Redeemer

It made Mello think of the time Matt had pulled him from the ashes after the explosion—his vision hazy and stained with blood, the sky spinning in all directions—dark, and wet and crying rain into his eyes. He tried to move, twisting himself around, not knowing which way was up until he realized his face was against pavement, his nose in water—and he was suddenly breathing it in; but twisted in such a way that he couldn’t budge—or didn’t know how at that moment. He choked, tried to pull back and a blinding wave of pain flickered hard across his nerve endings. Fuck. It was all half there at the moment, and he kept remembering the explosion—how over it all seemed until Matt’s strong hands wrapped under his shoulders and dragged him from the wreckage.

Mello felt the pull again, his body wrenching free from the overturned vehicle, the air returning to him as his face was lifted from the deepening rain water flooding through the street gutters, and he realized he was being dragged to safety. Ah Matt, thank Christ—always dependable.

He was on the sidewalk then, flipped over onto his back, and suddenly there was someone there above him, the visage familiar even through the dark and the rain and Mello’s spinning equilibrium. And it wasn’t Matt—it wasn’t Matt at all.

It was Light.

Light had pulled him out.

“Mello, look at me,” Light demanded, and there was no give in his voice, despite the blood streaming down his cheek from whatever injuries he’d sustained—he was obviously a lot better off than Mello just then. Mello blinked, and focused as best he could. He found Light’s eyes—or perhaps he imagined them—their piercing amber color.

“I want you to remember this moment,” Light growled, and he was half shouting over the downpour. Despite his haze Mello got the irony. Maybe it would make more sense to him later, but at that moment all he could focus on was the screaming unnatural pain in his body as Light hoisted him up and slung Mello’s arm around his shoulders, heaving him along. No hospitals, that was an unspoken rule, so Light managed to flag down a taxi—but by that time, Mello wasn’t feeling much of anything…and wasn’t particularly coherent; no thanks to the muddled condition of his thoughts, definitely no thanks to the sharp jags of pain that seemed to assault every last goddamned nerve in his body even if he knew better.

The damage was impossible to access right away and frankly, it did not seem like he truly cared just then, gritting his teeth against the discomfort as he was eased into the back seat of a taxi. "Hurensohn," Mello hissed through grit teeth as the taxi carried them away from the scene and over unsteady cobblestone. The immediate shock trailing away to leave him all too aware of what had just taken place.

He'd just flipped the car. Shit. The sharp impact, the screech of brakes followed by the all too fast crash that pushed them quite literally up and onto the sidewalk. He'd managed to avoid sandwiching them against the wide telephone pole, but the tall sidewalk had caught the wheel fast enough to deposit them flatly on the ground. It was by some stroke of luck that there had been no further impacts.

It was then he noticed the blood that colored his wrist quite brightly, seeping out from beneath his left sleeve. Would explain the throbbing sensation he felt there along with the nasty scuffs and jagged cut that had managed to penetrate the thin leather. Glass most likely, along with a lovely scrape against cobblestone. Not to mention the bruises he dully felt darkening against his skin. If only that was the extent of the injuries. Somehow he doubted it. Fuck. Just not allowed to catch a break, am I? Mello thought dully, leaning his head back against the seat and allowing pale lashes to press to rain-washed cheeks. His head throbbed and suspicion told him that he would have a flattering gash or bump there to match.

He reached for his phone, stifling a gasp as he pressed back against the seat in order to pull the cell from his pants pocket; right hand seemingly uninjured but his grip shaky nevertheless. The phone flipped open and without having to look he entered the proper code for Matt's speed dial, letting it ring twice before severing the connection. He would know what it meant even if details were for the moment impossible to come by. Mello hated to alert him like that, but right now they needed their tracks covered. Fuck he felt nauseous. And so goddamned tired.

“Goddamint, you’re bleeding all over the place,” Light hissed, snatching Mello’s left arm and tying some strip of fabric around it—shirt sleeve? It was white, definitely not Mello’s, and the irony caught him that Light had used his own—torn that expensive shirt? Oh the humanity. Though he was probably beautifully fucked up by that point anyway. Mello managed a wry glance at Light through hazy vision—Kira’s left arm was covered in blood, probably courtesy of the pavement, it was still bleeding pretty bad—deep lacerations.

