State of Mind

PAIRING(S): Seto + Mokuba

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS: Grey-san, Corvin-san, Field-san and the Kravans.

SPOILERS: None really, since the plot is most likely more AU than anything else.

SUMMARY: Mokuba is now 15 years old and has grown into a confident young man. In the years since Secrets that Remain Mokuba has become aware of Seto's game and the brothers have become inseparably close. Yet many secrets still remain. As the eve of Mokuba's 16th birthday nears, a new and unusual tension is in the air.
What lies beneath the surface of happy days and silent nights? When the demons of the past will not die, how does one continue to live? "This ephemeral peace will one day shatter and all shall fall away...”

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Yuugiou nor am I making any money from this story. Please give appropriate support toward Yuugiou's mangaka Takahashi Kazuki.

*****WARNINGS: PLEASE NOTE that this story contains direct mention and some description of sexual/mental child abuse between two males. This content is portrayed as a damaging, terrible act of violation toward a child as any type of child abuse is; however, if this subject offends you in ANY way, please do not read.

Contains Yaoi/MalexMale/Homosexual and incestuous situations, mature language, mention of attempted suicide, and various other not nice things.

-Blood.

---Chapter 13---

Seto and Mokuba managed to arrive back at Aphrodite’s Residence almost two hours after starting out. They were both tired and sore. The pair spent the next hour tending to their wounds after taking warm, separate showers to clean away all the mud and blood. Seto looked like a lobotomy patient with the new bandages around his skull. His head wound was not nearly as bad as it had looked in the dismal atmosphere back in the forest. The arm wound was found to be worse than was first seen and longer. Once cleaned under bright light they could see that the main, deeper part of the slash ran a daunting four inches across and six inches from end to end. Mokuba medicated the injury heavily after a detailed cleaning which Seto took as stoically as ever. Seto insisted his other, covered injuries were fine after his shower.

Mokuba had his fair share of wounds. None were as deep as Seto’s, but his partially bare legs and exposed shoulders had been bruised and scratched considerably. A good size bruise had grown on the side of Mokuba’s head, the most likely explanation for his dizziness.

Seto had compulsively forced Mokuba to strip down to his boxers and sit still so that every scratch could be disinfected. He had little to say about his own injuries, but said plenty about clothing and choices for any future hikes into the jungle.

Mokuba sat through it all feeling as giddy as one could manage with all his injuries. Seto was as gentle as silk, touching him all over as he applied disinfectant with the amount of shame of a worried mother: none. He was trying his best not to blush, or worse, as Seto meticulously rubbed the scratches on Mokuba’s stomach, arms, neck and face. He did not protest once, despite his being able to reach most of these areas. He had to bite his lip when Seto rubbed at the small of his back. Conversation crept back into the room after Seto was done.

They went to bed early that night after eating a small dinner. Amazingly, neither brother seemed to have a concussion from their head wounds. Sleep came easily to Mokuba and even Seto slipped into slumber earlier than usual. Dark thought of the past plagued him weakly as his thoughts centered on the more current close encounter with death. He knew it was unusual that his own wounds bothered him very little. The pain was not as severe as others he had endured before; it was the danger Mokuba had experienced. The fall along with Seto’s own unconscious state had pushed Mokuba to have a small break down. Mokuba’s pain and Mokuba’s brush with death were what encroached upon Seto’s peace of mind. He slept well due only to exhaustion and awoke after five unconscious hours.

---

The nest morning arrived with bleak reflections of the previous evening. Those blighted visions were partially overcome by the remembrance of the victorious arrival back to the house and the copious licking of each others wounds.

Mokuba had gone to bed feeling rather refreshed. He awoke to his scratches stinging like crazy! Every time he moved another cut would start to burn and others would itch. He soon found his way into the bathroom, mumbling as he found the ointment he needed. He only paused when the fully dressed Seto looked in on him from the door.

Seto looked at the scratches on Mokuba, thinking of how much better they looked after a full night. The redness had subsided greatly. His brother looked rather miserable though. His hair was in a messy ponytail and he was in a white tank and striped boxers, sitting on the small wooden stool used to wash and rinse before bathing. Mokuba frowned up at Seto as the brunette walked closer offering help. The other accepted happily.

“We will have Field-san treat you as soon as we get home. He’ll get some better medication so these don’t scar,” Seto said at Mokuba’s shoulder.

“Yeah…and he can fix your wounds up better, too. Have you cleaned it today? When did you get up anyway?” Mokuba sounded a little less grumpy now as Seto massaged his upper back.

