Early morning sunlight pooled on the dirt floor, grainy bits of dust floated through the rays of light. The white haired boy stared sleepily at the light; too comfortable to get up, too awake to go back to sleep. His fingers twitched as he reached out, touching the floor where the light hit, warming the floor. Bakura shivered, pulling the rough blanket closer to him. The bit of warmth reminded him that the floor and the rest of him was cold. He laid there for awhile, arm stretched under the light, taking in as much warmth he could. His young ears picked up the sound of a creaking door. Bakura tossed back the patched and holed blanket, skittering to his feet to greet who had just snuck in. "Daddy!"
The raven haired man turned just in time to catch his son, hugging him close. "Bakura! What are you doing awake this early?" He lightly pushed Bakura back, grinning ear to ear. "Look what I got you." Plunging a hand with in his robes, he searched for the item that he had kept aside for his son. "Ah!" Slowly he withdrew his hand, something hidden in his tightly clenched fist. Bakura tugged the hand closer, trying to pry the fingers open. "Patience, Bakura... Where's your mother?" He added the last in a hushed tone, eyes darting about the small clay enclosure.
"Sleeping... Why?"
"No reason..." Bakura's father sighed, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. If she ever caught him bringing home what he... "Ready?" His son nodded furiously. Opening his hand, he revealed a small gold scarab. It was highly detailed, down to the small jeweled eyes. "I know how much you like them.... Don't tell your mother, or anyone else for that matter, that you have this, okay? It's very important that no one knows about it."
Bakura gave his father a toothy grin, snatching the golden bug from his father's hand. "I won't tell anyone, promise."
"Oh.... so you're home." A woman leaned against the clay wall, arms crossed lightly over her waist. "Did you do well last night?" Her words were friendly, but the tone was cold and even. Violet eyes were narrowed and glaring at her husband, white hair in slight disarray, uncombed from just waking.
"Bakura, go play in your room." The raven haired man pushed his son back toward his room.
Clutching the scarab to his chest, Bakura retreated to his room. Pushing back the ragged cloth that separated his room from the larger room he was just in, he entered his small room. It was considered a luxury that he had his own room, his other friends were too poor to add on a room to the two roomed housing. Even though his room was barely large enough for his father to enter. It wasn't made for him to stay there when he was an adult, it was a hint that even the child-minded boy picked up on. He laid the scarab in the patch of light streaming in from the small window, watching it shine brightly, adding to the light in the otherwise dark room. Two blue dots of light shone on the walls, the jeweled sapphire eyes projecting them.
Someone pounded on the door, a few men's loud voices carrying to Bakura's ears. His mother shrieked in terror as the door burst open, his father's shouts adding to the men's voices. The white haired boy snatched the scarab, putting it into one of his pockets as he carefully peeked out of his room. Three large men were tearing their home apart while two held his father firmly between them. One of the men stepped in front of his father, back handing him. His head jerked to one side and stayed there, not answering the man's shouts. They were looking for something, but Bakura didn't understand what they were yelling about. One of the men spotted the boy, who yelped when he made eye contact with one of the black dressed men. Tattooed arms jerked the curtain from the rod, advancing on the boy. His father's eyes grew wide with fear. Bakura kicked and punched the man, who sneered at him while roughly patting the white haired boy down, pausing as he felt the scarab in his pocket. Taking out the little golden bug, the man punched Bakura square in the jaw, hitting him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs as he landed.
Bakura's mother started sobbing, glaring at her husband. "I... I didn't know... he had taken that... Please, have mercy..." She fell to the floor, humbling herself before the men. "My husband sneaks out at night, I always assumed he was just jumping in bed with someone else... I swear, I didn't know..."
Her husband looked down at her with pained eyes then spoke for the first time since the men had burst into his home. "I didn't tell her what I was doing, or my son." He glared at his wife for just trying to save herself and not her child as well. "I know I'll pay for the sins I have committed against our great Pharaohs... please spare them from your retribution."
The man who now held the scarab smiled, grabbing the sobbing woman by the hair. "If her life or your son's mean anything to you, then tell us who your accomplices were. We know you didn't sneak into the tomb on your lonesome."
"My..." Bakura's father looked over at his son, who had tears running down his cheeks, a large purple bruise forming on his chin. Under pain of torture, he wouldn't have said anything... but this torture was different. His son was the only thing he truly cared about anymore and the reason he stole. It was that, or watch his family starve to death. Trying to get by on the salary of a tomb builder was near impossible for a family man. Bowing his head, he told the men the names of each that went along with him, feeling horribly. He had just signed his friend's death warrants.
Bakura struggled to rise to his feet as the men started to haul his father away. Finally on his feet he ran to his father, plucking at his shirt and trying to pull him back into the home. "Leave him alone, bring him back!" He yelled and kicked at the men around his father.