“You should talk,” Mello muttered. But Light wasn’t listening, snapping at the driver in harsh Italian to stop staring and just take them to the damn hotel. The driver seemed of the opinion that they needed medical attention. Imagine that.

Medical attention. Bah. As if such a thing was necessary at this point in time. Rather, they could not afford it. Could not afford to be seen, could not afford to be entered into any medical records that might matter enough to set off alarms. Walking dead, after all. He and Matt had treated worse from the comfort of their own home in the past, this would not be that big a deal. Or so Mello hoped. It was impossible to tell just how much damage each had endured from the tumble.

It took some arguing but the driver finally stopped trying to convince them to seek proper help and just took the impressive sum of money shoved in his general direction, falling immediately silent and driving them to their destination. Outside, the doorman was unsure whether to run for help or simply let them through. A few hushed words made him decide on the latter, although he still seemed uncertain. He would just have to be rewarded for his silence at a later time. When they weren't bleeding all over the goddamned place. Surely the staff would not appreciate the stains and thus, Mello grit his teeth and pressed his arm to his middle, controlling the blood flow even if the move shot sharp jags all the way up through his shoulder.

Once inside the elevator, he leaned back against the mirrored wall, jabbing at the button with a knuckle so that he would not smear blood across the polished surface. The lurch only made him all the more woozy and Mello groaned, pressing his eyes shut. He needed a drink.

“Fuck,” Light hissed, and he was staring at his arm, it was drooling blood pretty impressively, and he leaned against the wall, breathing deep, glancing at Mello, and trying to contain… his laughter.

It couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d planned it. Not that the injuries were welcome—he felt pretty numb, didn’t really know if he was anymore bad off than he seemed, but he was still on two legs despite the blood loss. A little woozy, most likely sustained a concussion of some sort, but otherwise no deep internal pain. Wasn’t sure if Mello had the same luck, he was bleeding pretty bad. But the true beauty was the fact that the new injuries covered the surgery Light had done on himself. Granted he ripped the stitches out while Mello was unconscious in the car. The wounds were so awful by that point, there was really no way around the extra pain. It was possible L might just remove the chip—if it hadn’t be destroyed, and implant him with another, which would make the whole process null and void, but at the very least, Light no longer ran the risk of getting caught tonight insofar as the reprogramming. Would seem fate was on Kira’s side at the moment.

The elevator dumped them onto the sixth floor, but there were still several doors to go passed before they at last reached the right one. It took Mello a couple of tries, but the code was punched in and the door swung open. What a sight they must have made just then as they made it through the door into the dimly lit suite. All the monitors were still on, which was naturally to be expected, and the typical overly sweet scent of a bakery still hung about the air. Food, however good it might be, was the last thing on Mello’s mind just then. In fact, there wasn't a whole lot on his mind at that point. Or rather, there was, but little managed to make sense. What time was it? The storm was passing; rain easing from a steady pelt to a drizzle against the windows. The car was still lying somewhere in the middle of the road. Or, by now, had been towed. Shit. What had been left in there? Matt had thankfully carried most of their equipment off with him, but what of the rest? Shit. He couldn't think. He couldn't remember what had been left behind, what could possibly compromise their position.

All of a sudden there was a supportive surface beneath him. Floor? Chair? He had to stop moving, at least for a short while, yet nevertheless did his damned best to tug off his jacket, wincing in the process. At least nothing had been broken... or so he sincerely hoped.

“Mello, stop moving,” and L’s voice was calm, a zen of calm actually, and there was the sort of concerned support in his strong grip that just brought ease with it naturally.

He was tending to Mello first, since Mello was in obvious need of it more, but he was calling out questions to Light in the process: “Any abdominal pain? Any swelling? Was he cold and clammy? Tachycardic? Did he see any bone protrusions?”

Light was answering a steady stream of no’s. “I’m fine, just dizzy,” and his voice floated above Mello’s head somewhere distant.

“Apply pressure to your arm, Raito-kun,” L was saying, as his hands worked deftly to examine Mello, and Mello recalled hearing Roger say once that L had gotten a medical degree just as a hobby. “Cut off the flow until I can get around to giving you stitches.”

“Do you need any help?” Light was saying, but he sounded tired and drained.

