A/N: I had a hard time deciding the next course of action. This came out...and I am happy.

Chapter 28.

Sleep. Sleep was a beautiful thing. It seemed like such a rare thing in the Kaiba household. The brothers always seemed to be up at odd hours, with little rest in between the blurs of today and tomorrow. It left Jou to wonder, with Kaiba laid still on the same crisp sheets he'd remembered when he first entered the bedroom, seeing a much angrier facade, how many todays and tomorrows and yesterdays were coming to the halt for the sake of solid, unmedicated sleep.

Mokuba flicked the old bedside alarm clock off as Jou set Kaiba in the bed and began the work of undressing him, taking off the jacket, button-down, and belt. The sound drew his head up, with Mokuba pushing the clock as far away from the bed as he could without removing it from the nightstand. When Jou protested in Kaiba's place, Mokuba shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips. He jabbed at the bed, and Jou turned to look at where Kaiba had turned to his side. His arms pulled up close to his head, legs curled close to his body.

Once Mokuba had left, Jou undressed also, circling around to the other side of the bed and crawling under the covers. He inched his way towards Kaiba's backside, wanting to reach out and drape an arm over him, to let them share each other's warmth. But he settled for rubbing his knuckles in the space between Kaiba's shoulder blades. Watched him breathe.

"Look atcha," Jou slurred, half-asleep. "Like a kid. Ya didn't get that, didja? All these stories...shit, Seto."

Jou clenched his arms close to his chest, his eyes drawing heavy again. He'd been deep asleep when Mokuba started shouting for him. It hadn't slipped away, though the bed felt more complete with Kaiba in it. Jou felt wrong, unwanted, in it if the owner wasn't.

"Ya tear me up. In so...so many ways. I don't get it, why it's all like this. Why all this happened. Ya don't believe in fate, I bet, but I do. All this...goin' down a weird and specific path like this? Heh..."

Jou wasn't even sure where his rambling was leading to. He reflected on it, and on the words that Honda had said to him. All the things that he'd done. It was the same sort of thing he would have done for any of his friends. Yugi, Anzu, Honda, Otogi...be a nurse, cover for them, go to jail for them.

"I love ya, more than a boyfriend," Jou said, his hand crawling over, reaching up and plucking a few hairs behind Kaiba's ear, like they had been out of place. "I love ya like a friend. Didja know that? I guess I knew. Ya had to know before me; you're that crazy smart. You know those things."

Jou's words simmered off as his eyes closed. His body slid closer to Kaiba's, just enough space to move without waking each other up.

Because sleep was such a beautiful thing.

Mokuba had been pulled out of third period abruptly. He had no idea what he was walking into when he was given a private space in a bland, small room somewhere near the principal's office. At first, he thought he was in trouble when he was being escorted down the empty halls. Instead, the door opened to a tiny woman with a leather bag. She reminded him of one of the teachers he didn't have, one that he saw wandering the halls sometimes, but he could tell she wasn't. 'Visitor' was tagged in bright red on her jacket.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mokuba-chan."

Mokuba twitched, and his hands firm on the side of the plastic chair, nails digging into the softer spots. "Who are you?"

"My name is Yagami Ryoko. I was assigned to your case a few months ago. I work for Social Services."

Mokuba's mouth formed a small 'o', and he began to steel himself. Kaiba has told him about this woman coming when he wasn't home, and the same went to Jou at one point. He imagined she had been looking for him when he 'disappeared', but she was the last person that he wanted to see. Especially now.

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions, Mokuba-chan. I want you to answer them honestly."

"He's gonna be mad," Mokuba said. Ryoko was digging in her bag, pulling out a clipboard and pen. Her head canted to the side. "That you came here."

"You mean your brother, Seto?" Mokuba nodded. He wasn't sure how to address her informality. It felt wrong. Not even Jou called Kaiba by his first name, at least not on a regular basis. "Why would he be mad?"

"Because you pulled me out of class. It's important to him that I get an education."

"Is it?" She asked.

