Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.
Posting a little late over here, but I am trying very hard at keeping a schedule of some sort.
Anyway, enjoy!
Chapter Forty-Two: Deadly Carousel
Exasperation filled the dreamer as the figure before them curled into a ball, a soft whimpering emerging from its huddled form. Wherever they were, it was dark. However, not completely. The grassy floor glowed with its own luminescence—illuminated by some incomprehensible light source so bright that it brought nonexistent tears to the eyes of the one standing. Perhaps the light came from behind; the lit area felt warm and comforting, especially from that side, but then why did the two residing in this slice of world not give off a shadow? There was a faint smell of rain in the air, which did nothing to make the situation seem any more real.
"Stop crying!" Claire shouted at the crumpled form before her. "Stop it! Feel better!"
The whimpers turned into full on bawling.
"That's the exact opposite of what I just told you to do!" she exclaimed in frustration. In this light she could not even really tell who this was that she was demanding to calm down. She just knew it was the same person, every night she had ever had this dream.
"I don't get it!" she continued, as the figure refused to do anything but sob into their arms. "There's nothing scary, not anymore. You're safe. I've told you, I'm here, it's not like you're alone. I'm not alone anymore awake, either. If you're me, you're really annoying, and if you aren't, what's your problem?"
The crying continued and she sighed, rubbing at her temples in a fashion she had picked up from Bakura.
Why could she not make anyone feel better?
Even asleep, she knew that D still held onto his self-loathing, even when she tried to make him feel better. Sure, she had messed up once, but why did he latch on to the one time she pointed out his mistake rather than all the times she explained how cool he was? And why was it her job anyway?
Then there were the adults. Always hiding. Always covering their emotions up, bottling them up until they looked like they were about to snap. Like Mai, always willing to listen when Claire thought D was being a jerk, but never wanted to express her own frustration with their predicament. Claire might enjoy the excitement of nomadic life, a change from shooting at scavengers and bad "Outies", but it was clear that Mai preferred when they were stationary and with people. But she never spoke of anything regarding that vein of thought to her. Just bottled it up with that pursed look. Barreling ahead, like there was something more important to deal with than her own feelings.
And then there was Bakura, whose sad expression seemed to flicker in and out at the oddest of times. She could almost hear her momma say,
"He's lost in the what ifs."
She turned around at the voice and saw nothing but darkness that sat at the edge of the plateau of the precipice of her dream. She twisted around just as fast, disliking it, afraid of it. Its cold split through the warmth of her enclosed dream, chilling her to the bone. Her face felt wet, and she raised her hands to the rain that now soaked the earth they stood upon, the color dimming with the sun's fading light.
The figure covered their head, ink pouring from their fingertips. It camouflaged the area, slowly, deliberately, creeping into every crevice with its murky opacity. Once again, the figure failed to provide any insight to their dilemma. There would be no answers in this dream.
"Well," she said, wiping the rain from her face. "When you're ready to talk. I'll listen."
Claire awoke with a gasp, her eyes darting from the fluttering fabric of the canopy above to the wide-open window. With the annoying habit that dreams possess, she had awoken before she had wanted to be through with it. The sky was fading from a gray to light blue with low, distant clouds haunting the corners of the frame. Wondering how she had gotten back inside, she froze as she felt the bed shift on her left. Soon covers were laid over her, familiar hands tucking her in even though she had not needed or had anyone to do it for her in years. Her heart felt heavy as she suddenly missed her parents very much.
"You two really like to test the boundaries," Bakura said with a good-natured chuckle. Claire burrowed deeper into the sheets, a sheepish look pairing with her reddening face. His laughter raised in level, and she noted how tired he looked.
"It was nice outside?" she offered lamely, her voice muffled as she pressed the fabric around her. It cooled her cheeks which felt surprisingly warm. She reached up to touch them and found them wet again. Bakura brushed the corner of her eye, and she blinked in surprise.
"I suppose that's fair," he said, nodding a little in agreement. "Are you okay?"
"Had a bad dream," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.
"Ah. What about?"
