My Own Way

Even with the Ibuprofen in his system, Mello was writhing on the settee. The soaked, cool cloths threatening to fall from him at any moment. Animalistic whimpers formed in the depths of his throat, as he fought a constant battle with pain. Matt stood from the computer. "I\'m not qualified for this. Mell, please let me get you to a hospital. Please?"



"No!" Mello screamed. "Do it, Matt. Just do it."



"Do what though?" Matt paced, but turned back to the computer, searching for anything that might help. "A burn greater than the size of a ten pence piece and you are supposed..."



Mello\'s breathing came out ragged. He hissed through gritted teeth, "Mail." Matt turned in shock. He had used his real name. One tortured arm was outstretched, the cloth already fallen down to saturate the cushion beneath. Matt raced over to replace it and his arm was gripped. "Mail, do what you have to do. You can do it." Their eyes met, the agonised and the terrified, in an unholy union of compliancy. "No hospitals."



Matt nodded and returned to the computers. Several screens were showing him images of burns, forums populated by medics, survivor stories. "Ok." He breathed. "We\'re doing it right. Cool water and cloth soaked in cool water. Please don\'t move more than you have to, Mello. I know it hurts."



"Get some fucking ice for my eye. It\'s really killing me."



"I know, Mell. But I can\'t. Ice will make it worse. I\'m so sorry." Matt dived back to the floor, taking out another of the cloths soaking in the bowl. He squeezed it to take out excess water and padded it over Mello\'s left eye. Every cloth was already becoming warm, sucking the heat from the burns, but not fast enough. Carefully, tenderly, Matt replaced them all. It gave him another close look at the wounds. There were whole patches that were white and oozing fluids; other parts that were downright black and charred; all of the edges were a vivid, angry red. There were no blisters. He had been expecting blisters and their absense frightened him most of all. "I might have to go out. There are things we\'re going to need. Creams. Shit! How do I rehydrate you?"



Mello\'s response was a muffled scream, his mouth biting cushion, his hand over his good eye. His legs kicked out, then curled under, in an incessant, grotesque parody of running. Matt turned away. He couldn\'t help him. He couldn\'t take this pain from him any more than he had already tried. There was nothing he could give of comfort, other than try to save his friend. He returned to his searches, just wanting to throw up and to run away himself. "Matt!" His name was shrieked out from the settee. "Give me more painkillers. Just..."



"I can\'t, Mell. You\'ve already had over the recommended dosage." Matt kept seeing the same brand names coming up on different sites. Things he needed to get. "Please just give it time to work its way around your system. It will get better. I promise." He kept searching, kept reading, though the words were starting to blur under his vision. Professionals kept telling forumers to get to the hospital. He kept reading about drips and death. Behind him, Mello was making those horrific whimpering noises again and there was nothing he could do to comfort him. Matt\'s voice, when it was emitted, held none of the calm, collected reassurance he had hoped for. Instead, it came out shrill. "I definitely need to go out and get some stuff."



"Mail." Mello wheezed. "Calm down."



"You shouldn\'t be telling me to calm down." Matt raced to his side again, touching the cloths. "I should be calming you down." Mello grabbed his hand and held it with bone-crushing intensity. "It\'s going to be alright. It\'s going to be alright."



"Have a cigarette. Calm down. Do what you have to."



Matt nodded and broke away, rushing to pick up his jacket again. Something fell out of the pocket. It was Mello\'s rosary. Perhaps there was something of comfort he could give him after all. He swooped it up and knelt at the side of the settee, pressing it into Mello\'s hand. "Come on, Mell. Hail Mary, Mother of God, the Lord is with thee..."



"Full of grace." Mello corrected, but he had the message. The words were whispered under his breath, painted over the mews of pain and passed through clenched teeth. "Zdravo Marijo, milosti puna, Gospodin s tobom, blagoslovljena ti medju ženama i blagoslovljen plod utrobe tvoje, Isus." He turned back to the pillow, biting down on it. The words still came, dribbled into the heat of the fabric in his mouth. "Sveta Marijo, Majko Božja, moli za nas greš-nike sada i na èas smrti naše. Amen. Zdravo Marijo, milosti puna, Gospodin s tobom, blagoslovljena ti medju ženama i blagoslovljen plod utrobe tvoje, Isus..."



Matt left him. There was nothing else he could do without the supplies. He left with the words, possibly Russian?, ringing incomprehensibly in his ears. He ran as fast as he could down the stairs, crashing into concrete to brake with his body each turn of the landings. The car never seemed so far away, his mind racing faster still, as he pushed back the fear that Mello could die. He needed to work out how to get the things that he had read about without raising suspicion. There were people out looking for Mello. The police department amongst them. Capture meant death. Not being treated meant death. Every bloody scenario that Matt could envision meant death for Mello. He shouldn\'t be looking for ointments, he should be finding a Catholic priest!



