Warnings: Slight angst-ness.
Disclaimer(s): Yugioh is not mine. Neither is "Hurt" which was originally done by NIN and then covered by Johnny Cash. ((I used both versions in writing this.))
Pairing(s): BUDDYshipping ((JouxHonda)).

The room was dark, devoid of humanity except for a single collapsed body taking up residence in one of the cobwebbed corners. Dirty laundry was strewn across the floor, and the very air held the bitter taste of defeat.

Honda picked his way through the mess of the old house, his nose crinkled in disgust. It took him a moment to identify the heap in the corner as a human being; the whole house had blended together in shades of brown and grey dirt. Slowly, the brunet made his way over. He knelt by the unmoving body. No…not unmoving. Shallow gasps of air, barely enough to move the body's chest upward, proved that – for the time being at least – the other male was alive. Frowning, Honda experimentally poked the body. A soft groan answered him, and the other human shifted off his side. The brunet gaped. In place of a left arm, there was ripped skin, torn so deeply that white bone shown out from under crusted blood.

Dear god, Honda thought. What in hell's name has he been doing? He knew Jou had taken Yuugi's marriage hard, but what was this? "Jounouchi, talk to me," Honda ordered, shaking the other's shoulder. He couldn't call Jou blond any longer. The same grey-brown dirt that had uniformly shaded the inside of the house had also bleached any semblance of color out of Jou.

The young man was in his early twenties; he looked as if he were a corpse already. "Jounouchi." Honda's voice was more desperate now as he shook his old friend's shoulder. The head lolled on the neck. But Jou was still alive. Honda knew it. He still breathed. Fingers sought out a pulse – yes! – he still had a heartbeat, albeit a weak one. There was nothing about him that could be considered dead except for those eyes that remained closed…and the ashen skin. "Jounouchi – talk to me!"

XXX

Impatiently the brunet waited. Twiddling his thumbs in a hospital waiting room was not what he considered a reasonable past time. Unfortunately, it was a necessary occupation of his time. Finally, after what seemed like eons of waiting – sweating in a business suit still stained with the filth of impoverished living – a nurse came out, and called his name. Honda sprang to his feet, anxious. She offered him a pitying glance and beckoned for him to follow. He did, tracing their steps through the curiously silent hallways. All the halls were white. He'd never noticed that before. Honda wondered if perhaps there was some special significance to that. Why would the whole place be as bleached as freshly done laundry? Trying to hide people's defects, Honda thought cynically. Trying to pretend broken arms and shattered minds were just superficial injuries; it made ignoring the deeper problems that much easier.

When the nurse showed him into the room with Jou, Honda's throat contracted. The young man was stretched out across the hospital bed, eyes closed still, lying limply. His mutilated left arm had been further dissected – presumably for cleaning – and so the skin flaps lay peeled apart, revealing even more of the muscle and bone below that they should have covered. "How is he?" Honda inquired urgently. The nurse gave him a disapproving look. No answer to his question. No reply. Nothing. He tried again. She ignored him. Does she blame me for this? But how could she? The door opened and a doctor in white came in, his face cold and reserved. "How is he?" Honda pressed. A single shake of the head.

"Honda?" the voice was weak, but there. Honda turned, eyes eagerly going to the prone form. "Honda…" Again, just a whisper of the voice that had once echoed over dueling arenas with challenge ringing through it. Where was the strength in that voice now? It was shallow, nearly hollow, an echo, perhaps, of its s owners descent into madness. The brunet reached out for Jou, brushed a hand lightly against his arm. The doctor cleared his throat. Honda paused, glaring over his shoulder. "I'll be back to pick you up."

Jou shook his head. His eyes were still closed, Honda noted with passing interest. "You won't," Jou replied. His voice was unsteady. "You won't."

"Of course I will," Honda protested.

A weak laugh came from Jou. "If you believe that, you're more deluded that I ever was," he coughed out. "Every I know goes away in the end." There was an air of finality to Jou's voice. Honda paused, wanting to dispel the conviction behind those words, wishing to cast some doubt as to the truth of them… But as the seconds slipped into minutes, he couldn't think of anything to say. Finally, he nodded to the nurse and doctor and left. Their accusatory gazes burned through his suit jacket as he abandoned the room and the young man within; he could feel them well after he was gone.

XXX

"Are you going to change your mind?"

He shook his head, put down his head.

There were footsteps, echoing in the back of his mind. I remember everything.

"You won't wait?"

"He's not coming back."

You can have it all…my empire of dirt. I've already seen how you look at me. You're afraid of me, for me. I'll only make you hurt. Give it up.

"If you're sure –"

"He won't have anything to come back to."

"You do know it goes against policy…"

A bitter laugh. "You don't want to deal with my kind anyway."

What have I become?

He could feel the heated lights turn out. The air became chill. The lights had to be out…and the others were gone. He was alone. He could feel it.

If I could start again…

They had left it for him. It was cool to the touch; colder than the air. He took the edge and held it for a moment, just thinking.

A million miles away…

He thought he had wanted to be a policeman when he was younger. To do things to help people…get out of the situation he'd grown up in. Maybe help other people escape too.

I would keep myself…

There was something warm flooding into him. He could see stars, just beyond the windows. Hear the silent nightingales, smell invisible hay.

I would find a way.