Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.

The disclaimer is dating me, I know. I can't help it though.

Sorry for that wait, by the way. Hope you are all still enjoying this!

(Would anyone be miffed if I changed the summary? I think I finally know how to explain this story.)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Awakening

It rained again for two days. By this point, Claire had fashioned a little moat around them to keep the water from seeping in further than it already had. She was worried about D; whether he would be alive after all of this, as she had barely been able to get him to drink water once he had awakened in a daze. He, nor the thing in his hand, spoke as she attempted this, but his mouth had been firmly closed when she had offered up a spoonful of cold, corned beef hash. This all had occurred that afternoon, and as she sat alone in the silence of their neighborhood, she could hear the strange battle sounds that came from further within the city. She was glad that D had been so adamant about checking the outer city limits first. They might be able to miss whatever was going on out there.

"Wish you'd still wake up all the way, though," she muttered, staring at D who remained unmoving. Unmoving, at least, until that moment.

"I am awake," the boy replied weakly. His head shifted as if to face her, but in the last minute he turned away, promptly receiving a cheek full of mud. His eyes, now open, looked nowhere in particular, but were clear-sighted, as if he had been awake for at least an hour. "At least, now I am."

"What!?" She exclaimed, surprised.

"Sorry. I'm sorry you had to deal with any of this…" D began, trying to compose himself. Well, for as much as one could, neck-deep in soggy earth.

"'s cool," she responded, moving a strand of hair out of his face. Scooting closer to him, she readjusted the tarp to let the pooling rain dip into the moat she had fastened. The rain was little more than a misty sprinkle at present. "Wanna explain why your hand can talk?"

"Honestly, no…"

"Honestly, I'm going to keep asking until you do."

D sighed, knowing it to be true. He did not have the strength to argue with her. "Fine, but first, please answer one thing for me."

"Shoot."

He looked at her and the seriousness in his deep, dark eyes made it impossible for her to focus on anything else. "Why didn't you run away from me after you found out?"

Claire held his gaze for a moment longer with a face as still as his, before breaking into a smile. "Because you are my friend," she answered. It seemed such a simple and earnest answer, as well.

"Really?" His voice quavered between disbelief and the want to very much believe. He was still a child after all. One who longed for friendship.

"Uh…duh," she said, and crossed her eyes at him. When his expression did not change she rolled her eyes. "I answered, so explain. Wait!"

D had opened his mouth to begin his story, only to close it at her request. He raised an eyebrow and she giggled.

"There's a little something," Claire motioned to her cheek, rosy from the cold and her bursting mirth, "right there…"

D could not see it, but he sensed the drying, dark smudge of mud on his pale skin. He gave her an unamused look, but his lips betrayed him as he gave her a small, sheepish, smile. Her face brightened at the gesture. "Could you help me out with that?" He asked.

"Yeah, and after that, you can tell me," Claire replied, the care she had taken with him at his worst in her voice.

The unannounced war raged on in the background as D explained everything. The truth of it all, what he could recall of his younger years, the first meeting with Bakura, Domino City, everything. Claire listened with rapt attention, positioned where she hugged her knees to her body against the cold. She did not worry about what was occurring outside; her mind played out the strange and troubled story of the pair. As the story went on, it was clear that this assurance of their position was because of her furthered trust in the boy. As he spoke of his abilities, she assumed he would have told her if anything was amiss. He would have.

The tale took the boy until night fell to complete. He felt he owed as much to the person who had followed a bizarre set of instructions to save his life. He hated that it had been under these circumstances, and that Bakura was still nowhere to be found, but the fact that she had not run endeared her to him, more than anything else could have. Not to mention she had stayed when the fighting in the distance had begun. She could have run. It would have been the perfect time to sneak away unnoticed and return to her home. Safe to continue her lonely vigil by the church.

Yet here she was, unthinkingly chewing on the corner of her sleeve, as he wrapped up explaining how occasionally he would be prone to Sunlight Syndrome. She had never once shrunk away from him, even when he talked about his excursion with Andy, and only had taken her eyes off him once, when there had been a strange boom in that distant battle. They had both paused, but neither of them had seen any flash of light to indicate a bomb so they had assumed the wreckage was on a smaller scale. Yes, here she sat, calm and cool, as if what he had described was not the strangest thing she had ever heard.

"So, it isn't a demon?"

"No."

"But like, your dad is, kinda?"

D frowned. "I suppose. I'm more akin to a monster than –"

Claire smacked his head and since he was not ready to come up from the ground yet, he felt the sharp sting of her hand against his head. "Shut up. You aren't a monster."

"Easy for you to say…"

"Maybe," she replied, "but you and Bakura never have hurt me. And I mean, you've never bitten a human being, yeah?"

The thought of his strange nightmare and waking up to a bleeding Bakura made him pause. The urges he had toward others, but swiftly beat down, also made him choose his words carefully. "Never intentionally…"

The girl spread her arms at the provided intangible evidence. "Enough for me."

