Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.
Heads up for those who are reading this, this is the first chapter that really warrants the M rating. I was skimming it for mistakes and forgot it ever got that dark. If you are uncomfortable with abuse, please refrain from reading Bakura's POV. Then again, if you are a fan of VHD, what is coming up is actually mild.
This is the last complete chapter that I have. Chapter Twenty Six is partially done. Please shoot me a review, or even dm me, if you want me to keep going. If even one person does, I'll be happy to do so. I need a hobby, lol.
Thanks Addict to Fanfics! I'm glad you enjoyed the sign. I also had forgotten about most of this story until I was clearing out my files...and then reread them...I missed these fandoms.
Chapter Twenty Five: Turn Two
Bakura tugged against the chains that bound him to his position. They wrapped around his wrists in cold indifference, locked together by a heavy padlock that clanked against the cement every time he lifted his arms. His head felt muddy and his right eye was swollen shut. His burst lip had just stopped bleeding, the blood having coagulated a little less than half an hour ago. The cement floor he had been chained to was stained with grease and oil, and perhaps some other fluids that were found in cars. He did not want to believe it, but with his good eye, he could swear he saw red not too far off, but that might have been from a rusting barrel.
He was not sure where he was exactly, just that he was somewhere in a city he did not know, captured by men who did not seem to want to necessarily know him. His purpose there was also a mystery to him, since the only other times he had seen at least one of the three who had dragged him here they had given him the black eye he knew he had, and the aching pains that radiated from his stomach. Yet that was not what was at the forefront of his mind. He was less concerned with what else that they had planned for him than he was for what they intended when they obtained the children. Even though he knew they did not know, they thought he had been with someone else but could not find evidence by his blank stare as they practiced their left hooks on his face. He feared these men. Men that he knew Claire would have defined as "Outies", he feared that they would catch both D and Claire. As he tugged against his chains, he wondered where the rest of his ragtag group was, and hoped they were safe.
A creak came from behind him, and the metal door to what seemed to be a garage of some sort lifted, displaying three familiar shadow figures against the ground before him. He sighed softly, mentally preparing himself for the next onslaught. Bakura had found that telling himself that they could do no worse than what D's father had done to him aided in deadening whatever pain they dealt. It even helped with the fact that they had not bothered to let him eat the past few days. He turned his head, glaring at them with his good eye.
"My answer is the same," he said, welcoming them with distain, "I was not traveling with any others."
"Well, what you were carrying says otherwise," Jerry, the leader of the group, stated. Bakura had overheard one of the others talking to him and that had been the name they had used. He did not know if the man was just a leader to the three, or more, but he never had the want, or the chance, to ask before they had begun their interrogation. This man was the one that had done the most damage, and Bakura had learned that he did not like hearing repeated stories. However, Bakura never deviated, and thus, he had received "lessons" to his eye, his lip, and the new boot marks to the gut. None of them had noticed, however, that his eye was healing more swiftly than it should have, or that they had already tried the boot to the gut method yesterday to no avail. They came at least twice a day with new methods of obtaining information, but thus far had not succeeded in anything other than making Bakura piss his pants unintentionally for the lack of a bathroom. The young man felt that if that was the worst they could do, it was laughable. In this new world, what was a pair of piss-stained pants to cities full of free new ones?
"I was carrying pots and a few cans of food," he repeated from the last time they had mentioned his bag. Honestly, he was surprised that they had returned. It had only been three hours. His eyes travelled to Jerry's side, Bakura's gun hanging in a holster. It seemed they had taken it along. "And a gun."
"Nuh uh," the head of the group grunted, reaching forward and grabbing the back of Bakura's hair. The young man could not help but hiss in pain, which brought a smile to the other man's face. "Randall," he called, addressing the next tallest, "I think we've heard all this bullshit five times over at least, don't you think?"
"I think so," the other snickered, cracking the knuckles on his right hand. The scrawny one behind him, the one Bakura had never heard named, was fussing with the side of his belt. From it, he procured a knife. The young man tried to show no fear, but thoughts of being unable to protect the two children in his charge made his hands involuntarily quiver. The action did not go unnoticed.
"Oh! We get a reaction!" Jerry chuckled, tugging Bakura as far as the chains would let him go. "How about we loosen that tongue of yours a little more to help you tell us the truth?" With that, the man shoved his grimy fingers into Bakura's mouth, attempting to pry it open. Bakura fought against it, clamping down his teeth until the man used his other hand to unhinge his jaw. With effort, Bakura bit down and tasted blood.
