A/N: This is a story about bedwetting, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this. This was a fill for a prompt I got on my Tumblr blog, otaku-omorashi.
Disclaimer: I do not own DeathNote or any of its characters.
Near wasn't sure exactly what he'd been dreaming about. He just knew that one moment he was asleep and then suddenly he wasn't and there was a warm wetness quickly spreading around him, soaking through his pajama pants and the sheets soon afterward. By the time he was awake enough to realize what had happened, he'd already made a mess.
He sat off, carefully moving the blanket off of him and flipping on his bedside table lamp. He looked down at himself. His white pajamas were soaked and slightly see-through, and when he got up from the bed, there was a large wet spot on his sheets. A warmth crept across Near's face. This was the third time that week. He quickly changed clothes, putting the wet ones in a pile near his bedroom door. He then stripped the sheets off his bed, scooped up everything, and carefully left his room.
The problem with Wammy's house is that nobody stayed up late, so it was always dead silent when he had to do this. Near crept down the hall, looking over his shoulder every time a floorboard creaked. He didn't think he'd woken anyone by the time he finally got to the end of the hall. He made his way down the stairs, still careful even though he didn't have to worry about waking anyone now. He walked through the hall and to the laundry room, putting his things in the washer. He couldn't start the machine, because someone might wake up, so he left the room with the plan to sneak off sometime in the morning to turn on the washer.
About halfway back to the stairs, Near noticed a light. Someone was in the kitchen. He stopped, feeling his heartbeat speed up as he tried to think of a reason he could give that he was awake and wandering the hall so late. He took a few hesitant steps forward, and- Creak. Near hated the floorboards. He stopped, shrinking back against the wall, though he knew his all-white attire wouldn't help him hide. He waited.
The shuffling in the kitchen stopped for a moment, before it resumed. Near took another few steps, right at the edge of the kitchen doorway. He listened. Someone shut a cabinet. He quickly dashed past the doorway, and he didn't slow down until he was up the stairs. He walked back down the hall, noticing that one of the bedroom doors was open, but he didn't think too much of it, closing himself back in his room. After giving his bed some time to dry, he put new sheets on and went to sleep.
The next morning, Near woke up as usual. He got up, leaving his room and starting toward the bathroom. He hardly remembered the previous night…
That is, until he heard Mello's voice behind him. "Why were you downstairs last night?"
Near was glad he wasn't facing the blond, because the look on his face might've given it all away. "I wasn't." He didn't stop walking.
"I saw you."
"You must've been dreaming."
"I wasn't."
"You were." He went into the bathroom and shut the door, ending the conversation there. Near doubted that was the end of that, though. Mello wanted to be a detective, after all.