Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any of its characters. Yu-Gi-Oh! is the property of Konami and Kazuki Takahashi.
Hello, fellow fanfic enthusiasts. No, the story hasn't been taken over by a new author. I just changed my Pen Name. I figured using my real name was dumb (not to mention bland), plus I wanted to connect it to Yu-Gi-Oh… so, ta-dah.
Allow me just to take this opportunity to say thanks to those of you who are leaving positive reviews. The sheer volume I've received blows me away; I honestly never expected this fic to appeal to so many people. And can you really blame me? It's not appealing. I killed off the main character at the beginning of the story. If that isn't gonna polarise people, then I don't know what will. I don't even know if -I- like the fic.
I'll level with you – this is a hard story for me to write. I don't mean that in the sense that it's complicated. It's difficult for me to let such horrible things to happen to these characters. I love Yugi – he's my favourite character. But I had to let him die. As hard as that may be to read about, it's twice as hard to write – because it's like his life is in my hands. I don't want him to die any more than you folks do.
It's a story where unfortunate things happen to perfectly nice people. This chapter is no exception; it kicks off with a dream sequence involving Serenity. And again, it's pretty upsetting. But, like everything else, it's important in the grand scheme of things.
I promise you; things'll be okay in the end.
I may let Yugi die, but his spirit never will.
Spirit
Chapter Five: A River in Egypt
--
This is what Joey sees when his eyes are shut.
Serenity Wheeler, beloved sister, ambling her way down a road toward ruin. In her hands, she is clutching a cream-textured device – a handheld video-game system; it is a gift from her brother, although technically Téa deserves the credit since she did all the work picking it out for him. He doesn't have a clue what girls are into these days. His mind is too busy buzzing with Duel Monsters techniques to make room for something like that. He's got other things to worry about.
Serenity is smiling, though not necessarily out of happiness. Joey could not picture her in such a state – not after what he has seen and heard. No, instead she smiles because she doesn't know what awaits her in this all too lucid vision. She smiles because it will act as a stark contrast to the look on her face when the experience has concluded, and for days she will only be able to speak in mumbles and whispers. She smiles because it hurts him to imagine that she traveled that road thinking about what a kind and supportive brother he is. She smiles because Joey hasn't seen her do so in weeks. She smiles because in reality she cannot – and neither can he.
She skips deftly over the curb and crosses the remarkably empty street. The twin screens glowing in the palm of her hand cast a soft light over her face, adding to the innocent twinkle in the crescents of her eyes. She thinks she knows where she is, but she has been misled. She is trying to find her way home, but either she wasn't paying enough attention, or she decided to try out a shortcut – it doesn't really matter. What matters is that she is too engrossed in her game to notice the garish graffiti stenciled on the walls surrounding her, littered with vulgar phrases and images that she wouldn't understand. What matters is that she looks up for a second and spies an alley straight ahead of her, and decides to cut through it to shave a few minutes off her route. What matters is that Joey isn't there to warn or protect her from what lies hidden in that alley. What matters is that she is alone.
Stepping over the sharp remnants of a few broken bottles, Serenity giggles quietly to herself as she designs yet another dress in the game she's playing. She can't wait to tell her big brother about it – maybe even show it to him the next time they see each other. But the next time they see each other, she won't be able to show him anything at all. She won't be able to show him the game. She won't be able to show him a smile. She won't be able to do anything except hug herself and apologise over and over again for something that isn't even her fault.
Her foot lands in a puddle, and for a moment she is taken by surprise. "That's weird. It hasn't rained in…" She trails off because she recognises the smell, and knows immediately that it isn't water she's stepped in. It's alcohol – or, as her father used to call it, 'liquor'. She remembers that very well because of the joke Joey always used to tell when he was certain their dad wasn't listening. 'Liquor? I barely know 'er!' He was always so funny. Serenity snorts cheerfully as she wipes her foot on a nearby scrap of newspaper marked with last month's date. It's the last cheerful sound she'll make for a long, long time.
"What's tha' you go' there, pretty?"
The voice is like a cold, clammy hand grabbing her by the scruff of the neck. She tenses up, nearly dropping the handheld device in shock. Instinctively, she snaps it firmly shut and slips the stylus controller into the appropriate slot on the back. She breathes a sigh of relief, as though she is more concerned with the safety of Joey's gift than she is with her own. "H-hello? Is, is someone there?"
