Author's Note: This story took me over 2 months to finish, and I'm very happy with it. I didn't even know I could write deep stuff like this. Beta'd by the lovely Sixverstein.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or any of its characters.

Warnings: Angst and lots of it. Rated for non-graphic sex and Near-abuse. Spoilers concerning Mello and Matt.

Ashes in the Wind

I remember a time when things seemed so much simpler than they are now.

No Kira, no investigation team, no mafia – only L and Wammy's House. You and me, locked in that eternal rivalry you created. All of that; all of your struggles to beat me were entirely one-sided. I never drew any kind of satisfaction from having scored higher than you on assignments and tests. That was all in your mind. You despised me because of my very existence. Petty, but I can't say that I blame you.

Mello. I suppose I ought to call you Mihael now. That's what it says on all of the records. Old habits die hard. L's sweets, Matt's games, and your chocolate. Pointless, frivolous things.

Look at where they've brought you now.

I remember the harsh sting of boys' punches; the whispered insults of girls envying my position at the top of the Wammy's House scoring sheet.

They called me cold, unfeeling, emotionless. How wrong they were. Every punch hit harder than just my skin. Every insult and glare pierced me to my soul.

I used to cry so much back then. I couldn't help it if it was my body's natural response to pain.

"You're going to have to stop acting so weak, Near," Mello told me one day. "Everyone is only going to keep picking on you if you cry. It's what makes it fun for them. So stop it, Near."

I never cried again after that.

The other children slowly stopped bullying me after I took Mello's advice. It wasn't long at all before he took their place.

Constantly being outdone must have been getting to him, I suppose.

I remember when you came to see me again for the first time after you had left.

It had been years, and you looked so different with your leather, your scar and chains. I, of course, looked the same as I always had. Consistency was something I'd always clung to, especially in your absence.

"I'm not a tool for you to use to solve the puzzle," you told me.

Not a tool? Isn't that how you've treated me your entire life? Was I not your plaything, your competition for all of these years? Why shouldn't I be one to return the favor?

You were the only one to ever pay attention to me, Mello. Even if your way of showing me that was by playing immature pranks and beating me senseless, it was still recognition.

Though we never got along well and rarely spoke to each other civilly, each of us provided the other with something invaluable. I was your motivation to succeed, and you were my link to reality. I'd always felt so invisible, so shut off from the rest of the world. You gave me something to cling to, Mello. Succeeding L would have been meaningless without any sort of competition. You made me stronger, whether you realized it or not.

And for that I thank you.

I remember how brightly the moon and stars shone though the vast library's windows that one night.

The only other lights in the safe haven were a computer screen and a tiny lamp I had brought over to my table. Mello was researching something or other on the Internet while I was reading a book on philosophy.

A grandfather clock at the other end of the room chimed 2:00. The doors to the library were never closed, not even at night. There was no rule against being up late as long as you kept quiet. Nothing had been said between Mello and I for over four hours.

The ancient Winchester chime must have distracted me from my reading, for I closed my volume with a soft little noise. With a sigh equally as inaudible, I turned to stare at the dappled ink-black sky. It was a very clear night, I noticed. There hadn't been one of those in a while.

"Mello?" My voice was cracking from its time spent in dormancy. I didn't have to look over to see that the blond boy was listening.

"Don't you think there's more to life than competition?"

Of course Mello knew what I was referring to. That thought probably never left his mind for more than ten minutes, I would think.

"Succeeding L is important. It's what we're all here for." Mello went right on working, fingers rapidly and lightly striking at the keys before him.

There was no falsity in the boy's words to protest. However, he hadn't given a direct answer.

"Is that really all there is to strive for, Mello? Test scores and titles?"

Finally, a reaction from my self-proclaimed rival. The boy calling himself Mello turned in his seat to stare at me. Clearly in deep thought, he looked but didn't truly see my frail and ethereal self glowing in the starlight.

"No," he said. "Happiness. There's no point in living if you can't be happy."

It was something that I'd heard before, but hearing it come from Mello somehow made it hit home. I'd never known what happiness was before because I'd never experienced if for myself. I'd known contentment and I'd known satisfaction, but never what true happiness felt like.

It made me wonder what I'd been missing out on.

I remember the day when you finally taught me that lesson.

After we had met again at my investigation headquarters, you came to visit with me often. Once or twice a week turned into daily visits before long. We talked about everything - the Kira case; what we had been up to during our years apart; what being out of the orphanage was like.

You might have still harboured ill feelings towards me from what had happened in the past, but you hid them well. There was no longer any reason to be competing with each other now that L was gone. We were his successors, and getting along quite well, I might add.

Perhaps a little bit too well. Before you left to go one night, you decided to see what I would do if you kissed me. The suddenness of the gesture frightened me, as did the torrent of less-than-pleasant memories that were surfacing.

You had done this to me before, back when we were children. Sometimes you would come to my room and feel me and kiss me for no reason other than your own frustration. There was never any kindness nor sympathy in these seemingly friendly gestures. You always made it hurt. You wanted me to hate you for torturing me.

