Dropped

The dining hall was abuzz with the gossip. In an enclosed environment, everyone tends to know everything about everyone. Especially about the frontrunners of the pack. The feud between Mello and Near (mostly perpetuated by Mello, though Matt swore Near could be pretty passive aggressive in his own right) was old news.



But tonight, something was obviously up. Matt knew, even before entering the room, that he’d find Mello and Near sitting together. He’d actually heard it a story down, in the library, where he was using one of the computers to do a little extracurricular espionage. (The librarian and Matt operated on a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ basis.)



The surprising thing about it is that it might have been an understatement. Rumours tend to be grossly exaggerated, but here the pair of them are, peering at something written, both picking only sparingly at their food. He gets his own meal before sidling over to join them.



“Is it a cold day in hell?” He learned how to swear from Mello.



Both of them start, guiltily. Mello, much more so than Near, but Matt is watching him so he catches the telltale flicker.



“If you don’t want people prying,” he says lightly, settling down next to Near, “you probably shouldn’t be reading it in public. Whatever it is.”



“It’s nothing,” Mello assures him, hurriedly. Matt snorts.



“I believe,” Near’s voice is calm, “that it would take considerably more than nothing for you to talk to me calmly and willingly, Mello.” He seems to be resigned to giving up the secret, which leads Matt to believe it couldn’t have been that important after all.



...which is obviously exactly what Near wants him to think. So he nabs the paper, tugs it over, and reads the first few sentences, feeling only a little bit of petty triumph at the reluctant frown on Near’s face, and a little bit of annoyance when Mello kicks him under the table.



He practically swallows his tongue, when he reads the word ‘Shinigami.’



“Where did you get this?”



Mello and Near exchange a look that he’s a little frightened to be on the outside of.



“Out of nowhere,” says Mello, cryptically. His eyes are narrowed. “Finish you’re dinner. We’re going back to my room.” It must be a cold day in hell. Mello, Matt, and Near, the three of them, are agreeing.



It’s a struggle to eat. Every bite in Matt’s mouth tastes like sand. He’s starving, and he’s so nervous he thinks he’s going to throw up, and he’s excited and worried and this couldn’t possibly be what he thinks it is.



But seeing Shinigami twice, no, three times in as many days can’t possibly be a coincidence. Especially if Mello and Near are pouring over this book as seriously as it looked like they were. Dinner cannot possibly be over fast enough.



Then, suddenly it is, and he’s walking down the hall with Near and Mello, trying to puzzle out exactly what to tell them.



Mello’s room is a disaster. Matt knew this very well. Near apparently didn’t, and he wrinkles his nose in distaste as he crosses the threshold. Matt expects that Near’s room is probably neat as a pin. He pushes through the detritus coating the floor, and settles down on the edge of Mello’s bed.



Great. Now the two of them are looking at him expectantly. He clears his throat and looks out the window for a moment, then back at Mello, because Near is just too damned unnerving.



“The paper. It’s talking about a note.”



Near only nods. Mello collapses onto his chair, and rocks it back on its two hind legs. Matt refuses to let either of them unnerve him. It helps to remember that he’s older, and that even if they’re smarter, he’s the one with the information in this situation, and thus holds all the cards.



“Can I see it?”



While Near would not have been inclined to oblige this request, Mello procures it immediately from his coat pocket, where it was rolled up. This is why Near wanted to carry the note himself, but Mello insisted.



He remembers that Matt and Mello call each other ‘best friends.’ It occurs to him distantly that this concept is both very foreign, and that he might possibly be slightly jealous. He will have to guard against this feeling if he hopes to proceed with rational actions. He expects this will not be difficult.



Matt is inspecting the book. He is not nearly as thorough as Near was, but he is also two rungs down. Near expects he will have to make allowances.



“I, um, hacked Roger’s files.” When he gets older, Matt will know how to say this without shame. But right now, he’s still breaking the rules, rather than walking through what he’ll come to see as an open door. He’s also lying to Mello, but that won’t ever get easier. “About L’s case. Kira left him a message, and the second Kira left the first Kira a message and they were...” about Shinigami, he doesn’t need to finish.



Near wonders if when this is done, he’ll have enough social currency to recruit Matt’s help in his L watching.



He tucks the thought away to examine later.



“Is this for real?” Matt finally asks, voice low and uncertain, and that’s just the crux of the matter. They all stare at it for a moment. This is a catch twenty two. They cannot act unless it is real, they cannot verify it, and they cannot dismiss it unless it is a fake.



Not one of them ever says ‘let’s take this to Roger.’ That is not how they have been raised. That is not who they are. That is not what L would do.



Near fiddles with his hair. Matt adjusts his goggles. Mello lunges.



Of course it had to be Mello that would act. He snatches the notebook, as though Matt would make a show of protesting, and a pen off the desk, flips it open and scribbles the name in it that they’ve all been thinking since they found something that could kill people this way.



“Kira,” Mello snarls. Matt realizes in a sudden rush, and Near puts together slowly and deliberately, that any of them would probably kill for L. They both also see that this is a flawed experiment. Before they can speak, someone else says it for them.



“That won’t work.”



A deep, unfamiliar, female voice comes from directly behind them. Near’s fingers clench, Matt pulls his goggles off, eyes wide, and Mello makes a short sound. The monster is between them and the door, and within three seconds they all have calculated that it’s impossible.



Trust Mello to glare, and cross his arms over his chest petulantly.



“Worth a try.”



She- it’s a she, Matt decides- she laughs, like gravel, and blood seems to drip from her mouth and down her chin. Her legs of made of wood, like trees, bark studded. Her body is made of glass, he can see crystal organs inside her. Her arms are rotting flesh, her face is metal, like a collage with a tin man except not cheap face paint, real metal, real metal, with bloody lips and eyes. She has black feathered wings stretched out behind her, and they have maggots squirming through the feathers. Matt thinks he might be sick, or scream.



Mello swallows, loudly, but manages to speak.



“So you’re a fucking shinigami, huh?”



And a quiet one. Her nod is his only answer.



“Shit.”