The first half of this fic was written a good five months ago, so forgive me and point out any contradictions or try and bare with a slight change in writing style. This'll be a nice long fic and it's been in my head for a while; I'm writing it for my own enjoyment, if anything. Reviews are super appreciated, and if you need to contact me, I'm Bakrua on tumblr. Send me an ask whenever.
Bakura was cold.
That was the very first and one of the only things he could pick out; he was used to being cold, sure. His body temperate rarely went above sub zero, but this was a very different kind of cold. A cold he didn't understand- a cold he didn't even want to understand. It was… Unnatural. Unbearable.
It was paralysing; the cold that gripped him did indeed hold every inch of his body with cold, sharp fingers. It ran across his body in plains, leaving nothing but numbness in its wake. His arm kept twitching- he was aware of that, at least, but he wasn't entirely certain if he even really had toes any more. Maybe he didn't. Maybe his body had been swallowed up by a huge jaw consisted of ice fangs- a tongue that dripped with snow and hail, left to rest in the stomach of the winter beast.
He came a little more to himself at that thought; maybe he'd died. Maybe the reason why he could no longer feel his body was because he didn't have one; he was just a soul, doomed to eternally drift in this new, void arctic area. Perhaps one day he'd become used to such an area; an ancient soul, an ancient spirit, haunting the cold forests that had him trapped.
That thought made him splutter water from his lungs.
Then the emotions came back.
He felt fear suddenly race through him as more and more water began to fill his lungs; stupidly, he tried to swallow it- to control the flow - but it was cold, salty and burned his throat and it made his stomach churn. Gulp, gulp, gulp- he could do nothing but swallow, no matter the taste or how painful it was. All he knew was that suddenly he was so, so very dehydrated, and he wanted to throw up. He wanted to throw up but even when his body convulsed and wretched, more and more water drowned him from the inside out, making it completely impossible to even give himself the small release of vomit.
And then he realised he was swallowing salt water.
And then he realised that saltwater wouldn't exist in void.
Could it?
His eyes snapped open, even though he wasn't conscious of having closed them, scanning his surroundings in panic, the sunlight pierced through the thin, sensitive sheen of his eyes, and it instantly burned. He wanted to roll over to avoid it, to turn away to not have to face it-
But that's when he also realised the ground underneath him wasn't solid.
It's also when he realised that the ground wouldn't be non-solid in void.
His mind was trying to wake itself up desperately, to put everything together. The cold- the sunlight, the salt water, the moving ground beneath his feet..
More water filled his lungs as something wet crashed over him forcefully.
It tore his breath away, forcing him down and suddenly everything was grey and blue and blurry, and there was more pain. He felt heavy and lost, becoming painfully aware of something pulling him down, further into the abyss- this really was the void.
Something incredibly heavy slammed into his side, and he felt a crack. He didn't know if it was from him or whatever hit him, however. He was too cold and too numb to work that out.
He couldn't open his eyes- he feared the pain, and besides, he couldn't see. His long, white hair was billowing around him and tangling, and he shuddered as his mouth opened- more water drowning him.
The thing that hit him, however, seemed to have done him somewhat of a favour. Within a few seconds, the suffocating wetness vanished, and as he gasped, air filled his lungs.
His mind still wasn't aware enough to process the situation, but he knew his life was in danger. His instincts seemed to finally kick in, and his legs began to move.
Bakura had never been a strong swimmer; and after the day would pass, he would never want to be anywhere near a single drop of water again, unless it was essential.
He'd decide later if he classed a shower as essential.
He supposed his instincts had done their job when he felt his eyes open; although the first thing that he noted rather randomly was that the sun had moved in its position- it must have been hours since he last looked up at it.
He shifted, the ground beneath him was still and dry, a sense of relief washing over him, thankful that he was no longer in the water.
Of course, that also meant the numb points in his body had began to wake up and function again- and that was incredibly bad. Because the albino was relying on the cold as painkillers.
He moved again- his eyes wouldn't focus and he was dizzy, and his state was confirmed when he rolled over and his throat instantly went tight. His stomach felt heavy with the sheer amount of water that he'd managed to consume, but it wasn't in his stomach for long.
