I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh -- Never had it, never will.
I stole the idea from Kizuna Bonds of Love -- The author does the guardian thing so very well! Only she manages it in a couple of pictures, and it takes me all these words:
The fluorescent lights were on overhead, but the room still felt dark. The heavy rain outside dimmed the light coming in and cast a greyness over everything. Croquet could hear it falling, the drops like a million tiny blows; the steady glugging as the water ran through the gutters in the roof and drained out somewhere far away.
He sat in the straight wooden chair, pretending to read the newspaper he had brought with him. It was a shield: A mask, just like his opaque sunglasses, or the impassive expression on his face. He used it to hide his constant watch over the still figure on the bed -- From himself, at any rate, if not from anyone else.
The man on the bed did not move -- Had not moved once in all of the five days since they had brought him here. "A coma," the doctors said, -- "Frequently happens with brain injuries of this magnitude. -- Croquet could hear his breathing, if he listened: A soft, steady sound that accompanied the low hum of the machines hooked up to him and was punctuated regularly by the low beeping of the IV, dispensing one more unit of medication.
The doctors said his skull was fractured. Quite badly, and in several places. Whoever had attacked Master Pegasus that night, in his tower sanctuary, had obviously meant to kill him. He had beaten his head hard, and repeatedly, against the stone floor of the room. Croquet felt the usual surge of fury, thinking about that person, whoever he might have been: How he wished he could have his neck between his fingers right now! Just a minute or two -- That's all it would take.
To think of him doing such a thing to Master Pegasus -- To his young Master! -- Whatever he might have done himself! It was all Croquet could do to live with the shaming knowledge that such a person still walked around free.
He looked at Master Pegasus lying there: So still -- So quiet -- Quiet! As if Pegasus had ever been quiet! He, who had been a compulsive chatterbox ever since Croquet had known him! Always talking -- Looking at you with that teasing grin of his, as if to say: "Come, enjoy the world with me -- Join me in my fun!"
Croquet took his wallet from his pocket and pulled out the folded paper he kept inside. It was grey from years of handling; wearing thin along the folds, now, and beginning to tear. Slowly, being careful not to do it more damage, he unfolded it.
He remembered the day when Master Pegasus had come bursting out the Kindergarten room door and shoved the paper into his hand: the proud look on his face, as he showed him the uncertain letters at the bottom of the page:
"Crokay is my friend!"
"I put an exclamation point at the end," he said, "Everyone else in class only put a period --" Looking up into Croquet's eyes, he asked "Do you like it?"
"I like it very much, Master Pegasus," he had assured the boy, earning one of those blinding smiles he used to be capable of back then -- Back when he was still unbroken by life and by his own misdeeds.
Croquet remembered the day: the spring sun, shining warm on both their heads, as they bent together over the picture.
"See, that's me," Pegasus explained, pointing with one chubby forefinger.
It clearly was, too: The picture was very good for a 5-year old. Croquet had not been surprised at all when Master Pegasus grew up to be an artist. -- He had drawn his Funny Bunny t-shirt with special care, coloring lightly with a red crayon, trying to make the loony rabbit look pink.
"And, see --" Pegasus looked up to make sure Croquet was paying attention -- "That's you." He pointed to the man with the sunglasses in the picture.
Looking down at the worn piece of paper in his hands, Croquet studied the picture of himself again. The wooden, roughly rectangular figure, drawn almost the same size as the boy beside him. The gigantic, tooth-baring grin on his face --
"Did my smile really look that big to him, when he came out of Kindergarten?" Croquet wondered. He looked up at Master Pegasus, lying still and quiet on the bed: "I'd smile like that for you now, sir," he thought, "If you could see me do it."
He looked back down at the paper, remembering again:
"See -- We're holding hands," Pegasus had pointed to where the two ball-like fists came together. He smiled up at Croquet: "I like holding hands with you," he said.
Croquet bit his lip. He wasn't going to cry. What was the point? What good would it do? It wouldn't heal Master Pegasus -- Wouldn't bring back those days when he had looked up at his faithful bodyguard with two innocent brown eyes, and slipped his chubby hand confidingly into Croquet's.
Croquet remembered how awkward he'd felt then:
"I'm glad you think of me as a friend, Master Pegasus," he'd said, knowing even as he said it, how inadequate the words were.
"We'll ALWAYS be friends, won't we, Croquet?" the small boy had said confidently, "Always 'n' forever!"
"Always and forever, Master Pegasus," Croquet whispered, looking at the silent shell of the boy he loved. One hot tear dropped onto the worn paper in his hands.
"Goddammit!" Croquet muttered, "This is the only copy I've got." He folded the paper carefully and put it back in his wallet. Then he raised his newspaper again and the room returned to silence.