[DEATH NOTE] Fic: Gone Fading Everything, M/M, PG-13
Title: Gone Fading Everything
Author: jengou
Pairings: Mello/Matt
Genre: Tragedy/Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for manga chapter 99, anime episode 35
Disclaimer: The boys own ME. I own nothing.
Acknowledgement: Super thanks to comedy_whore for the the brilliant beta and making this so exciting to write, ill_ame for the gentle hand-holding and finecombing, and lady_hiwatari for the cow-prodding XD Written for phishy via the writing_kills challenge!
Notes: This fic is a standalone, but can also be read as an optional sequel to And All That Could Have Been.
◊
you meant everything
everything to me
gone fading everything
and all that could have been
◊
The setting sun receded slowly behind the Tokyo skyline, adding swathes of oranges and pinks to the barren winter sky. Patches of light struggled in through a smudgy window, shining on a cluster of empty green beer bottles, and two sets of watery footprints, evaporating on the kitchen linoleum.
“Mello. Hey, Mello.”
From the corner of his eye, Matt watched the sunlight linger on Mello’s hunched form, and noticed how it bounced off the gold strands of his hair and turned the beads of the rosary around his neck a rusty red. The dangling silver cross winked as it twirled slowly in midair, reflecting bits of light.
“I know what you’re doing,” Matt noticed that his speech was slightly slurred from the beer, “when you think I’m not looking.”
“Hm?” It was a distracted sound, as though Mello had been trying to doze off, or at least pretending to.
Matt cleared his throat. “I know you pray sometimes. You don’t have to hide it from me or anything.” Matt uncurled his hands and stared at his palms. “Must be nice ... to have that, I mean.”
Mello shifted uncomfortably on the couch, which was answer enough for Matt.
“So, you’ve got the Big Guy up there,” he continued, “and you’ve got me to watch over your scrawny ass here. That’s gotta make you feel pretty damn invincible, huh.”
Matt flexed his puny muscles jokingly to himself, and was gratified to see Mello look up, seemingly attentive.
Mello unwrapped his hand from the rosary and stood up, knees braced, knuckles white, elbows everywhere.
“There’s still some light left. Let’s go for a ride on my bike.”
◊
“I know you think you’re fucking invincible!!” Matt screamed over the roaring engine as street signs and lamp posts streaked past in blurry lines of colour and light. “But you’re not gonna get into Takada’s panties if you make her shit her pants first!”
“Shut up, you fucking pansy! TILT LEFT!”
Matt dove to his left as they swerved another sharp corner, his shoulder nearly touching the ground. When they were upright again, Matt couldn’t help but tighten his death-grip around Mello’s waist just that little bit more.
“I’m fine with this literal ‘living life in the fast lane’ shit!” Matt shouted indignantly into Mello’s ears. “But remember at Wammy’s? You took me for a ride on your bicycle with fucking support wheels. And you still dropped me.”
The rushing air current muffled the sound, but Matt could feel Mello’s body shaking with something like laughter.
“That’s cos you were a fatass and tilted too far!” Mello yelled, the words whipping past Matt’s ears and disappearing into the wind.
“Yeah, well! Then you shouldn’t have kept offering me those damn chocolates!”
“Haha, I wanted to see if I could turn you into a shut-in!”
“Fuck yoooooouuuu!” Matt hollered, as they zoomed through another red light.
◊
Matt had memorized the address and directions to their rendezvous point, but Mello hadn’t told him the actual site was an abandoned church in a crumbling courtyard.
“I’m telling you now,” Mello replied flippantly, gravel crunching underfoot. They ambled through a dark archway, where the sun did not reach, and the temperature dropped noticeably.
“Is this where you disappeared to all those Sunday afternoons, when I thought you were off having a good time with your SPK lady friend?” Matt waved his arms theatrically in the air. “Jeez, Mello! I really hope you got some while you had your chance with her.”
“I got some. More than you at least. Though,” Mello waggled his eyebrows, “that’s not saying much, is it?”
“Hmph. I notice that you keep designating the chick-charming roles to yourself.”
“Who got distracted by a pretty girl and nearly compromised the mission?”
“That was once.”
“You thought she was fourteen,” Mello sneered.
“I made a very educated guesstimate of between fourteen and twenty,” Matt seethed, shoving at the metal double doors in front of them. They didn’t budge, so he shoved harder. Mello cocked an eyebrow at him, wrapped a hand around the door knob, and pulled.
