Note: Since this is my first attempt at a multichapter, I need all the critiques I can get!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or it's characters.

Trial

"Shut the hell up, you little spawn of Satan!" His brother slapped him across the face. "I should have killed you when I had the chance ..."

But for little Nate, it was easier said than done. He knew it would do no good to punch and cry. It would do no good to kick or scream either, but he was only three and could not simply control his emotions despite his rational mind telling him otherwise. He punched, he cried, he kicked, and he screamed. So he got another blow, an impact so hard that he almost blacked out.

"I can't wait to get rid of you!" The older boy dragged the younger's limp body across the deserted streets in the middle of the night.

Nate had seen it coming. He had deserved this, because he had known better. He had known better, yet he still had not been able to restrain himself. He knew that his brother, only eight, was already having a difficult time keeping both of them alive all by himself, but he had been young and desperate for company, for attention, and everything he did to secure that only pushed his target further and further away. Eventually he took it too far, and big brother had finally had enough.

Nate looked up at a run-down building that was now in front of him and then glanced at his brother, who did not look back. "Stay here till morning. Some grown-ups will come get you. Just say that you're homeless and lost, and they'll take care of it. Don't mention me. Don't you dare mention me."

He dragged the toddler onto the front steps of the building and shoved him forcefully to the ground. "I'm doing you a favor, kid. I've kept you alive this long, but I can change my mind at any time. If you even think about coming back to mess with me again, I swear, I won't spare you a second time ... I swear will kill you on the spot!" He disappeared without another word.

The tears had long since dried out, but Nate was still crying.

A new arrival. The word was out, and everyone was rushing to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. What did he look like? How old was he? Was he a boy or a girl?

Near was not interested. He stacked another domino on top of his two feet high tower. He recalled when he had first entered here not too long ago at the age of five. The man had taken him from that dilapidated shack that also had the nerve to call itself an orphanage to this current residence. After participating in a series of boring tests that confirmed the transition, the little boy had inquired as to why he was to be transferred. The man simply smiled and replied, "You're special."

Everyone here was special. Children invited to the House were generally chosen based on a series of tests given by the staff that assessed their potential intelligence level. These tests included written and verbal knowledge-based, problem solving, and deductive reasoning tests as well as genetic tests to determine inborn intelligence. If they found your scores satisfactory, you were invited to join Wammy's House, a home for fostering geniuses with the goal that one of them will become the next greatest detective in the world. Education started as early as was possible for a given child, and the rate of learning progressed as quickly as the child was able to handle, regardless of age.

Near had certainly been special at the old orphanage, and he was still special here. He had easily outpaced everyone in his first few classes even without formal schooling prior to entering Wammy's. By age 7, he had already earned his place as Wammy's first rank, out of some 50 of the most brilliant young minds in the world, including children in their teens, the youngest student to ever even make it into the top 10, much less 1st place. The children despised him for it, but Near did not care.

"I heard he was almost beaten to death," they continued to gossip.

"Did you see him? There were chocolate wrappers all over the floor!"

"I just saw the nurse go get more too. What a strange fellow."

Typical. Near lifted another domino. They spoke of pain and abuse as if it was simply an amusement of some sort. Nobody here actually had any interest in anybody else other than for just that, amusement.

...

A few days later, Near was looking for food in the kitchen when something caught his eye, a brand new carton of chocolate. He picked up a bar and examined it. Nice and stable. They would make decent building blocks. He grabbed a pastry then dragged the carton to the lobby to begin today's construction project.

The fort was taller than the boy himself, who had been kneeling in the center of the lobby for about half an hour. He had already finished two towers and three walls and was in the process of building a fourth. Near preferred to spend his time this way. Stacking and balancing objects helped him concentrate, which facilitated thinking.

Unfortunately, that concentration would soon be broken. Near tugged at a lock of hair. They were footsteps, rushed footsteps. Someone was agitated and heading for the lobby where the boy had already claimed his territory.

Oh. He suddenly realized. Stupid. These chocolate bars were a new brand, weren't they? Near frowned at his own carelessness. They were new, delivered shortly after the arrival of … but he didn't need to finish the thought. The new kid had already entered the room. Near could not see him above his fortified walls, but he could hear the footsteps steadily grow louder.