He drove to the hospital and found it swarming with armed police. Their cars blocked the entrances; their presense in terrifying evidence inside the lobbies. He drove on by, but the same story was repeated in every hospital on the map. He had already been away from Mello for twenty minutes and each one felt like he was signing his friend\'s death warrant. There was a huge, neon sign on the corner, advertising a \'Drug Store\'. Matt blinked, his mind rebelling against the fact that Americans could be so blatant. Were the police not noting this? He slowed as he passed. It was open, lit up inside, a supermarket-sized establishment. The advertisements in the window were not of illegal substances. This was an oversized chemists! Matt turned the car into the bays before it and dashed out. It was a supermarket. It was a supermarket for pharmeucetical products. This was what he needed.



Matt went light-headed as he entered the store. The world turning silver and black. He grasped the security rail and stopped. He was hyperventilating and he hadn\'t done that since he was thirteen. He blew, trying to exhale, inhale, breathe properly, then there was a security guard in his face. "Are you ok, Sir?" Matt tried to indicate that he was fine, but the guard spoke into his walkie-talkie. "Can you send a First Aider to the main doors? Possible asthmatic."



"Not asthma." Matt gasped, but his vision was clearing again. He did not want to tell this stranger that it was a panic attack. This was how such things occurred in him. Mello was right. He did need to calm down, right now. He was guided into a chair and sat gratefully in it, his legs shaky under him. This was wasting time. Mello could die! "I\'m good." He panted, but he patently wasn\'t. There were running feet and a uniformed woman appeared. "I\'m fine."



"I\'m Mary-Sue. I\'m a First Aider, you will be just fine, Sir."



"I need to get..." He had to stop, he was choking.



"Are you asthmatic?" Mary-Sue crouched beside him, one hand on his back.



Matt shook his head, desperately. "Panic attack... hyperventilation... paper bag."



The First Aider turned to the security guard and shook her head. "I cannot tell what he is saying." The redhead glanced up and saw what he needed, though the world was swimming before his eyes. There were paper bags on the end of the cashier\'s till. He lunged forward and snatched one up, breathing heavily into it, his lungs calming with each inhalation of warmed air. Mary-Sue frowned. "What is he doing?"



Matt felt the world returning to rights. He could breathe normally. "Hyperventilation. Please help me. I need surgical soap and Silvadene."



"Sir, if you would just sit back down, until you are just fine, then..."



"My baby has been burned!" Matt improvised wildly. "My two year old and the Burns\' Unit says he needs Silvadene and surgical soap. Please tell me where they are."



"I am very sorry to hear that." Mary-Sue shook her head sympathetically. She made a decision. "Let me have your prescription note and I will ask someone to look for it for you. You just sit right here."



Matt bowed his head, making a show of searching his pockets. His mind was spinning. This was not going according to plan. He was starting to panic again. All those lessons at Wammy\'s about keeping calm, which had so far held him in good stead, were now going out of the window. He had to stay calm. He was supposed to be a genius! He could think of something. "Oh my God! My wife has the prescription!" He shrieked and let the panic come. Forcing himself into hyperventilation again, shivering and gasping in self-induced lack of breath.



Mary-Sue guided him back to the seat and helped him raise his hands to breathe into the bag again. "Ok, calm down. I will ask the druggist what she requires." She signalled to the security guard, who put a call out. A few minutes later, an official looking woman had joined them. Mary-Sue explained the situation and Matt found himself eyed carefully by the druggist.



"What did the Burns\' Unit say, precisely?"



Matt repeated, with eidetic recall, the exact words typed in a forum by a burns\' survivor. He forced himself to struggle over the longer words, repeating blankly phrases of which he should have had no understanding. He hoped that he looked very young and helpless. The druggist nodded and walked away. A few minutes later, a worker joined them, clutching a bag of products. "Silvadene, petroleum gauze, bandages, elastic wrap, surgical soap, Bacitracin, Tylenol and roller gauze." Matt could have kissed him. He paid his money and fled as soon as he could convince Mary-Sue that he was alright.



He charged back into the apartment, but the settee was empty. A trail of cloths and fluids pointed straight towards the bathroom. "Mello!" Matt skidded as he reached the bathroom door and yanked it open to find the blond curled up on the floor. "Your God really fucking loves you." The blond had obviously been crying, but he forced a smile now. Matt bent try and extract his friend from the coolness of the white tiles. "I have the supplies. I know what to do now. Fuck Mello, I can\'t rehydrate you, but I can treat the burns. Please sit up for me."



Mello screamed as he moved, but arrived in a sitting position on his own steam, having batted away Matt\'s helping hand. "I\'m ok. I\'m ok."



"No, stay sitting." Matt stepped back as Mello promptly vomitted into the toilet bowl. "Oh, please don\'t be sick. That\'s making you more dehydrated!"



