A/N: Venting... some more. Sorry.
Disclaimer: I don't own DN, its characters, or Nestle Toll House. All rights go to the respective owners.
Matt's eyes snapped open in surprise when the front door crashed open. He grabbed the remote and muted the television, sitting perfectly still with bated breath while listening. The sound of heavy breathing and the slow, poisonous stench of alcohol tainted Matt's senses.
"Mail!" The name was called with a distinctive slur. Matt tensed, eyes darting around for escape routes. He shrank backwards into the couch, hoping to fade into the stained material. The sound of shattering glass was the final straw, sending the redhead bolting across the living room with hopes of outrunning his father. A huge, sweaty hand grabbed the back of his faux fur vest, hauling him backwards. Matt struggled viciously, throwing blind punches and kicks that never connected.
His back harshly met the wood of the kitchen table. He gasped and whimpered when a blow connected to his face, knocking him sideways. He made the mistake of grabbing the table for support, holding himself up and cradling his reddening cheek. His eyes fell on his father's hands, which were fumbling to undo his belt.
"You're sixteen!" his father shouted at him, washing bourbon breath over his face. Matt tried and nearly failed to stifle a gag and stayed silent. "Why are you still here? Why the fuck haven't you gotten your ungrateful ass out?!"
The worn leather of the belt connected with Matt's torso, and this time he didn't try to hold himself up. He crashed to the ground with a whimper, rolling to his stomach. His arms flew up over his head, knotting in the tangled locks in an attempt to stifle pained screams. Even so, whimpers came to his chapped lips with every snap of the belt against his back and legs.
Green eyes closed and squeezed tightly shut, and when Matt inhaled again, he could almost smell the fresh chocolate chip cookies that he used to run to this room for. His mother said they were homemade, but she always winked when she said it and Matt knew they were Nestle Toll House. They were still delicious and he always snuck more than he should have. Those were the days when daddy didn't drink and momma was alive. Daddy didn't bring home girls that were too skinny and wore skimpy clothes and were mean. That was when everything was okay.
That was a long time ago.
...
Mello's eyes darted around nervously. Something was wrong, he knew it. He could feel it. But what? He had a horrible feeling that it had to do with Matt, with Matt's drunken father. But Matt didn't have a cell phone and he couldn't call the house in case Mark was there. Then Matty would get in more trouble.
Mello raised the chocolate bar to his lips and chewed it nervously, glancing at the clock every few seconds. Something was wrong. But what...?
...
Mark Jeevas was gone. He'd retired to his bedroom, stumbling and cursing the whole way. Matt was laying on the floor, in a pool of his own blood and tears, gasping and biting back whimpers of pain. He just needed to wait longer, just a little longer, and then he could get up and leave. He could go to Mello's. Yes, his blonde boyfriend and lover would take care of him.
When Matt deemed it safe to move, he pushed himself up with shaky limbs. He walked as quietly as he could to his bedroom to grab his keys and leave. He needed to leave, he had to go.
The master bedroom opened and Mark stumbled out. Matt's eyes widened and he flattened against the wall, gulping. Mark sneered as he drew closer.
"What are you doing? Huh? You thinking about leaving? Well, you can't!" Before he could stop himself, Matt parted his dry lips.
"You're the one that wants me out, asshole." His eyes widened and his jaw slackened when he realized what he'd said, what he'd done. His father realized what he'd said a second later, the alcohol making him process everything slower. When he did realize, he lifted his right hand, bringing an empty booze bottle down on the side of Matt's head.
The redhead cried out in pain and surprise as he felt the glass breaking over his skin, cutting into the soft flesh of his scalp. He dropped to the floor, cradling his aching head and cowering. Mark stumbled off, grabbing more booze and leaving. The roar of the car sounded, followed by the squealing of the tires.
Matt tried to stand and stumbled, his vision going fuzzy. He gripped the wall for support and looked down at the little puddle, finding he'd lost a lot of blood. A lot more than he'd thought.
He stumbled to the kitchen, falling beside the table. As he went down, he grabbed the phone from its charger, staining the white plastic in crimson liquid. He squinted at the keypad, dialing the number he knew by heart and holding the phone weakly against his ear.
"Hello?" the anxious sounding voice answered quickly. Matt drew a deep breath that made his head swim.
"Mels... Please... I need you to... come over..." he whispered hoarsely.
"Alright. Matty hold on, I'll be there soon."
...
Mello didn't bother with the helmet, instead hopping on his bike and gunning the motor. He shot out of the driveway and turned sharply, leaving the throttle wide open and speeding down the street. Matt had sounded weak, in pain and tired. He was calling for Mello to come over, which meant Mark wasn't there. It also meant he wasn't in a condition to drive. Mello held his breath and leaned over the handlebars, willing the bike to go faster.
When he screeched to a halt before Matt's house, he kicked out the kickstand as a last thought and out of habit more than anything. Mark's car wasn't there, which meant Matt was alone. Mello rushed to the door and pounded on the surface of the wood, calling Matt's name.
"Matty?! Matty, answer the door!" When he was met with silence, he tried for opening the door and found it unlocked. He rushed through the house, tripping on bottles and fast food wrappers. He rushed to the kitchen finding his lover lying in a pool of blood. "Matt!" he cried, falling to his knees beside his beloved. But he received no answer.
He lifted the redhead into his arms, cradling him in his lap. The boy was unconscious and bleeding from several head wounds. Mello grabbed for the blood soaked phone, dialing 911. When the dispatch answered, he quickly sobbed the address and screamed hysterically that he needed an ambulance, and fast. Then he bowed over Matt's body and sobbed against his chest, willing the ambulance to be there an hour ago.
"It's okay Matty, I'm here, it's okay, the ambulance will be here soon Matty. It's gonna be okay, it's gonna be alright." As he smoothed the red bangs away from his face, he caught a glimpse of Matt's eyelids fluttering. "Matty? Matty, are you here?"
The redhead peeled his eyelids back, no matter how badly he wanted to close them. He looked up into the beautiful, tear soaked face of his personal angel.
"Mels..." he croaked. "Kiss me." Mello complied and bent down, pressing his lips to Matt's. He was startled and scared at how cold they were.
"I love you," he murmured against the paling flesh. When he pulled away, Matt's eyes were open, his lips slightly parted. But he was pale and still, not breathing. Mello quickly checked for a pulse, for signs of breathing, for anything. But there was nothing.
When the ambulance got there they were encountered by a blonde boy, sitting on the floor with a redhead in his lap. Both were still and cold and a gun was beside the blonde, the obvious cause of death. The coroner deduced that it was a homicide/suicide.
...
-Static-
"In other news today, it was discovered that Mihael Keehl did not kill Mail Jeevas. The murder weapon was discovered to be a broken liquor bottle with fingerprints belonging to Mark Jeevas, the boy's father. Mihael Keehl called the ambulance to the house, but Mail had died before the ambulance got there. Keehl then took his own life.
"Mark Jeevas was killed the same day in a drunken car accident. His blood alcohol level was 0.24 and he wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He was ejected from the vehicle and bled out on the side of the road from a wound to his chest."