Faith
Prompt: Pain
The white-haired boy gave a sad sigh as he sat once again by his Yami's bedside, watching the thief's slumber. Yami Bakura was on his side, burrowed into the bed and the quilt, not to mention the pillow. Far more exhausted than hungry, he had promised to eat something after a rest. Just relieved that Yami Bakura was talking to him and trying to work at getting better, Bakura had not protested.
"I should never have doubted you, Yami," he said quietly. "Of course it wasn't too late. Of course you still have a chance of recovery."
But he could not help shuddering as the memories of being dragged to the floor and nearly strangled came back to him. The look in the lavender eyes had been murderous. Yami Bakura had never looked at Bakura like that, not even when Bakura had interfered in his plans to claim the Millennium Puzzle. Bakura would never be able to wipe the horror of those eyes from his mind.
However, Yami Bakura likely never would be able to, either. He had stayed awake for a long time, haunted, clutching at Bakura as the boy had hugged him close. He had never wanted to hurt his former host. "I thought you were him," he had said despondently. "He tricked me like that before. He did it so many times. . . ."
"I know, Yami," Bakura had reassured him. "It's alright. I'm fine! And you're going to get well. I promise!"
"You're kinder than I deserve," Yami Bakura had grunted in reply. "You always have been."
"You deserve it, Yami," Bakura had told him, sadness prevalent in his voice. "Hardly anyone ever showed you kindness, did they?"
For a long time Yami Bakura had been silent. "Not after the massacre, no," he had said at last. "My family and the other villagers were the only ones who ever cared about me."
And Bakura had hugged him close again, cursing the unfairness of it all.
"Hey, Bakura. . . ."
He started and looked up. Yugi, Joey, Tristan, and Téa were coming into the medical wing, all looking worried to various degrees. Tristan seemed the most edgy. Bakura swallowed hard, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
"Hello," he greeted, trying to smile. "He's sleeping peacefully now. . . ."
"Yeah, after nearly choking you to death!" Tristan exclaimed in horror.
Bakura flinched. He had been afraid that they would find out, due to the security cameras in the medical wing. But surely, if they had seen it, they realized what had actually been behind it, didn't they?
Yugi looked a little apologetic at Tristan's outburst. "Are you alright, Bakura?" he asked.
Bakura nodded. "Yes," he said, standing up. "But please, let's talk somewhere else. I don't want to wake him. . . ."
"Hey, I wouldn't either, after that display," Joey said.
Bakura walked stiffly out of the room and into the hall. As the others followed him, he reached and shut the door, then leaned against it with crossed arms.
"He didn't mean to hurt me," he said. "He still couldn't believe he was really safe. He thought it was a trick."
"Well, maybe he did," Tristan said, "but that doesn't mean it's a good thing for you to be around him. What if it happens again?"
"I honestly don't think it will," Bakura said. "But if it does, I'll just reassure him of the truth until he can grasp it."
"Or until he grasps your neck?!" Tristan stepped forward. "Bakura, you're playing with fire. You're totally inexperienced for something like this."
Bakura gripped his arms. "So what do you want me to do with him, Tristan?" he queried, unable to keep his voice from sounding clipped.
"He needs help, we all agree about that," Tristan said. "But I think you should leave it up to a professional."
"Tristan?!" Yugi gasped in disbelief. Téa and Joey stared.
Bakura ignored them. "So they can lock him up and treat him like he's crazy?!" he snapped, pushing himself away from the door.
"He is crazy!" Tristan said. He looked pleadingly at the other teen. "Bakura, we just don't want you to get hurt."
"Doctors wouldn't even have any idea what he was talking about!" Bakura cried. "They would never let him go, especially if he started talking about Kul Elna and living in Egypt three thousand years ago. Surely you know that, Tristan." Then he stiffened, a deep frown passing over his features. "Or is that exactly why you're saying this?" he asked. "You're hoping to get rid of him?"
"No!" Tristan shot back.
"And are all of you in agreement with him?!" Bakura went on, the betrayal and fire in his eyes as he sought out each of the others.
