Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.
I'm going to try to make this thing a little more consistent. I can't promise weekly updates, but I am going to try and make the updates come out every Thursday, at least. That way those who are interested at least know what day to check! (Although it's finally summer for real for me, so I'm going to try my damnedest to at least get updates out bi-weekly. And maybe add something new to my account...)
As always, enjoy!
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Dream Eater
The object of D's concern bounded through the failing line of defense those of The Arid Sea attempted to maintain, using the element of surprise to its full affect. A quiet rage burned inside him, fueling his brutal assault. His face curled into a snarl as he swapped his gun for his knife, plunging it into a nearby enemy. Blood gushed between his fingers warming them like the fading sun and he pulled away in time to block an attack from another. Yes, her eyes were glazed, too.
It went like this for some time. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins as he moved from enemy to enemy; he was the distraction that destroyed any organization that their enemies had. He knew he was going to be sick from all the gore, once he was done and able to think about the carnage he had caused. For now, however, he tried to keep such thoughts back, focused on breaking through the masses to meet the front line he fought for. He kept his attacks random, and in varying places within their forward moving ranks. Bakura figured if he confused them enough, and if he was not murdered in the process, he could do some real damage.
After what felt like hours (in actuality, only five minutes later), Bakura came to the conclusion that their foes were being controlled. Or at the very least, prone to suggestion from an outside force. By what, he could not be certain, but he did note that the worse off the person looked, the less autonomy they seemed to have. The countless enemies that swarmed around would oftentimes pause and cock their head to the side as if listening to something. Then the infected would move forward again. Or move toward him if he made himself visible. Bakura did not see them wearing anything like his headset, so technology was not a factor in their decision making. And…there was always that pause. It was creepy.
The less ill-looking always moved faster and must have been the reason as to why the frontlines of the underground city with their Counsel and Arena were being overtaken. The ones with the darkened veins and mouths like rabid dogs took much longer to react, but they were the ones that caused the most damage. There was a pattern to their fighting. First, the smaller ones would press forward, and then back away to let the larger ones deal the blow, punching through the lines of those in colored sashes. He had passed by many of their corpses, a trail denoting their retreat. Bakura wiped the blood coating his hands on his jeans and touched at the purple sash. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. There were still so many.
"They need more backup up here," he murmured, and found a momentary place to hide under the dilapidated remains of a car perched on its side. Its frame precariously rested on a rather large boulder and he chose not to lean against either because of this. "Can you hear me?" he called into the microphone, afraid that the noise around him was interfering. A loud boom echoed through the battlefield, and pebbles and clods of dirt rained down, rattling off his temporary shelter. If the Counsel heard him, it would be a miracle. What weapon had that even been?
"I can," Mai's voice called back, a comfort to the tired soul huddled beneath twisted metal. The ringing in his eardrums muffling her confirmation could not lessen the rise in his spirits. "Just barely missed what you said before. The video feed's been damaged, so I can't see your position. What's going on?"
"Is backup available yet? There are tons of those people up here. They're like ants."
"Or locusts. We're getting another wave set up. Do you need an escape route?"
Bakura looked to the sky, its dwindling light reminding him that he had not slept for some time. He would love to get some sleep, but his dedication to their cause would not allow him to give up now. Not to mention he had one more move available to him if the fighting became too much. He could not throw in the towel while these people kept dying because of something no one understood. "No. Just…keep looking for them, okay?"
"Of course."
Bakura took a deep breath and returned to the battle.
Not much later, his headset clicked. He was in the middle of grappling with one of the less affected, but he still listened as he tried not to find himself in a headlock. At first, it was nothing but static. Then…
"Good news," Jael's voice rang clear, sounding very pleased. "Found the kids."
Her message over, his headset clicked once more, leaving him in silence. Moving in a way that would have been impossible for him at the start of his assigned job in Domino, he forced his leg in a position to kick out his enemy's knee and used the momentum to shift their combined weight. Taking the person of the Sea down with him, he pinned them to the ground to deal a final blow; his knife plunging deep into their eye socket. Bakura let out a laugh that made his shoulders shudder, as if he were about to cry. His thoughts ignored the gore before him. It was good news. They were safe.
He had just enough time to feel bone against metal reverberate in his grip. Just enough time to watch the life peter out of the mindless being before him and wonder if he had ever looked like that in the past before he felt his whole body seize with the sound that exploded throughout the wastes. Every one of his cells screamed in confusion and pain as his mind eked out half-thoughts and buried memories in a cyclone of agony. Nothing was cohesive as he fell to the dirt, and Bakura could have sworn that he saw each particle drift upwards as he hit the ground. Only one clear thought surfaced, and even then, it was brought with a question. A singular tower, hand-built, gray paint used to mimic bricks upon its plasticine surface, and the question following a strange sweet and metallic taste that filled his mouth. The smell of hot glue…
'Psychic scream?' he wondered as his consciousness left him.
He was tired of passing out. If he was not dead, he was going to make whoever had done this regret not killing him.
Exhausted, but filled with enough spite to open his eyes, he sat up and saw the dark expanse that encapsulated his reoccurring nightmares. The swirling void that contained the strange entity that guided him ever closer to yet another ocean. His hands slid across invisible stone, pebbles rolling beneath his palms as he pushed himself up to a standing position. In this world, dream logic seemed to dictate all. What once had been complete darkness now had pockets of light, just enough to see. All by just standing.
However, what he had expected to greet him was not there. There was no strange, half-hidden creature to try and invoke some forgotten loyalty. To goad him into moving by using his sister's memory.
