Darkness and silence bring the fear in your eyes tonight

[onamissle]

[Cold winter coming down around him; Mello remembers this chill from a childhood in Winchester. Freezing droplets of water — but all of the discomfort falls to the wayside with the knowledge that L is not all right.]

[It's different when Mello is the cause, but this situation brings an anxiety that trembles deep into his nerves, his bones, and he needs to assuage it as soon as possible.]

[So he finds L, golden — non-existent thing that he is. It's no wonder to his protege that someone would choose to make him a King, of all things.]

{The chill creeps up his skin and spine and neck and cheeks as he walks toward the other, no intention at play. This is triage, he tells himself. Nothing more.]

[Clothed in thick, black leather and fur, a cashmere scarf wrapped half-way around his face: Mello might appear intimidating to the average person, but this is L.]

What's going on?

[Half-muffled behind the scarf, and he thinks that L looks like absolute shit. High as he remembers Matt in their NYC studio, melting into the couch with his eyes half closed and dazed, words nearly beyond him. Nearly in another world: unreadable]

[Despite the ever-living tense atmosphere between them, Mello holds his ground, his posture confident and sure. Pale eyes are concerned, narrowed, his spine tense.]

[Whatever their constant strife, this is a man that Mello would kill for.]

Comments

[hearthebell]

[The chill is hypothermic. People die in conditions like this; perhaps one already has, a young man in similarly golden attire. Humanoid figurines surround both of them on the cavern floor, facing toward them like miniature armies, and the visage of Light Yagami may be sleeping or dead.

L, however, dripping in golden bracelets, collars and belts with a crown heavy on his head, is certainly and unambiguously alive. The puffs of clouded breath in front of his pale, bowed face say so clearly enough, and when his head tilts back heavily to regard Mello against the damp cavern wall, his gaze unfocused and lost, only one living could do that much, even if scarcely.]

You...

[He rasps it, and has to cough. He's slurring, as though some potent syrup has been poured down his throat. It might not be far from the truth. When he tries to move, the cuffs on his ankles and wrists seem more like shackles.]

What are you doing here?

[onamissle]

[This entire scene is nothing short of terrifying and absurd. Mello has always taken everything as a pure and unadulterated mission. He stills, taking in the surroundings. The figures. Dead but possibly not dead Kira, and the mission is clear. Get L the fuck out of this situation, whatever it may be.]

L...

[No words can help, only actions. The blonde's face sets into something determined as he approaches his predecessor, step by step. He's grown strong, and right now he fears nothing. L's own discomfort resonates in his cells as Mello draws but an inch from him, and he's trained himself for this, whether or not he knew it at the time of education.]

[Nothing here can hurt him. He'll burn it all.]

[A furrow of pale brows as he puts no space between himself and his mentor, conjures with murmured words the gift of heat, fire — wraps his arms around the older man's shoulders. Draws up and conducts all of the heat he can muster, triggering certain areas as to melt gold and restraints, lowers it in places to warm flesh.]

[It takes everything, really. Drains him beyond anything he's experienced.]

You're done here, [he murmurs against L's cheek, giving over everything he has — fuck if it kills him — to warm and free his trapped idol.]

You're done. [He repeats, as though his words bring power. L's body is stiff and wrong and it resonates in places Mello never could have known existed. A share of emotions without consent; this is a tragedy. Breaths are slow and deep and long, and instinct tells him to embrace, despite their differences.]

[In the end, what else is there?]

Breathe, [he mutters below his own breath.]

[hearthebell]

[L feels like dead weight in Mello's arms. It's as though gravity exerts a preternatural pull on him, here, the soil already claiming him as one too lost to return to Aefenglom.

He fell into the flower sleep, approaching the final test with cautiously optimistic confidence. Light had bolstered it by lying down with him, but this dream he can't walk from has broken him in ways he didn't even realize he was whole. The armies of golden figurines watch with cold indifference as Mello tries to haul him up and summon fire and warmth through his own flesh. It works, somewhat, but this isn't ordinary gold or an ordinary chill.]

