Disclaimer: I don't own the Death Note characters. Although if I did, you can bet there'd be a heck of a lot more solid history behind them.

A/N: Okay, I'm really, really sorry. I said this would be a quick update. I clearly failed at that... I blame Matt. He decided he didn't like what I was doing and demanded I do something different, but he refused to tell me what I was doing wrong. So after much trial and error I finally figured out what I'd done to offend him, and then I could go on my way. So again, sorry for the delay, and I hope the content of the chapter makes up for it :)

Chapter 19: Connections

When I got back a few hours later, Mello was barricaded in the bedroom again. I passed the closed door on my way to the couch and tried to convince myself that it didn't matter. Four hours later, I was still trying to convince myself of that fact and having very little luck. "Oh, fuck it," I muttered as I watched Lara Croft die on the television screen for the sixth time in a row. I chucked the controller onto the coffee table, grabbed the remote, flipped through the channels, then leaned on the arm of the couch and watched mindless late-night cartoons until my eyes ached behind my goggles.

I wasn't sure what woke me up. A truck going by outside, maybe, or the radiator turning off. After a few seconds I realized that the blanket from the back of the couch was draped over me, and the television was tuned to CNN rather than FOX. Feeling groggy and vaguely disoriented, I glanced over at the clock. It read 2:47 AM, but the clock wasn't really what I was paying attention to.

Mello was curled up at the other end of the couch. His knees were pulled up to his chest, with his arms wrapped around them. His head was resting on one arm, and I could see that his eyes were closed. Even in sleep, he looked troubled.

If L had ever slept, I was certain that was how he would've looked: like he had troubles he could never share.

I yawned and pushed the blanket off myself so I could stand up and stretch. As I did, I noticed that Mello was holding something: his rosary. He must've fallen asleep staring at it.

For a minute I just watched him sleep. In spite of looking troubled, he was still sleeping like the dead. He must've been exhausted. I grabbed the blanket off the couch and draped it over him, then carefully tucked it around his shoulders. He didn't even stir.

"What's happening in your head?" I asked him quietly, leaning down and pushing an unruly lock of hair off his face. For a moment I thought he might wake up, but he didn't. He just slept on, fingers tightening very slightly around his rosary.

There had to be something that caused this, some reason behind this. I knew that Mello wasn't completely sane – I wasn't sure anyone who came from Wammy's House could be any less than slightly insane, myself included – but even so, he wasn't the type to run off the rails like this for no reason at all. And here I stood, unable to make sense of any of it, beyond knowing that the problem was most likely linked to his religion.

For a minute I considered the possibility that he'd done something in the Mafia that had been unforgivable. He'd been part of the Mafia for who knew how long, and had probably done things I never even wanted to contemplate. But it seemed to me that if he'd been mentally and emotionally cracking under the pressure of what he'd done, then he would've done it before now. It was possible, but not probable. …Also, there was nothing I could do for him if that was the case, and I wanted to think I could help him, at least until I was forced to admit that I couldn't.

"But this… It's Hell, we're in Hell…"

When he'd first woken up after the explosion, he had thought he was in Hell. At the time, I hadn't thought anything of it, beyond the fact that he must have felt like he was on fire, but now that I looked back, some of the things he'd said started drifting back.

"Oh, God, no… Please, God, he doesn't belong here, take him back, he doesn't deserve this! Please, God… I was trying to do the right thing…"

Now that I thought about what he'd said, little things about it started to bother me. I didn't want to attach too much significance to pain-induced ramblings, but at the same time, I needed to find something that might offer an explanation, and they were really all I had to work with. He'd been too careful with what he said once he'd gotten control of himself again.

The thing that stuck out the most wasn't that he thought he was in Hell – at the time that was probably a reasonable conclusion, given how he felt – but the fact that he seemed more concerned about me being there than he was about himself. As if he was somehow responsible for me. That could potentially mean that I was part of the problem now, although I couldn't see how.

It could be that he felt guilty about agreeing to let me help him, but that didn't make sense either. I'd fought for my right to help him, and if he had a problem with it, he'd just say it. He wouldn't do this to himself. And anyway, that would have nothing to do with religion.

I really couldn't see any way I could be connected with his Catholicism, actually. Religion and I very rarely saw things eye to eye, for a variety of reasons, but Mello was used to that, so that couldn't be the problem. And if he wanted me to convert, he'd tell me so and then pray for my soul, he wouldn't get angry at me.

…No, not angry. He acted angry, but it was more retaliation, like a hurt animal. Up until a few days ago, he'd actually been friendly, so something must have happened to set this off. But nothing had happened, not that I could remember. Which meant that something had happened in his head.

I sighed and sat down next to him on the couch. He shifted a little in his sleep, but didn't wake up. A change of position didn't give me any new information, sadly. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, deciding to just space out and see if anything useful drifted into my mind.

Sleep had been about to take over my brain when I felt something move on the end of the couch not occupied by Mello. Very slowly, I opened my eyes and looked down.

It was the cat. It was that stupid, Goddamn cat that was still, somehow, in my apartment. It looked quite at home on the sofa, standing there in the glow of the television with its tail twitching, watching me with big, wide green eyes. Maybe it thought it could charm me. I'm not sure. But I wasn't a cat person, not by a long shot. I didn't like animals, period.

The beast took a few dainty steps forward across the couch cushion and put its front paws onto my leg. I held my breath, waiting for my opportunity to snag it by the scruff of the neck.

Then it started making a sound like an old transmission, and it took me a minute to realize that it was purring.

Dammit, today just wasn't my day, was it?

I took a deep breath, sighed, and scratched the thing's ears, which made it purr all the louder. Then it proceeded to climb the rest of the way onto my lap, dig its claws into my leg a few times, then lay down. I glared at it, and it blinked up at me with an expression that practically begged, "Pet me!"

"Well, at least somebody around here isn't having a crisis," I muttered, giving in and petting the little terror, which purred contentedly and kept making big-paws on my leg. "You know, this doesn't mean I'm letting you stay," I informed it. Not that it cared. It just got comfy on my lap, sprawling and making itself right at home. Well, at least it wasn't as awkward as the time Mello had sprawled on my lap.

…Wait…

I ran back through the last week or so in my head. From him thinking we were in Hell, to eating pizza, to hunting for the cat, to Mello's nightmare, to the fight…

There was a connection. From me, to religion, to Mello pushing me away, tracing back through the last week and all the way to a sewer under a Winchester street five years before.

I didn't know exactly what to think about it. Or rather, I had thought about it, quite a bit, but never from quite this angle, and I was at a complete loss as to what to do about it.

But at least I knew what it was.

A/N: The bit about the sewer is an allusion to a story that's not actually written yet, but is set just before the boys leave Wammy's. I'm referencing a part where B lures Matt and Mello down into the sewer and nearly rips their friendship apart by revealing one of Matt's few secrets.