Chapter Text
Yuki knew that her son’s imaginary friend was more than just imaginary. Maybe it was the sensation of ice that chilled her bones when she brushed past Yugi, or the mist that levitated around his small frame in the photos she snapped of him. But something certainly was there. And when it wasn’t around Yugi, it was in him.
Yuki hadn’t believed in ghosts or spirits as a child. She had passed them off as frivolous stories told to keep her and her sisters from breaking the rules. But when her son looked at her with the eyes of someone much older, who had been through too much, she suddenly began to believe.
There was something different about Yugi. There had been for the past few months.
And suddenly the icy chill, the smoke, and the way the puzzle seemed to hum when she moved it while cleaning Yugi’s room seemed to make sense. It all made terrifying sense.
Some
thing
had possessed her son.
“I mean him no harm.” The spirit had said to her late one evening in the kitchen as it sensed her discomfort, wearing her son’s body in a way she had never seen it worn before. Tall, confident, tired, but certain. Determined, “I will protect him with my life.”
And the fear and uneasiness had left her after that. She called him Yugi’s guardian angel.
--
She remembers when he became less of an angel, and more of a sixteen-year-old who had been dealt an awful, awful hand at life. When Yugi had returned from his Egypt trip, frantic as Joey followed him with the most abysmal looking cosplayer leaning against him, feet practically dragging on the floor, Yuki knew something was amiss.
And that was putting it kindly.
Because while Yugi seemed to be fluid with his friend group, she could certainly tell that this boy did not belong. There was something off about the way his feet dragged on the ground, tracking sand behind him. Not to mention, his costume looked less like cheap fabric and more like something he'd taken from a museum. And she was certain that was real gold on his body.
And then the cold returned as Joey carried him past her, his half-lidded eyes catching hers.
She then looked at Yugi’s neck. The puzzle was gone. The only new addition being the boy.
And as Yugi collided into her, high voice babbling about Egypt, about his card games, and about the end of the world, she understood.
His angel had fallen to Earth.
--
The days that followed had been a rollercoaster for Yuki (never once had she thought a one-night stand would have led to this).
There had been Seto Kaiba the billionaire, who was apparently paying for Atem’s medical bills. There was Atem, the spirit that had possessed Yugi. There was Tea Gardner, who had grown so much since Yuki had last seen her. There was Joey Wheeler, who Yuki could have sworn sent her son home with bruises multiple times, but she couldn’t remember. There was Tristian Taylor, whose normalcy was a relief during this all, and there was Ryou Bakura, who seemed to be arguing with himself about vacating the premises.
Then there was Marik Ishtar, who’s scar had caught Yuki’s attention more than once, and had her biting her lip before asking if he’d spoken to the police about that. There was Odion, the gentle giant who’s silence seemed to ground her, and Isis.
Isis spoke to her as a woman three times her age should have, about housing the great Pharaoh, what to expect, and exactly whom Atem was. And all the while, she nodded, because what else could she do?
Say no? Not when Yugi looked at her with those big pleading eyes. And it’s not like it was her house anyway. Solomon owned the place, and Yugi wouldn’t forgive her if she up and took him from this catastrophe. She had subscribed to a liberal parenting style anyway.
But she had never assumed it would lead to this.
Before she knew it, Yuki was working out nationality, fake IDs, and a cover story for a Nubian-Egyptian child, with a 16-year-old who happened to be the richest person in all of Japan, and the members of a cult right beside her. Needless to say, it was a long night
But if she could deal with Ezra Muto’s short-winded, “I can't do this” an hour before Yugi was born, she could deal with this.
--
The cause of the commotion was surprisingly not a commotion.
Atem spent most of his days asleep with Yugi curled beside him. When the spirit told Yuki that he would protect Yugi, she felt elated. It had spoken like some age old warrior, born to defend the weak and helpless (though if the past few days had taught her anything, her son was anything but weak and helpless).
Now, as she stared at the boy sleeping soundly in the bed, dark skin too dull, eyes red and puffy, frame short and too thin, she felt like throwing up.
This was a child. A child who had been murdered, a child who had not been able to pass on, and a child who refused to do so when given the chance. She felt guilty. Had she known how old he was, she would have told him it was alright, he didn’t need to protect Yugi, that wasn’t his job. He didn’t have to sacrifice himself for the world, that wasn’t his job either. He just needed to live like a child, to move on if possible, to just be happy.
She supposed she would get that chance now. Knew she would get the chance when she had absentmindedly ran her hair through his hair, or at least tried to. It wasn’t like Yugi’s. It was thicker, curlier, coily even-- so she settled for rubbing his forehead instead.
--
Atem had been needy, but the silent type.
He was the needy that didn’t like to ask for help, and would rather die than ask for food. In the past it may have been because he was a king, and asking for help was below his station. Now, it's because he’s inhabited Yugi’s personality to such extremes, that asking for help is downright horrifying.
It was only because of her medical knowledge (thank God for her two years of nursing school) that she knew the signs of hunger and dehydration--and raising a 16-year-old who insisted that games are more important than basic needs helped too.
So she sets up a schedule. In the mornings she waltzed into his room with a plate of food, untangling Yugi from Atem’s thin figure in order to wake the older boy up, and convince him to eat something before he starves to death.
(Usually, Yugi would take care of the rest after that. And if Atem was feeling up to it, he’d walk into the kitchen on shaky legs and attempt to make his own food.)
There was always a blush the crept behind his dark cheeks, as he politely accepted the tray of food with medicine on the side, nibbling on the edge of toast like a mouse. It was times like this when Yuki remembered the spirit that perched on the kitchen counter, its words spoken with such mystery, such agony . But a promise to protect her son nonetheless.
Though with Yugi’s arm wrapped around his waist, head in his pillow, Yuki wondered if the tables were turning.