[FF|ZX|Tenjo-centric|oldfic] Skylight
Yu-Gi-Oh! ZEXAL: Skylight Rating: T (PG-13) Pairing: Nope nope nope Warnings: Drug usage? Self-harm? (At a stretch, the two of them :/)
Notes: Incompleteeeeee (Cancelled, that is.) Also old fic is old and non–canon-compliant.
I found this on my hard drive. It's not complete, but it's actually surprisingly good (coughnopecough) and I honestly don't remember where I was going with this so imma just post it as is. I guess this is why I have a fanfiction tumblr, after all.
Please note, this was written in October 2011. And contrary to what I do make it seem, it's actually okay in terms of writing - I wouldn't post it otherwise. :DD
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"Why are they so happy, nii-san?" It took every inch of Kaito's will to cross the lush carpet and reach the edge of the Tower's viewing area. Haruto took no notice of Kaito's internal struggle, nor acknowledge when Kaito stopped behind him. He only continued to stare out the window as always, taking in the bright lights and whirling fireworks as if he were a programmed doll. A doll; a stranger in Dr. Faker's chilly masquerade. Kaito rarely felt the flicker of regret cross his mind, but he did as he saw the reflections in the glass. Their reflections. Haruto's blank, empty eyes stared back at him, accusing. His own had widened eyes, a twitching lip: horror at his brother. Horror at the stranger. He'd wanted to turn Haruto around, and give him a hug. Any thoughts of doing so were now gone. At least, by keeping his distance, he could pretend the reflections were false; that the mirror images were just lies created especially for his torment. He'd never look at Haruto in that way. Not his little brother. "Nii-san," repeated Haruto, "why are they so happy?" "Haruto..." "I want to hear the screams." Haruto lifted both hands to the window. He leant closer until his nose almost touched the cold surface, the action obstructing his reflection. With a brief hesitation, Kaito knelt down and placed his arms around his brother's shoulders. The action went unnoticed. "They should be screaming, nii-san." Kaito bit down the emotions bubbling up inside him. "Haruto..." "Why aren't they screaming?" Haruto demanded. "Nii-san, why?" The last word was punctuated by a red glow around his eyes; a red glow bordered frosty blue through the window's flawed reflection. Haruto stepped and twisted to the side: a single, fluid motion. Kaito only saw a glowing arm brush against his torso before he slammed into the window across the room. Shatterproof glass groaned, buckling under impact. Kaito reflexively arched his neck and cried out as a jolting pain shot through his skull. "H--Haruto..." Haruto lowered his arm, his breath heavy. The red glow around his arm dissolved, but still remained faintly around his wide, exhilarated eyes. "Nii-san," he whispered, "I want to hear you scream." The glow around his arm reappeared: concentrating, dancing across his fingertips. He flung them upwards, and Kaito buckled forward when a force hit the base of his ribs. Another reflexive spasm sent pain rushing through every fibre of his body. Pain worse than an electric shock in a storm, worse than breaking most of the bones in his body. A bitter taste surfaced in his mouth: he didn't need to look to know it was blood. "Scream, nii-san! Scream!" Kaito lifted his head, the action weak. He could barely see a fuzzy red outline--Haruto, flexing glowing fingers in unnerving awe. The lights in the room flickered. Once. Twice. Only after the third time Kaito realised his eyelids were fighting to stay open. One thought remained: why Haruto? Why his younger brother?
Flash by thunder; deadened eyes; months ago----"Nii...san?"
He fisted the carpet, deep blue fibres tickling the insides of his fingers. One final time, the lights sparked, and then darkness swept over the room as if the inky night sky began seeping through the too-thin windows. And though his senses trailed away, the red remained within his mind, carved by the whispers of a thousand screams. Damn that Mr Heartland, he thought, moments before he shut down. Damn him to hell.