"It isn't a joke!"

"I don't think it is!" Claire fired back, her temper in full swing again. "But you're saying you're dangerous, and all I see is a kid who's stuck in mud and wants his dad back!"

"Bakura-sama is not my…"

"Whatever. He's pretty much your real one now, so what does it matter?"

D remained silent, unable to come up with a clear way to express the finer points of his argument. He doubted she would have listened anyway. Watching her as she poked at the outer ring of drying mud, for the rain had ceased, he hoped that what she said had been true. It would be nice to have another friend, and one who accepted him for who he was, even if she was a bit obnoxious at times.

'Another friend,' his hand transmitted to him and he glanced at the pack of mud and dirt, which was quite comfortable given his situation, to where he perceived his hand to be. 'Certainly know how to pick them. Sure she isn't going to run away?'

'Will you ever be nice to me, just once?'

'You know you'd be bored without me, and where else are you learning your quick wit from?'

"I'll take that as a no," D mumbled.

"Huh?" Claire turned her attention back to him, but he only shook his head. She shrugged and went back to poking at the dirt. "When are you going to be done in there?" She asked.

"Soon, I think. I feel better right now, but I don't know if that's enough."

Claire reached over and felt his forehead. "Well, you're cold, but not like, scary, scary cold."

D tilted his head in inquiry, and Claire shook her own. "Like dead. You really scared me, you know. Does this happen a lot?"

"No."

"No what?"

"It does not happen a lot," D sighed.

"Don't get mad at me because you are bad at explaining things."

"I'm not!" D's lower lip protruded in a pout. One day his face would be stone, but now he still had the proclivities of a child. "I just don't know when it happens. It's been almost five years since the last time, and I don't remember much about what my father did for me. I just remember this."

"When did he take you out?"

"He wanted to be sure. A while."

Claire sighed. "Well, a flu lasts more than two or three days normally…"

"Not a flu."

"A cold, then—"

"Not a cold."

"You can stop being a butt any time, you know?"

"A butt can't talk."

Claire laughed. "You're stupid."

D smiled at her, but when he heard the sound of a gun, nearer to them than before, his face darkened. They sat in silence for a time before he said, "Bakura-sama is fine, right?"

Claire nodded, giving him the belief he needed. "Probably isn't even near any of that stuff. Probably is being cool and giving those guys nothin'. He's not like those stupid Outies."

D agreed and sat there wriggling his fingers deep within the dirt. For what else could he do but play while he ensured all his strength was gathered? When he was sure, he and Claire would rescue Bakura, wherever he was.

Little did they know, Bakura had been the one that had created the explosion.

He also had been the one to buy the city more time before the fight began in earnest.

"Go," Bakura said to Aaron after hearing the abysmal plan. There would be no time for anything. He would have to work with what they had. "Warn the people of an attack. Take the precautions you deem necessary and then all of those capable of fighting need to convene just before the buildings leave you with no shelter."

"What about you?" Aaron asked, "and shouldn't everyone at least try—"

"I get what you are trying to say, and normally I would agree. We are at a severe disadvantage, though. People who cannot fight should stay out of the way for two reasons: they are going to get themselves killed, which we do not want, and they will get those who can fight killed. We really don't want that do we?"

"But our manpower—"

"Will have to do. I, above anything else, do not want that town attacked. Remember, my kids are in there somewhere. And don't worry," he said, calm even for the ever-looming conflict, "I am more prone to self-sacrifice than screwing over my allies. I swear I have an idea, but I need you guys exactly where I tell you, so I can convey it to everyone."

"Fine." With that, the man turned and left to warn the town. Bakura watched him go for an instant, before letting out a shaky breath, and facing the possible enemy.

For at that moment, it was what they were.

Certain that Aaron was not going to turn around, Bakura holstered his gun. The position he was in was precarious, and if he played it right, few, if any, had to die today. These new foes had the upper hand, and Bakura's trap had not been laid. This meant his strategy at present would have to stall his opponents just enough before he could play his hand.

He began walking forward, his hands raised above his head when he was certain they could see him. If they shot at him, this would be difficult. If they had good aim, he might never have to worry about another thing ever again. He hoped they were more rational than Aaron gave them credit for.

It was when he could see that the distant masses were trucks, and that they were carrying multiple people in each, was the moment his plan swung into motion. He was not sure from what truck it came from (although he felt D would have been able to see it) but the loud sound of a voice projected by a bullhorn pierced the air. Bakura would have to assess the best methods of dealing with them. With the actions this group took, it seemed that they could possibly be formidable in more than just population.

"You, in the road, stop!" The voice commanded. He did as he was instructed.

"Get on your knees, with your hands right where they are!" Again, he complied.

