My own take on right after Mello blows up the hideout.
Matt had been expecting pizza.
Of course he had come to realize that life rarely, if ever, gave you what you were expecting and more often seemed to delight in delivering the exact opposite. He had, for example, not been expecting the car crash that had left him orphaned and at the mercy of Wammy's House. But it was what it was and nothing he could do would have changed it. Besides, those years of learning and testing and constant competition were behind him now. And even though he tried most days to forget, there were still times when the memories came creeping up to the back door of his mind, silently jimmying the lock and making themselves known.
And so, in his short eighteen years, Matt had learned to expect the unexpected.
Pizza, however, had always been pretty reliable. It was for that reason that Matt, normally unshaken by extraordinary occurrences, stood gaping at his front door, jaw slightly slack, tip money crumpled in one fist, with an overall look of shock on his face.
"Well?" The voice was gruff and scratchy, like its owner had been chewing sandpaper. And it was most definetly not the delivery man- unless burnt and bloody was the new uniform standard. "You gonna invite me in or am I just gonna have to stand here 'til you manage to pick your jaw up off the floor?"
Matt's shock slowly evaporated and his lips pursed as he crossed his arm and cocked one hip, still blocking the doorway. He gave the figure before him an inscrutable stare, taking in the blonde hair, black clothing, and bad attitude he had once been familiar with. Of course, Matt's rational mind noted, he looked quite different now.
"What happened?" he asked. Straight-to-the-point, just like Matt preferred it.
"Does it matter?" the blonde growled, a hint of pain beginning to creep into his voice. "Are you going to help me or not?"
Matt chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Was he going to help? Part of him wanted to, but another part- a stronger part- was still so angry at Mello for leaving Wammy's without a word. He searched his mind hard, and couldn't come up with an immediate reason to help. They had been… now he guessed that friends was too strong a word, but acquaintance not nearly strong enough. He sighed and decided there was no good word for what they were- no, what they had been, for now they were nothing. Mello had seen to that.
"Look," the voice was beginning to sound ragged at the edges, understandably so. "You have to help me."
"Why?"
There was quick movement and a sharp click, and suddenly Matt found himself starinjg down the business end of a Colt .9mm. He sighed. "Fine. Come in, Mello."
The blonde, Mello, limped unevenly over the threshold, clicking on the safety and pocketing his gun as he slammed the front door shut. The two boys stared at each other for a moment, one detached and rationalizing, the other breathing heavily and looking as though he might soon pass out.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Mello suddenly exploded. Matt knew it had been coming. Mello had never quite outgrown his temper- or his extensive vocabulary of curse words. "Help me, damnit!"
"What do you expect me to do?" It was a genuine question. "I'm not a doctor. Why didn't you go to a hospital?"
"I'm a wanted man," Mello panted. His face- what was left of it- was pale, and Matt watched as a bead of sweat trailed down from his hairline, gathering dust and blood as it went. "And you took all those medical classes at Wammy's. I couldn't think of anyone else to turn to. Don't make me beg, Matt."
"That was all theory and safety! I'm not qualified for something like this!"
"Do something." Mello staggered a bit. This desperation seemed to finally snap Matt into action mode. He reached out to steady Mello, making sure to grab the arm on his good side. Making a quick decision to put aside his anger, and do what he could, he steered the unsteady boy towards the bathroom, doing his best to ignore the stink of charred skin and hair.
He flipped the light on and deposited his burden on the lip of the bathtub. Mello promptly slid to the floor, his head hanging between his knees. In the stark fluorescent light of the bathroom, he looked much worse. Matt had to work hard to shove the panicky part of his brain to the back and let the rational, analytical part of his mind dominate.
He had avoided really looking at Mello until now. It wasn't that he shyed away from gore; he had no issues with blood. It was that he couldn't quite reconcile the Mello in front of him with the one he had known back at Wammy's. That Mello had been vibrant, cocky, self-assured. Full of anger, yes, but full of ambition too. The anger was still there, glinting in the corner of his eyes- eye- like jagged metal. But this Mello looked run-down and tired and decidedly worse for the wear.
