A/N: Hello everyone! I didn't expect to be back so soon with another piece.
This is more than a one-shot, but it won't be a fully drawn-out story, either. I'm aiming for four chapters. A lot of the background aspects were taken from the manga or from the Japanese anime, including the boys' ages. In the manga, when they were adopted Seto was ten and Mokuba was five.
We all know how Seto feels about Gozaburo Kaiba. But we were only given a cold sketch of his cruelty. How did it feel to Seto, to be faced with it, day after day? One more side note: for those of you who don't know, Tousan, or Tou-san, is what Seto calls Gozaburo. It means father.
As expected, the house was huge. Enormous, really. Seto had never seen a building so large that people actually lived in.
A low wall surrounded the lot, opening in the center with a gaudy metal gate. The building itself was only as tall as a normal house, but wider than four of them together. As he climbed out of the car that had taxied him to his new home, he puzzled over what one man could possibly do with so much space.
Mokuba followed him out of the vehicle and slung his backpack over his shoulders, then slipped his tiny hand into Seto's. Time melted away while the boys stood outside the building, getting their first real look at Kaiba Manor. Eventually a stout man placed his hand on Seto's shoulder and loudly cleared his throat. Seto wasn't sure where the man had come from, but he suppressed his laughter when he saw the man's toad-like face, which seemed all the more out of place given his professional dress. He led the boys up to the building and the wide french doors opened.
Inside the brothers were greeted by members of the house staff; two women in maid's dress and a man wearing a tuxedo. They each bowed in turn, one woman even smiling at them.
"These are the young children Master Kaiba has decided to adopt?" The woman asked.
Mokuba seemed to be suddenly transfixed by the woman, and offered a small smile back at her. Seto, however, ground his teeth.
"Decided?" he whispered. He could feel his face growing hot. Seto had been the one to make the challenge. He had created the stakes, and he had been the one to declare checkmate.
"Excuse me?" she asked curiously.
He opened his mouth to explain to the woman just who had decided that the boys would be coming to the lavish manor. The toad-man's hand returned to his shoulder and pushed. Seto's jaw snapped shut and he snarled against the force. He tried not to yank Mokuba's arm as he was roughly ushered forward, but he wouldn't let go of the boy's little hand.
While Seto sat at the dinner table, he made himself consciously remember the rules of etiquette the stout butler (whose name, he had learned, was Hobson) had taught him earlier. His eerie voice echoing in his memory was the only thing keeping Seto from shoveling the food into his mouth. His new guardian was talking, and he struggled to listen. The food that had been set before him was the best he'd ever tasted, and he was hungry.
"Your daily routine will be a strict schedule of schooling," Gozaburo said. "Social events will be planned well in advance, and will only be permitted if the event is deemed beneficial to your education and training." Seto nodded along with the recitation of rules. "Your days of taking it easy have ended, boy. There will be no 'playtime' set aside in your days."
Seto swallowed his bite of food and set down his utensil. He made himself dismiss the idea that this old fool seemed to think that living in the orphanage had been easy. There was a more important issue he had to address.
"When will I have time for Mokuba?" the boy asked. Mokuba looked up from his own plate of food at the mention of his name. The concept hadn't yet seemed to occur to him between bites.
Gozaburo laughed. Seto growled.
"What's funny?" he challenged.
Gozaburo's laughter suddenly evolved into a cough, or an indignant scoff; Seto wasn't quite sure. He decided that he felt insulted. The man sat up even taller in his chair and leveled his eyes on the ten-year-old.
"You can think what you want about how you got here, boy. But now you live in my house, and you will live by my rules. If you manage to finish your work quickly enough – and it is done well – you may use the weekends as you please. But note, Seto, that this is by no means a given right. It is an earned privilege, and earn it you will."
"Fine. But what is Mokuba going to do all day? You can't expect a five-year-old to attend that many lessons every day."
"The child will be tended to by the staff. How he occupies himself is not my concern, as long as he does so quietly and without disrupting the household."
Seto pushed his plate away and glared hard at the old man.
"Mokuba is sitting at this table. You shouldn't talk about him like he's in another room."
"You will not tell me what I cannot do in my home," Gozaburo said. His voice rumbled and his eyes narrowed. Seto tried to glare back, but a whimper from across the table stole his attention. Mokuba had shrunk low in his seat, and was staring down into his lap. The escalating argument had frightened him, giving Seto the means to be the one to end it. He bowed his head low, mumbled an apology, then stared only at his plate as he finished his meal. He ate using only one hand, the other held in a tight ball in his lap. His fingernails dug sharply into his palm, and he struggled not to let it show on his face.
Seto dragged himself away from the luxurious mattress and tugged on his clothes. The clock told him he'd managed a hearty six hours of sleep – more than he'd been able the past few nights – but it had seemed to last only minutes. He rubbed at his eyes on his way down to breakfast, trying not to drag his feet, lest Gozaburo see and discipline him.
After the quick meal he picked up his lessons again. His days seemed to be an endless cycle of studying, eating and coveting every precious moment of sleep. He would feel better about the monotony and fatigue if he had more time with Mokuba, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do about that. He worked his assignments as quickly as he could manage during the week, but it seemed as though no matter how hard he tried to free his weekends, the work always piled up. Seto didn't put it past Gozaburo to be working it that way on purpose.
The subject matter wasn't too difficult for Seto, and he was glad to be learning things that challenged him. Schooling at the orphanage had been designed to keep the other kids on track, but Seto hungered for more knowledge.
