Equilibrium

Genres: Supernatural, Drama

Summary: Destroying demons was their life's work, but for a demon too powerful to be killed, the most they could do was bind it to the strongest among them. / AU Tendershipping, samurai!Ryou x demon!Bakura

A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed on Chapter One: millenniumspoon, Shadow fairy princess, Ryou VeRua, San child of the wolves, and TrebleTwenty.

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter II: Like Truth

Ryou watched the others return from a demon-hunting expedition—the carcass of an Abaki must be purified for it to be fully dead and no longer a threat to them, and the most practiced elders would ensure that it happened before nightfall. He sat on the grass by the side of one of the temple buildings, overlooking the hillside where the others walked, single-file, and reached down to pluck a blade of grass from the ground with two fingers.

Two more would sprout in its place before long. He rolled the thin blade between his fingers, feeling the texture, rougher on one side when he dragged his thumb upward. The hillside and the forest beyond were covered with grasses, some as tall as his waist, and trees with thick trunks and tall branches that seemed to scrape against the clouds served as houses for the demons there.

He cast the grass aside and reached for a blue flower, nestled against the green. He snapped the stem and raised it closer to his face. Stretching out his feet, he glanced to either side. No other flowers grew along this stretch of grass that he could see. He doubted another would ever grow to replace it.

He tucked the flower inside his sash, slipping it between two layers of fabric. It didn't seem right, to just toss it away like it had meant nothing.

The demon was right where he'd left him, bound to the column in the center of the darkened room. He shot Ryou a look, and relaxed his arms slightly to rattle the chains.

"You've taken your time returning, samurai," he said. "What could possibly be more important?"

"I'm not going to release you." Ryou had made the decision upon waking that morning, and resolved to keep it. "You don't have a right to freedom. I am not going to risk the safety of this temple by removing those chains. I will watch you and safeguard your power, as is my charge."

Bakura scoffed, "You are hardly using it. It is going to waste in your care. What have you done but scratch the surface? Tell me. I want to know."

"That is not your concern." Ryou folded his arms behind his back, all the more conscious of their difference in position, with him still standing and Bakura leaning back against the wooden column. He made it look comfortable, but Ryou would never be so at ease in the demon's presence to allow himself to replicate the gesture. "I am not here to be your companion, or your advocate, or your informer."

"Oh?" Bakura raised one slim eyebrow. "What are you here for, then? Do you even know?"

"I am your keeper. I have questions for you; there are some things I want to know. You will answer them."

"You've been ignoring my questions, Ryou. Why then should I answer yours?"

Bakura's use of his name was unsettling. Ryou had been wondering if he would use it, and what it would sound like as he spoke it. There was power and familiarity in using someone's name, and the demon knew it. Ryou would not rise to his bait. He did not want to hear himself speak the demon's name.

"You will answer them. I can make things very difficult for you if you resist."

"Strange," Bakura said. "You did not mention serving as my jailer." He grinned, as if challenging Ryou further, and refused to look away when their eyes met. "But very well. Ask me your questions."

"How many keepers have you had before me?" he asked.

"Most were less than capable." Bakura's tone was airy, almost conversational as he drew out each word. "They run together. Many died young, you see—your instructor is an anomaly there. His company was disagreeable, I could never engage him in conversation. Not like you."

"The number. Please." His patience grew whisper-thin, and he wondered why he had ever been curious to know more about Bakura when everything he did seemed to reinforce Ryou's dislike of him.

"You are the fourteenth. Since you asked so nicely."

"And how long have you been here?" There was a lantern glowing in the antechamber, visible through the open door, and Ryou focused on its flickering light instead of looking at Bakura.

"Now, for that you'll need to be more specific," he said. "I have lived for so many thousands of years, you'll excuse me if the time runs together. I believe I took up residence in this area several centuries ago—there are some caves, in the mountains—although I would come to the forest to hunt. I believe that shortly after your temple began its operations. Now, the success of those operations is relative—"

Ryou glanced at him sharply. "I would argue that since you are here, there is nothing to doubt. Now, answer the question. You know what I meant."

