Disclaimer: YuGiOh is the property of Kazuki Takahashi.

Author's Note: My take on what's probably an overused fanfiction cliché: the main character gets deathly ill. Told in second person point of view. I loved writing this, it came out exactly the way I wanted it to.

Timeline: Between Battle City, after DOMA, and before Memory World and the Ceremonial Duel.

Pairings: Yami Yugi/Yugi

Summary: Yami can't protect Yugi from everything.

A Long Way Til Morning

By Raina1

**

There once used to be a time that you believed, even if it was only for just a second, that it was possible to protect Yugi from everything that might harm him. Doma proved you wrong – horrifically, dreadfully, unspeakably – wrong. The worst danger he's in, you then believe, the only true danger is from you. It's a nasty whisper you hear sometimes, echoing through the maze-like labyrinth of your darkened soul room. A wraith much like yourself, only without form, without substance, lurking down those cold corridors, taunting you from the very shadows you summon. Most of the time, you can ignore them. You push them back, hissing into their ears, they're wrong, they're wrong, you'll show them. Yugi is the strongest person I ever knew, he can beat you, he can beat me, he can beat anything, because I believe in him. He believes in me. In me, you hear? Me!

But it's not about you, any of this. Not really. Because you're already dead. You've been dead for so long, it's no wonder you don't have any memories of your own. They eroded away to nothing in the broken pieces of the Millennium Puzzle as you waited for him to find you and put you back together again. You're just a shell of a person, really, barely a legitimate spirit. A Puzzle, a haunted house, there's no difference, not really. Only those spirits, those poltergeists, you think, are luckier than you are; their memories are what keep them earth-bound. They never wanted to leave or don't know they're dead. All it would take would be a desire to leave, or accepting they're dead, and that's usually enough for the doors of the afterlife to swing wide open for them.

But not you, oh not you. You're different. You're haunting a person, and you want to leave, and you already know, already accept, that you're dead. But those doors don't open for you. They're locked and there's no key. No key you can use… or maybe no key you want to use.

Yugi is that key, you realize just suddenly, one day, before Yugi is ever told he's the Chosen One. The boy's the key and both of you know it. Only you're too scared to say it, to think it, and he pretends not to know or not get it. He hides his quiet anxieties behind those wonderful smiles of his and you smile back too, indulgently, pretending along with him. This isn't meant to last, and both of you know it, so why not make the best of it, and keep everything sunshine and butterflies? Everything will fall into place, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, let's just enjoy the now, and forget the next and after, huh?

You're stupid. It worse for you because you know better, because dammit, you've had the time to think over this shit and don't tell him. Tell him, hey aibou, the game is going to be over someday, and you're going to look back at me, look deep into your heart and I won't be there. That scares me so much and I hate it, I hate it that we won't always be together, how the fuck can you just smile like that? I'm dying here, and I'm already dead, so what is it doing to you? Aren't you scared? I'm scared! You have to be scared! I am you, half of you, why can't you tell me? Why won't you talk about it?

Why won't we talk about it?

You never do. And you hate it. Hate yourself, because hating him is not an option. You can't hate Yugi. You share his body, his space, his life, his mind, his heart and his soul.

You love him. God, how you love him.

You're watching him now, as he quietly works at his desk. Some math equation for school, you don't know, you don't bother with that aspect of his life. He's leaning over the paper, chewing on his lip, sometimes the eraser. His hand is thrust up into his hair, between his fingers, as he leans heavily on his elbow. A tiny constant frown wrinkles the space between his eyes, which are brighter, shinier, than they usually are today. An occasional sniff escapes him. They increase in frequency, and for a moment you think he might be upset. But he's not. His nose is just running. Abruptly he drops the pencil, and shoves back from the desk and leaves the room briefly. He comes back with a box of tissues, which he plucks next to his arm, before reassuming his original position. A light breath escapes his lips.

