Mayhaps when the tears of time weep their last of sorrow's borne-
And faded night's grey yields to a brighter morn-
Mayhaps then, in celestial strands-
I'll part with my dreams, and mayhaps...understand-
Where bleeding and broken steps have led me so astray-
Mayhaps, I'll be led by kindly hand-
And have the grace to overstep the bounds of day-
Give this broken vessel the grace to bear-
All the things that must transpire-
If I be broken and reforged by grace somewhere-
Then, please, lead me through this fire.
Hielo Warrenbeck
Seto kept his eyes fixed to the gleaming white ceiling that glowered in the fluorecesnt lights above his head, or at the off-white walls that were sparsely decorated with the typical mundane water colors found in such a bland examination room. His body coiled in instinctive revulsion against the vulnerability that was once again foistered onto him, and he bit back a shiver, not just from humiliation, but from the genuine cold that permiated from the flat gurney. The hospital gown was functionally useless in either providing warmth, or modesty, and Seto detested the garment, both as the symbol of his decaying health and newly loathed status as a hospital patient, and the absolute helplessness that seemed to cloy at him even more.
Today was the perverse six month anniversary of his diagnosis from the cancer, and here he was, trembling at his landmark appointment to determine how much the cancer had spread, which direction it was going in, and his most loathed task of all...how to plan for the actual demise so that it would cause as little distress and obligation to Mokuba as possible.
At the moment, he was forcing himself to submit to the ultrasound that would soon glide across his bare stomache to monitor the tumor growth. He tried, and failed, miserably, to tell himself the obvious: that it wasn't invasive, it wasn't painful, and he should quit being such a damn drama king, and get it over with.
It was a mild violation to his modesty-exposing his abdomen, and no more, but Seto still had to grit his teeth, and force his instincts into submission as he slid his arms into their characteristic, protective brace over his torso. From his towering height, and his weakened condition, it was an ordeal in itself just to lower his body onto the gurney, and allow himself to be wheeled into the x-ray room. Mokuba had doggedly insisted on accompanying him, but was only permitted to escort him to the waiting room, where Seto barked out the choice of driving him home right there, or letting him handle it himself. And from the resolute scowl, and the
crossing of his arms, Mokuba figured it best to honor Seto's wishes if he had any hope of keeping his older brother at the hospital.
So, here Seto found himself, again. Submitting to another unwanted procedure to spare his brother the horrific knowledge that his cancer was growing worse. He smirked, so bitterly. He didn't need to have his insides cut open to know that he was losing the fight. Seto never acknowledged the internal war he fought with himself, the noose of so many insigicant decisions that was weaving itself steadily around his neck until he thought he'd break and choke from the strain...
Should he ration out his failing energy to maintain the pathetic illusion of normalacy at the expense of wasting time that he could use to do what he really wanted? Should he bear the pain and avoid the medication, even if it left him in tears, or should he allow himself drugged into dopey oblivion, and leave Mokuba suffering for it? Pain and co-herency, or a bit of false peace and lost time? And what of the last days? He knew it would not be pretty, and he harbored no cherished falsehoods about his body somehow not breaking down and failing him at the actual dying part. He wondered if he would still have his understanding, or if he would succumb to numbing fatigue, and leave with no words spoken. He wondered if his tormented flesh would be tethered to the world by machine, and medical intervention, leaving what remained perversely alive, even if the shell was only the fragment he left behind. And, he shivered at the terror of being in agonizing pain, of breaking down completely at his death bed and leaving Mokuba with those horrible memories of his brother weeping just before he died...That was what scared him most of all. The possibility that Mokuba would be even more scarred by Seto's lack of control over the situation. How realistic it was to expect to maintain his veneer at his death bed was a ludicrus pondering, Seto grunted, internally. Wasn't the whole reason why Mokuba was so angry with his botched suicide attempt was the fact that Seto was more willing to die to save his precious sense of control than have the guts to face what came at his side?
Seto put his aching head in trembling hands, screaming at himself to stop this torture of himself, to stop the dark musings of cruel possibility, before he completely succumbed to the fear and did something stupid again. Weren't these dark thoughts the same that propelled him to down 30 sedatives? Catering to the idols of despair, and surrender? Gritting his teeth, Seto slid his hands from his temples, to his lap, clenched them together in a fierce knot, tucked them under his chin.
"I don't know why this is happening to me. I don't understand Your purpose in all this, and I don't know why.