“No, just rest, you may not be aware of any injuries yet so I need you to stay as still as possible. Matt should be here just as soon as he finishes the clean up…”

So the message had gotten through clearly enough. No doubt once Matt had received the call, he'd immediately tracked down the vehicle, which had naturally been implanted with a tracker for use in similar situations. He'd contacted L and gotten right on it. Bless that collected efficiency.

Mello had yet to say a thing, not bothering with an argument seeing as he was in no position to do so. Sweat beaded against his forehead, mixing with the rainwater that still dripped from haphazard strands, seemingly longer under the added weight. He bit his bottom lip as leather and lining was peeled away from the wounds. In retrospect this wasn't the worse he'd ever felt, but goddamn it was it still unpleasant. Now revealed, his arm was a near solid coat of crimson, most of smeared from the deep gashes that cut along its length. Small little shards had remained imbedded where they'd cut into flesh, aggravating the injuries every step of the return back to the hotel. Had he been in any more clearer state of mind, Mello likely would not have chuckled bitterly at the gruesome sight. Eh. What's a few more scars? At least it hadn't been his right hand to suffer the brunt of the damage. He tugged at the zipper of the drenched vest, now constricting as it seemed to hug him a bit too tightly as he breathed heavily, forcing himself remain calm despite his body's need for attention. As predicted, he'd earned himself several bruises and cuts. Nothing that couldn't be fixed. The blood loss was likely to be the main concern. It would not do to go into shock.

“Mello, stop moving.” And L’s voice was stern and forceful now that he had to repeat himself, those strong spidery fingers had completed their swift investigation, and he’d already assessed the damage.

“You have multiple abrasions and contusions; sprained left wrist lacerations to the extremities—and L was saying this as he applied direct pressure to Mello’s abdomen, the blood soaked the white towel red. “—you were lucky. Abdominal injuries seem to be minor, you’re not hypotensive or tachycardic, there doesn’t appear to be any left upper quadrant pain— a fracture at the 8th rib and tenderness in the right upper quadrant however may indicate—“ he checked again, “Possible minor liver laceration…I don’t think that’s likely however. Pain in your upper left shoulder is most likely due to the fact that you’ve strained it badly, thankfully it doesn't appear to be dislocated, and haven’t ruptured your spleen given that the 9th and 10th ribs on your left side are in tact, but I’d rather be sure. Signs of peritoneal perforation and hemorrhage do not usually develop until blood has had a chance to settle in the abdomen—usually about 2 hours after the onset of injury—”

"L," Mello interrupted before any further could be said. "Stop explaining it... later I might care 'bout the details but right now I'd rather swallow a few painkillers have my shoulder back in place." He sounded breathless as he said it, still biting on his bottom lip as if that alone could put an end to the stabbing pain. Now that the majority of his adrenaline had worn off it was making itself a hell of a lot more pronounced.

The door opened at that precise moment and Mello allowed himself to glimpse up through stringy bangs. Matt was the perfect figure of impassive and unreadable calm. Shit, did he look that bad?

"I recovered the equipment and had it scrapped," and the redhead seemed to flinch as he said the latter. Such a beauty like that deserved a better fate. But despite the business relay, he immediately crossed the room, sparing a glimpse at Light. Surprise flashed momentarily across his features, obviously not having expected to find him as beat up as he was. Mello however was another concern. The redhead frowned, which indicated that yes, he looked like shit but still Mello mustered a faint, crooked grin as if the situation held some sort of common humor between them. Hell, they'd been through worse.

Matt’s mask of calm, of course couldn’t live up to L’s at that moment. The detective paused a moment, his brain running through all the medical mumbo-jumbo it contained, like House trapped in a Panda-boy body. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. “I’ll get you the painkillers—Matt, please help him inside to clean the wounds—we can start stitching from there.”

He spoke as he turned his back on them, wiping his hands, and almost as if it were a secret, slipping over to Light, who’d remained rather patient, despite his own condition. L cupped his chin, titling his head back and staring into his eyes. He searched that amber gaze, searched intention and reaction, and motivation—he could have left Mello to die after all, and he hadn’t. There was a moment of affection there in L’s inspection, before he leaned back to look at his arm. “You have a concussion,” he said.

“I know,” Light muttered.