Instead, perched on a rock as if it were his throne was a specter of a young man, no older than he. It was striking in its lackadaisical posture as he was in appearance. Donned in the very apparel Bakura wore, with a strange and ancient cloak covering most of it, its attention homed in on him. Familiar eyes peered down at him as Bakura walked toward the apparition, up some invisible ramp to reach its level. Hair wilder than his shifted gently with this near transparent creature as they righted their posture. It was the first respectful thing that Bakura thought this being had ever done for him.
"You," Bakura whispered in shock. "You…" he repeated, venom eking into his tone.
"Me," the spirit agreed. It crossed its legs. What looked like his legs. "And you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
How could someone who was supposed to be dead look so pleased. It made Bakura furious. For an instant, his previous aches for the past, even for the worst of it, passed. If he had hoped for a contrite reunion, he had been a fool.
"We haven't had a chat like this in so long, my host. Dear Landlord…"
"You're quite right," Bakura replied, folding his arms. His lips pressed into a thin line. "But last I checked, your plans didn't go so well for you. World's still here."
Ah, good. The spirit's cocky face had fallen.
However, within a heartbeat, the disappointment washed of his face. "It's interesting how bitter you sound about that," the spirit replied, surprising Bakura. He had not noticed any change in his voice. "Forgive me, my sight of the world aside from this…" Translucent fingers fluttered as the spirit motioned to the void, "gives me little to go on. Did the world change or something? Has it been worth saving? Oh, wait. Sorry."
The spirit's hand came to his mouth as if to hide a smile or feign shock. Bakura clenched his fists, enraged.
"You know I had nothing to do with that."
"Don't sell yourself short. You did. Well, you at least made the stage?"
Bakura could not contain himself. Too much sat upon his plate and here he was rehashing terrible memories with the very being who had made them happen. He had missed him, but only because it had felt like there had been no one else. Strange memories and half-thoughts that had made him feel sympathetic to a lost soul. Being faced with this arrogant specter, it was easy to forget those feelings.
"I trusted you!" he cried, finally expressing how he felt. After all these years… "You were supposed to explain everything to me! You said you were finally done hurting my friends…that you had learned your lesson! You said we could…" His voice broke mid-shout, and the room quaked with his sorrow and anger. The void swirled furiously around them, and he would have been fascinated by its reactions to his emotions if he had not been so focused on the spirit in front of him.
He stormed the rest of the way over and shoved an accusatory finger in the spirit's face. He held back on the urge to punch him as he continued. "You said we could have been like them…that we could have shared so much. You said…you said we could have…been like Yugi and…and you LIED!"
"You seem more interested in the past than how you got here…"
"Oh, like you would bother to explain how or why? Who even cares right now? I'll care after I'm done being battered with near death experiences left and right! No. I'm here and finally face to face with you. I've wanted this moment for so long. First, I just wanted to ask, to know why you did it, to empathize. But now, I'm going to give you a piece of my mind. And even if you told me some story? Why should I trust what you say? You kept me in the dark for so long—I had faith in you once before and you threw it in my face!"
The being before him sat motionless, a mirror image of what he supposed he looked like in that instant. Somehow, he even managed to have that stupid scar that took up part of Bakura's face. He felt like he was yelling at himself, which felt even stranger. It was as if he were shouting down the part of him that had been so stupid to trust the ancient spirit in the first place. Shouting down the part of him that was excited to see him, even now.
"You know," the spirit reflected, "you sound really familiar."
"Oh?" Bakura could not see how.
"You sound like me."
Baffled, Bakura had to steady himself as if he had been shoved backwards with that statement. "Excuse me? I sound like You?"
"It makes sense," the spirit replied, shrugging. "We are the same, after all."
"Shut up! I'm not like you! I'll never be like you!" he snarled, shaking and gritting his teeth. The audacity that the voice once in his head (now returned?) that caused such pain to his friends had in saying such a thing left him fuming. Yes, he had been angry they had banished the spirit without letting him let go or ever get a resolution, but that did not change his feelings about being betrayed by something he had offered his trust to. Not even that excitement of a familiar entity could set the roiling bubble of emotions to a simmer. He had been so lonely, and the spirit had preyed upon him. "I'm not you," he proclaimed, but even as the words left him, they felt sour and untrue.
The being before him passively watched with a tired expression, neutral to his posturing. "You're me," he asserted. "Maybe not by your actions. Maybe you are 'better', whatever that means, but we are the same. No doubt you have been emulating unintended 'habits' that might have crossed between us…" Bakura tilted his head and crossed his arms; stubbornly refusing to confirm what the spirit said. He thought he knew what the spirit was getting at, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of being right. The spirit gave him a knowing grin, regardless. Whether he had intended or not, the very action the young man had performed perfectly mirrored the spirit's own past behaviors. "We are both incomplete portions of a tattered soul."
"If we are, you're to blame."
"Yeah, I am. I failed my people and forgot my purpose, used like I used you."
Well, at least he admitted it.
"But that same justice that took me down this path beats within your heart. I might not know why it does, but it is the very same. You, our only chance for peace in the afterlife." The spirit laughed, and Bakura was struck by how sad it sounded. "I guess I hope you are better, and you don't forget your purpose."
"What are you talking about?"
"Yugi was the reincarnation of the pharaoh, the reborn wielder of the puzzle. An incomplete soul, at least until he found his own strength and set the remnants of his past self to rest. You try dealing with the magic of the items and not have your soul be split in some way. Of course, you were my host, my landlord, the one destined to guide me to that last fight. Now with Zork momentarily defeated and being confronted with my memories and my failings—as well as the pharaoh's—I can remember all, and I know you and I…we are the same. I don't know your goals in life; I never bothered to learn more than that you yearned for companionship…sorry I guess." He looked to the swirling mass below him, precariously dangling above a churning chasm to nowhere, with a regretful expression and Bakura felt the apology more than heard it. A retrospective silence consumed the two of them for an instant. Then, still looking at the eddying waves of nothingness, the spirit continued, "But I don't think you can get it without me. And I need you to help me with what comes after this."