"Some'un, yah," the voice returns. It seems to be coming from behind an overturned trashcan. Underneath its raspy slither of a tone, she can hear what sounds like metal scraping against metal. She gets the mental image of someone rubbing a knife and fork together salaciously, and all at once she starts to tremble from her head down to her toes. "I'm reckon you're losht."
"Yes," Serenity replies, the quiver now reaching her voice. What would Joey do? she's busy asking herself. "I'm just trying to get home. I didn't mean to disturb you. I'm sorry."
"Shorry's no' good enough," the voice slurs, "as my mah always use to shay."
Just then, the scraping sound rises to a shrill clatter, and Serenity nearly jumps out of her skin as a half-empty bottle comes rolling out from behind the trashcan and tumbles to a halt at her feet. The foul-smelling brew within seems to dance sluggishly, and she manages to catch her reflection in the oily, filth-encrusted glass. She looks as terrified as she feels. Clearing her throat, she tries to put on a brave posture. "Well, it'll have to do. Now please excuse me, I…"
"Could you no' jus' pick tha' up for me, pretty?" the voice croaks pathetically. "I'm jus' can't bring m'self to get up right now. I'm dead tired, y'know?"
She knows, all right. She's overheard enough stories about her dad to know what beer does to people. It makes them apathetic – or, as her new friend might put it, it makes them dead tired. It numbs the body and the mind like a kind of tranquiliser. Unbridled by misery, Serenity sees no reason why someone should want to feel this way. But very shortly, she will come to know why certain people seek out that numb sensation waiting for them at the bottom of the bottle. She will know why so many wish to slumber in the shade of apathy. She will know the joy of a good tranquiliser. She too will be so very tired. Dead tired, you might say.
Serenity shakes her head, not knowing whether the owner of the voice can actually see her or not. She does it simply to bolster her courage. Her brother always used to tell her: 'Don't you go talkin' to no strangers. Especially strangers who act like dad! Heck, as far as I'm concerned, he's the strangest guy walkin' the face o' the Earth! Just say no, and get outta there as fast as you can!' His advice comes to her like thunder from a clear blue sky, and in his words she finds the strength to speak in spite of her fear. "No. I'm in a hurry."
She's going to sprint. She's going to launch herself over that trashcan, leaping well out of harm's way, and run home as fast as her legs can carry her. She's going to follow her brother's instructions to a tee. She's going to be like the proverbial Three Billy Goats Gruff, crossing over the bridge before the troll can eat her for supper. She's going to be a good little sister, because she knows her big brother's always right. Big brother always knows best. Big brother will be so proud of her when she tells him about this. And by then, it'll seem like some forgotten nightmare – like she was never in any danger to begin with. And they'll laugh about it, and Joey will say 'Liquor? I barely know 'er!' and she'll laugh so hard that tears will start to pour down her face. And then he'll laugh even harder, because he's just glad she's okay. And then…
And then, the voice behind the trashcan starts to cry.
Serenity pauses. Even though every fiber of her being screams at her to keep running, nevertheless she finds herself entranced by that sound – that odd, breathless whimpering. It is the sound of someone who has reached their limit, the sound of someone who wants to throw in the towel but is too busy clinging to it for dear life to allow themselves to let go. It's like laughter gone horribly wrong. And somewhere deep inside, Serenity finds herself enormously moved by it. Perhaps she has inherited her mother's heart – the very thing that allowed her to fall in love with their father in the first place, despite his obvious flaws. Or perhaps she simply failed to inherit her father's stubbornness – the very thing that kept their parents together, long after their love had dwindled towards hatred. Whatever the case may be, she finds herself taking pity on the voice. And it is that same pity which causes her legs to freeze up on her.
"Don't cry," she whispers, barely loud enough for herself to hear over the voice's incessant bawling. Taking a few timid steps toward the trashcan, she clears her throat. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." There is no reply; the voice just keeps blubbering away, like an overcome actress at a televised awards ceremony. Cautiously, she bends forward and picks up the discarded bottle; her fingertips seem to shrivel in disgust as they come in contact with the stain-ridden glass. She pulls a face as the stench of the drink reaches her nostrils, and carries the bottle in her outstretched hand over to where the rusty trashcan lies askew across the centre of the alleyway. "Here you go."
