(waves) Koniichiwa, minna-san! I'm sorry this has taken so long...I'm dragging 'cause I'm nearing the end, and I don't want this story to end! I'm hoping and praying for a sequal, but...TT I don't know yet!

Ano...I don't have time (sotry of my life!!) to write review responses, and I should be happy about that because I'm getting SO MANY, but I really, really do want to talk to each of you! (cries) I love you guys! Thank you so much!

Er...yeah, I'm done. Read. (points) Now.

Chapter Nineteen

Yutou made it out of Kaiba's line of sight before he collapsed. Of course he wasn't upset by what Kaiba had said. Not at all. It was just…well…he wasn't exactly sure what was wrong, but he was shaking and he was, dare he say it, scared. He thought he'd gotten over this a long time ago, why would he have a breakdown now? It didn't make any sense. It had to be something else. He wasn't afraid.

But he was trembling, gripping the carpet with whitened fingers, his teeth clenched so tightly that his jaw ached, and his heart was racing. How could Kaiba have known? Sure, he was a genius, sure he was a child prodigy, but how could he be so perceptive of other people's problems? It was exactly the opposite of what Yutou had been trying to teach him, that same sympathy that Yutou had tried to beat out of him. And yet…he persisted, seemingly unconsciously, which led Yutou to think that maybe Kaiba was more than his fears. Maybe there was something, an inherent sense of self that even abuse and—God, it wrenched at him to even think it, but it was what it was—rape couldn't crush.

Had…had he failed?

His arms were trembling too badly to support him and they buckled, leaving him curled in a heap on the carpet, breathing heavily and staring at nothing. He couldn't have failed. He couldn't. Kamimura Yutou didn't fail. It wasn't possible. Failure wasn't acceptable, he wasn't allowed to…

Maybe…maybe he hadn't. There had been no sympathy in Kaiba's voice, no mercy in his caustic words and biting glare. There had been nothing, no emotion at all. He hadn't said it to protect himself, hadn't said it for any reason other than to…to hurt him. He knew, he knew it would screw him up, knew that the mere mention, even after so long would be enough to send him into a panic. He liked it, Yutou had seen the predatory smile and the aggressive set of his body. He loved the power, the control, and maybe Yutou had gone about this wrong? He hadn't failed, but neither had he succeeded. Kaiba wasn't broken, wasn't completely heartless, but there didn't seem to be enough humanity left in him for him to carry on a normal life. He'd developed a talent, a cruel, awful talent, one that allowed him to rip people apart and throw their traumas back at them.

Oh, he hadn't meant to make the boy like him! He didn't want him to pick up his malicious comments and spiteful jokes, he didn't want him to enjoy making people cringe. He didn't want Kaiba to grow up, to do to someone else what had been done to him. He just wanted someone to listen to him, someone to obey him without question, someone…

…no, he couldn't lie to himself. Not anymore.

He wanted someone there. Someone who became so addicted, so dependent on him that they couldn't carry on without him. He wanted someone who needed him. He hadn't done it for Kaiba. He hadn't been trying to protect him from himself, no matter what he told himself in his inner monologues. It had been entirely selfish, entirely driven by a need to…maybe…be loved.

"Yutou, who raped you?"

Yutou shuddered. He'd never let anything slip. He'd always left Kaiba's presence before he had an attack, he'd never been anything but cold around him. He'd been perfect, he'd been untouchable, and Kaiba had still picked up on it. Somehow, Kaiba had seen past his defenses, seen enough to…to know what had happened to him.

"Who raped you?"

