Current mood:	hungry
Current music:	Fall Out Boy - Homesick at Space Camp
Entry tags:	fandom: death note, kinda sorta au, pairing: mello/matt

Death Note: Similitude
Title: Similitude
Fandom: Death Note
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mello/Matt
Word Count: 3,456
Spoilers: Roughly whole series
Notes: Collab fic between me and miss_verrlone . :D It was fun writing with you! Especially panicking over the deadline, ahaha. Inspired partly by "Happy Endings," written for dn_contest .
Summary: There are so many ways two people can live.




Stories begin with a meeting. Lots of them, sometimes. And in these, there are always three constants.



Mail fucking hated his job.

Sure, he’d gone to college, passed all his classes with moderate ease even though he’d barely scraped by in his sophomore year, although that was due mostly to lack of motivation, not lack of talent. Also, admittedly, a bit of pot. And sure, he had considerable talent with computers and all that, except for the fact that he never majored in computer science, or computer engineering, or even web design, which, in his opinion, was something a retarded, lobotomized monkey with a how-to book could do. No, instead, he had a nice bachelor’s degree in business management, and in the grand scheme of things, that meant that he ended up, in his early twenties and the supposed prime of his youth, being a door-to-door salesman. Who sold eco-friendly light bulbs.

Mail kinda, sorta, really regretted letting his family talk him into a major he had absolutely no interest in. (Even if they paid for his tuition.)

Point was, he spent all of his day driving around in the company car, which smelled like bad cologne and asparagus, knocking on doors and trying to sell light bulbs to a) disgruntled homeowners, b) elderly, crotchety old men, or c) bored housewives; the last one was almost like something out of a straight up porno, except without the porn. Mail’s life kind of sucked like that.

And this asshole, who had answered the door and then proceeded to patronize Mail for the next five minutes, was not helping. Mail had had a bad feeling, especially when he walked up the driveway and saw the pink lawn flamingos spread all across the yard with enough irony to smother all the surrounding plants. Seriously, even the weeds were wilting.

Anyway, blond asshole. Looked like the typical kind of dick who went around driving flashy sports cars, being rude to door-to-door salesmen, and banging half a dozen chicks in one week while feeding them crap like, “Oh, you’re the only one for me,” and—

“Actually, I’m gay,” Blond Asshole said cheerfully (like the right-before-a-psychopath-guts-someone kind of cheerful).

Oh, shit. Mail had said that last part aloud.

Awkward silence ensued. Mail observed the welcome mat, while Blond Asshole twiddled his thumbs.

“So, about those light bulbs—” Mail began again.

Blond Asshole reached immediately for the door and slammed it, but it didn’t make the last few inches to the doorframe.

“Huh,” he said, glaring at the foot Mail had stuck in the gap. He slammed the door a few more times, perhaps hoping to pulverize Mail’s feet, maybe cause a few hairline fractures at the very least.

“Combat boots, motherfucker!” Mail crowed.

Thus began their very unconventional friendship.

~*~

Mail prepared to shoot.

Raising the implement and cocking his gun, he squinted his eyes, adjusted his helmet and BANG.

Mihael let a smirk play on his lips, much to the surprise of his comrades, as he sent bullets flying. Cries of agony could be heard around him as he charged over the top and into No-Man’s land. The blond slaughtered man upon man with wild eyes; his dark pupils darting from side to side eagerly. Mihael wiped the sweat from his forehead, licking his lips hungrily before stumbling ahead, into a run. His bloodied boots slammed against the dirt. His heart pounded rhythmically, in sync with his feet. Two more shots filled the air. Two men fell to their knees; guns crashing to the floor. Mihael snatched them up, loading them with yet more bullets – ignoring the blood smears from those who he just shot.

Mail’s eyes slid over to Mihael. He paused for a second, running his eyes up and down the strange figure, covered in blood, finally resting on his face. He’d heard the other men talk about Mihael, of course, half-reverent and half-disgusted, and he was fascinated. Mihael grinned and started to march toward him, reaching out to pat his shoulder. Mail, surprised, smiled back at him, his carefree and trusting smile that, so far, only Mihael had ever seen. It seemed that Mihael would be the only one to ever see such a smile after that.

Bang, bang.

Two men down.

Every story has to come to an end somewhere.


~*~


Matt seriously needed to work out more, but then again, as the Oldies say, hindsight’s 20/20.

