Archive of Our Own

November 14, 1990

There’s someone new entering the Wammy’s house in the early winter. From his perch on a treetop in the moor, Beyond Birthday reaches mud-covered, frosty hands to the binoculars swinging round his neck. The man is tall, thin, and well-dressed. Might be another teacher, but the new classes had just started a week before. 

Unless that one really did quit over the jousting reenactment.  Beyond grins to himself slightly. Well, if this is her last day, better go out with a bang. After the door shuts, he shimmies down the tree-trunk with his prize. 

In the medieval history  this week, they were supposed to cover The Battle of Hastings, which Beyond knew inside out-and-backwards. Of course they’re still stuck on the bloody serfdom structure. Yesterday he had actually taken the time to attend class. That was a waste. 

What wasn’t a waste was spending the morning carving out a facsimile of the Danish battleaxe. Now this is a story. He hesitates a moment after he quietly slides the front door shut, taking measure of the gold-framed paintings in the front hall. One of them depicts a medieval battlefield. 

Danish Axe [do not edit or repost]

He hasn’t quite gotten used to gold-framed paintings, even after a year. Even still, he takes off at a quick run, to avoid being seen, and nearly bowls over one of the other children on the way to the first floor bathroom.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” it’s Lenore, a small, mousy-looking girl who is always chewing on her brown hair.

“Gimme a minute is all.”

He smiles a little too wide at Lenore, raising his makeshift battleaxe. She shrieks and slams the bathroom door shut. Beyond sets off at a run up the stairs towards the classroom, hoping to dodge Wammy, or worse, Roger. Luckily, all the kids seem to be tucked up in their neat little desks to take history like it’s a pill instead of an adventure. 

Beyond rounds on the second floor classroom a moment later. And as luck would have it, the door is closed. He tests the would-be blade of his wooden axe on his finger tip. Let’s see if this’ll stick. He swings backwards, and buries the blade in the door.

Its handle breaks off, of course, but Beyond is already taking the steps two at a time and giggling too hard to care. The message is there. There are shouts and door slamming open , but he’s already long gone, and he has an idea of where to hole up. 

Especially since his fingers are cold. 

He weaves through the sparsely furnished master bedroom where he spends most of his time, yanking open the brass doorknob to the bathroom and clicking the lock shut behind him. 

Unsuprisingly, Lawliet has his head tipped back, resting on the edge of the clawfoot bathtub as steam swirls around the room. He’s always hogging the damn thing. Lawliet barely bats an eye as B stomps the dirt off his boots on the soft yellow bathmat, pulling open the laces. 

“Move over, Lawli.” Beyond starts stripping off his mud-covered trousers into a heap on the dark granite floors, “You can’t stay in here all day, and I’m freezing.”

Wammy’s House is old, old, old, and even though L arguably has one of the best private rooms in the huge Manor, it always turns draughty around October and doesn’t let up until March or April. The best way to warm up fast is a hot bath, and he’s been sitting in this one for nearly an hour, eating his way through the pez in the Batman pez dispenser that B gave him for his eleventh birthday. Once the pez is gone he carefully stands Batman up on the nearby iron shelf where the soap and shampoo are, drains the bathtub, and refills it with hot water again. Just in time, too, if the the stamping out in the bedroom is any indication.

“Move over, Lawli.” 

It’s no use protesting; B moves more quickly than anyone else L has ever met, and L has barely pulled his knees up to his chest before B is clambering into the water, sending a small wave over the edge that sops onto the only clean towel left in the bathroom. The water, too, turns almost instantly cloudy as B’s layer of dust and mud dissolves into the suds. 

“The towel!” L protests, slipping out of the tub and picking it up before it’s completely drenched. “Brilliant. I’ll have to get more now.” Damp as it is, he wraps it around his waist and points a finger at B. “Wash up while I go find some.” 

The laundry is down on the very bottom level, along with the kitchen and the indoor gym (which used to be the servants quarters, Wammy once told him), but there’s a storage cupboard on the other side of the gallery that’s full of clean linens. All the other students are probably at medieval history demonstration, but L doesn’t really care if they see him walking around in a towel, anyway.

The gallery has an endlessly high arched ceiling, and looks down on the saloon, a formal meeting room the doesn’t get used for much these days. Some kids study there, but not often because the furniture is stiff and uncomfortable. That’s why L is surprised to hear voices coming from down below, one belonging to Wammy, the other to a man whose voice L doesn’t recognize. 

“And early childhood?” L hears the unfamiliar voice ask. 

“Lars’ mother was very committed to her work, so he was often left unsupervised, as I understand it,” Wammy says, and L perks up at the sound of his public name. Instinctively, he drops down to a crouch and hides himself behind a pillar, peering down into the saloon below. The unfamiliar man is skinny and dressed in a formal suit, much like Wammy himself. 

“As for the other boy, I understand that his mother was a drug user. There was, presumably, a good deal of neglect and abuse in the home.” 

The skinny man appears to write something down. “And he’s been here how long?”

“Almost a year.” 

“Mmm. How much time do they spend together?”

Wammy pauses, then clears his throat. “Almost every waking moment, and the sleeping ones, too. But Lars was so isolated before, that we thought it might be good for him…” 

L’s heard enough. Leaving the gallery, he tightens the towel around his waist and quietly fetches a stack of clean ones, returning with them to his bedroom. 

“Someone’s here,” he announces as he enters the bathroom and puts the stack of towels down on the chair in the corner. B’s filled the tub with fresh water and enough bubbles to build castles out of. L slips over the porcelain lip and settles down into the hot water. “I think it’s a child psychologist. You know, a shrink.” He scoops up a handful of suds and squeezes them through a fist. “Wammy must have called him.” 

“What, no way.” Beyond’s hand drops next to his first attempt at a twisting tower of bubbles, “For the school or for–”

Lawliet’s stony face tells him all he needs to know. Fuck. Panic starts to rise in his throat, I knew I shouldn’t have gone for the axe, but he was here today, so maybe it was because of the frog dissection class, but that won’t make things any better fuck. He lowers his chin to the warm bathwater, knowing that the chill of the British winter, the flashing images of looming, unreal monsters wait for him in the streets. 

