Warning: A cynical and slightly depressive mood, possibly many spelling errors, OOC-tendencies, bad language at a few points, blood, original characters (that have no love interest in the canon cast), yada yada.

Note: I deeply apologize for this ridiculously late update. You see, when I got back from my trip, I was granted with the knowledge that a relative of mine would come and visit (she's still here as I am typing this). And let me tell you, she's snoopy! I was writing (only an email, thank god -.-) and she simply looked over my shoulder and started to read! Without my consent! And have done so otherwise as well. So, I had little to no time writing, for it was not safe with her around. Hmpf. But alas, her evil plan did not succeed, for I used the power of night (meaning pulling an all nighter) to get this done.

If you can't remember what happened in the last chapter: Kaiba brothers' were totally pawned by armed men. Kaiba tried to use his mad skills to save Mokuba, but alas, all for nothing. So the kid dies, the hero faints, and the crazy guy babbeled. Are you following?

This chapter's supposed to be in an anachronological order by the way. Why? Because I think it's more interesting. Plus, it serves a purpose for me as a writer to tell the story. I've even been generous to hand out time references so you can piece it all together if you'd like. Anyhow, start reading:P

Raison d'être
Chapter 2

by Growing Pain

His brown eyes gazed down with mixed emotions, his true mental state unknown and unclear. The light breeze tousled the blond hair easily, cooling him down on an otherwise tepid morning. But the temperature seemed worse due to the stress he received at the moment, unnerving him and disabling his tongue to properly function. A single flower in his hand, a white one, was visible and he currently clenched his fist around it's stem while his eyes scattered the area in avoidance.

"So…it's been awhile." the man's voice finally spoke, his voice slightly croaking. But the error was quickly fixed as he cleared his throat, uneasy eyes staring down again at their objective. No response was heard, as expected.

"I'm…um…doing fine, in case you wondered." he voiced out while his free hand rubbed his neck, eyes up at the sky while he bit his lip, mentally scolding himself for even doing this sort of thing. Despite the inner obstacles, the urge to continue overweighed his desire to leave. "I got myself a job as a waiter at really fancy place a month back. Guess all my working experience made them want me." he told mindlessly, slowly growing more comfortable. "The people there are nice, too. Not as snobby as I first thought. We're not the same...but like I said, they're nice, and I also get paid better than any other place I've been at. I think I might stick with this job for a longer time. Instead of trying to find something better, you know?" the words slipped out of his mouth with ease, though his eyes were still unfocused, happily staring at a tree or the grass around him, skilfully ignoring the apparent.

His heartbeats had calmed down. From almost making his chest explode it had descended down to simply keeping a fast rhythm. In a moment of serenity he sighed and slightly unwillingly looked down again, brown eyes met by the hard grey tombstone with words forever definite. The person's sealed fate could never be changed again, that the words assured. And a part of him, a rather large part of him, didn't want reality to be altered. The wish to be reunited was scarce in comparison to the abnormal apprehension of freedom. Something that tasted so sweet to his guilty tongue.

As he stared at the name, the dates and all other things absolute, bitterness returned, slowly crawling its way into his mind and provoking it with memories of the life that he had endured, and the life he had been left behind with. The responsibilities, the stress, the feeling of being a failure. To be worthless, existing only to make money whenever it was called for. The resentment that never truly vanished, no matter how hard he tried to leave the past. And so his eyes glared at the stone, forgetting the shame he felt for not being entirely saddened by the other person's departure.

"I brought you a flower." he revealed in a voice trying to mask his contempt, the glare still apparent. "I really don't know why anymore. It's not like you deserve it, or that you would bring one to me." the blond man snorted in an unfriendly manner. "It's not even like you tried…!" he told loudly, his hand tightly clenching the shaft of the plant, the last part of his vocal anger referring to the life they had shared.

His breath, irregular, tried to calm itself even if he looked ready to punch anyone near. Luckily, no one was.