Mokuba nodded quick, mockingly.

"You've got a rather absent record this year, Mokuba-chan."

"That's different," Mokuba said. "That's not him. That was me."

"Why?"

Mokuba looked away from her. She may have been a small person, but for some reason, she made him feel so microscopic. Maybe it was because she knew everything, and he knew that she knew everything. He could only imagine what was in that bag of hers.

"It's been a tough year, okay? We've had some things happen."

"So I've noticed. How is Seto doing?" She asked.

"Kaiba-san," Mokuba corrected.

"What?"

"Call him Kaiba-san."

Something was jotted on the clipboard. Mokuba flinched again. "How is Kaiba-san doing?"

"Fine. He's able to walk better now. It's taken a long time to get to that. He's had a lot of help; doctors didn't think he was going to be able to walk as well as he does."

Ryoko nodded and smiled. She felt sugar-coated. Mokuba wondered how old she thought that he was. What kind of person she thought he was; what kind of person she thought Kaiba was. The media painted so many different pictures of him depending on their mood for the day. And with Jou so close to them now, it was only an added layer to the filth. He wondered if she read tabloids. If she had already made a decision by s jury of peers lying for money.

"So you've been missing class because you've been taking care of him?" Ryoko asked.

"No," Mokuba replied.

"It's alright if you are."

"Not like you mean," Mokuba said. His fingers continued to pull at the sides of chair. "I'm not his caretaker."

"That's...Katsuya?" She'd had to flip a page on her clipboard to consult a name. "Kaiba-san said he was a nurse. He didn't seem to want to elaborate, but when I spoke to Katsuya he seemed to have a different role in the household. He said that he was watching you."

A sigh from Mokuba. "He is. Was. He's...he's a close friend."

"'A close friend'. To you or Kaiba-san?"

"Both," Mokuba said. He stopped pulling at the plastic when his nails started to hurt. The details were there to be seen, but he didn't want to be fully exposed to this stranger. All the same, he didn't want to lie to her either. She was like a scales of justice, standing in the center but ready to tilt. "He came to help after the accident. Jou'd been there when it happened, and he had helped pull nii-sama out of the car. So, he offered for Jou to work in the house so he could get better. He's just sorta stayed."

"I see. That's a rather helpful friend, then."

Mokuba glanced away and bit his lip. He wanted to leave so bad. "Yeah. Jou's a good person. It's why he offered to help me, too. I've known him for a long time."

"So he treats you well, then?"

"Yeah. Brought me to school this morning. He's been helping me learn to drive. Things like that."

A moment of silence from Ryoko while she wrote something down. The clipboard laid flat on her knees, covered by her hands. "How are you, Mokuba-chan?"

The question caught him off guard. Knee deep in talking about Jou and his relationship to the family, with Mokuba ready to admit to her that it was much more intimate than that, when she switched gears.

"I'm okay."

"Just okay?"

A shrug. "I guess?"

"I'm worried that maybe you've had too much on your plate. That you're missing school because you have to be more of a parent to your brother than he is a guardian to you. I understand that your circumstances are—"

"No. You don't."

Ryoko's lips parted. She leaned forward in her seat. "Don't what, Mokuba-chan?"

"Understand. Us. The circumstances. You don't know. Don't tell me you do," he said. He could hear a bit of his brother in his voice. He was a Kaiba, too, he kept in mind. There was a lot of things that people didn't understand about the family. About their history. And his mind was fresh off all the details that he had just learned the day before.

"What don't I understand? Tell me, Mokuba-chan."

"Stop it! Stop calling me 'Mokuba-chan'. You don't know me. You don't know my nii-sama. You don't know Jou. Stop it." He wasn't asking, and he pulled his hands up for, beneath the chair so that he could rest them in his lap.

Ryoko leaned back, her face impassive. "I'm sorry. What would you prefer me call you?"

Beneath the tough exterior, Mokuba shook. He didn't know how to answer the question, and was automated when he said: "Not Mokuba-chan."