"Don't touch him. Damn it woman, let him take care of himself!" A harsh blow to the back of his head and six-year-old Yutou fell to the ground, eyes brimming with tears. His mother scooped him up in her arms and held him to her breast, shushing him, telling him it was going to be alright, don't cry, you'll just make him madder…

"C'mere brat. On your knees." Yutou whimpered and shook his head. He didn't want to, he didn't like this, he knew what they wanted him to do…all he wanted was to go to bed, to fall asleep and forget all this. He'd only asked for some bread, he'd been so hungry…

"Don't cry. I'm not hurting you. I said stop it!" He couldn't, he couldn't make himself stop, the tears continued coursing down his cheeks and he gave a raspy sob, barely able to breathe as rough arms slid around him, tightening around his tiny waist, bruising pale skin as he wailed and begged and cried for Mommy, but Mommy was watching him with mad, blank eyes, it was too much for her, too much to see what was happening to her little boy…

Yutou caught himself mid-whimper and bit down on his own wrist, hard enough to jerk himself out of the memories, hard enough to taste blood. No, he was past this! It was over! It had been over…what…twenty years ago? No, less. He'd been…nineteen. Yes, nineteen. Sixteen years should have been enough for the memories to fade. The nightmares had stopped, the attacks had stopped, he'd even stopped taking his medication and he'd been fine.

He was still fine.

Curled up on the floor, clutching himself so tightly that he bruised his own shoulders, Yutou shivered and cried, but he was alright. He was always alright. The tears weren't his, the pained gasps weren't his. It wasn't him lying there, because there was nothing wrong with him.

"Daddy…"

Oh, and that little confession couldn't have been his…could it?

oooooooOOOOOOOOOooooooo

"I know you've come here expecting answer as to why these pictures of me have appeared." Seto was in his typical speech-giving mode, (even though he was over an hour late, he seemed completely unapologetic) palms flat on his podium, leaning forward so the press got the full effect of his furious blue eyes. Jou normally would have been amused by the number of rookies who quailed away from him, but he was busy watching Seto.

He didn't look good. He was pale, more so that usual, and his eyes had a rather lackluster quality to them. His voice was sure and steady, but he clearly wasn't enjoying terrifying these reporters nearly as much as he normally did. Maybe he's just nervous, Jou told himself firmly. He's gotta be embarrassed by all this shit.

"I regret to inform you that these photographs are not a hoax." If he noticed the excited mumbling of the crowd, he didn't make any indication of it; he steeled himself and continued. "The story I am about to tell you is nearly unbelievable, however I assure you that it is the truth. At this stage, I cannot afford to lie to you."

Flashbulbs went off and Seto drew a great, shuddering breath, visibly composing himself on the large video screens situated about the conference room. This was it, no turning back now. "The pictures come from a collection comprised by my late stepfather, Kaiba Gozaborou and several of his associates, primarily Kamimura Yutou. I was trained by Kamimura-san from the time I was adopted, under my stepfather's orders. He began beating me when I was twelve, and raping me when I reached age fourteen.

"In no way were these photographs taken willingly; I had no intention of cooperating with Kaiba-san's games. However, being ten years old rather limits one's methods of escape. I will now take questions, if any of you care to ask." His glare clearly said he was nearly ready to tear apart anyone who dared raise their hand, but the reporters were so excited by this new turn of events that they (literally) risked their lives for the story.

"Kaiba-san! Kaiba-san!" Kaiba nodded at the comely young woman who had spoken and she stood, adjusting her stylish glasses. "Do you have any evidence of your outrageous claims against Kamimura Yutou-san?"

Seto flinched and Jou's face clouded. They didn't believe him? Couldn't they see how hard this was for him? Fuckin' idiots, he hated the media! They were ruinin' Seto's life, and not one of them seemed even slightly remorseful, slightly sympathetic about a fourteen-year-old boy being raped and abused for so long, they were just excited about getting such a fantastic story on the normally-withdrawn Kaiba…it made Jou sick.

"You don't believe me?" Seto said softly into the microphone. "You think I'd make all this up?"

The woman seemed taken aback. "Ah…well, no, but…"

Seto jerked off his jacket and hurled it to the floor, fingers busily undoing his shirt buttons. He pulled the silk off of his shoulders and pushed down the waistband of his pants, exposing an angry pink scar. "Is this enough proof for you?" Seto hissed, still in that deadly-calm voice.

