Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh or any songs from the band Staind. I only own this fic and its idea.

A/N: This fic is subject to many revisions in the near future to get the feel of the song better.

Now that the warning is over, let me tell you things to know. This is one-sided, like my last one, because I'm in a sad and depressive mood right now. This takes place after Battle City, and disregards everything afterwards. I'm using the song Everything Changes by Staind for a type of song-fic, but because those aren't allowed, all lyrics are at the end.

I was listening to this the other night and thought it was perfect. After running the idea by Dawning Twilight (my sister dearest) and Anne la Jordanie (local Yugioh expert and dear friend) and getting a reaction from them I liked, I decided to write it. I hope it pulls at your emotions even a bit, but let me say that it would help listening to the song even more. So if you can find it, listen while reading. Or read, and then listen to it, or vice versa. It's meant to go with the song, and so it's more impactual that way. And now, I'm done, so please read and enjoy this story.

Yami Bakura hadn't meant for things to go so wrong. It was meant to be a small, in-and-out job. Nobody was supposed to get hurt, they were only supposed to get the treasure and then make a clean escape. His hikari had agreed to everything. Everything had been planned out to the last moment. It wasn't meant to fail. It wasn't meant to go astray. He hadn't meant to hurt him.

Everyone was there. Bakura, as he had come to think of himself, had gotten the 'honorary' seat next to the bed. It was anything but amusing. The scents were so strong, the beeping a constant reminder of Ryou's state. Everyone glared at him as he sat there, in the city hospital, staring at the pale and withdrawn face of the white-haired boy in the bed. Yami, the dark side of Yugi, was berating him again. It passed right through Bakura's ears, his mind too intent on the dying boy in front of him.

A nudge through his arm caught his attention, and he remembered to scowl. It was Malik, visiting his old adversaries, and he nodded to Yami's tirade. The thousand year pharaoh was ranting about Ryou's condition. Bakura didn't need another reminder. Seven broken ribs, left arm broken in five places, a crushed right foot, fractures that decorated the innocent boy's skull in swirling patterns, severe internal bleeding, and a diagnosis that he wouldn't last the night. He was dying, and everyone blamed Bakura for his host's present state.

"You have been warned time and again," Yami was saying, "that you've got to take better care of your host." Only Yugi, Malik and himself could hear the spirit, but it didn't matter. The others- Jounouchi, Honda, Anzu, Shizuka, Otogi- knew that something was going on that they weren't aware of and kept silent. There wasn't a single smile, a glimmer of happiness, anywhere. "Now you've just killed an innocent soul, who has only ever helped you with your twisted and evil schemes. When will you learn, every action a person takes has a consequence, a price to be paid?" Even though he was shorter than Bakura, Yami's force of personality bore down on the tomb thief. He stared down his nose, hissing out one last sentence. "As a thief, I'd thought you would know better than anyone else." He nodded to Yugi, who began to gather up their mutual friends. Visiting hours were over, and they had to leave. They wouldn't be around to see him die, and it weighed heavily on their hearts.

As Malik passed, he looked out of the corner of his eye at the prone figure on the hospital bed. "You really did it this time, thief. I hope you can live with yourself." This, said from the ruthless leader of the Ghouls. It would have been laughable, if the situation hadn't been so dire and hopeless. He left with the others, and then only Bakura was left with his other half.

The dark half of Ryou let his mask fall. Nobody else knew how worried he was. Nobody else knew that guilt plagued him for getting his other half into a dead-end situation. Yami was wrong in saying that Bakura didn't take care of his hikari- instead of playing best friend, like Yami did with Yugi, Bakura did whatever he could to grant Ryou's wishes. It was a gruff way of saying thank-you, and deep down, he believed that Ryou knew that it was the only way Bakura knew of saying thank you. He hadn't had a nice upbringing, by any means. It was a silent agreement between the two, on a subconcious level, and nobody else could understand it.

In fact, Bakura couldn't understand why he felt so lost at knowing that his other half was dying. Yes, he would be stuck in the ring once more, the same glowing item that sat beside Ryou's body. His friends had argued to keeping that with Ryou, knowing that, even if they didn't understand it, Ryou always wanted it next to him. Bakura had always thought it was a cage, binding him to a weakling, keeping him from his full potential. But now...he didn't think so.