The spirit rubbed at his face and Bakura wondered if spirits cried. If they did, could this one even feel enough to cry? "I've been in the dark so long," the spirt reminisced. "Repeating and repeating everything that has happened. My own punishment for forgetting why I had sold my soul in the first place. Never to leave; forever to hear the screams of my people. I failed them."
If being defeated had brought back his ability to be remorseful, Bakura wondered if it was not a preferable state of being. Then again, he could not imagine being trapped in this world that seemed to drain everything out of a person, reliving the worst moments of his life. That would be enough to turn him into what the spirit had become, or at least something that might bring him to that brink. Bakura closed his eyes and recalled the bright light of an overhead lamp in his face, a gurney beneath him, and his stomach clenched as the memories of great agony sliced through him, scalpel-like in their precision. He had suffered three years of that and still he stood as a man of compassion; he did not know if more time would have changed him.
This turned his mind to his dreams. To questions. "Are you the thing that's been guiding me?" he asked.
It was like a switch went off; the spirit's face became alert and his full attention was on Bakura again. "No. That's a trap and you know it as well as I do. I think after this discussion you even know who it is, too. And that isn't your precious sister. You will end up like me if you take that bait." He paused. "But, I am there, too. The last remnant of me, that is. You still must go there, just…not take the bait as you are looking for me. This place that we are speaking in is real in a sense, but it's not like I'm fully within you, or beside you or anything. Yet."
Interesting. "So, what good are you to me now, in this form? I can't go about knocking myself out every time I want to have a conversation with you. And it seems like near death experiences are the only doorway into this place." That, Bakura thought, or ill-timed dreams.
The familiar smirk that Yugi and his friends would have recognized resurfaced. He extended a ghost-like hand to him. "I'm clever, I've survived—even now—through the impossible, and have just enough strength to manifest in your dreams to guide you in something no one else could. A talent that is rather rare. I'd say that's something."
'Diabound,' Bakura thought and the words echoed through the cavern as if he had spoken. The spirit laughed, pleased with the way the young man thought.
"Did you know it was considered holy? Our holy ka made holy again by your virtue, compassion, and thirst for justice. Real justice, too. None of that feigned crap that most 'leaders' proclaim they have. Help me—"
"Do what?"
Irritation flickered in the spirit's eyes. "Become whole as we deserve to be! Yugi got it by appeasing the pharaoh's soul, becoming his own person, thus healing his fragmented existence. We deserve it, too!"
The phrase sounded familiar, and for an instant Bakura was pulled back to the smells of the ruined city of Domino, wind whispering in his ear, the stars trying to wake him from the darkness within. His mouth moving of its own volition. A boy in the shadows of his apartment watching him fearfully. He had had this conversation before, in some manner, somehow. He remembered a forgotten thought in that hazy moment.
"We could protect him…" he said as if waking from a dream.
"Yes! And I can teach you how! Just promise to help me."
No longer a child, Bakura scoffed at this demand formed as a request. "You make such a convincing argument," he said sarcastically. "Just promise to help me, and I'll teach you about something you already use. Sounds a lot like something I heard before…sort of like 'I promise I'll teach you what I know about the items, so you can help your friends find the pharaoh's name, but help me make this diorama first, oh…but I won't explain its relevance just yet."
"At least you learned what it looked like?"
Bakura scowled. "You aren't helping your case."
Once again at an impasse, they sized up each other, mirror-images. Well, for the most part. Bakura noted the other seemed more muscular at that moment, but it could have been something in this world that distorted his image of the other's incorporeal form. This plane seemed to do strange things. Maybe his strange dreams were not so foreign after all; if he let himself think back to Battle City, to the strange memories that he had wanted to forget at the time, this place became as familiar as his apartment, and no less lonely as it had been when he had been younger.
"Promise to teach me everything you know about this place, too. About the thing after me, and what it wants."
Arm still outstretched, the spirt sighed. "That one is easy. I'll tell you as a sign of good faith. It wants your soul."
"My soul."
"Yes, your soul! To gain more power or to make you do its bidding. You're sensitive to this magic in a way hardly any other mortal is. It's sort of its thing. Fucker lied to me, has lied to me all my existence…living and as a spirit…and look what happened. It's going to do whatever it can to get you on its side."
"If that's the case, it offers strange things."
"Yeah? Trying to play on your helpfulness? Your compassion? Trying to root out if any of my memories have bled into yours?"
"I guess."
"You guess," the spirit snorted. "You know you need me. And I need you to make us whole again."
"Why? For your afterlife to be cozy? Why does someone like you deserve that?"
The spirit's face softened. At first, Bakura thought he had hit another nerve, but to his chagrin, disappointment was not the emotion etched upon his mimicked features. "You don't really believe that," the spirit remarked, paralleling the young man's gentle nature even as Bakura attempted the opposite. "That is…sweet." He ignored Bakura's astonishment as he continued, "If I don't, you do. You deserve some peace for once, don't you? We've been screwed by fate one too many times. It's time for us to fight back. The least we deserve is to rest as something whole in the afterlife."
"…You will help me protect them?"
"Yes."
"If you're lying—"
"I have nothing to gain from deceiving you anymore."