The sounds of the bullhorn snapped out of existence, but he could hear the voices lowered by distance discussing something with one another. Two individuals of the same truck walked forward, and one pointed a gun at his head, while the other walked around his kneeling form, assessing him. The one pointing a gun at him was a man of large stature, and the small pistol in his hand looked out of place on his imposing form. Not that the weapon in question was any less lethal. He squinted down at Bakura with one good eye, the other covered by a handmade patch. His face was covered in stubble. The other was clean shaven; even his head. He appeared to be the one in charge, and peered down at Bakura with cold, blue eyes. Bakura might have been more unnerved if they had held the same weight as Kaiba's had. As it was, he remained silent, watching them as they watched him.

"Nice revolver," the clean-shaven man stated, nodding to Bakura's weapon. Where'd you find it?"

"It was given to me as a gift," Bakura replied, keeping his eyes on the man with the gun. He could tell that it was unnerving the larger man, and that this one would be the type to drop his weapon rather than fire it if frightened enough. That was good to know.

"Given? By who?"

"A man gave it to me, by the ocean. I helped him with his horses for a time, and he paid me with it."

"By the ocean?" The man chuckled. Pacing around Bakura, he looked around as if he had an audience. His pause denoted some sort of act. He seemed more focused on what he was doing rather than his subordinate at the moment. He seemed full of himself. Also good to know. "That's a long walk from here."

"Yes, I have walked very far."

"How'd you get the—?" He motioned to his face and Bakura had to finally take his eyes off the other man to see where he was pointing. As it was almost healed, he was not sure how much the truth was going to help, but it was a part of his plan to try implementing at least some of it.

"I was attacked a while ago, and held captive. I finally escaped. I am just looking for my children. They had to run, and I am concerned for their safety. I do n... don't know if they have been found."

This seemed to stop the man, and he moved the other to the side and looked him in the eyes. This man would be able to hold his gaze. "You tell me a few things and I might believe you."

"I'm not here to start a fight. I will tell you all you would like to know."

"Oh?" There was a gleam in the man's eyes. "Well then, seems like we have ourselves a new buddy, then!"

A few moments later, Bakura found himself amongst the three vehicles. He was surrounded by men and omen of a variety of ages, from his age, to around retirement age. There were twelve people in total, not counting himself, and he had learned two names thus far. Daniel was the name of the man with the eye patch, and Louis was the clean shaven one. They took a particular interest in his story when he mentioned it was the people within the town they were headed for that had attacked him. That gave him plenty of time to look around and see that they were far better equipped than those in the city's remains.

He was then introduced to two more people, the other drivers of the trucks, Veronica, and Pete. Veronica had her hair slicked back in a tight ponytail, and her appearance was one built around severity. However, her face held a kindness to it. Pete was a gruff looking older man, whose hands were cracked and calloused, perhaps due to the jobs that the group had to complete. Bakura had introduced himself, his smile innocent and amiable.

While the others took their posts to ensure they would not be ambushed, creating a staggered circle around the triangular truck park-job, Daniel guided him over to a table where he could tell his story in earnest, just as Luis instructed. After he was done, he aimed to waste more time and gather the vital information he needed by asking one particular question, one that would ultimately enforce his decision on who he would eventually aid. He could not base his loyalty solely on Aaron's story, even for all that he said to the man.

"I know I have my problems with these people…but what did they do to you?"

"They are like fuckin' cockroaches. Deadly cockroaches," Luis replied, and the rest nodded in agreement.

"They steal our shit and run," Veronica added. Bakura raised his eyebrows in surprise. That was certainly a different story than what he had heard. What was more was that he could believe it.

"And, they have the audacity to waste it!" Pete grumbled.

"Waste it?" Bakura inquired.

"Wouldn't call it wasting," Luis said, "but it could be going to people who could actually use it. See, I'm not sure you noticed, since you were imprisoned and all, but a lot of the people over there, they aren't quite made for what this world has become."

"Would be a service to put 'em all down really…" Pete stated as he lit a cigarette.

"Here you are talking about waste and you're using up a perfectly good cigarette right now?" Daniel asked, laughing. It seemed to get the group around him laughing, too. Bakura watched them with an affable expression.

"Well, some real nut jobs decided to take up a cause and care for 'em, and that's real sweet and all, but stuff that could go to perfectly happy, healthy…functional people is—"

"Being wasted."

Another burst of laughter rocked the group and Bakura stretched his lips into a smile for them. "What about the children? There are some there, yes?" He asked, adjusting the shoulder of his shirt in an attempt to keep his expression steady. "They probably need the food."

"Yeah, well, most are probably tainted with that lifestyle they're leading over there. Seeing everyone just sort of sit around as they are being cared for…They'll be lazy, no doubt. We could do without that," Pete offered, a puff of smoke coming from his lips.

"It would be more of a favor to them. The world is tough now-a-days…" Luis agreed.

"What about mine?" Bakura's tone was full of honest concern, but none of the edge of the imagined shard of glass he felt buried deep within his heart.

