Wait. Did I just compare myself to a dog? Fuck. Ah, well.

Shit. My migraine hadn't left in-I pushed my sleeve up to glance at the watch on my right wrist-in an hour and half. Fuck. There were still about twenty minutes left in class and my head felt as if it were about to explode. Rather like how my heart felt when I first came to Wammy's…

I stood up abruptly, clutching my head as the blood pounded through it, knocking my chair over as I bolted from the room. I ran down the hall, past about half of the classrooms, before I collapsed against the wall, panting. I really needed some aspirin, but Mello had the bottle.

"Dammit!" I growled clutching my head. Fuck aspirin, I needed Mello.

"Matt?" a voice said tentatively by my side.

Almost immediately, I recognized it as Linda's.

"Go away," I mumbled, trying to ignore the pounding in my head.

"Matt…" She trailed off a few seconds before she said gently, "You want me to get Mello?"

I wanted to tell her to fuck off, that I didn't need anything from her, but…

"Yeah…" I managed weakly.

I twirled a pencil around in my fingers in boredom as I rested my cheek against my palm, elbow on the desk. We were supposed to write a three-page essay on how wars have affected England's literature and I'd finished within the first hour; now, I had twenty minutes to fuck around with.

A knock on the door caught everyone's attention; a few kids who were still writing looked up.

The door opened tentatively and Linda stepped into the classroom.

"What is it you need, Ms. Linda?" Mrs. Roland asked.

"Well, Mrs. Roland," Linda said politely. "I came to get Mello."

Mello? My head shot up at the mention of my name.

"Why ever do you need him?" asked Mrs. Roland, voicing my own question.

Linda's next words sent a cold chill through me. "It's Matt."

I shot out of my desk only to have the chair clatter to the floor behind me loudly. I snatched Linda's wrist and bolted down the hall, dragging her with me.

When she pulled out of my grip and fell into step with me, I barked, "Where is he?"

"Not far from our history class," she answered.

I nodded and took off, forcing her to struggle to keep up.

By the time I heard returning footsteps, I had sunk to the floor, my knees pulled tight against my chest, and the tears were streaming down my cheeks.

"Matt!"

I heard the panic in concern in Mello's voice as he dropped down beside me, pulling me against his chest and kissing the top of my head. As he held me to him, he dug in his pocket with his free hand and, in that way that was uniquely Mello, opened it one-handedly. "Here," he offered softly.

I held out my hand and he dumped two capsules onto my palm before he closed the bottle and shoved it back into his pocket. I dry-swallowed the capsules and leaned into him.

He pulled me tighter against his chest and stroked my hair. "Thank God," he whispered weakly. "I'm glad you're okay."

"It may be more than a migraine," Linda said quietly. She sat down, leaning back against the wall across from where Matt and I were sitting.

I glanced up at her, before glancing back down at Matt. She was right, but more right than she knew.

Matt whimpered softly as his arms slipped around my waist and he squeezed me tightly.

He was close to a nervous breakdown, but from what?

"Linda," I said, and she jumped slightly at my voice. "What were you learning about today?"

She looked at me curiously a bit before answering, "How the war affected England. Why?"

War? God, that's why Matt was like that, that's why his headache had gotten worse. Thinking about the war must've reminded him of his dad and then…his mother.

"Fuck," I growled, causing Linda to jump again. I stood up, pulling Matt up with me gently. "It's alright, it's alright," I mumbled softly to him.

All I got in response was a soft whine.

I sighed and bid Linda farewell before taking Matt's hand and guiding him to his room.

I pulled him down onto the bed with me (and get your perverted minds out of the fucking gutter, there was nothing sexual about it; it was only to comfort him), hating myself for not being able to take all of his pain away. I'd helped him piece his sanity back together when we were little, but I knew the entire time it was still frayed at the edges and slowly, oh so very slowly it was maddening to me, unraveling once more. I hated seeing him like that; I hated everything about it and everything that caused it. I hated his dad for leaving him with that cruel, heartless, sadistic fucking bitch. I hated said bitch. I hated the boys that had tormented him when he'd come to Wammy's. Most of all though, I hated myself. I hated myself because I couldn't help him, because I couldn't take away his pain. God, if I could just do that…

Fuck. Just thinking about those boys made me want to murder them. I wanted them to go through the hell they forced Matt through. I wanted them to deal with the pain and anguish of being totally alone. I wanted them to go through what Matt went through every day. I wanted them to fight that same mental fight Matt fought internally every day, just to keep on living. The fight I couldn't help him with. The one he had to fight on his own.

It wasn't fair; it wasn't fucking fair! What had Matt done to deserve any of the pain? Nothing. That was what he'd done. Matt didn't deserve the pain of being left by his father when he was only two years old. He didn't deserve to be left with a sadistic bitch for two years, being beaten and forced to be her slave. He didn't deserve the torment he'd gone through before I "saved" him. He didn't deserve any of it…