Every Truth A Lie

Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. These. Characters.

Warnings: Mokuba thinking for himself...without Seto around.





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“Mokuba –” The chilled voice belonged to one of them. “Come here.”



The commanded pulled him unwillingly forward, feeling as though someone had attached strings to him. A puppet to the puppet master.



He looked up to his captors’ faces. Honda, Jounouchi and Anzu glared back. But the voice hadn’t belonged to any one of them.



“Behind you,” that voice said, a hint of amused laughter hidden in its iciness.



Mokuba turned, moving slowly and trying to ignore the very surreal feeling of this all. Thinking about it would not make it go away. Not yet, anyway.



The face was unmistakably Yuugi’s but with an air of frozen authority behind it that the teenager simply did not possess.



Mokuba said the first thing that came to his mind – it leapt off his tongue before he even considered the sense behind speaking. “You’re not Yuugi,” he blurted out.



Eyebrows went up. The stranger in Yuugi’s body seemed surprised – impressed, even. “This is true. I am not.”



There was something so wrong, Mokuba decided, about hearing someone declare that they were not themselves, even if it were to be absolute truth. Because, of course, if it were to be absolute truth it just made the whole scenario more messed up.



“Who are you, then?” the slate-eyed teen demanded. Perhaps a strange version of dementia had chosen that moment to manifest. Certainly, in a rational state, he never would have made such rash inquiries.



The stranger in Yuugi’s body regarded him for a moment. That gaze made Mokuba feel so cold… Finally, the other broke the uncomfortable silence.



“I am called many things. I will leave it to you to choose. I am the darkness. I am fear. But also I hold hope. What manner of being does that make me?”



He’s speaking in riddles! All I asked for was a name… With all those eyes latched onto him, that burning cold set of violet eyes –



“Do you have an answer?” the stranger asked. His voice was patient. Too patient, masking a dangerous quality.



Mokuba opened his mouth, ready to tell this pretender off for that tone of voice; how dare he threaten a Kaiba? Their eyes locked and the hint of a smirk playing at the edges of the other’s lips confused him long enough that he shut his mouth.



“Well?” No pretended patience any longer. A demand, pure and simple.



“I’ll call you what I want,” Mokuba growled.



The stranger’s smirk widened. “Wrong answer,” he replied.



A vicious backhand sent the black-haired teen sprawling. He landed hard, feeling the ungentle kiss of the cement floor against his side. It hurt, but not too bad. He came up to his feet, glaring, ready to take this other teen out. It didn’t matter if it was Yuugi’s body. If Mokuba was attacked he would defend.



The other teenager strolled forward, shadowed by the silent shapes of Jou, Anzu and Honda. Their silence was scarier than Yuugi’s apparent possession. Jou, especially – the Mutt was never quiet. It was eerie.



Mokuba’s eyes followed the movement of his presumed opponent. The cold personality that had invaded Yuugi’s body stood with calm, assured authority. Mokuba recognized hints of Seto in him, but tried to force the connection out of his mind.



Seto’s actually nice.



“You don’t know who I am, do you?”



The question startled Mokuba. “I wouldn’t have asked if I knew,” he shot back.



Anger blazed in the violet eyes. “You will not address me that way.” Words, simple words. So why did they make him tremble inside?



His own defiance, ingrained in his very being by his brother, forced his response. “I’ll talk to you any way I damn well please.”



Again the flash of anger, but this time tempered with minor amusement. “When did you become your brother, Mokuba? His aggression does not suit you.”



At the mention of Seto, Mokuba drew himself up. “I never ‘became’ Seto,” he growled. “We were raised in the same house by the same man.”



A quirked eyebrow met his words. “Under the same circumstances?”



Mokuba declined to answer. Unfortunately, his silence seemed to aggravate the stranger more than his clipped, rude responses had.



When had it all dipped into provocation?



The stranger stepped forward. Mokuba’s laugh cut off midway with pressure on his neck destroying any attempt to think coherently.





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“It’s about time you woke up.” The disinterested voice belonged to a white-haired teenager, sitting a few feet from where Mokuba found himself lying.



He recognized the kid as being one of Yuugi’s friends. Baker? No – Bakura. That was it.



Bakura wasn’t looking at him, seeming instead to be preoccupied with the wall. eVery so often he emitted a sounder rather like a smothered chuckle.



“What’s so funny?” Mokuba asked suspiciously after the third one.



The young man turned to face him. The gaudy golden ring he always wore was conspicuously absent. Warm brown eyes crinkled at the edges in amusement.



Mokuba bit his lip to keep from growling. Why did everyone seem to find him amusing?



“Bakura’s ranting,” the white-haired teen answered, as if that explained everything.



Bakura’s – wait! I thought he was Bakura!



His confusion became complete when the other young man rolled his eyes and said, “If you insist,” to thin air.



Mokuba watched with calculated curiosity as the other teen stretched then caught his eye.



“Hello, Mokuba.”