"Are you freaking happy now?" he muttered out, poison caressing each and every word. "All your damned debts were left to me. Me!" the man claimed. "Bastard! Why can't you just let me live my own life instead of taking care of yours all the time! I'm tired of this! You're dead now! Gone! You're not supposed to piss me off anymore!" he roared, voicing out the hidden rage built up. His arms were moving fluidly, making gestures at both himself and the other. Yet the single flower was safely kept within his hold as he was unrelenting to let it go. But petals couldn't help but be shaken off. His eyes did not detect this however, too busy with his one-sided conversation.

"What the hell did I ever do to you anyway! It's not my fault your life was so fucking bad! Blame yourself!" he continued with speaking the words he had rarely had the courage, or foolishness, to say before, his grip around the stem tightening, sweat increasing. "It's all your fault anyway! If you hadn't been such a worthless scumbag, our family would still be alright! I never got to see Shizuka for years because of you! Years!" his voice continued to make loud accusations over the deserted area, his voice croaking towards the end, causing him to stop, suddenly aware of his actions.

So his eyes stared at the words carved onto the tombstone with intensity, as if he could make it explode at will. But he couldn't, and so the memorial remained intact, staring back at him. Laughing. Mocking his current status of life. A slave of debts. As it always had been. Such a fool he had been to think he could ever escape such a destiny.

Jounouchi Hiromu
1951-2010

During the period of something like a minute, his breathing had gone regular and his rage had been contained. Calm once more, he attempted to speak while his eyes stared down with a look as if he had seen something absurd, alerted by a train of thought within his mind .

"But you know what's funny?" he asked, a lopsided smile that was not true shaping his lips. There was no reply to the question, and all that was, was the wind that almost didn't move, anticipating the answer obediently.

"I can never truly hate you." he revealed, his expression almost afflicted due to this. "Sad, isn't it?" he asked, attempting to cover up his unease with a forced chuckle as he rubbed his neck. But the hollow sound pained his ears, and so it quickly descended down to nothing, and the blonde returned to his grave state.

"Well… maybe I'll see you some other time, old man." the blond male announced with a non-committal voice, ready to leave. Slowly he turned, his feet lingering on the grass, his back now turned against the stone. But he stopped for reasons he vaguely were aware of himself.

He had never gotten any closure. And most likely never would.

Somehow, that fact saddened him. Because it wasn't as if talking out with his father would have changed anything… Really…

Clenching his hands once more, reminded of the durable memories that constantly caused him to feel like a bad person when he knew he was not, his body reacted to the object he had forgotten during all his inner commotion. The flower.

Raising his hand to inspect it, he noticed that its stem now broken in half and some petals were missing. Though it was not all too evident, so it would still suffice as a gift. But his father's grave did not deserve such an offering. Not yet, anyway. Not when the wounds were still sore and the memories still too fresh.

But on this land of the dead, there were other options.

And so he knew just who to give it to.

XxxX

When he finally awoke he had not been hit by the utter sadistic realization of tragedy life had granted him. Instead he found that his head hurt, as well as feeling a prominent tinge of something being utterly wrong. Usually he was a man who dismissed such things, but had it not been for the fact that he had opened his eyes and met the view of a location that was far from being his own room, or any other room he was accustomed to for that matter, he would have continued to stay in bed.

Introduced to this rare scenario, he shot out of bed, faintly noticing in the process of standing up that he was not wearing his own clothes. These were drenched with the colour white, a pair of trousers and a matching shirt. Alerted by this, he decided to take in his surroundings instead of thinking of what anyhow could have done to him during his time unconscious.

Senses heightened, his blue narrowed eyes scattered over the enclosed room, taking in no more than a bed, a very cheap bed in comparison to what he's used to, a rather large mirror he didn't reflect over at the moment, and a door, that his mind paid the most attention to.

White all over, from the smooth floor to the white hard walls, to the sheets of his cheap bed, it was stingingly hurtful to his eyes, and his thoughts instantly associated the setting to that of a stereotypical cell of a mental institution.

He immediately questioned his reason being there, of all the places one could be, and decided to locate the answer within his memories. Though the task seemed far more troublesome than he had believed. For some reason, it was fuzzy. Vague. It took some time to place the route of time he had lived through.

Eyes dazed due to the occupation of thoughts, he stood still before the door, trying to retrieve the answer something inside him told him he had. His outside was calm despite the new environment that caused him worry, heavily implying someone had taken him there against his own will. But the brunet was not a man to panic or let himself fall out of his composure.