Bakura eyed the spirit, reflecting on his options. If he did not accept, it would be a long road to learn what he needed by trial and error, and time that he might not have. He might be dying now. It was always instances like that that allowed him into this world. To speak with a spirit now far removed from the living. In this moment he was given the opportunity to achieve closure, the opportunity ripped away from him by his well-intentioned but ultimately cruel friends. He had even less time to decide how that closure would manifest.
He breathed in the dead air of the spirit's tomb. He released it, having made his choice. Taking hold of his other half's hand was like dipping his fingers into a snow bank, but his heart was struck by a sudden warmth. A fullness he never thought possible.
He did not forgive, not yet, but this was the path he chose. And…he wanted to understand. He always had.
"Teach me, then, you bastard."
That smirk again. "You really sound just like me."
Daylight greeted him with blinding white light. No, not daylight. The sky had finally dipped to a deep blue, the last remnants of the sun a faded red line of blood on the horizon. The brilliant light radiated just behind his prone form, mimicking the light of an early morning sun. As he raised his head he saw the shocked faces of those of the Arid Sea, their sickness-tinged skin that swirled with purple bruising paling at the entity that had appeared. Bakura's protector; his ka.
For the bulk of his life, he had been the only one to protect himself, after all.
The young man stood upright, seeing foes and his temporary allies strewn across the field; some dead, some dying, and some enemies still with enough of their senses falling to their knees in awe. Bakura raised a hand to those stalled before him, those who had planned to surround him to finish their relayed job, and he offered them a smile. Not a smirk. A smile; one that was calm, gentle—with the promise of an agonizing death in his flat gaze. Blood dripped from the reopened wound on his forehead, trailing down his face and over his cheeks like tears.
"Diabound," he called, his voice as gentle as that smile, "lets show them we can play their game, too."
The incantation might have escaped him at that moment, but the results were the same. His enemies were knocked back with the very psychic attack they had somehow thrown at him. An attack Diabound had learned since the soul survived it. A gift of knowledge from his other half.
"Sweet dreams," Bakura breathed, directing his words to the fallen. He pressed his fingertips to his lips, blood touching blood, and blew a kiss to punctuate the finality. He had had a most insightful dream. It was only fair to wish them the same.
Jael was a part of the back-up that found Bakura half an hour later, in the deep embrace of the night, resting up against the remains of a brick half-wall a few meters away from the entrance to the city. He sat upon the blood-soaked earth, a placid look upon his face, his fingers toying at the sash wrapped around his waist. He was covered in dark splotches—when the light hit him they gleamed a rusted red, permanent stains upon his clothes. When the light from her flashlight hit his face, he did not immediately react. She flicked the light in his eyes a few times to see if he would respond. At first, he sat there in his meditative state, then, he blinked but said nothing. Crunching dirt upon potholed asphalt alerted her to a foe still bent on commanded destruction, and she turned on her heel to deal a killing blow with a blade swiftly procured from her belt. She sighed as she watched the body tumble to Bakura's unmoving position and looked around at the state of the frontline.
There were a few survivors of The Arid Sea trussed up to her left, dazed and ready to be dragged in as prisoners, while surviving members of the second and third wave that the Counsel sent congregated to her right amongst the rubble of the world, with some poking at their bandages, some resting as they waited to be carried to the med bay, others still shaking off the effects of the strange attack that they had survived. Not that she knew of the inexplicable explosion of sound without sound; just that Bakura shared his expression with these confused souls. So deep in thought, Jael jumped when the young man spoke.
"You know, I never thought I'd ever meet an alien until now…can you believe that?" he said with a smile. There was something different about his eyes, but Jael was more concerned about the stains on his clothes. He was hurt; the blood on his face was definitely his. The other stains...
"Your kid thinks these people are infected. Did you get any of their blood on you?"
Bakura chuckled and looked to the stars. Jael's heart fell; afraid that he had ended up as so many of the others she had interrogated over the past couple of years.
"They're being controlled," Bakura said, and he shrugged, spinning to face her from his seat in the grime. The playfulness of the gesture gave her hope. "Whatever they're being controlled by doesn't sit well with humans…that's probably what's happening."
"How do you know?"
"It's sort of a hypothesis."
"Formed by?"
"We asked some of the prisoners."
"And they actually spoke to you?"
"Yeah."
She blinked in surprise. The change was unprecedented. "How? What made them talk?"
"There was a mass attack, something I've never seen before and none of your guys had either. It did something, scrambled our thoughts…and it threw them off whatever mind controlling thing these people were under."
"How?"
Bakura shook his head. "You'd have to ask one of your guys. They did most of the interrogation. After a first few questions, I left it to them. Went to help the injured. After that…I've just been sitting here, trying to get my bearings."
"Fair enough."
"Yeah. Um…good job on that uh," he half-heartedly motioned to the corpse beside him.
"Thanks," she sang.
Jael watched as Bakura started to slip back into his trance and cleared her throat. "…You ready to come inside?" she asked after a moment.
"Oh...of course. Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind."
"Duh. But don't forget you have kids waiting for you."
That made Bakura rise from his seat on the blood-encrusted ground, sobered by the memory of their prolonged separation. "They're okay, right?" he questioned, following her inside. By now, the injured were being carried in, and the prisoners dragged to a holding cell for the Counsel to cast judgment and conduct further interrogation at a later time.
"Eh…define okay."
"Hurt?"
"No," she said, and giggled. "I don't think these kids are your usual…expectation of what children are like."
"No, they aren't," Bakura agreed, laughing with her.
"They're none too friendly to us, though."
Bakura shrugged. "To be fair, you did take us prisoner earlier today."
"…That was today! Holy shit." She seemed as baffled by the timespan as he had been.
