They all go to bed with the Entity, and they all wake up with him; and the only one who even pretends to care about him is Pegasus. He's got a funny way of showing it though. He takes a dozen eggs out of the refrigerator, sets them by the bacon on the counter. He turns on the stove. "Ouch, oh god!" The pan rattles, as he drops it, and switches quickly to his uninjured hand.
"This place is a prison," he says lightly, "it's a cell, a death trap." Clumsily, he lays bacon in the pan with his left hand. "Get a plate, will you Bakura love?" the pan starts to sizzle. "You're a real little captive here, I swear, I always want to rescue you."
Bakura shrugs. "It's not so bad."
"You say that, I'm sure it's not true." He flips some bacon. "Ah, the plate, darling?"
Bakura is setting the table. He hands one plate to Pegasus and gets another from the cupboard.
The American has lost a stone of weight since he started coming here. He's got bruises on top of his bruises, scabs that can't be covered by his hair. He moves, and even Bakura hurts to watch him, the way his steps drag.
The bacon's done, and he cracks eggs into the pan. "Come on now," shooing with his uninjured hand, "make yourself useful and pour a man some coffee. He salts the eggs lightly. They're spitting grease at him, but he doesn't seem to care.
"Over medium," Bakura says.
"Pssh, you think I don't know that?" Flipping an egg, "after all this time, please!"
Two eggs on each plate, a couple of strips of bacon. Bakura thinks Pegasus won't be coming here much longer. One way or the other, this is going to end; his Other Self doesn't usually take this long finishing someone off. That's sort of a shame. Of all the people that come around here, Bakura likes him the best. He's the only one that even pretends to care about him; and he knows how to fry eggs perfectly.