He had just stopped seeing the bone-rats last month, at Lawliet’s birthday.  I thought I could stay here. Shoulda known it was too perfect for me. I couldn’t ever make it, never never never. 

Winter will be colder, or back to another orphanage. Like the sailors would have told him, straight through if you’re already in the storm. He shoves his fingers deeper in the water to disguise his shivering. 

“He’s come for me, yeah? To take me away.” He casts his eyes towards the surface of the water, “I thought–” the words die in his throat, fighting panic and the urge to fight flight his way out of the room.

There’s no one he could fight. Not that would matter. 

L shoves his toes against B’s, curling them unevenly together. “That’s not what I said.” He sighs a little, inside, his chin resting wetly on his knee. B isn’t afraid of much, but sometimes, that’s part of the problem. “Wammy wouldn’t toss you out. And even if he tried, I’d stop him.” The words are delivered with the absolute confidence that L feels right down to the marrow of his bones. 

“Besides, I think the shrink came here about me, too. They were talking about both of us. I think Wammy might be worried we spend too much time together,” he says, nudging his foot softly against B’s, because L isn’t particularly worried about it, even if Wammy is. “Its daft. He was always encouraging me to make friends before, and now that I’ve got one he’s thinks it’s odd.”

He blows at a nest of bubbles, watching them dissipate. Rubbing his fingers together, he feels how they’re going all pruney again. They’ll need to get out of this water soon, and not just because his skin’s become water-logged. L doesn’t mind when B joins him in the bath, but he’s fully aware that the shrink would find something wrong with it. Probably scribble something about it in that little black book of his.

“You’re sure?” Beyond squeezes back with his toes, the gentle warmth of Lawliet’s skin pulling back his pulse a few notches, “I mean I get that the old man likes you okay, but I’m not exactly nice, sometimes. I mean I put an axe in the door of the history class today–”

“Sorry?” 

“Danish axe, I mean they weren’t teaching to the schedule, yeah? I went to class yesterday and it was still the same old shit? So I made time to carve up a proper axe with wood from the moors, and knocked on the door with it. Just before I came here, s’why all the mud. Had to find the right sized stick.”

Lawliet stares at him incredulously for a moment, then laughs into the bubbles, rolling his eyes skyward. Beyond can’t help it, he laughs too. Lawliet’s laughter sounds like wind on the moor, and Beyond would axe a door again, anytime, to hear it again.

Even if it means leaving here, though? He brushes Lawliet’s toes again, if only for the gentle comfort that blossoms through his chest at the warmth. 

“I’m guessing a shrink wouldn’t find that funny though.” the smile flickers on his face. 

“No,” L says carefully. “From what I overheard I don't think it was because of bad behavior or breaking the rules.” Though B really can be a terror, he’s fun, too – most of the other kids even like him, even if it’s in part because they’re a little afraid not to.

L likes waiting to see what B does next. He can predict most people – even predicted that Wammy might do something like this, after that morning several weeks back when he wondered aloud if B was ever going to sleep in his own bed, or if he ought to give the room to someone who would better appreciate the view. But L has a harder time predicting B. He’s not like anyone else, really. He does what he likes.

Since coming to Wammy’s, L tried reading a number of psychology books – Freud, Jung, Lacan, Piaget – plus basic texts on human and child development. At the age B and L are now, most kids start pulling away from adults and forming tighter bonds with each other, all of which L explains to B before adding: “it’s also when we’re most susceptible to peer pressure, so the shrink might be looking to see how we affect one another.” 

He climbs out of the tub, stomps his feet on the bathmat, and reaches for a clean towel. “I think if we leave the shrink with the ideathat we’re both positive influences on the other, then he might be satisfied,” L says, voice muffled as he vigorously swabs at his hair. “We just make sure he knows that we’re both much happier since you’ve come to stay here.” 

He drops the towel to his shoulders and looks at B through his damp fringe. “Because you are, right?” 

“it’s also when we’re most susceptible to peer pressure, so the shrink might be looking to see how we affect one another.”

Beyond hops out of the tub after Lawliet, dripping over the tile as he pulls the towel through his unruly curls. He cinches the towel around his waist.Maybe the old man is worried Lawliet will start making trouble because of me. It’s been a year, almost, though, and Lawliet hasn’t, really.

Well. At least not in any detectable ways. 

“We just make sure he knows that we’re both much happier since you’ve come to stay here. Because you are, right?”

Beyond does smile then, unable to say anything that’s quite enough, so he wraps Lawliet in a clumsy hug, knocking their bony shoulders together. Lawliet is still a little uncertain (or perhaps a little bit naked), but he squeezes back along Beyond’s thin waist nonetheless.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” he pulls away with a small smile, “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Lawli. And I mean…. this place is great, even if the teachers are a pain sometimes. I finally get to know about stuff, you know? And I like the stuff you do. It’s interesting.” 

Beyond strides into the bedroom to the chest of drawers where he’s claimed the bottom drawer as his own, starts putting on clean clothes, “So I guess we’re gonna stick to the usual huh? I mean I was thinking about teaching the other kids to make the axes, it’s not that hard, but maybe… should just stay in and hear about your mysteries today.”

L hoists his massive accordion file (one of three) of cold cases off the desk and shoves it far under the bed. “No mysteries until this shrink is gone,” he says, brushing his hands off on his towel. “Not out in the open, anyway. I doubt Wammy told him what I really do instead of going to classes.”

L pulls jeans and a tee over his still slightly-damp skin and forces his expression into something perfectly neutral. “It’s important that neither of us mention the things you see, either.”

The words hang in the air a little, making him feel like he’s just said something accusatory, but B only nods and rolls socks onto his feet.

L skips the socks, like he always does, and gives B a smile, instead. “You can show me how to make the axes, though. I wanna know what you know.”

How many times has he said that to B since they met?

Too many to count. 

Report on Beyond Birthday [do not edit or repost]

November 10, 1990

It’s mid-morning on the edge of the two acres of forest next to the Wammy’s House when an unfamiliar car makes its way up the frostbitten road, and the now-familiar thin figure of the shrink appears next to the door. 