Joey looked guilty. "Well . . . I dunno," he said. "Hey, we were all upset when we saw what was going on, but we didn't know Tristan was going to bring something like this up. It never even crossed my mind."
Yugi nodded. "I'm sorry, Bakura," he said. "It's true, we're all worried, and I know Tristan's just saying this because of his worry, but . . ." He looked down at the floor. "I don't think that's the solution."
Tristan looked at Yugi in disbelief. "But Yugi, you saw what that guy did!" he protested. "And even after everything he's been through, he's so much stronger than Bakura. He could snap Bakura's neck in an instant!"
"He could," Yugi said, looking up again, "but he won't."
Téa's eyes widened. "Yugi . . ." She wanted to believe too, but how could he be so sure?
Yugi nodded. "He's stronger than that," he said. "If it ever starts to happen again, he'll stop himself. And Bakura will help him." He smiled at the stunned British boy. "Bakura, you're right, you need to stay with him. I honestly don't think he can get better without you. He knows you and trusts you. You treat him with kindness and compassion. And you know about a lot of the things he'll talk about. You're right, the doctors wouldn't. And to be locked up, or tied down, or whatever they might do to him . . . it would only make it worse. He would feel angry---and worse, betrayed and abandoned. To have found him in as good of condition as we did is a miracle. But the only way the miracle can keep going is if you help him through this."
Bakura's eyes were shining. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice choked. "Thank you, Yugi."
Téa smiled. She would believe because of Yugi's faith---and because what he was saying made a lot of sense.
"Couldn't have said it better myself," Joey proclaimed. He gave Tristan a sidelong glance. "What do you say, old pal?"
Tristan did not look happy. But his shoulders slumped in defeat. "It's Bakura's decision," he said. "I just hope it's the right one."
"It is," Bakura said, looking to him. "I can promise that."
In the room behind them, Yami Bakura stirred, opening one lavender eye. But then, exhausted, he let it drop shut again, even as what he had subconsciously heard of the conversation penetrated deep into his mind.
****
"Yami!"
He started, turning his head to the side. He was chained to the wall again, helpless. But Bakura was running to him from one of the pathways, horror and shock in his eyes.
"Oh Yami . . . I'm so sorry!" He stopped, staring at the sad sight for only a moment. Then he hastened forward, carefully undoing the shackles binding the weakened man to the wall. Yami Bakura fell forward, his knees buckling under him. Bakura caught him as he crumpled, holding him close.
"It's going to be alright," he reassured. "Here, I'll help you leave. Can you walk?" He started to drape a sore arm around the captive's shoulders.
"I . . . I don't know," Yami Bakura growled, hating the fact that he honestly did not know. He was dizzy; the world was fading in and out of his vision. He sagged further against Bakura, shutting his eyes against the topsy-turvy view.
Bakura drew a firm arm around the bare waist. "Just take a step," he encouraged. "I won't let you fall."
Shakily Yami Bakura moved a foot ahead of him.
Bakura stepped up with him. "That's good," he said. "Now another."
Yami Bakura did so.
In this way they traveled through the various rooms and hallways. Bakura was always encouraging him to keep going. Somehow, he always managed to take another step even when he was sure he could not go any further. And then at last they were departing the treacherous cave, walking out into the daylight. The winter sun touched them, warming flesh that had not felt the rays in what seemed ages.
"It feels good, doesn't it?" Bakura said.
Yami Bakura grunted. ". . . How did you find me?" he asked then.
"Oh . . . it wasn't too hard," Bakura said.
Yami Bakura frowned, cracking his eyes open just enough to look at the boy. Something seemed off.
Bakura was grinning eerily at him, looking like a horrendous cross between the thief and Yami Marik. Then he laughed, abruptly letting go as he shoved Yami Bakura to the ground. The Egyptian caught himself, kneeling in shock.
"Bakura," he gasped. "What . . ."
"I let Yami Marik take you, Yami!" Bakura exclaimed. "I don't care about you. I never did. I just wanted to see you suffer. And now that I've seen the hope in your eyes, I can extinguish it." He kicked the stricken man in the ribs. "You will never be free, Yami!"