His throat grew tighter and tighter like a noose growing and curling around his pale, ivory skin, until it finally loosened, his stomach following suit.
He didn't throw up any vomit; it was just acidic salt water that had been waiting for him to wake up for this very moment. He threw up once; the sand turning to puddles with flecks of blood in it, but he wasn't done. His body repeated the motion, growing tenser with each convulsion, until he was weak and exhausted with tears of pain in his eyes; his mouth tasting beyond horrible, and his stomach and throat ached like he'd been kicked by a beast in both those places.
The the water was gone, at least.
He didn't look down at the mess he made; he made a point to shuffle away from it the best he could, in fact. He didn't want to add being gross to the long list of problems he was subconsciously putting together.
He was, however, able to sit up, if only half way. His legs were stretched in front of him, his skinny frame accented by the wet clothes that clung to him, outlining every single jut of bone. While his weight had never been much of a concern to him before, he felt a pang of worry. Being skinny in a place where weight brought warmth and protection was going to be an issue.
He curled his hands- and found sand. He knew what sand was. It was a pale yellow, often accompanied by stones or pebbles, with small flecks of grit and sometimes shells which held small creatures.
He looked up; and saw the sea. He knew what the sea was. This one was a clear, attractive blue, with strings of seaweed clinging to the tides, washing up on the shore. Seabirds encircled the top of it, occasionally diving down and coming up with fish. He supposed it was picturesque- he just wasn't in the best mind to appreciate that.
Sand and sea- that was what he could pick up so far. If he squinted eyes, he could see more- piles of black things floating around, some dipping underneath the waves, others pooling oil into the water, while flames licked across the surface and drank the black gold up eagerly.
Sand and sea.. An island.
An island?
An island?
Why the fuck was he on an island?
Anger rose in him alongside his confusion- but it died down instantly. The confusion left a horrible, painful feeling in his stomach. But it wasn't physical pain- it was something akin to shame, regret and fear. But not those. Something close.
His mind raced instantly, searching for any possible reason to as why he could be on and island, but he came up empty-handed on the search.
So why was he here? How could he find it? Last thing he knew, he was…
He was what?
He couldn't remember.
He didn't remember anything before the paralysing darkness- the sea that had swallowed him up and tried to drown him. That was all he knew. There was nothing before- it was like the sea had given birth to him, and then tried to beat him to death straight away.
A* parenting, ocean, he thought bitterly.
He.. Guessed he must have lost his memory. He knew he'd been hit when he was in the ocean, but that was on his side. Not his head- you couldn't get amnesia or memory loss or brain damage from being hit in the ribs..
Could you?
How was he ever supposed to know? He knew his name, sure. He was Bakura..
Bakura…
Bakura fucking fuck!
What the hell was his last name? Maybe it was something boring. Maybe it was Bakura Jones.
No, that didn't sound right.
Bakura Davidson? Bakura Johnson? Bakura Green? Bakura Leonard? Bakura fucking-idiot-who-forgot-his-last-name.
He laughed- he laughed because he was stunned at just how very fucking stupid he was at being unable to remember his own last name.
Moving on. Time to focus on what he could remember.
His name was Bakura. He was 23. He was male. He was white- literally white, he was an albino.
What else..?
He was… He..
He liked dogs?
He stared forward blankly, suddenly feeling empty. He was a 23 year old albino who liked dogs. That was his very entire personality.
He wanted to throw up again.
He felt lost- who were his friends? His family? Who cared about him? Did anyone?
He supposed the emotion he was feeling was loneliness- but comparing loneliness to this feeling was like comparing being mauled by a lion to having your pet cat playfully bite your fingers in anticipation for feeding.
He didn't know what to do with the feeling. He supposed it didn't have any physical hindrance on him. It didn't stop him from walking, breathing, or talking.
It was just emotionally heavy. But physically? He could survive.
He hoped.
Just as he was starting to try and come to terms with the fact he was stranded on a deserted island with memory loss and only his love of dogs as a personality trait, he began to hear voices. They were quiet, and far away, but he could hear them.
He briefly considered the possibility that he was going crazy, that he'd been sloshed around so viciously in mother natures sea belly that some of the wires in his brain had come loose and were now sparking out of control.