"I know, right?"
There was much hustle through the halls, with parents being reunited with their children, friends with friends. Somber tones echoed against the stony hollows; everyone knew there had been a major death toll this time. In certain sections, quiet bickering began. While some believed all that could have been done to protect the people had been done, others still argued that they were too unprepared. Fingers began to point, but no one had a definitive place to point to aside from the Arid Sea. Such things would be brought to the Counsel, in time.
For now, none of this mattered to Bakura. His concerns lay within the control center of the underground city. Opening the door to the chamber that the Counsel had moved to, elation filled him when he saw D and Claire seated beside Mai, patiently waiting for his return. Well, at least patient in appearance, which he knew was a lot to ask for. D heard him first, his head popping up from his meditative position in his cushioned seat. Claire saw him first, her sight trained hard on the entrance. Her eyes widened at his arrival.
"Bakura!"
"Bakura-sama!"
Claire dashed forward, leaving her spinning chair twirling with the force, and clung to him. He held her at his side, as excited and relieved to see her as she was to see him. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked to D, unable to hold in the intense concern and relief within him. The boy remained seated with a hesitant forward lean, one of his rare smiles gracing his face, appearing torn between remaining calm and running to him as Claire had.
Raising his free arm, Bakura invited the boy into the embrace. With unchecked speed, D leapt from his seat and held fast to the young man, his grip upon him like a climbing rose bush to a wall. Bakura knelt so he could hold them closer, swearing to himself that this time, this time, would be the last he ever unwillingly separated from either of them.
They stayed that way until Mai cleared her throat. The other members of the Counsel were there as well, and things still needed to be discussed. Bakura reluctantly stood; either child still hanging onto him as if he were going to disappear. D held a fold of Bakura's shirt between his left index finger and thumb, while Claire was more obvious, near hanging off Bakura's arm.
"Don't you think it would be more prudent if the children were escorted back with the others for now?" Annika asked, and Bakura shook his head.
"We ain't leaving his side!" Claire snapped, her grip upon him so tight his arm was beginning to change color.
D shook his head; his own brand of silent defiance.
"I'm sure whatever we're going to talk about isn't something that they'd repeat," Bakura explained. "And there's some things I need to talk to you about, regarding your games, rules, and how this all affects them."
"Ah, yes," Ray said, crossing his arms. "You did win. Don't you think prizes should be talked about later?"
"My prize would mean there would not be much of a later."
Oly, the other to vote in Jael's favor, balked. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"Before you ask," Mai interjected, stemming the flow of further animosity, "would it be possible if we asked a favor of you?"
"Just because you're his friend or whatever doesn't give you a right to ask him anything," Claire cut in, tugging Bakura back although the man did not budge. She kept the pressure backwards still. "You all tried to get him killed!"
"We did not," Daniel replied, affronted at the accusation.
"Are you really going to bicker with a kid?" Mai sighed, shaking her head. "I know I don't have much of a right to ask, Bakura-kun, but please. It's more of a request from me to you. I know what you want, too. Just hear me out."
"What are you asking?" Bakura said, the pinpricks upon his arm like swarms of gnats. He refrained from shrugging Claire off, knowing it was more a comfort to her than an actual demand.
"Please just stay a little longer. We could use your help," she glared at the other members that were ready to disavow such a claim. "You offered it before and we were able to save more lives than if you hadn't pulled what you did. I still don't know quite what happened at the end there and we need to talk about that, but I'm sure that everyone here is appreciative that you volunteered for such a dangerous mission even when some of us weren't so deserving of it." A ring of stares so seething in its distaste manifested as she said this, but no one spoke up to deny his assistance.
"When others hear about it, I'm sure they'll be grateful as well," the one garbed in deep blue noted, rubbing at her temples. "Can we just get on with this, he's covered in blood and it stinks."
Jael snickered from the corner she had migrated to and gave Bakura an apologetic shrug. "You do."
"In the end, it would be safer for you guys out there, too. If you helped us." Mai's eyes implored him, and it was only their connection to their pasts that stopped him from an outright negative response. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders as he let out a deep sigh. He looked down at D, who still held onto him, regardless of how he smelled, and at Claire, who's grip was turning his pale arm into a lovely shade of purple.
It almost matched his sash.
"You know why that might be difficult to promise," he said. The insinuation was as faint as the glow from the nearby computer screen, but still Mai caught on. She cocked her head in the shortest nod he had ever seen and knew just how safe their secrets would be with her.
"Yes. You have more reasons to leave than stay, but really, it would be safer for them out there if you helped us get rid of them."
"That is until we come across another group of people who attack us for one reason or another. It's never going to be safe like it once was, but…" Bakura sighed again. He thought on the soothing sound of the crashing waves of the beach in Domino, the ocean spray of the seaside city D and him had resided in, and on his own wish for D (and now Claire) to live a somewhat normal life, even for a little bit. They were always so close, but so far from such a feat. When would they get this sort of reprieve again? A place where they were surrounded by people who would be more grateful for their staying than leaving, given time. Such places would be few and far between. It felt a fool's choice to go running back out into that dark wilderness: where the coming of evening meant the ever-present fear of the up-and-coming creatures of the night, and where dawn brought on enemies. Human enemies, but still enemies. Finding the difference between here and those cities seemed negligible.
Also, it was not like staying in this city would be a permanent solution. It could not be. Too many here had lost loved ones to the unknown, to the strange. To the supernatural.
Contempt for the boy would breed quickly in these conditions, festering into a wound that would never heal right, even with their best intentions. D would need a place more willing to accept him. If it had been just the girl…but that was a moot point unworthy of his time to think. He would never separate from D for an instant of comfort. Not that being surrounded by rock and concrete was much of a comfort.