But I never tried to stop you, not even once. Your touch, although filled with hatred, was something that I didn't want to fight. I couldn't give you up, Mello. Feeling pain was better than not feeling anything at all, I thought.

I was shivering in fear when you triggered those forgotten memories. I couldn't help it. No matter how good of terms we were on now, my fight-or-flight instincts were still kicking in.

You… You didn't hurt me again. Instead you took me into your wiry arms and embraced me as I choked back dry sobs. You were comforting me, and I could hardly believe it. Why now the sudden change of heart?

Although your motives were unreadable, I tolerated your treatment regardless. For whatever reason, you were being kind to me. There was no rage at all carried in your touch. Every contact of your lips or brush of your soft fingers was so gentle, like an apology. Perhaps your fear of saying the words out loud was making you express your sentiment this way.

I felt myself relaxing, in spite of my original instinct to sprint away like a frightened deer from the hunter. That would be stupid and only end up hurting both of us, my rational mind told me. Somehow, I knew that you were not about to try and overpower me. You were actually paying attention to my wants and needs. That was a little bit shocking, but at least the expertise behind your ministrations wasn't. You had always been a creature of sensuality, Mello. Now that you were showing me what it was like, I felt… privileged. Privileged to finally experience this as it was meant to be experienced.

You were taking your time in showing me everything, which I was very grateful for indeed. Having you touch me for real took time to adjust to, mostly because I had to shut down my ever-present and ever-demanding mind. Simply feeling and leaving my tumultuous thoughts out of it was difficult, especially for me. I did it, though, and soon found out that it was much better that way.

It hurt when you took me, no matter how much you may have been trying to prevent it. I whimpered and clung to your body like a scared child fearing that the worst was going to happen. You didn't tell me to stop at all. In fact, you held me in return, whispering kind, reassuring words into my ear. That helped, and so did the chocolate kisses that tasted somehow sweeter than how I remembered them. It didn't stop me from clinging to you, however. At least you didn't seem to mind.

After all of it was over, I remained reluctant to let you out of my grasp, but for reasons different than before. I enjoyed the feel of heated skin in constant contact with mine. The sound of your staccato heartbeat still pounding away. The almost otherworldly beauty of your blushing face and the halo of bright gold hair that framed it.

"Is this happiness, Mello?" I had to ask it. I couldn't take not knowing.

"Yes, Near. Yes it is."

I remember the day when our world came crashing down around us.

It was by no means a perfect or happy existence, but it was enough. Just being at Wammy's and striving to make a good successor to L was good enough to last a lifetime.

Fate hated us, hated all of us. Reality in all its brutal harshness caught up with us far too early, it seemed, despite our minds far advanced beyond their years. I was thirteen. Mello was almost fifteen.

When Mello and I were summoned to Roger's office, I had truthfully thought that he had wanted to speak to us about something trivial. Reprimanding Mello for his violently disruptive behavior, or telling us about a special project that he wanted us to do. He wasn't in his office when we arrived there, but I wasn't worried. Occupying myself with my white puzzle and ignoring Mello's dirty looks was more than enough to busy me for a few minutes.

And then when the man in question finally did arrive, he carried with him a certain look of grave seriousness. I knew what Mello was thinking – it was easy considering the clever, tough, don't-take-orders-from-anyone kind of persona that he had spent years perfecting. He was thinking of making some snide comment like, "Who died, Roger?"

He didn't need to. The next three words – such a simple little phrase – were what changed our lives forever. Back then I wasn't sure if it was going to be for the better or the worse, but now I know how horrible everything became after. I should have known better, back when I was younger. I should have known that wishful thinking had no sway over the black-and-white truth.

"L is dead."

We'd all known that it was going to happen sooner or later, but nothing could have prepared us for the news. L had told us during his last visit that he expected to die working on the Kira case, if only it would lead to the murderer's capture. He'd accepted that he was contending with his equal out there, somewhere.

And yet… for all of his morbid projections, he still hadn't chosen a successor. It was obvious that I would have been his first choice. My intelligence was far greater than that of the rest of the other children at the orphanage, and greater still than Mello's. But he hadn't chosen. That was obviously the reason why we had been called here.

Perhaps L planned all of this from the start. It wouldn't be unexpected of him. Both Mello and I would have made formidable detectives on our own, but our individual flaws were apparent to everyone around us. I was too calculating, too emotionless, too stoic and accepting. Mello was too reckless, too passionate, too clever and yet stubborn.

Whether by coincidence or by design, Mello possessed every trait I lacked.

We completed each other. I knew, even back then, that both of us needed the other for survival. Mello needed to have a rival, someone to eventually defeat and leave in the dust while he rejoiced in his victory. The only thing I wanted from him was a concrete connection to reality. Mello recognized me for my humanity rather than my intellect. And even though he hated me – despised me – he saw me as being real. He was the only one who did.

Cliché-sounding, but nonetheless true.

I remember the day when reality truly did catch up with us.