The door opened to a surprisingly large and ornate hall, with two columns of dark wooden benches facing the altar decked in swaths of red fabric. The small windows were bereft of most of their panes, and gusts of wind undulated in the domed ceiling above them.
“Hey, give me the backpack.”
Matt nearly tripped over a fold in the carpet as Mello unzipped the bag and fished out half a dozen packs of dynamite.
“You were speeding on a motorbike under the influence with me sitting behind you carrying those on my back? You NUTTER. What else haven’t you told me?”
“Told you to put out your cigarette, didn’t I? Why’d you think I drove you over here?”
“I thought you wanted to spend some quality time, you know, bonding. Being chummy.” Matt took a quick look around. “Though, this place isn’t my idea of a good time.”
Mello snorted, and bent to hide a pack of cloth-wrapped dynamite under a bench.
Splitting off into opposite directions, the two of them scoped out the interior infrastructure of the church. They planted two more packs of dynamite under the benches, one in the archway, strapped one under the grand piano, and Mello ordered Matt to duct-tape the last pack behind the Madonna at the altar. Preparations completed, they flopped down on a bench in the far back of the church.
Mello looked at the altar, then to Matt, and plunged in.
“Guess what I pray for.”
Matt dug his thumbnail into the jagged “F” and “U” etched onto the bench in front of him. “Dunno. Help with your crummy anger-management issues? That our local convenience store doesn’t run out of chocolates? A manlier haircut? You know,” he made scissor motions with his fingers, “I can help with the haircut thing.”
Mello hesitated, and his mouth twisted into an odd, tight smile.
“Actually, I pray for you.”
That shut Matt up.
“Admittedly, I’m not sure my prayers work.” Mello shrugged and rested his elbows on the back of the bench. “Done too many sinful things I don’t regret, etc.”
Matt stared at Mello incredulously. “Dude, you survived a fucking explosion with all your limbs intact.” Even I felt gratitude for something out there when I finally dug you out from underneath all those bodies, thought Matt.
“And you got a manly battle scar to show for it too, haha.”
Mello rubbed his face. “Now that it doesn’t hurt, I sometimes forget that I have it. But, speaking of scars,” Mello peered between his fingers, “you never told me how you got that one on your throat.”
Matt coughed, and shifted slightly away from him.
“Ah. Uhm, it’s not so great a story.”
“Come on. It can’t be worse than nearly getting shot by someone who was old enough to be my grandpa.”
Matt twitched, and swiped at his scar. “A short while after you packed your bags and left, my mother came to Wammy’s and tried to take me back.”
Mello inhaled sharply. “But she beat you up all the time.”
“Yeah, which was why I refused. She went batshit insane, grabbed one of those crosses that hung in every damned room at the House, and tried to puncture my throat with it.” Matt shuddered. “Pretty nasty.”
“Oh.” The next words came more softly. “I never knew.”
There are a lot of things you don’t know, Matt thought fleetingly, then squashed the thought.
“That’s why this place,” Matt gestured at the cross at the altar, “and that thing,” Matt pointed at Mello’s rosary, “put me on edge. I’m not sure what to say to the prayers, but… thank you. For the thought.”
“You survived though,” Mello pointed out.
“Before you suggest that it was ‘divine intervention’,” Matt couldn’t help making those irritating bendy fingers in the air the way Roger used to do a lot in class. “Mother really would have punctured my throat if it wasn’t for my slippery double-chin. And who got me fat?”
Matt gave Mello a pointed look, with a hint of a smile. “You and your fucking chocolates.” He then proceeded to look way too smug for someone who had just proclaimed his best friend a god.
Mello couldn’t help a small grin.
“Well, my chocolates and I can’t personally look out for our sidekick tomorrow. So someone else has gotta do it in my place.”
“In that case, I’ll do without. I don’t want to rely on anyone but you to watch out for me. I don’t want anyone but myself to watch out for you. I don’t want to and I can’t.” Matt kicked the bench in front of him. “I won’t.”
Silence stretched - Matt had to admit he was a bit disappointed at the lack of response.
Mello kept his tone neutral. “You’ve been trying to pick a fight all day. What’s with you?”
Anger flared. “Look, it’s been scant two months since you nearly killed yourself in that explosion. Why the rush to do it again?”
