Sometimes I borrow from real life to write these things.
This is one of those times.
I think that's all I can really say about it.
.
Seto was no stranger to having his brother's cat wander into his office at random hours. Sausage seemed to like all the various surfaces in Seto's space that permitted him to climb and jump and run around without ever touching the floor. Nonetheless, the little cat did tend to spend nights in Mokuba's room, so having Sausage come in after 2AM was noteworthy enough that Seto stopped typing just long enough to make a note.
He watched as Sausage hopped up onto the desk and sat there for a while, watching Seto with those wide, curious little eyes of his. Just as Seto turned back to what he'd been doing, a tentative paw reached out and tapped at Seto's arm.
"Yes?" Seto asked.
Another tap, this time with a single outstretched claw that snagged on his sleeve.
"Can I help you?"
The cat mrow-ed.
He thought to return to work, but something about the way Sausage was watching him, something about how deliberately he sat there, perched on the corner of Seto's desk like a miniature gargoyle, kept the eldest Kaiba from focusing.
He turned his full attention onto his brother's pet. "What?" he asked. "Use your words."
Sausage let out a drawling yowl that sounded entirely too much like a response. Seto might have expected him to roll his eyes. When Seto finally gave up and rose to his feet, Sausage merp-ed and hopped down to the floor, immediately padding across the carpet to the door. He then turned to watch Seto, expectantly.
"You . . . want me to follow you," Seto said. He wondered if Sausage was one of those cats who required attention to eat. Had Mokuba not fed him dinner? Seto had already impressed upon the house staff that Sausage was Mokuba's responsibility, and that they should only intervene in the cat's care if Mokuba wasn't home.
Did he have a full bowl, but needed someone to watch him? Did he want company with his meal? Did he need to be petted first? Any number of random idiosyncrasies crossed Seto's mind as possibilities.
"If this is about food," Seto said, "I'm sending you a bill."
Sausage rubbed against Seto's leg.
So it was that Seto Sasaki-Yagami Kaiba was led through the dark hallways of his own home by a half-grown house cat. There was something like a fairy-tale about it, and Seto found himself almost floating through it, to the point where he was quite sure he was dreaming. He'd never heard of a cat doing something with quite so much deliberation. Cats were hunters, survivors; they didn't guide people. Then again, Seto had never had cause to study cats before, so he supposed he had no real reason to know that. For all he knew, this was a completely normal situation and he was the weird one for not knowing that.
Every time Sausage turned around and watched, to make sure his compatriot was still following, Seto was convinced the animal would start speaking to him. Why not? Was it honestly even in the top hundred weirdest things he'd ever experienced?
But Sausage never spoke any words, only chips and chirps and trilling meows of encouragement.
Until they both stood outside Mokuba's room.
Sausage squeezed into the room through the crack of the barely-open door, and Seto carefully—so carefully—pushed it open further. And as he watched the cat hop up onto his brother's bed and meow again, this time louder and with more urgency, Seto realized what was going on.
Mokuba's eyes were shut tight, his face contorted in pain, and he was currently struggling to thrash out from under his sheets.
Sausage sat there, expectantly, waiting for Seto to do something.
". . . You want me to help your human," Seto murmured, more to himself.
That didn't stop Sausage from answering with a high-pitched little yowl.
Seto found a smile inching up on his lips as he pulled up Mokuba's chair to sit by the bed. He reached out a hand and placed it, gently but firmly, on his brother's shoulder. With the solemnity of a monk at prayer, Seto sang.
He barely remembered the lyrics to the lullaby as lyrics. The whole ritual was its own thing now, all one piece, and no part of it was distinct from any other part. It was just the thing to do when Mokuba was hurting.
Was it his father? His real father? Who first got him to try it?
"Try singing a little song," Father had said once, when Seto came to him ready to pull his hair out. "Here. C'mon. Sit here with me. I'll teach you one."
And Father sang the old song, throaty and rough and barely on-tune, but somehow the most magical thing Seto had ever heard. And Seto sang with him, and Mokuba calmed down and slept through the night for the first time in his little baby life.
So now, Seto sang the old song whenever Mokuba had trouble sleeping.
He sang it just the way Father taught him.
And when Mokuba stopped struggling against the covers of his bed, and all the fear left his face, and his breathing slowed, Seto wondered—not for the first time—if perhaps his father, their father, if Kohaku Yagami who had sacrificed so much of himself for his boys, who had taught Seto so many lessons that mattered, who was so strong and so brave and so goddamn stubborn . . .
Could hear.
Seto watched as Sausage curled up against Mokuba's side and purred so loudly that it was an honest surprise that the boy didn't wake up.
He smiled.