Matt studied him, fighting a sudden lurch of his stomach. The right side of his face was normal, but dirty. Ash and dirt and bloody had settled in a fine grit on the skin, giving it a gray cast. But the left was where the real story lie- the reason he had come to Matt's door when they hadn't spoken a word in more than a year. The skin was mottled; dark, charred patches with red, oozing valleys between them where the skin had flaked off and exposed the delicate tissue beneath. Angry blisters covered what skin was left and extended down his neck to disappear under the tattered material of his shirt. His eye-if he still had one- was crusted shut with dried blood and his lips were chapped and cracked. His eyebrow was gone on that side, burnt off, along with a good two inches of hair, leaving him with an uneven, singed hairline. His chest heaved and his breath was coming in pained gasps.
Matt felt a brief moment of panic. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't a doctor! He went over a quick litany of medical knowledge in his head. Ice for a sprain, elevate the injury, don't let people with concussions sleep, starve a fever, feed a cold… or what is feed a fever, starve a cold? Mello gave a half-grunt of pain and seemed to slump even lower.
Matt swallowed hard and then took a deep breath. Clean the wound. That was a good place to start, right? For a second he felt angry. Matt wished Mello had gone somewhere- anywhere- else. He just wasn't cut out for this action stuff. Truthfully he hadn't really missed all the drama that seemed to inevitably follow Mello wherever he went.
"Clean the wound," he muttered to himself. He turned to his sink. No soap- that would have come handy; just water would have to do. Matt scrambled for a clean wash cloth, knocking his razor to the floor in the process. It clattered across the tile as he ran the cloth under a stream of cold water.
Mello let out another grunt as Matt kneeled in front of him, holding the dripping cloth towards Mello's cheek. Another deep breath and he lightly pressed the material to the ruined skin. Mello hissed as the rough fibers snagged against his burned flesh.
"I'm sorry," Matt said as he tried to clean the grime off. He wasn't really sorry per se, he knew he was doing his best to help, but it still seemed like the most appropriate sentiment. Mello made an unintelligible sound and grit his teeth hard as the corner of the cloth caught the edge of a blackened patch. Matt tugged lightly and the skin peeled off, exposing the angry red surface beneath. Matt fought down another spell of nausea. This was not- not- something he had ever envisioned himself doing.
He managed to ride Mello's face of as much of the ash and dirt as he could, tryinghard to ignore the blonde's pained breathing. He managed to clean the seal of blood from Mello's eye and was relieved to see that it was intact. He neck and side were easier; they had been slightly more protected from whatever it was that had happened. And now that Matt had fallen into an easy rhythm- place, wipe, rinse, repeat- he could think clearly again, without that annoying twinge of panic clouding his thoughts. He felt his more rational, detached self slide into place like a car changing gears.
"How did this happen?" he asked, as he concentrated on pulling at some of the shirt fabric that had embedded itself in Mello's side.
"None of your business." The answer was forced between rattling breaths.
"Kind of is," Matt replied. "Your showed up at my apartment, busted in on my life- which was perfectly fine without you, by the way- pointed a gun at me, and demanded my help. So yeah, I think it might be my business."
Mello let out a harsh laugh, which turned into a hacking cough. He spat a mixture of blood and saliva into the corner before answering. "I blew up a building."
"You what?" Mello's breath hissed in his throat as Matt swiped roughly at his sensitive skin in his surprise. "Shit, sorry!" he apologized. "You blew up a building?"
Mello grunted an affirmative.
"Why did- no, I don't wanna know. I don't wanna be any more involved than I already am." Something like a floodgate opened deep within Matt and he found himself saying more than he had planned. "I didn't ask you to waltz back into my life, you know. I mean, a fucking phone call first or something would have been nice, but no. You don't have any fucking courtesy, never have. Left without a word. I mean, I know it's not like we were best friends but you could have left a note or something.." he trailed off. He wasn't quite sure what else to say, but he did- he noted with some sastisfaction, feel some of the anger he had been dragging around with him for the past year dissipate.