Beyond and Lawliet are wrapped in thick coats, surrounded by woodchip shavings, wooden axe-heads on their laps, carving knives in hand. Lawliet has been slower to pick up the knife’s rhythm than Beyond, but then again, he also hasn’t wrecked quite as many to begin with either. 

He’s still a quick study. Beyond smiles when Lawliet shakes the balsam shavings off his lap, asking what comes next. 

B is midway through teaching L how to split the wood at the top of the handle properly, when a the figure starts tracking through the moor. Beyond reaches for the binoculars that were Lawliet’s birthday present to him.

His first birthday present, in fact. 

“We’re looking at an Andrew King, if you care to know.” Beyond whispers under his breath, “D’you care about his death? It ain’t soon anyways.”

He’s dressed way too nice for where he’s going. Beyond smirks, reaches the hand that isn’t covered in mud and dust for the jar of jam he packed for a snack that morning.

L’s nose keeps dripping and he keeps almost-wiping it on the sleeve of his coat before he remembers the wad of tissues in his pocket. B has never seemed to suffer the chill as much as L does, but maybe it’s because he spends so much time outdoors that he’s toughened himself up to it. L prefers to observe the outdoors from a window, usually, but the forest is better at keeping secrets than the big old house is. 

“I thought he’d call us inside,” L murmurs, almost to himself. “But maybe he wants to meet us on our own territory.” 

The man trods closer, weighed down by a black satchel, but he’ll be in ear-shot soon enough. “Follow my lead for now,” L says to B, whose tucked away his binoculars but is licking off the jam lid. L returns to his carving, the knife steady in his hand, until the man is close enough that he can hear his boots tramping through the dead leaves. Only then does L look up. 

“Hullo boys,” the man – Andrew King – says, his eyes beetle-black but somehow bright. “Brisk day, isn’t it? You must be Lars Lawliet and Beyond Birthday.” 

“Hullo,” L says carefully. The man has probably asked Wammy about test scores, intelligence tests, and the like. Playing dumb won’t work on him. “Are you a doctor?” He deliberately eyes the mans satchel. “I’m not sickly, despite what you may have heard.” 

“Oh, yes.” Dr. King looks caught off-guard, but quickly schools his features. “I'm Dr. King. Not the sort of doctor who cures bodily illnesses, though. I work with children of all sorts.” He smiles in a manner that L guesses puts most young people at ease. “Make sure that they’re happy and doing well in the world.” 

L widens his eyes a little. “Really? Who could you be here to see, then?” 

The man laughs from the back of his nose. “Both of you, as it so happens.” He turns his gaze to B, perhaps hoping for an easier way in. “You’re relatively new to the school, aren’t you, Beyond? Been here nearly a year, as I understand it. How have you settled in?”

Beyond’s muscles stiffen at the sound of his given name, spoken with the slightest hint of that refined confusion when people wonder who on earth could have named their child Beyond Birthday.

What a fucking wanker.

He dips one finger into the jam, licks it off while trying to figure out how best follow Lawliet’s lead. He arranges his features into something curious, a little wicked, “I’ve settled. It’s nice here, really nice. It’s warm. The tests aren’t all bad. Lots to do.”

“Tests?” 

“Yeah, like in school.” Beyond can tell the man is acting dumb, just to get a chance to chat with him. Thinks he might be easier to get close to. Keep thinking that, arsehole. “Classes are dull but there’s lots of books to teach ya, you know?”

“And you teach Lars what you read?”

“Something like that.” B reaches for his knife with red-sticky fingers, nothing how it unsettles King, his lip twitching. Good.

“What are you making?”

“An axe.” B grins and brandishes the carved blade before realizing this might not be in the realm of follow my lead. The shrink doesn’t flinch, at least. He lets it down, “S’from the Battle of Hastings.”

“Oh? So you read about it?”

“Yeah.” B turns back to his work, already bored of this game where he has to play nice. It’s not really his style, though he can be good at it when he wants to be. I just don’t want to be. He doesn’t want to say anything to Lawliet, not anything that matters. Doesn’t even really want to show the man how the carving work is done, “Did you want something?” 

He stares at King unblinkingly for a moment, who seems taken aback, “Oh no, I’m simply interested in what you boys are up to. Just behave as you normally would.”

L can feel restlessness radiating off of B, and while L himself is still outwardly calm, he can tell that this exchange is only going to grow more tedious. 

“How can we behave as we normally would, if you’re not normally here?” he asks flatly, to which King only give him a slow, patient smile. 

“I understand why my presence feels unwelcome to you. You’re very close friends, aren’t you?” 

L sighs and blows his nose loudly into a tissue. He hates being spoken to as if he’s just a regular kid; he’s not, and neither is B. Scotland Yard used to make that mistake, too, and even now he’s sure half of them prefer to believe that “Watari” is the real presence behind L. That’s okay. He can be patient. 

But right now, he doesn’t have to be. 

“Dr King, We already know that Wammy is the one who called for you. I know he means well, but there’s nothing you can do for me and B. We’re happy with the way things are.” 

Instead of the frown or awkward chuckle L expects, a rather sly smile stretches across Dr King’s face. “You call Beyond ‘B’? Mr Wammy didn’t mention that.” 

L wants to narrow his eyes, so he widens them, instead. “So?” 

“Is there any reason why?”

Fiddling with the ax-head, L runs his finger along the blade that he’s made. “It’s my secret name for him.” He doesn’t look at B, but tucks his thumb between his two first fingers –  a signal. “We invented a secret language, too.” They haven’t, though L now wonders if they ought to. Just like the signals they came up with. 

Thumb between fingers stands for cut through the center.

Beyond watches Lawliet’s fingers shift, now there’s a lead I can take. Lawliet is ready to stop playing nice now. And that suits him just fine. He splits the first axe-head and mumbles, “Thah hi?” 

It’s bastardized Old English from the medieval texts, but Lawliet picks it up without blinking, splitting the axe-head with an identical motion, “Gyse.”