Choosing the tactic of reconnecting the dots by starting off the final day he has any recollection of, he did just so. And that last day he could muster up to remember was a Wednesday. He had woken up and gone to work alongside with Mokuba that day. Nothing strangely unusual aside from the fact that Mokuba would partake more in their business.

And so, his previously discarded shreds of recognition came together as if being pieces of a puzzle, showing a somewhat clear image, slightly obscure.

Armed men. Surrounded. Threats concerning Mokuba. And Mokuba running away while he himself tried to reach out. That was lucid to him so far. But then…something interfered with the quality of his remembrance. And that made him search himself more furiously, aware the answer would surface from it.

Trying to re-enact the scenario in his head to be properly able to conjunct the fragments that were within his mind's captivity, he slowly reached the desired point of truth.

There had been pain. He had been shot, but not truly fatal. Though it impaired his senses severely, which probably was the reason why he had such a difficult time comprehending anything even now. But most of all, he was frightened. Both then and now.

For he had yet to know if Mokuba was safe. Knowing that was the most important.

As the man locked himself within his own barriers of his psyche, reality eventually came sneaking up to him, taking its torturous time. Slowly, ripping him apart.

No word was evident in recollections. Lips moved, he was sure. That man, the one he'd never forgive, had talked. But all that was unmistakably true to his doubting and pained self was the sharp gunshot, the burdening blood, and at last, Mokuba falling down never to move again.

Remembering this…he felt as helpless as he had once promised himself he would never be.

Rage filled him instantly, and not for being ripped of his freedom and locked up in a small room that could surely tempt anyone to feel claustrophobic, but for the injustice bestowed upon Mokuba. For Mokuba was truly all that ever mattered.

To this life…there were no more reasons. All was meaningless. Whatever choice he made, it didn't matter. He didn't matter now. His purpose; gone. His strength; vanished. And all left were the broken pieces that screamed for justice. For revenge.

Not finding himself as tired and unable to fully use his limbs as the last time he could remember being awake, he practically jumped out of the bed, heading for the door that seemed to have no handle, nor anything alike, on it. After failed attempts at trying to locate a switch or something like that to open it, he resorted to other methods.

The brunet was no longer the same, that he knew. They had changed him the minute Mokuba fell down to the ground. Now, he was without pride. Without somewhere to belong. Without anything.

Losing the most important person… It pained so severely he had no desire to explore it. Standing in front of the door, he started to kick it in blind fury in an attempt to break free. First kick was hard and powerful, marking his strength. But those that followed were no more than failed attempts at camouflaging his pain whilst roaring for the cowards who locked him up to dare face him.

Composure and outward strength were lessons quickly forgotten to his mourning self, leaving the unfinished fragments of his soul. And so he kicked to no avail, releasing the anger, bidding the reality of his world to not be what it was. And he pushed it to bust open to no avail, and pounded as well, trying to forget the horrible memories of the forever still face of his brother that still lurked within his mind, to the blood that assaulted his clothes. And when his throat went sore from trying to bring attention to his ruined self, he found that his fist had started to grow red. For unknown reasons his will lessened drastically as he simply stared perplexed at the door as if it had told him of taboo truths, when in fact understanding there was no such thing as an escape from this merciless room.

Drained of all the essential things that made a man stand up, gravity found its way and he slowly sank down to his knees, staring hopelessly in front of him as he leaned against the door, a painful agony in his heart of a magnitude he had never experienced before.

Having lost everything and not knowing what was to come were the two great horrors he had learned to never look down upon. And he wished to any deity that might exist for this to be merely a cruel joke or a twisted dream.

But he knew the cold truth that was life. And so the hand squeezing his heart so shamelessly only tightened its grip spitefully.

XxxX

Their eyes observed the test subject eagerly, excited to see him react for the first time being awake since they had sedated him less than a week ago. But despite their inner curiosity of what was to happen, their outsides remained calm and correct, staring through the glass of the other side of the false mirror, listening to the repeated shouts by the tall brunet where their presence were demanded. A man with clear glasses protecting his dull brown eyes smirked faintly at the event.

