Nana: Most fandoms have a few fics dealing with HIV/AIDS, and I was craving a DN one. I didn't find one, so I decided to write my own. It's written in second person, which isn't popular, but I wanted to try something new. As I'm sure you all know, I'm not telling you that you have HIV, or that you are doing or thinking or feeling these things. It's a stylistic thing. I tried my best to write about it in a manner befitting the subject. I hope you'll enjoy it.
He Handed Down A Death Sentance
This is not the call you were expecting. You were waiting on one of your minions, hoping they'd completed their task and ready to scream them out if they hadn't. You had completely forgotten about your visit with the doctor. It didn't matter anymore, because you felt fine now. You gave them your blood and you left, not giving it a second thought. You weren't sure why they wanted your blood, you were pretty sure you had the flu, but whatever, they're the professional, you might be smart but that's not your field. Screw it, you didn't even care.
Turns out, you're going to have to care a lot now. You are thanking God you gave your blood, if you hadn't then you'd die much sooner. You are cursing God for letting you come down with this. How could he, when you have believed so devotedly, gone to church every fucking Sunday despite not having a minute to spare for yourself. Okay, you're a mafia boss, okay, you haven't really been the greatest person in the world. Okay, you've killed before. But you believed and you prayed and no one else did, God owes you.
And instead, He handed down a death sentance. Blood infused with HIV.
Now you have no idea what to do with yourself. You are considering putting a bullet through your head. Certainly there is no point in trying to find Kira now. You will die before you do, and leave Near to his glory. The doctor says you shouldn't do anything crazy; you can live a normal (if celibate) life for years before you start feeling sick. But then, you will feel sick. You will feel incredibly sick. You will become useless, an invalid. You will become stupid, demented, inferior to Near.
You are terrified, tainted, and you need someone to blame for this. Obviously the fault lies with another person. This didn't originate in your own blood; your T cells didn't sink into a suicidal depression. They are not cutter kids. You spend hours scanning through your sex life, trying to find the one who sickened you. But there's nothing, you can't remember half these people's names and damn it, there is no revenge for you. You can only blame yourself, for not using protection, for fucking people with no regard for your personal health and no, no, you will pin this one on someone else.
The orphanage, for only preparing you to be L, and not for the life that you will lead. L, for not setting a proper example. No one taught you about protection, you had to learn that for yourself, and you fucked it up. You blame Near, for daring to survive when you will die. Your parents for leaving you on the side of a fucking road. The doctor for finding it, and God, no explanation needed. Everyone except yourself.
The mirror makes you want to kill yourself. Aside from your bad-ass (painful) scar, you look healthy. You look like yourself, like Mihael Keehl, like Mello. But soon you'll turn into somebody else, who you'd probably mock and abuse if that somebody weren't you. And you will be mocked and abused, you will lose everything you've worked so hard to obtain. Near will spit in your eyes as you lay dying.
Worse, he won't. Worse, he will stare at you, uncaring. And then you will die and you won't see L, because he's in heaven and you're headed straight for hell. You will burn for all you've done and you can't take this anymore, you sink to your fucking knees. How could you possibly have HIV?
You're going to have to tell Near. You don't want to tell Near, but if you do you can excuse yourself, pretend that your inferiority is only due to your disease. You dial the phone, fingers trembling, you sink into a chair. "Near!" you bark, sensing a scratchiness in your throat that alarms you. You can't be getting sick already, the doctor promised it'd be years! You tell yourself it's from yelling too much, but you cannot make yourself believe it. You call Near's name again.
"Yes," he says, and it's not even a question. Just a statement, just yes. Fuck, he can't even talk like a normal person. You hate him more now than ever. "What do you want, Mello."
"I have something to tell you," you sniff, voice catching like you're going to cry. You won't, you're not a fucking pussy, you've spent your whole life swearing up and down you'd never cry in front of Near. "You'll probably be overjoyed."
He says nothing, so you ramble on to fill the silence, explain your tragedy without bothering to name it. You tell him why you had no choice but to fuck like crazy, even though you always had a choice. "You have an STD, then," Near states coldly, and then you almost break down sobbing. If this weren't over the phone you'd have pulled your gun on him by now.
"Yes!" you shriek, "yes I have a fucking STD! But you're making it sound like it's nothing, Near, it's not nothing! I am going to fucking die! And it's your fault, if you'd just let me work with you I'd never have gotten involved in all the crap I have, and I'd never have gotten HIV!"
"I was perfectly willing to work with you, Mello. You didn't want to work with me. I am sorry you've received such an unfortunate diagnosis, but it's quite unfair of you to blame me." That's all he says and you want to kill him, all your rage at the wreck of your life has shifted onto him. You want to tear his arms from their sockets and stuff them down his throat.
For a while after that, he's silent, and you're silent too. You want to curse him out, yank the phone out by the cord, fly halfway across the world to wherever the fuck he is and jam a syringe full of tainted blood into his body. But instead you sit there, listening to his even breathing. "I am sorry," he says. "If there's anything I can do, please be sure to inform me."
Suddenly it's just the situation, you're not angry at Near anymore. And you want to be, because now it's you, it's your fault. Because you should have asked questions, turned down the drugs and blowjobs that your minions offered in lieu of cash when they owed you. You could have demanded chocolate! So you're angry with you and not Near. He reached out and did the best he fucking could. Which is almost nothing, but the point is that he tried. He actually cares about the second-place loser who made his life a living hell. Or tried to, but nothing penetrates Near.
You thank him, say there's nothing, really, and hang up the phone. Soon, you will call Matt and tell him. Because Matt will scream with you and cry with you and when you let him go you know he'll do it for you, too. And that if you want him to, he will fly to where you are and be with you, and everything he says will be right. Not like Near.
Not like Near, but you know that they will both hurt when you die.
Nana: And there you have it! This is actually the first fic I've written that involves Mello to any degree. I just thought he'd be one of the more interesting characters to do this to, and also one of the most likely characters to actually contract HIV. I thought Light's reaction was equally intriguing, but I have absolutely no idea where he would have gotten it. So anyway, I hope you liked it, and that you'll leave me a review!