Beyond motions his head towards the forest, making the hand signal for get lost, then follow as he laces the head to the axe with twine, “Gy uvit kay sen?”

That last was nonsense, but Lawliet replies with a quirk to his lips, “Gyse.” 

King’s smile becomes more strained. B smiles and licks the remains of the jam off his fingertips. Time to reel him in. 

“We’re going to make arrowheads now, but we need to find material,” Beyond says it with wide eyes and just the right trace of sincerity. Lawliet even picks up on it, giving him a dirty look he well knows is staged. Lawliet deadpans when he’s truly unimpressed. 

 “Gonna go into the bush.”

“Just pretend I’m not here.” King says gently. Got you. Beyond sets off at a slow trot at first, L trailing behind. He knows the forest reasonably well, knows a solid number of ways to get lost in it from experience. Posh arse here sure wouldn’t. Beyond smirks as King follows them deeper into the forest, Lawliet pausing to mumble some nonsense at tree bark while Beyond shakes his head and mumbles nonsense back, motioning with his fingers and fist, remember here.

When they round an oak Beyond remembers well as taking a solid three hours to find his way back from in summer, he curls from the wrist to Lawliet, split up, circle back. 

“It’s an ambush!” He screams full on and takes off at a run, Lawliet in the opposite direction. He can barely hear the shrink’s hesitation at who to follow, but of course he goes after the one he thinks he can trust.

Big mistake. Beyond knows he’s a little faster than Lawliet, and can weave around the familiar trees like it’s second nature by now. Before long, the heavy footsteps of expensive leather on dead frosted leaves are nothing but a memory in the distance.

Beyond does a quick scan with his binoculars, catches his breath, and sprints back to the poplar Lawliet is huddled in behind. 

“That was fun,” he grins at Lawliet’s cold-reddened face, “Let’s get back and make hot chocolate.”

L is making hot cocoa in the kitchens when Wammy finds him.

Jinny and her staff never make the hot cocoa right, in L’s opinion. She claims they use milk but he’s sure she uses mostly water from the kettle, with maybe a light splash of milk at the end. L and B both like it made with full fat milk and the value brand instant chocolate powder sold at Tesco’s. He’s always careful to stir the milk the whole time it’s on the cooker so that it doesn’t scorch the bottom of the pan.

“Lars, will you come speak with me in my study?” Wammy has his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie is askew. He doesn’t usually come down here, and in fact one of Jinny’s workers nearly peeled her fingers into the bowl of potatoes when he walked in. 

“I can’t let the milk burn,” L mutters, keeping his back to the man. 

“You’ve only just now turned on the gas. It can wait, and I won’t keep you long.” 

Wammy doesn’t often employ a no-nonsense, authoritative tone with L – mostly because it doesn’t work – and L can tell he’s trying not to do that, now. 

“Alright.” L turns off the burner and walks ahead of Wammy to his office, taking the stairs two and a time and beating the man there by a good half a minute. He sits in one of the giant leather armchairs and spins the antique globe he’s always liked. It has little sea monsters painted on the ocean. 

“Dr. King’s gone home for the day. It’s fortunate he only wandered for a half-hour or so, as it will be getting dark soon.” 

“Is he coming back?” L asks, getting right to the point. “He talks to us like we’re kids.” 

Wammy purses his lips together under his mustache. “Yes, but you’re not an adult.” 

L tucks his bare feet up on the leather chair. “I know that,” he says blandly. “I thought that’s what I had you for.” When being young becomes a disadvantage, L always has Wammy to stand in for him.

“Yes, and I’ve been happy to serve as your liaison these last years.” Wammy clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. For a man who took it upon himself to start a home and school for children, he frequently appears at a loss for how to conduct himself around them. “The truth is that I never quite noticed how young you really are until Beyond came to live here. And it was only then, with Roger’s encouragement –”

“Roger,” L echoes, not surprised in the least. “He’s not my legal guardian. You are. And you know I don’t like surprises.” 

“Yes. You had the right to know that I had made arrangements with Dr King, and I apologize for not being transparent with you.” Wammy gives him a little nod. “Perhaps you can do me the favor of indulging my whims just this once, as I’ve often indulged yours.” 

L pinches his toes into the leather. “That seems fair,” he says slowly. “But will you promise that nothing bad will happen to B?”

Wammy tilts his head to one side, appearing genuinely puzzled. “Of course nothing bad will happen to Beyond.” 

“You won’t send him away?”

“Of course not.”

“Well how was I to know?” L gives him his fiercest look. “This is what happens when you don’t tell me things.” 

“Yes, I see that.” Something like laughter shimmers in Wammy’s eyes. “Three sessions, L. That’s all I ask.” 

L, not Lars. 

L gives a loose shrug. “Alright. So long as you promise.” 

“I promise.” 

“Okay.” L hopes out of the chair and gives the globe one final spin. “Next time, let me pick the shrink,” he quips in a deadpan, then dashes out of the office before Wammy can respond. 

Back in the kitchen, L turns the gas back on and stirs the milk as it warms up, bubbles gently gathering across the surface. 

November 17, 1990

Right then. Here we go again. Beyond isn’t thrilled about Lawliet agreeing for them to meet with King again (and really play nice this time), but he puts on a clean jumper and washes the dirt off his fingernails anyways. He follows Lawliet with a forced grin as they take the stairs down to the drawing room.

Let’s get this over with. Beyond is usually fine with facing people after he’s messed around with them, but those people are rarely trying to get inside his head. King cuts a slightly less imposing figure in a knit jumper of his own, sitting on the couch opposite a cheery fire. His cheekbones catch the firelight for a moment, reminding B of knives.

B blinks and tries not to see gashes ripping apart the man’s cheekbones, his vision going red for a half a moment. It’s over as soon as it starts, but his eyes flicker nervously at the floor. Keep it together. 

“Hi.”

“Hello Beyond, Lars.” King has his notebook out already this time, but his smile isn’t forced, “I understand that I might have gotten off on the wrong foot. Still, Mr. Wammy tells me I have a few more chances to get to know you. I thought it might be easier if it was under my direction. I’d like for us all to play a game.”

