Day 56: Wicker Street (morning)
It was a serious decision he faced, and, since he couldn't talk to Matt privately, Mello spent most of the bus ride in sullen contemplation of it: would his dignity suffer more from eating inferior chocolate, or from having to go to a toy store to buy the decent stuff
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He turned to the right, unable to meet Mello's eyes right that moment. It was so strange, that a situation like this, which would normally push friends and allies closer together, strengthen their relationship, just made Matt want to run in the opposite direction.
For a moment, he actually considered it. He turned his head and looked past the parked bus, on down the street, at the snow-covered trees that descended into whited out woods. He held his breath, wondering what would happen; would everyone chase after him? Would they try to catch him and bring him back? Or would they just let him run off, having had their fun with him?
The experiment was over. It was done with. Couldn't he go home now?
And then he turned his head back and stared at Mello a moment, the serious contemplation shining through his once perfectly blank expression. Then it turned to disappointment, and he just... let it show right on his face.
It didn't really matter anymore. Landel and Aguilar were determined to make him as transparent as possible, and there didn't seem to be much he could do about it. All it took were some drugs and some straps, and he was their toy to abuse and break and put back together as much as they liked.
He swallowed hard as he looked away from Mello, down at the ground. This wouldn't be easy. "They did change me." His voice was quiet, but he didn't quite care who overheard. They'd all find out sooner or later anyway. "They didn't change who I am, but they did change what I am." A hesitation. "I'm... I'm dead."
The words felt like a brick smashing into his chest, and it just made it harder to breathe. The cold air already hurt his sore lungs, but hearing himself utter those words... And knowing they were true...
It hurt worse than anything else ever had. It hurt worse than when he'd died.
Either time.
But he needed to deal. It wasn't going away any time soon. And Mello was right; he needed to know.
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He was sure he could follow the train of Matt's thought, as he watched the brunet turn away from him and look out towards the forest. That idea, too, had occurred to Mello, and he looked back on it with something he wouldn't admit was embarrassment. To have thought he could hide himself away in the town, where they had no allies and no hope of them, and sneak past the boundaries of the boomerang effect. He didn't need to hear the chatter in his mind telling him that there was no 'far enough'; he was refuting it already. There is. There is a way to cross that line, and I'll find it, and I'll take Matt with me, goddamn it.
He was used to Matt schooling his expression to blankness, knew he hardly needed the goggles anymore to hide what he was feeling, and seeing the play of emotions written so clearly on his face was startling, disconcerting.
"I know you are." Mello could barely hear the words he spoke himself. He knew Matt heard them regardless.
"It's my fault. You don't have to tell me for me to know." Somehow, it wasn't hard to admit. Maybe Mello had heard the accusation enough, silently, that it had lost its sting. Maybe time had blunted the sharp edges; he didn't know. There was a certain amount of liberation, even, in taking responsibility, out loud, for something he knew fucking well he'd caused. The fact that Matt said it now, and so flatly, hinted at what they might have done to him, but didn't shed any real light on it. Some reminder of his mortality, of the fact he had no home to go to.
The bastards weren't counting on Mello, were they?
"Matt." Using the alias meant he was more serious than using the nickname, another thing Mello had no doubt of Matt being able to translate. "Tell me."
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"I just did. I'm--"
For some reason, he couldn't say it again. It had hurt too much, felt way too weird, to let those words leave his mouth just seconds before, so he just left it alone for the time being as something else caught his attention. "Are you really making this about you?"
It's my fault. Man was he tired of hearing that from Mello! He shook his head in disbelief. "They killed me last night--" There it went again. Somehow it was easier to say when phrasing it like that - like he had nothing to do with it. Detaching himself from it in a way, by putting the full blame on the midnight goons with scalpels and syringes. Like it wasn't his fault.
Didn't change the what he was now. A literal dead man walking.
He was frustrated, getting more and more frustrated by the second. Finally, he just thought Screw it. Just spill, he told himself. You can't do anything about it now, just get it out there so you can shut the hell up about it and move on. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't have a pulse. I can't feel the cold. I'm dead." Matt swallowed. "I'm really dead now."
Maybe sometime soon he'd manage to find some actual humor in the situation. It would sure help, he knew; at least, it always seemed to help before.
