Okay… so here is part 3! Hope the ending isn't too disappointing or short… I did my best !

Thanks to all reviewers and, also, thanks to those who've favourited and alerted this… but for you, please review now! It's the last chapter after all. Please??

This chapter still has Mello's bad, bad language (somebody get him a dictionary) and some violence in it too… You've been warned. XD!

Enjoy!

Hide the bruises, take the blame

Part 3

It was an ordinary place. Better than his, really. A quiet and generally clean neighbourhood, a strict, straight, nice, pleasant sight. A white house with a painfully green lawn and flowering bushes among so many others, all looking the same. It wasn't such a big house, but according to the three mailboxes at the white fence it was divided into at least three apartments.

It was early morning and Mello stood in the shadow of a gigantic oak tree, that was positioned in the front of the house next to the one he was headed for. Not much people was around, only a lady walking her dog and a couple giggling and holding hands across the street.

Idyllic, to not say the least. Fucking scary place.

Three apartments? How the hell was he supposed to know in which one to find Matt? Even worse; was this really the place?

Matt hadn't been that easy to understand, mumbling and gasping, and maybe he had gotten the number wrong? Or even the street?

Whatever. Mello hated all those fucking doubts that had somehow sneaked into his head lately; he used to be very sure of things. He had, after all, walked all this way - in those damn heavy boots- so he couldn't turn back now. He just had to use his brains, it wasn't that hard. He was smart. He was incredibly smart.

Though it was possible that his worries already had, or would, slow his mind.

Matt was sound asleep. He was dreaming.

Even in his dreams, he felt the pain.

A blonde boy dressed all in black sat at Matt's bed - he unconsciously knew it was his bed, though he didn't even recognise the room- in the room they shared, and Matt stood up, leaning against the door. The boy, who was approximately the age of fifteen just like Matt, was eating chocolate with what seemed to be unnecessary force, bit into it so hard Matt could hear his teeth clasp together. Matt himself was playing, he knew it only because he could hear the music and the beeps from the game, but his hands were empty.

He didn't move his fingers.

The blonde boy smiled widely, which on his face looked sort of terrifying.

"Why are you friends with me, Matt?" he asked, doing it in a manner that made it seem like they were in the middle of the conversation- Matt had missed the beginning. "C'mon, give the reasons!"

It almost sounded a little whiny, and it was so not like Mello, that Matt had to watch his empty hands with sudden interest to not burst into laughter.

"Hey, what're you waiting for?!"

Oops. Now he sounded angry. No good.

Matt shook his head. Even in his dream, the movement hurt. He was painfully aware of this being a dream, it was weird, really.

"I can't tell you," he answered, knowing it was a terribly goofy grin that was covering his face.

"You ass!" the blonde snarled. "Why not?"

"The same reason you cannot count the stars."

Matt the younger was obviously extremely satisfied with that reply, while Matt the elder, somewhere in there, frowned at it. Was this some horribly embarrassing episode from his childhood?

Looked like it, and that sucked.

"And why not?!" the blonde demanded to know, all golden fury. "What the fuck does that mean?! Matt, you're such a sissy!"

His eyes was blue as the ocean, reflecting a cloud free sky - god, was he poetic when in pain- and little Matt looked right into them and said, proudly:

"Because they're too many," and big Matt just wanted to kick his own ass or hide behind something for that fucking corny line.

"Fuck, you're so gay!" the boy stated, and Matt the elder agreed, but still he noticed that the blonde did look happy.

And then… the room was gone. There was nothing, or at least nothing concrete.

"Do you love me, Matt?"

It was the boy. No, the boy all grown up, his voice echoing throughout that nothingness.

"Of course I do."

Matt, but another Matt, somewhere else.

"If you left me, I would have to kill us both."

A new voice, the last one. Matt felt shivers making their way down his spine. Why he didn't know: it wasn't like the tone wasn't friendly.

"I will break you down a hundred times over."

"I'm sorry, Mel," he told the blonde boy, now quite confused whether he was dreaming or not.

One of the apartments on the second floor had the curtains covering the windows. Mello had circled the house a few times by now, feeling like an idiot, and looking rather conspicuous, and that was the only fucking thing he'd been able to see that seemed weird.

So, was that the place? But hey, fuck, wasn't that too obvious? Or was he just overdoing it?

Why the hell would they close the curtains if they weren't hiding something? But why would that fucker need to hide anything? Matt appeared to be obeying anyway, and besides, it was the second floor. No one could see in… If it wasn't from the other, similar houses at its sides.

Was that it? It made most sense. Hell, Matt had sounded pretty, okay, very, hurt. Was it to hide him?