“There’s no other way. I have to be the one to do it.”
“Why does it have to be so dire? Why can’t you just let go and chill for a bit?” Matt bit out the next words. “It’s not like your boner for Near ever did you any good.”
Mello snarled. “So you figured that by picking a fight, I’d postpone our plans for tomorrow?”
That caught Matt completely off-guard. He blurted, “Yes,” and “I like having you around.”
Matt felt disoriented, as though someone had put magnifying lenses behind his retinas; he didn’t hear the bench creak and didn’t feel the hand on his leg, but he did see the silver cross on Mello’s rosary loom into his vision as Mello’s face closed in. Instinctively, he raised his arm in defence.
“Fuck you, Mello, I let my guard down for one second-”
“Shut up. It’s not that. This here’s for luck.”
Mello tilted his face down before Matt could back away. It was chapped lips against chapped lips and an eyeful of scar tissue, but. There was a tenderness mingled in the tiredness when their tongues met, cautious but deliberate. It tasted of spices and incense, but Matt had no idea where those flavours came from.
I thought you’d taste of chocolate. Matt remembered the chocolate abandoned on the table back at their apartment, and his stomach gave a lurch.
Sensing Matt’s distractedness, Mello ducked down lower and gave Matt’s scar an experimental swipe of his tongue. Matt yelped and pushed him off, but Mello came away laughing a bit.
“You think too much, Matt. You’re with me. You’ll be fine.”
Matt wiped his throat with the back of his hand. He suddenly noticed that Mello's shoulders weren't hunched for the first time in weeks, and his smile easy.
“Yeah, I’m with you alright.”
◊
Slippery. Dark.
Matt extended is arms and tried to steady himself.
I’ll trip if I’m not careful.
Gradually, images were building up inside his sphere of vision. The first thing he saw was the puddle of blood he was standing in, then, following the trail of blood, his own mangled body.
Shit. Shitshitshit. I got shot. I remember that. It hurt like fuck.
He crouched down and grimaced as he peered at his cracked goggles, furred vest matted with blood, and the ineffectual smoke gun buried in his gloved hand. Rising to his feet, he tried to come to terms with his own death.
I died standing, with a gun in my hand, boots on my feet, and a cigarette in my mouth.
Matt nodded. There were worse ways to die.
Speaking of which ...
SHIT!
He broke off into a run.
◊
The landscape seemed to whirl past, then came to a sudden standstill when Matt finally arrived at the rendezvous point. A cursory glance of his surroundings yielded a shitload of rubble, billowing clouds of smoke, and an outstretched arm charred to the bone. Matt wanted to cry.
I didn’t think I’d have to do this a second time.
“Mello! Mello, where are you? Answer me, you suicidal FUCK!”
Last time, Matt had panicked and shoved boulders aside left, right, and centre, but he knew better now. Adjusting his goggles, he walked slowly and quietly into the demolished courtyard, scanning for signs of movement and cocking his ear for any sounds. He soon caught a sporadic thudding and, honing in, followed the sound toward the church.
The dull metallic thudding sound grew louder as Matt approached the entrance. What used to be the archway had burnt to the ground, revealing a parked truck. The noise came from someone shoving and banging on the metal double doors of the church entrance - the glowing halo of blonde hair was unmistakable.
Relief coursed through Matt, he was dizzy with it.
“I fucking hate you, Mello! Why didn’t you answer me? Why’d you have to make me worry like some old granny? And stop being a retard, don’t you remember those doors need to be pulled… oh.”
Something made him look inside the truck as he passed, and suddenly he saw double.
“M-Mello…”
He’d never seen Mello so still, or so quiet. Though they sometimes went entire evenings without talking (Mello had no use for conversation when there was work to be done, which left Matt to his DS, and that was fine by him), Mello was never quiet. He was more like a walking un-tuned radio, constantly blaring white noise; all angry clacking of keys, hissed swearing, and the seemingly constant tearing and crinkling of chocolate wrappers.
Now, he lay as immobile as a broken doll on the steering wheel; arms hanging, one cheek pressed flat on the wheel, face contorted in shock and pain. It was all Matt could do to tear his eyes away from the body and look at the ghost, who had his back turned and was still banging on the church doors.
Matt approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. Mello stopped banging, and Matt wrapped his arms around him. Out of old habit, he tucked his chin where Mello’s throat and shoulder met, to gauge Mello’s frenzied heartbeat and calm him down.
