Dear Audience,
Yes, yes, I know it isn't canon, so don't shoot! It simply came into my head and it had to be written down! Think of it as a little present until Within These Walls is updated again - although you neglectful audience members don't really deserve a present. I know that lots of people have been reading my stories, and nobody is reviewing! Review! I command you! Think how it must feel not to know whether your story is desperately bad or wonderfully good.
If you review, I will maybe forgive you, and write something with Mello where he isn't hovering between life and death. On that cheerful note, I leave you.
~ FairMaiden333
Disclaimer: It has caused me many sleepless nights - all right, I give up, I confess! I do not own Death Note!
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The Valley of Shadow
If it hurts you to look back and it frightens you to look forward, just look beside you and I will be there.
~ Anonymous
The air was thick with pain and the scent of blood and burned flesh as the two watched over the golden-haired young man who was sleeping feverishly on the small room's only bed. Both had been keeping constant watch over him since the early hours of the morning, one slumped in a hard-backed chair drawn up to the side of the bed, fingers moving restlessly over a game station which had been muted so as not to wake the injured sleeper; the other perched on a stool on the other side of the bed, making use of the little table next to him as a base for the towers and buildings he constructed from his bag of dice - taking great care to move and place the building blocks quietly. Both were worn thin from the constant strain, and no longer attempted to conceal their anxiety from each other when their eyes met across the bed from time to time. The two were quietly grateful, though, for the past training which enabled them to stay wakeful through the day and into the evening and night. There was never a moment to relax - they might be needed at any moment.
The doctor had long since done all that he could do, and all that remained was for them to give the injured man what help they could through their presence. As he grew agitated again, shifting painfully back and forth, mumbling under his breath and attempting to lift his hands to touch the mass of red and black which had been one side of his face, the two acted: Matt setting aside his game and catching one of the unruly hands, and Near doing the same for the other.
Mello would talk in his sleep then, speaking through the fever and agony, long rambles in which his mind would return to some small event from long ago at the House, or shorter, anguished bursts of speech in which he would mutter wildly about the things he had done and say that he was past forgiveness even as he prayed for it. Names would spill from his lips, of those he loved and those he hated, and though many times it was L, or B, or Kira, or a certain brown-haired Japanese girl, the names which came most often were those of the two sitting by his bedside.
He would talk at length of Matt, either begging him to stay or ordering him, just as desperately, to leave him, and get out of the whole God-forsaken mess while he still could, and at these times the red-haired young man at his side would murmur soothing, calming words while he reached for yet another damp cloth to wipe away the sweat and tears. Almost as often, though, it would be Near's name which tumbled out, filled with bitterness and tinged with hatred. He would curse him for forcing his hand, calling him ruthless and cold and a hundred other names, mumbling to himself that he would still beat him! - he would make him see that he was never going to be used by him again. Then Matt would watch Near's pale face grow even whiter as his lips thinned, a pain eerily close to that of the man on the bed between them ghosting behind his eyes. Mello was always at his worst when he talked of Near, except for the few times his voice would soften and what was left of his face would wrinkle into a frown as he muttered that he had to find the other boy - he had to, because the idiot thought that he could do fine on his own and he couldn't, he needed Mello's help… he had to help him… It was then that the pale, slim hand would close even tighter around the other's as Near bent closer to the bed, telling the injured man in a low voice that he was there.
Mello seemed to recognize their voices, and he would always subside into a quieter sleep after hearing them - sometimes for only a few minutes, sometimes as much as an hour before his next restless period. Sometimes they felt as if their efforts counted for nothing in the battle for life going on in the little room; sometimes they were sure that it was only their words which kept the young man from succumbing to the fever raging through his body. From time to time, they looked at each other and took some comfort from the fact that they were not alone.
And so, even as they traveled the valley of shadow, they stayed strong and helped each other through the night.
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Grrr. Even fair maidens can be pushed too far. Review. Please.
~ FairMaiden333