Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any Yugioh character depicted in this fic.

Jabberwocky

"And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgy wood,

And burbled as it came!"

"Jabberwocky" - Lewis Carrol

The apartment was dark; the air musty and stale, lending a slightly decrepit aspect to the room. Generally this would have inspired slight panic in him, the walls closing around in choking solitude. He moved towards the kitchen, shrugging off his coat and tugging at his tie until the knot rested low on his chest. Filling the kettle he set it to boil and fetched a mug from the cupboard. About to settle onto the bar stool at the kitchen counter he stiffened, head turning slowly. The blinds . . . and his routine, one that he had set so much store by, one that was responsible for maintaining his sanity through so many dark days, had been broken so quickly, so quietly, so subtly it had not even registered in his mind. Breathing hard, pupils dilating in the still dark apartment he sat very still. A bird flew past outside, a dove, its crooning call drifting after the shadow cast by the sweep of its wings. And still he sat in darkness, wonder at this new discovery growing in him. He was no longer afraid. His imagination cast no looming, flighty, snatching shadows, no spine-chilling, spectral laughter echoed in his ears, manufactured to realistic perfection by years of waiting for that very sound in deepest dread. Moving slowly, unconsciously carrying his empty mug, he entered the living room and stood silently at the centre. And he summoned a presence.

"You called?"

The thief stood opposite him, leaning against the mantlepiece, a gleam from under the lidded eyes the only indication that he was being observed. He saw the gaze travel around the apartment, lingering long on the still drawn blinds, the rumpled sofa, the dust on the coffee table, returning to his own silent countenance. And he saw a slight, possibly imagined, flicker of unease. He shifted, moving forward towards the yami's translucent form.

"You said you would help me."

"I did."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I will show you."

"No. Tell me."

It was a command, despite the soft, cultured tones, the polite enunciation. The spirit considered him again, narrowly.

"As you wish. I will have to instruct you in the basic principles of shadow magic; how to bend the shadows to your will without being consumed by them. You've had more than a single brush with the Shadow Realm and you survived, somehow, without any lasting damage. Being the lighter half of my own soul may have contributed, possibly you have an innate resilience."

Bakura stood, head slightly tilted, listening carefully. At the mention of his sojourn in the Shadow Realm he had not even flinched. The spirit smirked.

"Are you ready to place yourself in my hands, boy? Do you trust me?"

A slight pause. Then, "Yes."

Eyes widening slightly the thief turned away and appeared to be absorbed in the framed photographs on the mantlepiece. Running a finger gently over the portrait of a very young Bakura seated happily in his mother's lap, he asked, very softly, "And why this sudden change?"

Reflected in the glass frame, he could see Bakura watching him intently. "I know you won't hurt me. Yami Yugi challenged you, and you will never allow him to be right."

Hissing slightly, he remained facing away, the finger now idly traveling across a photograph of Bakura, slightly older, hands resting lightly on his younger sister's shoulders, both squinting into the sunlight and smiling with the awkwardness of children who have had to hold their position for too long.

"So. You agree? You will absorb everything that I teach you, you will not grow nervous, try to run away or disobey a direct instruction?"

"I'll do my best."

He swung round, approaching the boy until their noses almost touched. Bakura took an involuntary step backwards, but the spirit did not sneer or comment. The dark eyes, so different from his own, and yet so similar, seemed to hold him in slight hypnosis, a cobra poised to strike.

"Your best might not be enough, young one. You must give everything you have and when you feel that you can do nothing more, I will be the one to push you even further. That is my role and I will fulfil it. I am your darkness and you need fear me no more."

"Usi was not skilled in the Shadow craft, here may lie our advantage. Whatever power he possessed which allowed him to return to this time may be great, but a master of the shadows always has the advantage. A penalty game conforms to the highest principles of the old magic, shadow magic itself is too volatile to command to perform a specific function unless handled by a master. Such as myself."

In the flickering firelight of his soul room, Bakura allowed the spirit a moment to preen. "What do you want me to do?"

"You have faced the shadows, and nearly been consumed had I not retrieved you in time."

Bakura noticed that the spirit had failed to mention that it had been himself who had banished his soul to the Shadow Realm in the first place. Wisely, he remained silent.

"In order to control them, you must face them again. Are you willing?"

Bakura nodded, quelling the nervousness coiling in the pit of his stomach. "Yes."

The spirit looked him over, noting and approving the erect posture, the clenched fists and the newly forged steel reinforcing the normally placid gaze. "Very well. I shall open a portal to the Shadow Realm. At first, you will merely accustom yourself to the . . . feelings it induces. A simple banishing or repellent will suffice to fend off most of the creatures inhabiting the Shadow Realm from the wielder of an item of power. Although I shall demonstrate both, you should keep in mind that a repellent needs to be maintained continuously to have any effect, and to someone new to the environment, such as yourself, this may be quite taxing on your strength. You shall call out to me if you feel threatened or the pressing need to return."