"So he's lost it. He's aware of losing his raison d'être... I think we can fully incorporate the second stage of project Child Prodigy, now that his conscious seem to have come to terms with it..." he announced with pride, wearing a smug look. Another man, this one thinner than the other but his face stern, looked at him with a slightly dissatisfied look. In the rectangular room they sat in stood a handful of their subordinates behind them, wearing customary nurse clothes, obediently quiet to their superiors. Some stared through the glass and observed the captured man. Some avoided to look completely. In the end, it was all the same. None could escape from this now. Prisoners were they all of this calculated plan.

"How can you be so content, knowing how many people are searching for him at the moment? The media has, as expected, feasted in the news of the younger Kaiba's death and the disappearance of the elder one. They're looking for us now. And yet you look so pleased." he scolded in a calm manner, an obvious contradiction. His hands were towered and clasped in front of his face, the elbows resting on the desk. Bestowing the image of control.

"Dr Wakai, you worry too much." the man with the glasses told, eyes still on the oblivious brunet behind the glass that was too strong for humans to break. They were safe, even if he'd discover the possibility of people observing him for the other side.

"Hmpf. I think I'm justified to have this concern over my own life, don't you, Takashi? Despite the genius that he may be, I still find him to be unsuitable for our project." he told, testing his limits. Perhaps in need of reassurance as the Kaiba tragedy and mystery had been nearly non-stop on the various Japanese channels all over the country.

"You know he's perfect, that's why you agreed to this in the first place." the aforementioned Takashi assured, untouched by the wavering feelings of his comrade.

"A child would be more appropriate. A child we could manipulate."

"We'll do the same with him as well. You know that." he continued. "Besides, later on, you'll have your children." he told, causing them both to smirk faintly at events that had yet to be taken into action.

"But had it been a nameless citizen, hardly anyone would care. Now, now we have murdered Kaiba Mokuba in the expense of being able to take Kaiba Seto. The world is waiting for us to be found. To punish us." he told, calmer now, but the seed of doubt still within.

"There's nothing to worry about. You know we have high connections sponsoring us. We're protected."

"For now…" he snorted out, not the one to trust others with favours. Takashi raised an eyebrow, lightly peeved.

"Dr Wakai, are you familiar with the term 'tabula rasa'?" he asked, turning his head to face the other man. The office chair he sat in twirled afterwards, his entire front directed to the doctor, his smart suit visible. Wakai looked back without amusement, his short and shaved black hair immoveable while the thin strands of Takashi's hair tilted whenever gravity wanted it to, changing whenever his head moved. "It means 'blank slate'."

"So?"

"So, it means that, within philosophy of course, some believe that humans are born without any predetermined characteristics. That they are a blank paper, so to speak, that'll be written out during their upbringing." he explained with a knowing smirk. As the words of the hinted future sank in, Wakai smirked as well.

"I see…"

"Kaiba here already has his paper written out." he explained, his rough hand gesticulating towards the brunet in the other room who was now quiet, having sunk down on the floor. "That is unfortunate for us. But we'll make him forget all the words on it, just as planned. And as such, when there's only a blank paper left, he is like a child. New to the world. And it's up to us to form him. Shape him."

"And ultimately, use him." Wakai filled in.

"Correct."

And so, when the momentary paranoia had stopped seething and turned calm under the supervision, their eyes and concentration turned back to their test subject, who's change they noted with interest.

"He looks quite defeated." Wakai shared, taking notes within his notebook of the happenings as well as writing down the current date. July 7th, 2008.

"It's as expected. Mokuba's dead. We took his raison d'être. Now, when we'll wipe his paper clean, there'll be no subconscious thinking that will lead him to break free to find his raison d'être once again. With it permanently gone, we have full control, and he'll have little reason to struggle."

"True. The extermination of Kaiba Mokuba was, and is still, a risky procedure. But it'll benefit us more. If Kaiba Seto had the knowledge that his brother was still alive, I reckon there'd be a lot of hazard having him conscious. And let's not forget, Mokuba would surely never give up searching for him." Wakai rationalized. "Anyhow, I have an appointment in half an hour. Should we begin his first dosage?" he asked, the tip of his pen resting against the paper that waited to be written on, wondering if he should add something or not. The other man nodded, concurring.

