Hey all! Sorry for taking so long to update, but holidays and my account being blocked owing to people reporting my stories does that to you. So... well, here you go! Enjoy!
"Hey! Where'd ya get that from?"
Mokuba cackled at Jou's indignant protests. He'd been out of hospital for two weeks now, and was feeling well enough to play computer games with Jou again. Not well enough to go to school, he'd often remind Seto, but well enough to play. "Picked it up a few minutes ago!" he crowed delightedly. "Wanna see how it works?"
Jou growled, trying to manoeuvre his in-game vehicle to anywhere that Mokuba wasn't able to hit him. "Nah thanks, lil' guy," he replied through gritted teeth, his body swaying with the buttons he pressed as if it might magically grant him some extra leverage in the turn. "Wouldn't mind giving you a face full of this though!" Jou mentally cheered himself on as he sent three homing rockets Mokuba's way. With Mokuba that close to the edge, the rockets were sure to knock him off.
"Full of what?"
Jou didn't need to look at Mokuba to know the boy was smirking. Turning his vehicle so that the camera angle showed Mokuba in the distance, he gave a small cry of annoyance as he saw his homing rockets veer skywards. "What gives? They should've hit you!"
"Flares," came the simple reply, Mokuba lining his vehicle up to hit Jou with his secret weapon.
"So that's what they're for," Jou mused out loud, readying his next attack in his mind. 'Easy enough. Just gotta get closer so that the flares won't be able to affect my weapons. Hit him with an iceball, then pummel him senseless while he's frozen...'
"Hey, Jou..."
"What now?"
"Surprise."
As Mokuba uttered that word, he finished the eight-button combination that allowed him to fire his vehicle's special weapon. A bright blue laser beam ripped through the air, striking Jou's vehicle head-on.
"Ah crap!" Jou cried as he tried to get out of the way before any real damage could be taken.
"Too late!"
A loud explosion from the TV's speakers signalled Jou's defeat. "Ah man..." he whined, slumping back against the sofa. "How the hell did you do that?"
A cocky smirk surrounded by ebony hair appeared in Jou's line of sight. "Instruction booklet," Mokuba answered, holding up the pamphlet that came with the game. "Guess it helps to be able to read though, doesn't it?"
Jou's eyes narrowed in mock anger. "Why you little..." he growled, suddenly sitting forward and scooping Mokuba up in his arms. He clambered up to his feet, the smaller boy squealing in surprise, and fixed his younger brother – as he now thought of Mokuba – with a small glare. "Nobody makes fun of me!"
As quickly as he'd scooped him up, Jou suddenly dropped Mokuba, swinging the boy onto the couch as he let go. With a faint 'oof!' Mokuba bounced onto the cushioned surface and lay there giggling. Out of the corner of his eye, the younger boy saw Jou readying for his now-legendary tickle attack, and held his arms out in defence. "Please, mercy!" he begged between laughs. "No more! I'm sorry!"
An evil grin appeared on Jou's face. "Too late now..." Jou was about to pounce, when suddenly a loud bellow from down the hall caught his attention.
"Where the fuck is he?"
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you–" A loud crash followed by a cry of pain ensued, and Jou visibly paled a shade. "Mokuba..." he murmured, "Get out of here. Now."
The boy began to protest, but at a glance from Jou – seeing the fear in the older boy's eye – he gave a small nod and scurried off. Not five seconds later, the other door to the room – the one leading into the hallway – burst open, and a tall, heavily set man lurched in. He reeked of smoke, stale sweat and cheap beer, and looked as though he hadn't shaved for several days. His eyes were bloodshot, his fingernails yellowed with nicotine stains, and he staggered as he lurched across the room toward Jou, leering at him and revealing a mouth with at least three teeth missing. "There you are, you little fucker," he slurred, laughing to himself as if he'd just made an incredibly amusing joke. "Took me more than three months to find out where you pissed off to, but I finally got ya!"
Jou looked his dad up and down in disgust. "Geez old man, you're looking even worse than usual."
"You shut your fucking mouth, boy," came the slurred reply. "I don't wanna have to beat your head off the wall again, but I will if you don't come with me right now."
Jou took a step away from his dad, both fists balling up ready to defend himself. Giving his dad's current state, he doubted the man would even feel Jou hitting him, but maybe he could land a good hit on his jaw. That'd send the old drunkard keeling over in one. "Get outta here!" Jou yelled back. "I live here now, not with you! I don't wanna have anything more to do with you!"