He had thought he’d lost the KIRA agents when he’d ducked into the back alleys in the run-down sector 41, and, grateful, he had slumped against a rancid, rusty recycling unit, trying to catch his breath. But apparently they’d tagged him when the big guy tried to tackle him, and though Matt had easily dodged his clumsy, flailing arms, he’d gotten caught in some sort of weird fucking spray from an unlabeled can another agent held. He’d only heard a little about it, but he could guess what it was for; with the rumors circulating about the government cracking down on illegal underground Techies and Hackers, it was only a matter of time something like this finally appeared. Tracking technology was technically illegal (just like all even slightly sophisticated technology these days), but then again, KIRA, the government, didn’t even play by its own rules.

Matt knew these streets like the back of his hand, but he’d dropped his goggles, and now large cracks spiderwebbed across the lens. Either he could trip his way through these alleys in the dark, unaided, or he could trip his way through these alleys with everything green and blurred by shattered plastic. Both options, in his opinion, sucked.

Wheezing, Matt sped up, trying to distance himself from the heavy footsteps behind him. Seriously, people like him weren’t built for this. Matt pretty much became a Hacker because he didn’t want to scurry around back alleys all day, doing all this running and jumping business. He cursed violently when a bulky shadow stepped out of the side alley in front of him, only just stopping in time to avoid a collision.

“Goddamn useless goggles,” he swore, ripping them off and hurling them at the KIRA agent. His finger accidentally brushed a button on the metal frame.

With a pneumatic hiss, the goggles disappeared in a cloud of tear gas right in the agent’s face.

Cackling gleefully, Matt threw himself around the cornering, grasping the stitch in his side and leaving the yelling behind him. Who said you needed brawn when you had tech? Sparing a quick glance behind him—it was too dark to make anything out, but the shouting was getting more distant—Matt whipped his head back around. Only to barely avoid running headfirst into a wall.

Dead end.

“Motherfuckin’ shit,” he said emphatically.

And now he could hear footsteps, three pairs of feet at least, at the mouth of the alley. They weren’t going very fast, but then again, they didn’t need to. Not unless Matt had SkyGlyder shoes (banned three months ago, to the displeasure of spoiled Teenies everywhere) or could jump about twenty feet in the air to reach the ladder leading to the flat above him, which, right, good luck with that.

He could clearly see the silhouettes of the three KIRA agents advancing confidently towards him. They barely had their weapons drawn (state of the art shock guns, of course), and Matt felt dread creeping up his spine when they got close enough for him to make out their features. Mikami, Takada, and Lidner. Top KIRA agents, faces infamous in the underground. Just what he needed. A bit late on the uptake, Matt realized that Mikami was speaking, voice dry and poised, like he knew they’d already won.

“—to be suspected of illegal possession of technology—including, but not limited to, version 3.2 Fission Chips, custom-made goggles with night vision and weapons, and other assorted class five software labeled as dangerous contrabands—and the unauthorized access of KIRA files.”

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Takada said briskly, advancing with one hand on the cuffs at her waist. Her other hand, Matt noticed, was palming a small metal object, a red dot flashing on its screen. A tracking device, like he thought, and high-tech to boot, when citizens were barely allowed the most obsolete of technology.

The KIRA government was full of contradictions. This was why people like Matt, Techies and Hackers and Programmers, existed.

“Tracking devices in the spray, am I right?” Matt blurted out. Anything to buy himself more time. For what, he had no idea.

Lidner cocked her head. “Nanochips in the aerosol droplets,” she said placidly. “Though right now, that’s the least of your worries.”

“You’re hypocrites, all of you,” Matt said. “Calling yourselves righteous for keeping shit from the public, why? Oh, because ‘they can’t handle’ it. Because they’re too stupid and too human to use such advanced science properly. What do you call what you’re doing, then? What makes you so special—”

“That’s quite enough,” Mikami snapped, stepping up to Matt with Takada. “You are charged with—”

And then a bucket fell on Matt’s head.

More importantly, the goddamn bucket was full of water. Matt had no idea what snot-nosed punk thought it’d be funny, because hell, that water was fucking freezing. Matt yanked the bucket off his head, dripping and spluttering, to see Mikami, Takada, and Lidner’s bemused faces staring at him.

Then the gunshots rang out, and everything dissolved into chaos.

Takada collapsed immediately with a surprised gasp, while Mikami jerked back almost simultaneously. Even in the semi-darkness, Matt could see the bloom of blood in his shoulder, the pain on the man’s face as he instinctively dropped his gun. Then someone was hauling him along by his elbow, pushing him towards the wall, and, hey, that ladder certainly wasn’t that low the last time he checked. Someone must’ve pulled it down.

Matt turned to look at his supposed rescuer, catching a glimpse of blond hair before he was shoved hurriedly towards the ladder. Yeah, okay, it was lower, but it was still pretty high up. Matt jumped. His fingers skimmed the first rung.