"Alright. Why don't you explain what I don't understand, Mokuba." How she said it was better, because he didn't fell right being just 'Kaiba' even if that's what his classmates called him. Employees at KaibaCorp. didn't even call him that, maybe to avoid confusion. Maybe because it was a kind of friendly respect. Because he was considered the nice one out of the pair.

The chair was pushed back just a few inches, to give Mokuba some space from the woman before him. She was so small, yet she took up an impressive amount of the bland room. He felt like he had to expend energy just to try and outdo her cool candor. And he felt like he didn't have to be the nice one. Not when nii-sama wasn't there. Mokuba had to protect them both.

"We're not other people. Other families. We don't work the same. It's just him and me, no one else," Mokuba said. "It's been that way for a long time. He's not just my brother."

Ryoko had crossed her arms, the pen left on the clipboard. As Mokuba gathered himself to keep talking. "I...know we're already in the system. We were orphaned, and Seto looked out for me. Protected me. He always has. Even when we were adopted, it was still only us. He...made sure we were adopted together, so he could always look out for me. Everything has always been about 'us'. What's best for 'us'. What makes 'us' happy."

Another pause, because Mokuba could see the question on her face. He prepared himself for what she was going to ask, hands back down holding the sides of the chair. "You two have a very deep relationship, then, don't you?" Mokuba nodded. "Has he ever done anything to hurt you, Mokuba?"

"Never."

"It doesn't have to be physical. If there's something you think that has been wrong anywhere down the line..."

"No," Mokuba said. "No. He's not unstable. He doesn't...take frustration out on me. He doesn't make me do anything I don't want to do. He doesn't mistreat me, or forget me, or abandon me, or whatever else you're going to say. Physically, mentally, emotionally or..."

Weakness. Kaiba's words were so raw in his mind. He'd been unfocused all day, still thinking about it. It had taken a teacher three times to get his attention first period. He still wanted to cry, but it didn't feel like it was going to solve anything to reduce himself to a puddle in front of his classmates. Didn't want the questions or the fingers pointing at him.

But Ryoko latched onto the last statement, or lack thereof, her hands gripping the edge of her clipboard. "Or what, Mokuba?"

The door was so close. He could have reached out and grabbed it, ran out and slid into the hallway. Gave her all the ammunition she needed. And when he closed his eyes, he could see his brother in pieces again. "It's not me..." he whispered. His nails scrapped on the plastic of the chair until it hurt more than before. Until it felt like they bent backwards. "You're too late. Just leave us alone."

"I'm too late? It's never too late for help, Mokuba."

"Yes it is," Mokuba said. His voice caught in his throat. "Yes it is. It is for him, okay? Not me. I'm okay. I'm more than okay! Where were you people when my nii-sama needed help, huh? The only reason you haven't gone away is because we want to be honest with you! Gozaburo threw money at you people so you would never come around! Never checked on kids who really needed it! We're fine! I'm fine! Why won't you believe us!"

His legs shook under him, aware he had snapped out of his chair and was standing in front of her with his fists clenched and shaking against his chest. "I don't need your help; it's too late for you to help him, so you're just a waste of space."

The door was thrown open, with Ryoko reaching out to grab onto Mokuba's wrist as he tried to leave. "Mokuba, it's okay. I'm not trying to tear you apart."

The teen pulled away from her twig-like fingers. His back was to her, hands still clenched. Holding back all of the tears while he thought about what he could say to her that would make her understand. That would make her go away and never bother them again. "I love my nii-sama. I wouldn't know what to do without him. The only thing he's guilty of doing to me is spoiling me stupid, okay? Does that...does that make sense to you? Isn't that enough?"

The anger left him more exhausted than the terrible sleep from the past two nights. Something that he had begged to get out as soon as this had started. He wanted to take out his anger on someone for not helping Kaiba, most of all himself. He regretted judging his brother's need for help and his lack of intimacy.

"I need to go back to class before I miss anymore."

Ryoko didn't stop him, and she watched as he trudged back to class with the person who had escorted him.