She shook her head. "I really can't remember much. It was just someone crying, and I couldn't help them."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"Ah. Well, it seems that even in dreams, you have a big heart," Bakura said, smoothing her hair away from her face. Claire found it comforting and leaned into his palm. She could hardly recall why she had been so cruel to him when they first met.
"I dunno," she said in half-reflection. While her eyes felt heavy, and his gentle touch made it easy to fall back to sleep, she pushed herself awake enough to side-eye him. "Are we in trouble?"
Bakura shrugged. "Mai isn't happy with either of you. I have to sleep on it."
That surprised her. "You aren't mad?"
He shook his head. "Just a little disappointed."
Claire's face fell. "Nooo," she whined, grabbing onto his hand. "Be mad, instead!"
Bakura snickered, shushing her by tapping his index finger to his lips. "It sounds like it's the perfect response if it makes you think twice about what you're doing."
"Not fair," Claire grumbled, folding her arms under the blankets, but turning to rest her head against his outer thigh.
They sat in that position for a time; the sky welcoming what appeared to be another scorcher of a day. Bakura's hand rested atop Claire's head as she drifted in and out of sleep. His eyes closed as well from time to time, only to snap open just before he fell asleep. When he moved to leave, the girl grabbed for his hand again, holding him there for a moment longer.
"I miss my momma a lot sometimes," she said, feeling small. "And my daddy, too."
"You have every right to," Bakura replied.
"You miss someone, too," She added, startling the man. Rolling her green eyes at the way he jerked in response, she sighed. "I'm not stupid, and I'm not deaf. You mumble in your sleep, and even though I can't hear what it is, I know you're asking about someone. I mean, come on, we usually sleep in the same tent."
"I'm sorry if I ever woke you up—" he began.
"No, no, no," she said sleepily. She closed her eyes. "I just wanted to say that if it's okay that I'm sad, then its okay for you to be sad. But…how do we make people happy, when we are sad?"
Time passed without an answer, and her eyes remained closed, as the sounds of the early morning faded. There was warmth where his hand rested upon the top of her head, the cozy way the covers wrapped around her, and for the first time since the last time she had seen her mother's face, the girl felt completely at home.
Even without a verbal response, she felt like she had received an answer.
July 1, 2004
The weather is a bit funny today. I can't quite place it, possibly because I have never experienced it, but I can say with certainty that it feels a little off.
My left hand agrees.
Either way, it is still warm, so Claire and I decided to try fishing in the nearby river. Well, about as near as a few miles away from where we are currently residing…but it seems like Bakura is trying to place a little more faith in us and a little more responsibility onto us by letting us go on our own. That is until he comes by to check on us. He promised to help Graham find something, first. So, he has to take a detour to the airport. I think he's going with one of the others, too.
Kids or adults: it's safer to go in pairs rather than alone.
The new people are fascinating and strange. I am still nervous—they don't know about me yet—but their questions have been few and far between, so they aren't the usual brand of annoying. They are all so focused on getting a plane to fly. An actual plane! Flying! I always wanted to fly in a plane. I never thought I could have the chance.
For once I don't mind staying still, either. What a difference it makes, having people not welcome you with a threatening glare behind the sights of a gun, or an imposing aura that comes naturally from a more predatory being. I don't think we are going to stay here, but I like this place. I wouldn't mind staying here.
The farm is huge. There's a good few acres dedicated to what was once some type of plant, a massive barn for animals that must have been let loose, and the whole thing is surrounded by trees. Wind breakers, Zoe calls them. She's very intelligent. I like to watch her as she looks over her notes, and sometimes she talks to me about them. I suppose being a general mechanic trying to learn how the intricacy of plane parts is difficult, but she seems to learn about it fast. By proxy, I'm learning, too. She says I have a knack for it, but then again, she doesn't really know of my upbringing and how normal, how oddly comforting, learning actually is. Maybe I could do something like that when I grow up. Or farm. Or maybe fish. This is relaxing, just waiting for the bait to do most of the work as I get to just sit here and ponder about the future. I'll let myself dream of a normal, everyday life like this. Maybe one day, if things don't go according to my father's predictions, those will be my options.