"Little fucker," the older man slurred again. Evidently alcohol still made him just as aggressive as ever. "When I get you home, I'm gonna beat you black and blue."
A stern, condescending voice came from behind the man. "Don't you know there's laws against beating puppies?"
Jou's father turned to see who'd spoken, and laughed out loud as he saw the azure-eyed boy before him. "Well if it ain't Seto Fucking Kaiba!" he sneered, drawing himself up to his full height. "The papers have been full of news about your new mystery boyfriend. Come on, who's the dirty little bastard? How's he doing, huh? Can he still walk, or ain't ya big enough to fuck him properly yet?"
Seto's voice remained perfectly level, though inside he could feel his temper was rising. "Why don't you ask him? He's right behind you."
"Huh?" Jou's dad briefly looked confused at this statement, though the alcohol ruined any hope of him working it out for himself anyway. "There ain't no dirty faggots behind me, you fucking idiot. There's just my boy, and he ain't a poof."
"Wrong, Dad."
Jou's father snapped round and glared at his son. "You jus' keep your trap shut!" he yelled, inadvertently spraying some of his spit in Jou's face. "I'll tell you if you're a faggot or not, and you damn well ain't!"
"Wrong again, Dad."
"Shut up!!!" Jou's dad drew his fist back, ready to smash it straight into Jou's face. The next thing he knew, though, he was on the floor with pain tearing through his shoulder.
"So sorry," Seto sneered, holding onto the wrist of the injured arm, jerking it slightly so he could hear the man cry out in agony. "I guess I must have got carried away. Let me fix that for you." With that, Seto stamped the heel of his foot into the side of the man's upper arm, the force of the kick enough to pop the dislocated shoulder back into place. Roughly jerking the man up by his injured limb, Seto shoved him out into the hallway. "Get out!" he yelled, giving the man a kick as he tripped over his own feet. "Get up and get out of my house! You're not welcome here!" Seto yanked the man up again, twisting his arm – his good arm – behind his back and using it to steer him toward the door. A servant pulled the door open for him – somehow they always managed to be there when you needed them – and Seto shoved him out, pausing to watch him roll down the steps leading up to his door. "If you trespass on my property again," he growled, glaring at the bully before him in disgust. "I'll have my guards shoot you on sight. Don't ever come back." With that, the door slammed, leaving the old man with his face in the dirt.
Once inside, Seto slumped back against the door, breathing deeply to let his anger wash away. On first impressions, he'd disliked Jou's father. That had been when Mokuba had come running to him with teary eyes and told him someone had forced their way in. When he'd seen the man, he had almost instantly hated him. And things had just gone downhill from there.
"Seto?" came Jou's soft voice. "You okay?"
The chestnut-haired teen opened one eye and grinned. "I'm fine," was his simple answer. Self-defence classes had ensured that. "Better than he is, at any rate."
Jou nodded slowly, still looking a little pale from the shock of his father turning up. "I'm... sorry about him... he's always been like that."
Seto opened his other eye, looking a little surprised. "Always always?" At Jou's nodded response, Seto shook his head his head and muttered to himself under his breath. "No wonder you tried to kill yourself..."
Spitting into the street, Jou's dad swayed as he made his way along the pavement, trying to make his vision focus without having to stand still. As he lost his balance again and staggered into a bush, he hissed as the alcohol-muted throb in his shoulder flared up. "Fucking bastard faggot," he growled, lurching back to a near-vertical form. "Fucking make my son think he's gay and throw me out your house, huh?" He took a long draw from the bottle he clutched in his good hand, almost toppling over backward as he threw his head back to drink. "Ahhh..." he sighed, almost smiling as he felt the alcoholic drink slip into his system. "Try to break my fucking arm, huh? Just take me on your own, see how fucking tough you are then."
Jou's dad continued to mutter under his breath as he tottered along, his foul mood bubbling underneath his slurred words. While his rambling was supposed to make him feel better, all it did was serve to remind him over and over of how he'd been so easily ejected from Kaiba's residence, and made his temper boil further. How dare that little fag humiliate him in front of his own son?
Pausing at the end of a stride to let his body regain some sort of balance, Jou's dad stood swaying in the middle of the pavement, his torso rocking back and forth slowly as it struggled to maintain some sort of dignified shape. Bringing his bottle to his lips, throwing his head back, he took another deep draught of the foul-smelling liquid.
Slowly, it dawned on him that he was no longer quite vertical. He hadn't been aware of a falling sensation, but now he was somehow sitting in the middle of the path, staring groggily at his own legs as he tried to let his mind catch up with him.