From the thief's tone, Bakura knew that he would not be pleased if he chose the latter option. He was very aware that this particular tutor had little patience for weakness and would be teaching him one of the most difficult lessons he had ever experienced.

"Afterwards, I will set you a task to perform without any assistance. Should you succeed, you can count yourself as somewhat adequate in controlling the shadows. Come here."

The spirit demonstrated the basic elements of the banishing ritual. Bakura had had little previous control of the Millenium Ring, so this presented a lot more difficulty to him than to his yami, to whom manipulation and illusions came as second nature.

"Concentrate. The Ring has its own awareness, so to speak. Over the years, it will have imbibed some of my traits." He grinned mischievously at Bakura's horrified expression. "Oh, yes. I don't see the need to panic. This will make it somewhat easier for you, I think. Just imagine that you are carrying a pocket-sized version of myself, albeit, with less intelligence. The Ring, although more powerful than you could possibly imagine, is inescapably an object. Although it may bring forth tremendous energy, the manner in which it is directed is vitally important. In simpler terms, you must be a shrewd, observant, calculating wielder."

And so he learned the first aspect of control; knowledge of oneself. Without the harnessing of will, without faith in ability and without, according to the spirit, a certain degree of pride and arrogance, the Ring would not respond as desired.

"Throw away your desire to surrender, to conform and accept," said the thief, prowling in a circle around him, his voice lower, more contained, more instructive than he had ever heard before. "Forget yourself as others know you. You are harder, stronger, more resilient than they will ever be. This I know." Bakura's eyes widened slightly at this, looking up, meeting the dark gaze of his spirit counterpart. The thief looked back, unwavering. "The command of the Ring will be yours, as long as you believe it to be so."

Once the banishment had been taught, the repellent ritual was a handy addition to his slowly growing repertoire. Worn out, with a hefty amount of homework waiting on his desk, he looked across at the spirit, at the strange, not unpleasant scrutiny of his heaving shoulders and drawn face.

"I will send you back now," was the curt summation. A pause. Then, "You've done . . . well, young one."

"It is time."

Bakura nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. It had been a week since the spirit had begun his strange education in the Shadow craft. Although he had stumbled blindly through the first few lessons, relying solely on the spirit's instruction, he had quickly developed a natural affinity for the things his yami showed him. Under the approving eye of the thief he had grasped the principles of not only stronger defensive tactics, but offensive maneuvers designed to target the sensitive areas of the opponent; the mind, the vital organs, the conscience. A well of courage grew within him with each passing day, one that no previous fear could steal away, the strength that comes with new knowledge. He had relied on himself for no more than self-sufficiency, the ability to look after himself during the long periods his father had been away, to achieve the best grades, to keep his head down and his strangeness away from others. Now he had his own ability, to fend off things similar to what his yami had been dealing with for over three thousand years and this gave him new self-confidence. Not only did he have this, he had the support of the very spirit whose existence had tormented him for the greater part of his life. The walls of his soul room which had allowed him to access the thief's memories was already beginning to distort in appearance, strange convolutions passing across its surface as if something malevolent and large were brushing against the barrier from the opposite side. Light and darkness were falling into a slow balance; he had never felt so alive, so near completion, so brave. Perspiration beaded his brow, gathered on his palms, the choking iciness of the Shadow Realm gradually seeping through, fighting, holding his strength. He took a step forward.

"I am ready."

The spirit watched as the boy stepped through the rift he had created directly into the Shadow Realm. The shifting shapes crawled across his slender form, drawing him further in. Waiting for an appropriately spaced period, the thief followed him.

Bakura was moving forward, steadily making his way further in. The boy reached up and rubbed his shoulders tentatively, but his pace did not flag. The spirit had warned him not to utilize the Ring unecessarily, using Shadow magic drew the creatures of this place like a siren's call. His own passage through the Shadow Realm was such a routine procedure that he knew he probably frequented this place more than any other in the history of shadowmancers. A slight smile curved the edge of his mouth. The boy could not ask for a better instructor.

And yet, there was something that constantly nagged at his mind, something which told him that despite their new-found bond, despite the growing trust and all their preparations, that there was some aspect of the entire situation to which he remained oblivious. He put it down to his ancient, uncannily accurate instinct, one that had never yet failed him in any of his endeavours. It drove him to distraction; this elusive feeling of self-doubt.

Bakura had paused some way ahead of him, scanning the darkness around him with an expression of slight unease. The spirit could gather what had drawn his attention; his finely honed senses, far more in tune with their current environment than the boy's, had been caught by the whiff of decay, of the foul scent of madness and indescribable hunger that preceded the Shadow golems. Constituting the most common form of what came closest to 'life' in these parts, golems were the evolutionary outcome of the stronger souls consumed by aeons of shadow battles. Six or seven he counted in all, converging on the hesitant form of his host as he turned on the spot, eyes straining to see past the bone-chilling gloom on every side.

Stay calm, boy. Remember!