The cameras zoomed in on Seto's navel, blurring and refocusing as the crowd stared at the video screens in fascinated horror. "I think you'll recognize this character as your anonymous photographer's calling card."

Jou blanched. He'd had surgery, there was no way…no way at all he would have left that there…would he? He surely didn't want such an obvious reminder…maybe…

Well, it should have been gone and it wasn't, because there it was, right above the fine line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his dress pants, a good-sized scrawl of the character for 'whore.' It was undoubtedly the same handwriting as the 'calling card' as Seto had termed it, and if that wasn't enough the video screens started scrolling a slide show of Seto's recent hospital visit—even the pictures taken before Seto had seen the doctors. Even Jou hadn't seen these and he stared, shaking with fury as he saw Seto, pale and crying, curled up and clutching a blanket around himself, trying desperately to hide the wounds that covered his entire body.

"I trust this is sufficient proof."

The reporter had gone white, completely and utterly colourless, eyes wide with shock. Seto had shaken them, the excited whispers had died down completely, leaving behind startled silence. "Y-yes, Kaiba-san, I-I apologize—" She sat down and stared at her shoes, the notebook clutched in her hand completely forgotten in the face of what she had just seen.

"Kamimura-san recently took me back, after threatening harm to my little brother and my friends if I did not comply with his wishes. I had little choice in the matter." He waved at the screens with a trembling hand. "You can clearly see what happens when I displease Kamimura-san."

"He's never harmed your brother, has he?" The reporter's tones were much more polite now, a sort of shocked reverence, as if even they sensed they trod on sensitive ground. The last question seemed almost concerned, as if they really did care about Mokuba's well-being.

"No. He has never managed to get his hands on my brother. I did all I could to prevent that from happening."

"Oi, Jou." Someone tugged on his sleeve and Jou turned towards the whispering voice. "Come out in the hall. I need to talk to you."

"Marik?" Jou hissed as he got up and followed the blonde Egyptian. "I thought you an' Malik were visiting Rashid in Osaka."

"We—we changed our plans." Marik shuffled his feet nervously, eyes darting about, and Jou realized that something was very, very wrong. Marik was quiet, scared almost, and he'd never met anyone Marik was afraid of. Marik had always been…near inhuman about his utter lack of fear, taking everything that had ever been thrown at him with a sarcastic grin and an impolite gesture. He couldn't imagine what could have happened to upset the Egyptian unless…

"Marik…where's Malik?"

Marik's grip on his elbow tightened, his mouth pressing into a firm, angry line that Jou didn't like at all. "He's in trouble, Jou. Will you help me?" He turned his lavender eyes on Jou and he realized for the first time how much the two must have cared for each other. They were always squabbling, fighting about the stupidest things, and Marik slept on the couch more often than in Malik's bed, or so Jou had heard. They'd gotten into several fights, fights that Jou and Honda had had to stop before they killed each other, and so, well, it had never really seemed that the two had the same sort of relationship that the other hikaris and yamis did.

But now, gazing into those pain-wracked eyes, there was no doubt about it. Marik loved his hikari, loved him more than life itself, and he was worried about him. His hand clenched convulsively as Jou reached out for him and he stiffened as the shorter teen engulfed him in an embrace. "Of course I'll help," Jou said. "Tell me what's wrong."

Marik gave him a tearful, grateful smile. "Come with me."

oooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooo

For someone that had lost his hikari, Marik seemed to know where he was going. He steered Jou through the halls quickly, his grip nearly bruising Jou's skin, speeding them along as if he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Jou chalked it up to worry and peppered him with questions, all of which Marik ignored or brushed off.

They stopped, finally, in front of a door and Marik's shoulder slumped helplessly. His head dropped, almost in shame and Jou's eyebrows knit together. "I…I'm sorry," Marik whispered huskily, sounding as if he were in the verge of tears. "You have to believe me, I didn't want to do this. I don't want to see you hurt, Jonouchi. You're my friend, you know that? I trust you."