Hospitals were deadend places, with stark white walls and fluorescent lights far too bright for the eye to see. To an ordinary person the light would be comforting, reassuring, keeping the whole room lit and in perpetual view. The dark of the night shrouded things, and hid them from sight. Kaito had enough experience with Photons to see through this deception. With the dark came hesitation; with the light came blind reassurance. The light meant Photon Change; a brutal, soul-consuming job. The light from hospitals showed they were places of cleanliness and healing, but were still locations for those who could not be saved. Even with patients on the brink of death, the doctors would keep smiling despite the truth hidden within their eyes. That sincerity could only be forged. Kaito preferred the darkness. To know where he was, Kaito did not need to open his eyes. The artificial smell of disinfectant hung heavy in dry, sterilised air. The mattress underneath him was too stiff to be his own. It took a moment for his memories to resurface, take hold; the instant they did, he forced heavy eyelids to snap open. But even so, the white walls could not banish the red glow etching itself into his skull. Fraction by fraction; faster then slowly. "Ah, Kaito!" Kaito expected the pressed teal suit and immaculate green comb-over before he glanced to the doorway. He was not disappointed. Mr Heartland, oblivious to the sharp scrutiny, merely outstretched both arms. Then he began to approach the bed, the tapping of expensive brogues against linoleum echoing every step.
Months ago; smile like plaster; faux, false, faked----"Haruto - have you forgotten Kaito, your older brother?"
When Mr Heartland stopped, Kaito grit his teeth. If the sound carried, neither two showed they heard it. "It is a relief to see your recovery," said Mr Heartland. Kaito ignored the smile. "How's Haruto?" "Haruto is well." "That's not an answer." "There are no more answers to be given. Is your wrist healed?" Kaito blinked. "My... wrist?" He looked down to find his left wrist attached to the end of an IV drip, the light from the infusion pump's digital display beside him pulsing every few seconds. A blue cast wrapped around his right. The neo-fiberglass bandages sat snug against his skin, intelligent technology keeping them moulded against the surface. "Wrist fracture," said Mr Heartland. "You had more than a concussion when you were recovered, but fortunately they only extended to bruises and minor injuries." Kaito made no sound as he ran a finger along the single thin, sharp scar. It peeked out from the edge of the cast, stretching all the way to his third knuckle. "As your wrist is not to be moved," added Mr Heartland, "you shall not conduct your Hunts until you are healed." It wasn't until Kaito nearly fell out of the bed that he realised he'd tried to move, to no avail. The bedsheets pinned his writhing legs down. When he attempted to support himself with his arm, the cast caused him to slide and his landing was marked by a sudden burst of pain from his elbow. It went ignored. "You can't cancel them!" "Your Duel Anchor splintered upon impact. It will take five weeks for a new one created, and five weeks for you to heal." "What about Haruto?" "Haruto will be fine." "Haruto needs me to Hunt!" "His illness has subsided at the current time." "It can't have subsided! He--" "Haruto is fine." Mr Heartland's tone was final. It carried a warning: no further input could be made. "This is merely a new development in his ability to commune to the Astral World. You should be pleased."
Glinting lenses; smile like plaster; flash by thunder----"You should be pleased. Haruto can access the Astral World."
Kaito saw red. What began as a feeble spark blossomed into raging flames, swept by spiritual wind. It thrived as it crossed endless white expanses, a flare growing into relentless blaze. Nothing was left unscathed in the war for dominance. At some point Mr Heartland left the room, unaware of the primal seeds flickering around him, hanging near him. Kaito didn't know when; he'd closed his eyes in an effort to smother the inferno - to hide it in pitch-black darkness. He gripped the sheets tighter with his working hand, and clenched his teeth. But as the fury wouldn't cease, neither did the phantom pulsation beginning at the back of his head. As if he were back at the Tower: a reminder of the night and his twin-folded pain. He didn't fight it when he felt himself teetering on the brink of bright oblivion. He welcomed it. For the closer he reached the transcendence on the other side, the fainter the entrance of the nurses became. The fainter the machine's loud beeping and the sensations of reality became. The fainter Haruto's bleeding red tears became. ...Haruto!----how could–he-forget? Blackout.
