A/N: Woot! First MxN one-shot, liek evur. O_O So… sorry if it sucks. XD Of COURSE I still want reviews (*is a review whore*) but be more tactful than THAT, s'il vous plait!! w
So… yeah. It just sort of seemed logical to me that Near had some sort of "condition," that Mello could agitate, if he couldn't agitate Near emotionally or mentally.
Yeah, I know it's not REALLY MxN, but if you want to imagine it there, then imagine away, by all means!
I am VERY unsatisfied with this ending, particularly the last sentence, so if you have any ideas to improve it, then by all means share (but please don't say, "Add another chapter!" XD This IS, and will remain, a one-shot.)
Warnings: Language (mean, pissed-off, worried Mello), barely-there hintings of shounen-ai… that's it. Unless you want to say that (spoiler) the part where Near has a seizure is potentially disturbing material.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Death Note.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
12:18 A.M. The common room, Wammy's House for Gifted Orphans.
"Come on," Mello's confident voice taunted. "Come on, you little fucking prick. Get up. Hit me. Fight me."
The pale, snowy-haired boy he was addressing merely gazed up at him, not responding in any other way. He remained where he was, sitting placidly on the floor, twirling a lock of hair around his fingers.
Mello didn't like losing. Control slipping, he reached down and snatched the robot toy from between Near's knees and held it above his head. "There," he hissed, leaning down to eye level with the albino. "I have your stupid little toy. Now fight back. God damn it, fight back!" His eyes were narrowed to frosty sapphire slits, and his face was slightly tinted with rage.
Still Near refused to react. He knew that the reason the belligerent blonde pushed things like this was because when Near ignored him, he felt like he was losing. He didn't know how much his every remark and vindictive action tore up the boy from the inside out.
He felt horrible as he watched Mello get angrier and angrier. He refused to fight the boy, but he hated antagonizing him, albeit unintentionally. Not only did it always end badly for Near, but he held no ill feelings towards the blonde and didn't like seeing anyone, including him, distressed.
"God damn it! What does it fucking take to get you to fucking react, you little shit?" Mello hadn't yet resorted to physical violence, and for that Near was appreciative. This feeling of gratefulness instantly vanished when he felt a sudden wind milliseconds before a crushing blow struck his shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Biting his lip to contain that humiliating whimper, Near remained still, spread-eagled on the floor of the common room. In a flash he felt his wrists pinned by a sharp weight, and Mello hovered over him. The blonde's face was livid, and Near instinctively cringed away. "P-please," he whispered unwillingly. Mello's wrath was terrifying, and he was beginning to feel faint. "No," Mello growled out, the forceful hands gripping the small boy's wrists twisting cruelly, causing him to cry out piteously and squirm.
The blonde smirked, triumphant to finally elicit a reaction from the younger boy. The feeling of satisfaction abruptly dissipated when he realized that Near looked and was behaving strangely. He was trembling, and Mello realized that the temperature of the forearms beneath his hands was rapidly decreasing. Quickly the blonde rolled off the boy, leaving him still supine on the carpet.
Mello stared, taking in Near's condition: his bangs were abruptly damp, and his normally chalky pallor was somehow even more so than usual. His eyes had lost their usual gifted gleam—the one that drove Mello crazy—which was replaced by an odd glassy look. His pupils were dilated.
"N-Near?" Mello said, his voice full of trepidation. He hadn't meant to hurt the boy—oh, God, he hadn't hurt him, had he? Remorse, unanticipated and potent, crashed over him in waves.
The boy barely reacted to his words, making a lackadaisical effort to roll his dull eyes towards the blonde. "Near." Mello scooted closer on the carpet, and cautiously eased him into a sitting position. "What's wrong?"
"Um. Um." Near seemed to be having trouble speaking. "M-Mello."
"Yes, it's me, it's Mello. What's wrong, are you sick?"
"Um."
"Near," Mello said firmly, becoming extremely concerned. He sat fully in front of the boy, looking him straight in the face. "Near, how do you feel?"
"C-cold. Numb. And tired."