"Noisy little brat." Muttered the tattooed man, picking Bakura up by the front of his shirt. "You can see him in three days," he glanced over at the sobbing mother, "I believe you know where he'll be." To keep Bakura from pestering them further, he threw the boy back into his room. Bakura hit the wall and slid down, eyes opened wide with fear and pain. His head and back of his shoulders took the brunt of the impact, the room swam as his dazed mind tried to focus.
Bakura's mother screamed in anguish, grabbing an idol from the niche in the wall and throwing it against the opposite wall. She stalked into Bakura's room and glared down at him. "This is your fault! If they hadn't found that on you, they wouldn't have taken your father away! It's all your fault that he's going to die!" She sobbed once then began kicking and hitting her son, "you're useless! What am I going to do now? I hate you!" Bakura curled into a tight ball, shielding his head from his mother's assault. Eventually she stopped, though when she actually did Bakura didn't know. Time had seemed to pass slowly, the only thing other than the pain that he was aware of was the pool of his own blood that started spreading out under him. Shaking, she rose to her feet, still sobbing about her husband, and staggered into the kitchen in the back. Fearful of the knives kept there, and unsure what his mother was doing, Bakura got up. Every inch of his body ached, his clothes soaked in blood. He limped into the living room then peered into the kitchen. His mother was slumped against the wall, sleeping soundly. A bottle of the medicine the healer had given her to help her sleep hung loosely from limp fingers. The morning's events didn't make sense to him, even if he was used to his mother's beatings. Tugging one of her arms up he threw it over his shoulder and pulled her to bed, carefully tucking her in. He then went back into the kitchen to dress his wounds.
.... Three Days Later ....
"Where's dad going to be mom? Can we take him home with us?" Bakura tugged on his mother's dress incessantly. "Where are we going? Why is daddy out in the desert? What-" He was suddenly cut off by the sight of his father. Once brilliant brown eyes stared dully at him, whites of his eyes now yellowed. Bakura looked away at the sight of his father, impaled on a pole and ashen from the dry winds.
"No! Don't you look away." Bakura's mother pulled the boy away from her skirts, forcing him to stare at his father. "This is what happens when you wrong the Pharaohs. Remember it... Never forget that THIS is your fault. If they never found that trinket on you, then your father would be at home with us." The white haired woman glared at her son then turned cold eyes on her husband who was barely clinging to life. "Let's go, and let your father die along with his thieving friends." Having tormented her son and husband enough, she grabbed Bakura and turned back toward the city. She second she let go of Bakura's hand he ran from her, wanting to be anywhere other than with her.
He sobbed and slid into a narrow alley, dropping to the floor. Bakura cried as he wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head against them. His father was the only one that had shown him any kindness, and fended off his wife from beating Bakura when ever he was around the house. Now the white haired boy felt utterly alone. His mother didn't want him, she told her son that daily. Despair threatened to engulf him as he gave into what his mother said about him; he was useless, worthless, just a burden on the people that cared for him. He fell asleep crying, curled in a tight ball in the alley.
Hours later he woke shaking, chilled from the evening breeze. The rest did him good, he felt a little stronger and more determined. Dreams of his father and the good times they had gave him strength. The very last thing he remembered before waking was his father telling him how much he loved him, and how wrong his mothers words were. He reminded Bakura that she was grief stricken and not in her right mind. As he woke something about that didn't ring true, seeing as how she had always been cruel to her son. Given that now she was all he had, was going to prove to his mother that he wasn't worthless or useless. Besides now that his father was gone he had to take care of her. After jogging through streets now devoid of shoppers he finally came upon the small street he lived on. Returning home wasn't something he wanted to do... His mother was sure to beat him for leaving her like that. It was something he'd put up with, for her sake. Silently he crept into the house, closing the door behind him with out so much as a squeak. He found her passed out on the floor, tear stained face peaceful in sleep. The scent around her was of liquor and something else he couldn't quite figure out. Bakura was seven years old, but he'd been dragging his mother to bed ever since he could remember. It made him strong, so he wouldn't complain. There were bruises on her arms which alarmed him, carefully he touched the skin in case it was just smeared make up. The color didn't go away, and his touch made his mother flinch and moan in her sleep. He wondered just how she had gotten them as he began to drag her back to the main bed room. Carefully he tucked her in and brushed the hair from her face. Kissing her cheek he whispered a good night blessing to the gods, asking for them to protect her while she slept, then crept back into his room. Bakura fell asleep on the floor, curled in a ball to keep warm, the patched blanket adding only a small amount of protection from the cold. It was awhile until he finally drifted off, too exhausted to keep his eyes open any longer or to fear the retribution that would eventually come from his mother.