"Jesus CHRIST!" was the bellow that echoed through the garage. Bakura found his head greeting the pavement, but his ear ringing, short-lived triumph ended when Jerry used his uninjured hand to pull the young man up by his hair again. "You piece of shit…"
"Got it, Jer," the scrawny one replied, waltzing over with not a care in the world. "You see, you both you and Randy are all just brute force and shit, you gotta hit the pretty boy where it hurts." The knife flipped in his hand and Bakura saw, or rather did not see that the blade was pointed just below the right cheek on his face. He tried tugging away but now two men, one who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the show from what Bakura could see at eye level to his kneeling posture, held his head. He closed his good eye when he felt the blade press against his skin.
"If we are going to keep him for what you all have planned, seeing that the ladies are feeling rather tuckered out with the kids, he's gonna have to be intact inside, you think? You can't keep booting him around and think he's not going to bleed internally," the man continued, pressing the knife into Bakura's flesh. Bakura let out a shriek as the blade cut upward, and he jerked back just far enough to where the blade caught the eyelid and the brow, rather than the eye. His eyes streamed with tears, and he cried out again as the liquid stung against the open wound on his face. He could feel the blood trickling down the side of his face, and he wanted to throw up. The young man would have hung his head in silent pain, but the men kept it up, having only been momentarily surprised by his sudden movement.
"So," Jerry crooned into his ear, as Bakura tried to stifle his own whimpers of pain. "You wanna tell us the truth?"
"I…" Bakura stammered, wishing for someone to stop them, for someone to help him, "I was alone."
Another cut, perpendicular to the one already made, was slashed across his face. He tried not to yell in pain this time, but it was impossible. "Want to try again."
" .Alone."
Cold steel ripped through his cheek again and Bakura could not tell if it was blood or tears dripping into his shirt. He thought it was both.
"Giving you another shot, kid. You aren't going to get another one. Who else were you carrying for?"
The young man quaked in his confined position, the right side of his face consumed by the flames of pain. His breathing was jagged, but even for all of his signs of agony his mouth was firmly set. "No one," he breathed. He would rather die than have these three find D or Claire.
Still the man was unsatisfied. "Randall, I am just so goddamn sick and tired of his lies. You wanna get it out of him?"
Bakura could not see the man before him with his blurred vision, but he heard a disquieting unzipping noise. "Yeah, I've got a way that I think I'll have him telling us a lot about who he was with, and how he got here."
With a fury that he had not thought he could ever muster, the young man wished for their deaths.
D had not expected to take so long to reach the town. It had not been far off by any means, certainly not by a week, but he had to take special precautions. Claire could not shoot unless she was propped somewhere, her gun still too heavy to shoot by her own arm strength alone. He had not taken up the weapon because he had deemed himself the bait. So every mile or so, they had had to stop, and situate themselves for the worst. It was taking forever in the young boy's mind, but their caution was necessary if they were to rescue their…
Well, he was not sure what Claire thought of him, but it was his Bakura-sama.
They entered the city, having passed by a number of emptied houses on the way. They had rested in one of them the morning before, knowing the real danger was ahead. All signs pointed to the idea that the survivors had huddled into the heart of the city, possibly to protect the masses from raiders like themselves. D had also decided that they should change their sleeping patterns, so that they could move in the night when others were sleeping. It had been the plan Bakura had created previously, although that had been more for D's sake than his own. As he looked at the empty streets, D remembered his exhaustion from early morning too well. Something was wrong with him, but he was not sure what. He had bound his left hand tight with a piece of cloth to silence his "parasite", needing full concentration for this task, so he was not receiving any advice from the being that might have known. Claire had not questioned it, having confused which hand had been hurt by the supposed bee sting, so that was one less issue he had to worry over. Now as he stood at the crossroads of three different routes to take, he felt he had a bigger issue, one that Claire quietly announced as she looked around, her eyes large even in the darkness.
"Which way do we go?" she whispered, holding the strap of the gun close to her chest. She looked mad, her hair yet again in a half high pigtail with the rest flowing free, but was calmer than the day that Bakura had been taken from them. He could tell by her stance that she was ready for action.
Something about the situation had taken what had annoyed D about her and honed it into something he could respect. On their way to this city where the lights still glowed in the center, he had learned that she was far more resourceful than he had given her credit. In their practice and preparation, she had found many peculiar things to aid her in her aiming, and had even managed to cook a can of food without the use of a pot on the third day. She had even taken to the differing sleep schedules without complaint. Even now, as they stood on the precipice of death, her face was set firm, ready to prove that she could perform the way she boasted.
"Have you ever been to this city?" he asked, the seriousness of the situation mirrored by his voice. At that moment, one could see what the boy would become. In the dark, he was nearly invisible, his clothing masking the pale form underneath save for his face and dark eyes that peered from under the brim of his hat, scouring the land around them for any threats.
"No," Claire replied, "at least, if I have I was too little to remember."
