First Dream

"We're here."

"I just closed them."

Seto heard the pharaoh's beleaguered sigh. "Just open your eyes."

When he did, he found himself no longer standing in his office. He stood instead in the middle of someone's front yard. The neighborhood was quiet in the gray morning. Lights blinked in fantastical colors around every window and every roof. The sky overhead was a gray sheet of rolling cotton, heavy with the snow that floated through the air like motes of dust. The air tasted crisp and cold, dry, with the heavy scent of pine. The wind picked up and sent the icy chill cutting through the thin fabric of Seto's shirt.

Seto tore his hand out of the pharaoh's to wrap his arms around himself. "You could have told me I'd need my coat. I swear, if I get pneumonia…"

The pharaoh rolled his eyes. "Would you at least be a little receptive?"

"You want me receptive? Get me out of the damn cold. I've been here for less than a minute and I'm already sick of this farce. Where did you bring me anyway?

The smaller man smiled, much to his annoyance. "You don't recognize it?" He lifted an arm to the house in front of them. "I took it from your past. A Christmas of your childhood."

The house before them was nothing extraordinary, though there was something familiar about it that pulled a thread in Seto's mind. It was small, with a red brick stoop and a collection of old, deflated soccer balls under a thin layer of snow next to the shed. The gardens were frost-covered, with nothing but the bones of bushes sticking out of the ground.

"You think I'd be asking if I did?" Seto asked.

The desire to roll his eyes again was plain on the pharaoh's face. He looked past Seto at the sound of a car approaching.

"Perhaps you will when you see her," he said.

"Who?" Seto asked, but he received no answer, so he turned to look.

The sedan coming down the street was small, with four doors and worn black paint. As it came closer, the figure behind the wheel came into sharper focus. The woman looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun on the back of her head. As she slowed to pull into the drive next to a beige SUV, the sound of muffled Christmas music filled the air, then cut off suddenly when the engine stopped.

There was a lump in Seto's throat. He looked down at the pharaoh and the smaller man jerked his head in her direction. Seto took careful steps forward, his shoes leaving no marks in the snow. The woman was getting out of the car, humming a familiar tune as she pulled her bags out of the back seat. She closed the door, turned in Seto's direction, and it was as if the world tilted on its axis.

If she'd been able to see him, she would have looked straight into his eyes. Hers was a deep cobalt blue, the same as his.

His lips were dry when he tore them apart. "Mother?"

Seto reached out a hand to her as she approached, all at once feeling numb, yet as if every nerve was on fire.

She walked through him.

He gasped at the sensation of cold wind passing through his very soul. His knees wanted to crumple. He struggled to catch his breath as he turned to watch her go. She walked up the sidewalk as if nothing had happened, her boots crunching in the snow.

The pharaoh watched her as she walked past, up the steps, and into the house.

"What have you done?" Seto spat.

The pharaoh raised a brow at him. "Isn't it obvious? I brought you home."

"This isn't my home. This hasn't been my home for-"

"Don't you want to go inside? Your mother and father are just inside those walls. Don't you want to see them?"

Seto's hand clenched around his tie. There was an old ache deep in his chest, one he'd buried long ago. He looked after his mother, the cold threatening to freeze his lungs, but his breath leaving no mist.

"Go inside, Kaiba," the pharaoh said. "Go see your family. If you decide to end things after this, then at least you'll have this memory as my gift to take with you into the unknown of your future."

Seto struggled to swallow, and started up the walk, following his mother's footsteps. At the door, he looked back, his lips pressed tight together. The pharaoh nodded his encouragement. He turned back and reached out a hand as if to grasp the handle, but his fingers fazed through it. He frowned and laid his hand against the door instead. It sank through with the sensation of slipping into a warm bath.

He took one final breath and stepped through the door.

The warmth of the house was a sauna compared to the winter outside. The air was filled with the scents of burning wood and frying bacon. The living room was large, filled with horridly patterned couches that reminded him of sets from an 80s movie. The wall on the far end was covered in framed photographs. At a quick glance, Seto didn't recognize their subjects. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Everything was dressed for the holidays. Garland bordered the tops of cabinets and the edges of counters. Through a door across the way, the dining room table was draped in red with a centerpiece of holly and candles. In the corner of the living room was a wide fir tree, wrapped in flickering lights and pearl garland, with baubles and ornaments, most of which were handmade. The whole monstrosity was draped in silver tinsel. At its top was an angel, her gossamer wings spread wide and her dress a cascading wave of red velvet. Presents were piled around it, wrapped in a blinding array of patterns and colors.

The sound of laughter pulled Seto's attention to another doorway, from which the sounds of cooking could be heard. He went to get a better look to find two figures standing by the stove, their arms wrapped about each other. He couldn't help but feel that his hesitation had saved him from the horror of watching his parents making out.

He looked upon his father with a faint sense of deja vu. He'd forgotten just how much like his father he looked. They had the same build, the same height, the same hair, and the same pointed chin.

"You look like you had a good night," his father said.

His mother smiled. "Not bad. Nobody died, at least. Where's Seto?"