“That’s a very deep gash,” L added; and Light sensed what he hadn’t said. The chip is in that arm…If it had been anyone but Kira, L would have dismissed the thought, but it caught somewhere in the back of his mind, and he filed it away. Instead, his hands fell to Light’s abdomen, checking for tenderness and signs of trauma, but Light seemed okay, responding normally. He was banged up, but otherwise fine.

“Let’s clean the wound and sew it up,” L said, and for a moment, his fingers brushed under Light’s chin again, and this time, it was only affection.

Mello was cursing bitterly under his breath, feeling all the more woozy now that he had felt the movement of bone and sinew all while fully aware of himself and his surroundings. He must have looked as pallid as he felt because Matt wasted little time in helping him up and leading him to the bathroom. The door was left half-opened and Mello ushered down onto a small bench usually stored neatly beside the sink. Matt stripped him down to the waist without further comment, not just yet; taking a moment to note the extent of damage upon already battered flesh. The red rosary hung limply against Mello’s chest, its silver detailing and cross smeared with blood. It was a grisly sight but he could not help but find the irony in it.

"What?" Mello asked him, not up to attempting to decipher the varied looks on his lover's face.

"You look like shit."

Laughter, quiet and pained but it was there nevertheless. Before Mello could respond, however, a washcloth was being applied to the affected areas, cleaning away the blood and thus revealing the extent of the damage. It was not so bad, but between the lacerations and that shoulder, he would be feeling it for a while. Not once did Mello complain, digging his nails into his palm as the only sight that the warm water closely followed by the onslaught of peroxide was offering any discomfort. Glass was picked out with a steady hand and dropped into the sink. "The car was wrecked..." he murmured quietly after a few minutes, casting Mello a sidelong glance, blue eyes dark beneath the fall of bangs. "I'd say your luck has yet to run out." But it would. One day it would catch up with him. Both of them. "What the hell happened?"

"Sideswept," was the only thing Mello could muster just then, cringing as a thicker strand of glass was removed from his bicep. "Fuckin'..." he gasped, peeking down at it. Several cuts overlay old scars, which drew a most particular sensation, something somewhere between numbness and extreme sensitivity. Goddamnit.

It was, however, a large bathroom—or at least spacious, given L’s tastes in luxury suites, so in the midst of Matt plucking glass shards from Mello’s very abused body, L entered with Light in tow. Light seemed disoriented, especially in the room’s brightness, and it was fairly obvious his head was killing him at that moment, so L had him lean against the bathroom counter, and Light was doing what he had been doing in the car prior to the accident, pinching his eyes closed between his fingers. Wordlessly, L opened the cabinet and pulled out the Ibuprofen—coupling the pills in his palm, he handed them to Light, and then passed the entire bottle to Mello. Light took them without water—it actually seemed rather practiced, as though he was accustomed to popping painkillers that way—which probably alluded to the injuries he’d sustained at the Yellowbox Warehouse. But that seemed the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.

L stripped off the remains of a once-designer shirt, and began washing Light’s left arm. Light hissed at the initial contact, but then seemed to settle into the pain, and L washed the wound closely, studying it with a strange sort of intensity. If his inspection made Light uneasy, Light wasn’t showing it. He blinked blearily at his lover. “Is it that bad?” he said at last.

L cleaned it a bit more, and then broke out the needle and thread. He winced for a moment, staring into the surgical kit, but said nothing. “No, just deep. Must have sliced yourself down a piece of metal or something—part of the cut is clean, the rest is like you slid down a cheese grader.”

“Thanks,” Light muttered, back to pressing his eyes closed. “Can you just stitch now, I’d like to lie down.”

“Do you want to take anything?” L asked, needle in hand. He seemed hesitant to stitch if Light wasn’t prepared. Either that, or something else.

“I just did,” and Light was waiving him off. “Just do it already.”

L leaned in, but paused again. “One moment,” and he turned back to the surgical kit, rummaging through it. He came up with a pair of tweezers. “I had a pair of surgical forceps, but they seemed to have escaped,” and without warning, he suddenly dug the tweezers into Light’s arm.

Light wasn’t ready for that. “Goddamnit L!! Are you fucking kidding me!??”

“I’m sorry, Raito-kun,” L said. “But if I don’t take the chip out now, I’ll have to go back in later in case it’s damaged.”