One week. The nurses let him out of Dr Faker's clinic after a week. In any other institution he would have stayed longer, he presumed, but as the clinic was connected directly to the Tower the nurses would be able to check up on him at all times, and ensure he wasn't doing anything too strenuous. Not that there had been anything strenuous to do; Mr Heartland had bound him to his room, claiming he needed rest. There were security cameras watching every movement he made, no doubt; a direct side-effect of paranoia. Kaito twitched. He pulled his eyes away from the table with great effort. He glanced at the clock, but, even as he did so, the room's white lights became tinged with blue, and the rest of the room warped into green. The digital numbers were near illegible. 14:17. Kaito shook his head to clear it, successful, and gripped the chair's flimsy cushioned armrests. His fingers left behind an indentation requiring the foam three seconds to restore. He couldn't see straight, he couldn't think straight. His thoughts would start from Haruto and end with Heartland, spinning every which way throughout the process and skipping several key points altogether. It wasn't right. What wasn't right? another part of him countered. Everything wasn't right. Haruto wasn't right? Why wasn't Haruto right? Have you wished him good night yet? What day was it? Night isn't day. Night wasn't the day. Was it? Not for owls. Haruto didn't like owls, at first. He never liked the dark. He and you haven't gone exploring since we came to Heartland. Mr Heartland did it. Mr Heartland did it. Dr Faker is a good man. Kaito shook his head again, this time to end the train of thought. He twitched again, and couldn't help glancing at the desk. At the little, unmarked bottle of pills sitting innocently on the table. "Take one when you're to go to sleep, or if you have another seizure," a nurse had told him, five days ago. ...five days ago? Wasn't it longer? How many days had it been since he'd been discharged...? He automatically glanced at the clock again. 14:18. A minute had passed, but on further inspection, the seconds didn't match up. Less than a minute. Kaito knew the classic mind trick - look at a clock, and time passes slower. Don't look at a clock, and time will pass faster. But his room was furnished sparsely. Two cushioned chairs - one almost like a sofa, and one with padding to a lesser degree. A workstation constituting his table, one that couldn't be called a workstation as there were no computers or papers to deal with. A simple bed with navy sheets in the opposite corner, and a small en suite bathroom connected beside the wardrobe door. There was nothing else to do. Nothing to occupy his time. He glanced at the desk again. The active ingredient of the pills was the same as that they used to sedate him, he was told. They didn't want him to undergo any more seizures. His seizures were caused by the concussion, after he slammed into the window... ...how long ago? He twitched again, the action accompanied by a wave of nausea. It couldn't have been right; they'd said they were trying to cut down his dependency. Dependency caused as a direct result of Haruto's strange, red glow. Red glow? Red glow. That never happened before. The other part returned. Was it his subconscious? Did the Phenobarbital make him hallucinate, the way he'd lost days before? Lost days? What did he mean? ...Did he lose them? Did you? parroted the voice, as it tended to do. Of--of course he did. He hadn't been allowed to see Haruto at all since that night. Mr Heartland keeps him away. But he's fine. Is he? Kaito glanced down at the cast around his wrist, and the neat scar peeking out from underneath it. He allowed himself to be injured, so long as Haruto was fine. Haruto was fine. They keep him away. Because... Because what? Why? Did Mr Heartland tell him? Kaito glanced at the clock. 14:20. Can't you find out? Kaito stood up, and stumbled. He caught himself against the edge of the workstation though the use of his left hand rendered him clumsy, and it took all of ten seconds to shake away the nausea. Yes, finding out seemed like a good thing to do. His eyes automatically trailed toward the bottle only inches away from his hand. They seemed like a good thing too. He pocketed it. It couldn't hurt. He wouldn't touch it. He only had it as a reminder about how good he was at staying away. Kaito shook his head once more, thankful when the nausea didn't return. Taking a second to ensure his coat and his duel boxes were in place, he left the room. A woman intercepted his exit just as the sliding doors closed. She wore the Clinic's white uniform and her hair in two neat buns to either side of her head. A clipboard was tucked under one arm. She sent him a stern glare. "You need bedrest, Kaito-dono!" she said. "Please return to your room." "Let me see Haruto." "You cannot." Kaito frowned. She took his silence as acknowledgement, and attempted to usher him away. "Please do not leave again," she said. "What about Haruto?" "Dr Faker has requested that he is to have no visitors. Now, Kaito-dono, you--" Whatever she wanted to say, she never finished. Kaito lunged forward to cut her off--he would see Haruto, she was just--and somehow grabbed her around the neck. She was scrambling under him, trying to raise her hands, trying to use her clipboard as a means of defence. But Kaito was taller and possessed a muscular advantage through gender alone. It was only a matter of time until she was subdued. When the clipboard fell to the ground, and the papers scattered, Kaito stepped back. He glanced away from her unconscious form. To save Haruto, there would be sacrifices. He knew that, but just like the Numbers... He sensed it at once: the chilly glass bottle hanging heavy in his pocket. The weight became greater the more he thought about it: 50 grams. 