"Those are mine," spoke a stern voice in broken but understandable English. The new boy had only been at Wammy's for a little over a week and appeared to have already picked up a fairly good amount of English. It would have impressed any person outside the orphanage, but it would not have impressed the children here, and it did not impress Near.

That petty? Not worth my time. Within seconds, part of his tower collapsed as chocolate bars flew all over the floor. The shadow of the other child loomed over him even closer now.

"I said those are my snacks, not your building blocks!" the intruder shouted with malice.

He looked up. Towering over him was a blond child adorned in all black, the complete opposite of Near. He appeared to be slightly older than Near and sprouted medium length hair that draped around his chin, hiding a few soft bruises that were still clearly visible. So the rumors had been true.

"They were in the kitchen. They were for everyone." Near stated as he went back to his fortress, but the angry child did not bow out.

"Right. You said they're for everyone, and yet you're hogging them all."

Pitiful, thought Near, you'll have to try better than that to back up your argument. He responded calmly, "I said they were for everyone. When they are still in storage, they are for everyone, but when someone claims them, they become possessions." The blond child kicked over the rest of his fortress without a thought. Using violence to solve your problems. Near twirled a strand of hair. So this one had anger issues.

For the remainder of that afternoon, Near continued constructing and reconstructing his work, as the new kid would keep destroying it over and over upon near-completion. When he wasn't knocking down the fortress, he would be eating the chocolate used to assemble it. Eventually, discarded chocolate wrappers outnumbered the building blocks themselves, but Near did not react.

The visitor scowled. He could not understand why this kid simply refused to pay attention to him. It was puzzling, disconcerting even, but he refused to just give up and walk away. However, he was completely unaware that Near had in fact been entirely attentive to him from the start. He was not ignoring him out of humor or hostility. He was actually not ignoring the boy at all but secretly observing him in silence. He had trained himself to disregard people, and his aloof attitude typically turned others away. They would all eventually leave him alone out of either frustration or boredom, but apparently, this new boy would not. He would not leave Near alone even after hours of silence, and it had caught the child's interest.

Another hour later, a staff member came by.

"Near, Mello, dinner's ready. Would you like to join us or will you be needing a late plate?"

"I'm fine," said Near monotonously. "I'm not hungry."

"Neither am I!" Mello followed immediately, trying to sound impressive.

Near rolled his eyes. Of course you're not, captain obvious, you just ate half your weight in chocolate bars.

The grown-up left, but the break in silence had finally prompted Mello to speak again.

"I heard everyone here's pretty smart."

Near said nothing.

"I'm pretty smart myself. I got the best grades at my old school." He smiled as he said it, trying to analyze Near's reaction as well.

"Is that so?" It wasn't a question. It was a dismissal. Near knew everything he needed to know now and had no more need for observation. This new guy was just like any other overconfident, clueless kid.

Mello got the message. The indignant boy huffed and stormed out. Before leaving the room, however, he turned and declared, "You don't believe me, but I'll be starting school soon, and I'll show you myself!"

Near twirled his hair. Judging by his short temper, the new kid would definitely break as soon as the tests began. Mello was too proud and egotistical for his own good, possibly out of insecurity, claiming to be the best at his old school in order to impress his peers, which only proved to Near that he was not the least bit prepared for a new, far more advanced environment such as Wammy's. He was surely setting himself up for failure.

...

Two weeks later, Near turned eight, and the academic semester began. After the first series of exams had passed, the cumulative scores and rankings for the new semester were posted on the main bulletin.

Mello looked eagerly for his name on the roster. The top mark belonged to Near, but he was not particularly surprised, having snooped around Wammy's for enough information to know that much. He would catch up soon enough as long as he had a good start now. Mello's eyes traveled further down the list, second, third, fourth, fifth … This can't be right. They must have missed his name. They must have!

But they didn't miss the boy's name. Mello's eyes wandered all the way down to the bottom of the roster, refusing to believe what he had gradually came to suspect. Sure enough, he found his name. Dead last.