Light glowered at him, and the blood loss had made him pale. “If you take the chip out, you’re just going to have to put it back in regardless, whether it’s there, or somewhere else. Either way, I’m getting sliced up again.”

L just stared at him blankly, and Light’s frown deepened. “Why don’t you check the readings on the laptop and see if it’s damaged, if it’s not, just leave it where it is and sew me back up.”

L’s pause seemed rather poignant. But he relented to Light’s suggestion, handing Light a fresh washcloth to hold against the wound. “I’ll be right back,” he said, “Keep pressure on it.”

Light’s jaw grit and he nodded tersely.

L turned to leave, glancing at Matt and Mello’s progress. Matt was attempting to extract a particularly gruesome piece of debris, and had resorted to using his pocket knife to cut part of it away. L blinked. “I would have given you a scalpel to use,” he said. “But it seems that ran away too.”

He didn’t have to turn around to know Light had gone a whiter shade of pale.

It wasn't until he sat there, attempting to pry the top off the damned bottle with his teeth so that he could down a couple of pain killers that Mello realized that, for the first time, the aggravated extent of his scars lay in full view of someone other than Matt. That self-detonated explosion had done more than afflict that pretty face and shoulder; flames had mercilessly licked their way halfway across his chest and reached down as far as his abdomen, with similar patterns along his back. Left with little choice but to grin and bear it, stifling whatever awkward discomfort he might've felt at the time, he at last pried the bottle open and ingested two painkillers. It was a start. More would be necessary in a few hours time.

Chancing a glimpse at Light, Mello allowed a faint frown. He was clearly in bad shape despite having gotten off a bit luckier than himself. The words surprised him as if it had never been on the plan to speak them at all. "...you all right?" he grit out, choosing the worse possible moment as Matt dug for a deeper set piece of debris. If he didn't know better, Mello would've sworn the redhead was enjoying this a bit too much. But Matt had been his one and only nurse through the worst of times. He did know better but shot him a look nevertheless; a look which was met with deadpan. "I don't want to hear it," was Mello’s quiet, yet surprisingly stern warning which was accepted without any further complaint, silent or otherwise.

Once most of the blood was cleared away and wounds cleaned, Matt lifted his face upwards to clean the more shallow cuts; damp bangs were brushed aside with ever-careful fingers. The touch was appreciated even if it had not been meant as anything more than objective to the task at hand. "You need to stop making a habit out of this..." Matt murmured, obviously still worried about him despite how composed he had been thus far.

"I was reckless," Mello admitted just as quietly. No use in denying the one fact they all knew. He had been reckless, but at least the crash had not been all his fault. No one could have avoided such a side sweep, nor the imminent impact that followed.

"You usually are." Matt’s response was more sympathy than true reprimand, and before any comment could be rendered, he settled that clear blue gaze on Light's slumped form not far away.

"Thanks..." for getting him out of there went without saying. What a delightfully complicated situation they found themselves in. Kira or not, Light had just gotten Mello's ass out of what could have become an even more complicated situation.

It was funny, that Light wasn’t immediately aware Matt was even addressing him. Granted the concussion probably had his brain wrapped in knots, he still looked disoriented, L had said it was a mild concussion, but all concussions affected the brain, more often than not resulting in confusion and moodiness and sometimes adversely affecting memory, judgment, reflexes, speech and balance coordination. Light seemed unsteady on his feet at that moment, but the dazed look on his face was only put there by L’s parting comment, so when Matt asked Light if he was okay, Light didn’t immediately react.

Until he realized the comment was directed at him. Despite his condition, he recovered something of his natural demeanor, but it seemed more a front than anything. “Remind me not to drive with Mello anymore,” he said dryly. But he was ribbing him, and Mello smirked despite himself.

The unexpected “Thanks” for saving his ass remark drew a different reaction altogether—if Light hadn’t expected to be addressed at all, he certainly didn’t expect to be thanked, and he just stared at Mello and Matt, wide-eyed. It took him a moment, and Mello got the sense it was because he had yet to formulate a genuine response, rather than the concussion was fucking with his naturally lightening-fast mind.

“I’d like to say you’d have done the same for me, but that’s not a statement I can declare with any viable certainty, so I suppose you’re welcome.” He muttered, looking like he wanted to hold his head again, but he was too busy applying pressure to his arm.