100 grams. 500 grams-- a kilogram. An overwhelming urge to take it out washed over him; he needed to be free from the burden. He needed to-- He needed to-- He needed to see Haruto. Kaito changed direction, proceeding to storm through the corridor. In the room three doors down, he stepped onto the lift platform. The ascent to Mr Heartland's level took longer than usual, occupied with countless efforts to ignore the bottle dangling near his leg. Finally his head breached the surface, the platform coming to a stop. The doors slid open, whisper-silent. The single, large chair was empty: Mr Heartland stood on the other end of the room, facing the electronic panels nestled against the wall. Kaito didn't trust himself to speak, not yet. Not yet. He began walking toward the other. His coat would move and the bottle's weight would double, but so long as he took neat, perfect steps, it would be fine. It would be fine. "Kaito!" called Mr Heartland - at some point he turned around without notice, both arms nestled neatly behind him. "What a surprise it is to see you, but shouldn't you be in your room?" Kaito stopped. "I want to see Haruto." "My apologies, I cannot let you do so." "Let me see Haruto." "You need your rest." Mr Heartland adjusted his glasses, the lenses glinting for the briefest of moments. "I assure you, Haruto is fine--" "If he's fine, why won't you let me see him?" "...Nii-san?" Kaito froze. The doors closed with their pneumatic hiss, shutting away the too-brilliant backlight against Haruto's person. Kaito's heart skipped when there was no red glow, just Haruto's bright but blank stare. "Haruto?" he asked, automatically leaning down. Haruto nodded. He began to approach them. "Yes, nii-san." "As you can see," said Mr Heartland, "Haruto is fine, no?" Something was wrong. It didn't take more than a second for Kaito to notice, yet for it to be a second meant his reactions were dull. Haruto's movements were wrong. His steps were unsteady, and he preferred his right leg. There were four more nodes attached to him than usual, and the bags under his eyes seemed deeper, darker. As he caught up to Kaito, Haruto showed no notice of this scrutiny. A small, fragile hand reached up to Kaito's face in a flash of familiar blue, and Haruto brushed his thumb against the skin - the skin under his Photon eye. "Nii-san," scolded Haruto, voice soft, "you aren't sleeping again." Kaito didn't have time to remember the nightmares and the cravings. His eyes were fixed to the hand, and he caught it before it could disappear. The blue cast. He turned it over. The identical, thin scar mirroring his own. Kaito flinched. He stumbled backward, inadvertently bumping his broken wrist against the chair. He couldn't help recalling that night, the red glow; he spun around to Mr Heartland, to demand an answer-- --only for the world to twist and spin again. The follow-up was not a twitch for his pocket but a full-body convulsion. When he regained control, one hand had already clutched the bottle and propped the lid off halfway. An impossible thought occurred to him. "Mr Heartland!" Kaito demanded, once he made sure the bottle was in his pocket once again. "What did you put in the sedative?" "What are you talking about?" "If it was... This--this shouldn't..." "Please, clarify." "This shouldn't be happening; you--you're drugging me!" A strange expression flashed through Mr Heartland's eyes. Twin lenses glinted, and the expression was gone. "It is... merely an uncommon side effect of the Phenobarbital--" "This can't be just a side effect." "The symptoms will fade in time." "Stop lying!" Mr Heartland narrowed his eyes. "Enough. Return to your room, Kaito. Haruto is fine." "Haruto is not fine!" As if his shout flicked a switch, a rush coursed through him. The rush gave way to indelible frustration. Couldn't Mr Heartland see that Haruto was standing right before them, decidedly not fine? "I will say this one last time," said Mr Heartland, simply, slowly, as if talking to a stubborn child. "You will return to your room. You will take your bedrest. Then you will return to the Hunt. Is this understood?" Kaito didn't spare him an answer. He activated Photon Hand, the only technology still intact on his person. He lunged. Calmly, Mr Heartland lifted two fingers to the bridge of his nose. Instead of adjusting his glasses, he pressed down the red V-shaped ornament, sliding it down and clicking it into place. Photon Hand fizzled into nothingness, to be swallowed by the room. His coat, imbued with Photon Change, turned against him - an electric shock rushed through his bones, channelled through his veins. Kaito crumpled, and fell to the floor. He risked a glance at Photon Hand. The device was off; there was no more electricity running through something he'd never learnt to power down. Mr Heartland's lenses glinted. "Orbital." Without warning, Kaito was thrown back, and lifted off the ground by a robot that was once his ally. Orbital-7 was there; of course he was there. He didn't know how he'd missed such a detail. And now, he was nothing more than game waiting for slaughter. "Traitor," Kaito hissed. "Negative," replied Orbital-7, its pincer-like appendage twisting Kaito's collar, cutting off his remaining supply of air. "You are the traitor, Kaito-sama."