Title: Night Demons
Author: Raykushi
Disclaimer: Rights to Yu-Gi-Oh belong to Kazuki Takahashi and others. This is a fan piece only and no monetary gain comes from its publication.
Prompt word: Loyalty (This drabble also won the contest for this prompt!)
Summary: Some of our most loyal feelings, those that refuse to ever let us go, are our own personal demons. . . .
Warnings: Drama! Questions! Post-series.
Pairings: none
Community: ygodrabble . livejournal . com (Please go visit and feel free to join if you like writing Yu-Gi-Oh drabbles! Erase extra spaces when using link.)
Word count: 834
Night Demons
Sometimes he dreams of fire.
It's always the same. White-hot flames all around, taking him, consuming him. His screams go unheard over the roar pressing in on every side, encompassing every direction. As if the fire is beginning and end of all existence, and there is nothing else of life left for him.
Then, over the heat and the noise, comes the sound he will never again hear in his waking hours. The angry screech of a giant bird-of-prey, the fury of a god misused and avenging. And just before the fire claims him in its depths, he sees the flash of gold coming down from the sky, aiming for his heart, and feels regret for everything he's done and almost did.
But what is regret? It can't change the past. Worthless. And no god will take it as payment for your sins. This is what red eyes tell him as they descend.
~ . ~ .
Sometimes she dreams of the sky.
She knows it's a dream because a vista like this doesn't exist in her world of schoolwork and city blocks. A blue bowl covering the wide open ocean of sand, nothing to obstruct the view from one horizon to the other. Endless. Open. Blue.
And suddenly she knows she shouldn't be here, suspended in the sky like a lost star. She should be underground, with them, that's how it really happened. If she's here, alone, she won't be there to say goodbye-!
But it doesn't matter. This is a dream, and the loneliness is like a physical hand around her neck, strangling. This isn't how it happened, but the end result is the same, isn't it? She knows that when she wakes, he'll still be gone.
~ . ~ .
Sometimes he dreams of water.
He never gave thought to the weight of it until the time there was so much on top of him, the sun just a reminder of a shiny coin far above. It presses down on him, both a dream and a memory, and some things aren't clear from that time but the weight always is.
It doesn't seem fair, that at sixteen he should have to accept that he's about to die. There's so many thoughts he wants to linger on but only has time for a few last ones: that Shizuka is going to be fine now, that Yugi's shadowy body reached the surface before it faded from his blurry sight.
His chest hurts from the weight and the need for oxygen. The water closes in, invades his mouth and nose. It slides down his throat like he's taking a long drink, but it keeps going and going, and this is what dying feels like.
Tonight he wakes up cursing (softly, remembering he's spending the night in someone else's home). His hands are shaking so badly. How weak is he that after all this time, he's still afraid of a memory?
~ . ~ .
Sometimes he dreams of darkness.
It feels so heavy, like the weight of the earth pressing down on him. But more than that, it feels oppressive.
A pyramid-shaped pendant spins in the darkness, tumbling end over end, falling amidst six other flashes of gold. Falling, falling until they are all hidden deep in the rubble, far under the earth, buried forever. It's smothering him.
He's never known despair like this in his waking hours, this helplessness. It sinks claws into him. Attacks him here in the one place he can't defend himself. Why? He has friends, family, important memories he never wants to forget. Things some people can only go through life wishing for. In the face of all that, why is this sadness so strong?
~ . ~ .
Sometimes he dreams of light.
It is not a comfort, chasing away the terrors that wait in the darkness. Nothing sooths him as he is suddenly bathed in the burst streaming down from somewhere above him. It is truth. It is a heavy mantle on his shoulders, a physical presence painting his body in stark relief. Everything in him is laid bare, and even though he feels no accusation from it, in his own eyes he comes up wanting.
Guilt is no emotion he tolerates in his waking hours, but here it finds a home in him. He hates these dreams for that reason. Because he can't control himself in this unconsciousness, and he wakes with tears on his cheeks.
~ . ~ .
"Malik-sama? Are you all right?"
"Y-yes, Rishid. Go back to sleep."
~ . ~ .
"Dear, it's too late for you to be up here practicing your routine, your father can hear you through the ceiling and… Dear, have you been crying?"
"No no, Okaasan, it's nothing. I just—I wanted to get something perfect."
~ . ~ .
"Jounouchi-kun? Why're you up so late? Can't sleep?"
"No. You?"
"…Me either."
~ . ~ .
"Sir? Do you need anything?"
"No. I'm going for a walk. Go check on Mokuba."
"Very good, sir."