And the greatest thing, something I think everyone is unaware of, is that everyone else seems…happy here, too. Sure, its only been a few days, but even that strange, sad-but-annoyed look on Bakura's face has nearly faded into memory. It's like this place—
"Hey, pay attention!"
D perked up, pen wavering over his unfinished statement. His signature small, but all too honest grin brightened his features as he observed Claire giving him a look that could kill. Well, might have killed, if he had not known that was her everyday look of annoyance.
"I can feel if they are biting, you know," he said, lightly tapping the pole that sat planted in the dirt at his feet.
"Yeah, but it's boring if you're just writing or drawing or whatever and I'm just sitting here bored."
"Not everything has to be about action," the boy philosophized, but closed his journal all the same.
Claire grumbled something along the lines of "talking like an old man" as she focused hard on the slightly wavering line that drifted with the current. "Do you think there are even fish here?" she groused.
"Probably, although it might not be the right time for them. I don't know much about fishing," he confessed.
"Soon I suppose you'll be an expert," she said haughtily, standing up. "I'm bored, and I have to pee."
"So…go?"
"I'm gonna! I was just telling you so you would know where I was going. God!" The girl stormed off, the heat setting her off like the proverbial bull seeing red. He wondered if the fish did not bite, would she be interested in a swim. If she could swim. He could always just stick his hand in the wavy greenish-blue mixture and place it on her forehead if the current was too strong. The idea made him snicker. His hands, dunked in river water, serving as ice packs for the overheated.
When Claire returned, it was with a branch nearly twice the size of her. She flopped it down beside him and proceeded to tear off the twigs that littered the dried wood.
"For a fire?" he asked. She shook her head as she snapped a minor branch from its thicker body. Then she proceeded to carry it to the river and stick it as far into the water as it could go. Which was to say, she lost it as the current took it from her hands when her fingers dipped below the waterline. She sighed and walked back him, her hands raining droplets on the dried upper portion of the earth.
D waited until she sat beside him, crossing her arms over her knees to have her wet hands latch onto her neck before he made any comment. "Um. So—What was the point of snapping off the branches for that?" he asked, and the girl turned her hidden face to face him.
"Do I need a reason?" The boy shook his head but continued to give her a strange stare.
She sighed. "I was wondering, like, if you're carried off by a river, where do you go? What do you do? What happens? But, like, now I'm wondering if someone will find that stick or will it get stuck? Will a beaver take it? What happens if there's an earthquake? Will it fall into a crack? Where does water go if like, the river gets cracked in an earthquake? Can you land a plane if there's an earthquake? What's scarier, monsters or earthquakes?"
"Your mind works in an odd way."
"I dunno. I think it asks the fun questions."
"Fun," D repeated, and then shook his head. He picked up the twigs she had broken off and rolled them around the end of the line of the fishing pole they had abandoned. He took the hook and made a makeshift latch. No use leaving good kindling. Warm meals were warm meals for those who needed to eat them.
"Let's play a game," Claire said, energized by some unseen force. She gestured for the boy to follow, and he did, gathering their items before he hurried after her. They would not leave the general area, so it would be easy for Bakura to find them.
A few miles away, Bakura lifted the corner of an abandoned tarp and leapt away with a cheetah's speed as a spider lunged at him from its hiding place. He placed a hand over his heart, startled, and let out a shaky laugh that was mirrored with a warm and gibing guffaw just behind him. The young man tried not to take it personally and shook his head, the self-made wind cooling his overheated forehead, sidestepping the creature as he flung the tarp off the rest of the way.
Beneath it lay a mishmash of items: rusted bolts and screws, half-wrapped parts, loose-leaf pages from airplane magazines, among other papers. Bakura poked through them with a cautious finger before finding the exact item he had been requested to look for. The snickering behind him persisted as he nudged the half-chewed remains of a phonebook off what looked like his quarry. For the moment, he blocked out the sound.