"Then stay close to me."
For a second she squinted at him, not one to be bossed around, but then nodded. They crept further in, ducking behind abandoned cars or low fences on occasion to scout ahead. Claire quietly complained that she could not see anything, but D silenced her with a glare that she could see and that made her puff up her cheeks in defiance. For her, she was already helping her new friend find the man that she was still wary about, he did not have to be a jerk about it. For D, the boy had no time for foolishness. They pressed on.
It was well into the early hours of the morning when D realized that they were deep within the city, and still unknowing of where these people were holding Bakura, or where they were stationed. He sat down in the middle of the sidewalk, staring into a darkened house that seemed devoid of life. Claire watched her friend with concern before shaking his shoulder to make him move. The boy did not budge.
"What are you doing?" she hissed into his ear. "What if someone is around?"
"Have you seen anyone?" he whispered right back, glancing up at her, but still refusing to move.
"No but that's not the point!" Crouching, she shook him. It did very little to his position. "We have to keep going if we are going to get him back and make these Outies pay!"
"I know!" he answered in annoyance. He looked at the ground and sighed. "I'm just tired," he added, perplexed. It made no sense to him that even at this time of day, he felt the exhaustion; the sun had barely begun to color the sky. He rubbed his temples, unhappy with the situation.
"Well, before anyone wakes up don't you think we should find a place to hide?"
"That is why I was looking at the house…"
Claire rolled her eyes. "You could have just said that you know," she sniffed, crossing her arms against the early morning chill. "You're such a drama queen."
D had little interest in offering a reaction to her words. Instead, he stood and motioned for her to follow. The girl stamped her foot and made a discontented snorting noise before following him. His destination was the back of the house, all of which seemed unassuming. Together they managed to find a way inside with minimal noise, and began their scouting anew. To them it seemed that it was abandoned, neater than expected, but abandoned. It was a perfect place to rest.
Claire had decided that she wanted the couch, which was fine with the boy, who just requested the nearby loveseat's cushions. D rubbed his face with his hands as he tucked himself away into an adjacent closet, one where he had a view of Claire, but hidden enough to where he would not be woken by the sun's rays. He hoped that the feeling he was experiencing would dissipate by the next night, but again he was not sure of why he felt so odd. Closing his eyes after he wished Claire a good night, he wondered where Bakura was, if he was safe, and how to find him. 'I'm coming, Bakura-sama,' he thought out into the existence around him as he drifted off to sleep. The sun did not bother him that morning, but he awoke later on to Claire's screaming.
Bakura stared up at the ceiling with his left eye, his right being covered with white gauze turned pink from the blood that had leaked into the fibers. His body was still recovering from his last encounter with the scrawny man, but he counted himself lucky. His face itched now more than it hurt and he had not been bothered much since the last incident. He really seemed to be vexing his captors. Well, not so much the one called Randall any longer. With that thought, he laughed. The young man did not even mind that it made the right side of his face feel as if it was going to split open again.
These men only knew how to deal in pain, and the threat made by the man who had stood before him with his pants around his knees, flashing what he thought would be the immediate emasculation of the young man on his knees before his half-blind face had almost made Bakura raise an eyebrow at the very scene. Compared to the horrors of what Bakura could have become if left in D's father's care, after having seen the horrors first hand, his mind could offer no comparison. His murderous thoughts had subsided in confusion and when he had realized what was being threatened, he had laughed even through his pain, his voice cracked, shrill, and half-mad. It had made the man, Randall, think twice, for he did not act immediately even though Bakura had still been held captive by the two other men. That was all the time Bakura had needed.
"You think to threaten me like that?" he had asked, his voice low and haunted. "Go ahead, and do so. I will remember this moment with great pleasure once I feast on your hearts."
To be honest, he was not sure why he kept threatening to eat people, he could only equate it to his own fears within those horrible three years, but it seemed to have unnerved the man long enough for Bakura to continue. He had felt the others' holds on him loosening. Perhaps the words had inspired a sort of internalized fear in them as well. They would not survive a world with the likes of D's father. The thought had made him grin even with the pain, the right side of his face a horrible, bloody contortion.
"Do you question my honesty on this?" he had asked, leaning forward willingly. One hand had left the side of his face at that point, only offering the man before him a better perspective of the look on Bakura's face. "Try it," he had continued, pushing the boundaries of what he was willing to face. "You asked who else I was with, and I said no one. I did not lie then…" His teeth were bared. His heart was pounding. His body was now shivering from the dormant killing lust that had again consumed his mind. "You asked the wrong questions, my friends. Ask me what happened to whom I was with; I will tell you all."
