He never complained. He never complained when the fists beat his small body, he never cried when the insults were thrown. He never left when the sweet, beautiful voice wished him hurt or death. He broke slowly as the words chipped away at his already breaking heart.

He locked himself in his dark room, white in the stained darkness. He always found him, cursing his existence, his being. Near had learned to deal with the blonde's insistent hate for him, never saying anything. He saw the bruises on Mello's only friend, and he never said a thing. He never complained when his arm broke or he was thrown down the stairs.

He never screamed when the blonde stripped him and raped him. He was nothing, a speck no one would miss. Near had given up on hoping, reaching out a hand for Mello to take, it always ended up broken. Mello never noticed the soul dying inside his small body, bruises hidden by the overly large clothes he wore. Not that Mello ever cared. Never cared. He never cared.

And that is the truth of the world. No one ever cares about you unless you do something for them. That's why Wammy's existed, to make the next L. It wouldn't exist without Watari's need for a new L. And it would shut down when that need was fulfilled. Near knew it, they were all being used. But he didn't care, he was just Mello's broken toy. And Mello hadn't realised how broken he was.

But if the beatings were the only way to get Mello to notice him he'd accept it, because that's the only way. Near wished there was another though as he nursed his body which was more like glass then bone now.

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Another day, another beating, another drop of blood spilled staining the cream carpets that would be cleaned within the hour. No one stopped Mello, because no one cared. No one cared in Wammy's about anyone. They were all broken, creations of the prison that was almost mistaken for a Haven. Mello had learned long ago to defend yourself or die. That that was the rule of the world and Mello lived by that.

The pathetic sheep at his feet coughed up some blood, he'd probably bitten his lip again, and all Mello did was sneer. He ignored the small tinge he felt in the back of his mind akin to guilt, instead admiring the crimson in the white hair. So beautiful… The words he could never voice. Near, just give in. Scream for me… The plea he hated but thought anyway. The emotionless boy looked at Mello slowly, blankly, and smiled gently. Mello bit back a scream of fury and kicked again. So many mistakes, so many regrets, so little thought. It never ceased to amaze Mello how the children just walked past without glancing at them, how the adults avoided the corridor to avoid trouble. It disgusted him.

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The day ended leaving the two boys with wounds, only one person with visible wounds. Near had long since given up cleaning the blood out of his hair at night since it just came back by the morning. Mello watched the child from a distance but never once tried to help. He caused the wounds, felt the sick joy with every crack he heard, but never once did he hear a scream or a plea for him to stop.

Because Mello would have. He would have stopped. Stubborn sheep. Stupid, stubborn sheep. He would have stopped and he would have comforted the child if he had cried. But he didn't. He never cried. He never screamed. He never let Mello into his life. And for that Mello hated him. But at the same time he loved him.

Neither child realised all they had to do was raise their voices and they would get what they want. Mello continued to try to get Near to open up to him and Near continued to allow the beatings for his attention but neither realised the other was shattering. Because neither looked beyond their pain.

Wammy's had broken them, like the jigsaw Near played with.