A cry escaped Yami Bakura's lips, more from the pain of betrayal than any physical discomfort. As Bakura kicked him again and again, he fell to the ground, unable to hold himself upright. He stared ahead blankly, barely registering as the blows continued to land. It did not matter now; the only person who had cared about him in three thousand years had turned against him. His will to even try to fight back was gone.
He would give up and die. He was more than half-there already.
One kick hit him in the head. He sank down the rest of the way, accepting oblivion as it descended on him.
****
"Yami?"
A gentle hand touched his shoulder. He jerked, batting it away as he burrowed against something hard and cold. He did not want any more false sympathy or concern. If that was his lot, he would rather be alone.
. . . But . . . hard and cold? Where was he?
"Yami, we're home. . . ."
"Home?" he mumbled. His voice sounded slurred, even to him in his half-asleep state.
"Yes." Now Bakura reached for him, easing him away from the hard and cold thing as he brought one arm around him. With the other he reached over, pushing something open. A rush of frosty air shot in at them.
Yami Bakura's eyes popped open, focusing on the scene. They were in a car; he must have been leaning against the back window. Now the door was standing wide, revealing a familiar yard beyond its borders. It really did look like home.
Was this truly reality? What if he had dreamed about Bakura being there and treating him kindly and him trying to strangle the boy, believing him to be Yami Marik? What if it really had been an illusion of Yami Marik's, or worse, him going insane? What if the Bakura with him now was not the real Bakura and would turn against him again?
"Are you alright, Yami?"
He looked up, into the boy's worried brown eyes. They were filled with sincerity and kindness. And his neck was red. . . .
Guilt swept over Yami Bakura. His lips parted as he tried to form words. His throat was raw, making his voice far more gravelly than usual.
"I hurt you," he rasped.
Now Bakura's eyes were sad. "You didn't mean to, Yami," he said. "And I'm alright, really I am! I'm fine because you stopped yourself." He looked directly into the stunned lavender eyes. "I know you won't hurt me!"
Yami Bakura stared at him. Bakura still had faith. The boy was a fool.
". . . We should get out now," Bakura said, feeling a bit awkward. "You could have something more to eat, if you want, or just go up to bed. . . ."
"More to eat?" Yami Bakura grunted.
"You had a bit of applesauce on the airplane," Bakura said. "You don't remember?"
He did not. He only remembered finally agreeing to go back to sleep and then being lost in his world of illusion-memories.
Bakura gave a quiet, sad sigh at the blank look. "Well, you were quite out of it," he said. "I was worried, honestly. . . . But when I asked, you agreed to eat it. And you still fed yourself. It was one of those small cups with a wooden spoon that looks like a paddle. Then you laid back down and went to sleep again."
Yami Bakura did not answer; he was studying the distance from the car to the ground. Shakily he reached for the door handle, pulling himself upright as he started to maneuver his right leg out of the opening. As his foot touched the cold sidewalk, he was gratified that Bakura had given him his shoes---even though they were for walking in Egypt and not for a Pacific Northwest winter.
Though for all he knew, maybe he had put his shoes on himself. If he could not remember eating, what else was lost to his mind?
"Can you make it out, Yami?" Bakura asked in concern. "Rishid's still here, if you need some help. . . ." He indicated the silent man sitting on the other side of the row.
Yami Bakura looked over his shoulder, briefly glancing at Rishid and then away. "I can make it," he said.
"Well, his pride is intact," Marik muttered from somewhere in the van.
Yami Bakura ignored him as he eased his other foot to the ground and began to pull himself out of the van. Bakura perked up, watching him with outstretched arms in case he needed help. The thief wobbled, but gripped the door and limped around to the front of it, moving his hands to the outside handle. Bakura hurried to follow him out.
"I think we can make it from here," he said with a weak smile. "Thank you so much for all your help. . . ." He reached out, placing an arm around Yami Bakura's lower back for support.
Marik nodded, watching from the nearest window. "I'm just glad we found him alive," he said.
Ishizu nodded too. "The rest is up to both of you," she said.
"Take care, guys," Yugi said.
Joey waved. "See you around!" he said.
Bakura smiled. "Goodbye," he returned.