"I…I don't know how to tell you this, but while they took responsibility for the people already there, if they attacked you, I don't think those kids made it," Veronica said, and she seemed sorry enough.

"If they were taken in, they are spoiled by now anyway," Pete added. "I mean that scar on your face, that's like months old. No way."

Bakura's eyes dropped to his hands. "Yeah," he said softly. He then glanced at Veronica and back down at his hands, letting her see the distressed tears that had formed in his eyes. "Would you mind if I just walked around, not far, just to kind of let that sink in?"

And it was Veronica that responded. "Sure."

As Bakura wandered around the inner perimeter, while the others talked amongst themselves, focused on themselves, he considered his options. Each group wanted to help their own, that was obvious. The young man bit his lip, knowing that he could understand that concept. Both groups also had awful moral compasses. It did not seem like the people surrounding him would be changing their minds any time soon, either. Bakura could tell, while Luis oversaw this outing, he was not the main person in charge. He was too into himself, and the groups that they seemed to form were better formatted and regulated than what he assessed the man could muster. This group was more like a blend of Yugi's and Jounouchi's jobs back in Domino City. This meant that a possible attack on them could create a bigger fallout. Bakura still needed to find D and Claire, as well.

He sighed to himself and rubbed absentmindedly at his eyes. A glint of light caught his eye, and he noticed a loose hanging knife on one of the guards' belts. His thoughts swung back to the children. He knew his were not in the middle of town, someone would have spotted them, nor were they stupid. They would stay clear of any fighting if it were to happen. At least, Bakura was certain that D would stop Claire somehow. The war between the two cities would never be over if it did not start in earnest anyway…

He just hated the thought of being a backstabbing bastard.

The thought sprung up so unexpectedly he nearly blew his mourning act by laughing. Was that not the whole idea? It was not like any of the deserved his loyalty. On top of that, he had just heard with his own ears that these people would spare no one in that town. Claire and D included. At least the townspeople he had met, as twisted as their decision making and trust was, would help him look for them. Some even personally cared about the children's safety. With that ridiculous notion out of the way, he prepared himself for one of the most stupid acts he would ever do in his life. Especially since he had no intention of wasting his newly acquired special move.

Swiftly eyeing the area, noting he would have less than one second per target safely, which was an impossible feat, he silently made his way to the guard with the loose knife. In an instant, with a confidence he had only known once in his life thus far, he tugged the blade from its sheath, slid his hand around the guard's mouth, and sliced their throat. Blood coated his fingers as he followed the body to the floor. Five or six seconds had passed, and the guard was choking on their blood. Finally, their eyes rolled back and Bakura sighed. No, he would be found out long before he had the advantage. That was fine. He looked at the gun that was still between the corpse's fingers and shook his head. The first two, at least, had to be silent.

He did the same for the second, who had been a few feet to the left, and a few feet forward. This one was larger, and struggled more. Bakura closed his eyes and told his roiling stomach that he had done this before. And if given the chance, for as nice as they seemed, these people would gun down children that did not fit their expectations. This made it slightly easier.

With what must have been adrenaline, Bakura was able to drag the body to the other, and he stopped only to take a breath and wipe his hands on his pant legs. People were definitely going to notice. He was shocked that no one had turned and seen the long streak of blood that was now on the pavement. Focusing his mind on the task at hand, he readied himself for his next move. There were ten people left.

He hid against a truck, and observed who he could see. People to the left were still looking in the distance. People to the right and behind him were covered by the vehicle. His eyes focused on the tire he rested against. That was also a way to slow them down, but no doubt would create some noise. If he directed them here though…the gun in the dead guard's hand was a faster one then his own, and he would not have to waste his precious bullets. Then again, his aim was far from perfect; did he risk this?

The other option was to go about what he had been doing, picking one off at a time in obvious areas, and be found out in the open. At least here they could further his work by putting holes in their own vehicle. The decision was now or never. He took his chances and with two swift motions slashed the tires on his side. At first, no one seemed to notice. Then one of the people he had not seen on the right came strolling over, a bemused look on their face. The look did not last long, for the knife Bakura had procured found its way into the guard's eye socket. Nine people.

It came as a shock to the young man that the reaction time for these people seemed so low, especially with how uniform and equipped they made themselves seem, for Bakura was able to sneak up to two more people and dispose of them side by side (he did not consider himself an accomplished killer) before anyone else turned their head to see what was going on. The young man, who's arms, and jeans were coated in other's blood, retreated to the damaged truck and picked up the gun he intended to use. The rest was straight forward. Seven people.

Bakura knew that he had had it easy before. As he dodged past others who fired with more precision than he had seen many in Domino perform, he looked for his openings and found few. The only place to run was the relatively open road, so he knew he had to stay and fight. A bullet nicked his shoulder and it stung, but he managed to take the shooter down. Six.