L came back not moments later and Light’s eyes were closed. “Is the pain worse?” the detective said, tilting Light’s head back to check the dilation of his pupils. Light nodded, but his face was pale for other reasons.

“I’m going to take the chip out,” L spoke smoothly, moving the towel from Light’s wounded arm. “The computer doesn’t seem to indicate any damage, but I want to be sure. You’ll be implanted with a new one as soon as it can be arranged.”

There was no room for argument. Or perhaps if Light had argued, it would have seemed suspicious. He didn’t seem happy in the least, and L dug the chip out, dropping it into a small case he quickly shoved into his pocket. Light’s eyes followed the movement silently, and if he wasn’t already slouched there, looking defeated—the defeat in his slouch would have stood out.

“I’m just gonna go ahead and stitch then,” L said, his tone perhaps a little more gentle than usual—like he’d perceived Kira had a wounded ego to go along with his wounded body. “You might want to brace yourself.”

“Goddamnit, L, just do it already and stop telling me you’re gonna do it!” The grating reprimand in Light’s voice was a little more harsh than he might have intended—or maybe there was some other reason he had to justify it—but L didn’t deserve it at that moment, at least not to Matt and Mello. Could have been the pain talking; but Light turned his head away as if he were angry and maybe the pain was only part of it.

L blinked at him, but proceeded with care nonetheless.

What a terribly fucked up situation indeed. Mello was watching Light quietly, torn between mild amusement and confusion as his reactions flip-flopped just as smoothly. The bastard had just actually picked on him and pitched a minimal fit at L in nearly the same breath. Curious that. But it was not his place to comment and thus, he left it alone, leaning back against the cold wall which drew slight shivers up his back. Matt leaned closer at that point and the blonde didn't quite understand what he was doing until he felt the warm metal of his trusted weapons sliding against his back as they were removed and set on the side of the counter. Shit. He'd actually forgotten all about them, unreal as it might be. Both seemed to have suffered some scuffs - nothing that could not be fixed, but the greatest problem would have been if either had dislodged itself and ended up sprawled across the road. "Again, you were lucky," the redhead commented as if he was reading his mind. "Lost one of the chains, though," he noted as an afterthought, lifting one of the weapons off the counter to inspect the hook from where the chain had broken off. Mello cursed bitterly. That would have to be replaced.

Beside them Light was gritting his teeth against the pain that no doubt threatened to lure him into a more comfortable state of blackness. Mello had to hand it to him, despite the unnecessary sharp retorts, he'd held his own quite well.

"Get me a drink, will you?" the blonde asked of Matt quietly; his partner mustered a chuckle and shook his head. Yet, turned from him all the same, sparing a moment to run damp fingers through blond strands before he strode from the bathroom, leaving them behind in silence only interrupted by faint gasps and hitched breaths. To be expected.

It was hot cocoa the redhead returned with minutes later, handing it to him wordlessly before inspecting Mello's battered arm and once again cleaning away the blood that had seeped through the towel. There would be plenty more to come once L applied the necessary stitches but the loss would likely not even be noticed until Mello attempted to rise from his seat. And he would try, just as he would argue to get back to their own accommodations once he was all patched up. A replacement vehicle would have to be acquired sometime tomorrow. The Ducati would have to sit and gather some dust until he was properly mended.

“I hope you realize I’m not permitting you to leave tonight,” L said to Matt and Mello, however involved he was still tending to Light. And as much as Light seemed to be bristling at him, L was being as gentle as possible. Had Mello snapped at Matt that way, Matt probably would have jabbed him with the needle on purpose…maybe, depending.

“You’re staying in the guest room so I can keep an eye on your condition.”

L was not often the type to come off as threatening in any way—though he had his moments back at Wammy’s when a simple look could send kids running for cover--nevertheless his voice just then claimed full alpha control, and there was no arguing with him. It was the reminder that despite everything, he was L, this investigation was his, and he was in control. Mello supposed that was a reminder Kira needed often, but the comment was directed at Mello. “I’m going to procure some stronger meds for you both—morphine will be ideal once your initial shock wears off and pain sets in more severe. You’re both going to need bedrest for the next few days.”

