?"

Well, they were sisters, so probably, he thought. And everyone but you loved Mommy. Were you jealous of her, Uncle? Is that it?

"And now you think you can win people's hearts too, huh? You think your daddy loves you; you think you can get Aunt Alice to love you like you think your mommy did."

Mommy and Daddy do love me, he thought firmly, though it disturbed him that he'd never considered the idea that they might not. Auntie… Auntie he wasn't so sure about.

Uncle leaned down to get nice and close to L, and he found himself backing up against the door to the laundry room. He swallowed. "Look here, you little brat," he uttered, and L could smell that odd, unpleasant scent on his breath again, like the first day Uncle had spoken to him. It disgusted him. "You want to take your aunt away from me. You act like a helpless little innocent and make her feel bad for you. Deceiving piece of shit. You're the devil's son. I won't let you trick her."

L furrowed his brow, trying to think of what he'd done to try to take Auntie away from Uncle. The hand came down before he could think of anything, and before Uncle could do it again, he instinctively fell into a crouch. There he couldn't fall over, but he wasn't lying defenseless on the ground, either. It would later be seen as his signature L position, only at the moment he was practically hugging his legs to his chest.

"That's for trying to take her!" Uncle snapped, and L looked up at his uncle from the floor. He was able to watch as he yanked his belt out from his belt loops and raised his arm. L stared in horror before putting his head down and putting his hands to the back of his head in attempt to protect his precious skull. The belt came, and oh, did it hurt. The impact of the metal buckle against his small body was damned painful, and Uncle was only going harder each time as the thing came back. He was swinging the thing like a whip, like L was only a misbehaving horse while Uncle was the cruel, all-powerful trainer. L could do nothing but wait again, hoping it would stop soon, praying it would stop soon, pleading it would stop soon, please God, let it stop soon….

And it did stop eventually. Uncle kicked him angrily, still accusing him of trying to steal Auntie, and did that a few more times until L fell out of his protective position to the ground. Only then did Uncle leave him alone, curled on the ground again, shaking so bad he could barely breathe. But the shaking hurt, and he didn't want to cry but he had to, then. He had to.

He didn't uncurl again for an hour or so, and when he did uncurl, it hurt just to move. He staggered to his feet, hunching over and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at the floor and saw the red the beating had left behind. He held back a something that might have been a sob, a dull panic filling his mind. He had to clean it up, or else Uncle would be back and then he'd be in pain again, and he didn't think he could take another thing like that, no, no, he didn't want that again; he didn't want—

A hand went to his shoulder, and he jerked away and snapped his head to look at who was there, his eyes wide and his breathing suddenly heavy as his pulse rate quickened out of pure fear. At first his mind made him think that it was Uncle standing there, but it wasn't…. It was Auntie, and she was crying. "Don't you worry about the floor," she said softly. "I'll get it."

"But if he finds out you did it, that I didn't do it, then he'll tell me I made you do it and he—he'll—"

"He won't find out. And you won't tell him either. Lie."

He stared at her, his breathing slowly easing again.

"Oh, honey…. I'll fix your wounds up too. Alright?"

He continued staring.

"It's okay," she said. "You can trust me. Think with logic, and things become clearer, you know."

He thought on this. With logic…. Well, there was no reason for her to do his work if she was planning his punishment, and after all she was the dormant one, the one that didn't do anything to him….

Yet, his mind told him, but he nodded.

Auntie smiled.

Soon L was watching Auntie clean up the red on the floor as he himself crouched nearby silently. His ankles began to hurt after awhile, but he didn't dare get out of the position. He felt exposed without it. Eventually Auntie treated his wounds, and she got him to make a vow of silence again. He decided that maybe he liked Auntie, and agreed for that reason. Thus, he promised never tell anyone of the things Uncle did, and eventually he was taken home as if none of it had ever happened. He told Daddy he slipped and fell down the stairs to the backyard, and that he had been playing a rough game of hide-and-go-seek tag. He told Daddy he'd won.

Lies.

It was a game with Uncle he was playing, and there was no winning. Uncle always won. Always.

L didn't do anything to upset Uncle anymore. He'd learned to do the laundry, he didn't make messes, and he cleaned up the messes Uncle made. He thought he was doing pretty good. But over time, Uncle kept finding ways to accuse him of doing something or other; always finding a way to put him down, make L wrong and Uncle right; always finding reasons to hurt him again. L began to withdraw for the second time, and eventually even stopped fighting back when Uncle falsely accused him. And whenever he had a new bruise, a new cut, a new injury, he would always have to lie to Daddy and say it was something else.

It was a freezing cold February the next year, and it seemed like it was still the dead of winter. It was in this month that Daddy needed to go to London for a week. The idea made L sick, and utter dread filled his chest. "Daddy," L protested at the iron gate, "I don't want to go to Uncle's house." No, he'd do anything if it meant not staying at Uncle's for a week.

Daddy frowned down at him, regret shining in his eyes as he told him softly, "I'm sorry, but I have work to do, and I can't very well leave you here alone." He smiled at him reassuringly and put his hand on his head, ruffling his hair. "Come on, little guy, you can stand being with Uncle for a few days."

He looked up at his father with blank eyes, careful to hide any frustration. "I guess I can," he admitted, "but I really don't want to, Daddy. I like you better. And… Uncle isn't very nice."

Daddy laughed lightly. "Uncle is mean sometimes," his father admitted, "but he means well."

"Not all the time," he replied honestly.