Well. He doesn’t scare easily, I’ll give him that. While Beyond feels safe under Lawliet’s word that he has a place here no matter what, he still isn’t quite ready to say much yet.

“Okay,” Beyond cocks his head at the assortment of board games stacked on the oakwood table. Othello, Battleship, Mastermind, Monopoly, “ So is this some kind of test?”

“No tests yet. Just a game.”

Kids stuff. He locks on to the beat-up Hasbro game covered in garish colors and poorly concealed weapons. Closest thing to what we do, anyways.

“Yeah, we can play Cluedo,” Beyond sits on the floor in front of Lawliet, who has already arranged himself on the armchair closest to the fire, “S’long as I can be Miss Scarlet.”

“And I’ll be Mr Green,” L says, reaching for his usual character marker while B unfolds the board and starts fingering through the cards. He lowers himself to the rug and sits at a crouch, glancing up at the ever-watchful Dr King. 

“You’ll have to play, too,” L says. “Cluedo doesn’t really work with two people.” 

“Oh, of course.” Dr King pushes himself out of the chair and manages to arrange himself on the floor with a certain amount of dignity. “I haven’t played for many years, though. I don’t believe I remember the rules.” 

“S’ok.” L gives B a secret little smirk. “We don’t play by the regular rules, anyway.” 

It isn’t the same kind of trickery as getting him lost in the forest, L reasons. This is how he and B would play Cluedo with anyone – including the other kids at Wammy’s – and if they can’t follow along or keep up, that’s hardly B or L’s fault. The rules aren’t that different, really. It’s just that lying and bluffing aren’t just allowed, but essential. 

It adds an element of realism, L thinks. People aren’t actually that good at telling the truth, especially if they’ve murdered someone. 

“Who would you like to be?” L asks Dr King politely, while simulatenously certain he knows how the man will respond. 

“Professor Plum, please.”

L smiles and passes him the marker. 

Beyond splits the deck with finesse, sliding out the evidence cards into the envelope, “Murderer, weapon, room. That’s all you have to find out. You have the cards in your hand, and anytime it’s your turn and you get to a room, you can ask about someone, with some weapon, in that room. Learn more, make it to the middle, guess the murderer. A three-year old could probably play by these rules. Which is why we make them more fun.”

He passes a stack of six to each of them, moving away from Lawliet to fan out his hand. Mr. Green, candlestick, Conservatory, Ball room, lead pipe, Mrs White. Not bad.

“You lose if you accuse the wrong character. But here’s where the boring rules end. The way we play, you also lose if your character is the murderer and gets caught. Which you don’t know, at first.”

“So I’ll be looking to find out about Professor Plum first, then.“ 

"Yeah, if you’re not stupid. It puts a lot of weight on the people cards, just so y'know.” Beyond rolls the die, moves forward, followed by Lawliet and then Professor King. On his second turn he makes it into the lounge. “Now here’s the really interesting part: every time you suggest a crime, you have to make up a motive and justification for it. Something that makes sense, otherwise your story will get rejected by the court.”

“Now how do I know you two won’t collude to vote down what I say?” King’s eyes glitter behind his cards, and Beyond cackles a little in spite of himself.

“Mm, well. What you might not know about Lars,” the name feels ugly under Beyond’s tongue, but he keeps Lawliet’s secrets, like always, “Is that he hates losing. So he’s just as likely to stab me in the back as he is you, here, anyways. What you oughta do is give him a reason to be on your side, heh. Or not. Besides, it’s against the rules to vote down anything in the first turn.”

“So here’s my story—late after dancing in the ballroom, I was hoping to chat with Mr. Green about our mutual business ventures. I noticed that he and Mr. Boddy weren’t in the Ballroom, and that one of Mr. Boddy’s antique candlesticks was missing. Of course, Mr. Green is a bit of an expert in antiques, and the two have a history of disagreement as to how these antiques should be stored and viewed, despite Mr. Boddy’s vast collection. I’m suggesting that perhaps Mr. Green’s jealousy and opinions of how these treasures should be stored got the better of him. Since the care of Mr Boddy’s collections is bequested to Mr. Green, I believe he would have a lot to gain from this. Their discussion in the lounge after dinner seemed to last unusually long. Can anyone prove me wrong?”

The question passes to Lawliet, who demonstrates the Lounge card to Beyond along with a very dirty look. “Thank you, Mr. Green,” Beyond flutters his eyelashes and grins ear-to-ear, “From now on, Mr. Green has been known to be in the lounge, with the candlestick. Any further stories will have to challenge this one. If your story is challenged, and loses, you will lose a turn. Think you can keep up?”

“Yes. This seems like a fun way to play,” King says, his voice too mild for it to be a showy compliment. 

“My turn,” L murmurs, keeping his cards pressed to his chest. King has a definite height advantage over them, even while sitting on the floor.

From previous games L knows that B’s hand must have had either the candlestick or Mr Green cards, because his own hand currently holds neither and it’s always wise to begin by planting one of your own cards in your early suggestions. L jumps his own marker into the conservatory and skims his eyes over his hand one more time: knife, rope, Colonel Mustard, lounge, billiard room, hall. 

He sits back on his heels and clears his throat: “Poor Miss Scarlet’s life has been subject to rumors for these last few years. According to certain newspapers, she’s much more than a rising film starlet, she’s a spy like Mata Hari, working for the Russian communists to collect information on European and American diplomats. As a publishing magnate and exceptionally close friend of Miss Scarlet, Mr Boddy has the means to be feeding these rumors to journalists in order to sell more papers. Scarlet, though, has made it clear that she’s keen to keep her name tied to stellar film performances and nothing more. Perhaps that’s why she asked for a personal viewing of Mr Boddy’s prize orchids in the conservatory: so she could get him alone long enough to gut him with her knife – a skill she likely learned from her friends at the KGB. Now then, any challengers?”

Dr King chuckles a little under his breath for no good reason, While B covertly shows L the card marked Conservatory, to which L gives a sharp glance and a crisp nod.