"What're you talkin' about, Marik?" Jou backed up a few steps when Marik's hands shot out, grabbing him by the shoulders, trapping him. "Marik, what's goin' on? Let me go!" Tanned fingers dug into his shoulders, hard, and he cried out in pain. "You're hurtin' me! Stoppit!"

Marik opened the door and shoved Jou in ahead of him, catching the smaller blonde off-balance and knocking him to the floor. Jou struggled to push himself up, but Marik had planted his boot between his shoulder blades, and Jou's nose was pressed to the carpet. "I brought him, like you asked."

"Good." Jou froze; he knew that voice. He knew it and he hoped to God that Marik wasn't behind this, because even an insane tomb keeper knew to keep away from psychos like Yutou. "Let him up, my friend, he can't breathe." The foot moved and Jou gasped for air, barely daring to look up. Yutou was sitting in a plush armchair, legs crossed primly, leaning his chin on his hands.

"I'm not your friend," Marik growled from behind him. "Give me back my hikari."

Yutou smiled, an eerie, predatory smile. "Of course." He kicked something out from underneath his chair and it rolled toward Jou, stopping just in front of his nose. "He struggled a bit, I hope you don't mind the bruises."

It was Malik, unconscious and tied up, a scarf serving as a gag, stained with blood where it had torn into the corners of the hikari's mouth. His shirt was ripped down the center, his torso covered with the beginnings of some magnificent bruises, and his knees were bloody, presumably where Yutou had shoved him to the ground. The rope was tied too tightly around his wrists and crimson had welled up around his bonds, mottling the fibers. Marik gave a cry and leapt at his hikari, gathering the battered body to his chest. "Malik!"

"Tch. Stop whining. He's fine."

"Marik…what…did you…" Jou was at a loss for words.

Marik staggered to his feet, clutched Malik's body desperately, burying his face in blood-soaked hair. "I'm sorry, Jou. He kidnapped Malik, and he wanted me to bring you to him…I never meant for you to get hurt, but he was going to kill my hikari!" A sound almost like a muffled sob wrenched itself from the yami's throat. "He had a note delivered to me, a note written in Malik's blood…I was so scared…so scared Malik was dead, I didn't have any other choice…he promised he'd give Malik back…" Marik shuddered and glanced over at Jou. "I'm sorry."

Jou tried to manage a smile as he picked himself up off of the floor and dusted himself off. " 'Sokay. He didn't give you another option. I'll be fine."

"Get out of here," Yutou snapped, obviously bored by the touching exchange. "And I swear to God, if you so much as hint where Jonouchi's gone..." he trailed off, leaving an unspoken threat to hang in the air. Marik glanced at Jou, who nodded reassuringly and waved him away.

"I'll be alright."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Yutou said smugly as the door clicked shut. "You're in more danger than you've ever been in."

Jou whirled on Yutou, completely ignoring what he'd said, clenching his fists. "Why Malik?" he growled. "Why drag someone else into this? He didn't do anything; you could have killed him!"

"Ah, but I didn't." Yutou examined his perfectly-manicured nails for nonexistent dirt. "It would have been a shame to crush such…fiery spirit. And he was quite attractive." He shot Jou a look from half-lidded eyes, coupled with a hint of a smirk. "Don't you think? A waste of beauty."

Jou's stomach dropped. "Tell me you didn'," he snarled. "Tell me you didn' touch Malik. Not like that. Tell me you didn' hurt someone else!"

"Hn," Yutou said noncommittally. "I'd hate to lie to you, Jonouchi. However, he made the unfortunate mistake of breaking down and sobbing when I did. I hate weakness. I didn't intend to hurt him, you must believe that. I simply wanted to amuse myself with him until you showed up, but apparently his father had claimed that territory long before I, or even his pretty little lover, got there." Jou had known that the elder Ishtar had been somewhat depraved, and had routinely taken out his frustrations on his son. Malik had been molested as a very young child, and the scars remained with him to this day, although Marik had been able to intervene before it was taken any further. Jou knew all that already, but what caught his attention was the fierce glint in Yutou's normally dispassionate eyes. Was it Jou's imagination, or was there a trace of anger in Yutou's voice?