That was obsolete now.
“Matt.”
Mello’s face looked too tight, too pinched and naked, as though he was trying not to cry, puke, or both.
“Matt. I can’t get in.” Matt had restrained Mello’s arms, but still he clawed at the doorknob. “I’m locked out. I can’t get in through these doors.”
Mello’s knees buckled and he staggered to the ground, bringing Matt down with him. Fingertips shaking, Mello plucked at his rosary and muttered feverishly, "First Hail Mary for the increase of faith, second Hail Mary for the increase of hope, third Hail Mary for the increase of charity..."
“Mello, get a grip on yourself! Don’t you get it? You're not going to Heaven! Your god didn’t look out for you. He didn’t look out for either of us. Snap out of it!”
Mello stopped struggling, and after holding him for a few seconds, Matt released him. Moving in sharp angles, Mello lifted an elbow and shrugged out of his rosary. He turned and slipped it around Matt’s neck, adjusting it inside the collar of the vest.
“Mello, listen to me,” Matt was close to begging, but Mello interrupted.
“Take this, and run. Just because my life was fucked up didn’t mean I had to drag you into it too.”
Mello’s body heaved, and his voice rattled.
“Matt, you’re innocent. You weren’t meant to die like this. I’m sorry.”
“Mello, you don’t get it!” Matt gripped Mello’s shoulders and shook him violently. “We only ever had each other! I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”
I’m sorry Mello. I’m with you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Even to Hell.
Matt tugged roughly at the rosary around his neck. The string snapped easily, the crimson beads soaring in the air before landing and ricocheting off the ground.
“Thanks for the luck. Without it, I might not have been able to find you.” Matt wrapped his hands around Mello’s face, and brought him close. “Returning the favour.”
There was no sensation as they shared their last kiss. Moonlight lingered on their blurry forms, then passed right through, as they faded into nothingness.
◊
All humans are destined to die someday. The place where they go after death is ‘MU’ (nothingness).
◊
Author’s Note: Title and lyrics from NIN’s song “And All That Could Have Been.” If you want some insight into Mello’s point of view in this story, please check out the lyrics. Comments and concrit most welcome.
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Author: jengou
Pairings: Mello/Matt
Genre: Tragedy/Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for manga chapter 99, anime episode 35
Disclaimer: The boys own ME. I own nothing.
Acknowledgement: Super thanks to comedy_whore for the the brilliant beta and making this so exciting to write, ill_ame for the gentle hand-holding and finecombing, and lady_hiwatari for the cow-prodding XD Written for phishy via the writing_kills challenge!
Notes: This fic is a standalone, but can also be read as an optional sequel to And All That Could Have Been.
◊
you meant everything
everything to me
gone fading everything
and all that could have been
◊
The setting sun receded slowly behind the Tokyo skyline, adding swathes of oranges and pinks to the barren winter sky. Patches of light struggled in through a smudgy window, shining on a cluster of empty green beer bottles, and two sets of watery footprints, evaporating on the kitchen linoleum.
“Mello. Hey, Mello.”
From the corner of his eye, Matt watched the sunlight linger on Mello’s hunched form, and noticed how it bounced off the gold strands of his hair and turned the beads of the rosary around his neck a rusty red. The dangling silver cross winked as it twirled slowly in midair, reflecting bits of light.
“I know what you’re doing,” Matt noticed that his speech was slightly slurred from the beer, “when you think I’m not looking.”
“Hm?” It was a distracted sound, as though Mello had been trying to doze off, or at least pretending to.
Matt cleared his throat. “I know you pray sometimes. You don’t have to hide it from me or anything.” Matt uncurled his hands and stared at his palms. “Must be nice ... to have that, I mean.”
Mello shifted uncomfortably on the couch, which was answer enough for Matt.
“So, you’ve got the Big Guy up there,” he continued, “and you’ve got me to watch over your scrawny ass here. That’s gotta make you feel pretty damn invincible, huh.”
Matt flexed his puny muscles jokingly to himself, and was gratified to see Mello look up, seemingly attentive.
Mello unwrapped his hand from the rosary and stood up, knees braced, knuckles white, elbows everywhere.
“There’s still some light left. Let’s go for a ride on my bike.”