He froze. That was Seto’s voice.





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/You didn’t have to be so mean to him./



/I wasn’t./ The Pharaoh was lounging in his soul room in the Puzzle, watching Yuugi though half-lowered lashes.



/Of course you were! All that about his brother – you know how sensitive the two of them are about each other!/



The Pharaoh offered a fluid shrug as his reply. When his hikari continued to glare at him, the spirit sighed. /You know you can smooth over any feather I’ve ruffled, aibou,/ he coaxed gently. /It doesn’t make so great a difference./



/Yes, it does,/ Yuugi snapped, but he softened almost immediately.



The Pharaoh hid his smirk of triumph; Yuugi never could hold onto anger long enough to make it an effective weapon.



/I guess I’d better go talk to him then,/ Yuugi sighed. He paused a moment. /Are you still mad at him for hitting me? I know you barely noticed, and I didn’t really either – /



/No one harms you, aibou,/ the Pharaoh replied, eyes flashing. /I do not forgive, and I certainly do not forget./ Yuugi looked about to protest, and the spirit held up a hand to forestall any argument. /I do not,/ he repeated, /but you do, and whatever you decide, I will abide by./



Yuugi smiled a little at that. /Then please, don’t be mad at Mokuba. I don’t hold it against him./



/As you wish./



The teenager nodded and stepped out of the Pharaoh’s soul room and into his own body.





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“S-seto?” Mokuba asked in a trembling voice.



“Not quite,” Bakura’s voice answered. Only, it wasn’t really Bakura’s voice at all. Like the stranger in Yuugi’s body, there was a stranger hiding in the white-haired teenager.



Mokuba knew better than to rashly demand – the slowly darkening bruise on his face from the confrontation with Yuugi’s darker side had taught him that much, at least. And no Kaiba had to be taught the same lesson twice.



Instead, he cautiously inquired, “Who are you?”



The white-haired host body gave him a peculiar look. Then, a burst of crazy, maniac laughter erupted from that same slender frame. There was so much wrong with that picture! Not that he’d ever heard Bakura laugh before but –



It couldn’t possibly sound like that.



“I’m the same person I was five seconds ago,” the voice snapped, almost before the laughter had abated. “The same person…” the white-haired teen drawled, holding up a hand as if to admire it, “…without any inhibitions.”



The hand became a fist and the brown eyes that had been warm and friendly a moment before now burned with a twisted fire.



Mokuba froze, his eyes locked with this stranger’s – drowning in an impossibly deep nothingness without anything to lever himself out.



“Bakura!”



The voice snapped him out of the daze he’d fallen into. Both heads turned simultaneously to see Yuugi – the real Yuugi – coming down the stairs, his hair bouncing lightly with each step.



Bakura recoiled, and it was only then that Mokuba realized just how close the white-haired male had been.



He shivered slightly. Yuugi’s eyes were sharper than he’d thought; the teen knelt beside him, concern in his face, put a hand on Mokuba’s arm.



“Are you all right?”



Why are those the first words out of anyone’s mouth? Am I not capable of taking care of myself?



“I’m fine,” he snapped, pulling his arm back a little harder than he’d intended. A brief flash of red echoed in Yuugi’s eyes – gone almost before Mokuba was sure he’d seen it. The sight left him unnerved.



Yuugi’s face was troubled but when he turned away, Mokuba was not sorry.



I’m not weak. I’m not dependent on anyone. I can’t afford to be.



Yuugi was speaking softly to Bakura. Every so often, his form of address changed – Ryou, Bakura, Bakura, Ryou…



Mokuba couldn’t follow the pattern, though it seemed to correspond to the level of tension in the white-haired one’s shoulders. The extremes belonged to ‘Ryou’. The middle, carelessly relaxed state – that was Bakura.



What the hell is going on? He wanted to ask, to get a better handle on this whole thing, but it seemed like a poor choice to draw attention when it had finally abandoned him.



The relaxed shoulder and ill-intent version – Bakura – shot him a twisted smile over Yuugi’s head. Mokuba shivered, doing his best to suppress the tremors.



Yuugi’s soft voice exchanged places with a slightly lower one, brimming with careless overconfidence. Pride well won, but pride nonetheless.



Mokuba’s eyes narrowed.



Yuugi’s shadowy stranger was back.





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Author's Note: It feels like I'm randomly wandering back and forth though this world. Sorry that it's less than coherent. I think I may have to go though and edit when I'm done.



--Bakura sounding like Seto: I figured that if Bakura's the thief king, he would also be a master of disguise, including being able to imitate voices. Just threw that in for flavor, and it doesn't really have much significance, but it hit me while I was writing and I tend to agree with whatever hits me...

--Mokie seems to do a whole lot of flinching/trembling/cowering and generally acting weak in this chapter. However, he's still got the Kaiba-esque defiance etched into him, so I guess it all evens out and leaves him a regular teen fooling around with magical items.