Then the crying stops, and a gloved hand reaches up as if to receive her offering. She can't bring herself to peer around the back of the trashcan. It was difficult enough just listening to him; looking at him would be like gazing upon grief itself. "Ahhh. Yesh. Much obliged, pretty," the voice purrs. With a single crooked finger, he starts to caress the bottle's circular rim. As she holds her breath, Serenity can feel herself slowly losing her grip, and she starts willing him to take the bottle. "Feelsh like I haven't had a drink in days." His fingers start to crawl up the side of the bottle, and for a moment it looks like he's going to take it. "Ain't had no company in a while, neither. Specially not female company."
"Please, sir, I… AH!"
When he suddenly grabs at her wrist, Serenity very nearly falls over the trashcan and into his waiting arms – but instead, she manages to kick out at the last second, driving the metal receptacle into the vagrant's wheezing face. She lands clumsily in a heap on the floor, her loose ginger hair spilling out behind her, and it takes her but a few seconds to regain her bearings while the voice behind the trashcan moans in distorted agony. Clambering to her feet, she staggers around the trashcan and runs toward daylight – toward the blaring sounds of traffic and the safety of civilization. She can see people up ahead – thin shadows marching past the alley, utterly oblivious to her cries for help. Either the traffic's too loud, or they just don't care enough to notice. She's about to scream at the top of her lungs, when she feels her foot being wrenched out from underneath her body and watches helplessly as the ground flies upto meether face.
"No! No, let go of me!" she yells as his gloved fingers secure their grip on her ankle. She tries to lash out with all her might, her legs kicking wildly behind her as though she's swimming against some overwhelming current; but despite his claims of being tired, the man seems wide-awake now, and he shows no signs of letting go. She reaches out toward the light at the end of the alley. "Help! Somebody help me! Joey! JOEY!"
But big brother's nowhere to be found. He's much too busy brooding over Mai Valentine, or buying new cards with his buddies. He should be there for her. Maybe if their folks hadn't separated, he would be; but they did, and he isn't. And so Serenity is powerless to do anything but claw at the cement with her long, fragile fingernails and cry out his name over and over again. Then, when all hope seems lost and even she is beginning to doubt that her brother will come save her, she turns around and stares into the face of her attacker, determined to fight him off with her own bare hands if need be. But she can't. She's too shocked by what she sees to even form a fist.
Sprawled on the floor, its hands locked tightly around her leg in a desperate, almost pleading manner, a black mannequin stares back at her. At least, she thinks it's a mannequin; but then again she's never heard of a mannequin that could move of its own accord before. It rolls onto its side, gazing at her with its blank, charcoal-textured face, and coughs out a cloud of warm, ashy phlegm. She's dumbstruck; something about the mannequin seems familiar, like she's seen it somewhere before. This person – for it must be a person, and not just some discarded wooden dummy – looks like someone she knows. Whoever it is, they seem to be in a lot of pain.
"Se-ren-ity," the mannequin hisses. Despite its limbs being significantly thinner than her own, it has more than enough strength to pull her back into the shadows. Another plume of red-hot ash billows from its lungs, and Serenity has to close her eyes momentarily to keep from being blinded. "I need you. Help me, Serenity. Your brother has deserted us both!"
Serenity's eyes grow wide as saucers, and she whimpers in a tiny voice, "Yugi? Is… Is that you?"
"Yes!" the mannequin snarls, dragging her further down the alley as it crawls forward to meet her. The voice is barely recognisable, as though he's talking underwater, but it's definitely Yugi's. "Can you believe it, Serenity? He let this happen to me! First he neglects you, then he lets me die! Now look at me, Serenity! I'm so tired! DEAD tired, do you hear me? But no amount of liquor can fix this! I'm burning up inside! I'm burning up!"
The mannequin's stubby claws reach her face, and Serenity can feel the intense heat radiating off his body. Now they are face-to-face, and the mannequin's emaciated features seem to scowl down at her. "No! No, Yugi, let go! Please, it's too hot!"
