"Pick up the phone, bitch," Mello moaned. It was too late at night for this. Why wasn't he picking up? "Why do you have to be such a bitch?" he swore again. His world was spinning; he could only see out of his right eye, he couldn't feel his left arm at all, and everything else was slowly going numb…
"Eh. It's Matt. Leave a message."
Mello screamed into the phone, "PICK UP THE PHONE, YOU DOUCHEBAG!!" There was no reply. "MATT!!"
Somebody picked up the other end. "Who is it?" Matt mumbled.
"Who do you think?" Mello spat.
"Mello?" Matt grumbled. "Why you always got to wake me up so late?" He yawned. "Now that I'm awake I might as well have a smoke…"
"Matt, no, don't put down the phone -" Mello pleaded, his tone suddenly less corrosive and more urgent. He waited a few seconds.
"Yo," Matt said. "What was it you wanted?"
Mello took a deep breath. This would take courage. "I…I need you to come pick me up," he said.
"Yeah. Sure. Come crawling back to me, just like all those other times," Matt said scornfully – and by the sound of it, with a cigarette perched between his lips.
"Matt, please," Mello started, as he just came to sense the blood running down his own face. "I really need you."
"If you need me so much, how come you left me alone when Near showed back up?"
"I…I wanted it to be business. You know, my business," Mello said lamely.
"And I'm not part of your business?" Matt said, angry now. "I heard you call me a douche over the answering machine. I won't answer to that anymore, Mello."
"Matt," Mello crooned. "This really isn't a good time."
"It's never a good time!" Matt shouted. "Never! Not during your 'work', or after it; not even at night when you know I have free time! Do you know it's been five months since I've seen you?"
Mello was silent. He tried to speak to defend himself, but all that came out was a small groan. He struggled to breathe, but it wouldn't work quite right…
"Do you know how much I worry? You can't just come in and out of my life like this, Mello!" Matt yelled.
A hot tear came to Mello's right eye. Whether it was from Matt's words or the explosion, he couldn't tell. "Matt," he said, trying not to show the pain in his voice. "I promise I'll talk to you when we're back home…or wherever you are…but I'm in trouble. I really need you to come pick me up."
"Yeah, I told you you'd get in trouble with those Mafia creeps," Matt carried on. "I even said I'd help you get in touch with L, but no, you had to go all illegal on me, didn't you? Poor little Mail was too tame for you, wasn't he?"
"Matt, please," Mello gasped. His sight started to go dim. He fell to his knees, he felt as if he was on a tilt-a-whirl without a seatbelt, he collapsed on the ground, panting, the public phone's receiver still clutched in his trembling hand.
Matt continued to rant at Mello. All Mello could do was lay there on the ground, blind, shivering, and listen to the slew of insults. He could not open his mouth to plead his innocence. He could not stop the angry tears from coming. He was going to die here, this very night, and Matt wouldn't care…
The boy was silent for a few moments. Then he said, "Mello?" and waited. "Mello? Are you still there?" Mello let out a soft moan. "Are you okay?" Matt asked, his voice laced with panic. Mello did not respond. "Oh my God. Where are you? Mello? Mello!" There was a rustling noise in the background as Matt jumped out of bed and hurried to put some shoes on. "Mello? You there?" Matt sobbed. "Don't worry, I'll track you down. I know where you were last…I think… Hang in there. I'll find you! I won't stop looking; I won't, even if it takes all night!"
Mello could not see. His whole body was going numb. He couldn't feel the fingers that kept Matt's voice in his good ear. He could not move his lips to make words, to call out, to ask for help, but he sobbed convulsively as a saline river came from his eye and burned his skin. He shook violently in the cold night air, his bare, raw back pressed to the hard cement, his every move cutting him more deeply, tearing more flesh from his bones. His own blood wetted the pavement and played with his hair, dragging it around his head like a halo.
He wanted Matt more than he wanted air. His every sob was a call for his savior, a plea to the world to let him experience the comfort of his presence at least once more, a curse to the minute that passed and kept them yet apart.
Matt drove faster than ever before, and that was saying something, mind you. The hell with the law, fuck the police! The car's tires screeched freakishly in the night, cutting the silence like it was rice-paper, and Matt showed the accelerator no mercy. He shifted gears faster than most people could say "speeding ticket", dodging buildings and other cars with hellish finesse. He kept Mello on the line, just in case…just in case he got better…
Despite all that, Mello had wandered rather erratically since the explosion, and was ten blocks from where Matt had expected him to be. The boy stopped the car with all the haste he could muster, put it in park, and bolted out of the driver's seat. Mello was a grisly sight to say the least. Matt shouted in horror, and could barely muster the courage to touch his best friend.
Mello was covered in dirt and dust for starters, and his hair was a mess, so unlike usual. There was no color in his complexion, which contrasted shockingly with the rash crimson of his blood. It had stopped flowing freely, but still surrounded his body like an aura, keeping would-be disturbers away. One hand was clutched tightly around the black receiver of the pay phone he had used, and the other was lying idly on the pavement, charred. Mello's left shoulder, arm, and side of the neck were in similar shape.
Matt couldn't help himself. He started to cry. How had it come to this? How could have negotiations gone so wrong? Hadn't Mello hired those Mafia thugs to protect him from things like this? Matt entered the ring of scarlet and went to Mello's side, lifting his blood-soaked head from the pavement and cradling it. Mello was still breathing, at least… Matt took off his driving gloves and touched the unbroken side of Mello's face, drawing the hair out of his eyes, rubbing the dirt off his lips. Mello did not respond.
Kira. Kira had done this. No, it was the NPA…but it was Kira's fault that the NPA division under L existed. It was only natural that Mello had been dragged into the mess. He had wanted to be L, after all, and Matt didn't blame him. Tonight was Kira's fault. "I – I promise –" Matt sobbed, "that I will – I will help you catch – catch Kira! – if it's the last! – LAST THING I DO!"
The boy sobbed over his companion's body, wailing for the world to hear. He cried for a long while and hard, damning Kira to the lowest pit of hell – the pit where the flames burned your bones black every day, where spiders ate your eyes and scorpions ate your mouth, where there was no water for your hellish thirst, where you screamed so hard and so long that your throat bled, and still the pain demanded that you scream louder.
Matt wiped his eyes and nose, and looked at Mello, who was so deeply unconscious that it calmed him. "Pull yourself together, man," he chided himself. With no small effort, Matt got Mello into the passenger seat of the car. He took off his vest and draped it over Mello's still form. Mello was still breathing spastically, and Matt knew he should go to a hospital…but Mello had said that if anything involving Kira, L, or Near were to happen – something like this – that the last place Mello should end up was in a hospital.
"Okay, maybe jail," he had said, "but unless I'm fucking dying right now, don't take me anywhere." Matt wondered for a moment if Mello was indeed fucking dying right now, and it hurt him to neglect Mello's needs, but he decided that he would live until daybreak.
"It's going to be a long night," Matt said as he pulled away from the phone booth. He obeyed all the traffic laws on the way home, upon the honor of Wammy's grave. He even let the little old lady cross the street.