What he didn't like was the way his instructors carried out their lessons on him. A wrong answer lead to a hard slap across the knuckles with Hobson's ruler. Seto thought it was lucky that he seldom answered a question incorrectly, but that didn't seem to be enough to stop Hobson from hitting him anyway.
"Sit up straight!" Whap.
"Your penmanship is messy." Whap.
"Chin up!" Whap!
"You dropped your pen!" Whap!
The discipline was rough enough that his knuckles had begun to scab over, making his penmanship even harder to perfect. But worse, the marks were hard to hide from Mokuba, whenever they did get to see each other. He had to use his hand to eat, and Mokuba's place was always set across the table from him. Seto had tried to have it arranged for them to sit beside each other so that Mokuba was further both from Gozaburo and from his own healing knuckles – the table was well long enough. But the kitchen staff had told him that Gozaburo had requested the seating arrangement, and Master Kaiba's orders would not be rewritten.
Well, that just figured, Seto thought and stalked out of the room. He hurried up a flight of steps and down the hall, back to his study. His new life had instilled a constant need to be on guard. He learned quickly that it was easy to find himself breaking rules, especially ones he hadn't been told about yet, so he scurried back to his books before Gozaburo or another member of the house staff caught him breaking another.
Seto laid his head down on his pillow, anxiety bubbling in his gut for the next day. He had retreated to his bedroom before finishing his work, knowing it wouldn't go well for him the next day. But how productive could a ten-year-old be when he couldn't keep his eyes open?
He could feel how quickly he had begun to drift into sleep, and he welcomed it. The heavy fog settled over him, but when he heard the door to his bedroom open, it lifted in a rush. Seto sat up immediately and prepared to leap out of bed and get back to his unfinished work. But instead of being greeted by his adoptive father's dark, burning rage, Mokuba scampered into the room and launched himself at Seto's midsection.
Seto let out a deep sigh of relief that sounded a little like laughter. Then his mind righted itself and he began pushing Mokuba away.
"What are you doing in here, kid?" He glanced at the clock. Hours had passed since the time the orphanage would have called "lights out". He tried to pull Mokuba off of him, but finally realized that the form clinging to him was trembling, and probably sobbing a little, too. He wouldn't answer Seto's beckons.
"Mokuba?" He tried again, more gently. "Hey buddy. Did you have a bad dream?" Mokuba's form stiffened, but he nodded silently into Seto's chest. He was hiccuping. Seto struggled to push him back again, and pulled his face up so he could see it.
Moonlight from the curtain Seto hadn't bothered to draw shut made wet streaks on the little boy's face glisten. Now that the brothers were mostly detached, Mokuba took it upon himself to climb under the covers of Seto's bed. Seto was instantly reminded of the nights at the orphanage when they had fallen asleep the same way.
Seto put a hand on the blankets to stop Mokuba from pulling them up on himself. The little boy turned his head toward Seto, his brows knitted together. He pulled a little harder, but Seto was clearly stronger.
"Mokuba, I'm sorry. But we can't do this. You have to go back to your room before someone catches you. You'll get in trouble."
"Don't care!" the five-year-old huffed. Seto's mind, ragged as it had been run, was still quick to think of another path.
"Would you care if I get in trouble for it?"
"Why you get in trouble?" Mokuba asked.
"Because..." Seto almost explained it to him, then remembered that he was dealing with a little boy, barely past the toddler stage, and he gave up. "Because Tousan isn't a nice man. He wouldn't like you in here." Seto remembered the first time it had been insisted upon him to call the man Tousan, and it felt weird. Mokuba wouldn't do it yet, instead choosing not to address the man by any name or title. Seto was weary of when – or rather, how – the staff might try breaking him of that, so he decided to be an example instead.
Mokuba shook his head. "Not nice man," he muttered. "No trouble for Niisama. I have to go?"
"Yes, Mokuba. You have to leave. Now." He pushed the boy again and Mokuba was barely able to keep his footing as he was slid to the edge of the mattress and ushered off of it. He crossed his arms and put on his best pouting face, but it only lasted a couple of seconds before it twisted up and he started sobbing heavily.
"Shh, Mokuba!" Seto hissed. "Be quiet and go back to your room!"
"Fine," the boy said and stomped off, not at all trying to be quiet as he had agreed. When he was gone Seto still had to get up and shut the door. He collapsed back onto his bed, his body telling him it was too tired not to quit working, but his mind was suddenly awake. He had hurt Mokuba's feelings. The boy had gone away mad, surely mostly at Gozaburo, but some of it had to be directed at Seto, too.
That man was ruining everything. Every time Seto opened a textbook, he heard Gozaburo's voice telling him to work harder. Every time he put his pen to the paper and moved his hand he felt the sting of Hobson's ruler. Even when Seto thought he was doing everything right to please the man, he still found something to punish him for. Every time he felt the anger rising in his body, Hobson's ruler was there to smack it back down to the pit of his stomach, where it burned him from the inside like lava.
Gozaburo was like a brick wall, constructed directly across Seto's path. Too wide to get around, too tall to climb. Too strong to break. And everything Seto tried to do to force his way through only added another layer against him.
He pulled the blankets up to his chin and forced his eyes closed. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
He could try to study and train as long as he was able, sit up straight and speak respectfully, and even take his beatings without flinching. Nothing would be enough to please Gozaburo Kaiba. Against anything that Seto could be able to manage, the brick wall would remain.