Instead, he focused on a map riddled with notes and circles surfaced with his careful pokes, and he pinched it out, shaking it viciously to rid it of the earwig that had followed into the light with it. Even with ignoring the other, Bakura could swear the laughter behind him echoed; albeit the high walls and roof might not have allowed for such a thing. He steeled his face and handed the item over to his bespectacled companion, who was busy wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
"You didn't strike me as someone afraid of bugs," Simon said, taking the map and placing it in the bag he brought.
"I don't mind them. I just don't like being surprised," Bakura said, rubbing the goosebumps from his searching arm. He did not know of the types of poisonous bugs native to the area and had no interest in taking a risk when he did not have to. "You'd think he'd have put such an important thing in a protective sleeve or something."
"Graham can be a little scatterbrained when he's not in the sky. Don't be too hard on him; I could have thought of it, or Zoe. It's not just on him."
"Now I just feel bad," Bakura replied, a little smile aimed at Simon who crossed his arms and shrugged his shoulders. Something about the smug grin on his face made Bakura want to wipe it off with his dirtied hand.
"How're you gonna make it up to me?" Simon asked.
He somehow said this with a confidence that Bakura felt he could not ever muster, with an emotion that left the young man's cheeks stinging with warmth. Transported back to the awkward feelings of high school—only this particular exchange not entirely unwanted. And this time no gifts were being shoved into his face, as well meaning as they were. No bashful peeks, or multiple hearts to unfortunately break at once because of some strange contest for his feelings. This time, he knew, they had things in common. Interests. He was just some guy making him feel completely self-conscious and out of place, and worried about something other than surviving. Although, he had plenty other things to worry about in its stead.
"I can cook you something?" Bakura finally mustered with a shrug. "While you are all still deciding what you want to keep and take with us, I'm sure I could make something not out of a can. I'm pretty good at cooking."
"Wouldn't want to trouble you. I'm sure there's something less stressful that you could do."
Bakura rubbed at the back of his neck and shook his head. The sun might not have shined directly in the stuffed hangar, but it felt like it was at least a hundred degrees in there. "I don't know what you're insinuating, but really, it would be no trouble."
And suddenly he was close, his face mere centimeters from Bakura's. Bakura took a step back; swallowing audibly and forcing his body not to attack out of surprise. He managed to calm himself enough to place his palms upon the man's shoulders and gently push him away. Simon seemed a little stunned at the action. A little hurt.
"Please don't take this the wrong way," Bakura started, soft—apologetic. "It's just that you don't know the full story, or would want to deal with me, if you had it." He touched the back of the small pin that rested backwards upon his shirt collar. His fingers rubbed against the metal bar, and around the edge of its form. When he closed his eyes, he could recall the sad look upon a young woman's face, and then another, with bloodied lips as she let out her last sigh. "You wouldn't be the first person I've turned down, and for the better."
"Don't you think I should decide that?"
"Maybe, but doesn't help that you'd think I'm crazy," Bakura said, and laughed. He opened his eyes to see the frustration clear in Simon's expression. Something about his stubbornness was reminiscent of another in a buried and clouded memory that he was not sure was his. It excited him. The concept of purposeful annoyance for pleasure was cruel, but there. "I really like you guys, and so does everyone else. I wouldn't want to ruin it."
"Shouldn't I know if you are crazy?"
"The problem is that I'm not," Bakura replied, and began to walk away. "It's just that the truth is too weird to explain and not sound insane. Just let me stay long enough to protect you from upcoming nightmares. Don't hold onto me long enough to take away all your dreams."
"The hell does that mean?" Simon asked, following him. Bakura snickered at his insistence. His ignorance.
"Sorry. It's sort of a joke, I guess. A little something from another place, where I met Mai again. We each had nicknames and mine was a play on my name. I hated the idea, but funny enough, it fit. I'm a good little mythical creature—but the longer I stay, the higher the chances everything goes awry."
"Now you're just fucking with me."
"Maybe," Bakura said. "Or maybe I'm just warning you."
"Or maybe you're full of shit and you are pretending you are crazy right now to chase me away or something. Just tell me the truth," he pleaded, stopping Bakura's retreat with a hand at the crook of his neck. "I can take it."