“Of course. Yes, I cleaned it hours ago. 5:30 am.” Seto answered dutifully, finishing up with Mokuba’s back. “Why don’t we go to the hot pool and relax for a while?”

“Okay,” Mokuba answered instantly, standing. His skin felt soothingly cool with the ointment.

“Is it okay with this stuff on?” Mokuba motioned toward the tube in Seto’s hand.

“Yes, the pool is filtered so it won’t soil the water. Do you remember it?”

“Not too well, but I remember it was pretty,” he admitted.

In fact, the pool was more of a vanity hot tub made to look like a natural pool of water below a steady four foot waterfall from a crack in rocks. The waterfall was how filtered, heated and cleaned water returned to the tub’s supply. A series of hidden drains removed debris and old water continuously so that the temperature never faltered and the water was as crystal clear as the first day it was installed. The heat was produced through an ingenious mechanism: the rock wall was built to absorb the heat of the Eastern sun while blocking the star’s direct rays. The filter system within the rocks and beneath the pool regulated temperature so that it did not fall or rise outside of the set degrees.

The controls were hidden beneath what appeared to be a regular convex stone beside the falls. One need only twist the stone counter-clockwise to uncover a dial with a range of possible temperatures. A digital display screen reported the present settings.
Seto and Mokuba climbed the smooth, rounded stone steps that led up to the rock platform. To the right of the stairs there was enough room for at least four towels to be spread beside the water’s edge. Even the landing was warm compared to the steps. Shoes were removed and remained on the last step.

Seto wore his navy blue trunks that hung past his knee tops with a black—tight and sexy according to Mokuba’s thoughts—shirt with v-neck and elbow-length sleeves. His bandages had been redressed for his forehead and right forearm. He would need to keep these out of the water.

Mokuba was now in a dark green pair of mid-thigh trunks that matched well with his tanned skin. The tanned muscle of a swimmer. Hopefully his cuts would heal quickly so there was not a problem with his swim club meetings. Mokuba had joined the club during Junior High at the age of fourteen as a healthy past time and stress relief. The exercise had served his health well and his popularity soared. Mokuba was no lonely boy when it came to or girls. He received chocolates, homemade lunches, letters, and in person confessions almost daily. He had learned how to politely refuse without offense to the girl or harm to his own image. Just as he could outwit businessmen fifteen years his senior, Mokuba easily pleased his fans even as he rejected their love. He did not feel guilty for this since he already had someone he was in love with.

Mokuba’s platinum eyes shifted from where he knelt placing his towel near the edge to the taller figure at the water’s edge. He noticed Seto’s clothing with grim consideration, frowning privately. Mokuba had no reservations on showing skin; he was proud of his body. He had common decency when in public, but he was no prude. Swimming was usually a time where even the most professional man became less aware of feelings of shame toward his body and eagerly jumped into only a pair of shorts or even a Speedo. Seto, however, never wore any less than what he was wearing now. Honestly, the current outfit was a bit showy compared to Seto’s usual dress. Mokuba could count on one hand the number of occasions he had seen his own brother topless, that is, after the retreat of childhood.

Mokuba studied Seto’s figure, the lean chest above flat stomach, the broad, straight shoulders leading down to long arms made of lean muscle. He considered the perfectly held posture, the gentle slope at the small of Seto’s back leading down over firm buttocks and long, chiseled legs. Seto had, with a doubt, one of the best bodies Mokuba had ever seen. He could easily be mistaken for a top-notch model, if the person mistaking didn’t already know the infamous CEO. No agency would ever have the balls to even hint at scouting Seto to their company. This thought made Mokuba smile as he turned around to follow Seto into the water. Dipping his foot into the 95 degree water felt wonderful until his crisscrossed calf hit the heat. Mokuba hissed and pulled back quickly.

“Stupid shorts. Just had to wear beach clothes to waltz around in the freakin’ jungle,” the teen muttered quietly. He steeled himself for another dunk. The initial change in temperature sent instant, prickly pain racing over each scratch, but after several seconds this receded into a pleasant, dull throbbing. Satisfied with this conclusion, the young male took his time easing down into the steamy water by sections. When the enjoyable sensation reached Mokuba’s neck, he could not contain his gratified sigh. For many moments Mokuba kept his eyes closed, a small smile in place.

“Good idea, Nii-sama,” Mokuba said placidly, opening his eyes a smidge. Seto sat with his right arm bent over his shoulder, padding the back of his head with the right palm. The rest of him below the neck was currently submerged.