"Simplicity and straightforwardness is important, Ryou. If I am going to teach you anything, I suppose I should start with that. Ask exactly what you want to know, and you will get the answers you seek. And do sit down, if you're feeling weary." The chains clanked together as Bakura gestured to the open space in front of him.

"Do not think I don't know what you are trying to do. You—you think you can mold me, that I am impressionable enough to listen to you?" The floor creaked as Ryou took a step forward, leaning over Bakura and forcing him to tilt his head up to maintain their unbroken eye contact. "It is no wonder my master advised that I not speak to you."

"I do not think that, Ryou," Bakura said, and Ryou flinched at the use of his name. He nodded in satisfaction. "Of all my caretakers, I would say that I prefer your spirit. I am also enjoying wearing your face—"

Ryou's hands, kept firmly clenched together behind his back, withdrew to punch Bakura solidly across the face. Afterward, he stared at his hands as if uncertain about what they had just done, and took a step backward. His breathing was too quick, too loud, and he focused on regulating that, hating the look in Bakura's eyes when he turned his head back to regard him directly. Ryou wondered if his own face would ever look like that, all sharp angles and ascended ego, unswerving and meaningful and sinister. Suddenly, he wanted to be as far away from the demon as he could.

"I-I'll be back." He stepped towards the door.

"But I thought you wished for me to answer your questions?" Bakura's leering grin cut through the darkness, his eyes reflecting light as they seemed to glow red for a moment. The punch had not even marked his face. "I can tell from your expression, you still have a few left."

"I am no longer interested."

"Ah, you lie. I don't even need to see your face to know the truth there."

"And what do you know of truth?" he asked.

"More than you. Come back when you have something worth my involvement."

"Worth your—" He could feel Bakura's gaze on his back as he left, turned and stormed away in refusal to watch his face on that demon, listen to him speak his own name with a voice that sounds so much like his but still so wrong, to supply his entertainment. His words would be hard enough to grasp if they came from someone else, but when faced with a specter of himself, it was near impossible.

Especially when he was right. Ryou couldn't think that right now, it was too dangerous to even consider, but the thought crept inside, insidious and reproachful.

He decided to spend the rest of the afternoon training, and didn't like it when the act of sending Junta and two other adepts crashing to the floor made him feel better. Restraining his tension was made harder by the fact that there was no one he could speak to about it, save his master and the demon whose power hummed alongside his veins, neither of whom he wanted to consult.

But one of them he could not afford to avoid for long.

Bakura continued their conversation as if nothing had happened to disrupt it. "When you hit me, you should have used my power—it would have left a lovely mark. You could have damaged me, but I don't think the thought even occurred to you."

"It hadn't," was the honest response.

"Pity." Bakura looked bored, now, and it raised Ryou's ire. He knew it was irrational—knew the demon was doing it fully on purpose—but it irked him that he was not enough to keep Bakura's full attention.

"You won't have the opportunity again," he continued.

Well, Bakura had his attention. "What?"

"You think you have the power here—and you do, but just because you have my power does not mean that you have power over me." His every gesture was languid and measured—lifting an arm to cradle the back of his head, swiping his tongue across his top teeth. "That's something else I shouldn't have to teach you, but will."

"There's not a thing you can teach me I don't already know." And Ryou didn't know where the thought came from, couldn't trace the genesis of it if he tried, but Bakura was giving him that unconvinced look again and he felt empowered. "And that's not something you can prove."

"Oh?" The way he said it was far too delicate. "…Pity."

"The temple's masters are going after a tribe of Warwolves that have been causing trouble in the surrounding villages." Ryou wondered just what exactly he was doing, but he wanted to change the conversation and he spoke about the first thing his mind latched on to.

"How nice for them." His expression remained disinterested, but his eyes were telling. Ryou thought he was getting better at reading him.

"I thought you might like to know something about what's going on outside these walls." And he tapped the closest one with the back of his right hand, still standing, listening to the muted sound. "Unless staring at them is enough for you. It wouldn't be, for me."

"How nice for you." He leaned his head to the left to stretch the muscles in his neck. "How does it feel, to be left out of that?" He grinned, like he suddenly found a vulnerable place in Ryou's armor. "Not that it would matter, of course. You still refuse to actually use my power. I'd love to see you in action, you know. It would be thrilling."