"Fuck off!" Mello bellowed, then curled up again, hand hovering over his jaw in silent agony.



"Let me sort this out and I\'ll get you chocolate. Where are your \'Hail Marys\'? Come on, I think they just helped us. I want to hear them." Matt flushed the toilet and closed the lid, sitting on it to lever Mello against the wall. "You need to be brave for me, Mihael." Fury flashed across Mello\'s features and he lashed out, but Matt had seen it coming and slid out of range. It was like treating a wounded wild animal. "You either let me do this or I fuck off back to England and let you die!"



Mello closed his eyes, the left one so red and swollen, and leaned his head up against the wall. His fist was clenched, but he became still again. "Zdravo Marijo, milosti puna, Gospodin s tobom..."



"That\'s better." Matt sniffed and pushed his goggles to the top of his head. He opened packages and washed his hands. "This is going to hurt in the short-term, but then it\'ll feel better. Have the painkillers kicked in yet?" Still hissing his prayers, Mello nodded. "Good. Right, I\'m going to wash your wounds." He lathered up the surgical soap, green suds on coating his hands. He attempted to touch the oozing mess, but Mello screamed loudly. "Ok!" Matt backed off. "Shit, this isn\'t going to work."



"Mail. Do it."



Matt nodded, noting how the speaking of the name \'Mihael\' was met with rage, while it was perfectly fine to call him \'Mail\'. But his irritation couldn\'t last. He actually preferred Mail to Matt and it had only been Mello\'s stubborn insistence that had led to him answering to Matt at all. He reached in and gently washed the blackened, charred areas. Mello didn\'t react. With a sinking feeling, Matt realised that that was because he couldn\'t feel it happening. The nerve endings must have been burned right through there. He pressed harder and still nothing. It scared the Hell out of him. Tissue flaked away in his hand, falling to the white tiles, his stomach turned, but the prayer went on and so did Matt. Fresh blood dripped down Mello\'s arm from the edges and the blond tensed every muscle in his body. "You\'re being so brave."



He finished washing Mello\'s neck, arm, chest and back as best he could. Then turned to Mello\'s face. The blond was biting his lip so much that it looked like it would need medical attention next. Matt sat back, "Do you need a break?" Mello shook his head. "Shall I get you some chocolate?" Mello nodded. "Ok, sit still." Matt ran into the kitchen and threw up in the sink. He swilled it out and drank a glass of water, before lighting a cigarette and refilling the glass for Mello. He grabbed some chocolate from the fridge and returned to the bathroom. Mello was precisely where he had been left, his gaze fixed on the underside of the sink. Matt handed him the chocolate and set the glass down on the floor in front of him, then turned around to have a couple of drags in the doorway. He put out his cigarette and washed his hands again.



Matt smoothed back Mello\'s hair, teasing out the strands that were stuck fast into melted flesh. "How the fuck did your hair survive that?"



"Pulled back." Mello whispered.



"Huh?"



Mello raised a hand to demonstrate. "Pulling mask off. Pulled hair back."



"Kk." Matt motioned him to be still again. "There\'s a bit at the hairline singed, but it\'s underneath. It\'ll grow back." Mello uttered an ironic laugh and Matt smiled. "Would you beat me up if I said you\'re still really gorgeous?" Mello turned away and Matt guessed that he didn\'t want to hear it. He inspected the eye. It was a wonder it had survived at all, even in its swollen state. Matt covered a cloth in the surgical soap and gently dabbed his friend\'s forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones and jawbone. Mello quietly cried. The tears only fell from his right side. Chocolate bubbled between his lips. "Ok, Mell. I\'m nearly done cleaning. Then I\'ll put the Silvadene on and get it all covered up. We\'re nearly done." Nearly done? Matt wanted to cry. Mello was losing fluids that he could not replace. The silence and the air conditioning, the desperate sucking of chocolate and the scraping of cloth on flesh, it all sounded like some cruel swansong. "Drink your water, Mell. You must be really thirsty."



It took another forty-five minutes before Matt had finally finished. Three lots of gauze and elastic wrap covered a twelfth of Mello\'s body. He just sat there, defeated and hurting, against the bathroom wall. The redhead offered a hand, which was ignored for long minutes, before Mello finally took it. As he rose, unsteadily, Mello leaned forward, pushing himself into Matt\'s embrace. Shocked, Matt held him with one arm around the uninjured shoulder and the other around his waist. The blond bowed his head onto Matt\'s shoulder and just stood there. It was heart-breaking. It was eerie. It felt like Mello reaching for comfort from whatever source he could find, even if it had to be from Matt. "Thank you for patching me up."



"It\'s ok." The redhead breathed. "You don\'t have to pay me in..."



"Just hold me, Matty."



"Ok."