The city might not be the epitome of aesthetics, but it would still be a nice place to hide away from the likes of D's father, for a time. Mai was a guaranteed ally, also. Mostly, it was a safe place for them to fully prepare for what would be a long road ahead. As he weighed all of this in his mind, Bakura wondered what his other friends would have done in this situation. A bitter line formed on his face, stretching his blood-drenched skin. He knew the answer.
"Fine."
"What?!" Cries of betrayal resounded through the cavernous room like cries of disbelieving souls fallen to hell. The hell of uncertainty. Bakura grit his teeth, knowing this choice was the best one, understanding the shouts of bewilderment but remaining resolute. He wanted out of this gaudy, claustrophobic underground world as much as they did, but too much was offered here to ignore. Mai, who he trusted, was depending on him, too. The proud woman who he remembered from years ago rarely asked for assistance. How could he deny her like that, when she had done nothing but put in a good word for him. Their discomfort in the first hours of the trio's exposure to the city could be forgiven if it kept the children safe.
"Only until the problem is taken care of," he reasoned. "Then I'll ask for my favor."
"That could take years!" D cried out, his shock outweighing his otherwise silent nature.
"I don't wanna stay here!" Claire chimed in, nanoseconds after D's exclamation. "They're mean! And dumb! They can't even keep an eye on us!"
"I know you all have been through a lot," Mai soothed, attempting to pacify the girl. Even still, the slight twitch of her mask where her eyebrow arched denoted the irritation behind her pleasant words.
"You don't know nothin'!"
Covering her mouth in such a way that ensured the privacy required without garnering the rest of the Counsel's curiosity, Mai mouthed, "I know about D."
Claire loosened her hold on Bakura in shock. D's face fell at the recognition of what this could mean. He lost all color in his already pale complexion as he struggled to comprehend why Bakura felt it was safe to tell these people about him. The deep pools of his eyes darted to Bakura, filled with incredulity and wounded trust.
"You told her?" The hushed question hurt Bakura with how the boy's voice trembled at the end. That fear—Bakura hated it. He wished he could take it away. Yet, even he knew, no matter who accepted him, that feeling would always haunt the boy no matter where he turned. He just had to make it clear that he was safe. For now.
"You're safe here," Mai said, leaning down to meet D eye to eye. "I promise."
"What is your promise supposed to mean to me?" Dark eyes searched violet ones, the quiet voice purposefully emotionless. Mai's first look into the man that he would become was one Bakura had never experienced. For an instant, she was chilled to the very bone. However, she did not let harsh words—made harsher coming from a child—stop her from showing kindness. If anything, her own upbringing helped her remain compassionate and empathetic to his distrust.
"Give me time, and I'll prove it to you," she said good-naturedly.
"This is more for your safety than anything," Bakura whispered. No one caught on that he had even spoken, aside from the wary boy beside him. "On my life, I swear to you, everything will be fine."
D did not respond, although it was clear to those who knew him that the slight flicker of emotion upon his face held one of fleeting hope. Bakura's word, even as uncertain and unhappy the boy was with his choice, meant more than any other's. He stepped closer to the man, but did not hide away from who was, for all intents and purposes, a supposedly friendly stranger to him. Mai, as she had introduced herself previously, seemed to take his stance and silence as a positive, and she gave him a reassuring nod even as Claire stuck her tongue out at her from the other side of Bakura. D kicked at the girl, exasperated by how confident she played now, when their safety seemed in good fortune. He did not know what would change it, but he did not want either of them to be the reason. She kicked back in retaliation.
Bakura sighed.
"If you're staying, you will need a stage name," Annika interrupted, unsure of the purpose of the current conversation but ready to move on. The other councilmembers nodded in agreement. "Since you played. Everyone gets one if they play. But I agree with Lindsey. You need to…clean up."
"I…suppose so."
It took no less coaxing than Bakura had anticipated for the children to be separated from him once more. However, even he had to admit he preferred privacy when it came to cleaning himself off. He took the towel Mai offered and followed the route Daniel drew out to the room that held the communal bath, empty for the time being. Most people were still reeling from the aftermath; bathing could come later.
As he waited for the bath to fill with water (that was to his shock, warm) Bakura dabbed at the nonexistent cut on his head, clearing it of the coagulated blood that was caked on. The act reminded him that there should have been a sting, and he pondered on a topic he had been too frightened to before. After going through his most recent trials, the thought did not hold as much unease as it once had.
With his free hand, he searched for the familiar change in texture upon his chest, the points where he had once been bodily connected to the ring. He traced back to his arm, his thumb running across the deep scar that remained from something he could hardly recall, but the anger and fear it had brought had all but faded. His eyes caught sight of the shift in color of his left hand, the puncture wound the least hazy of all his previous injuries. He chuckled, thinking he should have used his left hand to shake the spirit's. His laughter stopped when he thought of D. And then it started again.
Who had been the parasite in that campaign?
His fingers shifted, running along his side, along ribs down to just under them, where the skin smoothed into a scar. This one was new, small, near forgettable, and an even smaller price to pay for a wound that should have killed him.
What had that man done to him?
The question caught against another, like bramble to cloth, and his brown eyes widened in surprise. They swiftly flicked to his left where he could sense the presence of Diabound, watching, waiting in half-existence, for his command. The possibility of the two strange occurrences being interconnected had never crossed his mind. Or maybe he had never let it.
"Is it possible?" he murmured to himself, absentmindedly rubbing at the same spot, clean a few swipes ago. "Could there be some innate ability because of my past that has reawakened the powers that…our ancient ancestors might have carried?"