Yami Bakura did not answer. As far as he was concerned, Bakura could speak for both of them. He just wanted to get inside and out of the cold. He limped forward, still running a hand over the side of the van for balance.
Bakura walked with him, steadying him as they went up the stairs and onto the porch. "The house is dark," he noted as he took out his keys.
Yami Bakura just grunted. "Did you expect it wouldn't be?" he returned.
Bakura looked to him, encouraged by the reply. "Well, I wondered if Father would be back yet," he said. "He's in Germany again. . . . Unfinished business from last time, I believe. . . ." Inserting the right key into the lock, he turned it and opened the door.
Yami Bakura stared at the room as it came into view. Home. . . . If he was not going mad, if he was seeing everything as it truly was, then he really was free. Bakura had saved him. . . .
Bakura smiled at him as he reached to turn on the light. "I can hardly believe it myself," he confessed. He sobered. "Yami, I . . . I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to get you back. . . ."
"And have you?" Yami Bakura stepped inside, looking around the room. The disaster from Yami Marik's intrusion had long ago been set right. But his heart and soul could not be righted as easily as the toppled furniture.
Bakura laid a hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Yes," he said. "And I promise, I'll be here for you as you try to pick up the pieces."
"There's quite a lot of them," Yami Bakura growled.
"I know," Bakura said softly.
Abruptly the thief moved towards the stairs. He grasped the banister as he limped up the steps, favoring the left side. At the top, he turned towards the bathroom. "I'll be out in a few minutes," he said, still in the same, gruff tone. Not giving Bakura a chance to protest, he headed inside and shut the door.
Bakura stared up at the slab of wood, then quietly sighed. "I hope you'll be alright, Yami," he said, mostly to himself.
He flinched at the sound of the shower coming on a moment later. "And I hope you know what you're doing," he added.
****
Yami Bakura stood under the beating water, letting it wash over his tired, bruised body. He wanted to erase all possible traces of his wretched prison before he ate or laid down or whatever it was he felt like doing. Frankly, he did not feel like doing much of anything whatsoever. Certainly he did not feel like standing here in this slippery tub, his knees knocking as he grabbed the soap. . . .
His vision split in two. He growled, gripping the edge of the windowsill above him. Clearly he was not ready to be up at all. A small cup of applesauce had not given him much strength. And in spite of the sleep from the flight, he was still exhausted. Jet lag probably had a lot to do with it, but the rest was from his body's insistence on being weary.
The soap slipped from his hand, striking the scar on his abdomen as it went down. He flinched. That hurt far more than it should have. . . .
"So, while prowling through your mind I learned some very interesting things."
Yami Bakura looked coldly at the leering Yami Marik. He was chained to the wall once more, unable to do a thing about his predicament. He had awakened from the last hallucination to discover it had happened without his knowledge. And his mood was only growing worse.
"Of course I already suspected this, but I confirmed you're a masochist. You like pain, hmm?" Yami Marik placed his hand mockingly under Yami Bakura's chin, tilting his head slightly upward. "What do you say we try an experiment?"
"I would tell you to try it on yourself," Yami Bakura growled.
"Oh, don't be like that," Yami Marik grinned. "Maybe you'll even like it. I just wondered---since we discovered you can be devastated by emotional torture, can you also be so overwhelmed by physical pain that you no longer relish it?" He stepped back, his eyes going wild. "Let's find out!"
Yami Bakura did not even have a chance to protest before the Eon Spear was plunging into his middle, right where it had entered in the past. He gasped, blood immediately rising to his throat. He spat it out, clenching his fists as Yami Marik deliberately moved the weapon around in the wound. There was nothing he could do about it; he was completely helpless.
Yami Marik's crazed expression only grew worse. "Do you like it?!" he exclaimed. "Because I do!" He jerked the spear partially outward and then upward, cutting a path through flesh and bone. Without warning he pulled it out all the way, blood and gore dripping from the point and the lower half of the staff. Then he stabbed it through Yami Bakura's body again, this time in his side.