“—for god’s sake, fucking useless,” his vulgar knight in shining leather muttered, before giving Matt an unexpected boost that almost slammed his head into the drainpipe. He clambered up, the other man hot on his heels, and, just like that, they were on the roof. Matt peered over the edge of the building, noticing that the ladder had already been pulled up. Lidner was looking up at them with a bored expression on her face. “Oh, darn,” she said, not sounding very disappointed at all. “They got away, Mikami, we need to see to that shoulder.” The man beside Matt gave a cynical snort of laughter.

“Wait, wait,” Matt said hurriedly, “I’m tagged, they can follow me. Nanochips in some kinda spray—”

“What do you think the water was for, dipshit?” Matt didn’t appreciate the condescending tone, but he supposed he did owe this guy one, so he let it slide. “You think people would wise up, make all their shit waterproof, but people don’t ever fucking learn.” And he shot him a gleeful, manic grin that mildly terrified Matt.

He led him down from the rooftop and out of the building, and they ducked through alleys at a dizzying speed until they were at a sector even Matt didn’t recognize.

“Onto business, then. Now, I need a Hacker, and I hear you’re the best.” A pause. “Though honestly, you don’t look like much.”

“Just trying to catch my fucking breath, okay?” Matt retorted. He straightened up and gave this guy a quick once-over. Leather, more leather, jacket even Matt admitted was kind of awesome, and then, his face—oh. “Holy shit, you’re Mello.”

Mello looked smug. “Why, I didn’t know you’ve heard of me—” Sarcastic innocence practically oozed from his voice.

“Cut the bullshit, man, everyone knows you, you’re a fucking legend.” Legend was pretty accurate. Where there’s a tyrannical government, there’s a resistance, and Mello had been making quite a stir in the States, a Programmer who could get his hands on any hardware you wanted for a price, assemble anything lightning fast, and with a handful of inventions under his belt. Matt was kind of awed, admittedly, because—“Everyone I know says you’re the best, after L and Near, holy shit, holy shit.”

Mello cocked an eyebrow halfway through the sentence, and that was when Matt noticed the scar. “The hell’s wrong with your face?” Then, a sudden realization, “And what are you doing in Europe? This is L’s territory.”

“You should be able to figure it out yourself,” Mello said, subdued. “If you’re all you’re cracked up to be.”

And Matt thought of the past few weeks, the sudden government crackdown, harsher than it had been before, the raids and sudden blatancy of government technology use, and it clicked.

“L is dead,” he said, horrified. “I—fuck.”

“Near won’t sit around in Asia forever,” Mello continued, as if Matt had said nothing, “and KIRA’s gonna fucking pay. All that matters is who gets to him first, and whoever it is needs connections in Europe first.”

The unspoken request hung in the air.

Matt thought it over, quiet. Mello didn’t interrupt him. So, here this guy was, practically a fucking myth, that was how good he was, who pretty much just saved Matt’s ass and wanted him to help his little underground Techie revolution. Then again, Matt didn’t know this guy, and going against the government was dangerous—yeah, so he’d been hacking some files, tinkering with illegal technology—but this was full out rebellion.

L is dead.

Matt had never known L, hadn’t been completely sure until now if the guy existed, even, but, like he’d heard of Mello, he’d heard of L, and if Mello was close to a legend, L was a legend. And if KIRA had taken him out, if KIRA was audacious enough to pull the stunts like they had been recently…

“Right, I’m in.”

Mello’s grin was feral, almost shark-like. Matt supposed that was his happy look.


~*~

It was a week after Mello's fifth trip to the emergency room (this time, he'd swallowed one of Near's Lego blocks after he made a tower higher than his) when the adults brought in a small, red-haired boy who went by the name of “Mail.”

“Male?” Mello asked, over-pronouncing the name and sizing the red-head up with a confident grin. “What a fucked up name you’ve got, kid!” The blond laughed, much to the dismay of the adults who’d brought the boy in.

“Mihael! Play nice!” Roger shouted in a gruff voice, glaring down at the child.

Mello’s laughter ceased instantly. He got to his feet abruptly and spat at the old man, “NEVER CALL ME MIHAEL. MY NAME IS MELLO, OLD MAN!” Mello fumed, cheeks red; fancy the old man spitting out his real name like that in front of a newcomer!

Before Roger could reply, Mail began to laugh. To Mello’s horror, Mail was grinning at him like he’d known him all his life. “Hey, Mihael!” Mail said through a smirk, “the name’s Matt. Nice to meet ya.”