Mello's eyes widened as the albino's eyes fluttered shut and he fell slightly towards the blonde. "Oh, no, shit, Near! No, no, no, wake up!" He lightly shook Near, trying to rouse him. The boy's eyes reluctantly opened and after struggling to focus for a moment, found and fixed themselves upon Mello. Then, much to the blonde's shock and bewilderment, he smiled at him.
"Uh, Near," Mello said, trying to shake the discomfiture he had a feeling that the albino wasn't even aware of. "I'm going to… take you to your room now, okay?"
"Mkay," Near replied drowsily, for once lapsing out of his habitually flawlessly articulate and formal speech.
After a brief hesitation, Mello gently gathered the small pale boy in his arms and stood up. Near weighed almost nothing, and he felt fragile and small-boned, like a bird.
By the time the mismatched pair reached the albino's room, his condition had definitely worsened. He was paler and colder than ever, and barely able to speak between his evident confusion and his discontinuous stuttering and slurring. He was shaking uncontrollably, almost to the point of seizing, though thankfully he hadn't lost consciousness yet.
As much of a wreck that Near was, Mello thought he was going out of his mind. He'd never been able to handle illness, since his mother died from cancer.
"Shit, shit, shit," he mumbled, fraught with anxiety, running his hands roughly through his hair and making it stand on end. "H-eh, Mello," Near coughed out an indistinctly laugh-like sound. "You look funnnyyy."
Mello just stared down at him. "Shit! Roger! Near, hold on." The blonde almost turned and bolted, until he felt a small hand tugging weakly against his sleeve.
"Mell…oh," Near said. He really did look like shit. Mello's hands shook just looking at him. "Bottom drawer. Box. G-get it out." At this point it seemed a miracle that Near was able to speak at all.
"We don't have time for a God damn box, Near!" Mello snapped. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, and you could be fucking dead any minute!"
"Won't… be dead. Get the b-box, Mello."
Finally, exasperated, Mello obeyed, throwing open a dresser drawer roughly. The only thing inside was a small, flat square package. Lifting its lid, Mello found a syringe and needle inside. He paled visibly at the sight of the object. "N-Near," he stuttered, "what the fuck is this?"
"G-glucose. Please…" Mello's already wide eyes widened impossibly further as Near raised one arm towards Mello. Yanking the hypodermic out of the box and stalking over to where Near lay on the floor, Mello whispered frantically, "I-I don't know if I can do this. Near… Please, let me go get Roger."
"Mello—" That was all that Near had time to say before, without warning, his eyes abruptly rolled back into his head and he began to jerk, seizing violently. "Holy shit," Mello muttered, eyes wide and petrified. Without a thought he jerked the plastic cap protecting the needle off and plunged the syringe into Near's arm, barely pausing to find a vein. He pressed the plunger down steadily, completely ignoring the fact that he had no idea what he was doing.
When the syringe was totally depressed, Mello gently drew it out of Near's arm and recapped the needle, then tossed it aside in disgust. He stared down at the boy in front of him. Within moments his seizure had ended. Now, he was… just still. His face was oddly peaceful.
"Shit," Mello mumbled, afraid to reach up and check his pulse but doing it anyway. It was a bit elevated—but at least it was present.
Scooping the small boy into his arms again, Mello placed him on the bed and wheeled, bolting to find Roger as quickly as possible before Near required mouth-to-mouth resuscitation or something.
Shaken up and exhausted, Mello went to bed and spent the rest of the next day in his room until Roger called him down to his office for a word.
Dreading that Near had told him that the mysterious attack was somehow Mello's fault, the blonde was quite taken aback when Roger quietly thanked Mello for his actions.
"Near suffers from a disorder known as hypoglycemia, or low blood sugar." Mello nodded—he'd read about the condition in biology class. "It's a good thing you were there when the attack started. That late at night, it's likely that no one would have found Near until morning… at which point he could have suffered permanent brain damage, or even died." Mello's eyes went slightly wide at this. "Over the past few years we have found that escalated emotion and physical strain only serve to agitate his condition, so that is why he avoids those activities. Thank you again, Mello. You may leave."
This left Mello confused, sad, relieved, all of which ruined his objectivity in studying his own convoluted feelings about Near.