◊
“I know you think you’re fucking invincible!!” Matt screamed over the roaring engine as street signs and lamp posts streaked past in blurry lines of colour and light. “But you’re not gonna get into Takada’s panties if you make her shit her pants first!”
“Shut up, you fucking pansy! TILT LEFT!”
Matt dove to his left as they swerved another sharp corner, his shoulder nearly touching the ground. When they were upright again, Matt couldn’t help but tighten his death-grip around Mello’s waist just that little bit more.
“I’m fine with this literal ‘living life in the fast lane’ shit!” Matt shouted indignantly into Mello’s ears. “But remember at Wammy’s? You took me for a ride on your bicycle with fucking support wheels. And you still dropped me.”
The rushing air current muffled the sound, but Matt could feel Mello’s body shaking with something like laughter.
“That’s cos you were a fatass and tilted too far!” Mello yelled, the words whipping past Matt’s ears and disappearing into the wind.
“Yeah, well! Then you shouldn’t have kept offering me those damn chocolates!”
“Haha, I wanted to see if I could turn you into a shut-in!”
“Fuck yoooooouuuu!” Matt hollered, as they zoomed through another red light.
◊
Matt had memorized the address and directions to their rendezvous point, but Mello hadn’t told him the actual site was an abandoned church in a crumbling courtyard.
“I’m telling you now,” Mello replied flippantly, gravel crunching underfoot. They ambled through a dark archway, where the sun did not reach, and the temperature dropped noticeably.
“Is this where you disappeared to all those Sunday afternoons, when I thought you were off having a good time with your SPK lady friend?” Matt waved his arms theatrically in the air. “Jeez, Mello! I really hope you got some while you had your chance with her.”
“I got some. More than you at least. Though,” Mello waggled his eyebrows, “that’s not saying much, is it?”
“Hmph. I notice that you keep designating the chick-charming roles to yourself.”
“Who got distracted by a pretty girl and nearly compromised the mission?”
“That was once.”
“You thought she was fourteen,” Mello sneered.
“I made a very educated guesstimate of between fourteen and twenty,” Matt seethed, shoving at the metal double doors in front of them. They didn’t budge, so he shoved harder. Mello cocked an eyebrow at him, wrapped a hand around the door knob, and pulled.
The door opened to a surprisingly large and ornate hall, with two columns of dark wooden benches facing the altar decked in swaths of red fabric. The small windows were bereft of most of their panes, and gusts of wind undulated in the domed ceiling above them.
“Hey, give me the backpack.”
Matt nearly tripped over a fold in the carpet as Mello unzipped the bag and fished out half a dozen packs of dynamite.
“You were speeding on a motorbike under the influence with me sitting behind you carrying those on my back? You NUTTER. What else haven’t you told me?”
“Told you to put out your cigarette, didn’t I? Why’d you think I drove you over here?”
“I thought you wanted to spend some quality time, you know, bonding. Being chummy.” Matt took a quick look around. “Though, this place isn’t my idea of a good time.”
Mello snorted, and bent to hide a pack of cloth-wrapped dynamite under a bench.
Splitting off into opposite directions, the two of them scoped out the interior infrastructure of the church. They planted two more packs of dynamite under the benches, one in the archway, strapped one under the grand piano, and Mello ordered Matt to duct-tape the last pack behind the Madonna at the altar. Preparations completed, they flopped down on a bench in the far back of the church.
Mello looked at the altar, then to Matt, and plunged in.
“Guess what I pray for.”
Matt dug his thumbnail into the jagged “F” and “U” etched onto the bench in front of him. “Dunno. Help with your crummy anger-management issues? That our local convenience store doesn’t run out of chocolates? A manlier haircut? You know,” he made scissor motions with his fingers, “I can help with the haircut thing.”
Mello hesitated, and his mouth twisted into an odd, tight smile.
“Actually, I pray for you.”
That shut Matt up.
“Admittedly, I’m not sure my prayers work.” Mello shrugged and rested his elbows on the back of the bench. “Done too many sinful things I don’t regret, etc.”
Matt stared at Mello incredulously. “Dude, you survived a fucking explosion with all your limbs intact.” Even I felt gratitude for something out there when I finally dug you out from underneath all those bodies, thought Matt.
“And you got a manly battle scar to show for it too, haha.”
