Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ And I, You ❯ Battle of Wills ( Chapter 1 )

Warnings. Contains SLASH or YAOI. Be warned, and have the decency to leave immediately if the thought of homosexuality sickens you. Also, I don't have a beta-reader as of now, so do pardon the errors that might be encountered.

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Chapter 1: Battle of Wills

Lights. White lights pass by his vision in a blur, like smudged paint strewn by a careless brush against pristine canvas. There was an unusual amount of fuss going on around him, judging from the shadows that seemed to hover above him. He could vaguely hear the sound of what could be tires, probably made of hard plastic, as it rolled against the floor.

"Check for his pulse--" A hurried voice ordered, coming from his right.

Everything felt like in a rush, like there was no time-- not even a second-- to spare. Like there's a very pressing matter that needed to be dealt with immediately, lest suffer the consequences.

A slight pressure to his wrist, and oh, quit touching me, he mentally hissed, summoning his strength to bat the offending limb away.

Shit. Damn. *Fuck!*

Obviously, moving had been a very wrong idea.

So much pain. Seto couldn't decide where it came from; probably from his leg, or his chest, or his head-- no, everything just hurts.

Aching sensation all around him, like he had fallen flat on still waters after jumping from a very high ledge. And multiply that feeling tenfold. There were tiny pinpricks shooting from his chest for every shallow intake of air, courtesy of broken ribs and God knows what else.

His mind was probably reeling from sensory overload when he did not notice the pain instantly after gaining some semblance of consciousness.

The prick of the needle felt very, very faint, if any at all; his senses were too fogged to register more signals that indicate pain.

"On three," another voice, this time on his left. "One, two, three." He was being lifted, and a second later he was transferred to another bed. The figures hovered above him once again, murmuring things that he could not quite understand.

And it was hard to concentrate, much less think, when he was in such a state.

Seto's eyes won't stay open-- the alien feeling of the mask placed by his mouth and nose were probably doing wonders to induce it, or maybe he's just too exhausted, too burned out and hurting to mind.

He's drifting. In and out, fog-heavy. The voices around him were now scarcely audible and the pain was somehow alleviated. The last thought he remembered was watching the now stationary, but still blurred light above him and thinking, if I die...

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There's the flash of headlights in front of him, and then he furrowed his brows, shielding his eyes from the glare. He could hear the soft tune on the stereo, accompanied by a rather off-key singing coming from the backseat.

A right turn.

A left turn.

Sudden rush of adrenaline, followed by the loud screech of tires, then everything was flipping--

--once--

--twice--

A resounding crash. Shattered glass was scattered everywhere, like dull diamonds thrown haphazardly on asphalt road. Slivers prickled on his skin as he crawled, yet he was too-- numbed? shocked?-- to feel anything. The coppery tang on his lips was an unnecessary distraction as he yelled his companion's name, fear gripping him when his calls went unheeded.

But he could not afford to concede. Not yet. Mokuba was far too precious to have his life be snuffed out like this; he deserved more to life, and most certainly not painful a demise.

The wetness on his cheeks was a surprise, and they were-- tears? No, the bruised sky had just decided to mourn that night, sending its droplets to fall off generously over the parched ground.

Darkness was very enticing, pulling him deeper and deeper away from the realm of consciousness.

He was thirsty.

Seto ran his tongue over parched lips, and was startled when an arm slipped under his shoulders. There was a touch of glass on his lips, and he sucked down the water greedily, sighing as it was taken away. He didn't bother to utter his 'thank you'; gratitude was nothing but a bitter pill, one that he vehemently refused to swallow.

He opened his eyes.

Black, nothing but a void as though he had not opened his eyes. Opening his eyes had no effect on his mind; it was like he was still sleeping, still dreaming--

--but that could not possibly be the case, for the touch of water on his lips a while ago had felt very real. The feel of soft bed covers around him had felt very much real. Something was definitely amiss, and he despised the idea of not knowing it. Like it was a joke that everyone knew, except for him.

Seto blinked, this time more deliberately. Nothing.

Maybe he was just in shock or in denial; maybe he was probably both. It would not actually take rocket science to figure out what was wrong with him.

He was blind.

"God, no," Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Fear was nothing but a useless and pathetic feeling, an emotion reserved only for the weak. If there's anything that Seto could be proud of, it would be the fact that he was never weak. Years under his adoptive father's 'care' had sculpted and had hardened him into what he was now.

But wasn't blindness equivalent to weakness? Some form of liability?

Stop overanalyzing things, he firmly told himself, rationalizing that there were more pressing issues that needed to be dealt with aside from his impaired vision.

Seto tried to sit up, grimacing.

A hand was quickly laid to his chest to restrain him. "Stay still! You'll only hurt yourself if you move too much."

The deities probably decided to make fun of him on full extent; not only was he blind, but his rival had suddenly decided to appear in the most inconvenient time. Talk about rubbing salt to wounds.

