The Collar

GoodRejects

Description: With the collar, there is a master and there is a pet; it is the way it has always been. But how will the rules change when a foreign pet is introduced to the game?

Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah.

Note: Some of you may recognize this fic (though I highly doubt it), previously named "Unhealed". It is actually mine, from when I was on my old account ArtisticallyInsane. I've switched accounts, and this is going to me my current one, now that I have the motivation and skill to properly pull off a fanfic and plot it well enough that it doesn't fall to pieces in the middle. I hope you all enjoy my first (re)attempt at a YuGiOh-based fanfic.

Information: SetoxJou Rated R for later chapters. Definitely AU, though I may make reference to the original YGO plot. The plot and items used are somewhat based on my current obsession with Robert Jordan and his Wheel of Time series. Read it some time; it's worth it.

And for future reference: kubiwa – collar, aiken – pet dog, shukun – master. I'm not sure about the words (using a translator), so do tell me if I'm wrong.

-o-o-o-

Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
Will I – Rent Soundtrack

-o-o-o-

The soft patter of falling rain didn't manage to mask the small moan that he couldn't help but utter. Instead it seemed to amplify the liquid fire running through his veins, amplify the nauseating pain that left him sagging against a wall to catch his breath. No matter, he mused. The pain would simply slip away as it always did. Within a week, only a dull throbbing in his side would remain, a pain that did nothing but remind him of what he was.

He sneered, calloused fingers grazing against the wound just above his hip. He was getting careless, cocky. How could a man such as himself allow any lowlife to get close enough with something as simple as a knife? He'd escaped fights where his opponents were wielding swords, spears, and sometimes guns if he was unlucky, and escaped with little to no major harm. And yet a small dagger managed to slip through his defenses. Dark brown eyes hardened like frozen soil in the heart of winter. He really was losing his touch.

Growling, he pushed his fingers into the wound, shards of agony shooting through his body. You deserve it, you fucking idiot.

Wiping sodden blond hair from his eyes—had he been in the rain that long?--he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and began the tedious walk to his home.

It wasn't much of a home, really. Rather, it was a make-shift shelter in one of the cleaner alleyways of Domino City. Composed of cardboard, bricks and a blue tarp, it was simple yet effective. As he was always moving from one place to another, it was temporary enough that he could pack up and slip away in an hour, yet sturdy enough to stand the rainy season without problems.

He slowed his steps until he stopped, standing at the entrance of 'his' alleyway. The rain steadily became heavier, but he ignored the beads of water rolling down his face and soaking his body. From nervous habit, a pink tongue covered in a sheen of saliva licked at chapped and swollen lips, tasting blood. His saliva sank into the cracks in his lips, stinging, though it did not compare to the throbbing agony in his side. He would have remained there, standing and staring into space had a black sports car not sped by, rolling into a large puddle on the side of the road sending a wave of dirty water his way. As the disgusting water soaked whatever pieces of clothing that had managed to escape the downpour, he growled. For a moment, something other than cold steel flashed in his eyes.

Absolute fury.

Groping around behind him, his fingers closed around a glass beer bottle. Throwing his arm back, he flung the bottle at the car as it sped away, smirking in satisfaction when he heard the sharp crack of glass connecting with metal. The car came to a screeching halt in the middle of the empty road, swinging around until it had made U-turn. The engine revved before the car slowly approached, coming to a stop on the side of the road.

He sneered openly, crossing his arms as he waited for the driver to leave his vehicle. Maybe he'd be able to slip the butterfly knife in his pocket into the driver's throat and take his fancy sports car for a little spin. He'd pawn it off afterwards, of course. Having money for a meal each day was more important than a silly car, anyway.

When the driver finally opened his door and stepped out, he eyed him with disdain. Another one of those stupid rich kids, he thought darkly, narrowing his eyes. The driver seemed to be having similar thoughts as a smirk slid onto his lips, cold blue eyes staring at him, calculating. Those eyes lingered on his visible scars far too long for his liking.

"What're you gawking at?" he snapped finally, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. Not many people were able to give him that look without injury, the look that clearly said "You're below me."

The man stared at him for another moment before crossing his arms as well. "Looks as if the mutt got into a bit of a fight," the stranger mused out loud.

His blood boiled. How dare he...! "I am not a fucking mutt!" he yelled, reaching into his back pocket for his knife. The man did nothing but smirk at him. "I'll show you who's a mutt, you bastar--"

"No, you're a rabid mutt. Pull that knife out and I'll snap your neck," the stranger said. His tone was so matter-of-fact that he couldn't help but wonder if the man really could hurt him—he doubted he could snap his neck even if he wanted to, however. Instead of waiting to see what he would do, the rich man turned away and walked back to his car. When he didn't follow, he turned and looked over his shoulder, a brow quirked. "Are you coming, or are you going to stand there in the rain like the piece of trash you are?"

Dark eyes widened a fraction, meeting cool blue ones with surprise before narrowing. "What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?" he demanded, a touch of his bravado slipping, replaced with caution. A man who could afford a car like that could feed him for the rest of his life, give him a real roof to sleep under. But if he was scheming something, he could find himself out on the streets again, or even dead.

The silence after his question seemed to stretch on forever, only punctuated by a flash of lightning in the sky and the boom of thunder shortly after.

"I never said you had to," the man said, glancing at him through wet brunet bangs as a smirk once again appeared on his face. He slid into the driver's side of the car. "Do what you want; I'll still sleep at night."