Seto felt a shock in his chest at the sound of his name. The words, 'I'm right here', came to his lips, but he caught them before they could escape.

"In his room," said his father. "He begged me to let him open something while he waited."

"Oh?" His mother walked back into the living room, unzipping her coat as she went, revealing nursing scrubs. "Which one you give him?"

There was hesitation from her husband as he turned off the stove. "The NES."

His wife sighed and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "Honey…"

"I know." He came in after her. "I needed to keep him busy until you got home."

"I was kinda hoping to be here when he opened that." She tossed her coat onto the couch, then turned to face her husband, her hands on her hips. "You remember how many extra shifts I had to pick up just to afford that?"

"I know." He wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry, sweety."

She smiled and returned his embrace. "It's okay. It's just a thing. He's only four. There'll be lots more Christmases."

Seto had to look away, heat stinging at his eyes. If this was indeed the Christmas after he'd turned four, then…

He shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek.

"You up to doing presents now?" His father asked. "I know you're probably tired."

"I'm okay. Can you make me a cup of coffee first? I'll go get Seto."

"I thought you were cutting down on the caffeine."

"I haven't had any all night. Trust me, I need it."

He raised his brows. "All night? I feel for you patients."

She laughed and bounced up on her toes to kiss his lips. "You'll be feeling for yourself if you don't get me coffee soon."

He chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

She watched him for a moment, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She walked away, past the specter of her grown-up son, and down the hall. Seto followed. He had the inexplicable feeling that he would've been able to find his childhood bedroom, even if he hadn't been trailing his mother.

The room was small, with a twin-sized bed squeezed underneath rows of shelves mounted to the wall. The shelves were filled with game cases, action figures waiting to be assembled, and books. Lots and lots of books, most of which he remembered being read to him before bedtime until he was old enough to read by himself. There was The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings; entries in a series of choose your own adventure books; books by Roald Dahl; Ender's Game; books by Douglas Adams. It'd been so long since he'd read many of them that he barely remembered what they were about.

Sitting crossed-legged on the floor in front of an old tube television, an NES hooked up to it and a controller in his hands, was Seto. He hadn't changed out of his thick flannel pajamas and his hair was mused from sleep. His mother stood in the doorway for a moment, hands on her hips as she watched her son engrossed in Donkey Kong. She tiptoed over to him, crouched down, and blew into his ear.

Young Seto cried out and slapped a hand to the side of his head. The look he gave his mother was incredulous, but his indignity faded when he saw it was his mother.

"Morning, mommy," he said.

"Morning, baby. Come're." She opened her arms and he crawled into them, wrapping his own around her neck. She groaned as she stood up, holding him with one arm under his backside. He clung to her with arms and legs. "Oof, boy, who gave you permission to get so big? You didn't eat Santa's cookies, did you?"

"Nuh-uh! They were all gone when I got up."

"And you didn't sneak just one little cookie?"

Seto shook his head wildly. "I was good. Promise."

She smiled. "Alright. I believe you. Daddy's almost got breakfast ready."

"Can we open presents first?"

"Aren't you hungry?"

He looked down at the scatter of shiny wrappers that littered his bed, then back up, his cheeks red. "No…"

Her head tilted to one side. "Gorged yourself on your stocking candy, did you?"

He nodded and she laughed. She pulled his head back to her shoulder so she could hug him tight. "You get away with it this morning, but just cause it's Christmas."

"Kay." He leaned back in her arms. "Can I sort presents this year?"

"Course you can."

She set him down and young Seto ran out of his room, past his shadow, and flopped down in front of the tree. He started pulling presents from around it and separating them into three piles, two notably smaller than the third.

His mother looked around the room, settled on the unmade bed with the trash covering it, and sighed with a shake of her head. She busied herself with gathering the trash, stuffing uneaten treats back into the stocking laying on the floor, and putting the trinkets and toys in a pile. When she was done, she had to use two hands to carry the debris out.

As she walked past, Seto hung his head, face burning along with his eyes. "Sorry, mother."

She didn't seem to hear him. He followed her back into the living room and stood in the entrance to the hall, watching as his younger self all but crawled under the tree to grab the presents that had fallen to the very back. All at once he hated and pitied the boy.

He should have done more to help his mother, despite his young age. He could have cleaned up after himself. He could have waited instead of demanding to open a present early. He should have known how important it'd been to her. Had he not noticed how much more his mother seemed to be working? Had he not noticed how tired she'd been? He should've done more, perhaps then when…

Seto bit the inside of his cheek.

After depositing the trash in the kitchen can, his mother stretched, her hands on her lower back.

"You really shouldn't be picking him up, you know?" Her husband said, a mug of coffee in each hand. He offered her one and she took it.

"There wouldn't be a problem if he'd stop growing so damn fast."

He grinned at her. "He'll be taller than you one of these days."

She leaned her head back and groaned. "Don't remind me! Why's he gotta take more from your side, huh?" She put her mouth to the edge of her mug. "I can't be the shortest one in the family. It's bad enough I'm the only woman. There's so much testosterone I'm bound to drown in it."