He supposed he had nothing to lose with going to investigate; he didn't have anything to lose, and he guessed it was within his powers to protect himself. Maybe he'd approach the voices and someone would jump out and scream 'Just kidding!' And he could go home. Wouldn't that just be fucking brilliant, eh?
Wherever that was. For all he knew, this island could have been his home. He could have lived in the damn ocean. He had no chance in hell of finding out; even if he was to run into someone he knew, how would he recognise them?
Loneliness. That weird feeling kicked in in his stomach again. He needed to avoid that feeling- it may have no physical effect, but it pushed him down so heavily he wanted to sink into the sand and never open his eyes again. It made him completely apathetic and hopeless and… Void.
He got to his feet instantly- he needed something to do. To forget that feeling. To move past it. And the voices were getting a little louder, now.
He dug his fingers into the sand and pulled himself up- and he swayed, and pain splintered in his side. He gave a pained gasp and held the point of injury, and he felt his ribs slowly. All of them seemed to be fine- although when he touched his very lower one, pain signals smashed straight into him, and he drew his hand away.
Check: Memory loss, nausea and a broken lower rib.
But the lower rib was debatable. He wasn't a doctor (or was he? That would have been cool. Bakura decided that until further notice, he'd been a doctor) so how was he meant to know? Maybe it was just a fracture.
As a doctor, he decided that he hadn't broken his rib, he'd just fractured it. The decision was strangely strong in his mind, and it made him a little more optimistic.
It hurt to walk, but Dr. Bakura knew all he had was a fracture, so he gritted his teeth and got on with it. The sand was heavy- he was soaking wet, and it stuck to him, and he half-heartedly tried to brush it off with no real success. He'd just find a way later. Maybe doctors knew a special way to get sand off- and Bakura didn't know it. He guessed that made him a pretty bad doctor.
As he rounded a cluster of rocks to the voices, he decided that if he was going to be a bad doctor, he didn't want to be one at all. So he was back to just being Bakura.
He managed to get past the rocks without having to perform any amazing feats of rock-climbing (or, perhaps, he was a professional rock climber, and he just hadn't realized how advance his skills were, as he was so good they were simply second nature to him) but what he saw stunned him into silence and stopped him from moving.
It was carnage.
People were screaming and crying; the entire area stunk of blood and gore, as well as chemicals and other things Bakura could only faintly recognise. He had a very, very faint memory in the back of his mind, but it was nothing he could place.
In the middle of it all, a huge, twisted and disfigured object lay in the sand, flaming and producing billowing pillars of black smoke that was clogging the entire air. The sight sent fear through Bakura- and he stepped back.
It was hard to hear anything; the huge chunk of metal had something attached to it within a tunnel- huge blades were whirring with guttural growls, sucking up sand and stones and spitting them straight out. There was a clear area around it, however, as if everyone knew to avoid it.
He was somewhat baffled as to why he hadn't managed to notice that in the first place; the smoke that clouded the sky made it look like night had come early, and the engine was making a ridiculous amount of noise- it was something that could be.. Just unnoticed.
It was almost like he'd expected it.
Something hit into him- and he stumbled back, finding it hard to keep upright on the sand. The thing that had hit him, however, appeared to be another human- but said human hadn't turned back to even say sorry.
It was a young man- and he fled towards the sea, instantly grabbing the luggage that had stranded. There was another yell- but Bakura didn't turn his head at that one. He wasn't completely sure what he'd find, but he had a vague idea.
There was a voice that arose above the rest, however- and that made him turn. While all the other idiots were scrambling around and crying, a rather tall, tanned man- or boy, despite his height he still only looked to be in the end years of teenage-hood- trying, it seemed, to be rational.
He was a safe way away from the wreckage- bordering on the grassy shore that led into thick forest, and a few people had gathered around him. He was handing out bottles of water- but barely anyone was listening.
The boy looked rather sure of himself; his eyes were calm and there were lean muscles on his body- apparent from the rips in his clothing. And even if he looked young- the rather youthful, soft blonde hair that fell around his neck proved that- he looked to be the person who was in the most control. It was almost ironic.