"What do you want with me? Seto's fixing what you did, there's nothing you can do to us anymore."

"I can do anything I want to you." Yutou didn't stand so much as unfold himself from the chair and slunk across the room, eyeing Jou in a way that made him feel rather like a piece of meat being dangled before a hungry wolf. Yutou smiled and took his chin in hand, forcing his head up so they stared into each other's eyes, neither one backing down. Jou crossed his arms stubbornly across his chest, meeting Yutou glare for glare, as rebellious and challenging as he could manage. "You're coming with me."

"I don' think so."

Yutou arched an eyebrow at him and drew from an inside coat pocket a slim cell phone. He flipped it open, studying the screen, fingers hovering over the keypad. "One call from me and three sniper's bullets find their way into Kaiba-kun's chest." He smirked at Jou. "I know you don't want that."

Jou staggered back, breath catching, horror settling in his stomach. "You're not serious. Seto's security—"

"I ran this place for years, Jonouchi. I know my way around here, I know every camera's blind spot, every door's override code. If you honestly think I wouldn't be able to sneak in a couple of snipers—isn't your lover's life quite a bit to gamble with? Are you willing to take that risk?"

Was he? Could he possibly call Yutou's bluff at the price of Seto's life? And then…was Yutou even bluffing? God, what was he supposed to do now? Jou continued to back away, shaking his head numbly, refusing to believe he was being faced with this choice. It was impossible, he couldn't do this, shouldn't do this, it wasn't fair…"What…what do you want with me?" He clutched at the hem of his shirt, just to have something to hold onto, something to keep him grounded, focused. "Not—I mean, what you did t' Seto—" He couldn't survive that, he knew he couldn't. He'd seen what Seto had become, how cold and detached he'd had to be, just to survive, and Jou knew that living like that would kill him.

"What I will do with you is my decision and mine alone. I'm in control here, not you."

"Why? Don't we deserve the chance to be happy?" Frightened amber eyes pleaded with him, begged him to let them go, let them live in peace. Yutou couldn't do that, not while he was alive. Kaiba was the only thing that kept him sane, he realized that now. Without someone to tear apart, everything came rushing back, paralyzing him, crippling him. He was strong, he had to be; he'd paid for the right to govern himself. Human rights were nothing to him…what had the others given in exchange for those freedoms? He had fought and sacrificed everything he had, everything he was: his childhood, his happiness, his sanity…everything he could give. He owed humanity nothing.

He owed Jonouchi nothing.

"Why? What have you done to deserve happiness?"

Jonouchi blinked at him. "Deserve? Yutou, since when d'we have to deserve it?" Yutou's face tightened in a snarl until he caught sight of Jonouchi's eyes and the sweet, guileless innocence behind them. Jonouchi wasn't mocking him, he truly believed that everyone had the right to be happy. He thought he deserved peace.

"Idiot," Yutou growled, tipping his head forward so his hair covered his eyes. "Nothing comes for free. If you haven't sacrificed for something, it's astonishing how easily it can be taken away."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"What have you forgone for him?"

"For who?"

"Kaiba."

Jou's hand shot out in a flash of rage, coupled with a furious roar and connected solidly with Yutou's stomach. "How dare you! How dare you insinuate you've sacrificed anything for him!"

Jou wasn't a weakling, he knew that. He'd been fighting since he was a child, been one of the most feared students at every school he'd gone to (until he'd met Yuugi, of course—that boy had a way of mellowing anyone out). He could have very well broken a few ribs, damaged some internal organs, but Yutou gave no sign that he had even felt Jou's blow, much less been harmed by it. He merely smiled, a sick, insane grin that repulsed Jou so much he shoved the elder man hastily away. "You—what are you?" He hadn't even felt that punch, hadn't even cared—

"I? Nothing and everything, little one." He grabbed a fistful of Jou's hair and jerked it sharply.