Bakura pivoted to face him, and this time, Simon was the one who took a step back. Those brown eyes, once so sweet, held a stare that even death would have thought twice at coming after. His hair whipped in a sudden gust of wind, white jagged peaks enshrouding part of his countenance. Simon stared in awe at this transformation of disposition, such minor changes in posturing speaking volumes of the tale etched into the soul of the man before him.
"I'll tell you," Bakura offered quietly, his tone laced with hope and protectiveness in the same measure. "I will tell you everything—from even before the world fell to pieces—since you're so insistent, and I think I can trust you. But if you lay a finger on D, or even threaten any of my party after I do, I will kill you."
A promise as direct and true as the later embrace offered in earnest, and just as unexpectedly chilling to Simon's core. The tale was told in brief, but with all the necessary details laid before him with more brutal honesty than Bakura may have initially intended. Afterwards, Bakura left to go collect his children from their play by the river, leaving Simon to stare in stunned silence at what he had been told and of the vision that he had been privy to. Of the dangers that he now realized were inadvertently placed upon his friends, and just how risky and necessary their plan had become.
So great was this change of expectations that Simon did not recognize the uncomfortable stillness of the late afternoon or that the wind which had carried such massive storm clouds their way had died abruptly.
Bakura stumbled a little across the mossy embankment as he scoured the shore for the two children who were supposed to be fishing. Two puncture marks denoted that their poles had been in place, but where they had gone off to was not so easily defined when the pair had been taught to cover their tracks when moving. His wrapped his arms around himself to fight against a strange chill that cut through the heat of the day, his mind torn between two focus points. One, finding the two squirrely youths, the other on Simon. He worried he had frightened the man, and perhaps destroyed his interest; but better to be frightened away than to die a needles death, he supposed.
The young man pulled his arms in closer, recalling the brief, remorseful hug he had offered. The warmth of the other's embrace had almost been as comforting as…Bakura dug fingernails into both of his arms to steady himself and his mind. His foot slipped, exposing rock-infested mud beneath the greenish growth that stuck to his shoe. He had to stay out of the past. He had to.
He used to be so good at it. Or so he had thought.
"D! Claire!" He called. Taking in a deep breath, he held it and listened for any obscure sound. He could hear the river lapping at the banksides, and the slight squelch beneath his feet. Nothing else. He frowned, feeling something was amiss.
The river was no longer dappled in sunlight; dark, heavy clouds loomed low, shadowing his search.
"Claire!" he demanded. "D!"
To his right he heard giggling coming from within the shoreline trees, and his irritation wavered before dissipating at the sight of muddy sneakers partially obscured behind the fine tendrils of a willow, mismatched amongst the other oaks. They scurried off as he strolled over, but he was promptly greeted by playful grins surrounded by leafy strands.
"Don't your hairstyles look lovely," he said. The two giggled in response. Just regular children, he thought with relief; even if one came from a union of human and supernatural being. "Catch anything?"
"No," Claire pouted, her lower lip jutting out.
"Careful," D reminded gleefully. "Birds tend to choose unsavory places for relief."
"Huh?" She twisted her attention to him, confused amongst the leaves.
"Remember: Don't get shit on," his left hand clarified.
"Eeewwww!"
Bakura laughed at their exchange, feeling even lighter and more at ease—a condition he welcomed. Things really seemed to be looking up (if his faith in speaking his whole truth to someone signified such a change) and he tentatively let his heart hope that the worst was over. If he could get over mulling about the past at inopportune times, there was a chance. Nudging the children along he looked up at the clouded sky and sighed, a peace filling him—
Until he really noticed the silence.
Tilting his head down in concentration, Bakura listened as the children babbled on about some game they had fashioned, his mind only paying half-attention to the contents. His main focus rested on the stillness of the overgrown grass, the lack of bird song, when there was usually plenty. He turned skyward again, bloated and dark.
Something did not feel right.
"Go to the farm house," Bakura commanded, pushing them forward. Claire fumbled for her footing a little as she followed the instruction, while the boy faced him instead, the question on his face before he spoke.
"What's wrong?" D asked, alarmed at the change in attitude.
