I've never really considered how Aleister and Seto would get along, since they're so antagonistic in canon. But I think there's a lot to explore here. While we're closing in on the end of this particular story, there might be a sequel to be had here.

One where Aleister helps other people escape Dartz, and through that he makes peace with his past.

And maybe Seto could help him.

.

Aleister didn't bother to even try hiding the loathing he felt for the man in front of him. It wouldn't have mattered; he wouldn't have been able to mask it if he tried. There wasn't a person on the planet who could hide their true feelings from Gozaburo Kaiba, except perhaps his wife.

"So," said Gozaburo, "here we sit. I have a simple question for you, boy: what do you want? What is your aim? For what did you sign away your soul to this . . . Dartz?"

Aleister met Gozaburo's eyes and said, flatly, without hesitation: "I want to get strong enough to kill you."

Gozaburo leaned back in his chair, maintaining that eye contact, and smiled. "I see," he said. "You know, you don't need to do a cult leader's bidding to get stronger. If you want to be trained, you can be trained. There's a fire in you, and I don't think it should be wasted."

Aleister very clearly didn't trust anything Gozaburo said. His face screwed up in something like disgust. "You're telling me . . . this doesn't worry you. You aren't going to try to stop me. I just said I intend to kill you."

"Yes," said Gozaburo. "You did."

"So . . . what? You don't care about that?"

"Not especially." Gozaburo stood up and sidestepped his desk. Aleister watched as the man started to pace the room. "Understand something: you are not the first, nor will you be the last, person to seek my death. I am many things, but I have never been delusional. I've made a great number of enemies in this life. You, clearly, are one of them."

Aleister looked painfully confused. "I don't understand you," he said.

"No," Gozaburo agreed, "I don't imagine you do." He fished a cigar from an inside pocket of his coat and cut it. "I will explain: you have declared me to be your enemy. I have not done the same. My enemy is Paradius. Not Dartz, not you, not any individual. The organization itself is my target, and I will see it dismantled. Ripped apart from its foundations. That is my intention." He turned to face Aleister again. As he pulled his lighter, Gozaburo went on: "I ask you, boy: has this Lord Dartz earned enough from you that you would die for him? If you do not renounce your mission to kill my son, you will not leave this house alive."

Aleister's eyes narrowed. "What reason would I have to say anything else, then?" he asked, testily. "I could say whatever you want to hear and be done with it." He paused. "Fine. I won't kill your son. I'll apologize to him personally. Never again will I darken your doorstep. I'll book a flight to Argentina and live out the rest of my life on a quaint little farm. Am I free to leave?"

"Absolutely." Gozaburo gestured, then pocketed his lighter. "You do not frighten me." Aleister clenched his teeth. "If you wish to leave, then leave. I have no desire nor reason to hinder you. But understand what I am offering you: stay here, learn from me, learn from my people, stand on your own feet. Decide for yourself what Paradius has done for you. Are you so blindly loyal as to serve a cause that would cast you to the crows?"

"I'm not a turncoat," Aleister said softly, slowly. "I won't kill your spawn, but that doesn't mean I'm going to dance around a bonfire with you."

"I hope, then," said Gozaburo, "that your Lord Dartz will be happy with that. Best of luck to you." He turned toward the only window; smoke swirled about his head like a witch's familiar. "Get out."

.

Aleister was halfway across the front lawn when he heard a clack sound against the walkway.

"So . . . you tried to have me killed."

He turned. Noa Kaiba stood there, his brother behind him, both hands resting on a sleek black cane. His legs were slightly bent inward. Noa didn't look frightened, or even insulted; he was merely curious. Malice radiated off Seto in waves, but he maintained his position behind his elder and said nothing.

Aleister scowled. "You aren't meant to be here," he said. "You were supposed to rot."

Noa shrugged. "That's wild," he intoned. "So, anyway, you did it because some weirdo told you to, huh? Yeah, yeah, I know." He held up one hand and waved it dismissively. "He's your father or whatever. That's fine. We all heard how he talked to you. Are you going to tell me you deserved that?"

". . . I failed him," Aleister mumbled.

"You're barely older than I am," Noa said. "Failing an assassination attempt is the default state. That he apparently thought you would, and should, succeed is proof enough that he failed you."

"You're an abomination. You need to be purged."

"Yeah, uh-huh, cool. Whatever." Noa shrugged. "I don't care. None of that moves me, and I don't really think it does much for you, either."

"Soldiers killed your family," Seto said, softly. "War killed your family. Even if he didn't orchestrate that himself, even if our father did do it . . . here he is, pushing you into the same mold as the people who hurt you." His eyes flared, but not with anger, not fully. It was empathy which inflamed Seto right now. "What would your brother think if he could see you right now?" Aleister flinched. "Do you think he would be honored? Do you think he would feel safe? Or do you think he would be frightened of you? You're becoming the same thing that took him from you, for a man who can't even bother to show his face when he yells at you."

Aleister looked like he wanted to snap back at Seto; he wanted, needed, so badly to tell Seto that he didn't understand anything. He found that his voice had left him. He had no words. Try as he might, Aleister couldn't summon the strength to defend Lord Dartz's honor. Some tiny, forgotten part of him, distant and crying, hurt and lonely and grieving, heard Seto Kaiba's words.

Heard them, and . . . and . . .

The tears came before Aleister could stop them.

He fell onto his knees, curled into himself, and wailed.

.

"This . . . belonged to my brother."

Seto sat next to Aleister, quiet and contemplative, on the front porch of Kaiba Manor. He eyed the scorched, bent, melted little figure. "What was his name? Your brother."

"Micheil," said Aleister, softly, solemnly, like it was a sacred word.

Seto frowned. He drew in a breath, let it out. "You knew him better than anyone else. What do you think he would want you to do with your life? If there's a world after this one, where he's safe, waiting for you . . . what do you think would make him smile, if you told him you'd spent your life doing it?"

Aleister looked like he'd never considered this question before. The way he watched Seto was the same way a drowning man would watch a floating raft. "I . . . don't know."

"I think I can tell you what wouldn't make him smile," Seto dared. "You don't have to be a soldier. You don't have to be a killer, or an assassin. That's not your job. You don't owe Dartz that. No matter what he says, no matter what he told you, you don't owe him that."

". . . What else can I be?"

"Anything." Seto stared off into the distance. "You can fight, right? You could be a bodyguard. You could be a bouncer at a bar, or a boxer. You could be a doctor. You could go back to your old home one day and rebuild it. Help the people you couldn't help back then. And if there's no one left to help, then . . . fix it up for other people who need a home. Honor your family, and your neighbors, and everyone you lost. Aren't they the people who need you more than anyone? You're the only one who remembers them."

Aleister stared at the toy in his hands and didn't speak.

Seto watched him, then reached out and put an arm around the older boy's shoulders.