"Ahhn!" Jou yelped, trying best he could to wrest his head from Yutou's grasp. The elder man's fingers held, s veritable steel trap and try as he might, Jou could not free himself. It hurt, hurt so much that Jou was forced to stand on tiptoe, so Yutou wouldn't jerk out the handful of hair by the roots. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes and he gritted his teeth. "Lemme go…what d'you think you're doin'?" Yutou pulled a little harder and Jou whimpered, screwing his eyes shut against the pain.

"Ch," Yutou snorted, flinging Jou back with a calm flick of the wrist. Jou staggered, trying to keep his balance, and clutched his burning scalp. Something warm and wet trickled down his face and Jou wiped it away irritably. He glanced down to find the back of his hand smeared with a wide swath of blood, and this did nothing to improve his temper.

"That hurt."

"It's supposed to, puppy."

Jou growled and swung another punch at Yutou. "Don' call me that!"

Yutou caught his fist easily, bending his wrist until it was in danger of breaking. Jou could actually feel the bone straining against the pressure and he held out as long as he could, willing himself not to react, to ignore the steadily-building agony until Yutou gave one final, vicious twist and Jou fell to his knees with a scream.

Broken. It was broken, he knew that already. Jou cradled his wounded arm to his chest, sobbing and wishing he'd never thrown that punch, waiting hopefully for the pain to ebb, just a little, because he didn't think he could stand it, the white-hot lances stinging every nerve, ripping through tendon and muscle until he was sure he could even feel the ache in the bone. "Son of a bitch," he panted heavily, tongue thick in his mouth. "Complete…son...of…a…bitch."

Yutou simply gazed down at him with that same cold stare, ten times worse than Kaiba's had ever been, because he wasn't even angry. He hadn't done it with malice, fury, anything. He had done it simply to teach Jou a lesson, and if Jou had to suffer in order to learn…well, it was fine by him. "Am I?" He planted his foot firmly between Jou's hunched shoulders and pushed down, driving the boy to the ground and crushing his broken wrist between carpet and his own breastbone.

"H—haaah!"

"That's it, pretty. Scream for me." He pushed harder and Jou fairly howled, jerking and twisting trying to get away. "It's no use, you're not going anywhere."

"Ahh! Yutou—oh God, stoppit! It hurts! Please!"

Yutou jerked back, horror evident on his face—

"Stoppit! It hurts!" A pitiful scream tore through the air as small fingernails clutched at his back, desperately scrabbling at his skin. "Oh God, Yutou, please! AHHH!" The tiny body arched, frozen, eyes wide and staring blankly at the ceiling as Seto struggled to make himself breathe again. When he managed it came in hitched sobs, broken cries that wracked his small frame.

Yutou sneered and carried on, driving, thrusting, raping and destroying without any thoughts as to exactly who he was fucking. It hadn't been part of the plan. Hell, if Gozaborou walked in now, he'd probably break Yutou's neck. But Yutou had to know, had to understand what it felt like to be in control, to completely dominate someone so small and helpless.

He needed to know why his father had done it.

See, it didn't make any sense to him why a full-grown man would want the body of a small boy so badly. Yutou wasn't entirely sure he'd been the most attractive child, and…his own father…He grunted in response to Seto's frantic pleas, savouring the way the firm, hot little body curled around his, the pathetic whimpers, the tears, the agonized writhing…oh yes, he liked this, he liked this, he understood

"God, Seto…you're so…fucking…tight…"

Seto gave a small, needy mewl as Yutou hit something inside him, something that made him jerk his hips and buck upwards. "Don't—call—me—that," he gasped in between whimpers. "Please…please don't…"

"Bastard," Jou sobbed, clutching his arm. "Bastard! Let me go!"