"Don't you think I'd like to?" Yugi spits at her. "It's all Joey's fault! He could stop this at any time! If he were a good brother – if he were a true friend – then neither of us would be in this situation! But we are, Serenity. And now we're forced to suffer because of his incompetence!"
"No!" Serenity screeches. "No, Yugi! Let go! Let go! Joey! Joey, help me! Joey!"
--
"Joey!" a female voice cried out to him.
Joey's eyes snapped open. "Serenity?" He struggled to get to his feet, only for his injured leg to immediately give way beneath him. He fell to one knee, his shoulders rolling forward in a bowing motion as he reacted to the pain. "Argh! Dang it!" After the sharp twinge had subsided, he looked up to see the owner of the voice rushing haphazardly across the schoolyard toward him. It was Téa, closely followed by Tristan and Bakura. He sighed grimly. Of course it wasn't Serenity. It couldn't be her.
He'd been having the dream for over a week now, although it never came to him quite like this. Given what he had just witnessed, however, he supposed it shouldn't have come as too much of a shock. Typically it would end with Serenity being pulled kicking and screaming into the shadows by some unkempt homeless guy who bore more than a passing resemblance to his dad. This was the first time he'd ever envisioned Yugi in the role of his sister's assailant. If he weren't feeling quite so numb, he would have noticed the shivers running up and down his spine as he dwelt on it. Of course, he knew exactly what the dream meant – but at this very moment, he couldn't bear to think of anything except Yugi lying on that stretcher, and the many dark implications that now arose.
"Joey!" Téa called again feebly, her arms out in front of her as she charged through crowds of sombre students. When at last she reached where he was squatting, she slowed to a halt and looked to him with her imploring blue eyes. "Are, are you okay?" And then, without even giving him time to answer, she added: "Yugi? Was he…?"
"We saw the ambulance leave," said Tristan, who was just now catching up to her. Bakura barely avoided colliding with him before coming to a brisk stop. "Is he all right, dude? What happened?"
By now they'd all spotted the look on Joey's face, and although he couldn't see it himself, he knew he must have looked like hell. But if any of them had dared to say as much, he would have told them that 'hell' didn't even begin to describe how he felt. No, hell wasn't even in the same ballpark. "Guys, I… I don't know how to explain."
"Just tell us!" said Téa, her hands grasping desperately at thin air. He knew it was going to hit her worst of all. They'd be lucky if she stopped crying by the end of the day once she found out. "Is Yugi okay? He's okay, isn't he? Is he?"
"Téa," Tristan began, slowly lifting his hands to meet hers. He gently eased them down to either side of her, where they hung like empty swings on a forgotten playground. "It's all right. Maybe we should sit down, huh?"
"Yeah," Téa's head swirled as she attempted to nod in vague assent. "Good idea. Sitting down. I think I'm gonna do that."
They each formed a semi-circle around him. Tristan and Bakura helped Téa into a sitting position, and it struck Joey just how frail she appeared; it was as though the fear of losing Yugi had somehow aged her by about seventy years. Given her strict regime of dance classes, she was probably in better shape than the rest of them, so this sudden display of weakness proved more than a little disconcerting. He swallowed heavily. It hurt him just to think about what had happened to Yugi; how was he going to tell them about it? Where was he supposed to begin? How was he supposed to tell someone that their best friend in the whole world has passed away – and that it was all his fault? Would they ever be able to forgive him? Would he ever be able to forgive himself? He shook his head, ridding it of questions. It wasn't right to speculate now, not when his friends were counting on him to explain what went down. It didn't matter if they ended up hating him for it; they deserved to know the truth, and he had to be the one to tell them.
Joey cleared his throat. "Yugi," he said, noticing that Téa's whole body visibly flinched when he said the word. Two syllables had never before held such weight. Tristan reached over and cupped Téa's hand in his, squeezing it gently. He then indicated with a jerk of his head that Bakura should do likewise. They were like infants gathered together for story time, hoping against hope for a happy ending. "He was tryin' to rescue me. The same way you and me rescued him from that fire a while back, Tristan."