Well, it could just be somebody working night or something, but that didn't explain why all the curtains were closed, not just the ones to the bedroom. It could, however, be the other flats too. It was dangerous to assume too much, it could make him blind to possibilities.

Fuck, he had to start somewhere. As usual this times, he was thinking way too much, he needed to act. He really didn't want to begin imitating Near.

Mello decided to just step in. He wasn't that well behaved. He was armed; a gun down the front of his pants, he let his fingers run across it.

He was lucky, cause the door was open, due to the heat. The hall was empty and the lights lit the moment he entered. Matt had forbid him to call him up, so that was not an option.

Carefully, he tried the only door on the first floor. It was locked. This was probably an idiotic way to go at things, but he had to reach Matt as soon as possible, his fears were all killing him. Mello cursed the fucker and his fucking weird ideas of boyfriends and that fucking asshole to cocksucker to boyfriend, last but not least, while he climbed the stairs trying to think the steps into shutting up. They didn't.

At the second floor, the light didn't function. It was broad daylight outside, so it didn't really matter. There, there were two doors: two anonymous, grey, boring doors telling nothing of the people behind them. Matt hadn't mentioned his freaky, creepy boyfriend's name, and Mello hadn't bothered to read them at the mailboxes, so hell, was he clueless.

Mello pressed his ear against one door, and felt more stupid than ever.

This was just… this was just… This shit was so silly it was an inch from being funny, but it was also so goddamn serious and nasty enough to stop him from laughing.

He couldn't hear anything. He tried the other apartment, too: this was the one with the curtains. Not a sound. It was an unnatural silence, like someone had died here, like something was rotten here, like this place was haunted and cursed and damned.

He had just finished thinking so when the music began. It came from the other apartment and was loud enough to make him jump.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, louder than he had meant to.

Okay, it wasn't that quiet or haunted or cursed or damned. And somebody was actually fucking listening to Britney Spears. If that was Matt's boyfriend, he sure as hell was even more wicked than Mello had thought.

Really, it wasn't that bad. Getting torn apart, that is. It wasn't like you didn't get used to it.

His limps were quite pleased with not being completely attached to his body by now. And blood really didn't taste that unappetizing.

Look on the bright side, right? Hey, nobody could say Matt wasn't optimistic. There were all this good things after all, so many he could make a list:

He was breathing.

He wasn't there.

At least he hadn't gotten raped.

At least he could still use the from time to time malfunctioning brain of his.

At least Mello was coming.

And Mello was extremely blonde, so he might be able to help chase the darkness away. Mello always had a gun, too -poor bastard compensating for something, fuck that gun was huge- so if Matt was nice, maybe he could talk him into putting a bullet between his tear filled, hurting eyes. End the suffering or something. It wasn't that he was suicidal, he was just a little bit sleepy, and Mello owed him for taking so damn long.

But wait… if Mello came and he was here, then what the fuck would happen? He knew about Mello, in some weird way- what was he, a stalker? And the night Matt met him, had he planned that? Was it not a coincidence?

All those questions made his head hurt.

Matt recalled hearing him leave, but he had no idea whatsoever how long ago that was. So yes, Mello had his gun. But this was uncharted territory to him, he didn't know the fucking place. That would however only be a problem if Mello ever gotten here; Matt's instructions might have been, just a little, imprecise.

Fuck didn't it suck to not have the ability to take care of one self; how did all the fairytale females pull that off?

Matt rested his bloodstained cheek in his bloodstained palm and tried by mere will force to get the darkness to return. It was pointless. He couldn't even get unconscious when he wanted to.

Did he really want Mello to come?

Someone was coming up the stairs. Mello moved away from the doors and tried his best to look innocent, which was kind of hard since he had no excuse at all for being here.

He got his cell out and flipped it open, started watching the display- the picture being that of a half melted chocolate bar - with sudden interest. Could this be Matt's? And even if it wasn't, hell did Mello stand out, with the contrast blonde hair to almost entirely black clothes.

But the person passed him by without even sparing him a second glance. The only feature Mello caught a glimpse of was long, black hair; he didn't see enough to decide the sex of the person or anything.

Was this indistinct shadow the one hurting somebody he loved?

The door that didn't hide the scary fucking place where they played Britney Spears opened and closed and just like that the person was gone. Mello felt sort of stupid; he should have stopped the one, whoever it was. Should have asked something, at least.

Britney Spears sang 'oops, I did it again' as Mello took a few hesitant steps towards the door that had just been closed.

Smacking his inner coward, he then went right over and firmly pulled it open. He did so not feel like knocking.

