Disclaimer
This is Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction, posted on FanFiction (dot) net.
Fanfiction: A story written about a television show, book, comic or movie by people unconnected with the original and without any intention of making a profit. (taken from ralst (dot) com )
This story is rated M because it deals with mature themes and situations. If you are not prepared for a mature story that can involve any number of mature items, then this story is not for you.
Staying close to the wall, Bakura watched as the vehicle slowed and then continued on its way. The low purr of the motor faded into the night. Once he could no longer hear it, he breathed a sigh of relief and his heart stopped hammering in his chest. He desperately thought to himself that he needed to find shelter in the park quickly. There were stories of deaths on the streets of Tokyo that were never investigated.
He kept his head low and watched his sneakered feet quickly walk over the sidewalk. He had an odd habit of refusing to step on cracks, feeling it was bad luck, and would side-step as necessary to avoid the spidery lines in the concrete. After ten minutes, he found his feet stepping on packed earth. Looking up from his feet, he could see the elegant wrought iron arch that marked the entrance to the small park.
As he entered, the sounds of the city faded behind him and were replaced by chilly silence. Bakura readjusted his duffel on his shoulder. He looked around for a suitable place to spend the night. On all outward appearances, the park seemed completely deserted of any one else. He didn't smile, but it was a comfort.
Up ahead on the path, there was a bench that looked suitable for a sleeping place. Bakura made his way to the simple wood and iron seating area, sitting down with a sigh. He pushed his duffel up against one end of the bench and laid his head upon it, looking up into the trees over him. His books rested on his stomach. He tried to snuff out the thoughts of spiders possibly dangling overhead of him and descending into his mouth and insects deciding he would be a tasty snack in the night. He forced himself to close his eyes.
Kaiba returned to Bakura's former house. He could see the stacks of boxes still neatly arranged on the curbside, but there was no sight of the white-haired man to be found. Before the driver could exit the vehicle to open his door, Kaiba was already out of the car. He walked around the pieces of this man's life. A man he really knew nothing about.
He looked at the still brightly lit house. It was not yet a late enough hour, though the sun had set some time ago, for people to be abed. Kaiba wondered if Bakura had been able to patch up the situation with the woman he saw that had severed the family relationship. He wanted to believe this because on one level of himself, he did not want to get involved further and he felt like he was being forced into this.
Toeing one of the boxes in front of him, it was then that Kaiba noticed that some had been riffled through. The arrangement of items replaced did not create the same streamlined and neatly packed placement of the others. He frowned to himself and looked back at the seemingly cheery front of the house.
"Master Kaiba, sir?" his driver queried.
Kaiba shook his head. He should not get involved. It was not an outsider's place to question the methods of a family or their decisions with their generations. Mokuba's statement about their childhood came back to him. He remembered their biological family more than Mokuba did.
When he was five, Mokuba was born and Mother died during the birthing. It had been both a sad day and a happy day for him. He had the brother he had always wanted at that time, but he had lost his dearest mother. The memories had faded over time, but he could still remember hazy outlines of a smiling woman who would give him kisses at bedtime.
Father had been devastated by the loss of their Mother, but he carried on and cared for his two young sons as best as he could. He, too, was a giver of hugs and kisses. Although, these were given in the privacy of their home. For all others, he was a proper entrepreneur who provided a nanny and schooling. It was when the nanny was gone for the evening that the board games and cards would come out of the closet and he would play with Kaiba. A couple of years went by, and as Mokuba grew older, they included him in their easier games. A smile ghosted across Kaiba's lips as he remembered these things.
The driver looked at his employer who was silent. "Sir?"
Kaiba waved a hand at the man to be quiet while his thoughts continued. It was when the second tragedy of his life struck that everything was lost. His father had been on a highway coming home from Osaka. Usually, Father took the train when traveling between the cities, but it was Spring and he wanted to drive through the smaller towns in the countryside. Kaiba was eight years old and Mokuba was three. They were given as wards to their father's brother and wife, a greedy pair that cared nothing for the now fatherless children. A year later, they were left at an orphanage and Kaiba swore he would never associate with them again. He knew his family name. Mokuba was too young to remember. He never told anyone what it was.
"Why does it seem that our families will be the ones to betray us first?" Kaiba questioned aloud.