"I remember," Tristan said, firmly. The skin around his eyes seemed to tense up, like he was holding onto that memory in his mind. "Listen, if you're in bad shape, we should probably wait till after the EMTs check you out before…"
"No," Joey replied. He turned his head and peered over his collar at the two medical technicians heading their way, an empty stretcher – the one he'd vacated moments earlier – in tow. Once they got to him, they would doubtlessly insist on wheeling him back to the ambulance, whereupon he'd be driven to the hospital. Then it would be left to some faceless fireman or teacher to inform his friends of the awful truth. He couldn't let that happen. It had to be him. "No, I gotta do this."
"Oh, Joey," said Téa, her voice low but still holding together at the seams. All around them students were starting to disperse, almost as though they were afraid to catch whatever miserable sickness the four of them had contracted. "If he's okay, just tell us. I really can't bear to wonder anymore."
"Hear me out, Téa," he said, locking eyes with her. He could see the horror building within her, and it pained him to have to carry on. He knew how she felt about Yugi – about him and the Pharaoh – so to her, it would be like having her heart broken twice over in cold, merciless succession. Joey grimaced; she was going to freak out big time. "The fire was bad. Real bad. I was barely conscious when he found me. He helped me up, but then I musta collapsed. Everything after that is sorta hazy."
"Can you remember any of it?" asked Bakura, leaning forward earnestly. "Anything at all?"
"We probably don't want to hear all the details," Tristan warned. He nodded his head at Joey, who responded in kind. "If it's going to be too upsetting…"
"No, Tristan," Téa said, her chin jutting forward as her teeth clenched together stoically. "I want to hear everything." Before Tristan could say anything, she continued, "If it weren't for some stupid teacher, I would have been in there with him. I would have seen it with my own eyes. We all would have. By all rights, we should know what happened in there, no matter how much it upsets us."
"All right," Tristan replied, his voice now bereft of doubt. "Just as long as you're okay with that."
"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, her voice spiking for a second as she struggled to contain herself.
'Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, kiddo!'
Joey's heart gave a harsh tug inside his chest as these words filtered through his thoughts. He'd heard them from his father on many an occasion, around the time when he'd started attending those Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. He had no genuine interest in quitting the booze; he'd done so purely to appease Joey's mother. She had started to worry – or rather to whine up a storm, in the indelible words of his father – about his constant drinking, and so in order to shut her up he'd gone to the meetings and performed like a trooper. He stood up in front of other people, announced his awful habit to them, and sat back down again. Lather, rinse, repeat. And then on the way home, he would regularly stop to get gas and to pick up a six-pack of his precious cold ones. One night, Joey had dared to ask him why he insisted on showing up at the meetings if he wasn't going to stop drinking. The answer he received was a simple one. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt!
Truer words were never spoken.
Looking at Téa, he'd been reminded of that phrase – a phrase that seemed to mean so much more now, after all their experiences involving Millennium Items and ancient pharaohs. He hadn't been thinking about any of that when he looked at her, though. Instead, he thought about how she had always been the clear thinker of the group; she was the smart one who always knew the answers in class, and who always knew the right words to use to explain what was on her mind or in her heart. She had some kind of implicit awareness of things that Joey couldn't even begin to wrap his head around – like the Pharaoh, for instance. She'd been the first of them to truly understand and acknowledge what Yugi was going through with the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle. If there could be a more difficult concept to grasp, Joey was hard-pressed to think of one. And yet here she was, denying the emotion that existed within every word she uttered. Denying that it terrified her that Yugi might not be okay. Denying what was right in front of her face, and wedged deep within her heart. It was so uncharacteristic of her that it chilled Joey to the core.
"Excuse me, sir," a voice interjected, "we're going to need you to hop on this stretcher."
"Buzz off," Joey growled under his breath. The EMTs had dragged the stretcher into their circle of four, blocking Bakura's face from view. "We're havin' a private conversation here."
"You can talk to your friends once we've cleared you for injuries," came the placid response. "Right now it's important that we…"
"Right now it's important that you give him some space!" Tristan stood up at once. Joey was saddened to see Téa's hand fall limp by her side once Tristan's had left it. "Just give us a minute, that's all he needs."
The two EMTs, their faces barely distinguishable from one another, exchanged glances and nodded. "Okay, one minute. But he needs medical attention."