It had been half-past noon when Kaiba managed to wake up. He'd been in and out, wanting to pull himself up and out of bed, but refusing when feeling the ache and coil in his body. Remembering the last few things that had happened before he unwillingly forced his eyes closed. Nearly 48 hours without sleep, discounting the hour or so of a nap on the couch. It hadn't been his record, but it had been a long time since he had actually pulled together consecutive nights up like that. It had been a little easier at nineteen.

He also pushed back getting up because of how he saw his alarm clock placed. Turned about in a way that he knew only Mokuba would have done for him. It was inconsequential now; it was too late to go into the office, but not so late that he couldn't work from home.

But even as he dressed, he found himself in pause. Remembering the cryptic command that Yami left him with. Again. Though it felt like this one was easier to accomplish. It depended on how he decided to go about it and what defined him being 'in control' meant.

No. That wasn't what he meant.

Be the control. Not the controlled.

That was different. Being 'in control' was something different and separate at the very core. Yami didn't say anything to him, didn't advise him, in a way that was inaccurate or undecided in its meaning. In return, Kaiba knew he couldn't twist the words, either. It was him who said 'in control'.

Kaiba held onto the cane from the shaft and tried to walk as far as his pained leg would allow. He liked the pain more than the numbness; it meant something was there, that there was flesh and blood and something to make painful. Even if sometimes the pain was a little more than he cared to bare with.

The cane planted once he made it to his study. His knee twitched like it was ready to give out on him. Into the study he went, settled into the high-back chair, his computer pulled up and belongings shuffled about. Roland checked in on him several hours in, being sent away just as soon as he arrived. Kaiba liked the solace of the house when there was no one else around, not even the footsteps of some of the staff when they would putter about.

Kaiba closed his laptop. He stood, compelled around the desk. The noiselessness was normal and assuring. Therapeutic. It felt suffocating, for some reason, and it forced him to open the double doors of the office, leaving them so. The hallway was long, extending down to the left and right, branching out towards the private quarters. His bedroom wasn't far from his office. He'd spent time and money to fashion it out of one of the old guest rooms, including adding an en suite. Anywhere that anybody was sleeping in the house was always to the left of his office.

Kaiba's head swung to the right. Towards the rooms that he hadn't gone in for years. The rooms that he had barely instructed the maids to keep tidy, if only so they didn't rot and fall off the house. One master bedroom, diminutive to his own, along with a few other smaller rooms with guest beds. Places he'd been dragged to before, doors that had been slammed behind his back, knobs that clicked to lock in place.

He stepped close to all of them, he tugged on their handles and pushed them open. He expected a plume of dust to fall out of the frames, but they were as tidy as they had been left. The rest of the doors were opened, back and forth through the hall, until he reached the large one at the end. The gilded double doors, not too dissimilar to his study doors. Both hands on the handles, hearing it click and creak open as he threw it open to the daylight.

The inside was cold. The heating didn't touch its ceiling or its floors. Inside was an expanse of arrogance and eccentricity. A four posted bed, and if he closed his eyes he could remember the curtains on it being closed. Wide windows covered in heavy drapes. What happiness or sun needed to be in the space? The fireplace still had ashen logs settled in it. Tools of destruction just to the side of it. An old desk, with personal effects still laid on it, was just in front of the fireplace. And above the mantel was a large portrait. Kaiba wondered what person had the guts to sit and paint Gozaburo looking as genial as he did. The eyes were still cold, soulless, staring him down from above.

Kaiba was compelled to the corner by invisible hands. His breath hitched, remembering the feeling of his heels dragging across the Oriental rug and towards the corner. A single wooden chair, too small for a full sized adult, sat in front of a body-length mirror.

He remembered sitting down in it, pressed by strong hands, and being forced to stair at himself. At the pallor on his cheeks. A hand would grip his chin, pinching at the skin, twist him around like a little doll to be played with.

"Look at you, Seto. So pale."

Go away, Kaiba commanded. In his head. The voice was just a vivid memory being dug up by the chill of the room. Another step closer to the mirror.