"Nothing—yet. I just want to make sure Simon makes it back okay. Right now, you two are closer to the farm than he is. You two are fast, yeah?" The two nodded, pride sneaking into their expressions. "Good. Get back there and wait for us. It's probably nothing," he added as an afterthought, pivoting on the ball of his foot, jogging back to the airport.
D watched as the distance grew between him and his protector. On instinct, he took a step forward to follow, an unexpected and uncomfortable weight of some terrible intuition urging the boy to go after him. Only Claire's nervous grip appearing around his wrist reminded him of his position, and he hurried with he back to the house as Bakura instructed.
He worried he would later regret his decision.
They reached the long driveway before they heard a sound like pebbles peppering the dirt path. Claire paused in confusion, looking around for an unseen answer, and jumped in surprise as D hissed in pain. His hand reached for a growing bump on his head, one that would soon disappear, but his eyes searched the ground and found a near-golf ball sized piece of hail resting mere feet from them, slowly accumulating its brethren nearby. He passed his fishing rod to the girl who took it, mystified. Then he snatched up his friend and raced to the house, the sound of hail-fall becoming that of a muffled array of gunfire around them.
"Cover your head!" D shouted as his legs acted as pistons, vaulting them forward with inhuman speed attempting to bypass being struck with ice formed to a dangerous size. Claire did so, the poles creating a crisscross of minimal protection, but still craned her neck to look behind them. Fear of the unknown made her heart race—fascination made her silently mouth in awe as she marveled at the ping-pong ball-like buildup that filled the front yard.
Mai swung the door open, her face lined with concern as she searched for her companions who should have been returning. Her expression softened in relief as she saw the two youngest, and she motioned for them to hurry inside. D happily obliged.
"What's going on?" Claire asked, hopping out of her friend's hold, ridding herself of her now tangled load at the entryway. The boy shook his head, wiping a small smear of blood from his forehead. The girl, thankfully, had been unharmed. "Why is—?"
The sound of shattering glass made all in the house jump. D, Claire, and the rest of the adults raced to the nearest window to see the unused and weed infested truck gain new dings and divots in its metal hull. Its windshield lay splintered, half-hanging from the frame.
"Where is Bakura?" Mai asked. D did not need to see the way she gnawed on the inside of her lower lip, or the way her heel tapped upon the hardwood to recognize that the frantic, innocent cheer in her voice rang false. He knew her attempt at being calm was to aid them, but it only left the boy to twist at the hem of his left sleeve, popping more frayed seams in worry. At the sound, he let go of his shirt, and tried to find something else to do with his hands.
"He went to get Simon," Claire said, speaking for her and D, who forcibly busied himself with readjusting the inside welcome mat by the door. "Is he going to be okay?" The girl's eyes bulged as she saw a massive chunk of ice skitter onto the porch. D heard it but did not look to see.
"I'm sure he will be fine," D said, attempting to soothe himself and the others, even if he was the one who wished that someone else could have said it. The mat was straightened far too quickly, and he had to face the anxious looks that tore his own words apart better than any voiced disagreement.
"I'll be damned," Graham said, finally speaking up as he gawked at the carnage brought on by the weather. His line of sight then focused on the sky, which held a greenish tinge where sunlight still somewhat filtered through. "You all have a basement here, right?"
"Basement?" Mai asked, and looked around the house as to give meaning to the word. "Yes, we haven't been in it much. Whoever owned this house before left a mess. Why?"
A flash of lightning split the sky and followed with a booming roar of thunder not but mere seconds later. She flinched—Claire pressed her nose against the window, in awe of how the world around them brightened and darkened with a quick return of another flash of light forking through the sky.
"Could be nothing but a day of shitty weather," Graham said, shooing Claire off the window pane. Taking either side, he lifted the window up a crack and pinned it in place. "But, uh, if you hear the sound of a jet engine, you might wanna head down there."
"What—"
"What he means," Zoe clarified, placing a friendly hand upon Mai's shoulder to show no ill-will in the interruption, "is that there's a chance there might be a tornado forming. It would be better if we all went to the basement—" She stared poignantly at Graham who was busying himself with the other windows, "Now."
"I don't want us coming up here with busted windows," he grumbled. "You all go down, I'll be along."