His driver, a clean-cut man not used to candid talk from his employer, gaped at the statement. He swallowed and tried to choose his answer carefully, he did not want to offend Master Kaiba. "I do not know, Master Kaiba. It may depend on many circumstances or it is simply the nature of the family members."
Kaiba nodded at the response. Nature and nurture. In nature, if a cub was considered a burden upon the pack, it was killed. This was accepted. There were no tears or desires by the others to save it. However, if humans were supposed to be transcendent to animals, why could they just as easily and totally destroy one another. No, nature did it more cleanly than humans did. A cub's quick death did not leave them behind clutching a broken toy that would never be repaired; a symbol of their now broken heart.
"I'm going up to the house. Stand by these boxes and make sure they remain unmolested."
He did not wait for a response as he strode up to the front door. The line of his shoulders was perfectly straight as he prepared to interfere in this family's private matter. His knuckles rapped sharply at the wooden door when he stepped upon the threshold. After a few moments, the same woman opened the door. Around her eyes, there were heavy wrinkles that were not visible from a distance and her hair was peppered with gray streaks. She was wearing a heavily starched, deep red dress with a long-sleeved jacket and gold-tone buttons.
"Yes?" Her voice was crisp with a slight tone of annoyance. Behind her, Kaiba could see that dinner was set for one.
"Madame," Kaiba said, trying to be polite, "Forgive my intrusion regarding your family, but I feel that a mistake might have been made. Wouldn't you agree?"
She snorted but kept her poise, even though her eyes flashed with anger. Regardless of Kaiba not mentioning the full subject, she knew immediately what he was discussing. "One's family rules will differ from another family's. I'm sure you can agree."
"Yes, I can agree, Madame, but cannot mistakes committed by children be forgiven by their elders. Is it not the duty of the elder to lead and not throw away?"
"Yes, but is it not the duty of the child to the elder to obey?" She countered him.
He frowned as he tried to think of a suitable response. One did not just order a stranger, an elder for that matter, like a servant. If he did so, it would shut her off to him completely. For all his roughness with Mutou and his group, he was well-bred and aware of the rules of society. It was that in most cases, he choose to ignore them until he needed them.
"Young man, if that is all, my miso will be cold if I tarry longer." She drew his attention back out of his thoughts.
He glanced over his shoulder behind him at the boxes stacked at the curb. "What of the items at your curbside? What do you intend for their purpose?"
Bakura's grandmother shrugged. "They are there to be disposed of by the street sweeper. I care not what happens to them."
The subtle implications of her words struck him. He tried one last approach, remembering Bakura saying 'Grandmother and Father'. "Would your son approve of these being removed from the home?"
"My son obeys me in all things as a good son should. He discovered years ago that my wisdom exceeds his own. If the younger generation refuses to obey their elders, then they are lost to them." Her lips were a tight line.
She would not be swayed by him. Kaiba knew this. He inclined his head, indicating he was done with the conversation. She wished him good health and closed the door. He had a feeling when she told him sayounara, she meant it completely.
He walked down the path back to the boxes of Bakura's life. He kept telling himself he should not get involved in this. Mokuba was just being a teenager that wanted to save the world. Kaiba was pass those ideologies. He had already done enough by trying to talk to the old woman that had kicked Bakura out of his house.
"Load these boxes into the car." Kaiba ordered his driver as he sat back down inside the car. He heard the subtle click of the trunk release.
Leaning his chin on his loosely closed hand, Kaiba looked at the dark street ahead of him. He wondered where Bakura had gone for the night, and if he would be able to find him. A ironic thought slipped in that this should please Mokuba. He would have to make Bakura Mokuba's responsibility.
His driver slipped into the driver's seat. "Master Kaiba, the items from the street curb are loaded. What would you like to do next?"
Kaiba looked at the small pools of light partially illuminating the sidewalks along the street. Occasional cars meandered along the avenue. Most were on their way to other houses and some appeared to be driving through.
"Drive along the road at a sedate pace. I am looking for a park or enclosure. Somewhere someone would go if they were looking for shelter."
Bakura kept his eyes closed. He could feel a fresh wave of the salty tears behind his lids, and they fell down along the sides of his face. It was going to be a long night. A bit ago more people had entered the park. He presumed they were homeless like himself. He could hear raucous laughter and angry arguments breaking out around him. Thus far, no one had come near him but he wasn't sure how long that would last. His respite was shorter than he anticipated.
"Shiro, some kid is on your bench," a rough worker's voice called out, not far from where Bakura was situated.