"Hey mister, are you okay?"
Looking up, Jou's dad saw two – or possibly four, he couldn't quite tell – white-haired figures stood before him, one or two of them with very pale skin and the others with heavily tanned skin. "Fuck off," he snapped, slurring so that 'fuck' sounded more like 'fuhh.' "I bet you're all dirty little faggots too, ain'tcha?"
Ryou slowly withdrew his proffered hand, standing up again and shying a little closer to Malik. "S-sorry," he began, sounding somewhat put out. "I just thought-"
"Fuck off," Jou's dad slurred again, sneering at the two boys – or was it four...? "Your type are all fucked up."
Malik narrowed his eyes at this lout, whoever he was. If Ryou hadn't been present, he'd have given the arsehole a good kicking, drunk or not. "Come on Ryou," he murmured, lightly taking the boy's elbow with his hand. "Let's go."
It was the first time Ryou had gone back out with Malik since the incident those two weeks ago. Malik knew Ryou was still upset about it, and was being very cautious. Malik, on the other hand, was delighted that he'd been given a second chance, and intended to treat Ryou exactly as he deserved to be. All the light, gentle touches – like the hand on the arm – revealed underlying affection, a sign of real love. The small things were what made it good, and he could tell Ryou appreciated these soft signs. The boy gave a gentle nod, following Malik down the street.
Jou's dad stared after them, his head swaying slightly as he watched them leave. Were... were they holding hands now? "Hey!" he called, lurching to his feet in a very ungraceful motion and staggering two steps sideways. "Hey, you two really are fucking faggots, ain'tcha! Get 'ere, you dirty little bastards!" He began to slowly stagger down the road after them, his balance shot now that he'd sat down for so long. "You both get 'ere, I'll teach you what people should do to faggots!"
Ryou cringed slightly at the drunk's words, and Malik slipped a hand round his shoulders, rubbing his arm soothingly. Inside, he was absolutely seething, and if he'd been alone there'd be half a chance the drunk would be put in a coma by now, though admittedly he didn't suppose he'd be quite so upset if the words didn't hurt Ryou like they did. "Come on," Malik whispered, giving Ryou a gentle squeeze. "Let's cross over. The state he's in, he'll probably fall over at the kerb and pass out."
Ryou nodded in reply, giving no small sigh of relief, and allowed Malik to lead him across the street, his arms curling against his chest slightly as he leaned a little closer. He was beginning to remember one of the many reasons he loved Malik so much – the fact that the boy, with the exception of the thing with Bakura, had always put him first and looked after him. Malik had always gone against what he'd wanted to do, instead doing as he thought Ryou would wish.
As they reached the other side of the road, Ryou glanced back over his shoulder. "Malik," he whimpered. "He's still following us."
Malik turned, and mentally cursed as he saw the drunk beginning to stagger across the road. "Come on, let's just keep moving," he whispered, beginning to lead Ryou away again. A loud honk of a lorry's horn, however, made him glance back once more, and his eyes opened wide with horror as he saw a big, black articulated truck roaring down the road, the screech of brakes accompanying it serving no warning to the drunk, who barely seemed to have noticed.
Malik quickly turned away, covering Ryou's ears and turning his head to face the wall beside them, positioning himself between Ryou and the drunk. Not half a second later, there came a sickening, flat thud as the truck collided with the man who'd been following them, and Malik heard several cracks as the man hit the ground, momentarily making him feel nauseous. After a few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder to the point where the man had landed, the truck having stopped mere inches short of rolling right over him, and felt his stomach muscles clench again. The man's face looked like it had been caved in by the metal grille on the front of the truck, and at least two of his limbs looked to be broken in several places. Blood was seeping out from countless areas, already beginning to pool in the road, and his clothes were ripped and torn. There came a soft clinking at Malik's feet, and Malik saw the man's bottle roll to a stop, the neck pointing at Malik almost accusingly as the fluid inside it poured out.
Malik kept Ryou's head turned away, ignoring the boy's protests – he'd explain himself later – and watched as the truck driver leapt down from the cab and hurried over to the body. Barely needing a glance, he turned away with a look of pained disgust on his face and spotted Malik. "Call an ambulance!" he yelled to him, though the tone of his voice said enough. There was no urgency to it; instead it was merely following routine. He knew exactly what Malik had suspected as soon as he saw the man lying disfigured in the road.
Numbly nodding and reaching into Ryou's pocket for his cell phone, Malik barely breathed one word before dialling the number.
"Fuck..."
