Chapter Text
The last time Mello was in the backseat of Matt’s Camaro was because he got his back blown out, not blown up. Fate had its way of making this— quite literally bloody situation— even worse. The only words exchanged, or rather barked by Mello, were to drive.
And so, Matt drove.
Matt steps out of the car to light up something quick. He doesn’t know what it is that he’s smoking, but he doesn’t even bother to check. The moment the dopamine rushes to his head, Matt forgets about his problems again. He forgets about Mello who’s bleeding out over his leather seats— Mello, who would’ve been bleeding out over the unfinished cement floor of the warehouse he blew up.
Matt sighs, and the smoke that he blows out sighs along with him.
He puts out the cig with his hand. The burns settle on his left hand.
Let’s note something important to know about Matt. It’s important to know that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
This is a lie.
Matt knows what he wants, what he craves, what he needs in life.
Matt just doesn’t know whether he’s worthy of these things or not. Most of the time he believes it’s better to leave things be, lay low— get high.
Matt keeps his eyes on the road, the headlights of his car shining at the motel a mile out. Aside from the motel, there’s nothing but open road. Matt feels trapped, he feels the world closing in on him, but it’s only because Mello is the one flipping his world upside down for the umpteenth time.
Mello, the blonde boy who took Matt’s whole world and held it in his hands at the young age of seven. Mello, the ever-changing, constantly unsatisfied boy on a rampage that Matt couldn’t even try to quell. Mello, the only person Matt would do everything and more for. Had it been anyone else, Matt would’ve left them to cremate in that warehouse.
Because it was Mello, Matt gave up whatever time he would’ve used to light another blunt and dumped him in the backseat.
Matt parked the car in one of the three motel parking spaces. He got a key to room 420, which he happened to snicker at, before plopping face first into the rocks that looked like pillows on the bed.
Then, Matt remembered Mello.
Shit, he forgot about Mello. It seems his forgetfulness is getting worse these days. There’s a saying that if you forgot something, it might not have been that important in the first place-
No. This was not the case. Matt forgot Mello, the only constant— while unpredictable— in his life. Now he had to go extract this mangled variable from his car and find a way to keep it alive.
And so, Matt dragged his ass out into the freezing weather that he considered to be forty degrees and opened the back door.
Matt swore when he saw the state of him. There was so much red. Red, red, red.
Red to match his Camaro, red to match his gameboy, red to match his favorite sweater that he strips off himself in that moment. Half naked and shivering, Matt pulls Mello by his arms, sliding him out of the car, placing his feet on the sweater he places on the ground of the parking lot.
From anyone else’s view, this would’ve looked like a crime scene, and Matt would have no room to blame them. Matt doesn’t know what they’re running from, but leaving a trail mark of Mello’s blood wouldn’t be a great clue to leave.
Matt finally drags Mello’s fucked up body into the motel room and leaves him on the cold floor right in front of the door. He huffs at the fact that he’ll have to go back out into the cold night, but there’s not much else he can really do.
C'est la vie.
Matt opens the trunk to grab only his most treasured valuables: two bottles of everclear, a half-empty first-aid kit, and another pouch to keep him sane.
Sober or not, Matt swore under his breath at the sight before him. His red sweater was painted with a darker red and Mello managed to curl in on himself. Matt saw himself in someone else for once.
Matt destroys any progress Mello’s tried to make on his own, forcing him on his back and cracking open a bottle of everclear. He takes a swig before pouring a good amount over Mello’s face.
The burning down his throat matches the burning sensation he can almost feel himself as Mello finally acts alive for once.
Mello’s writhing beneath him, crying out— no more, no more. His right hand reaches up, but Matt swats it away.
Matt pours another ounce or so of everclear on Mello’s torso before downing the rest of the bottle himself. The burn is well-deserved, Matt believes.
Matt stands up, throwing the empty bottle on his bed. He steps into the tiny bathroom to grab towels, towels, and more towels. Hopefully he remembers to ask for more towels tomorrow. On his way out with an armful of towels, he grabs a sewing kit?
Yes. He chooses to grab the sewing kit.