He observed him for a few moments; assessing the situation; he didn't know who he was, where he was, or why he was here. The kid was rather stupidly sure of himself. He guessed he could do what his original plan was, stick to himself and go off on his own, but it was highly unlikely that he was going to get anything out of that but hungry and lost.
Bakura considered briefly, however, the possibility of going with the boy- or, at least, making an alliance with him. Maybe the strong figure would give him a secure environment to start working out what the hell had actually happened.
It certainly seemed like the best bet, in the current situation.
He didn't hesitate any longer; lest he change his mind. People still ran screaming but he ignored them, walking past the hysterical people. The sand was hard to pull his feet through, so when he finally had legs on hard ground, his calf muscles ached from the physical exertion.
The closer he got, the more he heard- if anything, his shock must have been wearing off.
A young women with her daughter was standing next to the boy; the small girl clutching the water bottle. Her blonde hair was singed and she had a nasty cut across her cheek. The mother was silent, holding her child close, eyes blank.
There was another boy, there, too. He must have only have been around fourteen or fifteen, and he had tears rolling down his face. He was shaking hysterically to the point where it looked like he was going to fall over, but didn't appear to possess any physical injuries.
The tanned boy approached the shaking child; holding out a bottle of water. Said child, however, seemed unable to register it, and didn't even interact.
Bakura was watching the scene with slightly dull eyes himself; although he felt a little jolt through him as the leader of the small ragtag group looked up at him.
"Hey." He greeted; his voice having a slightly accented edge to it. Nothing that prevented understanding, but enough to talk of a birth in a further land. "If you've just got here, get a drink and calm down. You look like you're in shock."
The drink was presented out to Bakura; and he blinked at it slowly, before he reached out, wrapping his pale fingers around the plastic bottle, bringing it to himself.
He brought it up to his lips; and he didn't realise how thirsty he was until the fresh, cold water fell down his throat, a sudden relief compared to the salt water he had swallowed earlier. He tilted the bottle back further, letting himself drink incredibly generous amounts. It washed the vile taste from his mouth and made him feel more full in his stomach, which was an illusion of strength.
"Don't drink all of that." Came a warning voice that pulled him from his greedy thirst. "There's plenty more people who are going to need that."
He'd drunk close to half of it, so he lowered the bottle, keeping some water in his mouth, bathing his tongue in the shallow pool. Sea water was so salty compared to fresh. He didn't need to be a professional at anything to figure that out.
He handed the bottle back, and the boy took it back. He handed it to the shaking kid, but this time he took it.
"What's your name?" The stranger asked; but he wasn't specifically looking at Bakura- he appeared to be just observing the environment, and of course, the wreckage.
Bakura stared at him briefly; before letting out a short exhale. No point withholding information.
"Bakura."
"Bakura what?"
"Bakura I-don't-know." He replied sarcastically.
The boy gave him a rather unamused looked.
Bakura stared back innocently.
".. Whatever. I'm Marik. If you don't know your second name, then I don't know mine either."
"Hello, Marik I-Don't-Know-Mine-Either. Our second names are pretty similar, huh?"
Marik continued to look unamused.
Bakura continued to stare back at innocently.
The shaking boy had sunk to his knees, now, although Marik's interest seemed to have wavered. Things were barely close to calming down; everyone was too busy screaming and crying and running into each other like headless chickens to think rationally.
It was almost disgusting for Bakura to observe. It seemed indecent, too him. To act so god damn stupid.
He glanced over at Marik.
"How long has this been going on for?" Despite the water he had consumed, his throat was still dry and painful, and it even felt a little damaged.
"Well, there's no real way to tell time around here. But if I were to hazard a guess with my body clock, maybe half an hour."
Bakura paused. When he was on the other-side of the beach, he'd passed out for what he could tell was hours, judging from the sun. How had the crash only been half an hour?
"They've been like this for ages." Marik's bitter grumble broke through his thoughts, clearing them. "I've found food and water rations in the emergency section of the wreckage, but everyone is way too fucking busy being dramatic to listen to me."
"I don't think that they're being dramatic." Bakura cut him off a little. "It's pretty shocking."
"Why the hell are you so calm?" Marik glared down the short height difference between them- his strangely exotic coloured eyes sharp and what he would later identify as stressed.