He had been all too in control of himself, of his situation, and it had been horrifying, the absolute jubilation he had felt in such a terrible position. Internally, he had told himself that this was not him, that he was acting out of necessity, but the joy that he had felt when the tone of the room changed could not be imagined away. When he had felt the disbelieving hands of his captors leave the rest of his person he had lunged at the vulnerable man before him. As he now looked up at the ceiling, he could still hear the screams. See the blood. Taste another's death. The punishments they had offered him afterward had been nothing to his realization that he had not been himself, yet also fully himself at that moment.
"Who am I?" he asked, after his laughter had subsided, now afraid. Had all of that truly been him? Had he the mind that could think of such horrible things with glee? Was he also an enemy to humanity? If he continued with this mindset, would he be fit to care for his younger charges? Bakura closed his eye in anguish, his mind a haze of regret and self-hatred. He heard the door open at his side, and he turned his head to face the scrawny man, the handcuffs clanking on the bars of the bed that he was now chained to. They had moved him after the death of Randall, closer to where they resided, he supposed, to keep an eye on him. To make sure he could not escape. At least, that was the argument the two remaining men had discussed after subduing the youngest in the room. His actions had made them see that he was some sort of danger. Something that he knew fascinated the man that Bakura only knew as the Scrawny Man.
"Why are you laughing," the Scrawny Man asked, his hand on the handle of his blade. From what Bakura could tell, it seemed to be his favored weapon.
Bakura looked at him. The man before him was peculiar in all senses. It seemed that instead of distancing himself like Jerry had, where he only returned to let out his frustrations about current events the young man had no say in and left without two words directed at him, this one came in more often. He seemed to be testing the waters of some sort of alliance, and thus far, the young man had played along. It was another way he could provide protection for D and Claire, to keep these men off the road, especially one who had not been frightened away by his actions. "I thought of a joke," he replied, "though it is pretty stupid."
The man sat down on the edge of the bed, in an almost too familiar fashion. Bakura preferred when the man Jerry came around, as all he offered was pain if he offered anything at all, to which Bakura was becoming accustomed. This man treated him oddly, one moment cutting into him as nonchalant as one cut a piece of cake, and then the next teaching him a song that he knew, telling him about the world outside before the world had gone to pieces, and offering him a gentle pat on the shoulder when it was time to leave. This man had been unnerved, but not made afraid by Bakura's actions even though he had been there, and had assisted in prying the younger man off the body. Bakura did not trust him, yet he let him remain. Not that he had much of a choice.
"You know, you've got some fucking balls," the Scrawny Man stated, the blade now out of its sheathe. He twirled it between two well-practiced hands, as he aptly watched the uncovered portion of Bakura's face.
"I was unaware that was in question…" Bakura replied dryly, wishing he could reach his face to scratch under the bandage.
There was a snort of approval. "Not many people would think of jokes at a time like this. I was just thinking, no one has really ever lasted like you. Hell, no one has ever attempted what you did. You got Jerry wanting you gone, not because you're useless, but because you scare him." His eyes widened at that thought. "I've never seen him so scared in my life. It was pretty damn impressive."
"I bet that is why he comes in at night and attacks me?"
"Well you can't win them all."
Bakura smiled wryly. "I am used to that…"
"What?"
"Nothing," Bakura replied, shaking his head. "May I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
Bakura raised his good eyebrow and the man motioned for him to continue. The young man tugged on his bindings until they clanked against the bars again. "Why keep me here? Why waste a bed? I could leave, and I promise that I would not return."
The room was silent for a long while. For a time, Bakura was certain he would not receive an answer. However, the man leaned down until their faces were inches apart and spoke in such hushed tones Bakura had to strain to hear them. "Because between you and me, these people we're actually protecting need better people in charge."
It was not the answer Bakura had expected. He remained silent as the man before him elaborated. "I think you did us a favor by getting rid of that guy. I didn't know him until shit went down, but he never seemed to know what the fuck he wanted to do except for fuck and kill. I think a bigger favor would be getting rid of Jerry." He leaned in closer, his mouth practically touching the young man's ear. "You don't know the shit we've had to go through – the ones lucky enough to be alive. We need someone tough, who isn't fucking afraid of a little threat, or to act on one. Someone who's crazy enough to scare people off…crazy enough to act on impulse from time to time. But we also need someone who's fucking smart. Someone who's got it in his head to want more for this world than what's been offered." He could feel the man smile against his ear. "You've got your quirks, but this world is built for guys like us. I watched you play us all, and I know you're hiding something, but I'll let it slide. Just promise to tell me when I get you out of here."
Bakura blinked. "W-what? You would help me escape?" The entire situation seemed flipped, and he was trying to comprehend what had changed. Was this the same man who willingly cut open the right side of his captive's face?