“No,” and that was Light rather adamantly. “No morphine.” He was already visibly in more pain than he was before—that initial traumatic adrenalin rush wearing off, but that was also his Kira-paranoia at work.

“I understand your concerns, Raito-kun,” L said flatly, “But I’m afraid I’m going to insist on medication this time.”

That ‘this time’ was an interesting zinger. There was some recollection in the air that Light’s previous “doctor” had insisted he be put on psych meds and L had refused. Kira needed a clear head—didn’t look like he had one at the moment without the meds however. Nevertheless, there seemed to be some underlying argument going on between them at the mention of morphine.

“You’re going to have to tie me down and put it in my veins,” Light muttered and L blinked at him.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” and he sounded honest. He also sounded like he was saying ‘I will if I have to.’ “You understand you’re going to be in a lot of pain.”

Light seemed visibly stuck between a rock and a hard place—he obviously wasn’t enjoying the pain, but he seemed more afraid of the morphine…why exactly, was a mystery. But he cleared it up rather nicely with the next agitated statement.

“You fuck with my head enough, the last thing I need is you fucking with my head while I’m on morphine.”

Something dangerous flashed in L’s face—some blend of hurt and anger—real anger. He stared at Light for a moment, whose head pain was making his eyes even narrower and angrier than maybe they were—and the bathroom brightness was obviously bothering him—a lot.

When L suddenly grabbed Light by the face, he did it quickly—surprising everyone—but it was more the grab of a parent about to lecture a spoiled rotten child, than some vindictive threat against Light’s personal well-being. What he spoke, however, had nothing to do with morphine.

“Listen to me,” L said, and his voice grated a bit. “Your tracking chip is most likely damaged, if I let you go out into the field with it, the readings it sends back are going to conflict with the readings of the other tracking chip in the kill switch … do you understand me?”

Light’s eyes had widened. In fact, he looked borderline-horrified and L was trying to press home some meaning that was a lot deeper than damaged tracking devices and whether or not he was going to jam any morphine into Light’s veins.

“It’s a good thing that I take it out now, before anything gets confused. I know you’ll agree with me.”

And Light, for the first time in their presence, was speechless.

Clearly there was a whole lot more going on here than Mello and Matt knew about, but that was alright. There would be a time for questions should they come to matter. But the fact that they were silent, however, did not mean that they were not watching the exchange with a certain amount of interest. Mello in particular was studying each of Light and L’s reactions a bit closer, as if he knew something more than he should have. His head was throbbing, but his memory was not so much afflicted and he clearly remembered the winces of pain Light had slipped out during the earlier part of the ride. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd just saved his ass, or that whatever suspicions he had were too airy to make sense of just then, but he kept his mouth shut, silencing any possible words behind the rim of his mug. His grip was shaky but focusing on that one simple task of misplacing his attention to forcefully make him forget the discomfort - hah, that was putting it lightly - he was in.

The assertive news that they would not be going anywhere that night, however, did not please him but again, there were no complaints.

This whole situation had become far too complicated to follow anymore. If he had a free hand, he'd be holding his head right about now, but his left was for the moment useless and the right busy in making sure that delicious cocoa did not go to waste until he managed to stomach it all.

"Hey-" the quiet word drew his eyes open but a sliver. "You look like shit and likely feel even worse, but stay coherent just a while longer." And with this, Matt raised the mug up, urging him to drink. And as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place between the other two, Matt turned to L. "If you can manage, get fentanyl instead. It's stronger and takes effect in half the time even if the effects don't last as long. But it won't make him sick like the morphine generally does," he nodded in Mello's direction all the while ripping open a new packet of gauze with which to dress Light's arm. Fresh blood seeped through the stitches. What a fucking mess.