Mello rubbed his face. “Now that it doesn’t hurt, I sometimes forget that I have it. But, speaking of scars,” Mello peered between his fingers, “you never told me how you got that one on your throat.”
Matt coughed, and shifted slightly away from him.
“Ah. Uhm, it’s not so great a story.”
“Come on. It can’t be worse than nearly getting shot by someone who was old enough to be my grandpa.”
Matt twitched, and swiped at his scar. “A short while after you packed your bags and left, my mother came to Wammy’s and tried to take me back.”
Mello inhaled sharply. “But she beat you up all the time.”
“Yeah, which was why I refused. She went batshit insane, grabbed one of those crosses that hung in every damned room at the House, and tried to puncture my throat with it.” Matt shuddered. “Pretty nasty.”
“Oh.” The next words came more softly. “I never knew.”
There are a lot of things you don’t know, Matt thought fleetingly, then squashed the thought.
“That’s why this place,” Matt gestured at the cross at the altar, “and that thing,” Matt pointed at Mello’s rosary, “put me on edge. I’m not sure what to say to the prayers, but… thank you. For the thought.”
“You survived though,” Mello pointed out.
“Before you suggest that it was ‘divine intervention’,” Matt couldn’t help making those irritating bendy fingers in the air the way Roger used to do a lot in class. “Mother really would have punctured my throat if it wasn’t for my slippery double-chin. And who got me fat?”
Matt gave Mello a pointed look, with a hint of a smile. “You and your fucking chocolates.” He then proceeded to look way too smug for someone who had just proclaimed his best friend a god.
Mello couldn’t help a small grin.
“Well, my chocolates and I can’t personally look out for our sidekick tomorrow. So someone else has gotta do it in my place.”
“In that case, I’ll do without. I don’t want to rely on anyone but you to watch out for me. I don’t want anyone but myself to watch out for you. I don’t want to and I can’t.” Matt kicked the bench in front of him. “I won’t.”
Silence stretched - Matt had to admit he was a bit disappointed at the lack of response.
Mello kept his tone neutral. “You’ve been trying to pick a fight all day. What’s with you?”
Anger flared. “Look, it’s been scant two months since you nearly killed yourself in that explosion. Why the rush to do it again?”
“There’s no other way. I have to be the one to do it.”
“Why does it have to be so dire? Why can’t you just let go and chill for a bit?” Matt bit out the next words. “It’s not like your boner for Near ever did you any good.”
Mello snarled. “So you figured that by picking a fight, I’d postpone our plans for tomorrow?”
That caught Matt completely off-guard. He blurted, “Yes,” and “I like having you around.”
Matt felt disoriented, as though someone had put magnifying lenses behind his retinas; he didn’t hear the bench creak and didn’t feel the hand on his leg, but he did see the silver cross on Mello’s rosary loom into his vision as Mello’s face closed in. Instinctively, he raised his arm in defence.
“Fuck you, Mello, I let my guard down for one second-”
“Shut up. It’s not that. This here’s for luck.”
Mello tilted his face down before Matt could back away. It was chapped lips against chapped lips and an eyeful of scar tissue, but. There was a tenderness mingled in the tiredness when their tongues met, cautious but deliberate. It tasted of spices and incense, but Matt had no idea where those flavours came from.
I thought you’d taste of chocolate. Matt remembered the chocolate abandoned on the table back at their apartment, and his stomach gave a lurch.
Sensing Matt’s distractedness, Mello ducked down lower and gave Matt’s scar an experimental swipe of his tongue. Matt yelped and pushed him off, but Mello came away laughing a bit.
“You think too much, Matt. You’re with me. You’ll be fine.”
Matt wiped his throat with the back of his hand. He suddenly noticed that Mello's shoulders weren't hunched for the first time in weeks, and his smile easy.
“Yeah, I’m with you alright.”
◊
Slippery. Dark.
Matt extended is arms and tried to steady himself.
I’ll trip if I’m not careful.
Gradually, images were building up inside his sphere of vision. The first thing he saw was the puddle of blood he was standing in, then, following the trail of blood, his own mangled body.
Shit. Shitshitshit. I got shot. I remember that. It hurt like fuck.
He crouched down and grimaced as he peered at his cracked goggles, furred vest matted with blood, and the ineffectual smoke gun buried in his gloved hand. Rising to his feet, he tried to come to terms with his own death.
I died standing, with a gun in my hand, boots on my feet, and a cigarette in my mouth.