"Not really escape, more like get you to a better place. I like you, kid," the Scrawny Man said. "I think we'd work well together."
'You're insane,' Bakura thought to himself but said nothing. Shrugging, he made it seem like he would answer the man's question, feeling that his aggressor would be dead long before the truth had to be told. That was when the Scrawny Man's lips met his and Bakura's eyes bulged. He remained frozen there, confused and unable to do anything other than receive the tongue that slid into his mouth. Here he had though he had been through it all.
When the Scrawny Man parted and his gaze reached Bakura's questioning eyes, he grinned. "You could have bit down on my tongue and that would have been the last of me," he stated, taking Bakura's chin in his hand, "You're like a snake, sneaky and fucking dangerous. I like that. I could use someone like you on my side, and I think you know I'm your best bet. So what do you say?"
Bakura swallowed, his throat feeling dry. He was not sure how to respond. "I suppose," he began, "so long as you promise all of this aggression against me stops."
"That's a done deal." Their lips met again. Bakura forced his head back just long enough to ask for the Scrawny Man's name before the hand now behind his head pushed it back to its previous position.
His name was Aaron.
Bakura sat staring at the ceiling again after his visitor left. He had been through so much; he felt that he was poorly prepared to handle his current situation. His right cheek itched incessantly and Bakura used his shoulder to rub at the wound. He wondered if it was a trick, a trap of sorts to keep him complacent. An offer of companionship…Yet how would anyone assume that would work when the very man who was kissing him had caused him such pain? Unless…that man really had some bizarre sort of feelings for him, bizarre in the sense of enjoying the possible danger of his captive. He did recall it had been Randall's voice that had been disappointed that he had been male. He shook his head at the ridiculous nature of his situation, anything like a relationship was far from his mind, especially one that would begin with such circumstances as this. His eyes drifted to the wall.
It was cement…that much Bakura could tell. It seemed that wherever he was, it was still not a general residence. He sighed. The young man was tired of being surrounded by gray masses of finely grained sand and stone.
Stone…
He was not sure what inspired his odd thought, but with his left hand, Bakura caressed the wall. It was cold, signaling a change in the weather, but that was not what made him gasp in alarm. He tugged his hand back, now shaking in fear.
There was something in the wall.
D had been in the darkness again; although this time, he had found it more soothing than in his previous dreams. The feeling of his inner sense wasting away into the depths did not transpire as he had expected. He had been simply sitting there, waiting for a monster that never came, for the eyes to reappear, but nothing had emerged other than peaceful motions of the dark undulating around him. It had been pleasant, so pleasantly cool and dark…
The first scream had just begun when his eyes shot open. He saw he had buried himself under his pillows at some point and carefully lifted one of the corners to peer out of his hiding place. He saw Claire bolting away from a woman, one who looked confused and still leaning over where the girl had been sleeping, with a blanket in her hands. D propped up his pillow just in time for Claire to dive upon him, slamming the door behind her. He let out a nearly silent grunt of discomfort as the girl continued to scream at the closed door, holding onto the knob as if the monster from his not-dreams was right outside. He shifted until he was out from under the hysterical girl and quickly covered her mouth to stop the noise. He did not take her hands away from the door, however.
"Who are you?" D asked, as Claire's muffled cries petered out and she leaned against him still quaking with adrenaline. He felt around for some sort of weapon, but only found a shoe, which he lifted. A projectile, no matter how ineffective, was better than nothing against their possible assailant.
"There's two of you?" a friendly voice piped up, and D could hear the woman's footsteps nearing the door.
"Who are you?" he repeated.
"My name is Cindy," the woman replied, "I live here."
D furrowed his brows. He did not recall seeing anything that would show someone lived within the house, but that morning he had not been himself. His body told him that it was closer to afternoon, but that was an unimportant bit of information regarding their current situation. "This place looked deserted," he replied finally.
"Yeah, well, I keep the downstairs looking like this so most of the time people don't bother me upstairs. I live at the edge of the city, you'd be surprised at how many people pass by here."
He frowned. "There were no stairs."
There was a laugh. "Oh, I sleep in what you could call the 'attic'. It's the crawlspace just before the roof, you know, where the fiberglass stuff and insulation usually are? People don't generally look up there. I just leave my spot a little cracked open so I can get some fresh air. I meant no harm when I scared your friend. She just looked cold."
The boy cursed himself for not thinking about the possibility. Claire was still clutching the door, but she shook off the boy's hand, ready to redeem herself. "How can we trust you?" she asked. "You just came out of nowhere…"
"I'm sorry for startling you, I swear. You looked cold and tired, and I…you made me think of my niece and I just…"
D rubbed his temples, thinking of what to do. One day he would do well in hiding his discomfort, but he was just a child, even now. Claire gave him a blind look, not truly seeing him, but her gaze had all of her fears apparent. "We can't," she whispered softly, "what if she's one of them?"
