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

It's a week early, but that's good, right?

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Turn Three Part 2

Two feet planted upon dry earth, the wind whipping the boy's hair into a frenzy past his shoulders. The chill of night cooled the anxiety in his heart, but under the wide expanse of stars he suddenly felt small and exposed. His foot slid back, heel feeling where the dip in the earth became a tunnel to that other world. D snatched his leg back and scampered a few feet away. His chest heaved, taking in the smell of icy, salted air in large gulps, on high alert even though nothing had transpired.

D could not decide which was worse: being outside or in. In there, he had the comforts of earth and his friends, but also the stifling presence of people always watching, always staring. And now they would stare for another reason. Out here was the freedom he sought, the place where he felt his group should be…but there was his father to contend with. If he somehow found him now, when Bakura was not around…

The boy smacked at the sides of his face until his bloodless cheeks held a tinge of pink.

"Didn't you want this?" his hand inquired, bemused. It received no response.

Looking far into the distance, D perceived the remnants of a city-scape, desolate and useless. Twisting around, he saw a great expanse of nothingness. A glance to his left yielded no better results. Yet, to his right, there was a glow. It would have been faint to others, but D could surmise that the area had to be where the others had come from.

Alone, with his anxiety ebbing, D unwillingly agreed with his hand in questioning his motives. Now that he was outside, what was he going to do?

"Jack shit," he said aloud, startling himself with the profanity, but feeling better all the same. D flopped onto his back and stared at the twinkling lights of the stars. With a finger, he drew out a constellation and the action alone lifted the corners of his mouth. Flipping over, he watched as kernels of dirt rolled along the hardpack. He wondered if they would pile up, become a dune of some sort, or travel along to fill in the deepening cracks of the crusty earth. A memory caught him, and barely, just barely, he could remember feeling the same way about some dust particles…but he couldn't remember where that was.

The boy stood and cantered over to a broken structure; the cement of the roof creating a slide of sorts. With a careful eye, D turned the side it rested on into a ladder. He tested each step with grace, and happily perched upon the highest point that he could balance on. Mimicking Claire, he pretended he was a sniper, his hands acting as both the gun and the sight, and for a minute he played out a little story where Claire and he managed to bag a buffalo (if those still existed) and bring it back to a pleased Bakura. It was only ruined by his logical mind berating him for going after something that looked so sweet and was so large. Certainly, three people would not be able to eat all the meat before it rotted. Well, two—which was worse.

Although, it would not go to waste if it was given to a large commune.

He blew a stream of air out of his nose in a huff. His own annoyance at his thoughts made him laugh as he watched his breath become visible. Truly steaming with anger. Releasing his hands from their positions, he dropped down into the hole that entered to what remained of the nonexistent store. With a foot, he felt for something solid, and found the remains of a shelf. Letting go, he dropped upon it and hopped off almost instantly, its metallic frame shaking, but remaining upright upon the broken tile.

"That could have fallen," he called out to the quiet. The only response was a loosened fleck of concrete falling to the floor. It clattered and skittered until it rested at his feet. He cocked his head and nudged it with his boot. It scrapped against the spattered tile. He did it again, and again, and soon he was punting it back and forth, trying to keep it between a line of tiles. His breath left white puffs around him, as he battered it around, jumping from place to place like a cat.

"The fact that you decided to sneak out, just so you could mess around and do absolutely nothing is really freaking me out here," his hand interjected.

"I just wanted to get out of there for a minute."

"You don't want to get attached is what it is," it continued, stopping the boy in his tracks. His feet planted against the ground with not even a squeak of rubber.

"I'm going back," D said, lifting his palm to his face.

"That doesn't change the fact you are actively trying to not like these people. And that you are jealous that they have some of that guy's attention."

The boy's nose scrunched at the suggestion. "Don't be a fool."

"Oh, I'm going to get the fancy talk now? That stuff you're trying to change because your little friend doesn't like it?"

"No!" D snapped. "You're just being stupid, that's all. I don't have anything against these people. I just don't want to be here." He flopped onto the floor, as if to pout and escape his hand's words.

"Ah…so you're just afraid of getting caught, by them, or with them as collateral damage."

Covering the face with the palm of his right hand, the boy let out a heavy sigh. "Can't you just let me enjoy one thing?"

"You were kicking around a chunk of concrete."

"I was enjoying it. I wasn't thinking about any of that."

Suddenly, the fun he had been having seemed to pale as he began considering the unpleasant facts of his existence—and just as suddenly, he heard a noise in the distance. His head perked up. His breathing steadied. He crept to where the broken ceiling and demolished wall created a triangle of dim light, a window to the outside. Doubting whoever the sound came from could see as well as he, D sidled up to the opening and peered out.

At first, he saw nothing. Just the faintest of glows in the distance. Then, as he squinted, he saw three dots along the horizon. They were coming this way.

D pressed his back against the wall, hiding himself from anyone's view; his choice in clothing certainly helping. He silently wondered as he tugged one long sleeve over his left hand to hide the paleness of his skin, who the three people were. What faction were they from? He could not recall if anyone had been sent out on a recon mission, but then again, Bakura was keeping everything close to the chest when it came to these beings. All he really knew about the enemy was that whatever controlled the people did so unnaturally, and that it was not one of his father's men. It could have been them.

"Let's stay hidden then," his hand hissed in the silence. "We don't need to start anything, being alone and all."

"I'm not stupid," D replied, but he peered out of the makeshift window with new interest.

