a/n: hello I am trash reborn here to try and make up for all my past awful thiefshipping fics. Get ready y'all this is an emotional one. yes, the title is based on hold onto me by mayday parade, because not only am I ygo(tas) trash, I am also pop punk garbage.

Chapter summary: Ames parentem, si aequus est: sí aliter, feras.- Love your father, if he is just; if he is otherwise, bear with him. (Syrus- Sententiae, 22)

A bottle flew past Ishizu's head, brushing past some of her long hair, causing her to yipe in surprise. It smashed against the wall behind her.

"Father, please..." She said calmly. The arm she was using to shield her younger brother, Marik, betrayed her calm demeanor. Marik wanted to lurch over her arm and tackle his father, but he knew Ishizu would stop him before he got that far.

"You ungrateful little shit!" Their father slurred. "I give you a home," he took a staggering step toward them. Ishizu took a step back, pressing Marik back with her arm. "I feed you," another step, "and you try to leave?"

"Fuck. You." Marik steps towards his father, hindered by Ishizu's arm.

"Marik!" Ishizu chastised him. Marik just glared at her. He could see in her eyes that she agreed on some level with Marik's side of this argument, but her loyalty shone through that. "Father, come relax, just sit down and..."

"I'm not done with him!" Their father yelled. He took several drunken steps towards his children until he had them cornered. Marik tried to hide it, but it was obvious he was terrified. He hated this; being scared of his drunkard father. It was pathetic. "Move, Ishizu." Not a suggestion; a command. Ishizu hesitated, wanting to listen to a command, but also wishing to keep her brother safe. "Now." He growled. This time, Ishizi had to listen. Marik didn't hold it against her, when Father said to do something, it was always easier for everyone to listen.

His father lurched toward him and wrapped his fingers around Marik's neck. In desperation, Marik put his own hands over his father's and tried to pry his airways free again. The bruising grip was too tight, and Marik was starting to see splotches of color that weren't really there.

Eventually, his father released him. He was a shitty father and a drunk, but he never proved himself to be a murderer. Marik slunk to the floor, gasping for breath. His father spat on him. "Get your pathetic, ungrateful ass off my floor." His father turned away and stalked off to his own room before Marik could even attempt to get up.

Ishizu rushed to him, scooped him up and cradled him. "I'm so sorry, Marik." She said through tears. Marik wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. But his throat still felt constricted, and the only sound he could get out was a wheeze.

Instead of focusing on the words- or lack thereof- Marik focused on how safe he felt being wrapped in Ishizu's arms. She was always there for him in the end. She was safety.

That night, Ishizu pushed her mattress next to Marik's and held him all night, making sure he got some sleep.

School was Marik's only other reprieve from his father's rage. He pulled his shirt collar up so no one could see the bruises around his neck and collarbone.

"Hey, Marik." One of his close friends, Ryou, called out as he caught up with Marik in the hallway.

"Hey." Marik said. His voice was still hoarse- less from the choking incident and more from crying all night.

"You okay? You don't look too good." Ryou observed. Of course. Ryou was like the 'mom friend' to everyone. He noticed when something was wrong.

"Yeah, I think I have a cold." Marik assured him. It was one of his classic excuses.

"Oh." Ryou didn't seem convinced, but he couldn't exactly fight Marik on it.

Marik stopped at his own locker and parted ways with Ryou. He unlocked the locker and glanced over everything he had within it. Anything of value to him was kept here, after the incident where his father had taken all the money Marik had been saving and spent it on booze. Also 'lost' in that incident was one of his mother's necklaces, which Ishizu held close. Since then, Marik officially moved into his locker.

He double checked the money stash hidden in a pencil case in the back of his locker. He sighed. After his last stunt, he was left with only about two hundred dollars. Running away was costly.

Although most highschool students hated classes, Marik relished any moment he wasn't trapped in his house. Even better, he had friends here.

At lunch, he settled in at his usual table. Ryou and his twin brother, Bakura, were already sitting there. Marik set down his lunch tray, which was a blessing everyday. He got free lunches, although he'd never admit it, and it was the only truly filling meal he ever got.

"Hey, you still feeling alright?" Ryou, ever the concerned mom friend, asked Marik for at least the fourth time that day.

"Yeah, I'm fine-"

"What's wrong?" Bakura stared him down.