Bakura's eyes snapped open. Over him, he could see the dark on dark landscape of leaves on the night sky. He sat up and tried to locate the originator of the voice he heard. A man who had seen better times was standing at his feet pointing at him. Bakura could smell cheap beer emanating from him.
Scrabbling himself up, Bakura attempted a smile and apology. "Sorry. I can move. Just give me a moment."
Shiro had arrived just as Bakura spoke and he was just as rough seeming as the other one. However, Shiro was bulkier than his counterpart. Bakura's eyes flickered between the two now on either side of him and held his hands outward, palm side up.
"I'm very sorry. I am moving away from the bench now," he said again.
Grunting at Bakura, Shiro turned his back to him. Bakura made a hasty retreat by quickly gathering his things and running down the path leading deeper into the park. He tried to remember how much money he had in his account. Maybe it would be enough to go to a capsule motel or the like. However, he didn't want to spend money that may be severely limited until he could find employment. He wondered if his father might take pity on him.
Tears welled up again in his eyes. He thought to himself he was such an emotional baby as he wiped them away. He began to run along the path. He didn't know what he was trying to run from at that moment, but he had to run. His bag banged against his hip, making it sore in short time. The pathway became a blur of dark brown and green. Bakura didn't see the rock in front of his feet when he tripped on it, sprawling across the ground.
More tears came as he tried to gather his things back to him. Dirt clung to his hands and clothing. It felt like he had no future left for him. No one would want anything to do with him; he was sure of it. Bakura crawled over to a tree and curled into a small ball at the base. He leaned his forehead against his dirty knees.
"Hey, Yuu, look what we have here. Fresh meat."
Bakura looked up from his position to see three young men. They wore mostly clean clothing, but their eyes held a hardness in them that he was not used to seeing. A member of the group held a long piece of metal pole in his hand and was tapping it against his leg.
One with a greasy and lanky hair in need of a trim spoke next, "She's a pretty one, isn't she?"
Coughing, Bakura spoke up, "But I'm not a girl." He lifted his head, and revealed his full face with angular jawline.
"Doesn't matter to me. I can pretend," said the one with the need of a haircut. His companions chuckled as they began to close the distance between them and Bakura.
Bakura felt rising panic in his throat as he stood up. He had nothing to defend against them. All he had with him was the duffel bag and his stack of books. At that moment, a taller, skinnier one had reached him and tried to grab him. Bakura dodged the grab and ducked under his arm to get more space around him. He tried to think of anything he could use around him, but there wasn't anything he could find for defense.
The largest member of the group grinned at him. His teeth were bright white in the darkness. "Why you running away? We just want to be your friends."
This one also made a grab at Bakura and managed to catch the young man's sleeve. Whipping around, Bakura brought his schoolbook bundle to land on the man's head. The hard cover cut a gash in his attacker's forehead.
"Fuck! Masato! He got me!" Big and ugly yelled out.
Masato was the one with the metal pole, and he was stalking toward Bakura. The other two had closed off any exits for him. He didn't want to know what this trio wanted with him. He could guess when they chose to mistake him as a girl. He panted from his exertions and fear.
"Why don't you creeps pick on someone your own size?" The voice was svelte and full of deadly grace. Bakura knew the owner of that voice. It was Kaiba.
Bakura could see his tormentors sizing up the new arrival. Kaiba was still taller than their tallest one by at least four or five centimeters. He currently was lounging against one of the trees along the path. His silvery-white trench coat caught and reflected the faint moonlight above that filtered down through the leafy canopy overhead. Kaiba's icy blue eyes were electric with barely controlled anger. Bakura swallowed nervously, but this time it was not from fear. His stomach, or maybe somewhere lower, burned from a sudden infusion of heat.
From the corner of his eyes, Bakura saw that the trio was hesitating and looking from Kaiba to him again. He could almost see a shimmering aura of danger around the tall brunette. The look in Kaiba's eyes and posture reminded him of when he dueled Yugi's other self. The look that said he would stop at nothing to win.
It seemed the wannabe gang of antagonists were reconsidering their tactic. It was one thing to pick on a effeminate seeming guy, but it was quite another to face someone who appeared to know how how to fight. The slunk back into the shadows without a word or signal, leaving Kaiba and Bakura alone.
"Let's go, Bakura," Kaiba said, his voice still hard, "You're coming with me."