"Preferably." he answered, his brown eyes turning to look almost excitedly at the brunet, the ends of his lips turning upwards. Unaffected, Wakai proceeded to instruct a subordinate what to do, then continuing his notes, eyes on the clock simultaneously.

And one man's fate was then sealed.

XxxX

Time was not an apparent component in his life now, as night and day blended into one, the eternal light from the bulb in the middle of the room annoying his blue eyes. When he tried to sleep, he noticed it got darker, as if shading down for his comfort. But the light was always there nevertheless, his constant disturbance. Forever keeping him in sight. Watching.

He was starting to change. He could feel it. The scent of memory weakened within, and he had grown worried due to it. For it was not natural.

The brunet was accustomed to being alone for long periods of time, but this…this was extreme. Ridiculously extreme. Locked up in this room for who knows how long. It only left him alone with his mind, the one thing that carried all the memories of pain. Being alone for such a long time as he was, he thought a lot for there were no other activities to engage in, sadistically enough. So as he thought, he obsessed with trying to find something. What that something was, he was not yet aware of... Perhaps a spark? Maybe his self-preservation instincts were trying to work. Though it was failing quite obviously.

He still hadn't escaped this personal prison of his. Still locked up in the same room as he had been days prior. Maybe even weeks, by now. He didn't know the exact number, and didn't care to know.

Perhaps one could see it as a punishment of sorts for him. For not being strong enough to save his brother when truly needed. Had he ever saved his brother when he needed him to? In the end, did he ever win against his, their, persecutors? Both he and Mokuba had escaped them throughout their lives; true. But was he the reason for it? Hardly. External help had always been there, pathetically enough. Never could he do it on his own…

So in the end, it was only logical that Mokuba's fate would come to this. To death, as Kaiba himself lacked the proper security to offer him. Yes…that was the bitter irony of it all. The one that gave him the will to live would die under his care… Typical.

At such a weak moment in his life, that reasoning proved to be adequate, and he sighed almost inaudibly, plagued as always. Solace had ceased to exist, abandoning him so cruelly.

His logic told him that he was not isolated within these walls as a punishment. And if it was for that motive, it was not for being a failure as a brother, but probably something else. Something that had to do with his business; Kaiba Corp. People nowadays resorted to very unlikely measures when risking to lose their higher places in the cold, competitive market he had been delighted in entering at first.

But it still didn't make sense. He was fed on a regular basis. He had access to a bathroom even, despite it being only under certain times. Times he, she or they decided. It was most likely a 'they'. Hardly could anyone accomplish this single-handedly. And this thesis was proven at the already vague recollection of being assaulted by several armed men. An organisation? Which?

…But he supposed it didn't matter. What had he left to fight for? His life had almost always been about Mokuba as far as he could remember. Instantly as soon as Mokuba had joined the family, their mother had departed, dead in childbirth. It was only natural for him to take on a parental role he thought was lacking within the house. And when their father passed away as well, that duty was etched onto his being. He could never break free from it. Surprisingly, he never found himself wanting to do so either. It gave him purpose.

Such a role had been loyally kept throughout the years. He had wanted to think of himself as a good brother. Wanted to be a good judgement. A solid shoulder to lean on. But wishes were wishes, and reality was what it was, and the two rarely blended together.

So yes indeed, this room, this isolation, was his punishment. Intended or not, he controlled it to be such. Because he had decided that it was. In the hands of someone else, he had yet to let go of the need of being the supreme one in his life.

Perhaps that aspect would never allow itself to change.

And so the minutes ticked by as he could practically feel his memory being dusted away, the face of his brother painfully fuzzy. The only thing he had left of him, he would lose. As time passed him by, it took more and more from him, robbing him of the reason for this penalty.

Mokuba was still important. No matter what, he never wished to forget him, and certainly not in the manner he felt himself going through.

Why was he forgetting? Was it the food? Had they contaminated it with something? He had suspected such, and had refused to eat it for quite some time. Yet the eraser continued to work its way inside of him. Such an undisturbed trap.