As he rolled back to the other side of the truck, he heard the glass of the windows breaking. It fell onto him, but he took this time to aim from the opened window and down someone else who had been reloading. He ducked down just in time to miss being hit by a bullet that had been fired wildly. His heart leapt to his throat, but he pushed on. Five.

Those who had been in the middle, the ones whose names he knew, were finally ready to fight. They had sent bullets flying in the general direction their guards had, hoping to get whoever it was. There seemed to be some confusion, however, as they could not see anyone attacking them. They had their weapons drawn, and were assessing the situation while Bakura put his other plan into motion.

"Where's the fucker that did this?" Luis spat, making sure his gun followed wherever he looked.

"It was that white-haired guy! Who else could it be!" The last remaining guard said. She looked panicked, her eyes wild as they searched for any sign of Bakura.

"I said where is he!?"

"I lost sight of him…"

Two pops came from behind them and the remaining individuals turned to watch as another truck sunk to one side. It was then that the engine of the last one flared up, the key in the ignition having been turned.

They could technically drive the others, if they did not mind ruining vehicles that would be difficult to repair. Some would follow him, while some would make the longer trek home to warn the main encampment. If he oversaw the opposing city, Bakura might have wanted to send a larger force to get rid of them, but not enough to hinder the main population. He hoped that was the case. An all or nothing attack would devastate them, and wave after wave of enemies would cripple the already small force he had at his disposal. The place he was heading to was severely under protected, and he doubted that those who could fight would a mass a group larger than twenty people. Of those, maybe half could hold their own when things became intense. This was only based on his assumptions and observations of the town that he had been able to gather.

To escape, he kept his head low, and gave them little time to shoot at the tires. He could hear them trying though, and the betrayed shouts would have hurt his heart if he was not so keen on surviving the encounter. He kept at a speed that they could not follow until he reached the edge of the area where he had told the others to wait. He then skidded to a halt and exited the vehicle, hoping they would not shoot. They did not. In fact, it seemed as if they had been expecting him.

"Are you alright?" Jessica asked, grabbing his shoulders to check him over. He flinched as she touched his wound, and was shocked to see tears spring in her eyes. Osvaldo came from behind one of the abandoned buildings with a pair of binoculars. It seemed he had been the lookout. Bakura wished that the man had stayed up there to look for who might be following him. Albert, who appeared from what seemed like thin air, took care of that wish. He shooed the bearded man back up the side of the building before walking over to the two on the road.

"Aaron will be here soon with the others. There are five with us right now." He motioned to the deserted road. Bakura hoped that they would continue to be so good at hiding. "Is there anyone following you?"

"Possibly," Bakura replied, as Jessica continued to look over him. "But if they are, it might take a little while for them to appear."

"That works," Jessica muttered before forcing the young man before her to take off his shirt. She gave him an irritated glare as he stood there in his long-sleeved shirt, confused as to why she wanted the shirt. Realizing what she wanted, he sheepishly took off his other shirt to give her a clear view of the wound. The injury, which had no doubt been something of note earlier, was miniscule, to which he was thankful. It would no doubt heal soon considering his bizarre situation.

Unable to refrain from the thought, as he shivered at the chilling weather, he noticed how his body was slowly changing as he moved on within the world. He would not have recognized himself years ago, and would not have believed anyone if they had told him he would have actual definition in his muscles. It must have been due to the hardships he had faced in the past months. He could not recall what he had looked like before, when in the clutches of D's father, and he wondered if his mind was protecting him from anything, or perhaps he had just never noticed. Bakura wondered if he looked imposing. Sighing, he shook his head. He doubted it.

"Aaron said you had an idea?" Jessica said, after cleaning his wound a little and patching it. He gave his thanks and nodded. He could feel hidden eyes looking at him expectantly. He shrugged his shirts back on, ignoring the feel of fabric against bandaged wound, and the crusted feeling of the arms of his shirt.

"We have time, I think, to wait for everyone," Bakura stated, as he attempted to form the rest of his plan in his mind. It had to be good. Lives were at stake.

There ended up being 23 people in all who were able to assist. They had moved the children, as well as those who could not fight, to the other edge of the city in the most southern region they could. This worked well with the idea that the other city seemed to prefer full frontal attacks, as that was what they were known for in the past. It provided them with more access to the nearly abandoned city. Bakura was banking on the fight being of a similar vein.

There were now two lookouts posted, given strict instruction to not leave their posts unless their lives were in immediate danger. They would communicate to the others through two swift runners, as they could not figure how to create any functioning radio device. Bakura could not blame them, after all he had no clue how to make one, or if it would even work, if made. The rest were scattered in opportune areas. They were on their home turf, and well hidden. So long as no heavy weaponry was used, they had a fighting chance. Bakura allowed them to position him however necessary. So long as he was able to observe the general tide of battle, he trusted their judgement over his assumptions. He had to. They knew more of the area, and they wanted to survive just as much as he did.