Matt’s going to have to sew up all the open flaps Mello has right now, and all he’s got is a surgeon setup out of a horror movie.
With now red towels and a more visible Mello, Matt gets to work. Matt opens the second bottle of everclear pouring on Mello’s torso and in his own mouth again. This surgical treatment goes both ways: Matt clears Mello of infection, and Matt clears his own head.
It was about time Matt tried out self-love, and if it means taking shots of everclear while playing doctor, he’d do it. For what feels like the first time in his life, Matt is giving something to himself.
Mello and Matt were opposites— no, more so two sides of the same coin. Mello was hot-headed, ready to leap at any opportunity to get himself just a bit farther. Mello would take whatever advantage he could just to climb an inch above everyone else.
And supposedly level-headed Matt? Matt could only give. He gave to Mello the first time they met, he continued to pour himself into Mello, and what happened when there was nothing left to give? Matt became nothing.
Matt ceased to exist without Mello because without Mello he had nothing or no one to give himself to. What good was he if he couldn't give? Matt unfortunately found the answer for himself: if he couldn’t give anything, he wasn't worth being received in the first place. He became completely and utterly useless in his new world outside of Wammy’s.
This isn’t to say Mello just takes, takes, takes. But he does take.
Mello takes what he can and what he believes he needs to take. He takes, because once upon a time Mello wasn’t able to take, despite the many needs he had.
In this moment, without even realizing, Mello takes again. And Matt is happy to give himself up all over again.
This cycle repeats. The day resets to morning again, and again, and again. Matt becomes the gift that never stops giving until he has nothing left to give. Matt doesn’t realize he has nothing left to him.
What Matt does notice is that Mello is crying.
Mello has tears streaming down his face, cries of pain leaving his lips. Matt almost cries with him.
Matt would’ve broken every bone in his body to no longer hear Mello cry. Matt can handle anything— drugs, alcohol, violence, but Mello?
Mello is a violent concoction of the three things mentioned above and just a drop of Mello in Matt’s system is enough to shut him down.
Suddenly the blood he wiped off Mello’s body comes back faster than Matt can pour everclear on it. The cries get louder and Mello by whatever demon he has possessing him manages to writhe under the needle in Matt’s shaking hand.
The towels underneath Matt’s patient are fully soaked with blood now. The stench makes his head spin. Matt’s sent reeling, and he blames the potency of Mello’s bloody towels over the half bottle of everclear he mindlessly consumed.
The smell is getting too much for Matt so he has to line his priorities straight on the table. Then, he takes the whole white line he’s laid out.
For a moment he feels good again.
<>
With the main operation done, all that’s left is outpatient care, much to Matt’s dismay.
Mello’s been transferred to a bed where he can actually rest. Matt can actually take care of him now.
This motel might be shit in almost every aspect, but Matt appreciates the singular window. Through this lens he can gaze at the moon who only gazes right back. Even better, Matt can see how the moon reflects Mello.
For someone missing half of the flesh on their face and partly incinerated hair, Mello was beautiful in Matt’s eyes. The hair that did remain was hit perfectly by the rays of the night.
Beautiful, beautiful Mello. Matt can only cry in his place at the moment.
The moon leaves and the sun returns. Matt heads out to his sweet Camaro to check the damages. He winces at the sight, but he also thanks the universe for his leather seats.
With enough elbow grease, Matt could probably use his toothbrush to scrub off the crusty blood in the crevices of the seats.
Matt closes the door with a solid thud and the motel owner scares him shitless appearing out of thin air.
He holds out his hand.
“You’ve stayed two days but paid one. Pay up.”
Shit.
Matt really was becoming more forgetful, wasn’t he? At least he’s sober this time.
“Alright, I’ll be at the desk in a minute.”
This stout motel owner instead walks right up to door 420 and Matt curses under his breath running after the man.
“Look, it’s either you pay here and now, or I’ll look for some source of income in there myself.”
The owner pulled out a key of his own, about to open the lock. Something in Matt’s brain clicks instead.