He decided then, that he'd never be allowed to forget. He didn't deserve to. And when dinner, breakfast or lunch, or whatever it could have been, was given to him through a small, consciously made, gap in the wall, he took it.

Sitting down on the floor with his back turned towards the mirror, where he was sure he was being watched from as it was far too obvious, he hunched. Giving the illusion of eating. But he had other ideas in his now slightly deranged mind. Silently he took the knife, although plastic, and pressed against his skin, carving back and forth. Scarring his pale forearm, a calculated place which he'd see regularly, and thus promising that he'd never forget Mokuba.

It only caused red marks at first from abusing his skin in such a manner. The object was hardly sharpened. Yet the brunet persisted. Never would he give up. This was his reassurance. To never forget. To buy time he ate, keeping up pretences chewing slowly so he could work in peace.

Eventually, he was able to leave his mark. Unmistakenly, there was blood. The pain was inevitable. He could clearly feel it, no denying it. But it was necessary. He wouldn't allow himself to forget. That would be the easy escape. And he deserved no such thing.

When the blood seeped out of his self-inflicted wounds and tainted the white floor so harshly, the door opened and people rushed inside, people he had not had the fortune to meet before. People who's faces had been hiding behind the mirror, he was sure. Cowards. Watching him. Feeling as if they controlled him.

But they didn't. He wouldn't allow them the pleasure. He controlled himself, and that was how it would always be.

At such a time, the necessary word had already been created, a sufficient mark of remembrance. On his forearm, the name that cried out so proudly meshed with the red liquid was no other than his brother's; Mokuba.

Moments before the people that restrained him managed to sedate him, he felt a small smirk on his lips. A bittersweet feeling tasting sour to his inside. For even if this accomplishment slightly eased his concerns of permanent memory loss, there was still one loss he was responsible for, and never would forget. The one of his brother's life.

Remembering that, he failed to worry about his own.

XxxX

"Hi there, Mokuba." the blond man told, his attitude far more mirth now than at his previous visit. He bent down to the ground, though his knees were careful as to not touch the ground for the grass was still damp. He had every intention of arriving at work looking presentable. Decent, at the very least. Even so, his hair remained tousled, something that was merely natural to him.

The white flower in his hand was solemnly placed in front of the smooth stone that carried words forever definite.

"Here you go, kiddo. Just for you." he told with an earnest smile before rising up, though with no intention to leave, brown eyes staring down almost affectionately. Imagining the other standing there. Memories unconsciously seeped back to him, both old and fresh.

"Sorry I haven't visited in over a month. Ever since dad kicked the bucket my mind's been sort of busy. I hope you understand." he apologized with familiarity and nonchalance, one of his hands carelessly in his black pants' pocket whilst the other held his neck. Unintentionally did his eyes wander to the stones neighbouring the one came to visit, thinking back to information received long ago.

Apparently, their parents, their real ones, had been buried here. Somehow it had been arranged for the Kaibas' to be buried next to them as well. Probably Kaiba's doing. That neat-freak probably had his will written as soon as he took over as a CEO. Paranoid loser, that's what he was… But a slightly bearable one at that. The blond still deemed it unfortunate that it had to be the same graveyard that his father was at. He snorted at the coincidence. He wouldn't put it past Kaiba to do something like this intentionally. Of course it wasn't, but the blond found himself enjoying blaming the brunet for things, still. He missed that, sometimes.

…Kaiba's grave was also here. There was no body in it, of course, and because of that the words on his gravestone were merely lies. The police never found him, and Kaiba had remained lost without a trace ever since they found Mokuba's corpse deserted. No one ever found a trace of him, and so they decided to have him declared dead. Apparently it would ease the overtake of his business or something like that. …Greedy bastards…

Magazines and other media had all picked up on the death and disappearance instantly. Rumours and conspiracies wandered everywhere. It still did. Most already had their own opinion formed by now. Some people even claimed Kaiba had killed Mokuba in a fit of rage, or something equally ludicrous, and escaped when he came to his senses. The blond man ignored those rumours, for once feeling he was one of the smarter ones. Naturally, given their history, he didn't like to think of himself as someone close to the brunet CEO. But he was certainly aware he knew him better than most. As did his group of friends. …Which was sad, once you thought about it. But so was Kaiba, in his own proud way. So it all fitted together.