"Then we are probably surrounded," he replied, but doubting that they were. He heard nothing aside from the girl's breathing and the woman's weight being shifted from foot to foot just outside the door.
"Then we can't leave! But…my gun is out there!"
"Then there's little choice for what we can do…" The boy responded while standing up. "We'll come out," he answered to Claire's dismay, "but you have to promise us something."
"I promise I won't hurt you."
"That's not what I want promised," he replied, and could practically see confusion on the woman's face, even without her countenance apparent. "We are looking for our friend; he was taken by some bad men who went this way. If you promise to help us find him, we will come out."
"Bad men?" she asked, "I…sure I will, I promise. I will help you find your friend. But I haven't seen any one 'bad' recently."
D motioned for Claire to open the door, which she did while giving him a death glare. The boy did not care, however. His focus was on finding his friend, and that was his chosen task for his waking moments. The woman who greeted them gave them a kind smile.
She was pretty, but plain, in a faded sweater and jeans. Her hair was a mousy brown, twisted into a messy bun. She looked like she had recently woken up herself. D looked around and listened for any others hiding, but even with his attention now aimed at the roof he heard nothing.
"Who are you?" he asked, standing in front of Claire as Bakura had done for him before, protecting her with his body. The woman's smile brightened.
"I'm Jessica Moore," she replied. "And who might you two be?"
Claire muttered her name, pouting behind D. She was of the opinion that they should trust no adult, aside from the man they were searching for, for as much as she wished to distrust him, something deep within her told her that she was safest in his company. It might have been D's opinion, but she thought it was hers as well. It had taken some time, but she had been so lonely, and only at her meanest had he ever treated her with anything other than kindness. That was not to say she liked him, but she trusted him.
D, however, believed that if they were to find Bakura, then they would need the assistance of a local; especially one who seemed to have a soft spot for children.
"I am D," the boy answered clearly, "but my name isn't important. We are looking for someone named Bakura, he was taking care of us and was taken away by three men." He described what he remembered of them, down to the mannerisms he had noted, and the woman blinked in confusion.
"That can't be," the woman said, shaking her head. "That sounds like Jerry and his guys…but that can't be. They've been keeping this town safe since the beginning. I mean, they seem like rough enough guys, but they only do what they have to…to protect us…"
"They took Bakura," D replied flatly, "that's all I know. I want my…" Bakura seemed to have little problems in answering with this type of familiarity, but sometimes D could not force such a word from his mouth, remembering that the true holder of such a title was out there, probably still searching for him. He knew he had done it before but…His pause was not going to go unnoticed, but he could not make himself continue, the thoughts now too distressing with the absence of his protector.
"Dad back," Claire finished, and D looked back at her with confusion. "He's his dad and my uncle from my momma's side…and HE has been taking care of US from the beginning. So there. Those people took Uncle Bakura, they did."
D marveled at her ability to act. It was as if they had been one family at some time, rather than near strangers traveling to somewhere unknown. His respect for her grew at that moment, but his face remained as serious as when he stepped out of the closet.
"I…" Jessica started, obviously shaken. "I believe you, but it makes no sense. I mean, yeah they find people out there, but that's how our community began. Most people ran one way or the other, afraid that there wouldn't be water here, or food, or anything after the attacks. There was like, fifty people still here by the time it was all over. Most people left their belongings, only bringing what they might need in order to get to their destination. Most of us stayed because we didn't have anywhere else to go, or couldn't go because of medical conditions. Those three came together and brought back some of the stuff that we had. I mean we even have electricity!" She exclaimed at the ceiling, "that kind of hard work…that kind of bringing people together…that doesn't happen with the type of people you described."
"But it did," D reiterated what Claire had said. "I'm not calling you a liar. I am sure these people have done much for you, and the citizens of this city. All I know is what I saw." He took a step forward, trying to seem as innocent as possible. "Please help us," he said, "I just want him back."
"I promise," the woman replied, kneeling down. Claire eyed her warily, scooting forward as D advanced, not wanting to leave him wide open to some attack, or to leave herself in the same position. She knew "Outies" and their plans, but she did not know what this woman wanted with them, or why she would even help.
"Can I ask you a question?" Claire piped up, her eyes dead set on the woman's. "If these 'Out—guys are in charge, what are they doin' wandering around outside?"
"Sometimes they help us out with finding supplies when it gets tough. They also help out when we need extra hands with maintaining the town. Like I said, most of us here can't really take care of ourselves out there…"
"What's wrong with you?" the girl scoffed. Jessica smiled.
