Every Truth A Lie

Warnings: Oh, the usual...

Additional disclaimer: The song lyrics at the beginning are from Art Garfunkle's "Bright Eyes" and do NOT belong to me.





Is it a kind of dream, floating out on the tide…

Following the river of death downstream – oh is it a dream?

There’s a fog along the horizon, a strange glow in the sky.

And nobody seems to know where you go, and what does it mean –

Oh, is it a dream?

Is it a kind of shadow, reaching into the night,

Wandering over the hills unseen – or is it a dream?

There’s a high wind in the trees, a cold sound in the air.

And nobody ever knows when you go, and where do you start?

Oh, into the dark.





”Seto?” It couldn’t be – but… “Seto, is that you?”



The tall, lean brunet seemed to gain truer form as he merged with the light from the shadows, stepping out of his hiding spot.



“Seto!” Mokuba threw himself at his brother, hugging him fiercely.



The other dropped to his knees and hugged him back, tightly. “You shouldn’t believe in me so easily – how can you be sure I am what I say?”



Mokuba’s retort – that his brother hadn’t said anything – died on his lips. “Nii-sama, no one else would dare come to me as you.” He buried his face in the other’s coat, trying to claw his way closer.



Seto held him, breathing softly in his hair. He took comfort in the easy ruffling of the warmth. “Who am I, Mokuba? Why am I?”



Maybe it wasn’t a question for him. Maybe it was just hypothetical musings – his brother had a tendency to do that sometimes. But, Mokuba couldn’t help but answer, his words firmly possessive. “You are my Nii-sama.” He pulled back enough so he could look up into blue eyes. “You regret nothing.”



Those eyes closed, shutting off the light from the sky. “Oh, but I do regret.” Soft words – easy to say, but impossible to mean.



“Nii-sama, you’ve never regretted anything.”



A gentle hand under his chin tilted his face even further up. “No one can live a life without regrets.”



“You don’t regret!”



He hadn’t meant to shout, but –



“Seto! Seto, come back!”



His brother’s image was fading, taking itself away, and pooling into beads of mercury that ran and slid and skidded over the ground like little silver bugs. Even as he watched, the beads collected in a puddle, stretching and shaping itself over a wire frame. Building a person, building an impostor.



“Seto! Where are you?”



“Looking for someone, are we?” Mad laughter, choked out of the imposter’s throat.



“What do you want?” Hadn’t he been here before? Seen this? Done this?



“No need ter loose yer venom on me, young mistah.”



Painfully familiar, but he couldn’t place the words, the face that was mutating from his brother’s perfect, trademark smirk into something fiercer and uglier.



“What are you?” he demanded.



“So we are lost, aren’t we?” The changeling imposter drew nearer, stinking of rotting skin and charred bone.



“Go away!”



“But we won’t be lost fah long – ”



He was rooted to the spot as skeletal hands reached out to touch him. Those were Seto’s hands – slim and slender, but his brother’s hands had never felt like that. Not like there was bone lurking just under the surface. Not like poison that could pervade his senses and distort reality.



“Mokuba.”



The hands melted away, just when he thought he couldn’t stand them anymore. His brother’s voice, dripping with nauseatingly sweet words encircled him, drowning him in tainted visions. As if breathing were an option anymore.



“Seto!” he cried out, and his lungs flooded with blood and hate and pain and seawater.



“Get down, Mokuba!” A firm pair of hands shoved on his shoulders, dropping him to his knees, out of the mayhem drowning him.



--------------------

“S-seto?” He knew it wasn’t, but still he had to ask. If he didn’t ask the darkness and the wind if it was his brother, he’d be forever wondering.



As if disappointed in him, the darkness shook its head, then mad laughter began to ooze out of it, curling around Mokuba.



“Such a pitiful thing, you are, aren’t you? Looking for him – do you even know if he’s still alive?”



But that couldn’t be! I’d know if he wasn’t alive, Mokuba thought frantically. The realization took hold and settled in, making him defiant. “Shut up! My Nii-sama isn’t dead!”



“Unless, of course, he is, and you don’t know it.” The gentle voice had the same quality as the other, uglier voice, but it was mellow in tone, and instead of viciously triumphant, sadder and softer.



“I’d know!” Mokuba insisted.



“Leave him to his delusions,” the dark voice said, sounding bored. Mokuba had a mental image of a young man speaking as he examined his fingernails. And…



“They’re not delusions!”



“Of course they are,” the weary voice answered. “They all are. Nothing like sanity around here. But don’t worry. Try the chocolate. It’ll make you feel better. Always does, always does.”



A brown, shapeless blob floated in front of him. He shook his head. “I want my Nii-sama!”



“Told you. You never bother to listen, though. Always, always, always. He wants his sanity. Why not give it back to him, along with the roadmap? Not like we have much use for it…neither of us searching for someone who isn’t there, after all.”



“He’s there!” Mokuba insisted, although as time wore on, he wasn’t even sure what he was insisting on anymore. There – there where? When?



“It’s only a dream of things that never were. Stop fighting. Let it take you. Let it bleed you dry. That’s all…just let go. Let it all go. Let them take you.”



Did things even have to make sense here?



I’m not dead, I’m not dead, I’m not. Seto can’t be either. They don’t know what they’re saying. Only little -



“Figments of your imagination? Oh, I wish so.”



“B-bakura? What are you doing here?”



“Examining the scenery of course. The inside of your head is deadly dull. Nothing screaming or dying.” As he trailed off, the windows fluttered open.



When had there been windows?



But that was beside the point. Shrieks drifted in.



“Can you close the window? They’re shooting people down by the church again.”



“Ryou? What are you doing here?” What were any of them doing here? He half expected to see Jou or Honda or Anzu come waltzing through. Expected, and feared, seeing Yuugi’s stranger, the twisted corners of his mouth bringing an uneven smirk into the already too-tight corners of his mind.



“Whoever said dreams had to make sense? It probably will after you wake up.”



“Until then, we’re here to fuck up your mind.”



Dream-time made no sense.