Chapter Five

Pavement whipped underneath Honda's wheels at a frightening rate of speed. Cars, storefronts, and people along the sidewalk became a riotous blaze of color. The crack of cycling pistons roared in his ears. Wind created in his own passing stung his lips and eyes until they burned. And free of the restraining helmet, it wasn't long before his hair slipped out of its rigid shape.

He wanted to be somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

Why did he storm out the house over something so trivial? It wasn't like he had any control over what his body did while he was asleep! He knew Jounouchi didn't. So who was he to talk? But that didn't matter, because now they all knew that he'd been crying in his sleep, and considering the timing, he could only imagine what kind of connections his friends were going to make.

And I told Jou and Otogi earlier that I'd been thinking about the pharaoh. His eyes widened, and squeezed in pain. He thinks that I…

Oh, not that. Please don't be thinking that.

Things were already too complicated as it was.

A traffic light whizzed overhead. Had it been red? He couldn't be sure. Damn. If I don't focus I'm going to get myself killed. He knew where he was going – there was a nice little park with a fountain, a few benches, a slide…the works. He could see the ocean from there. He'd just park his bike and sit and be quiet for a while. Those dreams were still touching the edges of his mind…begging entry, and promising to explain themselves if he'd only let them back in.

Bullshit, he told them, and shoved them away.

Maybe he was overreacting, but his best friend had no right to say something like that in front of everyone. If Jounouchi and Otogi had stayed silent, he could've gotten away without anyone the wiser. If there was anything he hated more than betrayal, it was pity. Then again, Otogi hadn't admitted anything.

They were probably grilling him about it, now.

If only I hadn't let it get to me. I couldn't look at Jou…but I'm making too much out of this. They were just dreams. Just stupid dreams. I can just laugh…just say I forgot something that I needed to get at home…but it's a thirty minute round trip. Like hell they'd believe I'd waste all that gas for a video game.

Flashing brake lights ahead demanded his wandering attention at last, and he slid to a halt at the next intersection. His engine fumed impatiently. "I'm sorry, baby," he apologized to the motorcycle, "I'll take good care of you when we get home, I promise."

A pretty girl at the crosswalk caught his apology, and gave him an odd look. He blushed. "Huh? Oh…it was just…I was just…"

She kept walking, perhaps a little faster now, and the light flashed green. The car ahead of him rolled into the intersection, and Honda tossed the disappearing girl one last agitated glance as he, too, accelerated.

Oh, what the hell. I'll never see her again, anyway.

But he'd already made himself look like an ass in front of four people that he would be seeing again. Preferably sooner, rather than later. Maybe he could just come clean, and tell them all the whole story? "I could act like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. And you were there, and you…and you…"

But he'd only seen Jou…

A very musclebound, dominating, leather and metal-clad Jou…

"So much for that idea."

But heavily edited, maybe they'd accept his story.

That's what I'll do. And the longer I wait, the harder it'll be. He abandoned the road to the park for a tree-lined sidestreet that would take him on a rapid circuit back to the game store.

Honda swerved to avoid an old lady that walked out in front of him, and looked back to see her drop a bag of groceries and shake a fist at him. He sighed, and turned to face forward again…

And suddenly time slowed to a crawl.

A bouncing rubber ball flashed across the road like a pink meteor, followed by the trailing comet of a toddler, and after that, his terrified mother.

Squealing brakes.

Metal grating on metal as the Yamaha protested to such brutality…

The hollow pop and grind of lovingly painted fenders skidding across asphalt.

A sickening crunch.

Pain. Hellish pain.

Behind him was the dying roar of another powerful engine screeching to a halt.

"Honda! NO!"

The world rang at once with sound, and slid into darkness.

"Get up!"

The words came simultaneously with the thud of his shoulders into something hot, gritty, and hard. He slid with the force of his fall, and tiny granules left racing tracks down the backs of his bare arms and shoulders.

"Get up!"

I can't.

The sun beat against his eyelids, and his skin tingled with the sensation of not-quite sunburns. And bruises. Lots of bruises.

"On your feet, or by the will of Ra, I will make you rise!" A snort of disgust, and a whispered metallic hiss as steel dug into sand beside his head. Thankfully, the shadow of whoever shouted at him blotted out the sun now, and Honda peeled open gritty eyeballs to gaze upward at his…rescuer?

Hah. Some rescuer. Wait…I was on my motorcycle…and that kid ran out in front of me…that's all I remember.

Am I dead?

"Get up!"

If I am, then you're one piss-poor St. Peter, buddy. "I don't think I–" Honda bit off his words with a start. He knew what he was saying, but he had no idea what had just come out of his mouth. That didn't sound like Japanese. That didn't even sound like English. Come to think of it, Mr. Get-Up-Right-Now wasn't making much sense to his ears, either. But whatever the other man said made perfect sense in Honda's head…

And the voice was eerily familiar. The voice that was giving him a superb chance to study it at the moment.

"I did not take you from the ropes to think. One blow to the head does not stop a soldier." The man above him raged, "Not a bodyguard of the pharaoh. With these two hands, I raised you above the muck and sweat in which you crawled. And if you disobey, with these two hands – the gods aid me – I will knock you down again!"

Ropes? Soldier? Pharoah…holy shit. I really must be dead. Or delusional. I doubt people in comas have dreams as interesting as this.

Dreams. Shit.

The memory came back as he pulled at it, distant now in the face of heat and sand. Ignoring the brief spell of dizzy waves, Honda struggled to his feet, expecting a blaze of pain. But it wasn't so bad, really…not as bad as he'd expected, considering that he'd probably just trashed a two-thousand-dollar bike.

But the bike wasn't here. Anywhere. Not to mention the kid, the trees…the town…

The other man glared at him, and gestured toward the sword that stood buried point-down in sand only a few precious inches from where Honda's skull had just lain. The blade was wickedly curved and grooved. The metal looked hammered, rough, but still the edge shone sharp.

"Pick it up."

Honda squinted in the pain-bright afternoon light.

"Pick it up!"

Suddenly, he knew. The realization struck him with more force than the pavement rushing up to greet him.

It was the Not-Jounouchi. The one he'd dreamed about.

Only his sword was unsheathed this time. And he looked very, very pissed.