"Nothing. I'm one of the few who doesn't have anything wrong with them. I didn't leave though; I didn't have anywhere else to go…"
"How are you going to help us?" D asked, interrupting the woman.
"I'll take you to city hall. We'll figure things out from there. The jail is not too far from there, so if it's true what you said, then your dad is probably there. We'll get it all sorted out."
D hoped so. It had been so long since he had seen his companion; the boy worried for his safety, and was sure that the other worried for his. D glanced down at his silenced left hand, aware that it wanted to tell him something, but was unable. Now was not the time however, and he tugged on each end of the cloth to tighten it further. Something told D he had little time to find Bakura. What and why it was though, the boy did not know.
No one else saw it…Bakura realized that when Aaron returned on the next few days, finding his favored spot on the side of the bed, and going on about his plans to better the place they had, to get more able-bodied people to help bring the city to what it once was. The electricity would not stay on for long if they did not find more electricians, or maintenance types. The young man could not have cared less. During these discussions, his eyes were fixated entirely on the wall beside him. He could not tell what it was, just that it whispered. Whispered in tongues he did not understand, but completely understood. The scrawny man did not hear the voice, not even when he laid himself beside Bakura, petting at his hair, getting too close for the young man's comfort. The other man, Jerry, did not hear them either, but for the moment, his punishments for Bakura's survival had stopped. Bakura did not know why, nor did he care to know. All he cared about was the voice, and the being within the wall.
It was most vocal at night, sighing in the darkness, offering him inexplicable peace. On some nights, when the voice was nearly silent, he thought of his dreams and wept in fear. He did not understand, but he knew that this had to do with whatever had happened to him in that horrible place, where he could still remember the hunger pangs, where he could remember Amane's face as he faced his lonely death…
At first, after the initial bout of trepidation, he had assumed that this thing was Amane; then the strange creature that he had fought against in his nightmares. Yet his heart compared it to the safety he had felt when he had missed the balcony. When he had been shot…The bullet had entered, but there was not a trace of metal any longer, hardly even a scar. Bakura knew that was not right. His mind tried to make sense of his situation, as he stared silently at the movement within the wall. It was so familiar, but he could not put his finger on it.
Soon another week had passed. The man named Aaron was now his only visitor and his plan seemed better formed, even without much of Bakura's input. Sometimes the young man responded to the other's ideas, just because it gave him something to do aside from look at the wall with curiosity. He did not like to talk to the man most days, as when he spoke he received too much unwanted attention. Kisses for brilliance, and the occasional grope to relieve whatever the man needed to grab at, at the time. That particular night, after he had simply said some part of the plot had been a good idea, the other man had slept beside him, and Bakura could only stare mutely at the wall with irritation. He knew what was awaiting him, knew the fondling, kissing, and touching would move onto something else, something he did not want but would not voice. He could already feel something pressing uncomfortably close to his backside, yet he just watched his newfound ally and waited. The thing in the wall told him it was not time yet. He believed it. It made him think of his other half, and how at times, even knowing now that they had been lies to gain his trust, he had assisted him and his friends when they were in need. The young man knew for certain, though, that the being was not that voice.
It was another day after that, when Bakura finally came to his realization.
He had received no visitors that day, at least thus far, to which he was grateful. He had been talking to the thing in the wall, although at this point it did not wish to respond. He had been talking about D and Claire, had voiced his worries, and had spoken about Mr. Ellis and the people within that oceanside city. It was when he came to talking about Yugi and the rest of the group, the horrors that had transpired that something in his mind seemed to twinge painfully. He could not raise his hand to his head, but that mattered little to him.
"You know," he said, "the Millennium Items were something that held great power, but they seemed to be something that assisted those with magic already. At least in the past." He remembered his discussions with Malik, about what had happened, and Yugi's duel against the Pharaoh. "I mean from what they said, kas could be there before using the items, right? It was a part of the person's soul after all. The magic was already there, in the people, but they got stronger when they used the items." He had always wanted to study them more, those mystical items, but during that time he had not been able. Had his other half allowed him his questioning, allowed his delving into the occult and unknown, would the knowledge have aided him? Did he want to know at this time?
"Ka is a part of one's soul," he mumbled to himself. "Logically, if a previous life one was able to access it wouldn't the reincarnation be able to, too? I mean, reincarnations are souls being reborn into the world. They even believed there were different parts to a soul…Would Yugi be able to use one? He was obviously the reincarnation of his other half, and the part that was sealed inside—"
The young man froze, and his mind hung over a faded memory that was his own but not, like one who had been blind and was now seeing the world for the first time. Could it be? It was impossible. He was nothing like the man that they had spoken about. He was nothing like him, yet…
"Diabound…" his voice cracked, and then he lay there, silent, gawking at the impossibility of it all. Knowing that it was so, that all made sense when he connected it.