L looked like he needed to be far away from Kira at that moment, letting Light’s face go with something of a shove and turning to Mello—he and Matt ironically swapping positions. Matt just seemed to naturally fall into synch with his medic role, and wasn’t even paying attention to the fact that he was suddenly sopping the blood from Light’s arm—Kira’s blood. He applied pressure, dressing the wound like a pro, and it wasn’t until he happened to glance up and catch Light watching him that the reality seemed to kick him in the side. There was a slight pause, maybe on both their parts; but Matt sucked it in and continued what he was doing. Kira was Light and Light had saved Mello—quite inexplicable and vaguely warped—did it mean he had some humanity after all? Or was he just afraid of the consequences had he left Mello there to succumb? Did he actually give a fuck about anyone but himself? Was it possible to believe that about Kira? Had Light Yagami been noble and selfless once? Judging from his father, most likely…it was fucking Shakespearian then wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” Light muttered, barely above a whisper, and he honestly looked like he was about to crumble. Whatever had just happened between him and L had rendered Light quite defenseless, and he had that utterly lost thing going on again. He was a veritable God a few hours ago, and now he was orphaned and alone, looking like he didn’t have a friend in the world. Had to wonder at times like this if he actually missed Amane. Maybe that even explained why he never did kill her. But at the rate this guy slung himself from one extreme to the other, it was no wonder his doctor had recommended drugs.

“Not a problem,” Matt said, constantly shoving off the severe oddity of the entire exchange.

L caught the conclusion of Light’s medical care even with his back turned, attention trained on re-examining Mello’s abdomen. “Go lie down, Raito-kun,” he ordered. And it was an order, like directing a dog, and oddly, Light obeyed faster than they’d ever seen him obey in his entire stay there. It was obvious he just wanted out and away from them, and made Mello and Matt wonder just what his own private reactions would be. The Shinigami would get an eyeful—or was Light still adamant to maintain his composure even around the beast? Did that mean he never broke down? Not even in private? In the 6 years that he was Kira no one on the outside had ever seen him crumble, not until the warehouse—and man did he ever fall hard that day. It was a miracle looking back on it to think that he had survived at all; but that was thanks to L of course. He must have shoved the rest of it out of his mind—moment of wretched weakness—even for Kira’s enemies, it was painful to witness. Mello was sure Near still delighted in it though…and why did that thought anger him?

The oddity returned tenfold as Light was ordered so plainly to rest, not only following the orders but doing so without a moment's complaint or hesitation. Weird. Too goddamned weird. Matt watched him pass, appearing perhaps a bit perplexed at the strong sense of swallowed emotion there, lurking right beneath the surface. No wonder. The guy was a bloody volcano about to burst; every little event only adding to the fire and aiding the eventual catastrophic explosion.

Once the bathroom was left to the three of them, Matt sank down to sit on the edge of the tub, nevertheless ready to jump at attention. He still held the roll of gauze, toying idly with it. Fidgeting. Fuck did he need a cigarette but knew better than to even try his luck in these circumstances.

"I'm sorry this happened..." Mello was telling him, sounding a bit more winded than before and wincing at intervals. "There isn't-" he grit his teeth and made it a point to look anywhere but the area L had chosen to start mending. "There isn't time to waste... I'll get back on in a day's time.." And he would, too, if allowed. God knew how many times Matt had had to drag him away from the screens and back to bed through the last few years.

“No,” L said plainly. “Matt and I will handle things for the next few days. The three of you are my responsibility and this is my investigation. You won’t be of any use injured anyway, so you’re going to do as I say and get the rest you need to recover. Raito-kun made progress tonight, and I will pick up where he is leaving off for now.”

Why did that sound like a dangerous thing? But it didn’t matter, because L was taking no prisoners tonight-as was so obvious from a moment ago with Light.

Mello frowned but offered no resistance. At least for now. Give him a day bedridden and he'd be squirming to get the hell up and do something. For now at least, he could tolerate being dropped on any given flat surface and allowed to shut down for a few hours. If sleep ever did manage to make it through the dull throbbing at his shoulder, or the sharper jabs that threatened to clear his mind if not for the dizzying sensation that followed. The empty mug was set down on the sink. Goddamnit. How did he ever manage to get himself into these situations?

“I think it’s time to get Mello into bed,” L said. Had the circumstances been different, Matt might have had more to say about that scenario. Instead he stooped under Mello’s good arm, and L carefully balanced his bad one, and together they moved him to the guest room all the way across the sprawling sitting room.

Light was in the master bedroom, the door was closed and the lights were out, and there was no sound coming from that direction, so maybe he just crashed the way he obviously needed to. And why Mello even lent the brain power to such a thought was beyond him. But at the moment, he was thinking any thought available just to stay conscious.

That ended the moment he hit the pillow…