Matt nodded. There were worse ways to die.
Speaking of which ...
SHIT!
He broke off into a run.
◊
The landscape seemed to whirl past, then came to a sudden standstill when Matt finally arrived at the rendezvous point. A cursory glance of his surroundings yielded a shitload of rubble, billowing clouds of smoke, and an outstretched arm charred to the bone. Matt wanted to cry.
I didn’t think I’d have to do this a second time.
“Mello! Mello, where are you? Answer me, you suicidal FUCK!”
Last time, Matt had panicked and shoved boulders aside left, right, and centre, but he knew better now. Adjusting his goggles, he walked slowly and quietly into the demolished courtyard, scanning for signs of movement and cocking his ear for any sounds. He soon caught a sporadic thudding and, honing in, followed the sound toward the church.
The dull metallic thudding sound grew louder as Matt approached the entrance. What used to be the archway had burnt to the ground, revealing a parked truck. The noise came from someone shoving and banging on the metal double doors of the church entrance - the glowing halo of blonde hair was unmistakable.
Relief coursed through Matt, he was dizzy with it.
“I fucking hate you, Mello! Why didn’t you answer me? Why’d you have to make me worry like some old granny? And stop being a retard, don’t you remember those doors need to be pulled… oh.”
Something made him look inside the truck as he passed, and suddenly he saw double.
“M-Mello…”
He’d never seen Mello so still, or so quiet. Though they sometimes went entire evenings without talking (Mello had no use for conversation when there was work to be done, which left Matt to his DS, and that was fine by him), Mello was never quiet. He was more like a walking un-tuned radio, constantly blaring white noise; all angry clacking of keys, hissed swearing, and the seemingly constant tearing and crinkling of chocolate wrappers.
Now, he lay as immobile as a broken doll on the steering wheel; arms hanging, one cheek pressed flat on the wheel, face contorted in shock and pain. It was all Matt could do to tear his eyes away from the body and look at the ghost, who had his back turned and was still banging on the church doors.
Matt approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. Mello stopped banging, and Matt wrapped his arms around him. Out of old habit, he tucked his chin where Mello’s throat and shoulder met, to gauge Mello’s frenzied heartbeat and calm him down.
That was obsolete now.
“Matt.”
Mello’s face looked too tight, too pinched and naked, as though he was trying not to cry, puke, or both.
“Matt. I can’t get in.” Matt had restrained Mello’s arms, but still he clawed at the doorknob. “I’m locked out. I can’t get in through these doors.”
Mello’s knees buckled and he staggered to the ground, bringing Matt down with him. Fingertips shaking, Mello plucked at his rosary and muttered feverishly, "First Hail Mary for the increase of faith, second Hail Mary for the increase of hope, third Hail Mary for the increase of charity..."
“Mello, get a grip on yourself! Don’t you get it? You're not going to Heaven! Your god didn’t look out for you. He didn’t look out for either of us. Snap out of it!”
Mello stopped struggling, and after holding him for a few seconds, Matt released him. Moving in sharp angles, Mello lifted an elbow and shrugged out of his rosary. He turned and slipped it around Matt’s neck, adjusting it inside the collar of the vest.
“Mello, listen to me,” Matt was close to begging, but Mello interrupted.
“Take this, and run. Just because my life was fucked up didn’t mean I had to drag you into it too.”
Mello’s body heaved, and his voice rattled.
“Matt, you’re innocent. You weren’t meant to die like this. I’m sorry.”
“Mello, you don’t get it!” Matt gripped Mello’s shoulders and shook him violently. “We only ever had each other! I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”
I’m sorry Mello. I’m with you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Even to Hell.
Matt tugged roughly at the rosary around his neck. The string snapped easily, the crimson beads soaring in the air before landing and ricocheting off the ground.
“Thanks for the luck. Without it, I might not have been able to find you.” Matt wrapped his hands around Mello’s face, and brought him close. “Returning the favour.”
There was no sensation as they shared their last kiss. Moonlight lingered on their blurry forms, then passed right through, as they faded into nothingness.
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All humans are destined to die someday. The place where they go after death is ‘MU’ (nothingness).
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Author’s Note: Title and lyrics from NIN’s song “And All That Could Have Been.” If you want some insight into Mello’s point of view in this story, please check out the lyrics. Comments and concrit most welcome.
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