"Wait!" D interjected, unable to hide his panic. A naturally stoic demeanor could do nothing for him now. His voracious reading had led him to learn about such natural disasters, and as such, filled a very imaginative mind with the worst outcomes. "Tornado? What about Bakura-sama? He's out there!"
The adults paused, once again trading knowing glances before directing their attention to the boy. Mai sucked in a breath before addressing him. D kept silent as she spoke, although his mind whirled with his own response even before hearing her out.
"He'll be fine," Mai mollified, although D did not hide his doubt as she was trying to do. "Like you said!"
"We can't just leave him out there!" he shouted over the boom of thunder. 'He's not like me,' D added to himself mentally in worry. If he had gotten hit by that chunk of ice, it would have been a wonder if he did not pass out immediately. The boy's fingers rubbed at the point that the hail had struck him, the sticky coagulated blood the only evidence that D had ever been hurt.
"And we can't risk your safety, or ours," Zoe reasoned. "Would that be what he would want?"
D gaped at her, her facts wounding him as if she were taking the shattered glass from the windshield and crushing it into his very heart. Unable to argue, he groaned in defeat. He hated that she was right. Just based on prior experience, he was unwilling to risk having Bakura searching for him in this weather if their paths somehow were to miss in this pelting hellscape. He closed his eyes as he was led down by Mai to the depths of the musty basement, mouthing a hopeful prayer to someone who just had to listen.
"I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy for asking this," he mouthed in silence, "but if you exist, like really exist, Amane—you better keep your brother safe. No one else ever looks out for him."
'No one but me,' he thought to himself. 'And I always mess it up.'
Claire looked at him strangely. She could not hear his words, there was just no way, but still, she placed a comforting hand against his back as she trailed in line after him.
They all convened at the center of the basement, the rare area not filled with antiquated junk. The sound of thunder still reverberated through the room, and they all looked to the wooden foundation-like ceiling as they stood upon a red, worn rug as if playing a game of don't-touch-the-lava. They could hear tromping around until a few moments later, when Graham came down, finished with his self-imposed preparations.
He stood beside them, away from the small window that peered into the outside world and rubbed at a balding patch upon his head. He ran his tongue over his teeth and then clicked it in disbelief. He, Zoe, and Mai all exchanged another set of looks, the way that adults do when they know something will not end well, and D had to tear his eyes away. He focused on the carpet, on each fuzzy, frayed strand, lest he begin to sob in response to his churning thoughts. Staying safe and have the time to worry felt worse than actively trying to find him. When he grew up—he demanded of himself—he would never be put in situations like this. He needed to improve; he needed to be better.
Claire stood beside him, holding him close as he had to her in their race for the farmhouse, defending him against what he would consider his weakness. She patted his back twice, a little harder than socially acceptable, startling him out of his horror-filled imagination.
"Y'know, I think you were right before, D," she encouraged. D bit at his lip and she batted at his mouth to make him release his clamp-like bite. "Really. He wanted us to come here, too. He said so. I'm sure he made it to the airpo—"
The two children froze, Claire mimicking D even before she heard it. Their heads snapped upward as the passing boom became a roar, at a level that everyone could hear.
Mai bit at the side of her index finger to try and center her emotions before using her other arm to pull the children in closer. Graham motioned for everyone to stay low to the ground, and they all knelt. The sounds of wind whipping around the upper portion of the house filled their ears, as well as the sounds of crashing as some lighter items toppled as the air pressure shifted.
The twister felt like it lasted forever.
Closer to the airport, Bakura scanned the skies as a bizarre sound seemed to surround him. It sounded like someone was throwing rocks at the dirt, but he had already looked at the ground around him. After a moment, he scratched at the back of his neck and sighed through his nose, unable to see anything odder than the sky's color. Leaving it to a future worry, he ran for the hangar that he had left the other man in less than an hour before.
"Simon!" he called as he entered through the door, touching at the collar of his shirt as he pivoted in a circle. He jumped a little as there was a boom of thunder, but even after the rumble dissipated, Simon did not reply. The odor of a workshop, metallic and woody, encircled him as he ran around the whole of the area in his search. Bakura knelt, climbed, and uncovered, but still could not find him.