Bakura shrugged. "No idea. Why are you so calm?"
"Well, for one, these people need a leader, do they not?"
"Yeah, because a teenage as a leader is going to go down really well." Bakura snorted. "This isn't a game, kid. This is real life. I guess."
"You're the one acting like this is a fucking game, and don't call me kid."
Bakura waved a dismissive hand, although he took a small step backwards- more towards Marik. He was an arrogant prick, but he seemed to be calm and level headed.
Another group had formed, it seemed, and the atmosphere had lowered a little. Ten or so people had huddled around a rather short, calm looking dark skinned woman. She appeared to be examining a child's arm- and she looked sure of herself.
"Looks like we've got a doctor, or another leader." Bakura commented.
Both parent and child and small boy seemed to hear Bakura, however, and the mother's head whipped around to see said doctor. There was a silence, before she grabbed her childs hand and pulled her through the sand- and the boy followed, too, all three of them going towards the doctor.
Marik opened him mouth- looking angry and frustrated, and Bakura glanced up at him. The tanned boy bit his tongue, before falling silent, but the negative emotion didn't leave him.
"They wouldn't have been use anyway." He slightly reassured him.
He got a noise of agreement in return.
The more people that gathered around the woman, the calmer the atmosphere got. And within minutes, everyone who could walk and was alive was sitting in a huddled spot.
Bakura and Marik, however, hadn't moved.
"A doctor." Bakura confirmed quietly, just as Marik sat down behind. "How lucky are we?"
"Well, no, how lucky are they, you probably mean?" Marik's voice still sounded bitter. "Just because she's a doctor doesn't mean she gets to be leader."
Bakura couldn't help but roll his eyes.
"Jeeze, kid. Shut the fuck up about all this leader stuff. This isn't a game, I told you that. I'm more concerned about rescue than an imaginary crown on someone's head."
"I never said I didn't care about rescue. But.. Whatever. Shut up. Why aren't you just over there with them? You're pretty cut up."
He felt Marik's eyes roam his body- and he glared at him briefly, not liking the stares.
It was true, however. His rib was cramping his side- but the adrenalin rush was a good cure for the agony. He was sure he could feel liquid, too. Whether it was water or blood, he didn't know.
He was covered in grazes and cuts; nothing major, but it wasn't pleasant. He still couldn't feel them, however.
"I'll go later. She's going to be tending to the kids first." Amusement glinted in his eyes briefly- and he glanced at Marik. "So go over and get fixed up."
He felt a whack on the back on his legs- and he gave an angry growl, whipping around to glare at the stranger.
Marik stared up at him calmly. "You don't look very intimidating like that, you know. You have seaweed in your hair."
Bakura reached up- and sure enough, he picked out a slimy tendril of green seaweed. It stunk, and he wrinkled his nose, throwing it down onto the floor.
"Hey, don't soil that. That could be used as food."
"You eat seaweed?" Bakura gave a disgusted look, sinking down onto the half grass, half sand patch next to Marik.
The tanned boy shrugged. "Sure. I had dried seaweed once. It was just food."
"I don't eat anything unless it was alive and squealing at some point." Bakura responded, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the sand that had stuck to his palms.
"Ew." It was Marik's turn to wrinkle his nose. "I'm a vegetarian. I don't eat living things."
Bakura didn't respond- internally rolling his eyes. If Marik was a vegetarian, he was going to have to suck it up and eat whatever they could find on this weird place.
"Anyway." Marik glanced over at Bakura. "Let's just.. Do a check. Try to work out why we're here. Start from the beginning."
Bakura shrugged. "I woke up on the other side of the beach. I heard voices and now I'm sitting next to some random kid who thinks he's got a crown on his head."
Marik looked away- staring out at the sea.
"I was on a plane going to America in order to get a job outside Egypt."
Bakura listened to him- but he didn't understand half of what he said. Plane? What the hell was a plane?
Before he could help it- he voiced his confusion. And was treated with a very weird look from his companion.
Marik pointed forward towards the big pile of twisted metal- and mouthed out the words like he was talking to a child.
"P-L-A-N-E." He spoke incredibly slowly. "Big metal thing that flies around from county to continent. Not other planets, though. That's a S-P-A-C-E S-H-I-P. Like a mega evolution of a plane."