Again and again the horrific process repeated. The spear plunged in at some location in Yami Bakura's torso, then was jerked to and fro before slicing through both his flesh and his guts. When he broke down and screamed, Yami Marik laughed. As the agony only increased, the cries tore from his lips without him even able to try holding them back. And the more he screamed, the more Yami Marik cackled.
"The slightest touch to your wound will be painful from now on!" he prophesied. "You won't be able to forget what's been done here tonight. I won't let you!"
The blood-curdling scream and the crash sent Bakura flying up the stairs two at a time. "Yami!" he cried in alarm. "Yami, what is it?! What's wrong?!" But there was no answer. Not even bothering to knock, Bakura flung open the bathroom door, thankful it was not locked. But as he ran over and pulled the shower curtain aside, he could only stop and stare.
Yami Bakura was sitting down in the tub, the shower beating on him and plastering his hair to his face and neck. He was slumped against the side as he clutched his stomach, his eyes wide with pain. But they were also clearly not focused. He was lost in another delusion.
Bakura was horrified. "Yami, what is it?!" he exclaimed. Kneeling down, he tried to gently pry the thief's hands away from his abdomen. But there was nothing to see. Bakura stared, puzzled, as the hands came away, revealing only the scar from the prior, life-threatening injury.
Yami Bakura heaved, as if coughing up blood. But there was nothing there.
"He's tearing me apart!" he cried, gripping Bakura's shoulders in desperation. "He's ripping me up from the inside out! Can't you see it?!"
Horror and tears filled Bakura's eyes. "No!" he protested. "No, I can't. Yami, it isn't real. It wasn't real. He was just making you think it was happening! Please snap out of it, Yami! Look at yourself---you're not wounded!"
Yami Bakura just looked at him dumbly. "I'm not?" His eyes narrowed. "Bah! You're blind. Don't you think I can tell?!"
"I'm not blind!" Bakura said, the desperation growing in his heart. "Yami, focus! You're here with me. Yami Marik is gone. And you aren't wounded!"
Yami Bakura blinked, as if it was at last registering in his tormented mind. "Bakura . . ." Shaking, he stared down at his stomach. Bakura was right---there were no horrendous, graphic injuries. His skin had not been pierced at all. He let go of the boy, gingerly running his fingers over the scar.
"What's happened to me, Bakura?" he said at last, his voice still far away. "Am I going mad?"
Bakura's heart twisted. "You've gone through things so horrible I can't even begin to fathom them," he said. "No, Yami, you're not mad. It's Yami Marik who's mad." Bitterness crept into his voice with these words. It was Yami Marik's fault. It was all his fault! He had turned a strong, proud man into this suffering creature---and he was proud of that. Bakura was not prone to hate, but seeing Yami Bakura's state, he truly felt that he hated Yami Marik now.
"It's going to be alright, Yami," he said. "I swear, you're going to get well."
Yami Bakura grunted, clearly not of the same opinion. ". . . You're getting wet," he pointed out, changing the subject.
Bakura blinked. He had not even noticed the shower beating down on his hair and clothes. Now that Yami Bakura mentioned it, he realized he was soaked to the skin. "Oh my. I really am," he said, gawking at the drenched sleeve of his sweater.
A slight smirk crept over the tired features. "You didn't even realize," he said.
Bakura straightened up. "I was so worried about you, Yami, I guess I just wasn't paying attention," he said. He reached out a hand. "Here, let me help you."
Yami Bakura just looked at the hand for a moment. Then slowly he extended his own hand, taking hold of Bakura's wrist. Smiling, Bakura returned the gesture and pulled him to his feet.
"Are you sure you should stay in here?" he asked in concern.
"I'm going to finish what I started," Yami Bakura said. In spite of the horrifying experience he had just relived, his eyes were filled with determination.
At last Bakura nodded. Yami Bakura wanted to prove to himself that he could do it, that Yami Marik would not reign over his mind and soul and cause him to not be able to function normally. And even though Bakura was worried, how could he deny that to his friend?
"Well . . . alright then," he said. He reached into the tub, then held up a soggy bar. "You'll need this."
Yami Bakura took the soap, glowering in distaste at its sticky state. But then he proceeded to rub his hands over it, preparing to lather his upper body.
Bakura gave a weak smile as he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