"At least…my past self carried—if I even believe what he's saying…"
"The items might have brought forth the manifestation of ka to those who wielded them, but not everyone needed an item to hold power over one. To command that piece of their soul. It just…helped? Enhanced? Brought focus?"
"An interesting concept," a faint disembodied voice crooned, echoing in the chamber of his mind. It was weak, but there. Bakura closed his eyes and fixated upon it. It was familiar, but strange. To think that he now had this ability, that he could speak to a spirit connected to him, thousands of miles away, and in a sense oversee whether the connection happened or not…it gave him a strange sense of wonder and pride. Even if the spirit was lying, Bakura now had some control.
And he liked it.
"You think it's biological?" The voice continued, more in-focus, as if Bakura had tuned to the correct frequency on a radio. The young man felt giddy at the realization.
"You don't spend three years of your life on a table being experimented on without picking something up. Especially when you can recall what they said before sliding into unconsciousness from the rare instances of anesthetics."
"That's shitty."
"Trust me, you have no idea," Bakura said aloud, the washcloth finally running along his nose, smearing the drying blood more than cleaning it. "What you put me through was a piece of cake in comparison."
"Aw, so you did miss me."
"About as much as I'd miss a tapeworm," he replied, chuckling to himself. "No. I sort of did. Miss you."
"…"
"No doubt you miss the body." A pale hand dipped into the clear water that filled the basin that was the tub, marring its transparency with its red stain. "There've been some changes."
"Do tell."
"I didn't want to think about it before, but I heal faster than I should. I've survived things that should have killed me. I can now call forth our ka, which never would have happened before. D-kun said that I was a failure of his father's in some way. Whatever it was, he certainly didn't fail in changing something about me."
"Probably pure stress. I can't say for the healing, but Diabound came to me when—"
There was a knock at the door and Bakura's attention snapped to the sound of poorly-oiled hinges creaking open. The voice within ceased instantly with an almost audible click. He let out a brief and incomplete request for the person to leave but silenced himself when he saw who it was. It would have been a pointless request. She was about as courteous as Claire with her concept of personal space.
Jael entered the washroom, ignoring any modicum of modesty Bakura might have, folded clothes under her arm. He was grateful that he had been so engrossed with his internal musings so that he was still fully clothed. She saw him in his frozen position, arm still slightly outstretched, and grinned.
"So, have you decided on a stage name yet?" she asked, inviting herself to stay by sitting upon the crate that held the soap he was using. "And since you're staying for a bit, are you intending on giving me another chance for a rematch?"
"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "about the name. I could still teach you about the card game, though. Claire wanted to learn about it, too."
"I'd gladly take that offer if it wasn't a matter of pride."
Bakura let out a short snort as he turned off the water. He refrained from undressing; uncomfortable with removing any clothing in front of her, but willing to participate in the conversation. "Fine, then. It couldn't hurt. I still get to keep this win, right?"
"Of course!"
"Do I actually need to have a stage name?"
She shrugged. "It's tradition; a young one, but still one. Everyone who plays gets one. People only know you for it if you become 'famous' anyway. But, it's nice for those who wanted to turn over a new leaf or forget something unpleasant about their past…or family's past."
"What was your reason, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Oh God…" she readjusted herself upon her makeshift chair. "You wanna be here for a while?"
"If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to."
"I don't wanna talk your ear off. The short and sweet of it: I hated my last name and all it stood for, and people love me for this one. I still remember the very first time the crowd shouted Iron Jael." She raised her hands up as if soaking in an unheard applause, her face beaming with the memory. "Sure, I put it in front of my name, but so have others."
"It's always the last name?"
"Yup."
"But my last name is Bakura."
Jael blinked in surprise. Her mouth made an 'o' of understanding. "Ah, I see. And that's what everyone calls you?"
"Yeah."
"What's your first name again?"
"Ryou."
She forcefully blew air from her nose in frustration. "Well…it's not like either are super easy to say or anythin'. Is the last name thing a culture thing?"
"Yes?"
"Well, we're talking new leaf stuff here. So, try and give it a shot?"
Bakura shrugged at her insistence. The issue was he liked his name. He liked everything about his name. He was Bakura Ryou, the one who survived possession, and death. Dashed the dreams of assholes, such as D's father and his own other half, who thought that they could bend the world to their liking and receive no resistance. Tried to provide hope and peace to children who knew nothing but a world of nightmares. Yet, he did not want to make light of this extension of good will from her or the Counsel. He would be dealing with them for some time now that he agreed to help Mai. His brow furrowed in thought, Bakura considered his options. It would matter little when his little group left, so he supposed there was no use in fighting it, but he did want to pick something neat.
"Dream Eater?" he offered, wiping at his face again. Might as well clean something as he thought on his temporary title. "Or Thief King?" he added with a crooked smile, his own internal joke. Jael cocked her head at the options, but the look upon her face denoted that she thought his choices were clever.
"Ya sure ate my dreams," she replied with a good-natured snicker. "For now, at least. Anyway, both fit if you're solely basing your name off of this one game…but the first one has more oomph in my opinion."
"Then Dream Eater, I guess."
"Are you sure, though? Do you really want to be marked as someone who takes things or steals wins?"
Bakura shook his head. "That's not why I chose it. It's a play on my last name."
"Oh...What about the other one?"
"A tasteless joke."
"I don't get it."
Bakura gestured, signaling it was nothing to worry over, returning to his slow cleaning process.