Fate could only be evaded for so long, and now she was claiming her dues.

The walk through the gravely plain concrete hallway seemed like an eternity. The only person who was escorting me was Hal Lidner, partly because of security reasons and partly out of the selfish desire of not wanting to do this alone. For all of my logic and almost inhuman reasoning ability, I still had childish, instinctive fears that followed me everywhere. Especially in this place.

We – everyone at Wammy's, that is – had all visited a morgue before. It had been part of a field trip to see how the police used forensics in solving their cases. It had been a rather fascinating trip, I had thought. The poor volunteer tour guide had been assaulted with so many questions that she probably just wanted to shut us up and kick us right out of the building. Our young minds were so eager to see and learn about everything we could.

But some things in this world aren't meant to be seen. The charred and blackened state of the body of your only friend – friend? That word seems strange even now – is by no stretch a pleasant sight.

You didn't even look like yourself anymore, Mello. I'd seen your burn marks after you had detonated the mafia headquarters once. Red, angry scars that sliced your skin from face to shoulder; smaller blotches on your hands. Seeing you now, with whole limbs turned black and hollow, made you barely recognizable. One wide, green eye and the remains of once-radiant golden hair were all that could tell me that it really was you.

It was unbearable. There was no other word for it. I sunk to my knees, praying. Dear God, please make this nightmare stop. I felt the sharp sting of cold tears upon my face. It was surreal, dreamlike to hear my own broken sobs and to feel somebody's arms around me, comforting. Never mind that I was Near, one of the true successors to the greatest detective in the world. For all I appeared, I could have been nothing more than a crying child being held by his mother.

Hal did the speaking for me, telling the white-clad man that this really was Mello. My crying fit didn't last for very long, but I doubted that I would be able to speak at all.

It was like that when we were taken to identify Matt's body as well. Hal said aloud his real name, and I nodded in confirmation. I was too busy staring at the empty, vicious bullet-wounds that riddled the man's chest to pay attention to anything. It made me wonder if your – Mello's – death had been just as painful.

Mihael Keehl, December 13, 1989 – January 26, 2010.

Mail Jeevas, February 1, 1990 – January 26, 2010.

Names on paper or computer file. Cold, hard facts. Nobody else but me knew what the two of you were really like in life. Sure, some people saw glimpses of your personalities, but I alone was the only one who could see into your collective psyche. You were master and dog. Loyal friends and partners, right until the bitter end. Cracked goggles and melted rosary beads.

And what of now?

Now I'm remembering when I went through your shared, dingy apartment and collected every bar of chocolate and every last video game. Everything else was gathered up and sold, and all of the money donated to Wammy's House. It's what both of you would have wanted.

I'm heading there now, playing on an old version of Tetris. I'm holding on my lap a simple black urn that I haven't let go of since it was first handed to me some five hours ago. I'd rather see to it that my friend is being well taken care of myself, thank you.

I get off the plane and later out of the car once my long journey is finished. The tall iron gates of Wammy's house are open invitingly. I'm home.

As I enter the building, I see Roger telling off a couple of children who were caught attempting to sabotage the swing set. It reminds me of all the childish pranks that went on here in my time, and I smile.

Roger comes over to greet me, and as soon as the other children catch my name, they all surround me. They're asking me things like, "What was L like?" and "Are you going to catch Kira soon?" I'd like to speak with them but Rogers shoos them away, telling them that I have something important to do and need to be left alone. I tell the children that I'll be back to spend time with them soon, and then I head outside.

It's a beautiful day outside, if a little bit chilly. A wind blows and it is neither gentle nor harsh. It kind of reminds me of the way you used to caress my skin no more than a couple of months ago. I pry open the top of the funeral urn, lacing my fingers into your ashes. It's a cold and morbid embrace, but it is still comforting knowing that you did once exist and are still here with me.

I walk across the frozen ground, every so often picking up a handful of your remains and letting the grey seep through my fingers to be lost to the wind or the earth. I'm sad but I do not cry, for I can still remember those words from so many years ago.

"You're going to have to stop acting so weak, Near. Everyone is only going to keep picking on you if you cry."

Four headstones glint in the sunlight in front of me. As I near them I can read them – Watari, L, and then Matt and Mello. Matt's grave is still fresh, lilac and lilies picked by the orphaned children still in bloom. The gravestone marked Mello has nothing there yet.

With great ceremony, I empty the rest of the ashes onto the ground and watch the dust float away for a moment. Then I set the empty urn down in front of the grey stone slab and kneel down before it. I take a chocolate bar out of my pocket, one of the ones I recovered from your apartment. It tastes bittersweet, just like everything about you.

I think, then. I think about how you were in life and what you are now in death. Everything that you've achieved and everything that you've left unfinished.

What am I, nothing more than test scores and case files? And what are you but ashes in the wind?

No, I'm here to finish what you could not. I'm here to catch Kira and make him pay for this. For everything.

That's my promise.

And I pray to whatever god is listening that I don't let you down, Mello.

"I'll never let you down."