To You I Owe
Summary: Family. Past, present. Memory, imaginings. Ryou's father threatens the world Ryou has built for himself when, upon remarriage, he brings Ryou to live with them in ?. (BxR)
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh : (
A/n: I'm hoping the response to this isn't going to be death. There will also be slash, people, just a warning! J
Chapter 1 To You I Owe
Ryou shivered in the predawn darkness of his yard. For now the darkness slept, leaving him these precious few moments of freedom before his cage once more closed its metal latch between him and the view of freedom. It wasn't an option for him, but he loved to breathe it in. For a short time, he could pretend to be free. Like the others in his family were.
He had a sister, far away. She stayed in England with their mother, while he moved to Japan with their father. Mama and Amane didn't come to visit them. Come to that, neither did his Father. He was a good son and kept the place tidy for them, but none of them came to call. Were they waiting for an invitation?
Sometimes he wrote the invites out. He even used special paper, more expensive than the other choices. He had to go to a specialty store to buy it. Its name wouldn't come to him right now, but it sounded nice on his tongue, and the paper felt funny to the touch. His sister liked those kinds, and so he tried to send her as many different styles as he could find.
Today, maybe, they would come to visit him. Or Father, with his quiet eyes and lined face. It had been months since his father came, and there was so much that Ryou wished to share with him. He was fifteen now, wasn't he? Something told him this was new, that his father didn't know of that change. Or was he nine? Nine seemed like a nice number, though he was sure it wasn't his age anymore. Something big came when he was nine, though. What could that have been?
Actually, wasn't he sixteen? Amane would have been thirteen today. That was why his father should be home, wasn't it? His sister had a birthday today. So he was watching, ready to show his father inside, or his mother when she brought over the birthday girl. There would be cake, of course. He'd already baked it the day before, and frosted it sometime around two that morning. When he'd finished, he remembered his dark shadow wrapping him in a blanket and making him go to bed.
Funny how sometimes his keeper didn't hurt him. There were times when the dark shadow was gentle, like at night when he tucked him into those strong arms of his and let the clouds put his mind to sleep.
Wandering back to the step, Ryou slid down one of the posts to sit and continue watching the road. He'd never fly away, because then his shadow would be alone. That's why he couldn't go where Amane and Mama waited, no matter how much they wanted him to. Sometimes, Ryou wondered if that was where his father really was, not Egypt.
If he was in Egypt, though, Ryou wondered if his father liked it when it was cold or hot. He himself would like it hot better, he was sure. Night was too dark. He hated the endless sky when it was black. Things could come at you. And if you fell, there were only little spots of light to land upon. No, he'd like it better when the sun was beating down, and the sand was reflecting back the fire in its face.
Thinking of the things in the dark made him uneasy, but he wanted to be there if one of his family came home. They might leave if nobody was there to greet them, thinking that he disappeared like they did. So he would wait outside. Even if he was cold in just his father's shirt, he was going to wait until the sun came up. Then his dark shadow would be stirring, and would make him come inside and get dressed.
His thoughts quieted and Ryou cuddled into a ball on the steps, his deep brown eyes trained on the road. When he was still like this, the ring had a pulse that he could feel. It was steady against his chest, like a soft tickle. It reminded him of the pulse you felt when you squeezed your hands tight, but this wasn't in tune with his own heartbeat. It had its own rhythm.
At one time, Ryou had been sure that at least the shadow's heart would beat in time with it, but that proved false as well. All three were different entities. Which was okay. They were the same, too, but he didn't mind that, either. He did wonder if, together, they would make a whole.
Gold was spilling from the cracks in the clouds when Ryou felt the first stirrings in his shadow's being. Day was crawling out of bed, and would bring the ancient one with it. None of his family were there yet, but in the light he was sure they'd be able to find their way to the door.