Jael sat there in silence, watching him carefully for a time. As if she were searching for something. Eventually, he was left to wash himself in peace, with instructions on where to find the children afterwards and to leave the water for the next group of people. No need to waste bath water under these conditions. He was not a fan of it, but he understood.
Afterwards, he made his way to the room where Mai patiently waited with another woman and the children. The woman introduced herself as one of the teachers who would be overseeing them as Claire blinked tiredly at a wall, the lack of sleep finally catching up to her. D appeared alert, but as the surface world was now deep into night it was no surprise. The boy was made for this hour. Bakura remained pleasant but firm in that all conversations would have to wait until morning. The teacher seemed appreciative and looked as exhausted as he felt when she retired from the room.
"It's been a long day…" Bakura sighed, running his fingers through his bangs. Mai nodded from her position at the back of the room. There were three cots set up close to her proximity, and they looked as inviting as he knew they were supposed to feel. It was clear, however, that this room had been swiftly turned into one for their use. The scent of earth and stuffiness that storage brought clung to the air, and the aged sofa the children sat upon had clearly been propped up against the wall prior to this moment; the outline of unintended grime marking its previous place on the wall.
"It has," she agreed. "We'll deal with the specifics of what I'd like you to do later. I just wanted to personally make sure the kids were in good hands, and that you all got a place of your own to rest in."
"Thank you."
"Don't worry about it. The time also let us talk a little about how I know you. I'd say it was pretty enlightening." She smiled as she turned to D, who glanced her way and gave the most nanoscopic shrug. Her brow furrowed, but Bakura motioned that that was just the way the boy was. This earned him an exasperated look from the boy, which he laughed at.
"Jael mentioned you picked a name," Mai said, wiping one of the nearby dressers with her fingertips. A light coat of dust lifted, leaving a snakelike trail upon it's surface. Bakura frowned and reminded himself he would have to clean that later. "She's only a hallway down from you. Normally, the rooms are in better shape than this."
"It's fine. We'll work with what we have, since it's only temporary. I chose Dream Eater."
"Oooh!" Claire gasped, instantly roused by the topic. "That's so cool and spooky! I want a stage name, too!"
"We're still working out a kid-friendly version of the games, but I'm sure you'll make plenty of friends who will give you a nickname. The concept is similar enough."
"I wonder what nickname would be chosen for me," D mused, his voice as quiet as the clicking of his nails against each other. The action was soothing; the thought of dealing with new people, and the risks that ran made him nervous. He did not have to like the people surrounding him to not want to kill them because of his urges.
Claire rolled her eyes. "Your name is D. It's, like, short enough to be a nickname already."
'It is, technically,' the boy thought to himself. Outwardly, he only shrugged, tight-lipped once more.
Mai's face became lined with concern. Taking care not to encroach on the boy's space, she found another seat across from the pair upon the sofa. She rested her chin in her hand as she assessed the boy, who blinked in confusion at her stance. She seemed sad, but he could not fathom why she would be.
Then she spoke.
"D's not a name for a kid. Wouldn't you like a real name?" Since the boy had not moved back, she leaned forward a bit to brush the loose strands of his bangs from his face. "How about…Akira? You look like an Akira."
He was baffled and shocked by the thought and offer to change his name. His mouth opened to respond but not a sound came forth. The gesture came from one of kindness, not unlike the many times Bakura had attempted to make him feel normal. Still, he could not rationalize it. How would changing his name benefit anyone? His father would find him regardless. But he supposed that was not the point…had he ever secretly wished for a moment like this?
Bakura had propped his tired frame against the wall, his eyes watching the boy carefully. In silence, he offered no help or admonishment; his crossed arms and benign expression stating all he had to say. Apparently, it would be D's choice alone. Looking down into his palms, D wondered what it would be like to have a different name. To be a different person. If he thought about it, he had never liked his name in the first place.
'Can't hide from him, no matter what you do,' the pervasive little voice that was not his own rang through his mind. 'Pretend all you like. Pretend to be human, pretend you'll actually go by a different name…It's all the same in the end.'
The little annoyance in his hand was not wrong. He would be pretending. Changing his name would be little more than a disguise for any oral or paper trail left behind for his father to find. He did not feel as if he deserved to change his name: plenty of people out there were unhappy with theirs and changed it for that purpose. They meant it. They needed that change. He could not imagine turning in response to the sound of any other name.
He was D. The boy who wore his name already shortened, a reminder of who he was and what he needed to be careful of. It reminded him of his mother and what he had lost. Every time it was spoken, he felt hatred and pride—Bakura had made him feel like he could carry the weight of what it symbolized.
Maybe that was why the man stood there and said nothing. He already knew the boy's answer and knew the boy would rather speak for himself. D loved him for that.
And maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to think "D" sounded kind of cool.
"We could just call him Dwight," Claire suggested, giggling. D shot her a dirty look.
"I'm touched," the boy said, turning his attention back to Mai. Her expression brightened at his words. "Truly I am. But D is fine…I was just wondering what nickname I might get."
Mai let out a tinkling laugh. "The good news is I think you'll be able to find out. Give us enough time, D-kun…Claire-chan…and I'm sure you'll find that there are many here who want to be your friends."
"I'm positive they will," Bakura said, "Now it's time for bed."
D sighed, hoping their words were true. However, he also hoped their stay would not be long.
"You're gonna get one or the other, kid," his hand chimed aloud. Everything in the boy's body froze.
"Did you hear that?" Mai asked, looking around in confusion. Claire covered her mouth to hide the smile that had grown there. Bakura rolled his eyes from his position on the wall. D, aware honesty would benefit them in the long run in this underground world, looked the woman dead in the eye and said—
"No."
He was still a kid, after all.