He had never felt this way about someone. It was foreign, warming him when he was around his light side, making him shiver at the thought of the innocent face being lost forever, never being able to smile again. Even when Bakura had been at his worst, Ryou had always smiled and taken everything in stride. He was amazing, like that. Always taking everyone at face value, holding on to the innocence that made other seem weak but which let Ryou outshine even the strongest of souls. People responded to it, wanting to protect that child-like quality, all of them flocking around him and leaping towards the throat of whomever hurt a single white hair on his head. Even Bakura had caught himself doing that often, but in a much more perminant manner.

The others never saw Bakura's other side. They didn't understand that Bakura was protecting Ryou more than anyone else could ever do. When there was a battle to be fought, Bakura was the one who battled. When someone was lying, or showing how dark a human soul could be, the white-haired thief was there to keep Ryou innocently oblivious. Ryou would never be able to stay himself if he saw what happened in the souls of the darkest men. It would utterly ruin him, but only Bakura could see that.

Maybe that was why he was choosing the path less trodden. He was accepting the consequences, because somewhere down the destiny they both had traversed, Bakura had let down his guard around his hikari. And when that happened, it was completely inevitable that Bakura fall for him. It was impossible not to, with his bright chocolate eyes showing so much and hiding so little, his emotions constantly painting themselves upon his face, his worry over everyone but himself endearing to no end. And anyone who only saw what Bakura showed them would think him insane for admitting that he loved his hikari with all his being.

He wished that he could have stopped time. He wished he could reach out and take Ryou into his arms, not caring what the world thought of him, not caring that he was openly showing his affection. He wished that he could pull Ryou to an embrace that lasted forever. He wished that he could go back to the beginning, wished he had been more open to Ryou. He wished he could have been more like Yami, with a hikari that openly cared for him, and being able to show his affection in return. But wishing wouldn't help Ryou, it would only waste the little time he had left.

Somehow, that made what he was about to do even harder. Giving up everything for the one you love wasn't a decision made lightly, nor was it one made easily. Everyone was selfish when it came down to it- Bakura would readily admit that. Added to the fact that he wasn't a giving soul in general, he had to take a minute to pull himself together. He slowly leaned forward, wishing he had a body to take Ryou's hand. Instead, he let his hand hover over the pale one of his light half, pretending that he could feel the warmth radiating from his body, pretending that, if he wanted, he could pull him into an embrace. But it was only pretend, and he was wasting time that Ryou didn't have.

He closed his eyes. This would be the only chance he had, and he had to do it right. He took a deep breath, one that wasn't real but which motions calmed him even more, and began to push himself into Ryou. That was as close as could be described. He gathered all of what he was, his memories, his personality, his contempt for people, his utter love and devotion to (if not shown, felt for) Ryou, and spun his essence into a thread that fed itself through his hand and into Ryou's. He felt himself fading, slowly, surely, just like he had thought. He let himself go, fought the urge to hold onto himself, and gave all that he was to his one and only love.

Desperation and a sense of need pushed him onward. It didn't take long, and just as he knew he was fading from all sight, Bakura could feel Ryou's hand in his, the cold of death leaving him. If he hadn't seen Ryou slowly breathing easier, if he hadn't felt all that he was made of begin to knit back his broken body, Bakura knew he would have given up to hopeless anguish. But because he knew it would be alright, he was able to smirk at the very end. He was able to leave behind everything he held dear to him, the only sign that he had ever existed a cold metal ring laying next to the innocent boy he had died for.

--:o:--:o:--:o:--

If you just walked away,what could I really say?
And would it matter anyway?Would it change how you feel?

I am the mess you chose, the closet you cannot close.
The devil in you, I suppose, 'cause the wounds never heal.

But everything changes. If I could turn back the years,
If you could learn to forgive me, then I could learn to feel.

Sometimes the things I say in moments of disarray,
Succumbing to the games we play, to make sure that it's real.

But everything changes. If I could turn back the years,
If you could learn to forgive me, then I could learn to feel.

When it's just me and you, who knows what we could do
If we can just make it through the toughest part of the day.

But everything changes. If I could turn back the years,
If you could learn to forgive me, then I could learn to feel.
If we could stay here together, and we could conquer the world.
If we could say that forever is more than just a word.

If you just walked away, what could I really say?
And would it matter anyway? It wouldn't change how you feel.