Moar comment!fic ahoy!
Nov. 30th, 2009 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darklunaFor the prompt: Death Note, Matt/Mello, picking up the pieces
Never count on anyone, for anything, ever. Mello had lived by that belief ever since leaving the House, and now that he actually needed someone, he didn't remember how to let himself. He wouldn't eat the broth Matt made, or leave on the bandages he carefully taped, or take the drugs he'd gotten somehow.
Finally, when Mello had batted the syringe with painkillers in it out of his hand for the third time in as many hours, Matt, who had never snapped before, did.
"You know what? Fuck you, Mello. You call me to help, and you won't fucking let me! If all you want is some sort of, of fucking audience for how goddamn tough you are, forget it. Find someone else." He stomped toward the door, and Mello stared, speechless for once. Was he really going? He was, and not even looking back.
"There isn't anyone else." That stopped Matt, though he didn't let his hand fall from the doorknob. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this." That was the understatement of the fucking year, but even now, he could barely even think, They won this one.
Matt came back over to the couch and dropped onto it sideways, facing Mello. "I know. But, M, you've got to slow down."
"I can't." He was the irresistible force, wasn't he? Barreling through life, faster, better, than everyone else. Obstacles were there to be smashed through, not detoured around. From the way Matt was looking at him, he thought he might have murmured some of that aloud, or maybe Matt could read it in his eyes.
"It's not giving up," Matt said. "It's taking a little time to fight back even stronger." He leaned over and picked up the syringe from where it had fallen. "C'mon. Rest."
"Fine," Mello said, holding out his arm.
Matt's touch was gentle; Mello barely felt the needle slip in. "How are you so good?"
He answered what Mello was really asking. "I knew you'd need me. And I knew you'd hate it."
It felt like the sedative was kicking in already. Mello let his eyes close, let himself lean over, and Matt was there to catch him. If there was anyone he'd allow to see him like this, it was Matt. Not just because there wasn't anyone else. That was true, but it wasn't the whole story. Mello was as close to broken as he'd ever been, maybe, and not just physically. No one but Matt knew how the pieces should all fit back together, and no one but Matt would've stuck around long enough to make sure they did. "I don't," he said, putting his arms around Matt's waist. "I don't hate it."
Never count on anyone, for anything, ever. Mello had lived by that belief ever since leaving the House, and now that he actually needed someone, he didn't remember how to let himself. He wouldn't eat the broth Matt made, or leave on the bandages he carefully taped, or take the drugs he'd gotten somehow.
Finally, when Mello had batted the syringe with painkillers in it out of his hand for the third time in as many hours, Matt, who had never snapped before, did.
"You know what? Fuck you, Mello. You call me to help, and you won't fucking let me! If all you want is some sort of, of fucking audience for how goddamn tough you are, forget it. Find someone else." He stomped toward the door, and Mello stared, speechless for once. Was he really going? He was, and not even looking back.
"There isn't anyone else." That stopped Matt, though he didn't let his hand fall from the doorknob. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this." That was the understatement of the fucking year, but even now, he could barely even think, They won this one.
Matt came back over to the couch and dropped onto it sideways, facing Mello. "I know. But, M, you've got to slow down."
"I can't." He was the irresistible force, wasn't he? Barreling through life, faster, better, than everyone else. Obstacles were there to be smashed through, not detoured around. From the way Matt was looking at him, he thought he might have murmured some of that aloud, or maybe Matt could read it in his eyes.
"It's not giving up," Matt said. "It's taking a little time to fight back even stronger." He leaned over and picked up the syringe from where it had fallen. "C'mon. Rest."
"Fine," Mello said, holding out his arm.
Matt's touch was gentle; Mello barely felt the needle slip in. "How are you so good?"
He answered what Mello was really asking. "I knew you'd need me. And I knew you'd hate it."
It felt like the sedative was kicking in already. Mello let his eyes close, let himself lean over, and Matt was there to catch him. If there was anyone he'd allow to see him like this, it was Matt. Not just because there wasn't anyone else. That was true, but it wasn't the whole story. Mello was as close to broken as he'd ever been, maybe, and not just physically. No one but Matt knew how the pieces should all fit back together, and no one but Matt would've stuck around long enough to make sure they did. "I don't," he said, putting his arms around Matt's waist. "I don't hate it."