BAM! And his world exploded in pain and bewilderment, exploded and imploded, an alarm set off in his head and the fucking ringing was making him deaf. He stuttered backwards, trying and failing miserably to keep track of his surroundings, where the fuck was the stairs, he didn't want to fall down some fucking stairs!

From a distant he could hear somebody groaning- himself, he guessed. He felt it, the hot blood making its way down his face, into his eyes, and fuck, he needed his gun right now, what the hell had just happened?

He reached for it but before he was able to grab it his feet left ground, he was yanked forward, it was like falling or more like flying, somebody was actually carrying him inside, arms like an iron belt around his waist, he hit the doorframe so hard it made him struggle for breath. Then, the slam of the door as it was shut behind him.

Seemed like he had found what he was looking for.

Mello blinked. He could see clearer now. A person- a man, so much he had felt- was stepping around him, since Mello lay stretched out on the floor he could only see the feet moving.

They were in the hall of the apartment and that sucker had dropped him here, along with a dark glass bottle which was probably the object that had caused his bleeding. A bottle?

And Mello was still standing? 'Way to go, jackass.'

"Mel," the man said, he sounded amused, as if he was on the brink of bursting out laughing.

Mello let his fingers wander of to find his gun, trying to not make it too obvious, trying to not make it too slow.

It wasn't there.

"Fuck," Mello hissed.

At the exact same moment, a foot was driven into his ribs with such force that he for some extended seconds was stopped from breathing.

"No gun, Blondie," the man said.

This had to be Matt's, it would make absolutely no sense otherwise.

Mello, who had only planned on hurting him a little, now decided that the fucking pest had got to die. Seriously.

"Why aren't you reacting… Blondie?"

Okay, that was it. Nobody called him that, and least of all two times in a row, and lived.

"Fuck you," Mello panted.

He grabbed one of the man's heals and pulled with newfound strength. The man let out a surprised cry and fell, waving his arms around in panic, nothing but confusion in the face Mello saw while crawling back up. He hit the floor with a thud and another cry, this one of pain.

Mello got to his feet, but he wasn't fast enough; the other man was already halfway up, hell was he quick.

The blonde literally threw himself at him, causing them both to once again fall down, in a mess of arms and legs and screams and curses. The other one was strong, yes, actually really strong, but Mello was pissed and he was the one on top.

He hit him, once, twice, left hand, right hand, with clenched fist and in that fucking ugly face, feeling the blood against his fingers when the skin cracked, and…

Without really knowing how it happened, Mello suddenly found himself have lost the upper hand; lying at the floor on his back, the man's breath and body heat somewhere above him, hands around his neck, knee into his chest, over again pressing every last shred of air out of him.

"Don't you dare try to take him from me, Mel!" the black haired man screamed, all madness and rage now, Mello felt the saliva hitting his forehead.

He tried to shake him off, rolling back and forth, wheezing.

"You are so stupid." The man sounded calmer now, and Mello knew why.

His sight was flickering like a dying candle, his eyes were fighting against him to get closed.

No, fuck if he was this weak. Mello thought of Matt, Matt who left him, Matt who called when he needed his help. He had no fucking intention of dying for that son of a goddamn slutty bitch. Mello forced himself back to consciousness, just because of that, because he was stubborn and childish and had had enough always being number two to Near; fuck them all, he didn't want to die for anybody.

He pushed an elbow up, didn't hit anything it seemed, but it made the man loosen his grip just a bit.

Air, it made him gasp, almost made him dizzy when it came flooding back. Mello tried to use this little opening to push the other one off of him, but he was stuck, the man's legs holding him down. Instead he jerked his head up, didn't have time to aim or anything, only to get lucky; he hit the man anyway, forehead against chin. The black haired man was sent flying this time, right into a wall Mello hadn't noticed being so close.

The blonde was on his feet and very, very eager to ending this when a voice stopped him.

"Mello?"

Matt. It came from another room, reached this one barely higher than a whisper.

Fuck that damsel in distress.

He would have to wait.

"Mello, help!"

Matt didn't sound all too well, his voice so tormented it was hardly recognisable. Mello abandoned his logical thoughts, knowing at the back of his mind that he should deal with this fucker first, but without being able to stop himself.

He staggered through a door, entered something that looked like a living room, shadow filled; the curtains were down all right. Through the living room, and there was a opened door, and through that door…

"Oh my god," Mello said, automatically gripping the rosary that hang from his neck.

Matt lay on the floor, on his stomach, with his head turned to the entrance. His face were that of a dead, so white, the eyes so lifeless. The red hair and the red blood staining him was the most visible colour, it shone, nearly sparkled through the shadows, while his clothes were dark and those eyes were dark and that face was oh so pale. Hadn't it been for the red, he might as well have been in black and white.