"Yami?" He said, then turned his head-- not to look, but to listen for the source of the voice. "What are you doing here?"

Seto could hear the sound of a furniture being moved, a chair more likely, followed by a rustle of clothing. "I think you should rest." The voice was now nearer to him, and he could almost see Yami sitting on a chair beside the bed.

"You didn't answer my question. I said what--"

"I'll answer them later. For now, rest."

"Where's Mokuba?" he asked, bringing to life the question yet dreading the answer all at the same time.

The lack of immediate response only served to fuel more of his growing fear. If anything happened to his brother, Seto would never forgive himself...

"He's in the other room," Yami finally replied. "Yugi is there watching him."

Seto couldn't stifle the sigh of relief that escaped his lips. "He's-- fine, then?"

"Yes."

"Can I--" see him? "--never mind." It was rather anticlimactic when he realized what he was about to say. It felt like preparing for an event for years, only to realise that the said event was cancelled. Like waiting for someone for a long time, only to realise that he would never return. Like being told that your brother's alright after a car accident, yet not having any proof other that his rival's words.

He needed some form of confirmation, and the best way to do that was to actually go to his brother's room.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Seto muttered sarcastically. Could someone really be this dense? Perhaps being trapped in a puzzle for thousands of years would do that to anyone. "What do you think I'm doing? Dancing?"

Seto was about to sit upright when sharp, knifing pains assaulted his body. He immediately eased back to bed, trying to catch his breathing.

"You can't possibly think that you can traipse around in your condition. Just lie there and have some rest."

"Since when do you order me around?" he snarled.

Seto felt another contact, this time on his hands. He realized that Yami was trying to pry his hands off the sheets in which he had clawed unconsciously, perhaps sometime during the conversation. An unfamiliar heat burned in his face as he imagined how he must have looked, what with him shivering and grasping the bed covers like a frightened child.

"Relax," Yami said. "I'm not going to kill you, or anything."

"Oh," Glaring was pretty much useless, especially when he was not quite sure where Yami was. "like that will make me feel any better."

A sigh. "You're too stubborn, did you know that?"

"I don't give a damn about your opinion!"

Silence. For a brief and wild moment, Seto wondered how Yami would react when rashly provoked. He would be in such a great disadvantage if Yami decided to be violent-- although that was very unlikely.

"You don't have to shout, you know," Harsh. The voice was now cold, a far cry from the almost friendly voice he had heard earlier. "Are you trying to deafen me?"

Seto felt an uncontrollable jolt in his gut that he vaguely identified as laughter. "Maybe," he laughed bitterly, turning his head so that Yami wouldn't see his face. He felt so much defeated; at this moment in time, his life was bound to never be the same again. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm blind; that will make us even, don't you think?"

"Is that your way of giving up? Funny, I never pegged you as a quitter, Kaiba," Yami said. "I guess I was wrong."

How dare he? He had no idea, not even the slightest notion, of the agony of what he had to endure, to sacrifice just to move on. He had no idea, how much his present condition bothers him, burdened with another trouble upon the prospect of never being abe to see again.

It felt like a slap. Pity was worse than any insult, more degrading if it came from your enemy. For once, he was glad that he was blind; that way, he would not see the look on Yami's face.

"What do you want?" Seto asked, deciding not to rise to the bait. He suddenly felt very, very weary.

No hesitation, not even for a second. "I just want to help."

Seto snorted. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity! It's--"

"And it's what?"

"Believe me, I don't feel any pity for you. I'm merely trying to help. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I don't need help. I can handle things on my own."

"Oh? How sure are you on that?"

Seto muttered something obscene and physically impossible under his breath. Yami was starting to annoy him thoroughly that he could almost forget the fact that he cannot see. "Very sure."

"Then how about--"

"For fuck's sake, leave me alone, Yami. Go help someone else." Anger. Blessed, raw, white hot anger rises, and Seto couldn't help but snap at him. He wanted to be left alone, to mull things over and figure out his next move.

"Fuck you, too, Kaiba," Yami's voice held no trace of resentment, like he had expected this situation and was now handling everything with ease. "You have to know that no one orders me around, too. I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine," Seto conceded, wondering if there's any fault in Yami's sanity if he was really sincere in his offer. "Obviously, you're never going to leave me alone. If you're that mule-headed to insist on this 'helping act' of yours, then go ahead. It's your funeral."

He heard a chuckle. And by all that's unholy and impure, is there anything at all that could deter this young man? It was as though Yami was fairly sure that Seto would eventually relent, after subjected to sufficient insistence.

"I knew you'd see things my way."

to be continued...
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A/N: Okay, there goes the first chapter. It's too short, but I promise that the next chapters would be longer. Do leave a review. Positive or constructive, it lets me know what you thought of this story.