What I need is the last hour of my life back, Joey thought distantly as the stretcher was gradually carted away. Satisfied, Tristan sat down once more and looked to him with eager eyes. Joey took a deep breath and continued, "I think the ceiling collapsed on top of us. It musta done, because one minute I was on the floor, then the next Yugi was draggin' me out from under a pile of rubble. He looked like he was in bad shape, and I was pretty out of it. I started blatherin' on about random stuff like Duelist Kingdom…"
Serenity. He'd been talking about Serenity. About helping his sister.
"Why would you do that?" Bakura asked, innocently.
"I was pretty far gone at the time, Bakura," Joey reminded him. "Like I said, I fainted and then the ceiling fell on top of me. In that kinda condition, I probably woulda talked his ear off about Pegasus and Battle City till the cows came home."
"Then what happened?" asked Tristan. All this time, Téa hadn't said a word. "How'd you get out?"
"Yugi, he…" said Joey, sorting through his jumbled memories. "He was gonna pull me to safety – said we were gonna get out together. But I think somethin' was wrong. He seemed kinda reluctant, like he'd forgotten something."
"What was it, do you suppose?" asked Bakura.
Joey shrugged. "Whatever it was, I guess he musta put it to the back of his mind, 'cause we kept on goin'. It was tough; I had to concentrate on breathin' just to stay with it, and I thought for sure Yugi was gonna pass out from the heat, not to mention the effort it took to carry me around. But he didn't, and the next thing I knew there were these guys in firemen's uniforms waitin' to take me off his hands." For a second, he actually saw their faces light up with hope, and it made him sigh. He dreaded having to snuff out that brilliant candle. "But Yugi, he musta got left behind or somethin'. Maybe the ceiling collapsed again, I don't know. Alls I do know is he wasn't there when I came around."
"Well then Yugi must be okay!" Téa declared in faux ecstasy. "I mean, if you…" She trailed off once she noticed the steely look Joey was giving her, but it was too late; Joey knew full well how that sentence was supposed to pan out. If you survived, then why couldn't Yugi? So where is he, Joey? Why isn't he here talking to us instead of you? "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Téa," he replied. Giving her a moment to compose herself, he continued. "Then after I woke up, I talked to you guys and… well…"
He was silent for a good few minutes, the EMTs having apparently allowed him some slight reprieve. While Téa and Tristan waited for him to continue with bated breath, Bakura was another story. He leaned forward and asked the burning question, "What was it you saw, Joey?"
"Hold on, Bakura!" Tristan hissed. "We should at least wait until he's good and ready before…"
"Bakura's right," said Joey, cutting Tristan off abruptly. "It's better if I tell you now. There's no real sense delayin' it. Besides, I don't think I'm ever gonna be good and ready for this."
"Joey," Téa whispered hoarsely. "You can't mean…"
Joey blanched. He had been so sure of himself up till now. He had been confident that he would be able to tell them how Yugi had sacrificed himself to save his life. How he had died for no good reason. How the single unifying bond that linked the four of them together – after all, Joey hadn't been friends with Téa or Bakura until Yugi came into his life and changed everything – had been shattered. But now he was starting to think differently. Now he was having second thoughts. Just like Bakura's favourite Duel Monsters card, he was experiencing a sudden and unwanted change of heart.
He remembered how he'd been acting back in the classroom – the way he'd laughed off Téa's friendship speeches and told Tristan where he could stick his stupid hairdo. He hadn't really meant any of it, but that didn't make it meaningless. He had lashed out at them, and – as he always used to say – when Joey Wheeler lashes out at someone, he knows how to make it count. And it counted, all right. He could see in their faces that it counted. They remembered the way he'd treated them; it wasn't the sort of thing you just up and forgot in less than an hour. And now Yugi was gone. Because of him, Yugi was gone. He'd spat in their faces, and then taken away their best friend for good measure. They were going to hate his stinking guts for this. But what else could he do? Lie? Pretend Yugi was okay? Act like none of this was his fault? Deny everything he knew to be the truth?
It ain't just a river in Egypt, kiddo.
No. No, he couldn't do that. His friends deserved the truth – and if they chose to hate him for it, then that was their prerogative. They deserved the truth, and for all he knew he deserved their unbridled hatred.