"Mello…" Hoarse, low voice, it broke in the middle of his name.

"Fucking shit, Matt!" was all Mello could think of to say. "Hell, I didn't know it was this damn bad… you really do look like shit, huh?… oh fuck."

"Mels…" Matt mumbled, lifting his head an inch. "Be… hind you…"

The sensation of cold steal getting pressed against his neck: Mello froze.

"I would not hesitate to fire this gun," the one behind him explained, in a plain, nearly bored tone. "Be nice."

That's what you got for playing hero. Shit.

Though Mello did assume he was bluffing. Someone was home in the apartment next door, after all, and even if their struggle hadn't been heard - which it might as well have, or they should thank Britney Spears- a gunshot would be. It was only rational to not take the threat seriously; the man would probably wait in the longest before he pulled the trigger, it was a last resort. It wasn't that Mello blamed him being capable of doing it- yes, he would, but it just wasn't very clever.

Or this guy wasn't at all reasonable and he could get shot at this moment.

Mello decided to take a gamble.

He ducked and threw himself backwards, into the man's chest, and BANG, he was almost deaf again, the fucker had actually fired the gun, and hey, was he hit? But no, he seemed fine, and as they both stumbled into the doorframe, a couple dancing an unheard of dance, Mello saw the gun flying out of the man's hand, a glimpse of steal.

Matt had better not gotten hit by that bullet.

'This is good,' Mello thought, before an arm was around his neck and violently forced his breathing to a stop.

"I've had it with you now, Blondie," the man said, breathlessly.

Mello's lungs burned and he turned in the hard grasp, fighting for the fucking air that gave the impression of hating him this day, gaining some at least. He tried to kick, to crush the other's balls or stamp on his feet or whatever; the only thing he hit was the wall.

Blackness was spreading from the corners of his eyes now, no oxygen to keep his lungs satisfied, and what was it with that asshole and Mello's throat? Mello gagged, losing his balance and falling down to his knees.

It really couldn't, wouldn't end this way.

"Don't…"

Mello more felt and heard than actually saw the movement, somewhere over his head. Once again the black haired man eased his grip, this time with a startled gasp.

Mello's visibility returned along with his ability to breath.

"P-please… don't…" A weak, pained whispering.

Since he looked like quite the wreck, Mello had no idea how he had done it, but Matt stood up, trembling. He held his one arm over Mello's head and the blonde was smart enough to understand what it was he was pointing at the black haired man.

Mello made a move to try to get loose, and as a response the man suddenly had his hand, not his arm, around his throat instead.

"I'll kill him," the man said, more a plea than a threat. "We don't… we can be happy…"

'He aint gonna do it,' Mello thought. 'He aint gonna do it and that bastard knows it.'

"Please…"

This time it wasn't an illusion: Matt cried. And he didn't care to hide his tears when he pulled the trigger and blew his boyfriend's brains out.

It was really kind of blurry from that moment on. Mello knew he grabbed his gun from Matt, and he knew he wiped the contents from the man's head off of him, and that Matt apologised for it staining him. He remembered saying it was okay. He knew he carried Matt away from there, on the look out for the police that was likely to be on their way, all the while Matt was sobbing and holding on to him with those messed up fingers, as hard as he could manage.

He lightly recalled meeting people, and that they stared.

But apart from that? Nothing much.

"What're we… gonna do now, Mel?"

Matt's sentence was interrupted in the middle by a yawn. He looked sleepy too, but that was how he was nowadays.

It was one week later and he was still recommended to stay in his bed. Mello had gotten him a doctor that didn't really work official: mob contacts. Useful, if something.

They were at a hotel room, in another city, as far away as Hal Lidner had been willing to drive them. She made them swear not to tell Near, and she had begged Mello to get another driver the next time, or at least to not call her number unless it was absolutely necessary. However, she had been the one who agreed to drive them the quickest.

They were all over the news back there, and she said it was distracting.

Lame excuse. Mello had seen her looks when he'd been in her bathroom.

Matt's question… right. Mello took a bite of his chocolate bar, felt it melting in his mouth. He wanted to ask Matt if he regretted what he had done.

"I don't know," the blonde replied instead, after a tired silence. "All I do know is that now, we're at least partners in crime."

Okay… hope you liked it!! It felt, well, weird to end this… I don't know. It's not that good. I suck at writing fights at least, I'm sorry!

Again, please review (if you have gotten this far, you have to XD)!!

(I just had to have the Hal-part to prove how gay Mello is! He he… XD)