He keeps rubbing at his eye. First one, and then the other, before finally he keeps closing them for longer and longer periods of time. His palm moves from his hair to his forehead and he starts to rub that too. Another, heavier, breath escapes his lips, and he murmurs something unintelligible. The homework is abandoned again, and this time he doesn't go back to it. He uses a few tissues and then discards them. He looks so tired.

You say nothing. Yugi has days when he prefers to keep to himself and to not have to deal with you of every second of the hour. Despite his ever-growing repertoire of friends, Yugi is a solitary soul at heart. He grew up that way, it's what he's used to, and these days he no longer hates it. You know he dislikes it when you hover or snarl at imagined threats when there are plainly none to be had at that exact moment. He appreciates it, he does, you feel it, but today he's not in the mood. He's exhausted, so exhausted, and trouble is, you don't know why. You're with him even when neither of you even so much as link your minds and you watch what goes on around him. This was another nothing day at school for him.

He keeps rubbing at his neck, and his arms, and he moves with a barely veiled wince on his face. Mutters something about taking some "aspirin" and leaves the room. He's left the Puzzle on the desk by his homework so you don't know why he doesn't come back for several hours. You think you hear his mother call him for dinner.

When he returns that evening, he looks like he's sleep walking. Again, you say nothing, do nothing. Eyes closed, he moves through his room through touch, pulling off articles of clothing and discarding them in a small basket in the corner. He moves slowly, carefully, his pale face contorting when he has to bend, wincing when he pulls the buckle off his throat, and rubs it. Finally, in his boxers, he sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face, his eyes. He doesn't bother to dress for neither bed nor does he bother turning on the light. He usually reads or plays a quiet single person game, but this time he just pulls up the covers and sleeps. You don't know if he remembered to brush his teeth.

This is an odd break in his routine. He usually touches the Puzzle and sends, or says, a good night to you. He usually dresses for bed. He doesn't nearly stumble around in the dark with a dead expression on his face like the world ended and he forgot to tell the rest of the human race about it.

The next day, when he gets up to go to school, he shocks you by leaving the Puzzle at home. It's like it's not even there, as he heads out the door. You try calling out to him too late, a bit surprised, not really hurt. All right, you're a little hurt, but you'll bite. He's a teenage boy, despite his thoughtful ways he can screw up sometimes. If he lets you not be perfect, you have to accept the same from him too. After the crap you always put him through, a day of being forgotten isn't a big deal.

You're alarmed when he reenters the bedroom coughing. It's a little cough, but frequent enough so you know it's no mere clearing of the throat. He sits to do his homework, he gets his books out, and then just sits there, with his eyes closed, head slightly bowed. You reach out then, ask what's wrong, but he doesn't answer. His shoulders twitch spastically, gather in close, and he clenches his teeth together. He's cold. Even with that jacket on and the room temperature well above seventy, his skin breaks out in goose bumps. He sucks in air through his nose sharply and makes a tiny "Mmnn" noise, as if he's being disturbed in his sleep.

You project yourself out from the Puzzle and stand behind the boy. You place your hands on his shoulders and lean in close to his ear. You ask him what's the matter again. He shakes his head, mutters about "nothing" and allows his forehead to rest on the cool cover of his chemistry textbook. You knead his shoulders gently, and tell him to lie down. He turns his head to side and smiles faintly. He says he's already lying down. No, you counter with a gentle smile, you mean on the bed. He mutters that he knows that and the good humor leaves his voice and his face.

You ask again, quietly, and with some pleading. His eyes open and he looks up at you, so tired, so pale, but he smiles at you again. He teases that you worry too much, and you must, because he sees it in your face. You color and decide to ignore that, and repeat yourself. He obeys this time, coughing into the crook of his elbow.

He sleeps through dinner. He doesn't get up again, and finally just, again, curiously strips to only his boxers for sleep. He's still shivering, still rubbing at his extremities. At one point, when he wakes, he calls for his mother. She pokes her head in, sees him, and then approaches the bed. The concern is there in her face and her voice when she asks him if he's okay. I heard you coughing honey.

