"Everybody here comes from somewhere
That they would just as soon forget or disguise."R.E.M.
Dreaming
In his mind, the memory that haunts his nightmares is blurry, indistinct, more an image of emotion than anything else. There is horror, and fear, and the metallic taste of blood, a knife flashing silver in the darkness, then ruby as the light strikes it. The man is tall and thin, and his mouth is twisted cruelly as he laughs.
Mihael is sobbing, unable to speak beyond the choked pleas. "Mutter, no, oh no please, Mutter, Mutter…wake up, don't leave me, please…"
"Mello, wake up, come on…."
"Mutter," he whimpers, utterly helpless in the face of the death that clouds his mother's face.
"Mels! Come on, it's just a dream. It's Matt, remember?"
Slowly, Mihael opens his eyes. Someone has turned on the lamps in the room he lies in—his room, he realizes as he sees the new boy hanging over him, concern etched on his face, eyes wide behind his goggle-like glasses. He blinks, feels the sting of tears as that other facet of himself, the strong one, the one who's going to be L someday, no matter how much he loves his mentor or how easily Near can beat him, takes over. Mello.
"Mello, are you…all right?" Matt asks, awkwardly. He's unused to this Mello, this fearful creature whose hands are wrapped around his pillowcase as though to strangle it, still fighting the demons from his head.
Mello looks at him, his blue eyes unfocussed. "Yeah," he says, after a minute. He's speaking English, but his German accent is there, stronger than Matt has ever heard it. Mello generally has a natural gift for languages, and for the two weeks Matt has known him, he's flipped easily from language to language, with perfect grammar and pronunciation. "Just…had a nightmare."
Matt stands there for a few more minutes, until Mello says, "I'm fine, Matt. Go back to bed." His accent is softer, now, slipping back into his default British. "Really."
"Okay." Matt hesitates, then turns out the lamps and crawls back into bed.
Silence settles over the room.
"Matt?" Mello's voice is almost too soft to hear.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
He doesn't have to say what for.
A/N: Yes, more Death Note fanfiction. What can I say? :shrug: Inspiration is a wild and untamed creature.
I do not own Death Note, Matt, or Mello. If I did, they would NOT be dead. I don't own the quote at the beginning either—that can be credited to the genius of Michael Stipe and the rest of R.E.M. So don't sue me!
Mello and Matt are maybe ten years old here, in case you were all wondering.