I thought you'd gone. We all did...

[L had been ambivalent. Myr had been relieved. Light hadn't known the whole story. Near had dealt with it in his own way, permitting L sometimes to weave through the process like a brittle, startling silver thread.

Maybe Mello feels that thread now, surprisingly strong for what it is but so thin, nevertheless. If L would have evaded or fought Mello in the waking world, there's no sense of that now, just an irregular heartbeat and quick, shallow breaths as Mello pulls him close.]

I thought you'd gone.

[onamissle]

[And he'll try until he's got nothing left; L is so heavy against him and the gold isn't quite melting and if he keeps on, he might kill them both (again). His skin is beginning to burn up like something akin to the fire that almost ended him the first time; splinters of stinging and heat that dizzies his head and hurts down to the nerves far beneath his flesh. And Mello isn't strong enough for this.]

[But he'll keep on, because he has to. Keep on until L tells him to stop, and even then —]

M'here, [He mutters, because voice is almost beyond him. His throat is assaulted with cinders of his own power — Mello had never intended to have to go this hard during his training and practice — and if he can just focus on certain areas, he can release L from his bindings.]

[But God, this might just kill them both. Again. And again.]

I don't know if I can — [A clipped admission of defeat; what the fuck is he supposed to do? What does L have? He's always been so strong, in every way, but right now he's trapped and weak and Mello will not see him die again.]

[He can't. They can't.]

L. [A rasped letter. A name. An idol. A legacy.] L. Do what you can —

[Because he can't do this alone. Never could, really.]

[hearthebell]

[Through the muddled, stolen connection that allows emotions to pierce tandem comprehension, Mello might notice that the dense shroud seems to shift around L's dulled manner and senses. There's a reaction, even if it's distant and delayed, unease crescendoing to alarm, and then flatlining to dread.

Because Mello shouldn't be here. He pulls against the magic restraining him with his bracelets and chains, and Mello might glimpse a white chalk outline at his back. The effort is short-lived before he sinks back in exhaustion, but it seems to bring some flushed color to his cheeks, and clarity for the moment at least.]

I can't, Mello. As much as you might not want to hear it.

[His eyes stray, as they often have in this stifled darkness with only a dimly lit basin of water to illuminate it, towards Light Yagami's maybe-corpse. It's difficult to parse his expression, but only because Mello wasn't there to see the same one when he disappeared, himself.]

I'm bound to stay here. If you're lucky, you can still get out.

[onamissle]

[Any reaction from L is something — water from a stone — and Mello latches on to it like his last gulp of air, pulls at it with something he's never known existed within him. Whatever is going on here, it's almost beyond his limitations but — ]

[The firebomb who took off when he was just a kid in order to defeat the World's Greatest Villain has never known any limits, has he? And he knows L; knows him more than he should due to the bond that should have never been formed.]

[It is what it is, now.]

[Body so hot and tense that it's on the verge of snapping and crumbling into cinders, he somehow holds it together and focuses on the only thing that matters. A sharp breath, two, and he's seeking to hold on to L's eyes. (Fight with me, fight with me) and Mello knows, has always known — ]

You want to die, [And it's an accusation.] Always wanted to.

[Gripping harder and harder; everything hurts the both of them, doesn't it?]

Not happening.

[hearthebell]

[L's eyes lock onto Mello's, cool grey and light blue. There's something uncommonly wild and strange about the former, strained and pained.

He pulls back against the damp stone wall. Mello is hurting him, but it's grounding.]

I want to live a life with purpose. A life where I'm needed...

[A life that was accounted for, when he was still young and his replacements were being chosen. His dark eyes are still a child's in so many ways.]

You're me. With Near. I'm superfluous, in the world you knew.

[Whatever you may think, and the man is wide-eyed and devastated, just quietly.]