A scent of freshly-cut grass filtered through the entrance, and unable to see Simon, Bakura jogged back outside to investigate. The bespectacled man might be in one of the other buildings, he considered as he exited the construct, or maybe he was playing a trick. If it was the latter, Bakura was not amused. He tried not to ruminate on another, more unpleasant idea. It was clear they were not the only travelers that had been to the city; maybe someone else had shown up and offered a less than friendly introduction. No, Bakura shook his head at the thought, he would have seen or heard something.
He skidded to a stop when he reached the center of the parking lot, nearly tripping over his feet in a moment of clumsiness brought on by the spectacle he saw. Not too far off in the distance, a swirling mass slid across the ground, debris dotting the outer area of the growing twister. Bakura's mouth fell open as he watched it perform its dance, dipping one way, then the other, the whole time spinning in the direction of the farmhouse. All moisture left his mouth as he tried to form words, willing his feet to do something other than remain planted upon the ground.
"Simon!" he cried, his voice cracking as he backed up and into the hangar again. No one came to his call, but this time, he heard a scuffling sound at the back end of the structure. The larger entrance gaped, now partially opened, a rectangle of dimmed green light emanated from the reflection of the sky against the pavement Bakura ran for it breathlessly, dread clouding his mind.
Would they be safe? Did D and Claire get back in time? Were the two doomed to die because he told them to go back?
"Simon!" he called, his voice shrill and in the first stages of panic. He slid onto his knees and shot out of the incomplete opening and into the strangely pressurized air. His soles smacked against the tarmac as he regained his footing and he frantically danced around looking for—
"Simon!" His cry twisted into one of astonishment as he saw Simon mid-grapple with someone, using the leverage of having a wall behind him to pin the other down. With hands defter than Bakura could have known, the brawny-armed defender spun a chord of cable around the restrained assailant's neck. He looked abraded, his glasses askew, blood oozing from his nose. The person below him gagged at the new pressure around their throat, one hand clawing at the looping restraint while the other reached for a blade that lay a foot away from the grasping hand.
"Stay back, Bakura!" Simon shouted, twisting the cable around his palm until it began to strain painfully against his skin. The person's blonde head hung for a moment before they let out a whistling groan and began fighting again. Something about them seemed familiar…
"There's a…there's a tornado nearby!" Bakura shouted, fighting to find the words in his distress. "It looks like it's heading to where everyone is!"
He did not know what telling Simon would do, as if they could whisk themselves back that way faster than the winds could streak across the ground—
The captive's face turned to the sky at his voice, cheeks blotchy with red from the strain, and Bakura gaped in horror at the brown eyes that found his own, stunned. Pleading.
Simon's grasp slackened from the warning but tensed again as he registered his prisoner's newest efforts to wriggle away. Frantic fingers smacked against the cable as pale fingers reached for their mouth in disbelief.
"Simon! Simon, stop! That's J—"
Simon did release his hold—but not because Bakura's warning. His neck arched, his face illuminated by the murky heavens, but his awakened gaze never quite reached the direction of where the farmstead lay. His lips formed a silent "holy shit".
Bakura let his attention magnetize to theirs and gasped. His heartbeat palpitated before seeming to cease; his lungs refused to take in any air as he stared upwards.
"No way," he breathed, as lightning struck the outer fence of the airport.
"Masa-huh?"
"Shelter!" A strangled voice urged.
Shelter…what a wonderful concept. Yet, not so easy to attain as Bakura felt the first bursts of speeding air; the dark twirling shape reaching downward like a massive finger prepped to crush a line of ants.
A large creaking, screeching sound signaled the strain and impending loss of the roof of one of the hangars. Bakura felt as if he were flying as he bolted towards the formerly quarreling pair, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of their nearest exposed arms. The two looked to him like lost and cornered animals, and Bakura slammed his eyes shut and turned his face downward, feeling the inescapable wind hurry down to meet them and—
—then the airport joined the chorus of all that was lost to the world after the unnamed war.