After this, he had an idea as to where the townspeople may turn to when they had to leave, a place not worth waging a war so far away from the main hub. He would use the time their foes would take to prepare for a bigger onslaught to move them out, and hopefully find Claire and D in the process. Then they could be on their way, and move far away from this nonsense.

First, they had to survive.

Everyone held their positions until the fight came to them. They knew how serious the situation was, and what they could stand to lose. Provisions for a week worth of waiting were provided to each individual, and alerts were set up for when they had to relieve themselves. Once each day, someone was set to look after those who were not fighting for a time, before returning to their post. Many hoped the battle would never begin. Some were ecstatic that everything was coming to a head. Bakura wondered if some of those would survive their own excitement, or if they would be gunned down because of their protector's failings. The rain that fell also had him disquieted. How careful were these people with their weapons? He hoped nothing would break before their wait was up.

The wait they had prepped for was not long. It was only a day after Bakura had slowed their movements that their foes made their way through the first checkpoint.

It was as expected, and the set up provided them with a way to split a large group into two smaller ones. This trap went better than planned. Bakura was near the rear, positioned just before a bridge that opened to another highway, as he had been placed there by Aaron's decision, which had then been seconded by Osvaldo. Albert had simply shrugged, and the rest of the 23 did not know him well enough to say. From this vantage point, he saw a group of 15 downed, without anyone breaking out of hiding. He readied his gun for the stragglers, and for the new crop of fighters to be let through. They would play dead for the second half. That would let them drop their guard as they searched for the bodies of their enemies, and allow the people of the town to gain an advantage over a far larger group than them. Then, even if there were more than anticipated, they could close off the entrance again, and either decimate their enemies there, or let the rest scatter in the outskirts of the city to pick them off.

It should have worked beautifully. Except, as Bakura shot one of his targets, he could see from his vantage point that there was something he had hoped against in the distance. Bakura made a motion, hoping that those around him remembered what it meant to them. They had to reposition further in. There were reinforcements. A lot of them.

The battle became far harder and gruesome from then on. As the day pressed into night, Bakura was shocked to see that even so many as 16 of his allies had managed to survive. The road that lead into the city, the place they intended to defend was now rubble, and as they continued to pick away at the mass of fighters that threatened to run them down, so did their enemies. With his heart in his throat, afraid that somehow the other city would get the bright idea to retreat and regroup, only to run through the fields and surround them from both sides, Bakura ran. One hand held his gun, that carried the last five shots he had on him, the other held his side, which eked blood between his fingertips. He had been shot, and this time the bullet had hit the mark. There was a chance he could survive. He believed it, but he did not know how. Something about clean shot, right through kept bounding around in his head, and he bit down on his tongue to give his mind something else to think about other than the delusions brought on by the pain in his side. He stopped short of tasting that metallic residue, not wanting to waste what was left within him, and forced himself to focus.

The inhabitants of this town were trying their best, but their formation was a mess. However, Bakura thought he could make use of it, so long as he could get the bulk of this invading army in one area. He caught sight of Jessica, who had that strange crazed look on her face, and felt relief. He just needed to relay this message.

"Jessica," he called, and hissed as the effort made his side throb.

She did not respond, but did manage to decapitate someone with little more than a broken car bumper and some leverage. If Bakura had not been in such pain, he might have thrown up at the sight. He called to her again, and realized it would be no use. According to Albert, that was not her name.

"Cindy," he commanded.

The woman turned, her hair a mess, her eyes devoid of the care and kindness she had portrayed days earlier. Bakura wondered if in her past life, she had been a doctor, or a nurse, but this world had taken from her all that she held sacred. She eyed him for a moment with the same look she had originally given him when they had first met, and she had been more worried for the children's safety, but did not seem ready to turn the blade…or car bumper…on him.

"Relay this to the others. Have them get the attention of as many people as they feel they can handle, and make them go to that intersection on that main street. The one with the grocery store by it."

"There's a bunch of cars there, they will be in our way," she growled at him, distrustful.

"I have a plan. No one but those Out…" Bakura could have cried, thinking about Claire and her penchant for calling strangers Outies. D's exasperated eye roll. Would he ever see those two again? "If you listen to what I say," he started again, "the only people who will be hurt are our enemies."

Cindy spit at the ground. Apparently, she had been injured at some point as well, as the saliva that left her lips was tinged red in the fading light. "Can you believe they ditched this city for Planada?"

The name meant nothing to Bakura. Her compliance did, and when she left, he would have sunk to his knees in relief if he had not had to turn and fire off one of his precious bullets into the chest of one man who had attempted to sneak up on him. The brute gurgled, and fell. The young man sighed, wiped his forehead of the damp left from the rain and his sweat, and turned to finalize his plan.

At the time when a smattering of stars could be seen between the clouds, Bakura stood with what was left of the fighters of the city. Never in his life did he think that he would have been defending the very people who allowed men like Aaron to lead, but their protective nature of the downtrodden within their town was enough that he would. The other side he fought against made him just as sick to his stomach, if not sicker. He wondered, as he stared at his hands, now empty, if it was not time for humanity to be reset. Just enough until they began working together again. He shook his head with two sharp motions. No, that sounded too much like him. Although, there were two beings that that could refer to.