Behind him the door opened, and a warm weight settled against his back, long, muscular legs stretching to either side of him. Fingers played with the tangles in his long, white hair, and Ryou obligingly leaned back into that warm chest. The soothing caress of fingers sifting his hair lulled him into a lethargic dose.
"It's time to come inside, kitten," the shadow ordered. The words rumbled through the chest Ryou rested against, a comfortable vibration through the material of his shirt. Having no interest in moving from so comfy a position, Ryou gave a whimper of complaint and remained where he was.
A sigh tickled the top of his head and they stayed like that a little longer. The shadow continued playing through his hair, and Ryou, through half-lidded eyes, watched the steady stream of morning traffic passing the house. It would be funny if his father pulled up right then. A tingle of amusement was felt in his stomach as he imagined introducing his father to the shadow draping itself over his back.
"You sitting here, undressed, in our position, would have nothing to do with your amusement."
Laughing, Ryou twisted and looked up into the shadow's face. Even in the poor lighting, the Egyptian orient of those features was obvious. Most interesting, though, was the jagged scar at the other's eye. One dark scar skewering two others. With his own body, the shadow was a man. Taller, older, broader. Where he in his twenties, when he died Ryou wondered. Lifting his hand, Ryou traced is fingers over the mark. It pitted beneath the touch, evidence of how deep it must once have been carved.
There would have been lots of blood, he was sure.
"You know that they aren't coming," were the harsh words the shadow next spoke. "Not your mother, not your sister, and certainly not that useless Father."
Removing his hand from the shadow's cheek, Ryou turned his back to him and slumped in on himself. Shutting the shadow out. For a little longer they sat in peace. It ended with a bruising grip closing over his wrist, and the other forcefully dragging him to his feet. "Enough." It was time to go in.
He was led perforce through the entryway and the den, then up the chipping and creaky stairs. Their bedroom was the destination, with its white walls marred by his pencil drawings. Ryou didn't struggle on the way, and only uttered a small gasp as he was thrown down onto the bed.
Ryou shifted enough to make himself comfortable, and then laid still while he was buried under the heavy quilts. A cool draft hit his side where the shirt rode up when the edge of the pile was lifted so another could join him. Arms closed over him, pulling him to a warm chest beneath the weighty layers of material. Time to sleep again.
Obediently he closed his eyes, but, as always, sleep recoiled from his plea. So he waited. For the hand sliding beneath his shirt to still, for the butterflies beating their wings in his stomach to die.
Or for death to undo itself.
Sleep's comfort was the first to succumb to his patience. It was not restful, the visions it granted his mind dark and elusive when he later tried to grasp their memory, but it was sleep nonetheless, and for that he was thankful.
When he awoke much later, it was to a large hand curved over his abdomen and the rumbling purr of his shadow's chest in sleep. Light was cracking through the blinds pulled to conceal the daylight outside. The clock on the wall was boasting eleven. Conscious of how long he'd been out, Ryou shifted, ghosting the touch of those long fingers lower. Gooseflesh prickled him as he tried to slide out of those encumbering arms.
The shadow's grip tightened, the other having awakened with his movements. "Not yet." As with any command, Ryou fell still as he heard it. It wouldn't do to anger the other. So they lay there, and he waited to be released.
It was Amane's birthday, Ryou reminded himself. He filled his mind on thoughts of this to distract himself from his reality. He imagined her and his mother coming in, and how her green eyes would shine when they saw the cake he'd made for her. It was vanilla and made with pudding, the kind she loved. With chocolate icing, of course, and small candies that spelt out her name on top. He'd even bought candles, pinks, blues, greens and yellows. Three of each color, and then a white one so that no color would be uneven.
Dry lips traced his neck. Pinpricks of pain followed behind their trail, welling warmth that might have been dribbles of blood. His blood always tasted the best in the morning, that was what the shadow said.