“Does that make it my turn?” King asks eagerly, fingers poised on his ‘Professor Plum’ marker. 

“S’right,” B nods, though his eyes are more focused on L, wariness wrinkling his brow. 

King skips his marker across the board, steering it into the billiard room. “Snooker!” He says triumphantly. “Professor Plum was a snooker champion in his younger years. So good, in fact, that gamblers used to place bets on him. It all worked quite nicely in Plum’s favor until some unhappy losers, up to their ears in debt, accused him of ‘snookering’ the game, so to speak. He quit in a fury and devoted himself to the study of flora and fauna, instead. However, upon seeing the impressive trophy case in Mr Boddy’s billiard room, Plum’s lost snooker dreams came back to haunt him and he bludgeoned Boddy with the lead pipe he found in the nearby utility closet.” King smiles at them, the firelight glowing in his eyes. “If you doubt the veracity of this story, please do speak up.” 

Beyond slides the lead pipe across the table to King. He keeps up alright. Better than the kids, anyways. He takes the secret passage to the conservatory, “I’d like to reopen the accusation led by Mr. Green about myself.”

Predictably, Lawliet shows him the knife card. He’s probably holding on to Scarlet himself. Or he’s just trying to turn me around for nailing him in the lounge. Beyond checks his hand with a frown. He’s in a tough spot now, and Lawliet seems to know it, as he repeats Beyond’s earlier suggestion with a smirk. 

Beyond glares at him and slides the candlestick across the table. 

“Seems like you boys are at a bit of an impasse here,” King shakes his head with a boyish grin, “I’ll simply inquire as to Colonel Mustard’s presence in the library after dinner. I noticed his odd behaviour, including carrying a large wrench, which he noted was for ‘fixing the sink’. A dramatic thing to carry at a dinner party! In recent years his experiences in the army may have taken its toll, having been known to have dramatic loss of mental clarity. Why, he might not even have known it was Mr. Boddy when he killed him!”

Beyond exchanges a glance with Lawliet, then nods, “I got nothing.” Lawliet passes a card across the table to King with a twitch to his lips.The game is on, now.

Beyond takes himself to the Ballroom with the next roll, spins a tale about Mrs. White with a length of rope and revenge for a sabotaged circus career. Lawliet rolls his eyes a little at that one, but Beyond learns of the rope for his trouble. Board’s getting narrower here. He smiles at Lawliet, half-adoration, half-challenge, “Your move.”

L’s next story features Scarlet, the rope, and the ballroom, and L notices, but just barely, King’s chuckle at B’s expression when he shows L the ballroom card.

“It’s lovely to see that you can be such good friends and yet maintain a competitive spirit,” he observes, steeping his fingers beneath his chin.

“If either of us held back we’d never get better,” L says, his expression still and serious.

“You should see us after we’ve been in the sparring ring,” B adds with a laugh. L gives him a crooked grin, remembering how the last time B had given him a shiner, it was mostly by accident, and involved an argument about which Indiana Jones movie was best. L had argued that the first was clearly superior, while B held out that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was the best of the three, a response that had prompted L to explain all the reasons why B was obviously wrong. Just when L got to pointing out the frivolity of the card game scene, B stood up and wheeled out with his fists, yelling at L for how wrong he was.

B had been immediately sorry, of course, and had made L stay in bed with an ice pack while he rifled through the other kids’ rooms for sweets to steal, and even went so far to unwrap them for L, as if he were seriously injured instead of just suffering a puffy eye. It was only later that night, on the fringes of sleep, that L realized why B felt so strongly about the worst Indiana Jones movie – because it was the only movie of the three that featured a street kid who cheated at cards and held his own alongside Indiana Jones.

King twists his game marker between his fingers. “It’s good that you can encourage each other at your pursuits. But remember, Lars –” and for some reason the way he says the pretend name makes L listen closely “– you don’t always need to be the best.” 

“I know that. I’m not the best at a lot of things,” L says calmly, making a list of the things he's not the best at in his head: 

Going to bed on time; Eating vegetables; Following rules; Making the bed; Maths; Sitting up straight; Standing up straight…

“He’s the best at most things though, martial arts, meditation, building things, explaining things, figuring things out, reading, tests, tennis.” B stops himself before he says much about Lawliet’s real work. They both have their secrets.  

“Tennis?” King glances at Lawliet with an air of surprise, picking up the dice after Lawliet’s roll. 

“You wouldn’t think it, but he’s fast when he wants to be. Really fast.”

“Seemed like you were the fast one.”

“Oh, hah, hah, yeah, I got you with that didn’t I?” B grins in spite of himself. King is a good sport.

“What do you think you’re good at?”

“Making trouble, yeah?”

King studies his hand, “Perhaps.”

“Oh, you’ve seen any better? Cause I can do better, and I don’t think you wanna see it.” B shuffles forward a bit, but Lawliet kicks him in the back slightly and he sits back. I’ll play nice if King wants, but if he doesn’t.

“Oh no, you were quite good at that. I was thinking that you were good at building things, or at least at design. The axe was quite impressive.”

Beyond is a little taken aback, but nods and tries to turn back to the game. Scarlet’s location had changed hands without much of a fight, and He’s reasonably sure Lawliet is tracking closer to knowing the location by the turn. And he still hasn’t learned much about whether or not he’s working against the murderer…or is the murderer. “I believe the story told about Miss Scarlet to be partially false. You see, a strangulation would have cause too much ruckus, too much kicking from the victim, and I believe the most likely weapon was a candlestick. After all, the dining room is a logical place for such a weapon, and a simple blow to the head would have shattered Mr. Boddy’s skull.”

“Ah, but you forget that Miss Scarlet is a KGB expert, well trained at such arts. She would have done the job neatly,” King smiles like a serpent, “Wouldn’t you agree, Lars?”

Lawliet nods once, a calculative expression on his face. Shit. His turn passes and he learns nothing, while Lawliet and King seem to have formed some kind of alliance. Does that mean it’s Scarlet we’re after? I might have to change my tactics. 

Little late for that now, though. 

