Rag Dolls

By Sylvia

May 2003

Disclaimer: I don't own Seto or Mokuba, and this is probably not even close to their true history, but that's what makes Yu-Gi-Oh so much fun!  I'm not trying to infringe on copyright laws or anything else, I'm just writing for good old non-profit fun.

Summary: Young Seto and Mokuba deal with the passing of their parents and try to find a way to survive in a world against them.

Author's Note: A special thanks goes out to Kabuki for being the ever-faithful, ever-critical beta reader.  Reviews are always welcome!

Chapter 1:

The rain fell in a torrent, making a pitter-pattering sound on the roof of the faded blue vehicle, reminding Seto of a million marching soldiers set out on some dismal mission.  He stared through the thick soup of water that had collected on the front windshield, rubbing his sweaty hands in fear and worry.  Once in a while the lazy wipers would attempt to clear the foggy glass, illuminating the wet white coat of the man that had driven them to this ominous place. His once crisp white hat had been completely drenched as soon as he'd stepped from the safety of the vehicle, and he stood with eternal patience before the great double wooden doors, waiting a response from the otherwise silent building.  Seto glanced down at the dim blue digital clock on the dash, the numbers flickering as the engine grumbled with waving anticipation.  The man had been standing there for five minutes.  He squinted at the blurred white figure screened by the torrential rain through the waterfall on the dash, watching as the cloaked figure pushed the button for the doorbell again, and Seto furrowed his brows in uncertainty.

"What do you think's taking him so long, big brother?" Mokuba tearful voice mirrored Seto's own feelings as he turned in his seat to give his brother a reassuring smile.  The child's large blue eyes stared at him in fear as he clutched the seatbelt to his toddler-safe car seat, fidgeting with the obviously uncomfortable strap in annoyance.

"They're probably all asleep, it is pretty late." Seto unbuckled his seatbelt, and reached back to pull his brother's strap away from his neck and tucked it beneath his arm.  "Is that better?"

"Yeah."  Mokuba smiled at him in appreciation.  Seto could never understand how the smallest things always seemed to thrill the child.  Any sort of comfort he gave him always made his large blue eyes light up in appreciation.  Mokuba was so innocent, but Seto knew that even as an infant, his sometimes devious brother would use that to his advantage.  Many a hapless mother was taken in by those baby blues – it was always Seto they shrank away from.  He recalled the words of their Aunt Eliza who lived in some country in Europe when she saw the two boys shortly after their parents' accident.  Seto distrusted her as soon as he saw her.  Her eyes were large but angled in such a way that they denied affection; her large crooked nose reminded him more of a pirate's hook than something she was born with.  She had worn a bright red summer dress the day she'd come to see them, the day she was supposed to take them home.  The two brothers had been kept in the house, and since she was the nearest relative she was phoned immediately.  Upon viewing the children, she'd been impossibly intent upon only taking Mokuba with her, loving the cute child as soon as she saw him, but Seto was not so easily fooled.  He knew what his parents had thought of this woman, he remembered what they spoke of her behind closed doors in the comfort of their home, and he knew what would happen to them if they went with her.

The tall gangly brunette was poking a gnarled finger into his little brother's side to make him laugh – it was utterly sickening.  Mokuba kept trying to push the woman away, begging to be released, but the woman held him tightly despite her thin form.  Seto scowled, waiting patiently for the dense woman to notice him.  She smiled her fake grins as she regarded the elder of the two boys.  Glancing in the direction of the caretaker, the man in the white coat, she'd dutifully placed his little brother to the ground, and stared down at Seto with scrutiny.

"I didn't realize there were two of them," her hideous laughter was badly forced, and the caretaker only rolled his eyes.

"Didn't you know your sister had two sons?" he looked rather shocked.

"Well, we weren't exactly what you would call close." She laughed again.  Her breath smelled like alcohol and her perfume reeked of artificial sunflowers.  Seto simply stood, awaiting his judgment like a kid that had been sent to the principal's office.  Eventually, she turned to him again, eying him with undeniable suspicion, and then smiling at his brother.  "Can't I just take the one of them?"

"This isn't some auction, Ma'am.  Please, these boys need a home, and you're the only relative they have."  The man in the white trench coat ruffled through some papers absent-mindedly.  This was obviously only a job that needed to be completed, and he had other matters to attend to.

"Well, I don't like that one," she pointed again to Seto, her jagged fingernails covered in a thin layer of red paint.  "He looks like he'd kill me if given the chance," she stared at him again, her crooked eyes glaring in outrage.  "He looks like he'd strangle me in my sleep – just look at that demonic child!  You can't force me to take that thing home with me!  No, I won't do it.  I'll take the young one, but you can't force me to take that one."