"Bakura!" Osvaldo said, panting. The burly man was thankfully unharmed, but had the difficult task of keeping track of those who were left. He had followed the strange pattern to this road, and even had relayed the message to a few others. "This is all of us! What do you want us to do?!"

"Stand back." His voice sounded out with more confidence than he felt, but he had to believe this would work. He could see his targets sneaking up to them, waiting to ambush them. Trying to ensnare them within the trap he had devised. He would not allow it. "Get as far away from me as you can."

"What?" came the confused replies. All except for Aaron, who's eyes were glinting with something like awe.

"Stand back like he says!" His lanky arms flew up at the sky. "Stop making him wait!"

Bakura could feel himself shaking, but he steadied himself enough so that the others, as they backed away, could not see him. He looked at the creeping people before him, the cars, and the encroaching darkness at the corner of his vision. He hoped that the others would use this as a moment to hide, and reform for the offense. Closing his eyes, Bakura felt for that instant of understanding. That instant of protective energy that had saved him time and time again. When he opened himself to it, there it was.

"Helical Shockwave," he whispered, and as if pushed forth from his lips, a sudden wind formed into something solid. The subsequent explosive shockwave sent the cars before him flying in the direction of the enemy, crushing many in the process. Those the cars did not crush were flung by the strange spiral of energy, and many of their bodies would have to be scraped from the walls.

Bakura would have been proud to see this, but unexpectedly, the force that he had conjured had also had a strange reflective effect on him. A much smaller shockwave, perhaps to protect the user (or perhaps because of his inexperience), pushed him back with enough force that he tumbled away from the main group. The strange magic combined with the pain of his side made the young man see stars, and Bakura's consciousness faded just as the few working streetlights clicked on, showing that night had truly fallen.

When his eyes fluttered open, in his stupor even he could tell disorientation was an understatement. The skyline he woke up to was unfamiliar, and the smell of an unused gutter permeated the air. He could still hear gunfire, but it was less than before. When he sat up, he was forcefully shoved down, with a hand clamped on his mouth when he attempted to cry out. Fresh tears stung his eyes as he groaned into the hand, agony radiating at his injured side. He made as if to bite down on the hand, only to stop when he realized the hand belonged to Albert.

Bakura took in a shaky breath when the hand was lifted, and he allowed his hand to travel to the wound, to feel how bad it was. He had to bite down on his lower lip to silence his cry of pain. It seemed this injury would heal slowly. Why, he was not sure. He looked up at his ally and whispered…

"Where is everyone?"

Albert was looking at him with concern etched on his brow. Apparently, what Bakura felt was worse in appearance, as his answer cut out the other option. "Osvaldo's still keeping an eye on them, but the only one down now is you. Bought us enough time to get the jump on them, although I have no idea what it was that you did."

Bakura shook his head, feeling dizzy at the motion. "Better not to explain now. Keep an eye on them if you can. Don't let them get past you. I…I am sorry we could not all make it out."

"You are just apologizing for the others, right? Not planning on ditching us right now?"

Bakura gave him a weak smile. "Is it really that bad?"

Albert sighed and looked to the opening of the alley Bakura supposed that he had pulled him into. "No…I don't know. I hope not?"

"I will take that as a 'You will be fine'," a hoarse laugh accompanied his reply. Bakura covered his face with his hands, dirtied by the conflict, and tried to muster strength to sit up. He had too much to do to die here. Albert moved to push him down again, but Bakura waved his hand away. Staggering to his feet, his appearance abysmal, as if he had shaken hands with death, he counted the remaining bullets he had. Still four. At least he had not been robbed.

"You should be lying down," Albert warned, "I'll find Jessica and—"

"No, you have to fight," Bakura said, holstering his weapon to readjust his hair into a tight bun. The last thing he needed was to be blinded by his own hair in the middle of the night. He might as well cut it off, but he would worry about that later. "I have something I need to do. If I see any of them, I'll play clean up for the stragglers as well."

"And if you bleed out?"

"I'd just be doing that waiting here."

Albert looked as if he wanted to argue, but closed his mouth. Bakura turned to leave and then felt a warm hand on his shoulder. "Here," Albert said, his other hand extended. It was a box of bullets, the type Bakura needed. When Bakura took them with a surprised expression, Albert laughed. "I was the supply runner today, remember? This was all I could find though, but they will work."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," came the reply, and Bakura did not move when the other hugged him. "We don't deserve your help, not after what I'm sure you went through. Not all of us are so stupid that we couldn't see what was probably happening. I don't know what you did back there, but I don't care. I hope when you are out there, you can find those kids and get the hell out of here."