 Another set of turns pass by, Lawliet concocts a new tale about Mustard in the Hall with the revolver. It’s the first turn where no one can contradict the tale, and a strange glance passes from King to Lawliet. 

King gets his a moment later, in the study, asking about Mrs. Peacock, insistent that the revolver shot was her deep paranoia. Beyond supports the change in story, if just to cut Lawliet back a few notches so he can catch up.

The dice rolls on. King takes his own turn in the hall, while Lawliet tracks for the Dining Room. Then on the next turn, King takes a turn that makes B’s jaw drop, settling his marker in the middle of the board. 

“Looks like I managed to get here in time to solve the case. Based on deductions provided by Lars, I conclude the ex-KGB Miss Scarlet was in fact the perpatrator of the murder. Armed with a silencing revolver, she eliminated Mr. Boddy in the study, just in time to steal the evidence of her connection to the Soviet government. Though she ultimately knew she would be caught, the evidence of her misdeeds will now never be brought to light.”

With a flourish, King fans the cards up to his eyes, then drops them down.

Miss Scarlet. Revolver. Study.

I can’t believe he fucking beat us. 

Miss Scarlet with the Revolver in the Study [do not edit or repost]

L clenches his jaw and stares mutely at the game board, cold fury prickling through his blood. 

Bad at losing, he thinks, adding it to the mental list.

But this is different – King duped him, made him think they were allies in having figured out at the same moment that the revolver must be the murder weapon. Took his side on the Scarlet story, even, but now L realizes that it was just a distraction, that all along, King planned to show both of them that he’s the boss. That L isn’t always going to be the best.

“Do you usually show off in front of kids?” L says to kids, his tone flat and colorless. Maybe you’re the one who needs a psychological evaluation.”

“I’m sorry?” King draws back his head, turtle-like, and appears genuinely surprised. “I was only trying to play the game by your rules. It was quite fun that way, I thought.” 

The fact that King caught on to ‘their’ version of Cluedo so fast only makes it worse, though. King isn’t one of them – he doesn’t belong here at all. L begins to collect the game pieces and toss them back into the box, refusing to look at or speak to King as he does so. 

“Lars, I know that it’s disappointing to lose, but you played very well, and that’s what’s important.”

L hunches his shoulders close to his ears, as if to block out the sound, and folds the game board back together.

“You’re still clever and worthy. You know that, don’t you?”

After a few seconds of silence, King tuts in mild frustration and turns on B. “What about you, Beyond? Do you think Lars played well?” 

“I think you oughta fuck off,” Beyond says, but it’s a little late for that, Lawliet is already folded himself out of his crunch and is headed out of the room at a quick stride. King has a slightly lost expression that Beyond would almost laugh at, if there were time. But he scrambles to his feet, heads out to the hallway to try and catch Lawliet. The only sign is a quickstep on the carpeted staircase above him. He tries to catch up, but the oaken bedroom door slams before he even makes it up the third flight of stairs. 

Yeah, L can be fast when he wants to be. And he’s already punched Beyond once for picking the lock.  

Beyond kicks the wall, leaving a satisfying scuff mark on the cream and crimson damask wallpaper, but it only makes his toe throb. Fuck King and all of this. In his room he shrugs on his winter jacket, grabs his carving knife and heads for the door. 

On his way out, grotesque images start to flash in his peripheral vision, flickering to the beat beat of his heart. Not this again, too. This is all I need. An unfamiliar tall figure at the stairwell wears the face of his father, and he stares a moment too long, too hard, gripping the carving knife before King’s face flickers back into view. Fear 

Fuck. 

B bolts past him, runs for the moor to the forest’s edge, leaving a sharp trail of footprints on the frosted grass. He doesn’t stop till he rounds the edge of the forest, places his head against an alder. Digging his fingers into the frost to try and get something to hold on to. 

Small animals skitter by. He wonders which of them are real, are imagined, wishes that Lawliet were here to tell him. 

Eventually, he picks up a nearby branch, and starts to carve. Soon, he becomes aware of distant, heavy footsteps that are not imagined. He reaches for his binoculars, expecting to have to escape from fucking King again, but it’s a shorter, slightly older man making his way across the moor towards him. 

The old man himself. Beyond doesn’t move, just waits for Wammy to approach, step by step. 

“Hello, Beyond.”

“Hi.” Beyond doesn’t look up from his carving, but sees Wammy struggling with a thermos.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, okay.” He stands to take the offered cup, and slouches against the tree. They drink in silence for a moment, until Beyond can’t quite stand the suspense. 

“Did you come to see me cause of Lawliet?” Beyond sips the hot chocolate a little too fast, making his throat sear. It’s not as good as how Lawliet makes it, not quite sweet enough. But it’s alright, ”Because of King? Did I scare him?”

“I came to see you because you seemed upset, and I thought you could use some company.”

“Oh.” B takes another sip of his hot chocolate. The old man, though a little stiff, can be alright. Unless it’s another trick.

He does want Lawliet to be happy though. 

“Did something happen with Dr. King?” Wammy stomps his boots into the frost, tugging his hat a little closer as he turns his eyes to Beyond. 

“He beat us at Cluedo. Set us up to fight each other and then took the win right under Lawliet’s nose. Didn’t know adults, or good ones anyway, would lie like that. Or maybe he wasn’t that good. Fucker.”

“Language, Beyond.”

Beyond laughs a little and chokes on the hot chocolate, Wammy thumps him on the back gently. 

“At least not in front of me.” Wammy’s eyes twinkle under his mustache, “But I can imagine L was not fond of that.”

“What does he think he’s doing anyways, King? We’re just fine together, just fine. Or at least we were until today.” 

“I suppose that was my doing.”

“What, you worried I’m going to axe someone for real?” it slips out almost bitterly, his toes growing numb in thin shoes. S’not like I haven’t thought about it. 

“No, Beyond. I’m just worried about L, as usual, and increasingly, about you. Both of you being happy, and growing up happy. Not just with each other, but with the rest of the world too.”

Beyond sips the last of the chocolate slowly, turning the words over in his mind, “We’re best friends, okay?”