Although he had closed the mind-link between them before entering the Shadow Realm, it seemed that Bakura's thoughts were far more in tune with his own than he had previously imagined. He saw the white-haired figure pause in its futile attempts to see what approached and slowly gather itself, the posture straightening, the hand gently rising to the Millenium Ring, the eyelids drifting downwards in solemn concentration.

That's it. Stay focused. Be aware.

The Ring began to emit a slight glow. The spirit sensed the greed and blood-lust of the golems escalate as their pace picked up, slithering towards the motionless figure of Bakura. Tendrils of dark substance began to curl around him, almost obscuring him from the yami's view. Hideous groaning, keening echoes and vile gurgling drifted from the circling shapes, suddenly far more substantial than they had been moments before. Dancing flecks of bright yellow flame surrounded the boy, wafting eerily close, designed to lure the victim to imagined safety. Standing his ground, Bakura gripped the Ring hard. The spirit came closer, lip curling in anticipation as the Shadow golems tightened their prowling maneuver. They could sense something different about their prey, a strange lack of the delectable panic and the fear stench they thrived on.

Bakura turned, eyes snapping open. One thin arm outstretched, he shifted position, a foot sliding back to gain equilibrium of balance. A barely visible shield erupted from his form, crackling with latent energy. It extended in deathly silence, faster than the eye could follow, rushing past his fingertips and colliding with the writhing forms of his would-be attackers. Shrieks of rage and agony escaped the creatures as they desperately tried to regain their formation, to push themselves as far as possible from this strange human who projected such furious energy. Bolts of deep-hued, luminous blue static arced across their sizzling skin, piercing through their foul, borrowed flesh and burrowing deep through to where bone should be. Sickening splatters sounded from all sides as the golems deserted their assumed physical vessels, ghostly shapes flitting rapidly past Bakura, whipping his hair out behind him in a whirlwind of terror and darkness. As quickly as they had come, they were gone. The spirit, who had been completely taken aback by what he had witnessed, came forward to where the boy knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder. He had expended too much energy; the Shadow Realm's cold was seeping into his unguarded mind much faster than before.

The air around them seemed to shift and the spirit glanced over his shoulder, tucking his hands under Bakura's armpits and dragging him without difficulty through the portal he had opened back to the boy's soul room. In his grasp, Bakura twisted suddenly, trying to look up into his face. They were through before he had a chance to gauge his yami's reaction, however and he dragged himself upright, face pale and drawn, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead and upper lip. The spirit was watching him neutrally, hands clasped behind his back. Bakura stared back, holding his gaze for some time, apprehension growing inside as he attempted to establish the thief's reaction to his performance.

"You didn't banish them."

"What?" Still hazy, this strange observation made no sense to the boy.

"I said you didn't banish the creatures that attacked you."

Bakura shook his head, clearing it further. "What were they?"

"Shadow golems. You've encountered them before, you just don't remember. Or maybe you choose not to. That is beside the point, however." The spirit approached, stopping a few feet away, regarding him with a shrewdness that made him very nervous. "I never taught you that," he said, softly.

Bakura gulped. "Taught me . . . what?"

"The disintegration ritual. The force you harnessed from the Ring to destroy them."

"I . . . I destroyed . . . But how? . . . I never . . ."

"I know you didn't mean to," interrupted the spirit, "Well, not entirely. What I do know is that you attempted a banishment and something much stronger came out of you."

"You mean something controlled me?" asked Bakura, his face turning impossibly pale.

The spirit chuckled deeply, lowering his head and looking cunningly up at his host from under his lashes in a way that Bakura did not like at all.

"Oh no, my dear boy. You did that all by yourself. It's all about intention, you see. If you thought about a simple banishment and executed it, all would have been as it should be. But you may have been afraid. You didn't know what was coming for you, and so you assumed the worst. People are frightened of the unknown. Your intention distorted from the simple banishing to something that would annihilate your opponent, so you would come to no harm. The result; a disintegration, one of the most destructive rituals one could unleash against lesser beings in the Shadow Realm. Not to mention the extensive sapping of energy it causes in an inexperienced caster."

Bakura, contrary to the spirit's expectations, was beginning to look more and more confused. "What's the matter?" snapped the latter, his tone more sharp than he had intended.

"I . . . I wasn't afraid. So . . . it doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean you were not afraid? Why else would you have attacked the golems in such a way?"

The boy was struggling for words, opening and closing his mouth several times. Finally, he looked away, seeming almost ashamed. "It wasn't fear . . . I felt calm, like I was separate . . . from me. I thought I could do this . . . I could banish them the way you taught me." He looked up and the spirit suddenly felt a cold hand clasp within his chest. "I . . . I wanted to make you proud." The last sentence was a mere whisper, so soft and yet never had the thief felt any emotion strike him with almost physical force the way it did at present. He looked up, meeting the gentle, open gaze. And he was plunged back, many, many centuries ago, to another pair of eyes that had looked up to another, an older man, eyes seeking the same acceptance, the same respect and affection. His own.

A/N: Leave a review! Make this author happy! :)