Matt stared at the computer screen, fingers flying over the keys as he hacked yet another bank account for more money. He saw some…satisfying results, to say the least. He grinned before closing his laptop with a click.

His cell phone began to ring.

He didn't recognize the number.

Matt's eyebrows wrinkled together above the goggles. No one knew his cell phone number except for the people he was hacking for. He opened the cell phone anyway.

"Ah, hello?"

Static. "M–M–Matt?" More static. That voice…he knew it from somewhere. He couldn't completely place it.

"Who is this?"

"M–Matt I need–need your help."

"Who is this?" Matt asked again. He was about to hang up when one more staticky word came through.

"Mello."

Matt almost dropped the phone.

"M–Matt–"

"Where are you?" he asked frantically. He was certain he heard a gasp that sounded like he was in pain.

Matt barely made out the staticky voice telling him an address, which he quickly typed into Google Maps before scratching his head and asking, "Mello? Mels, are you okay?"

"Matt–"

And the phone cut out.

"Shit! Mello!" With no answer from the other line, Matt snapped his phone shut and bolted to his car.

Part of him was happier than he could explain that he'd finally found Mello–or more that Mello had found him–but then there was the other part that knew something had to be very, very wrong for it to happen like this.

Matt, as usual, sped way over the limit. This time, in a forty MPH (or something) zone, he was going over a hundred. He wasn't looking at the gauge, though, but more of a guess in the very back of his head.

There were police cars at least a block away from the address. Matt could totally imagine Mello doing something like this.

Chewing his lip almost to the point of bleeding, Matt pulled over sharply and ran out, behind buildings and in side streets until he got to the address.

Where there were the remains of a huge building.

Fantastic.

"Shit." Matt started running. He hadn't known he could run that fast before then, but it didn't matter. Something was wrong with Mello.

Matt hid between big chunks of walls until he got out of eyeshot of the police and the other people. "Mello?" he called out. "Mello, where are you?"

There was a groan. Having no leads, Matt took it. "Mello? Is it you?"

"Matt…"

"Mello!" Matt stumbled forward to where he was certain he'd heard the voice. "Mello!"

"Fuck, Matt."

That was definitely Mello.

The rest, after the realization that this was, in fact, reality, was not quite a blur, but seemed to go so quickly it was hard to keep up.

The first thing Matt noticed was that, while he had stayed mostly the same, Mello looked different. Instead of just long black pants and a long sleeved black t-shirt, Mello was wearing all skin-tight leather (in the back of Matt's head, he had to admit it was really hot). Half-covered by his blond hair was an enormous burn mark that stretched down to his shoulder, and probably lower, but it was hard to tell. Matt picked up Mello (he was still madly skinny, even though it was perfectly reasonable that he still ate mostly chocolate) with one arm behind his neck and the other under his knees, and Mello's head lolled against his chest.

Occasionally bleeding fingers would clench tightly in the cloth of Matt's shirt, and then unclench just as quickly. Balancing Mello on his chest, Matt shifted him slightly so he could open the passenger door, making Mello gasp.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just hold on," he murmured as he strapped the mostly-unconscious Mello into the seat. "Just hold on, okay?"

"Fuck you."

"That's my Mels."

Matt drove as quickly as he could without hitting too many bumps (seeing as every time he did hit one, Mello would groan and clench his teeth and arch into the chair, and Matt would apologize seemingly endlessly.

When they reached the shabby apartment, Matt wasn't quite sure how to get Mello inside. He thought for a second, but when Mello gasped again he grabbed him, holding him the way he had before, and would continuously balance him awkwardly whenever he had to open a door.

Matt gently placed Mello down on the cough after shoving all the electronics away with his foot (almost tipping over in the process) and raked his fingers through his hair. He had no idea what to do.

But he had to do something.

So Matt rushed to the bathroom in the hopes of finding a med kit of some sort; after about five minutes of searching (that, for both of them, felt like so much longer) he finally found one with creams and bandages and things. He ran back out to Mello, who was gripping the un-burnt side of his forehead with his not-bloody hand and gritting his teeth and groaning.

"Shit, Mels, it'll be okay, 'kay?"

"Fuck off."

Matt almost smiled. "If I did that, you'd be kinda screwed," he pointed out, bending down so he was level with Mello. "I need to save your sorry ass, so don't shoot me or anything, okay?"

"What-fucking-ever."

Matt's eyebrows knit together and he picked out a few little pills that were supposed to help with pain or whatever, but he was mostly hoping for the best. "Take these."

It must have hurt a lot, because Mello swallowed them without comment.

Matt peeled off the leather, dropping another pill in Mello's mouth when he started to shout strings of swears in various languages at him. Once the leather was all gone and lying in a heap on the floor, Matt cleaned everything off and began to spread some weird-smelling goo all over the burns (which were even bigger than he'd thought), and then began to wrap them. He almost ran out of bandages and reminded himself to go get more; he knew he'd have to change them soon enough.

Almost an hour later, Mello was straightened out on the couch in one of Matt's stripy shirts (it was huge on him) and some baggy, cottony pants that Matt had found in the bottom of some drawer.

"I'll be back soon, okay?" Matt said. "I have to go get more stuff."

Mello turned his head so he was facing Matt and groaned something. Matt thought it was him saying 'okay,' or something along those lines, but when Mello reached a hand over, squeezing Matt's gloved hand tightly, he repeated what he'd try to say just before.

"Don't leave."

Matt's resolve wavered. He had to get more bandages and goo–he knew that–but…

"Okay," he said. "I'll stay."

"Thanks," Mello croaked. His grip on Matt's hand loosened and he tugged slightly.

Matt, even though he hadn't seen his friend in years, knew what Mello meant, no matter what he did, and this wasn't any different.

Matt stood up so he could get to the couch easier, without tripping over anything, and held Mello a few inches in the air so he could squeeze himself onto the couch next to him, being careful that their bodies didn't touch.

"Thank you," Mello mumbled against Matt's shirt.

"Always."