Seto took hold of Mokuba's hand, urging him away from the enraged and volatile woman.  "Either you take both of us, or you don't get either," Seto was surprised by how strong his voice sounded, and felt a hot flush race to his head as the two adults stared at him in shock. "I don't trust you, and Mother hated you."

"What did you say to me?" the woman leaned down, glaring daggers into the child.

"Now listen here, kid, you can't just go around and –" the man moved forward with an argument but the woman held out an arm, a few bangles sliding down her thin wrists with a tinkle.

"Well, look.  You heard the kid – if I can't take them both, I can't take either.  That sounds fair to me," she smiled at the boy, yellowed teeth with coffee stains.  Seto took a step backwards, squeezing Mokuba's hand with determination.  The man had taken her into the next room, and Seto had waited for nearly an hour listening to the argument.  The pair had only learned of their parents' demise only that morning, and even now as they waited in the stuffy vehicle, they were both reeling from the shock.  Their aunt hadn't wanted them, and to be quite honest, Seto would have refused to go with her.  He had been prepared to fling any accusation he could muster at the woman, any insult, any curse that would make her leave him and his baby brother alone.  He remembered quite clearly what his mother had thought of her.

"The woman's a mess, Seto, and I don't want you or Mokuba associating with her in any way.  She's so wrapped up in her own problems and foolishness that she wouldn't give the time of day to the two of you." She'd hugged him then, and Seto's eyes moistened as he recalled the soft smell of peaches he'd be immersed in whenever her arms had wrapped around him.

"I really can't believe she's your sister, dear," the deep voice of Seto's father entering the room, straightening his tie in exasperation.  "Imagine her coming here and asking for money just so she can go buy more of her … Damn her!  Does she think we're fools?  That we wouldn't know?  She was painted up like a goddamn whore -"  The man had always had a quick temper, would always jump to conclusions, but in this case Seto had felt that the tall, built man had been correct.  His father had raked a hand through his disheveled russet hair, which always had that peculiar habit of falling into his equally dark eyes.

"Please, not in front of Seto!" His mother had held him all the closer, her soft silk shirt brushing against his cheek.  Seto wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, remembering the comfort and peace he had felt within those arms.  He thought of the car wreck, of how his mother must have appeared – no longer the warm, strong woman he'd known, but a cold, limp form that he might not even be able to recognize.  What if the policemen and detectives and ambulance crews hadn't correctly determined her dead, though?  What if the strong heartbeat that had soothed him so much only days ago had whispered of life still?

Burning candles, frankincense and myrrh incense filling his nostrils, the shadowy looming rafters of the cathedral.  The people that crowded Seto and his brother, dressed in black suits, black dresses, tears streaming down their faces, tiny, frail handkerchiefs dabbing the red, puffy eyes, and at the front of the room, two black coffins, perfectly aligned with each other.  The lids were closed, each box adorned with gorgeous bouquets of flowers, but Seto could imagine their faces.  Their aunt had been there, though she'd shed no tears.  Her black dress was lined in red, a long cut up the side to flash the insulting hue as she floundered about, drinking and laughing without a care in the world.  Mokuba could barely get near the coffins – everyone thought it was bad for a child to have to lose his parents at such a young age.  But Seto would not allow them to pull him away, he stood between the two coffins, each the exact same shape and size, like a can of sardines, one size fits all.  He stared from his father's coffin, to his mother's, from the left, to the right, until his gaze fixed on her coffin alone.  He stared at the head, wondering what she looked like beneath, wondering how mutilated and scarred she truly was, and for an instant he almost though he could hear her, a cry for help perhaps?  Could she truly be alive?  Trapped in the black box that was far too big for her frail form?

Seto wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his dirty sleeve.  He wished he could have seen her, he wished he'd flung the damn lid from the box and pulled her free of the flowers, free of the incense and candles, out into the sunshine again, where she could hold him and comfort him and let him know that everything would be alright…

"Seto, I miss Mom and Dad." Seto looked behind him again and stared at his baby brother.  Mokuba never was able to take care of himself.  He'd always run to their mother or father, crying and making every kind of noise to get attention.  They'd always listen to him, no matter how mundane his request. He was definitely the most spoiled of the two.  Watching the boy now, Seto couldn't imagine what it must be like for his younger brother – the boy wasn't even able to get out of his safety belt without help.  Seto sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.  He knew what his parents would have wanted him to do, what they always wanted him to do – to look after his younger brother.  Well, he wouldn't let them down.  He could do that much for them.  He'd have to be the strong one – the dependable one for his little brother.  Smiling at the small child, Seto crawled through the space between the front two seats and curled up beside his brother.