"Nothing, just a cold." Marik lied. Ryou might've been fooled by Marik's façade, but Bakura saw right through him.

"You sure?" Bakura narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah," Marik said, nervously tugging his shirt collar up.

"You look like a douche with your collar up like that." Bakura commented.

"And you would know all about looking like a douche, huh?" Marik threw back.

"Here, let me fix that." Bakura reached out towards the collar of Marik's shirt.

Marik flinched, almost smacking Bakura's hand away. "S-sorry." He mumbled, returning his focus to the food on his tray.

"Marik..." The tone of Bakura's voice had done a complete one-eighty. Instead of its usual, eternally sarcastic sound, he sounded concerned.

"I'm fine." Marik snapped. He shot up out of his seat at the lunch table and took his tray- still containing food- to throw it away and returned it to the pile.

This was particularly unusual for Marik. He always ate every last crumb of his lunch, but the interaction with Bakura left him without any appetite.

"He always finishes his lunch..." Marik could hear Ryou whisper in a concerned voice to his brother.

"Something's up..." Bakura responded in a deep, growl-like whisper. Marik interrupted any further conversation about him by sitting back down at the lunch table.

A bout of silence fell upon the trio. That was, until a bouncy, short brunette bobbed over to their table, carrying her tray.

"Hey guys!" Anzu Mazaki said enthusiastically.

"Hey, Téa." Ryou politely responded. Bakura simply nodded his head in acknowledgment of her. Marik waved.

"Yugi's having a party over the weekend, you guys are invited." Téa bubbled. "If you want to come, I mean."

Bakura snorted, "Cliché." Anzu didn't respond, instead she turned to Ryou and Marik.

Marik knew Ryou wasn't much for parties, but Ryou was too polite for his own good. "I'll see if I can drag this one," he elbowed Bakura, "outside of the house." Anzu giggled at that.

"Uh, yeah. If they're going, I'll be there." Marik said hesitantly. He knew there was no way his dad would let him go, but he had faith that Bakura would remain firm on his decision to not go.

"Alrighty, hope to see you guys there!" Anzu smiled as she stood up from her chair and returned to the table she was previously sitting at.

Marik thanked the gods for the temporary reprieve from the twins grilling him. But Bakura wasn't done.

"Seriously, Marik, put your damn collar down." Bakura reached out in one swift motion and finally managed to grab and fix Marik's collar. Marik practically jumped out of his skin in panic.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom." Marik excused himself from the table and shot up out of his seat. He quickly pulled his collar back up as he speed-walked to the bathroom.

He rushed himself into a stall and locked it quickly. He sat down on the toilet and tried to calm himself down. He kept telling himself that it was okay, no one saw the bruises, he got his collar back up in time.

He heard footsteps on the tile floor of the bathroom and prayed to every god possible that it was just some random kid who'd use the bathroom and leave. His prayers went unanswered, however, as the footsteps stopped in front of the stall Marik was in.

Glancing under the door, Marik could see the legs of whoever had followed him leaning against the wall. Maybe if he just pretended that that person wasn't there, they'd go away.

"Marik." Bakura's voice called from outside the stall. Marik sighed in resignation. He slowly opened the stall door. "Seriously, what's the matter?" Bakura grabbed Marik's arm.

"Nothing." Marik tried, and failed, to free his arm from Bakura's concerned grip.

"Bullshit." Bakura growled. This time, when he reached for Marik's collar, Marik didn't flinch or resist.

When his collar was flipped back down, exposing the bruises, Marik had the sudden urge to cover them with his hands. Before he could act on that urge, Bakura's fingers were lightly tracing the bruises.

"Who did this?" Bakura whispered, the edges of his voice tinged with anger.

"No one-"

"Bullshit."

"It's nothing, 'Kura, let it be." Marik sighed.

"Marik, those are handprint bruises. On your neck." Bakura stated the obvious, yet it surprised Marik to think about it that way. He could feel his father's fingers, like ghosts, trying to steal the life out of him.

"Yes, and?" He tried to sound indifferent, but his voice was cracking.

"Who. Did. This." The demanding tone in Bakura's voice caused Marik to crack.

He blinked away any tears forming in his eyes and spoke, "My... My father..." He whispered. His eyes were burning and his ears were ringing. In a very un-Bakura like gesture, he threw his arms around Marik and held onto him. Marik sunk into the embrace.