No matter, all of them knew he'd never lay a hand on his brother. Even if he did, he wouldn't run away. Judging by the way he had acted before they entered Pegasus' castle, when he threatened Yuugi with his life at stake, it was far more probable he'd turn himself in willingly to the authorities.

Or kill himself…

The thought wasn't pleasant, despite the various insults and mental wishes of misfortune he had created whenever angered by that pompous bastard. But he never really found any true joy from sadistic pleasures. Sure, humiliation would suffice. Beyond that however, that's where he drew the line.

"I haven't forgotten my promise, if that's what you think…" he murmured into the empty wind, his facial features making him appear solemn, which he was aware of. Slowly, his former self was retracted, starting with a small confident smile. Mokuba shouldn't really be visited by people in despair. As if being dead wasn't depressing enough.

"I promised you at the day of your funeral that I'd find your brother and bring him back to you." whether he was dead or alive… "And I have every intention of keeping that promise!" he told boldly, determination clear, not the least modest, even if he was virtually speaking to no one but the always moving wind that couldn't be bothered by his ramblings.

A valiant jerk of his head followed next alongside with a lopsided smile, a sincere glint returning to his face causing his eyes to nearly shine. Suddenly he looked younger than he was. Or rather, he looked as if something had returned to him. Something that had been inside and with him before the Kaiba incident had occurred and turned everyone's lives upside down; that carefree and optimistic look and attitude.

"Besides, Jounouchi Katsuya never gives up! You have my word!" the man named Jounouchi promised, staring down at the unresponsive stone that still shined as if it was new with the same cheerful expression glued on his face.

But time made it falter, and he furrowed his brow, looking away in an apologetic manner as if suddenly scolded, understanding reality wasn't so easy. Lips closed, he silenced himself, wanting to say the right words. The pause was prolonged by the harsh silence offered by the stone, and after awhile brown eyes gazed ruefully down at their objective, wanting forgiveness for not having kept his word for two years.

"…But it's not going too good at the moment. It might take some time…" he wandered off. Uncovering the simple fact that he was not efficient enough. That he had made a commitment which he perhaps, and most likely, could not keep.

A spark in him that refused to die refused in the same manner to extinct the blond man's desire to fulfil this contract of words assured by trust. So it was that same youthful consolation that lingered hidden within his departure words, bringing hope to the one that needed it the most; himself.

"Don't worry though. I've been slacking for quite some time, but I'll do better now. Because Kaiba's been away for too long, and I need to yell at him some more before it's too late. It's not as if I'm about to let the jerk get away so easily." he told, smiling brightly at the stone, reminded of how everyone's interaction used to be with the two brothers. Peculiar enough, he even remembered the bad times fondly… Heh. He supposed that was what death, and possible death, did to you. Just his luck to get sentimental though.

"You have my word." he promised seriously, staring at the stone a few second longer as to fully make the other one believe in him. As if such an act mattered to a stone or a dead body under the ground. To him, it seemed to, despite common sense.

And then only his fading footsteps were heard, leaving Mokuba to rest in peace while Jounouchi tried to accomplish the same tranquillity within.

To Be Continued

Words: 5931
Hohoho, it grew. Shame on me! -hits fingers-

Were anyone expecting it to turn out like this? I'm afraid I was too obvious in the first chapter... :S Anyway, if you can't understand the timeline; with Kaiba and the research squad, we're following "directly" after the first chapters event. With Jounouchi, two years have passed since that. This chapter was originally supposed to contain many more scenes, but...too many scenes, basically. I couldn't write it all without it turning into a ridiculous amount of words. So the rest will be in the next chapter.

And no; Jounouchi does not just out of nowhere realize that "hey...I've got a crush on Kaiba!". That's retarded. First I say that there is interaction at the very least! Then they can jump each other if they'd like. >:P

A major thanks to everyone that reviewed:D I never thought I'd get so many for this story (as it started out in a not so good mood and didn't even feature Jounouchi). I'm truly glad! . -hands everyone virtual candy as thanks-

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I write, you review, so I write again and so on. And that is the perfect symbiosis. In theory anyway.