Bakura stared at the wreckage, still not registering it. He'd never been on a plane in his life.
".. Did you get some form of brain damage on the way here?" Marik was starting to look confused. "A hit on the head?"
".. Not on my head. When I was in the water, something hit my side."
"Not at all?"
He gave a small shrug. "Could have happened when I was passed out. I woke up drowning. To be honest with you, I don't remember anything except my name. And my age."
Marik shook his head- giving a low whistle. "That's awful. I thought I was fucked over, but at least I know who I am."
Bakura made a low noise of agreement. "But, anyway. Woke up drowning. Got onto the beach. Realised I lost my memory. Saw smoke and heard screaming. Met some annoying brat, here I am."
Marik gave him a dirty look- but didn't comment.
"We were on the plane and there was usual turbulence. Before you ask- that just means like, heavy wind or a storm that makes the plane jolt. Then the pilot just started crying. Like really heavily over the intercom. He kept sobbing and screaming 'god forgive me' or something. And then everyone freaked out."
Marik dug his fingers into the sand a little.
"I grabbed my phone to call my sister- call anyone, but all the lights went out. The plane was jolting so bad and then.."
He shook his head quietly.
".. I woke up here. I was face down in the sand and everyone was screaming. I got away from the plane and tried to encourage other people to do so; it might just blow up. A few people did. I found water and tried to hand it out- and then you turned up."
Bakura was silent, watching the lapping of waves along the beach. The mangled metal wreck had suddenly gone silent. He didn't know if he should be afraid or not.
There was a plane. A crash. A plane crash. His blotted mind didn't comprehend it completely- but he got it enough. From the sounds of it, he must have been on that plane. He may have no memory of it at all- and may never get it back, but there was no doubt that he was a passenger on whatever flight that was. Marik mentioned going to a place called America, from Egypt. So he must have been in Egypt, too.
He blinked slowly, feeling a strange, heavy weight settle in his bones.
It was like having to build a life again- well, no, that was exactly what he had to do. He had to rely on the words of complete strangers in order to get a sense of identity. It left him feeling very open and vulnerable. People could tell him anything, really, and he'd believe it. What choice did he have to, but? The only person he kind of knew by this point was Marik. And he didn't even know if he trusted him or not, yet.
"Are you hurt?" Bakura murmured, not wanting to raise his voice. The silence was making him tired. He didn't know if giving into sleep at this point of time would be a very smart decision.
Marik shook his head slowly. "Not that I can tell. Maybe when I take my clothes off I will. But for now, I'm just appreciating not knowing."
Bakura grunted. He could understand that feeling. His ribs were hurting, and his entire body ached like he needed to sleep for a couple thousand years, and he was sure that underneath clothes he was going to be in a god awful state. But for now, all he could do was focus on survival. It was hard- hard to comprehend the situation at all, but he had to adapt to survive.
"Don't eat that seaweed before you wash it with fresh water and dry it out." He commented suddenly, not even really aware he was talking. "All sorts of nasty stuff hides in it."
Marik glanced over at Bakura; furrowing blonde eyebrows together at him. "How the hell do you know that? You said you've never eaten seaweed."
Bakura… Blinked. And realised that Marik was right. He had never eaten seaweed- he didn't think, anyway. Maybe he had. It wasn't important.
"Doesn't matter." He shrugged, his voice heavy and tired, and he turned his head to glance over at the group. "The doctor seems real. Maybe we should join them."
"Join them?" Marik growled. "They ignored me when I was trying to help. Why should I join them?"
"In all fairness, I'd pick a doctor over a teenager."
Marik whipped his head around to glare at him, but Bakura just stared back, arching an eyebrow very slightly. "I didn't mean we're going to fucking buddy up. But a doctors a doctor. We could just get patched up, and then, I don't know. Move on? You're a fucking brat, but you seem intelligent enough. We could probably make more progress on getting out of here without a huge group of burdens dragging us down."
Marik's scowl faded- and he merely stared at Bakura, seemingly taking in his words. He didn't speak for almost a minute, before he gave a reluctant nod. ".. Fine. I guess."
Bakura got to his feet.