"It's okay, Mokuba.  Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you."  Seto squeezed his brother's arm in comfort, wincing as he watched the tears stream down the child's face.  "Hey look, at least we'll have a place to sleep tonight."

"I wanna go home!  I don't wanna go to sleep in their nasty beds and eat their yucky food!  I want mamma!" The child sobbed into his hands, and Seto was for a moment uncertain of what to do.  Mokuba had always had their mother to run to when he was sad or injured, and she'd always soothe him, comfort him, and hold him.  Seto wrapped his arms around his brother, laying his head on the child's bushy head.  He too was frightened, but he couldn't let his brother see it.

"It'll be okay, Mokuba.  Please don't cry.  I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."  Slowly the child's sobs faded, and for a few minutes all Seto could hear was the soldiers again, marching across the roof of the car as droplets of rain struck in mismatched rhythm.  Their footsteps uneven with the pouring rain, like a funeral procession, a million men and women in black suits and dresses, tears streaming down their faces, running from the inescapable emptiness of the black boxes adorned with bouquets of white flowers.  Seto held his brother tighter, staring hard at the windshield and swallowing back the lump of fear in his throat.  He thought it looked as though it was melting with the rain, as though the droplets were acid and that the safety of the tiny metal box on wheels wouldn't be enough to keep it out.

Slowly he came to the realization that his parents had died within their car, someone said they'd been fused to the dash, horribly burned and were unable to get out of the vehicle.  He tried the handle of the door with curiosity, the drum of the raindrops ringing in his ears – the door wouldn't give.  He pulled again at the handle, but it wouldn't open.  Was this what his mother had felt like, trapped in that damn black box?  Had she pushed at the wood and banged on the silk lining?  The car looked terribly small suddenly, and Seto began to feel the claustrophobia bearing down all around him.  He pulled at the lock on the door, trying to unlock the steel barricade, but the knob wouldn't lift.  He pulled again and again, his sweaty fingers slipping on the plastic.

"Are you okay, big brother?"  Mokuba's thin voice caused Seto to spin around in his seat, his brother's eyes wide as saucers.  "Are we locked in?"  Blindly, Seto nodded, his head was dizzy and his breath was coming in uncontrollable gasps, but Mokuba placed a small hand on his shoulder.  "It'll be okay, Seto.  We'll take care of each other."  The boy's face was still wet with tears, but amazingly enough he was trying to smile.  Seto willed himself to calm down as he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take deep breaths.  He couldn't cry in front of his younger brother, not here, not now, not when he was the only person left for the poor kid to hang onto.  His brother was counting on him.  He covered Mokuba's hand with shaky fingers, feeling the claustrophobia crawling away, like a beast that had spared its prey.

Was this feeling anything like what his parents had felt?  Was it like a roller coaster?  Falling down and down and down, screaming until your lungs hurt and your throat stung?  What must it have felt like – "fused to the dash?"  Idly Seto wondered where in the car the dash was.  Was it on the roof?  Or near the trunk?  He suddenly felt very ashamed, not knowing where in the car his mother had been trapped.  It was like not knowing her name or how she laughed, with one hand shyly lifted to hide her smile.  It was like not knowing her favorite television show, or her favorite food…

"Don't cry, big brother.  We'll have a nice bed to sleep in once we get inside." Mokuba's voice dragged him from his thoughts like a tow truck dragging a smashed car, its wheels stubbornly stuck in the mud.

Seto smiled, wiping the tears away again in shame.  "You mean we won't have to sleep in *nasty beds* and eat their *yucky food*?" His grin widened as the boy looked dumbfounded for a moment.

"Well, probably," Mokuba pulled at the strap which had come loose around his throat.  "But at least we'll be able to do it together!  Maybe you can sleep with me, and maybe you can make me food, and maybe…"

"Like chocolate chip waffles?"

"Yummy!" Mokuba started licking his lips, "Yeah!  And a nice big chocolate cake!"

"With strawberries?"

"And lots and lots of vanilla ice cream!"

"With sprinkles!"

Seto jumped as the door next to him was opened, the dim light of the interior of the vehicle unusually bright.  The sopping white hat appeared beside him, and the mustached man in the trench coat smiled, his thin lips stretched taut so that it seemed the action required a great effort.  "Come on, kids.  Hurry up."