“Alright, I’ll get your money. Just stay out of the room. It’s…a mess in there. A big mess. Lots of uh-”
The owner furrows his brow with frustration and confusion. Matt continues spinning his fabric of lies.
“The girl I’m with. Fucked her up real bad. There’s uh, fluids, everywhere.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. I’ll get the payment real quick while she’s sleeping.”
“And I’ll clean up what I can. Uh, after the payment.”
“Alright.”
Matt opens the door just a fraction and slips in. Mello’s blissfully unaware of the situation, and for a second Matt wishes their positions were swapped.
Shit.
Matt curses, checking the pockets of his pants, his coat, Mello’s coat, and all he’s managed to gather is three dollars, twenty seven cents, and a half-used lighter.
The clock that’s just a minute too fast on the wall also indicates that Matt’s taken just a minute too long to find some chump change. Matt’s now got two options: he can either give the guy the rest of his blow, or he can give the guy a real good blow on his knees. Neither option is viable.
The harsh knock at the door hurries him towards an option.
Matt grabs the empty bottle of everclear. Mello stays asleep.
“Alright. I’ve got the money. Should we head over to the front desk?”
The owner gives a skeptical look. Matt shakes his pocket and presents his wallet filled with maxed out credit cards and expired coupons.
With just enough feigned confidence painted on Matt’s face, the owner turns around satisfied. They walk to the desk that’s a good thirty meters away. Matt’s grip on the bottle tightens.
Right as the man tries to slip behind the desk quickly, Matt just so happens to be quicker. With one swift motion, Matt strikes, and he strikes hard. The glass makes impact with the back of the motel owner’s head and shatters just after impact.
Matt flinches at the shower of glass being sprayed in his direction.
Well, the first option wasn’t going to fly under any circumstance. Without that last bag, Matt would be dry. If Matt has to be Mello’s lifeline temporarily, he still needs a lifeline of his own. That’s not something to be compromised.
The second option, while slightly better, doesn’t get Matt very far. He’ll walk away with a bruised throat, and a repaid stay at the motel, but what else? He still has no money to pay for tonight or any night for that matter moving forward.
It’s best to avoid being trapped in a cycle like that. Matt’s already trapped in a cycle of his own— he doesn’t need another.
Between Matt’s two options, there was a third. The third option was that Matt could give the guy a good blow to the head. All things considered, the last option was Matt’s only option.
The owner falls limp over the desk. Somehow, this went successfully.
Matt breathes. He’s gasping for air since he can’t remember when he last took some in.
Matt’s hands are clear of blood. He’s innocent, he’s innocent, Matt repeats in his head.
After all, the blood is trickling down the front desk of the motel, not down Matt’s hands.
<>
The motel might be in a remote location, but Matt isn’t wanting to stay any longer. He doesn’t want to end up going to jail for two counts of murder when there’s really only one.
Despite all the shit he’s done outside of Wammy’s, murder wasn’t on Matt’s list. He wasn’t going to check off a box for a life sentence either. He needed to get out of there.
Oh, right, Mello.
Matt almost forgot Mello.
A weird sentence to really sound out, Matt thinks. Considering most of Matt’s life was spent thinking about Mello, it’s strange that this is the first time he’s put Mello second.
The mere thought sends a chill down Matt’s spine. He walks just a little faster to their shared motel room.
Matt grabs the nice little bag of powder he left for later and some other things. Oh, he also grabbed the sewing kit. Wouldn’t hurt to have a little memento of his attempted murder.
Lastly, Matt dragged Mello, who’s wrapped in bloody towels, to the back seat of the Camaro where he would look otherwise lifeless if it weren’t for Matt checking his pulse.
Matt pulls back Mello’s blood-drenched towels, and searches the trunk for anything else to soak up the remaining blood. Inside the trunk he finds Mello’s leather jacket. An interesting choice, Matt notes. Then again, Mello has always wanted to be seen. He wanted his abilities, his aptitude to be seen. Matt is not surprised this craving for visibility extended to Mello’s fashion.
Closing the trunk, Matt stops. The world is silent. All that’s left in this place, alive at least, would be Matt and Mello.
Matt and Mello, together again. What is there to be surprised about?