Fair trade, he thought with a nod.
Then at last he said aloud, "I'm sorry, guys – but Yugi's gone."
As he allowed the words to sink in, the world around him changed. His throat tightened as the air grew thin, and for the first time since he'd been stirred from his waking dream he realised that he'd been breathing through his mouth the whole time. Colours all but vanished; the luminous blue halo of the fire truck became a pale shadow that drifted over their faces, turning their shocked expressions into masks of despair. Even the sounds became dim; the roar of the fire had long since dissipated, leaving only the anxious murmur of pupils and the occasional bursts of rushing water for ambient noise. Everything was out of focus, like he was watching it all through a camera lens rather than his own two eyes. If only he'd been offered that luxury.
This is what a world without Yugi Moto feels like, he thought. And he knew, judging by their faces, that the others were all thinking much the same thing.
"Oh my," said Bakura as he clasped his hands to his mouth, trying in vain to surmise what they were all experiencing. "This is just…"
Tristan didn't say a thing. The moment Joey finished talking, his shoulders had slumped forward in defeat, and his eyebrows began twitching toward one another as though they were trying to meet up in the centre of his brow. Joey had never seen him cry; he doubted it was a conscious decision on Tristan's part, the guy just wasn't the emotional type – except for where Serenity was concerned, of course. But if there had ever been a moment in Tristan Taylor's life when tears seemed like the only viable response, this would've undoubtedly been it. In fact, if Téa hadn't spoken out, he would've expected to see some major waterworks from the guy.
"No!" Téa shouted, startling Bakura half to death. Tristan looked up with concern, but remained silent. Only Joey remained unfazed by her outburst; after all, he had long since predicted it. "Joey, you mustn't say that! That's not… It's… It can't…!"
"It is," Joey replied helplessly, a lump shifting toward his throat as if to announce its imminent residency.
Téa's features froze; her ice-blue eyes became bulbous and bloodshot, and her jaw dangled loosely like a disused cat flap. Even her breathing had stopped; the telltale curve of her chest no longer rose and fell every few seconds. Joey wouldn't have been surprised if, were he to check her pulse at that very moment, her heart had also been silenced. It was as though the knowledge of Yugi's passing had eclipsed whatever tenuous spark of life there still existed inside of her. Only her hands continued to move, as she drew them up to her face and clawed softly at her cheeks. "Joey…!"
And then, she did an entirely unexpected thing.
Joey had anticipated the worst. He expected her to go on a massive emotional tirade – to scream at him the way she had once screamed at Seto Kaiba back in Duelist Kingdom when the young billionaire had been blind to Yugi's inner turmoil. He expected she would lash out at him with whatever strength she still retained, and then their friendship would be over. Not just his friendship with Téa, but his friendships with Tristan, and Bakura – every important relationship he'd ever forged would be gone in an instant. Because Yugi had left them, and he was the keystone that held them all together as both a team and as individuals. But to Téa, he was even more than that. He was everything – and he had been taken away from her. Joey expected her to explode.
But she didn't.
Instead, she hugged him.
"Oh God, Joey!" she wailed, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face in his jacket. Joey nearly fell over backwards when she collided into him, and he felt the telltale throb in his leg rise up once more, but he managed to remain balanced long enough to receive her embrace. "How? How can this be happening?"
"I don't know," said Joey, shaking his head in disbelief. He truly didn't. Then, to his surprise, he felt another arm hesitantly sliding its way around his shoulders. Turning to one side, he saw Tristan had joined them both in a group hug. Usually he would've elbowed Tristan in the ribs, urging him to keep his hands to himself – but not this time.
"Yugi!" Téa's voice was muffled as she bit into the fabric of his uniform, but Joey understood her perfectly. It was the last word he heard from her for a long while. They just sat there holding onto one another, not wanting to let go. And there were no bitter accusations, no guilt trips or hard feelings between them. The only emotions they felt were twofold – loss and love. Love for a boy they knew so well, and the overwhelming loss that he could not be there with them as they held each other and thought only of him.
Little did they know, he was with them the whole time – and he shared in both their loss and their love.
They just couldn't see him.
--
END OF CHAPTER FIVE
