(A/N: Fifth and final part. A/U to the max. Part of this alludes to my one-shot 'Stolen Prayers'. Enjoy.)

V

Every day, I can hear the rockets fly,

Over the graves of too many who have died.

Fighting for land, some ancient holy shrine;

I'll bet your blood runs red, just the same as mine…

The sounds of war were so much louder now, so much closer.

"You've got your work and I've got mine."

"Bakura, you're not involved in anything even remotely related to this. I doubt you're even listed as a person on any kind of record anywhere in the country. Heck, in the world."

"Doesn't matter."

"Damn it, yes it does! You're not going off into that hell-hole to loot bodies and get yourself–" Seto cut himself off abruptly, realizing what he'd been about to say.

Bakura smirked. He knew it too. "You tried to tell me what to do once before, you know. I left for months. When I came back, you were furious. Furious and maybe a little attention starved, too. I did it once and I'll do it again. You'll always be left behind waiting."

There were two routes Seto felt he could take, one being denial and the second being the one he chose. Denial no longer felt completely plausible in his head, and so he chose the other course. "What if I'm not waiting when you get back? What if I die while you're gone?"

That made Bakura do a double-take. "What?"

"Think about it. The fighting's moving around every day. Last night you could see it from my window. What if tonight it's above my house? What would you do if you came back to ashes and ruin and just another gravestone? What would you do then?" It may have sounded harsh and it may have sounded paranoid, but the statement had been a fact. Last week the majority of battles had been centered in Kyoto. Now they were here. Where would they be next week, up near Hokkaido? There was no way of knowing.

"… I'd do what I did last time."

"And what would that be?" Seto demanded.

"Wait."

Seto sighed, and loudly. "There's no way for someone to come back from the dead."

Bakura was remarkably cool with his response. "I'm a remarkable example of that phenomenon. Though I guess technically I never did quite die."

It was queer. Vaguely familiar, like a dream he'd always had but never remembered the following morning. The image sort of slid into view behind his eyes (and yet in front of them too, because he could see it) and ghosted around the edges, with that faded quality they use in movies to make something seem old. Bakura, but a different looking Bakura than the one he knew; a Bakura (with mocha-dark skin and a scar across his eye and a scarlet-red robe about his shoulders and a peculiar expression on his face) was standing next to a big man with an axe, his head down and his hands tied. The strange Bakura looked up – at him – and smiled and then was killed.

Seto backed up a few steps, hand over his mouth, stomach wrenching.

Bakura took a step forward, extending one hand towards him. "Seto?"

Seto shook his head, still backing up. "What did you do?"

"I did nothing." Bakura said flatly, "What are you talking about?"

"You… your head… it wasn't…" Seto shook his head again, putting one hand on his forehead.

"… What did you see?"

"You died." Seto finally backed up against the outside wall of his house and butted up against it, unable to move any further away. He was still pressing his palm against his mouth, fighting off being sick, and he was shaking, though he looked like he hated it.

Bakura swallowed, then advanced several steps. "I died once, a long time ago. But my soul didn't. It's still here. I'm right in front of you, Seto."

"What's wrong with you?" Seto's eyes were wide as he stared at Bakura, like he still could see the other neck with no skull attached and the other clothes and the other other Bakura. He bit his lip, hard, until blood streaked onto his chin and dripped to the ground, and then he looked down, his knees quaking nearly to the point of his not being able to stand up.

"Stop it." Bakura said firmly, finally advancing and putting his hands on Seto's face to hold him steady when he tried to look away from his nearness. "I'm right here. I'm real, Seto, you know that."

"How are you… ?"

"You don't believe it, remember? Don't try to start like this. Start by believing little things, things I've told you. Don't believe what you see. You haven't slept well, it's like a dream. Just calm down."

Seto was still chewing his lower lip, the cut allowing more blood keep on dribbling out, staining clear, bright red on his white shirt. He didn't much seem to be listening.

Bakura bit his own lip then, hard enough to make it bleed. An idea struck him; he slid a hand around Seto's neck and pulled him forward to kiss hard. Kissed him long enough that Seto had to work to breathe when they pulled apart, and then said in a low voice, "Is there any difference?"

That made Seto blink and wipe across his mouth with the back of his hand before replying, perplexed, "What do you mean?"

"Does it taste any different? Older? Colder? Do I taste like a dead person?"

Seto faltered. "No…"

"Then I'm not. It's simple, isn't it?" Bakura pulled back, wiping the blood from his own face. "Now I've got to leave. You've put me behind schedule."

Seto was scrambling to seize a hold on the situation. "Wait, you're not going to raid, are you?"

"Of course I am. I've nothing better to do with my time. You've got your work, and I've got mine."

"You said that already."

"And I meant it." Bakura said sharply, moving towards the street, "Don't forget me while I'm gone." And then he was.

Seto's words were for no one but himself. "… I won't."