Amane would love her cake. He didn't have a present for her, but she'd forgive him. Sometimes she said that she liked his hugs better, anyway, and that they were enough. They'd hold hands while they ate, and then he'd take her to see Yugi's shop. There she could pick out some cards, if she liked, and he could ask his tiny friend to teach her how to play. He couldn't, he didn't play even for fun anymore. She should know the game, though. He could guide her to the cards that would protect her innocence, ones that would benefit from her kind heart and gentle spirit.
Maybe she'd like the fairies and the friendship cards, like Anzu. Would defense be something she liked, or would offense appeal more to her? Some geared their game around strong defenses, after all. Most seemed to concentrate on the offense, but that wasn't smart. Better to be versed in both, and ready for any direction your opponent might go in.
Other games would probably be better for her, really. Or, maybe, it would be best if he took her to choose something safer. A book, perhaps? That was something that had no power to turn on her.
Soft moans escaped Ryou's mouth as the shadow suckled on the wounds he'd left. It was getting harder to concentrate on his thoughts. The shirt had been rolled to his armpits, freeing more terrain for the hands beneath their blankets. A knee brushed his backside, racing heat through his lower body. Contact was made a second time, urging apart his legs to brush inner thighs.
It all ended with a chaste kiss pressed to the groove of his jaw as the hot skin left his. The shadow rolled away and rose from the bed, throwing the blankets away from them both as he stood. Ryou shuddered and listened as the darkness went out of the room, leaving him there, breathing deeply and alone.
No matter how he dreamt it would be, his life wasn't going to change. Part of him knew his mother and sister would never come, that birthdays were gone along with his father. But these thoughts only made the empty feeling in his stomach expand, and so he cast them away. The headache was returning, and he didn't wish to focus on anything that would make it worse. Day could do that task well enough on its own.
Forcing his body out of the bed, Ryou pushed his shirt down to again cover his body before pulling on a pair of pants. A shadow in the living room was restless.
Sunlight splashed across the stained counter Ryou bent over, its bright fingers playing between the candles on an untouched cake. Sliced carrots and potatoes lay forgotten nearby with the knife he'd used as his eyes remained glued to his finger. A dribble of blood was dripping from a gash over the thick of its tip, creating a small puddle in the middle of the food.
Part of his mind knew that he should move quickly to wipe up the blood before it could ruin the food. More of it was focused on the stinging finger, with its blood trickling away. If the shadow cared to be out there with him, that blood would be sucked from his finger by it. Perhaps, he mused, the sun scared it away. Most rooms in the house had blinded windows to keep the sunlight from reaching them. The kitchen alone gave it access. It was the kitchen, also, where the shadow did not often creep during the daylight hours.
It might have been discomfort. The shadow was the one who didn't like the light, he was pretty sure. Or it might have been disinterest. Ryou was the only one who went out there each day. He shied from the light in his movements, taking care never to step where it stained the room, but he still didn't mind its company. It was quieter than the shadow. The only pain it caused was to his eyes.
The blood finally slowed and Ryou pressed beneath the wound with his other hand, tempting a second flow of blood to spill. It was a waste, he supposed. So much blood spilt that the shadow would not taste.
A door clicked shut somewhere else in the house. Ryou ignored the feeling that someone else was there. No one was there, just him and his shadow. It would have been that other prowling restlessly.
Fingers closed over his shoulder, but they were weaker than the grip he was accustomed to having settle there. Still Ryou gave a silent gasp and bowed his head. "Ryou," a hardly recognizable voice spoke, "did you not hear me call?"
Worrisome, Ryou mused, that he heard the door close but not the sound of the man's voice. "Welcome home, Father," he murmured politely, lifting his face and half-turning to look up at the older man. A warmth teased at his chest when he saw the man standing there in flesh and blood, but that heat couldn't last long faced with the chill emptiness of his world. It faded swiftly into a numb acceptance.