"Ohh, no," Yutou said, brushing aside the memories and grabbing a handful of Jou's hair. "If you want Seto to live, you're coming with me."

ooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooo

"Kaiba, uh…I just wanted to say you did a good job." Yuugi extended his hand to Seto, grinning brightly, if somewhat abashedly. "Maybe you can clear all this up now, ne? I'd like to see you smile more."

Seto took Yuugi's hand and shook it warmly, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn't much, but Yuugi appreciated the sentiment and he giggled. Kaiba had never been so…so nice. "Like that!"

"Thank you for coming," Seto said politely, glancing around at all of them in turn. "I…appreciate having you here."

Honda stared at Seto and wondered how Jou had managed to change him so much in such a short timespan. Kaiba (a few months ago) would have sneered and jerked his hand away from Yuugi, completely ignoring how the shorter man's face would fall and how Yami would wind a comforting arm around his hikari's shoulders, assuring him that Kaiba was just being Kaiba. But now…he was cordial, almost human. It was astounding, really. But that was Jonouchi, that was the way he was, what he did. No one could stay depressed around him very long; he was so cheerful, so…radiant.

"Where's Jonouchi?"

"What?" Yuugi looked confused. "I thought he was with you. He left halfway through your speech, I assumed he'd be waiting for you or something. I think the pictures freaked him out."

Seto's eyes hardened. "I saw him leave with Marik. Now where the fuck has he gone?" Any traces of kindness were gone and he hauled Yuugi up by his shirtfront as if perhaps Yuugi was hiding Jonouchi somewhere in his clothes. Yuugi whimpered and closed his eyes and Bakura held Yami to keep him from, as Yami put it, 'Mind Crushing his ass back to Ancient Egypt.' "Tell me where he is!" He shook Yuugi slightly, enough to elicit a warning growl and a futile struggle from Yami.

Honda grabbed Seto by the shoulders and the CEO whirled on him, baring his teeth. "Hey man, calm down. Yuugi didn't do anything with Jou, he's gotta be around here somewhere."

Something flashed in Seto's eyes that Honda had never seen before—he was worried, truly worried about Jonouchi. He hadn't been this distraught even when Mokuba was kidnapped (all seventeen times) and…well…what did that mean? "Kaiba…"

"Save it, Honda. I don't want your pity. Help me find him."

That was the closest he was going to get to an apology, Honda supposed. And Seto had asked for help! Kind of…

"If you're gonna be such a bastard about it…" Honda turned, as if he were about to leave and Seto's arm shot out, desperately catching him by the sleeve.

"Please," Seto intoned hoarsely, head bowed. "Please. Don't do it for me, do it for him. I…I don't want anything to happen to him." His grip tightened and Honda heard a slight catch in his voice, as if the CEO were on the verge of tears. It caught him off-guard until he thought about it—Seto had had a trying day (for a normal person), and from what Honda had heard, Seto wasn't nearly as untouchable as he seemed. It had to have been hard on him, confessing something he'd been trying to run from, trying to hide…for the first time, something akin to sympathy settled in Honda's heart, and it was for Kaiba, of all people.

Seto mistook his thoughtful silence for cold refusal, perhaps, and he turned to the rest of them, hands outstretched, eyes pleading. "Please…please, I'll do anything you want…just name it…" He was shaking, shivering as if he were cold, and he fell to his knees, hands flat on the ground, head hanging. "Please." It was scarcely a whisper.

"Hey," Ryou said gently, wrapping a comforting arm around Seto. "It's alright, Seto. We'll help you find him." Seto leaned into Ryou's shoulder, hiding his face in shame and the white-haired hikari held him, rocking back and forth slightly, puzzled by the sudden onslaught of panic. "Are you alright?"

Seto sniffled and shook his head. Bakura gave a sudden start and pulled his hikari back. "Get away from him."

Ryou glanced up in confusion at his yami who was shielding him with his own body, icy eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Yami? What's—"

"Shut up," Bakura snapped, harsh without entirely meaning it. "You're not Seto, are you?"