Seto snorted and pressed a fist to his mouth while his father laughed, deep and booming.

His mother cut her eyes at him, though there was a sparkle of humor in them. "Just you wait. One of these days I'm gonna overdose on the stuff."

"Now you're just being dramatic."

"Maybe…"

Young Seto's voice called out to them. He was all but bouncing on his heels. "All done! Hurry! Hurry!"

His mother sighed. "His highness calls."

His father swept an arm outward. "After you then, my queen."

She snorted, laughed, and elbowed him. "You're such a dork." She started toward the tree anyway. "Seto, don't be like your father. You'll get laughed off the playground."

Young Seto blinked up at her. "What?"

His mother shook her head. "Nevermind. You'll get it someday."

"I'm not that bad," his father said.

"No…" She eased onto the floor at the pile young Seto pointed her to. "You just like to tease me."

He sat down at his pile. "You're welcome to reciprocate."

She hummed and winked. "Maybe later."

"Can I start?" Young Seto asked. He already had a box in his hands, ready to be torn into.

"Go ahead, kiddo," his father said.

The grown-up Seto watched the scene with longing pulling at his insides. As much as he tried, he couldn't conjure any memories of his own of that day. He barely remembered the little house, let alone anything that happened in it. When he thought hard, all he could bring forth were grainy images. Black and white stills from moments that could have been dreams. He had to remember to at least thank the Pharaoh for this one, if anything.

"Your turn, mommy," said young Seto. "Open mine."

There were only two presents in her pile, one from him and one from his father. She took up the messily wrapped disk and made a show of opening it. Taking the sparkly bow from atop it and placing it on Seto's head, then carefully peeling away the paper as if desiring to save it. When the production was over, a plaster disk about an inch thick lay in her hands. In the center of the disk was a handprint. Underneath was carved: 'Seto, 4'.

His mother gasped and held it to her chest. "Sweetheart, did you make this?"

Young Seto nodded and grinned. "Daddy helped me!"

"I love it." She pulled him into a one-arm hug and kissed his cheek. "I'm gonna show this to everyone."

"You're turn, daddy," Seto said.

"Hold on," said his mother. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, thin package. It was wrapped in thick tissue paper. She handed it to her husband. "Open this one first."

He frowned. "I thought we were only doing one each."

She shrugged her shoulders. "This one was free."

"Sweetie…"

"Just open it."

Her husband watched her dubiously for an extra second before doing as she asked, fingers working at the tape, then starting to unroll the paper.

Young Seto leaned closer. "What is it?"

An object fell into his father's hand. It was thin, about seven inches long, with a purple cap and two tiny windows on its front. He stared at it for a long moment, brows coming together before they shot up so high, so fast, that they could've flown off his face.

He looked up at her. "No!"

She grinned, her face flushed. "Yes."

"Really?!"

She nodded.

"What is it?" Young Seto asked again, but was, once again, ignored.

His father hauled his mother to her feet and spun her around the living room. Her toes barely touched the floor and he rained kisses on her face. Grown-up Seto watched the laughter and celebration with a growing warmth in his chest.

Young Seto, however, pouted and rose to his feet. He stomped over to his parents, grabbed the tail of his father's shirt, and pulled.

"What is it?" He asked firmly, having to yell over the laughter.

His father knelt down next to him and held out the object for him to see. The boy seemed unimpressed and even more confused.

"You see these two little lines?" His father pointed them out.

"Yeah…"

"They mean your mommy's pregnant."

Young Seto looked up at his father, his brows knit together. "Peg… nant?"

"She's going to have a baby."

Young Seto looked up at his mother. "Really?"

His mother nodded. There were tears in her eyes. She held her hands over her stomach, as if she could form a protective wall around the little life growing inside her. She held out a hand to him and he took it. She placed his hand over her stomach and held it there.

"You're going to be a big brother, Seto." She ran her fingers through his hair. "Promise me you'll be a good brother to them and watch out for them."

Young Seto nodded. "I promise, mommy."

"I promise…" Grown-up Seto intoned.

He watched his younger self wrap his arms around his mother's middle. His father embraced them both. He was talking to his wife, but their voices had grown distant. There was a haze at the edge of Seto's vision. Panic gripped him and he went to move toward them, one arm outstretched. He found his other wrist caught and he turned on his capture.

The pharaoh stood beside him. There was an immense sadness on his face. "I'm sorry, Kaiba, but it's time."

"No," Seto said.

The pharaoh shook his head. "This is as much as I could conjure. Any more and I won't have enough strength for the rest of the night. There's still a lot to do."

Seto looked back at his old life and willed his eyes to stay open for just a moment longer. He wanted that scene engraved into his memory. His mother and father, the joy they all felt, the happiness that was so fleeting. They couldn't have known it was going to end, or how soon that end would be.

Seto grit his teeth and pulled again at his wrist, but the pharaoh held him fast. He kept his eyes trained on his mother.

"Mother! I kept my promise." He reached for her with his free hand. "I kept my promise!"

She looked up and Seto let himself believe that she'd heard him.

He let his eyes close.