Right now, though, wasn't the time. They needed to get this out in the open, and get past it.
Good to know I can still be rational, Matt thought. It seems like Mello's right; they can change what I am but not who I am. Guess I'm too original for that.
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Now that he had them, they were swirling in his mind, the implications, what the point of this could have been, all tangling up with the continued static of the bugs and their accusations, you did this, as surely as if you pointed the gun yourself, and Mello made a frustrated sound, partway to a growl, and grabbed for Matt's hand to see for himself, to face it head-on, as he would always have done before this damn place screwed both of them up.
Matt's skin was cool to the touch, and when Mello set his fingers against his wrist, trying to feel the pulse, there was nothing at all, no throb of life, no warmth. He'd regained enough control that his face was blank instead of horrified.
He'd been half right, then: those fucking butchers had used the physical to reinforce the mental. To drive home to Matt that his body was lifeless, to make him feel it, never to be forgotten.
"It's a trick," he said, low but no less vehemently for it. "It's imposed on you. They want us to give up hope. They want you to think there's no way out. It's a lie." He had to believe it was, as much as he had to believe that if he got home--when he got home--the damn running commentary would stop, and he'd be able to do what he had to, and feel as certain of it as he ought to.
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His blank expression was like a slap to the face, especially coupled with the words that came out of the blond's mouth right after; uncomfortable, Matt's jaw tensed and he tried to pull the crappy jacket tighter around him, as tight as he could get it. He wanted to be covered, to avoid any and all close physical contact. It was the only way he could keep this under wraps for very long. Obviously there was no keeping it quiet forever, but he hoped it would stay a secret at least until he figured out what to do about it - or if anything at all could be done.
"Damn right they want me to give up hope," Matt shot back. "But it's not a lie." He pushed past Mello, walking aimlessly down the street. He didn't know the first thing to do to fix this, and it was frustrating, being so unsure and walking around into so many unknowns. He was used to having the answers.
There were no answers in this pathetic town.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of the crummy jacket and stopped, turning back to Mello. "Lots of things lie. People lie. But this? My body? It's not lying, Mello."
His voice came out sounding hollow, but that was just his imagination.
Right?
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"They could give you any number of drugs to push you towards believing what you don't want to. It's all in your mind, Matty, and trust me, I know how irresistible the things you don't want to think about can be."
Was this giving too much away? Maybe. Mello didn't care right now. He knew damn well it was like picking at a scab, your mind circling back to the places that hurt to touch, but you had to, to see how deep the damage went, to see how much you could take. After that accusation, he wasn't going to voice it, but it was in his mind that by fucking with Matt this particular way, they'd also fucked with Mello, two for the price of one.
"It doesn't matter what it is. You still have to fight it." Mello had to believe that, had to live by it. If he gave in to what they'd done to him? There'd be no hope at all, and he knew that was what they wanted. An army, maybe or maybe not, but demoralized masses, ready to grasp at any straw that helped them believe again, yes. he wasn't going to fall for it, and he'd be damned if he let Matt.
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"This isn't in my mind!" he murmured harshly, the words snapping out angrily but quietly as he leaned closer to Mello, one hand back in his pocket, the other at his side. "This isn't going away! I know just as much about human anatomy and organic chemistry as you do, genius! And there just isn't anything they could have planted in my head to make both you and me think that I was cold to the touch, or numb to environmental changes, or without a pulse for God's sake!"
A low blow, sure, but Matt was sick and tired of playing nice.
"Mello, there's no..." He trailed off, unsure for a moment of what his closest ally's reaction to his next statement would be. No doubt he'd be pissed just to hear the words. "There's no fighting this. I'm done." He'd continue to help with the cause, but Matt had finally hit rock bottom. He'd started off having very little faith in whatever system of anarchy they'd worked to establish, but there was none left after the events of the night before.
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Not now.
"So what, then? You're fucking giving up without even trying to fight?" He stepped closer again, and oh, he wanted to hit Matt, to literally slap some sense into him, but he couldn't bring himself to lash out when Matt looked so defeated already.
"Listen to me. I have these goddamn bugs telling me that's exactly what I should do, all the time." That was telling too much, he thought, even as he realized Matt had probably deduced most of it already. "But fuck that. We're not through until we're really dead. However they did this to you, it doesn't matter. It can be undone."
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