But, I need help, and I need strength to get through this. To find the peace I need before I go insane, and drag my little brother down with me. You and I haven't always been on good terms, I know. But, if You are merciful...help me." It was probably the most honest prayer he had ever sent upward, and it had become a strange little habbit of his when he was overwhelmed, which had become more and more frequent in these last few months. It was certainly more productive than punching a wall, and he preferred the private entreaties to the Almighty, as he called God, rather than weeping hysterics. Seto pondered his out of character interest in religion with a shrug. If he was going to be meeting his Maker, it certainly made some sense to have a chat with Him on occasion. Even if it was just wishful thinking, or delusion, it made him feel a bit calmer. And that was what he needed at the moment. Never mind tomorrow's torture. He had enough to fear right now.
His hands slid downward, as he gave a scathing glance to the heaven that was beyond the gleaming ceiling. However bizzare, it had worked.
He flinched when he felt the technician's hand on his shoulder, as she offered him a kind smile.
"Mr. Kaiba, I'm ready when you are. If you would kindly uncover your stomache."
Seto sighed, and nodded, as he lowered himself, his head tilted on the pillow, as his hands relunctantly ceased the hem of his gown, knotting uncertainly.
"A moment, please." He whispered, as he only breathed in, closed his eyes.
"Let's get this over with." He groused, irritably, as he yanked the garment up, and stared up at her, warily, for any sign that she was gaping or groping, or studying his pale, scarred torso with too much interest. Thankfully, she showed nothing but professional detatchment, as she carefully smeared the conductor gel over his sides. It was uncomfortably cool, and alien, but bearable. Staring at the screen, she lowered the sensor, and glided it over his torso, studying the grainy images with a sympathetic click of her tongue.
It went on for a few more moments, before she abruptly snatched the device away, announced she was finished, and presented Seto with a towelette to remove the gunk from his stomache, if he wanted.
With a shaking breath, Seto gratefully accepted it with a curt, but polite thank you, as he hastily shoved the gown down, and sat up, shakily.
Seto was perched uncomfortably in the leather chair of the doctor's office, the patent, shining leather feeling stiff and uninviting as he forced himself into the proper posture that was harder and harder to keep with his growing weakness. His height had once been considered a blessing, but being hunched over in pain, or even lowering himself made him feel like a bent over giraffe, gaunt, and sick, and ugly...
Mokuba's firm hand latched itself onto his forearm. Troubled, Seto glanced over to his little brother to see what he wanted, with a raised eyebrow. Mokuba's dark eyes glistened bright for a brief moment, before he only tightened the grip, gently. "We're in this together, Seto. Try to remember that, alright?"
Seto sighed, irritably, jerked his arm away, pointedly ignoring the blanched hurt that twisted across Mokuba's face. "Exactly how could I forget that, Mokuba?"
He heard Mokuba's huff of air, the unwelcome feel of fingers once again latching onto his arm, before he was forcibly yanked around to face Mokuba's wounded, storm-black eyes.
"And what the hell does that mean, Seto?!" The question was heaved out between clenched teeth, as Mokuba resumed his punishing grip on Seto's thinning arm. Seto only scowled, and spat out a curt, "nothing," as he tried to free his arm from Mokuba's clutches.
"Like hell it's nothing, Seto! I was only trying to tell you that I'm here for you! What's wrong with that?" Mokuba's voice trailed off in petulant hurt, as Seto dismissed the entreaty with a cold sneer.
"Unless you've got pom-poms and a skirt, Mokuba, I suggest you save the cheerleading, alright? I don't need that right now."
Mokuba's hand slid bonelessly from his arm, his mouth hanging open in pain from the harsh words.
"I'm sorry, Seto..I was only trying to make-"
He was interupted by the sudden jerk of Kaiba's head, as he span indignantly to meet him, and wave down the words with a sweeping arch of one arm that he had flung out in irritation rapidly boiling over to anger.
"Trying to make what, Mokuba? Trying to make this easier?! Trying to distract me from all of this, so I don't mention it?! Trying to force me to choke down the lies that it's going to get better, that if I think happy thoughts all of this s--- will suddenly fly away? You're too old for fairytales, Mokuba, and I don't have time to indulge you in that."
Seto jerked his arm away with a disgusted glance, as Mokuba flinched as he had been hit. Mutely, meekly, he sank back into his chair, as Seto forced himself to keep his cold glare riveted on the door, waiting in the silence for the doctor to deliver the unexpected bad news.
"Why are you doing this, Seto?" The soft, hurt question floated up between them, as Seto shifted, as to present Mokuba with his very indifferent spine. Truth be told, the question felt like Mokuba was holding a searing brand to his heart, and Seto was doing his damnest not to disolve into furious sobs or shrieks.
He did not know which it would be.
"Why am I doing what, Mokuba? Trying to understand your suddenly annoying need to cheer me for your own gratification, or why I allowed you to come to this...appointment in the first place?"
"I want to know why you keep pushing me away, Seto. You promised that you'd let me in, but all you do is keep me back. I want to help you!"