It's to her he admits he's not feeling well. She responds by reaching out and putting her palm on his forehead.

He's burning up. You have a fever, she says, lie back down. She leaves the room and comes back with a thermometer. She sticks it into his mouth and tells him to be quiet, like he's a little child again. Normally he protests this but this time he obeys without complaint. Yugi lets people take care of him when he can't do it himself. His grandfather pokes his head in and asks what's going on, why hasn't he seen Yugi all evening? He's sick, Yugi's mother says. Grandpa frowns and admits he has noticed Yugi has been awfully quiet lately and not eating. Yugi waves his hand and says he's fine, he's fine, stop worrying about me. His mother plucks the thermometer out and shakes her head. You have a fever of a hundred and one, she announces. Yugi groans and turns his head into the pillow. It's not the news he wants to hear. His coughs cover whatever argument he imagines to create about it.

Medicine is brought to him and a glass of water. He's ordered to stay in bed and to call if he needs anything. Aspirin is taken and the lights are extinguished.

The rest of the night passes and things only worsen from there. Yugi tosses and turns in his bed, moaning quietly. His coughs have become wetter, heavier, and almost constant. He props himself up and he still cannot sleep. His breathing is labored. Covers are kicked off, pulled back up, and kicked off again. He gets up a few times to stumble into the bathroom adjoined to his room to spit into the sink. You hover by the door, agonized. You want to help him and you can't. This kind of demon plaguing the boy isn't anything you can call on the Shadows to deal with. Still you cannot help but ask him if there's anything you can do, anything, please, just name it.

Yugi shakes his head over the sink his skinny arms have braced, looking almost sad for you. He can tell you mean it, you mean it so much, and he wishes you could help, because he sure would appreciate it. No, Yami, but thanks. Thanks.

Thanks, you think bitterly, watching with alarm as Yugi coughs and hacks up in the sink again. Thanks for nothing you mean, oh Yugi, if you only knew how much more I want to do for you than just stand here.

You gasp when Yugi falls to his knees, arms crossed over his chest, coughing so hard you can't believe he can stand it. He reaches up to wipe at his mouth and you see his eyes widen with terror, and see along with him, when he cries out for his mother what is on his hand.

It's blood.

Yugi is crying now, because he can longer hold back how much coughing like this hurts him. As he waits for his mother and grandfather to respond to his calls for help, he looks at you, his face strained, and sad, and pleading. He begs you, mind-to-mind, with every fiber of his being, to make it stop. Make the coughing stop, I can't breathe, I'm bleeding inside, help me, please, make it stop. It's irrational, because he's sick, and in pain, and not really coherent, but he means it, he means it.

And you can't. There is nothing you can do. It kills you. You can do nothing but look back at him, your face showing every emotion you are feeling to him, and it's not a smart move, because Yugi is sick, he needs your support. He doesn't need to see how much this hurts you too.

You ask to switch, to take on the pain for him. It's all you can do for him, the only way you can help him.

No, he wheezes. I don't want you to suffer through me. I won't let you do it, and if you switch anyway, I won't forgive you.

That's what stops you. Yugi forgives everything, everyone. He forgave you for fucking Doma. It makes no sense. Yet it works. Risking Yugi's wrath, his contempt, freezes you.

You open and close your mouth helplessly, and watch as Yugi's mother appears and kneels at her ailing son's side. Grandpa arrives too, with the thermometer in his hand.

Mama, I'm bleeding, Yugi shows them his hand. I'm coughing up blood.

His mother caresses his face lovingly as Grandpa puts it in his mouth again and rests both hands on the boy's shoulders to help him stand, and keeps them there to steady him. Finally his mother takes the thing out, and she scares you when she gasps, and goes almost as pale as Yugi.

One hundred and four.

Something about that temperature panics them, including Yugi whose fever bright eyes widen. His erratic breathing increases and he starts to shake even more than he already has been.