Sooner or later Matt was seated with a puzzle on the floor. As soon as the adults had left, Matt pulled a video game from his pocket along with a bar of chocolate. Mello stared at him in shock for a minute before letting the smirk spread over his lips. Matt gave him a bite of his chocolate bar and, from there on out, it was a weird friendship.

But the boys made it work.


~*~


The first time they met, Matt was bored in class and aiming spitballs at

Once, some redheaded punk tried to steal Mihael's wallet; however

My dearest Mikail, Mile wrote, quill scratching across parchment

And fuck, he was so high, and all he could see was blond hair and an angry, contorted face screaming at him

—once there was someone named Mello (MihaelMikailThatGuy)

—once there was someone named Matt (MailMileHeyYou)

And those two things, those were probably the only constants. Except for the inevitable, of course.

A name in a notebook and a hail of bullets, and that was how it ended. Like everyone before them and everyone after, Mello and Matt are dead. The end. The constant, the finale to every story. No matter how they lived (Mello Matt Mihael Mail, KIRA government Kira case unfulfilling job and unfulfilling life war fighting fucking loving hating dead end meetings going nowhere) the ending is always, always the same.

But maybe it’s the journey there that matters. Because as many ways as there are to end a story (old age accident heart attack shrapnel enemy fire government execution), there are even more ways to live a story.

Because somewhere, yeah, their (stories) story ends with death, of course, but the story itself, the story goes like this:

Halle calls Mello. “Then I guess I'm going to have to do it,” he tells her quietly, and, mystified, Halle hangs up.

(And somewhere, his stupid plan works, only it gets him killed, and somewhere else)

Mello does not kidnap Takada; at least, he is not the one to physically do it. Matt is the one who carries it out. Matt, who posed as a bodyguard for the past few weeks (“Like hell you're going to do it, Mello, you're going to get yourself fucking killed—they don't know my face, it’s safer—”). Matt, who shoved Takada into his car under the guise of protecting her as Mello fired the smoke bomb. Matt, who watched Mello drive away on his motorcycle, ducking into alleyways far too narrow for the other cars to chase him. Matt, who peeled out of the parking lot with Takada cuffed in the backseat, bodyguards too afraid to fire should they hit her instead.

They meet at the church in Nagano, alive and unharmed. Takada dies. Mello and Matt do not (yet) (but that’s not the important part). Near has the last piece of the puzzle, and together, they take Kira down.

And after it’s over, all Matt asks is, “What now?”

“I could,” Mello says. Stops. “I,” not “we,” and, feeling sickened and horrified, Matt realizes, slowly, that Mello never meant to make it at all. That he’s surprised to be sitting there, shoulders slumped but steadily rising and falling as he breathes, safe and very much not dead and victorious.

“I could take over as L.”

And no, no, that’s all wrong. Matt can’t see Mello sitting behind a computer all day, can’t see him making it through all of this only to end up silent and unmoving and washed pale in the light of the screen. That’s Near. Mello is alive and vibrant and constantly in motion, except now, now when he’s won, when he should be happy, he’s sitting here instead, still and absolutely, completely drained. Like beating Near was all there was, and now. Well.

“Listen,” Matt says, and something in his voice makes Mello glance over. Matt just hopes he will listen, really listen. "You've beaten Kira. More importantly, you beat Near to it—”

“Tied,” Mello corrects. “Little fucker tied with me.”

“Never could've done it without you, though, and we’re alive, aren’t we? So close enough,” Matt argues stubbornly. “So really, you got what you wanted. And—and you know as well as I do that there’s no way you can just, just sit in front of a computer screen all day like a goddamn vegetable, that’s not you. That’s not Mello being L, that's Mello being a—a—” Shit, of course words have to fail him now, of all times “—a cabbage, or something.” Huh. And he’d been doing so well.

Mello, who had been listening half-heartedly, did a weird twitch. Matt called it a smile. “Cabbage,” he repeats, disbelief in his tone. “Wow. No wonder you failed English comp class, you make the shittiest speeches ever.”

“C’mon,” Matt says, finally standing up. “You don’t want to be L, now that you can be, y’know?” And yeah, that’s true, even if it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. Being L was about winning. About beating Near. About being the best. But it was just a title, nothing without the person behind it, and Mello, now that he had the title, he didn’t need it anymore. He’d be the best, as Mello, titles be damned.

“So... what now?” Matt repeats at last, leaning on his car.

“There are a helluva lot of places we can go from here,” Mello says, and yeah, that’s how all stories go.

~*~

:D We now have a banner! Thank you, moot . ♥





Also, I've officially decided to expand the cyberpunk AU to make it its own 'verse. Eventually.