Had this impossibility been reopened by the horrors the young man had faced when held captive by that boy's father?
Bakura was still stunned in silence when the man named Jerry made his appearance. The young man did not move as the door slammed and did not glance back as his binds were roughly taken off. In fact, it could be said he did not notice any of this until he was on the floor, nursing a ringing ear. That was when he blinked, confused, and glanced at the man above him in acknowledgement. It did not help to stop the other from letting loose his leg and slamming Bakura in the head with a painful kick. The young man flew back towards the bed, his neck cushioned by the mattress as it connected. Bakura expected no explanation, but his heart was pounding wildly, wanting to warn the man, wanting to let whatever happened happen…
He did not expect the man before him, whose arms were raised protectively to shield his face, in case his captive was going to offer resistance, to speak.
"I don't care what he has to say," Jerry growled at his captive, "you aren't right in the head. There's something wrong with you. You're hiding something."
Bakura opened his mouth to respond, to warn him, and received another kick, this time to his gut. He bowed his head in pain, his arms aching as he clutched at his stomach. Still no words came from his mouth.
"I'm not going to wait to see what it is either." Suddenly hands were gripping Bakura's collar, lifting him from the ground just enough that his knees levitated above the cold, decrepit carpet. Jerry's free hand was pulled back, ready to deal more damage than had been brought upon the young man before. "We should have just killed you, taken your stuff, and went on our way. It served us before, it coulda served us now. Now he's dead." The man seemed visibly shaken. Perhaps the man that Aaron disliked had been Jerry's friend in the past. Bakura did not offer the question. As the man began to attack him, he could feel what was in the wall still waited, waited for the time when the other was unprepared. As he was now…
"I'm gonna end this," the large man announced, his voice full of machismo, empty of reason, empty of sense. "You're dead. We'll find your friends and kill them, too. We found you. They can't hide for much longer."
"But…" Bakura gasped through the tightening collar of his shirt and the agony of the attack. Blood was pouring from the right side of his face again (it seemed that had not been healing properly), from his nose, and from between his lips. "Can't you see it?"
The man paused, his fist only long enough to hear his question. "See what?" he asked.
"You are dead," and with those words, two thumbs like fangs dug into the large man's eyes, just as the larger pair dug into his soul.
When Aaron came to investigate the screams, he found Bakura standing above what had once been a frightening man, his leader in this new world, with an indescribable look upon his face. His profile, for all the blood and puffed bruises, portrayed a dangerous and beautiful killing intent. To the man who stared in awe, the young man was perfection. The unspeaking gods offered this insane man a gift, for had he seen what D was to become, he would have gone mad.
Bakura turned to his admirer with eyes as dead as that night that he had uttered the location East to the unsuspecting D, and it was all that Aaron could do to not cower in fear. For there was a sense of doom, an aura of death that overtook the room, and there was no way to determine if it was coming from the man himself or the air around him. When the young man's mouth opened, Aaron was an example of perfect attention.
"Your problem is gone," Bakura began, turning to the man. When their eyes connected, Aaron knew the roles had been reversed. Although bloody, Bakura's hands were free, and the scrawny man came to understand that the one that they had captured had been far more dangerous than he had let on; far more than he even had anticipated. Bakura moved forward and his hand clapped onto Aaron's shoulder, a mimic of the familiarity that had been portrayed earlier. "If you value your life, and wish to rule over this land and its people, you will do well to assist me in finding my companions, and letting us leave when it is time…"
"So you weren't alone?" he gasped in shock. He had played at knowing the young man had carried some secret, but the knowledge still hit him as if it were a physical force. Had the man had not spoken a word of truth, even with all the pain he had endured?
"Do you want to help me or not?" Bakura asked quietly.
"Yes…" he groaned, as if both in pain and ecstasy.
"Then you live." With that, the young man's lips curled into a vicious smirk before turning away to walk through the ramshackle compound without assistance. Aaron stared with an air of enraptured servitude as the aura passed by him, trailing behind what he believed to be the only man worthy of such a force. It had been the thing Bakura had seen within the walls. The being had been waiting patiently for so long. Waiting for the young man's denials to end, waiting for the moment that the chains guarding against broken memories dissolved. The young man did not recall much, truth be told, not anything of past lives and dealings. However, he recalled just enough to understand that he had something that even D's father had not known. Why would he have, though, when Bakura had not even wanted to realize it was within his very soul?
This newfound power was something that he could use, could master if only he was strong enough to work past his fears. Bakura's smirk softened into a gentle grin as he thought of the reuniting of his small group, and with the man behind him staring in dumbfounded awe, without even realizing he was performing the action, he walked through the wall.