Eugene Bakura was every bit the archaeologist in appearance as he was in profession. Wuite a bit taller than his son, but not really what one would call an overly tall man, he was an unassuming fellow with thinning copper hair and worn tanned skin that had seen more than its share of sunlight. When matched against the holed image in his memory, Ryou decided that the man had probably not changed much in appearance these last… months? Last years? He did look tired, though that seemed to also match up with what he knew.
"Ryou? Son, your-" Ryou canted his head to the side with a polite frown. His father's voice wavered, dying as green eyes caught sight of the cake forgotten on the sideboard. Why did the man flinch? Or look so pale?
Without any more words, Eugene ignored Ryou's patient confusion and, taking him by the arm, led him to the bathroom. Warmth surged from the ring into his chest as they moved, signaling the possession of the shadow. There was only the briefest of pauses on the way in which the older man seemed to take stalk of his surroundings and remember where the room he sought could be found. Ryou couldn't fault him for the confusion, as it had been a while since his last visit.
Inside the Lou with its browns and coppers, Ryou sat patient as the man wrapped a damp cloth around his injury. It seemed a bit much for a shallow cut, but he didn't see any reason to argue. He just watched his father fret over him, and wondered at the show of emotions that constantly shifted over the other's features. He felt sure that he was missing something.
Fingers combed Ryou's hair out of his eyes. It felt very different from the shadow's touch, his father's fingers coarse and fumbling in a clumsy motion they were unaccustomed to. Ryou continued to look up at the man, noting how the other continuously avoided meeting his eyes. "Would you like anything?" He asked his father politely. The man frowned, not answering this question, but it did seem to break the ice.
"I met someone, Ryou," he seemed to force out. A light red hue was working its way onto the other's skin. Most everyone met someone, Ryou wanted to assure the nervous man. It was quite normal, considering how many other people there were in the world. Some thing/urge inside of him, however, held him silent. "Her name is Kate. Kathleen in full."
The man paused there, as if waiting for some type of statement. Ryou just watched him patiently as the hand in his hair shifted further back. Some of his shorter bangs tumbled back into his eyes, not that he cared. It made him safer, to have this barrier between himself and others. His thoughts fell off as the man went on. "We get along very well. We, well, she and I are planning to get married soon. And we want you to be a part of this."
A vacancy yawned wider when these words met Ryou's ears. For a few moments he tried to piece together why he felt this way at what his father said. When that proved fruitless, he spent a few moments more puzzling over the words that the man had spoken. "I'm to be in your wedding?" This he asked politely, confused over why this would be wanted. His father's new wife wouldn't know him, after all, and his father didn't really know him either.
"No," the man frowned. Ryou sighed internally at yet another puzzle, the way the man gazed at him in nervous concern. "We want you to be a part of our family. I've left my job for a while, and we're moving. We'll be sharing her house with her and her son. I've already given up our lease here, and let the landlord", Ryou shivered at that word, "know that he needs to look for new tenants at the end of the month. Our lease would soon have been up, anyway."
Nothing else was said that night on either the pending move or the upcoming marriage. Ryou was thankful, as his mind still quivered with his struggle to forget both. Rather lost at what to do in his father's presence, and without anything to say, Ryou followed behind the other as he set about throwing open the blinds to let sunlight into rooms it hadn't touched for as long as Ryou could remember. The brightness hurt his eyes, but he gave no complaint.
As each blind folded in on itself, and the dust from them clouded from being unsettled by the movement, the small frown on Ryou's father's face deepened. Considering how the rooms looked in the clarity of sunlight, Ryou decided that he couldn't blame him for being unimpressed. Dust case a gray film over much of the furniture, and there were cracks and holes here and there through the plaster of the walls just the right size for a fist.
Several times Ryou found himself looking on as his father parted his lips, or started as if to speak, but the few times words passed the man's lips there was nothing to them. Instructions, maybe. Or a question on where a half-remembered item had gone. Ryou had very little memory of any of the things his father mentioned.
End Ch.6
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