“I know.” A crow caws overhead, and when Wammy glances at it too, Beyond feels his heartbeat die down, just a bit. 

That’s all you need to know then.

Report on Lars Lawliet [do not edit or repost]

November 20, 1990

L loves Christmas, and he felt it on the air this morning, from the way frost glittered on the windowpanes in lacy designs to the smell of thick woodsmoke in the air. That’s why as soon as he was dressed he headed down to Wammy’s office to ask about this year’s festivities. 

“A tree for the saloon again,” he says, spinning the antique globe he likes so much. “Almost tall enough to reach the ceiling of the galley. It would look nice in nothing but white lights and paper snowflakes. All the students can cut them out together.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Wammy says, looking up from his ledger. “I’ll add it to Carl’s agenda for a few weeks from now.” 

“And a small tree for my room. B and I will decorate it ourselves.” L smiles a little, thinking of the splendid paper and felt decorations that B will want to create. “And open our presents there, too.” 

The soft scratching of Wammy’s pen comes to a halt. “Oh? Not going to open your presents in the saloon with the other children?” 

The innocuous question doesn’t fool L one bit. “Not B’s presents,” he says calmly, then adds: “And not yours.” 

Wammy lets out a soft sigh. “L, since I can’t imagine that I know any better approaches than Dr. King would…” and here he pauses and unlocks one of his desk drawers, removing a manila file folder. “Here’s a copy of the reports he filled out for you and Beyond.” He slides the folder across the desk with two fingers. “I know you like to be informed on all things, so here you are.”

L only stares at the folder. “What am I supposed to do with it?” 

“Whatever you like.” Wammy neatly folds his hands into his lap. “But do try to remember that Dr. King really did want to help you and Beyond. However else he might have seemed to you, his intentions were good.” 

Why would I need help?  The question echoes through L’s brain during his journey back up to his room, the folder clutched in his fingers. 

Medieval art, Beyond decides, is not a complete waste of time. Attending class today wasn’t bad, although he spent more time making doodles of bizarre flat Christs than he does taking notes.  Ribcage looks like Lawli’s, he smiles to himself, I ought to try doodling him sometime.

He decides to take off after the break, grabbing a stack of books which chronicle the rise of the Medicis, and slipping up the stairs to Lawliet’s room. After yesterday’s round in the sparring ring, things seem to be more or less right again, but B still hesitates a little at the slight ajar door. 

“Can I come in, Lawli?” 

Lawliet is crouched up on the bed in his peculiar way, staring intently at a folder that seems a tad small to be another cold case. A smile softens his features, and he nods, “Yeah, of course.”

B grins back and hops onto the bed, dropping the heavy books with his notebook atop them, “What’s that? New mystery?”

L fingers the paper’s edges, nearly risking a paper cut. “It’s Dr King’s notes on us.” He gives B a long look, nibbling on the edge of his thumb without fully realizing it. “You can read it if you want. Mostly it says that I’m too competitive and controlling, and that you’re afraid of abandonment. And he thinks we’re ‘codependent,’ that we need to have separate rooms and socialize with the others more.”

Dr King's Conclusions on Lars and Beyond [do not edit or repost]

L curls his toes into the blankets and chews harder on his thumb. It isn’t fair. He doesn’t have a real family, and when he tries to make his own someone tries to take it away. 

He briefly closes his eyes at the sensation of B, rocking the bed with his weight, breath timid against L’s shoulder as he comes closer to look at the papers.

“Also, he says that we fancy ourselves ‘exceptional.’” L smiles a little at this, because King’s not wrong. He just doesn’t have the whole story. How could B be anything but exceptional, with the things he sees? How could L be anything but, with the things he does? 

“Well, we are, aren’t we? I mean, you especially. Though there isn’t too much that’s normal about what I can do either.” Beyond takes the report from Lawliet, his eyes lingering over King’s comments on ‘us against the world’. That’s how it is, isn’t it? the phrase seems to sit well with him. 

“He doesn’t know much. I have other friends. They’re just not important like you are. You help me see things right, keep me useful,” he flops back cross legged on the bed, the only place he feels completely comfortable. It’s a type of home, mine and yours. Us against the world.  "I guess I’ve never had anyone I can count on to stick around…but I don’t need to worry about that with you, right?“

Lawliet gives him a tiny, secret smile, the kind reserved for when he shares something exciting. “That’s right. I really just want you to stay here, B.”

 B looks away so that Lawliet doesn’t see his cheeks burn. It takes a lot to make him blush, but Lawliet seems to manage it more often than anyone. He settles for a curious question, rather than dwelling too long on that, “Why do you call me B, anyways? Don’t stop, it’s just. Is it because I call you Lawliet? So that we can both have secret names?”

L settles down on his knees and fiddles with the end of his quilt. “Because my own name’s funny. It’s just a letter, and I’ve never heard of anyone else being named after a mathematical theory.” He wrinkles his nose a little at a faint memory of Saskia telling him that he could change his name when he was older if he really wanted to, like she did. But he’s never thought of a name that seemed right. He’s L, and that’s just how it will always be even if other people call him Lars. 

“So I thought it’d be nice to know someone else with a letter name like mine, that’s all.” He looks at B through the fringe of his hair. “Do you mind it?” 

B’s mouth, open a little, shuts and then breaks out into a wide grin. “No, I like it.” His cheeks are pleasantly pink – L supposes he’s probably been roaming the moor or forest again. 

“Good, I’m glad.” L glances down at King’s folder of reports and summarily pushes it off the end of the bed, where it lands on the floor with a rustle. 

Then he turns to B looks him over expectantly. “I smelled Christmas on the air this morning. Soon we’ll be able to put up our tree. I was thinking under that window over there,” he says, pointing. “What do you think?”

B hops off the bed to check out the window. “Yeah! I didn’t used to be much for the Christmas mess, but I’m kinda excited this year.” L joins him next to the curtains to take in the view.

L really does love Christmas. He met B for the first time a few days before Christmas, almost a whole year ago, down in London near Covent Garden, where the lights and decorations are so festive and grand that they always leave L in awe.

And yeah, that Christmas – that year was an exceptionally good one.