“Yes, it was,” Seto said quietly, content indigo eyes closed as he leaned back against the rock wall.
Mokuba continued to stare from his own point of comfort, raising earlier thoughts back to the surface. Seto’s choice of clothing was not simply the quirk of a rich businessman or even an acquired habit. This was precise, methodical planning with intent of hiding some thing. Seto did not want anyone knowing, or even guessing, his secrets; therefore, he concealed them.

Mokuba knew what the visible secrets were. Seto had several scars across his back and on his upper arms. Mokuba had first seen them on his first vacation to Ambrosia. When Seto had refused to answer then, Mokuba had instantly aroused many guesses, questions upon maddening questions. At the age of thirteen, those guesses were greatly limited according to his lack of experiences. At the age of sixteen, Mokuba had added more than a few new theories based upon those three extra years.

These were the facts: the marks were old enough to be scars three years ago; Seto was deeply troubled over the memories of what had caused those scars; Seto was heavily influenced by these events and would like nothing more than to keep it all secret. Mokuba usually wanted to abide by his brother’s—his boss’s—wishes, but this was not one he could obey. Mokuba would have the truth. The events of the last twenty four hours had only seemed to increase this determination. Mokuba would admit he had cracked under the pressure of last night’s ordeal, but he still thought that overall he did well. In the future, he would know what to do. It was only with Seto that Mokuba often felt overwhelmed. Seto was like the sun and Mokuba was the moon; if the sun were suddenly gone, the moon’s light would disappear until the sun’s return. With Seto in control, he felt anything was achievable. The problem was that over the last few years, Mokuba’s godlike evaluation of Seto had become increasingly cluttered with very real, very human incidents. Mokuba had been suddenly forced into awareness of his brother’s aching mortality as he watched the culminating hints of Seto’s self-destruction.

At least once, Mokuba had been the only factor that could counter the explosion. He suspected there were several situations in which Seto might have needed help yet was too prideful to ask for it. Needing help contradicted the image all, even Mokuba, had given him. This weight, this extreme responsibility of helping a man who could handle everything did not give Mokuba any joy. He often felt useless; Seto needed help from someone as capable as he was. This was how he felt after walking in on Seto that horrible night; all that blood and broken dreams.

Last night, Mokuba had again watched the godly creature bleed and he felt terrified of his own incompetence. He knew now that he had done the correct thing; his hindsight becoming aware of his own capability. He knew Seto would have been dead, drowned in a muddy puddle only two inches deep if Mokuba had done the wrong thing. As these realizations did not give him much confidence, his emotions harbored the relief and aided in strengthening his determination. He was weak and full of too many fears that overshadowed his strength of heart. He decided he would do everything possible to become a strong man with just as much passion and as many accomplishments.

As he thought this, Mokuba felt something in him breath. This emotion had been present briefly as he fell asleep the night before. Some previously dormant, important part of him had changed and grown and pulsed into life.

His chest swelled with as he contemplated this new development. He was struck with an epiphany. He knew, all at once he knew, what he could never determine or believe before. Mokuba was Mokuba. He was an individual apart from Seto’s shadow and he was important. No matter how young or inexperienced, he was important as a person and as a brother. Seto had told him so many times how much he was cared for; Mokuba had often suspected Seto only cared for him. The main realization for Mokuba in that moment was that he made a difference in Seto’s life with what he did. His actions were not overlooked. He decided he would willingly receive this responsibility as one of the only people who could help this man, this demigod, in a way that mattered. His previous fears now seemed childish and pitiful; neither quality would help Seto with his pain.
Mokuba felt unusually complacent as he watched azure eyes open after sever seconds of closure. Those eyes appeared strong beyond measure, like tinted bullet-proof glass with no indication of what lay behind. Mokuba smiled affectionately, registering the subtle surprise in Seto’s expression. He turned silvery eyes to the sky, continuing his thoughts as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Mokuba was sure he would have the secrets of Seto’s heart before the end of the week. He would do all in his power to support Seto’s troubled mind. He would be the net that caught the dragon as he fell.

---

This was not how it was supposed to go. His mind was floored as if he had just been sucker-punched, as if the sky itself had fallen. Mokuba sat aghast, darkened grey eyes burning holes through the figure sitting before him. It took all of his new-found determination to control the myriad emotions of rage and desolation roaring through his veins, blood boiling as loud as a train derailment. He inhaled small, measured breaths, his mind working over the information just presented to him. For the thousandth time in mere seconds, he wondered how he had come to be here, running over the events that had so sloppily meshed together to create this terrible moment….

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Blood: Sorry for the cliffy! =) *eeeevil* I’ll update chapter 14 soon.