Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, obviously enough. Otherwise there would be much more Wammy-era drama.

A/N: I wrote this for a contest over on MangaBullet that had the prompt "magic". I'm sorry if it's a little confusing. If it's any help, Valentine is another orphan at Wammy's House, and she practices voodoo. Mello really dislikes her. (So does Near, for that matter, but I can forgive him for that.)

Near stared at the tower of dice in front of him, his eyes blankly taking in the patterns of dots. Then he looked at the walls of monitors surrounding him. He looked back at the dice. None of this was making sense. He prided himself on his genius mind, but it wasn't supplying him with any more answers than the pips on the dice before him.

There was a rustling sound behind him, and Near turned. Mello was standing there, in front of the doorway, exactly as he'd last seen him. His icy blue eyes were narrowed accusingly. "Near."

"Mello?" Perhaps Mello could make sense of things. He would lord it over him, yes, but he would answer him, if only to prove that he could.

But Mello didn't seem inclined to shed light on the situation. He just stalked up to Near, and the tower of dice, eyeing both with the same accusatory contempt. After a moment, one foot came forward and kicked the main support out of the tower, sending dice showering in all directions. Then suddenly he was just inches away from Near, anger radiating to a point where it was almost physical heat. "It shouldn't have been me," he snarled.

Near stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" Mello stood up again and kicked at the fallen dice. "You didn't do anything! You just took it for granted that I'd cover for your mistakes! You used me, and then I died for it!"

"You're – "

"Yes!" He kicked the dice again, one or two hitting the computer monitors ineffectively. "I'm dead! I protected you, and what do you do? Nothing! You just sit back and let me get killed, and for what?"

Near blinked up at him, mind whirling. "Mello, I don't – "

"You don't what? Care? Is that why you left me to die doing your job for you? Is that why? Some great detective you are! You couldn't even see what was right in front of you! L wouldn't have let me die, you bastard!"

"But – how can you be – "

"Dead?" Mello leaned down again, eyes spitting icy fire. "Because you let me die." Before Near could even think to move, Mello had shot forward and pinned him to the ground, hands around his throat. "And I'm taking you with me."

Near felt the world start closing in. But before it did, he heard Mello say, "You're lucky God has more mercy than I do."

Then everything went black, and something seemed to snap.

Near's eyes flew open, and he stared around wildly. He was lying on the floor in the midst of a pile of fallen dice, but there was carpet under his knees, and the person leaning over him was not Mello, but Valentine. She was grinning in a self-satisfied way as she watched him pick himself up and look around. Mello was standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face and a chocolate bar in one hand. Watching the shame of his rival.

Valentine stood up, towering over him. "If you ever touch my dolls again," she said, holding one out menacingly, "I'll give you worse than that. Got it?"

Near was too stunned to speak. Satisfied that her dolls were safe, Valentine turned on her heel and stomped off, heedless of the dirty look Mello gave her as she passed him in the doorway.

After a moment, Near took a deep breath and started sweeping the dice into a pile. He'd been scared. Nothing more. He had, through some foolish twist of human nature, been frightened enough by the enraged 'curse' he now remembered her shrieking at him to invent an utterly ludicrous scenario within the confines of his subconscious.

He paused with a die in his hand, then shook his head and began to rebuild his tower.

Of course he was right.

Five years later, Near sat alone in the SPK headquarters, staring at a tower of dice and walls of monitors. Irrationally, he turned to look at the doorway, but there was no Mello come to accuse his murderer.

He turned back to his tower of dice, then swept one arm under it and sent it tumbling down in once-familiar cascades of white and black and red. But there was still no Mello, not even among the wreckage.

"I'm sorry…"

But, somehow, sorry didn't seem to be enough.