"Look at your eyes, aren't they so striking? Could sweep someone off their feet with eyes like that."

His head hung, looking up at himself and the cobalt color that shook against the greyed sclera. It was dark in the room, but he could feel it behind him. See the shadows behind him.

"Go away..."he whispered.

"You could command someone's heart with a face like yours," the voice said. Kaiba had gotten as close to the mirror as the chair beneath him would allow. His hand gripped the top of it, fingers slithering into the slats of its back. A cheap, uncomfortable wooden chair that he sat in so many nights.

"Go away!"

He didn't need the other hand to get a good grip on the chair and fling it behind him. It cracked against the wall. Old and disused, ready to fall apart. A breath labored through Kaiba's body, and he took a step closer to the mirror.

A cheek was against his, feeling the whiskers so close. Hands were on his chest, brushing down the front of his shirt. "Go on, Seto. Sweep me off my feet. Show me..."

"...no..."

"Show me all of you."

"No."

A shake of the hand, trembling as he replanted the cane, unsteady. The other hand was at his shirt, pulling at the crease between the buttons, his fingers crossing over one of them. The shadow pulled at his body like a marionette, but his fingers were locked. He kept looking at himself in the mirror, at the pallor in his cheeks and the fading brightness from his eyes.

"Don't make me do it myself, Seto."

"You won't."

"I will," the voice declared. "I'm bigger than you. I'm stronger than you. Don't make me do it for you. You won't like it."

"Don't touch me," Kaiba said. He was closer to the mirror, a breath away, trying to block out the view of the shadow. He wasn't as tall, just a boy with small arms and legs, barely grown. Barely ready. Completely scared.

"You insolent brat! Don't play dumb with me! Do as I say!"

The child's head snapped back, hairs on the back of his head pulled up, tugged at until a headache rolled into his temples. Eyes, petrified, full of tears, looked back at him in the mirror. His head turned just enough to catch the glimmer of the shadow out of the corner of his eyes.

The cane was gripped, even if his palm was slick with sweat. It was brought up, the shaft held between both hands. His legs spread, gaining better footing. The shadow lingered so close behind him, callous and foreboding, while he brought the cane behind him and wound up the swing, not hearing his own scream as it burned in his lungs.

Pieces came out in chunks, falling from the edges, hitting the ground and shattering into smaller fragments. He swung at it again, higher, hitting the pieces he hadn't before. Swinging again, and again, until there was nothing left but the dented back piece.

The cane fell from his hand, laying amongst the mess of pieces. Kaiba leaned down, taking the largest piece, refusing to look directly at them, feeling the cool shadow still lingering in the room. His disbelief in ghosts didn't waver, though his understanding of a less than stellar mindset became more apparent.

He went over to the desk, the jagged edges of the mirror digging into the creases of his palm. His fingers readjusted over it as he pushed the desk close to the fireplace and climbed up onto it. He took pleasure in taking his time, knocking everything over as his lame leg tried to find its footing on the surface. Face to face with the image of a genial facade smiling down at him.

Both hands plunged the jagged piece into the face, between the eyes and pushed to rip through the thick canvas, down through the neck, then the breast, until Kaiba felt his feet against the edge of the desk ready to tumble down. He saw blood droplets against the paint, at first pleased to see that the painting could bleed, only to stop himself and look at the cuts in his hands from the glass.

Kaiba stepped back, his arms falling heavy to his sides, and he marvelled at his handiwork. The chair pushed against the fireplace with the desk, possessions strewn about. A twist of the body, to the shattered mirror and the broken chair huddled in the corner like a pile of bones. No boy, no shadow.

His eyes turned to the image in the jagged mirror piece, lifted to give him a glance at himself. At the pallor emblazoned by reddened cheeks to offset the deep cobalt eyes. And the tears that had snuck up on him, free-flowing and dripping down his face.