"Sorry," Mello muttered.
Matt blinked, taken aback. "Did you just apologize to me?"
"Yeah, and you only get one, so get over it."
Matt started to give a sarcastic reply, but changed his mind at the last second. "Ok, I think that's as clean as it's gonna get for now. Wish I had some soap." He tossed the washcloth into the trash- he'd never get all that blood out anyway. "I think I have some antibacterial spray."
He extracted the small bottle from a drawer, along with a clean cloth. "Here." He tossed the cloth at Mello, who raised an eyebrow in question and winced at the pain the expression caused. Matt suspected he was probably in some form of shock; he couldn't imagine being that burned and still conscious and not screaming. "Bite on it," Matt explained. "This is going to sting. Bad." Mello nodded and stuffed the cloth into his mouth.
"Ready," he mumbled around the bundle.
As quickly as he could, Matt sprayed the medication liberally over the burned areas. A strangled cry escaped Mello's throat as he bit down hard on the rag, his fists clenching, legs twitching. "Done." Matt flung the bottle away, and reached hesitantly toward the blonde. "Are you-"
Mello's nostrils flared and he spit out the cloth. "Fine," he gritted out. "Help me up." Matt reached out to clasp Mello's good hand and pulled him up. Immediately the blonde staggered, but Matt steadied him. "Help me to the door."
"What?" Matt pushed up under his good arm, taking more of Mello's weight onto his own shoulders. "You're kidding right? You can barely walk! What are you going to do?"
"I have things that need to be taken care of," Mello panted.
"You can't take care of them if you're dead!" Matt wasn't sure why he cared so much- in fact he had spent the last year very carefully not caring about Mello. "At least stay here for a day. Lay down on the couch- I'll run to the store, get some real medicine, bandages, something. You'll die if you don't take care of yourself."
"I'll manage." Mello lurched unevenly forward, almost dragging a surprised Matt with him.
"Stop!" Matt grabbed at him, but Mello tore out of his grasp easily.
"No."
"Damnit!" Matt threw up his hands in frustration. "Damnit, damnit, damnit," he muttered to himself as he dashed to the closet and pulled down a battered blue backpack.
"What are you doing?" Mello questioned, curiosity getting the better of him for a moment.
"I'm going with you," Matt answered, stuffing clothes haphazardly into his bag. He tossed in his DS and wallet, followed by a few discs with some information he expected would come in handy. "Shut up," he said, silencing Mello's protest. "This time, you need me. I'm going to make sure you take care of yourself. First stop, a real doctor. We'll come up with some sort of lie." He snatched his car keys off the table. "I'm driving," he decided. "You can barely stand."
Mello seemed to be having an internal debate. "No," he finally said.
"Yes."
"You're going to hate it."
"I'm okay with that."
"It's going to be dangerous."
"Who doesn't like a little risk?"
"Really dangerous."
"A lot of risk, then."
Mello drew a deep, stuttering breath. "Fine."
"Good." Matt slipped his own shoulder back under Mello's, guiding him to the door. He eased it open and Mello hissed as the cold air stung his face.
"Aren't you going to lock your door?" he questioned as they descended the stairs of the apartment complex towards the darkened parking lot.
Matt sighed and steeled himself mentally. He took one last glance at his home for the past year. "Really dangerous, you say? As in, blowing yourself to hell kinda dangerous?"
"Yeah."
"I don't think I'll be coming back." Mello didn't answer. Matt hadn't really expected him to. He didn't give himself a chance to think as they left. If he had, he might of wondered why it was Mello still had that hold over him, the ability to make him abandon his comfortable life for one that would most likely kill him.
A few minutes later, a delivery man in a bright orange cap sighed in annoyance, shifting the hot pizza box as he rapped again on the apartment door. No answer. "I hate this fucking job," he muttered.
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