Title: Shots
Summary: Crucially unstable after the loss of a friend, Mello finds comfort in a redheaded child.
Disclaimer: I don't own DN or anything referenced.
Author's Note: Dunno why this came to mind, but here it is: my fingers on the keyboard and serving as a conduit to get my brain matter in word form. -(Now, if only Cobain could have done something similar...)
About the Title: This is going to be a brief series of OneShots (probably no more than three or four), all focused on the companionship between adult Mello and child Matt. Rating, setting, plot, and circumstances are subject to change.
…
Poetry to the ears was the sound a scream, the wretch of gunfire. Panic ensued, future corpses racing with wild flails and uncontrollable sobs.
Contrary to what it may seem, this was no busted raid or a ragtag infiltration. This was a defense mechanism in the works.
The world had taken Matt from Mello like God had smite the first born sons so long ago. And this- this chaotic vengeance turned massacre- could barely sate the blonde beast responsible.
Blood shined on his leather and his teeth were bared in a cannibalistic fashion, but his eyes were nothing more than two empty wells of loathing.
There was no genuine satisfaction as a gun was raised and a trigger was pulled, bullet exploding and implanting itself into the skull of a child.
Yes, a child... because it is no worse to kill a child or woman than an adult man. Killing one person is no different than killing another.
However, there could be no forgiveness for the sorry fuck that took the life of a redheaded teen that had been full of smiles one moment and bullet wounds the next.
Mello had watched the holes form and weep copper onto the frayed fabrics that stretched around them like shutters on windows. He had seen the way the redhead's body jolted before making the agonizingly slow descent to the ground as his life perished and his soul vacated the premises of eternity.
Mello had lost a piece of himself that day, but that day was so far away, and it is only now that he has deemed himself ready -anger manifested and motive festered like rotting flesh- to take action, redeem his losses.
-Planting another bullet into a screaming civillian, it was easy for Mello to signal his men to secur the perimeters, not to allow anyone to escape. And, as he tucked his gun away, it was a little too easy to hit the button and detonate the bombs that had been placed so cleverly on pillars and in buildings.
This was all so easy, like ordering fast food rather than slaving in a kitchen. Convenience at its best.
It all went off without a hitch, and with his thirst for blood fully obliged, he was ready to go and retire at the base; he was ready to continue to mourn the loss of his lover and friend. He was ready to do a lot of things... until he heard crying.
Faint crying. Soft sobs and quiet sniffling.
Dammit! Mello cursed internally as a voice in his head coaxed him to investigate. And what he found nearly stopped his heart.
In a cold, damp alley crouched a little boy... with hair redder than red and large green eyes shining with tears.
It hurt to look at the child whose features so closely mirrored his lover, but Mello steeled himself to look away.
He had no business with the kid. His work was done, bodies were burning, and he could leave and be a free man, enslaved only by harsh memories and self-imposed guilt.
That was the plan.
At least, that was the plan until the blonde felt a small hand in his before a meek voice assalted his ears, stuttering: "T-Take me with you."
Releasing the hand and offering a scowl, Mello was ready to leave the child behind without a second thought, but a look into those eyes caused his resolve to weaken and snap.
Because those eyes, such a hypnotic shade of green, were laced with both pain and determination. Even through the tears that streamed, strength was evident. Then, those small pink lips parted and a confident voice emerged. "I don't know you. And you don't know me. But you came to see me even though you didn't have to. I don't know what you do or where you came from, but you came to see me without the intent of hurting me... or else I'd be dead already, I know."
"Kid," Mello began, voice gruff and eyes narrowed threateningly, "what makes you sure I won't rape you and slit your throat?"
The threat came out intimidating, as expected, but the child smiled serenely, eyes losing their tear-stricken luster as he said: "You won't hurt me because you've been hurt enough. I don't know how you got hurt, but you don't want to hurt me. Besides, you look like you've messed up a lot, and I might be your one chance at redemption."
"Redemption?"
"Yeah. You look like you need to live life the way it should be lived: 99% mistakes and 1% viable mutation. And I could be your 1%."
Mello felt his chest tighten as he heard this, but he kept up his facade, as always. "What's your name, kid?"
"Mail. My name's Mail. But you can call me starving!" A light-hearted laugh bubbled up from the seemingly manic child, and he grabbed Mello's arm, tugging enthusiastically. "Feed me. Love me. And you'll never be lonely again. Promise."
"...What if I don't want to take a kid with me?"
"Too bad, Mister."
"...What if I tell you that the life I live is too dangerous?"
"You're stuck with me."
"...What if I hurt you?"
"What if you don't?"
And for the first time since he could remember, Mello was at a loss for words, and as a small hand slipped into his, he knew he'd never be able to turn away and walk alone. And as he walked along, feet thumping to a rhythm in his head and heart beating anew, he caught sight of his shadow... and a smaller one by its side... and he smiled.
Because, worries and morale be damned, there was something appealing in the unspoken promises passed between subtle glances and sweaty palms.
The future looked bright.
…
/And, there we go./