Seto raised hard, broken eyes to Mokuba. "There is nothing to be done, damn it! Why the hell should I let you in when all you do is bitch at me, Mokuba?! Why should I-"
Before he could continue the provoking rant, Mokuba actually struck his brother, the one and only time that he ever raised a hand to his beloved older brother. It was a relatively mild blow, one that would leave a bruise, and an ache for a few days. Mokuba stared down at him, in tense, stunned disbelief.
It was the bleach of alabaster pain that flared forth on his brother's suddenly drawn face, combined with the harsh sound between a groan and a whimper. It was the icy eyes of saphire bleeding in suprised anguish, not only from the physical pain, but from who inflicted it, as Seto peered up at his brother in disbelieving, tremoring shock, from his crouched, folded position. With a grimace, Seto forced his spine into straightening, choked back another yelp, and with admirable restraint, reset himself on the chair with the elegance of a king gracing his throne. From the trembling in his shoulders, and the hitching breath, Mokuba could see with vicious certainty that Seto was hurting.
"You want to know why I'm like this, Mokuba? Do you really want to know?" It was lilting taunt, a teasing, wounding jest, as Seto allowed his lips to curl into that eerily knowing smirk. It was like watching glass shatter as Seto snickered, then dissolved into an almost hysterical chuckle.
"Tell me something, little brother. How many times did our beloved stepfather beat you senseless?"
Seto's irritated fingers drummed out time on the chair's arm rest, as Mokuba's eyes shot open wide, and he looked as if he had swallowed his tongue. He was far too stunned to answer.
"You don't have to patronize me with an answer, Mokuba. I already know the truth, and I think, somewhere in your incoherent thoughts, you know it, too. Do you have any idea what it's like to live with lies, Mokuba?
To wake up every morning wondering if you have to conceal a bruise, or put on a false smile to avoid a harsher punishment, and live in fear, every day, that the fate you suffer will eventually fall on the one person you love?"
Mokuba knew that their monster of a stepfather had singled out Seto,and treated him harshly, but he had no idea how much damage had been done, or how much Seto had choked down over the years. And now, faced with the horrific possibility that all the old scars were becoming fresh wounds, Mokuba could only gape in torpor.
"Every time Gozaburo even showed one decent shred of humanity to me, it was laced with manipulation,and cruelty. I learned very quickly to hate what I could not predict, fear what I could not control, and that weakness was a flaw to be beaten into submission, either by myself, or our loving stepfather. And, Mokuba, do you know how he kept me in line? Do you know what the one leverage was that he used time and time again to make me submit to all his sh--?"
Seto's eyes slid shut, as he trembled, and finally crumbled. "It was you, Mokuba. That bastard threatened to do to you what he had done to me, and I couldn't stand the thought of you suffering because I was too weak to defend you! "
Seto gave a bitter snarl, his voice harsh with the threat of sobs. "And, now, you dare question me why I am the way I am?! You will never know the torture of knowing that your last shred of humanity is keeping you prisoner. Don't you see how twisted it is to know that the one person you hate more than anybody else is manipulating the one thing that keeps you human into a monster? Everybody bitches at me because I'm such a cold, sadistic bastard. But, Mokuba, what the hell was I supposed to do?!" Seto gave a futile, helpless shrug.
"I learned, very quickly, that my weaknesses were always going to be exploited, and manipulated, and that led to being broken, and controlled. Those were my choices, Mokuba. Being broken, and controlled, or growing colder and colder until there was no way that Gozaburo could ever cut me deep enough to bleed again. And ever since discovering that, I just went with what worked, and turned into the cold, egotistical bastard that I never wanted to be. I know that I've been pushing you away, hiding. And, I'm sorry, Mokuba, for doing that to you. I know I'm an ass who jumps to the wrong conclusions about people, I know that I look for threats when they don't exist, and I have no concept of trust, or love being normal. That was all taken away from me years ago, and I know beyond any reasonable certainty, that they're not coming back.That was the price I paid, Mokuba, to make sure you could have them. It was worth it, you were worth it, and I have no regrets about that. What's in the damn past should stay there. But, Mokuba.."
Seto's eyes narrowed into bitter, suffering knife points, as his mouth twisted in intention, as one hand suddenly latched itself onto Mokuba's, as he snatched his brother in a crushing grip, and dragged him close to his clenched teeth.
"If you do anything with your life, Mokuba, I want it to be that you never, never become what I am. I don't want you to ever become a slave to your own bitterness, or be forced to hide who you are from the world. I know that people make their snide remarks about my seeming indifference to the world, Mokuba. But, it's a mask and a front, built on lies. And if you go down that path long enough, you'll find that masks fall off at the worst time, and you have nothing left to shield you from all the things you fear."