Bakura found himself reflexively hugging the other in return. This was their farewell, and he knew it.

"There is an empty town," Bakura whispered in Albert's ear, in case there were any enemies nearby, "if you travel back the way I came, and turn right where there is an unused light hanging in the—"

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about."

"Use the truck I stole, and get the ones you can out of here. This place isn't worth all of that. Take what you need, become farmers or something, but this isn't worth it."

"I know," Albert replied. "We will see what happens when the dust settles. Thank you for the advice. Please, don't die out there without finding those kids first."

"I don't aim to." With that, Bakura left the other's embrace, and began his lonely search.

The further away from the core of the city, the darker it became. Bakura shuffled cautiously down streets devoid of light in search of Claire and D. There was a chance the battle would end before he found them. There was also the chance that he could die before finding them. He banished those thoughts from his mind and followed his intuition.

The sounds of fighting began to fade, as did Bakura's vision. He pushed himself past the pain, telling himself that he had been stabbed before. Tested on. This was nothing, had to be nothing. With heavy feet, he staggered onto another block. With as dark as it was, he nearly missed the glint of steel. Thanks to the weakness in his knees, he was able to fall behind a large mailbox, hearing the bullet punch through the front it. He wondered what side was shooting at him, and received his answer with a familiar voice.

"Traitor!" Veronica's voice pierced the night, and Bakura let out a silent laugh. Of course.

"Can I be a traitor, if I was never on your side?" He asked, holding his side, looking for better cover.

"You tricked us! Killed so many of us! And these guys killed…they killed Pete, they killed Daniel!"

"Not Luis?"

"Fuck you! I bet those kids you talked about were fake, too!"

Bakura grimaced. "No, they're real. And your people would have killed them. Might still kill them…"

"I don't believe you—aagh!"

Bakura looked up to see Jessica—no Cindy—locked in a grappling match with Veronica for the weapon that had shot at him. He stumbled to his feet to assist, before he saw Cindy knocked down, with Veronica planting a bullet in her shoulder. She would have done more if Bakura had not ran at her, distracting her from her duty. Suddenly it was he who was in the struggle, and he was unable to grab for his weapon, in case she decided to use hers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cindy dart away, and felt that would be for the best. He had no idea why she had been out this far anyway, and he hoped she would find shelter somewhere else, for he did not know if he would be able to keep up in the state he was in.

They struggled for what felt like hours, but was in truth no more than a minute. Bakura finally had the footing to knee her in the gut and he used the time to draw his weapon. He noticed too late that the woman before him had more endurance than he had given her credit for, and her gun was point blank in his face. A strange creaking and snapping sound came from all around them as she advanced. She smirked at him as she moved to pull the trigger—

Bakura was shocked to see a point of metal emerge from her torso, coated in blood. The edge was so close to his neck he knew he was lucky to still draw breath. The woman before him choked out a gasp of alarm, and slumped onto the twisted metal. Bakura followed by backing away and falling to his knees. As the woman fell, he saw a figure he never expected to see. Tears swelled in his eyes.

Dirt fell onto a sidewalk, now glistening with blood, from the edges of a black coat. Even in the dark, the slight frame that held the metal pipe with the chain links still attached was familiar. Yet it was as if it blended with the darkness of the night itself. Bakura could not move, for fear that it was an illusion.

A shot rang out, and the woman who had been dying due to blood loss and shock completed her sprawl on the concrete. There was the sound of a bullet casing hitting the pavement, and another small figure, a way away, jumped up in excitement.

"Dude! It was dark, and I TOTALLY GOT IT!"

The figure before him did not respond, but walked to the place where Bakura was kneeling. "Are you alright, Bakura-sama?" The familiar voice asked, and Bakura could contain his emotions no longer.

"You guys!" Bakura cried, squinting in the dark, checking the boy over for any injuries. Finding nothing but smudges of mud and dirt on his person, the young man pulled D close to him, letting his tears fall. Claire ran over, not wanting to miss out on the reunion and clung to the both of them, entangling them in a group hug.

"How?!" He added joyously, clinging to them both. Claire had begun crying, her immediate fears of being left alone gone for the moment. D shook his head against Bakura's shoulder, unable to speak. A wet patch began to grow on the fabric, tears of fear and relief hidden from the world. Bakura just pulled them in closer. They could leave now, and find a safer place to stay.

Bakura never thought he could be so happy.

D wept into the shoulder of a man who had been through what looked like hell. The smell of blood surrounded them, enveloping the boy in a sense of dread and hunger. He was glad that Claire had decided to go see who had been fighting so close to their home, and had signaled him to hurry when she did. Happiness could not cover what he felt when friendly arms were wrapped around him, as embracing as the cool earth had been. Yet he did not want to look up, did not want to see those kind eyes looking at him with reassurance. Not when he felt like this, and when Bakura was injured.

Not when their small group was enshrouded in darkness; not when that familiar scar that just missed the young man's eye haunted his memory.