By the time he had his door shut and had turned on the car, the blond was sitting in the passenger seat, buckling himself in. The brunet glanced at him. "I knew even a mutt like you couldn't resist the possibilities," he commented as he put his foot on the gas and drove off.

"My name isn't mutt, you asshole," the blond began, glaring frozen shards of fury at the driver before settling into his seat. "It's Katsuya."

"Fine, Katsuya," the brunet responded, stressing the name as if to make it sound lower than the dirt on the soles of his tailored shoes. Silence settled between them, until Katsuya spoke again.

"I gave you my name, you could at least give me yours." He added a glare after a moment, trying to seem a menacing as he usually was. It was hard to pull off when you were sitting in the passenger seat of a car, buckled in tightly with the doors lock, though. Gaining no response, he rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the scenery that flashed by the passenger window.

"Kaiba."

The car came to a stop at a red light, and Katsuya turned to face the man again. "What?"

"You asked me my name," Kaiba stated simply, staring ahead at the road. Katsuya didn't give any response, instead returning his attention to the passing scenery as the light turned green.

-o-o-o-

Katsuya suppressed a wince as the bandages around his thigh were pulled taunt—when did his leg get hurt? He couldn't remember—a glare shot at the small boy that smiled up at him apologetically. "Sorry about that," he muttered, flashing another grin before lifting up his damp white shirt to inspect his more serious wound.

The kid frowned, reaching into a first aid kit that was on the floor by his knees. Katsuya narrowed his eyes when the boy pulled out a needle and a spool of paper-thin metal. The tools for stitches, no doubt. Blond eyebrows rose in doubt. Could that kid really do something like that? Sure, he'd sewn his own stitches every once in a while, but trusting such a task to someone who didn't look older than ten?

The raven-haired child noticed his incredulous look and offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I know how to use these."

He wasn't kidding, Katsuya mused moments later as he inspected the kid's handiwork. He'd obviously stitched wounds numerous times. That thought made him frown. A kid like him shouldn't know how to do something like that. A kid shouldn't have to learn something like that. Of course, he was like the pot calling the kettle black. He shouldn't know how to slip a dagger between ribs, sliding into the heart and pulling out without getting a drop of blood on the blade. He shouldn't know how to get past most home security systems and steal everything he'd need to eat for a week. He shouldn't--

"What's your name?" the boy piped up suddenly, turning wide gray orbs upwards as he continued to wind a large bandage around his middle. Katsuya shifted his shoulders in a shrug and turned his head away. He couldn't help but catch a glance of the disappointed look on the kid's face and sighed.

"Katsuya," he grumbled after a moment of silence.

The kid grinned. "My name's Kaiba Mokuba. Pleased to meet you!" Mokuba dropped the last of the bandage, letting it roll across the floor towards the door as he held out a hand. A small smile quirked at Katsuya's lips as he gave the kid's hand a shake. With introductions complete, Mokuba resumed wrapping bandages around Katsuya's middle.

Once Mokuba completed his task, he opened his mouth as if to say something, most likely to question Katsuya's presence, but was cut off suddenly, head tilted as if listening. Katsuya listened as well and frowned. Whatever the kid heard, it was too quiet for his sensitive ears to pick up on, which was an oddity within itself. Mokuba stood silently, packing away his tools into the first aid kit before turning and slipping out of the room, leaving a bewildered and slightly cautious Katsuya in his wake.

He could have sworn he saw that man... Kaiba, behind the door before it closed with a resounding click. It was then that he noticed just how empty the room was. Yes, it was decorated with all of the latest decorating fashions, or so he assumed, but it was missing... something.

Laying back on the bed, he cradled his head in his hand and stared at the ceiling. He remained in that position for quite some time before sighing and turning on his side, wincing as his stitches ached from the movement. He may as well sleep while he had a bed under him.

-o-o-o-

"Oniisan," Mokuba murmured, giving Kaiba a bow that was proper for his status, remaining bent until Kaiba responded with his own murmured "Otoutosan," accompanied by a slight bow of his head. With the formalities complete, Mokuba bounded over to the leather couch that Kaiba was occupying, plopping down in the vacant spot to the man's right. He sank into the plush cushions and waited for his elder brother to finish reading the paper he had clasped in his left hand. Dark brown brows were drawn down in a frown, a expression the young Kaiba was accustomed to seeing. His brother was always angry or frustrated, nowadays.

"Well?" Kaiba suddenly demanded, casting his icy blue gaze to his little brother. The boy smiled, unfazed by the chill in his eyes.

"He's strong," Mokuba began, eyes widening. "Incredibly strong. Doesn't look like it at first, but I have a feeling his lean muscle could do the same as some of the strongest aiken in the fighting kennels. He's covered in scars which look like he tried to stitch his own wound." The boy's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Kaiba. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?"

Kaiba merely quirked a brow, letting a secretive smile curl a corner of his mouth before returning his attention to the paper in his hand. He didn't last long under Mokuba's penetrating stare; with a sigh, he lowered the paper."Yes, I plan to make him wear a kubiwa."

"You can't!" Mokuba exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air to accentuate his statement. "The Circle will be furious! The very idea is taboo!"

"Our existence is taboo, otouto," Kaiba replied, crossing his arms and shrugging dismissively. Mokuba glared at him before letting his shoulders droop in defeat, refusing to meet his brother's gaze.

"Besides," Kaiba began, smirking, "training a new aiken is always entertaining."