Seto continued staring down at the carpet, hands clasped tightly, legs spread out before him in an eerily childlike manner. His back was slumped, his hair falling in front of his eyes, and he radiated…wrongness, at least to Bakura. He cast a glance at the Pharaoh and noticed that he, too, had wound his hikari in a protective embrace, glaring at the pathetic little figure on the ground.

"No," it whispered. "I'm not Seto."

"Who…?" Bakura couldn't think of anything better; the Pharaoh had always been more articulate than him. He was more inclined to attack first, ask questions later, but he sensed that Ryou would be more than upset with him for killing a friend of his without any solid reason why. It wasn't that this new presence seemed particularly dangerous, or even malicious at all, but…it wasn't Kaiba, not even slightly.

"Seto-chan?" Ryou pulled away from his yami and took a cautious step towards him. He held his pale, delicate hands in front of him, a gesture of peace, hoping to ease little Seto's mind. "Seto-chan, my name is Ryou. I'm a friend of mou hitori no Seto. I won't hurt you."

"Ryou, what the hell—"

"Shh, Bakura," Ryou hissed and the yami blinked. Ryou never ordered him around; whatever was going on must have freaked him out pretty badly. "Jonouchi told me about this. He's another personality of Seto's."

"Another…?"

"Yes. He's got the mental age of about a ten-year-old."

"The age Seto was when he was adopted," Yuugi interjected, a look of dawning comprehension on his face. "The age the abuse started."

"Yes," Ryou said, still edging towards Seto. "He doesn't have any idea who any of us are, so please—" here he shot his yami a pointed Look "—don't frighten him. He's very scared and he might hurt someone."

"But…if he's ten…" Honda began.

"He's in a twenty-three year old body. Seto's body," Ryou replied calmly. "He doesn't have any idea how strong he is. Just don't—make—any—sudden—movements." Ryou knelt down in front of Seto and he shied away, arms flying up to protect his face.

"Nnn…" he whimpered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for anything bad to happen!"

"It's okay, Seto-chan." Ryou touched his shoulder lightly and he kept his hand there, even when he flinched away.

"Don't call me that! I'm not Seto! Master…Master loves Seto, and I'm not…I'm not him…" he gave a sob and twisted out of Ryou's gentle grasp. "I'm not…he hates me…don't call me that…"

"What would you like us to call you?"

"Just…not Seto…he hated that I wasn't Seto…" he looked up at Ryou, blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears and he twisted a fistful of Ryou's sleeve as if it were his last tie to life. "Seto hates him, you know, and I—I can't be him…oh God…I want to, but I…"

"Shh," Ryou said, stroking his hair gently. "I won't call you Seto. It's okay, don't cry." Ryou pulled him into his lap and held him like a baby, close to his chest; he'd heard that a heartbeat calmed distraught children, and maybe the same would hold true in this case. "Koto. How's that?"

"What?"

"I'll call you Koto. Do you like that?" He was met with complete silence, and had he not been able to feel him breathing, Ryou might have thought the man in his arms had suddenly died. "I guess not. Sorry, I just thought—"

"N-no, I like it. No one's…ever given me a name before." He snuggled into Ryou's shoulder contentedly and the white-haired hikari could almost feel him smiling. "Koto. Ko-to." He nodded. "I like it. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Koto-kun," Ryou assured him with a smile. "You don't have to thank me."

(A/N: Yeah, it's taking less and less to trigger the change from Seto to Koto now, anyone else noticed that? It's because of all the stress; Seto can't push everything away, not with it being shoved down his throat and all, so his ability to remain in control, his willingness to exist seems to be fading. And sorry if you don't like the Koto thing, but it's too hard to not give him another name. And yes, I'm fully aware that most alternate personalities name themselves, but Koto's so servile and childlike that I figured he'd wait for someone else to do it for him.)

Ja ne, minna-san!