"That will never happen," Ryou said.

Bakura sighed, glancing away, bored again, leaving the rest unspoken—what a pity, what a pity.

It didn't feel right to just waste it.

He found himself on the hill overlooking the main temple buildings, and combed a hand through the grass, enjoying the sharp sweetness of the air. There were no flowers growing here, and for that he was almost glad. The petals were beautiful and delicate, good for little more than looking at; he supposed some insects might use them for food, but even more would be crushed under the feet of the other students without even noticing its existence at all. And what did that say, that someone like him would pay more attention to a tiny flower than to the more pressing matters concerning their way of life? The demons were growing too powerful, and the newer adepts were not strong enough to defeat anything stronger than a Cat's Ear Tribe on their own. Traveling and fighting in large groups gave them an advantage over more powerful enemies, but it hindered their speed and ultimately allowed those same enemies to escape.

Ryou knew he could never join a hunting group, not when he could not explain the source of his power. To them all, Bakura could not exist. They could not see him.

They did not have to see him.

A plan began to grow in his mind the more he thought about it, a way to stretch the demon's dormant muscles and find a use for all that power. It was no good to either of them unless it could be put to good use, and he knew Bakura would approve of it—and that didn't worry him as much as he knew it should have—and they could simultaneously destroy the very creatures that plagued their region.

It was creative, using a demon to destroy other demons, and if their power was truly so fearsome there would be none who could stand in their way. He could save whole villages, make a name for himself as their strongest warriors had. Filled with anticipation, he made for his master's quarters, determined to share his plans.

Their conversation had gone as well as he expected, but Ryou was not discouraged. Standing outside of the dilapidated building, its exterior marred by the evidence of burns and environmental damage, he paced, crunching dead leaves underfoot.

"I can contain him," he had argued, "and should he prove unyielding we will stop. I only ask for the opportunity to try."

"I worry for you, Ryou," his master said. "When I saw him wearing your face I almost could not tell you apart. And now that you are bound, his aura surrounds you. I do not doubt that you could keep him in check, but I worry that the conditions placed on your bond would inhibit his fighting. He is bound to follow your orders, and cannot directly hurt you—if you fight and get hurt alongside him, would that count as an violation? He could take advantage of this to test those limitations."

"I am sure he will." Ryou stood straight, his hands folded behind his back, watching his master's face intently. "But isn't it just as important for us to be conscious of these limitations as well? So we can better keep them?"

"You are the demon's keeper, Ryou," his master said, "and consequently you alone shall have the decision, and the liability."

The decision was easy, but he was unsure how Bakura would respond. Hopefully, with gratitude.

As he walked inside the building, past the antechamber into the main room, he could hear Bakura humming something, some outdated melody. He stopped when Ryou paused before him, unspeaking.

Ryou thought he might be ready to cross that line. Slowly, he sank into a seated position across from him, tucking his legs underneath his body and resting his arms loosely by his sides.

Bakura's eyes widened slightly. "Decided to finally join me, did you?"

"You have it wrong." Ryou tried to sound dispassionate, but he could not keep the interest from creeping into his voice. "You will be joining me. Tomorrow, we hunt Warwolves."

"What?"

Ryou took pleasure in surprising Bakura. He allowed the smallest of grins to lift the corners of his mouth, and leaned an inch closer. "Tomorrow, we hunt Warwolves."

Bakura reciprocated the gesture, but his own expression was far more satisfied. "I look forward to it."

Later that evening he sorted through his clothes and found the crumpled flower in the fabric of one of his sashes. The petals were all ripped and the stem was bent; it was no longer beautiful, but that didn't make it any less a flower.

He repeated the thought to himself like a mantra as he closed his eyes to sleep.

Tomorrow we hunt Warwolves.

To be continued…

Notes:

1) The demons mentioned in this chapter are from the cards Abaki, Cat's Ear Tribe, and the Gene-Warped Warwolf, all of which are either Beast-type or Beast-Warrior type monsters.

2) Thank you for reading. I would appreciate and value your reviews!

~Jess