Something warm touched his hanging hand in the cold. He flinched and glanced over to see where Mokuba's hand gripped his own, pulling him down by the wrist. Behind him was a panicked Jou, arms held up and out, waving his hands to beckon Kaiba down. Their mouths were moving, but no words were coming out. He dropped down off the desk, bad leg first, and stumbled into Mokuba, arms wrapped around the not so little brother as he regained his footing.

Jou picked up the cane and lingered close. As Kaiba separated himself from Mokuba, begging him what was wrong but being unheard, he looked up to Jou, his hands extended for show, the glass still gripped in one, smeared with blood. Jou pried it from his fingers, and he set his hands beneath Kaiba's, touching the backs with care, gripping them from beneath. He tried to ask if his lover was alright, but received the same glassy look that Mokuba did.

Jou and Mokuba glanced at one another and feared the worst. Voiceless and confused; destructive, self-harmed and bleeding before them with no explanation. Jou's hands left Kaiba's and brought them to the brunet's stained cheeks, using his thumbs to try and wipe the tears away.

"It's okay." Jou said.

It was the first thing that Kaiba heard when the sound of the world came back. The halls weren't so noiseless. There was heavy breathing of those around him. From himself. He could appreciate both the way his voice hitched and the guttural sound of when he swallowed. He still flinched at Jou's touch, and the way his warm palms slipped back, the feeling of his fingers running through Kaiba's hair as they swept back.

"Talk ta me, Seto. I'm right here."

"I had to."

A breath of relief to hear Kaiba's voice. "Okay, ya had to."

"I had to, Katsuya. It had to be done."

"Right, no, I get it. S'all good. Cmon...let's go and clean ya up, huh?"

"No," Kaiba shook his head. Though he felt weak, and his throat was on fire, he forced the strength in his voice. "No, I need do something. Give it back."

Jou frowned and looked down to where the bloody glass was at his feet by the cane. He wanted to protest, and started to shake his head, but his hands let go of Kaiba's face and he knelt down to grab the piece.

"Jou—!"

A bloody palm was out to Mokuba to stall him, Kaiba's eyes never leaving the locked gaze he gave Jou as he reclaimed the makeshift weapon. His fingers found the right divots again, with the sharp edge downwards. He turned towards the bed, the cane head pressed in his other hand. Jou almost felt like waving his off, seeing the way he walked with determination, with presence and authority despite the wobbled gait. The way he used the cane as an extension of his arm to pull back the curtains of the bed, leaning halfway inside them, the comforter peeled back to expose the white sheets beneath. Long washed of sin and ecstasy, bloodied by a handprint in the middle as Kaiba gripped the mirror piece and plunged it as heavily as he did the painting, pulling at the mess of satin fabric and thick pull of the mattress and its stuffing.

Sheets were thrown out in pieces. The comforter tossed over the footboard. The curtains yanked down with a show of strength and hatred. Mokuba watched at first with horror and fear, his discussion with Ryoko on his mind.

It was when he heard giddy laughter coming from the side of the room, when the destruction was at its peak, when the piece of glass was attempted to be stabbed into the head board but instead had reached its limit of use and crumbled, that a smile up turned on Mokuba's face.

Jou went over as Kaiba took the cane and backpeddled, the strength bleeding out his hands, but satisfaction on Kaiba's face. A ghost of a smile, eyes closed. He almost fell backwards, Jou behind him to catch him and hold onto his waist. Kaiba's eyes opened to slats, conscious and aware of his surroundings.

"Done?" Jou whispered.

Kaiba's body coiled to drop down, and Jou held him to help him sit on the floor. He let go after, not willing to push it, sitting beside Kaiba who had his arms over his knees, the bleeding fingers beginning to sting. Mokuba approached and sat on the opposite side, the three of them staring at the destroyed bed.

"Finally." Kaiba said.

Jou nodded, curt, happy with the answer. He wasn't going to force Kaiba to get up. His fingers could be taken care of soon. He needed to bask in this glory. There was no rushing the moment, even Mokuba knew. It had taken so long to get there.

A/N: I think I'm nearing the end. Two chapters maybe? TIL next time, KenSan out!