Grandpa rushes from the bathroom and says he'll get the ice packs. Yugi's mother propels the boy back into the room, and bodily, forces him to sit on the bed. She calls over her shoulder after her father, absently, constantly brushing away the boy's hair away from his face. Yugi is completely out of it now, just keeps saying, it hurts, it hurts, between coughs. He even says your name a few times, and his mother ignores him, thinking it's the fever talking. He turns his head, looking around, and you realize he's looking for you. You appear beside the bed, unseen by the mother, but right where Yugi can see you. He calms somewhat. You lock gazes and his mind opens out for yours like a hand. He wants your presence and he wants you in his head with him. He's scared and he wants you.

You cannot refuse. You let your mind touch his and he smiles, almost blissfully. His fear subsides and he asks you to stay like that, just stay with him in his head, and you do. You will never leave him.

Yugi's mother forces him to lie down and his grandfather returns with the ice packs. He says he's running an ice bath and they should get him in it. Yugi shakes his head vigorously, but is quickly shushed. He whines when they seize him and force him to his feet. Don't take my boxers off, he keeps saying, which is silly, because he knows they won't. He murmurs to his grandpa, get my Puzzle, I want my Puzzle. His grandpa grabs the chain like it's a normal request and brings it along. You are touched by the gesture.

While grandpa gets him settled, as Yugi's teeth chatter his mother returns and informs them she's called for an ambulance. Is that necessary? Grandpa asks. You bet it is, is the reply. He needs a doctor because this isn't enough. I know a friend of mine had it.

When the EMTs show up and wrap Yugi in a blanket, you vanish into the Puzzle. Yugi puts it on and clings to it as he is led downstairs, and doesn't let go, even when the EMTs ask him to put it down. Grandpa elects to stay behind to field questions for his friends who will come and ask about him the next day. Yugi's mother goes on the ambulance with him. Yugi cuddles up against the woman's side and leans his head on her shoulder. You have never seen him so needy for her before. Yugi clings to her body for comfort as he clings to your presence inside of him. She kisses his face a few times, always stroking his hair, tucking it back behind his ears, whispering softly to him. You have never seen her behave so lovingly toward him before. But you think you should not be surprised. Yugi is her child and despite the distance the teen years have put between them, and her own aloof nature, the blow of this sickness wipes all of that clean again.

You envy them.

The trip seems to take years, during the transition from ambulance, to waiting room, to Yugi being rushed into the emergency room where nurses work to lower his body temperature by putting drugs in him and press more cold compresses against his body. The whole time, Yugi goes out of it, and then there is a soft tap on your soul room door. You answer it.

Yugi takes your hand and quietly leads you across the space separating your minds. He invites you inside his soul room without a word. He leads you to the bed and pulls you along with him. You are unsure, hesitant, because Yugi has never asked for this kind of intimacy before. He senses your reluctance, and smiles, like he always does. Tugs you down gently. It's okay. I want you here.

You smile back, small, still uncertain, but you do what he wants. You lie beside him, then you stiffen in surprise when he turns to you and pulls you close, his face nuzzled against your chest. You slowly wrap your arms around his smaller frame. This seems to be the right thing to do because he sighs and relaxes against your body. He says nothing, does nothing, when you reach up and start stroking his cheek with the back of your hand. You think he turns his head just so to brush his lips against your fingers, but you're not sure. You don't want to be sure. Instead you turn your face down into his crown and breathe him in. Together you both close your eyes.

Yugi murmurs something and touches your cheek too. He turns his head up and he's looking into your eyes again, and he's smiling again. You lean into his touch and smile back. He moves his thumb across your cheek, barely brushing your bottom lip, before he shuts his eyes again, and with another soft, content sigh, falls asleep in your arms. You kiss his forehead, letting your lips linger there, before closing your eyes and letting sleep take you as well.

Everything will be okay. Everything is okay.