Daddy smiled slightly, his eyes sad, then pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. He hugged back, his little hands clinging to Daddy's shirt. He had the feeling neither of them wanted to let the other go. "I love you, my little genius," Daddy said. Normally L would inwardly cringe at his mother's nickname for him. And admittedly, L couldn't help but think of the horrible way Uncle said it… but Daddy said it with love, not disgust or hate, and for that, he closed his eyes and held Daddy tighter. "You'll only have to be with Uncle for a little while," he told him. And in that moment, L realized that Daddy did love him, no matter what Uncle said…. And that made him happy.

Even though he knew Daddy would leave one day, just like Mommy did; just like Auntie had never truly come…. Even though one day Daddy would be no more than the phantom to lead him on through the black; even though L distanced himself as much as he could for fear of losing him, he wanted Daddy to know. "I love you, too, Daddy," he told him in a soft, small voice, and burrowed his face into his father's shirt. Daddy squeezed tighter for a moment, then released him. Let him go.

L entered the black metal gate, and walked down the path to the door. He headed right to the living room and set his bag carefully on the ground before sitting at his chair, his knees pulled up to his chin. He eyed the hallway wearily, wondering when Uncle would come out. Hesitantly, he leaned down and grabbed one of the books Auntie always left out for him. It was a murder mystery. Agatha Christie, if he remembered correctly.

As time passed, he noticed it was very cold in the house. They must not have the heat on, he thought to himself, and shuddered. It being so cold outside, it only seemed to get worse.

He was shivering when Uncle came out to greet him, and L tried to stop it. It only worked for about a second, and he shuddered violently before going back to just shivering again. Uncle watched him and didn't say anything. "…H-hi, Uncle…," L greeted quietly. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, but he once didn't greet Uncle and was hurt for ignoring him, even though an hour before that he'd been told to be quiet.

"Something wrong?" Uncle asked him.

He thought about it. If he told him the answer, he'd be accused of complaining, and might be hurt for that…. If he lied, he'd be called a liar and hurt for sure…. Maybe if he told him, but acted like it was nothing…. "I'm just a little cold, that's all."

Uncle continued watching him, and L curled tighter into himself. "You think this is cold," he said in a low voice. It was said as a statement, but L supposed it was meant as a question.

L swallowed, and forced a smile. "I'm only skin and bone, you know, and it isn't that bad…."

"You're cold," Uncle repeated. His eyes were hard. Red. Bloodshot. Like always. "You're cold."

"It… it's not that bad—"

"Give me a straight answer, damn it."

"…No…." He swallowed again, gripping his legs so tight the knuckles went white. "I'm not."

Uncle stalked toward him and gripped his arm, yanking him up to his feet. "C'mere," he hissed, and began pulling him along down the hallway. L had no choice but to follow, honestly scared of what he might do to him this time. He was led to a door in the back which Uncle swung open to reveal a screen door that led to the back door. This door was opened, and L was shoved out into the knee-deep snow. "Cold now?" his uncle asked him, and he stepped out into the snow himself and grabbed the hose. The door swung shut, and L looked hopelessly back at it as Uncle turned on the water. Uncle looked at him for a moment, and then he held down the handle and sprayed a jet of water at the four-year-old. At first the water was relatively warm – which was likely why it wasn't frozen – but it came hard and fast; a painful jet of water that made L scramble away from the stream and to the high wooden fence. Then the water turned cold, and it seemed to bite at him as Uncle sprayed him down in the snow.

"You cold yet?!" he asked. L hoped for someone to hear, wished someone could see, but no one would hear and no one could see because of the fence, and so no one came. "You cold?! You cold?!"

He could only stay backed against the fence, shielding his face as the water shot at him and bit him until he hurt everywhere, bit him until he was completely numb. "Yes!" he cried out, hoping he would stop. "Yes, I'm cold! I'm cold!" He fell into the snow, and eventually Uncle left him shivering violently there, whimpering quietly. L swore he could hear the click of the lock after he closed the door. Once the door was closed, he forced his numb body to move… but when he stood and fell right over, he just crawled one movement at a time back to the doorway. The tears of pain, frustration, and injustice were freezing on his cheeks. He sniffed and shuddered as he used the house as support in order to get to his feet again. His hands were dead fish to him as they fumbled with the doorknob. He got the screen door, and he tried to grasp the next knob with his dead, frozen, numb hands to get it open. He thought maybe he gripped it, and squeezed extra hard in case before twisting.

It was locked.

He banged once on the door, as hard as he could, but didn't even feel it. He leaned on the door and tried not to cry out of frustration, then slowly slid to his knees. Once he knew he wouldn't cry, he allowed the screen door to close and crouched there in the snow, his hands tucked between his legs and his chest. Of course, he was still soaked down, and the cold had penetrated to his very core at that point. He was sure his hair was frosted by now, and he could see the ice forming at his eyelashes. At one point he noticed his toenails were turning blue, and pulled a hand out into the air to find his fingernails were doing the same. He stuffed it back between his legs and chest, shivering and rocking back and forth on his feet. Even his breathing was shaky at one point. It got harder to pay attention to the normal sounds that were his comfort. And he was tired. He was so tired, and he didn't know why. He thought maybe if he had to be out here much longer, he'd just sleep... Just...sleep...

C'mon, don't do it. Stay awake, now.

So, another updates a-coming on Thursday. Aha. Ahahaha...

Fun Fact: When Molly (L's mom) and Jack were in high school, she beat him up. ^^

Review? Uhh..for...chess. Or disorganized organization!