He had been the one to get Bakura out. If they had a lab, or something that they were using to control their people ('Maybe even the land!' he considered. 'Would explain the water shortage.') he might be able to cause a malfunction in their system. Destroy their cohesion and control. Make it easier to beat them.

'Maybe if I got rid of them, then we could leave.' The thought had its appeal.

"Stop," his hand begged, "Okay, okay. I regret pulling you out of your 'fun time'. We'd have been back in that stupid city by now. Go back to wanting to just play, and let's get back in there before they notice us!"

"Shush," the boy commanded, "They might be able to hear us. They'll see us for sure."

He did not really know if their vision was any better than his, but he did know he was liking his idea more and more. One person was harder to spot than a huge group ready to fight. Bakura had proven that, even if D had not read something to that effect in a book. No one knew he was gone, and he was fast. If he followed those people, if they were who he thought they were, and destroyed their system, it could save lives—and give them their lives back.

Time away from the stressors of the outside had emboldened him; his excitement having him stray from his naturally logical path. Aside from the symbiont, there was no one else to call upon his sense. Even then, there would have been only one person that he would have listened to, and that of which would have been begrudging obedience.

Even a smart and introspective boy such as D was prone to selfish wants, to instant gratification, without regard for others.

The group of three was upon his hiding place faster than he initially gave them credit for. The gentle crunch of rock digging into dirt were the only sounds they made; that and the heavy breathing, sticky with phlegm. D was certain he would not be heard, but still, he covered his mouth with cloth covered hands, and stood as still as the air within his confines. He had to hide his giddiness. His prediction had been correct; no other beings had sounded so similar. Even though they were sneaking, the footfalls even sounded like the booted ones of the first "infected" person he had encountered.

Listening. Watching. Waiting. It seemed like the time ticked on forever as the three searched the area for something. No doubt an entrance that they could exploit. D took a risk and stepped forward, seeing if they could sense his movements if he kept his natural, silent, gait. Nothing outside seemed to pause; the search continued. Encouraged, D hurried over to another, smaller opening, and observed the human puppets wandered, scuffing the dirt with tracks that were blown away just as quickly as they were made.

Sick-splattered faces twisted in displeased expressions as each one came up empty again and again. They all turned as if prompted and began their trek back to their base. D lowered his hands as they passed his hiding place, and waited for them to reach a decent distance away before he squeezed himself between the very crevasse he had spotted them from. He could tell the symbiont was displeased with his choice, it needed no words for the telepathic link to fester with agitation. The boy was also aware of the irony of his situation; Bakura expected him to be the rational one, and no doubt the adult would feel this was not a rational choice. Also, he would have been expected to learn from the last time—lest he possibly run into another vampire.

Yet, to D, this was far more rational than sending anyone else. Even Bakura.

'I know way more about technology than anyone down there,' D thought confidently. His confidence also filled his step. There was no real place to hide as he followed the enemy back, but he did not feel the need to hide just yet. He could have jogged; and he doubted any in front of him would notice until he passed them.

This assurance followed him until his discerning gaze caught the structure that the others returned to. He changed his trajectory, hiding behind a rocky outcropping about a mile from the entrance, and took stock in what he saw.

A great ship of some sort seemed to meld into the ground, with great pipes jutting from the earth's crust into the metallic structure. To the left, some sort of dish spun in half circles, measuring something, or gathering something—it was anyone's guess—while one that looked more like a receptor of radio waves did the same to the right. It did not take long for D to recognize that the air he breathed seemed to regain its humidity at this point, and the boy peeked his head out in awe at the ship again. To think someone else had such technology. His father's plans—could they ever reach the same expectations? Or had they already?

He saw a great door open and receive the three outsiders and watched as it closed with an airtight hiss. Strange orbs that could only have been cameras of some sort, circled the grayish-green mass of metal and what he thought might have been some rubbery material. They encircled, and swirled around the front, the back, and the sides of the ship. They hovered, hiding some of the windows to the inside, before moving on again. D watched the movement for a pattern, at first finding none. Then, just as his frustration mounted, he saw it—brief but unmistakable.

"I doubt the door will open for you, though," his hand mumbled against its place pressed upon the rock. "And anyway, a frontal assault would be stupid."

"Duh," the boy stated, emotionless. He was too busy thinking to be angry with the insinuation. No, his eyes were searching for a much smaller entrance. One that he might still be able to wiggle into.

And then he saw it.

Some might argue he was being foolish, picking his way from one hiding place to the next as what he perceived as cameras flashed one way to the next. He had no idea what type of technology was within. However, the curiosity in the boy led him to consider something that his father would have noted. If it was unknown—get to know it. D would have hated the comparison, but that did not change the fact.

It was when he reached not but ten meters from the ship, the smell of some chemical from a distant land filling the air with a saccharine scent that he began to regret his choice. The orbs nearest him seemed to be making larger loops now, as if activated by something he did not notice on his hike to what looked like a sealed vent of sorts. He stayed still for a while, waiting for it to go back to its former pace and orbit, but it did not. Instead it swung wider and wider. If the boy did not move, it would soon swing overhead. Backing away, D tried to stay out of its notice, thinking of other routes to take.

And then he heard scuffling behind him.

The boy spun, ignoring the spinning orbs to dodge the attack of a human that moved faster than a human should. The blade that whizzed past him cut at the air uselessly and he was forced to dodge again as another being crawled from its own hiding place. It shot at him, and he avoided the bullet with grace, but he felt the serrated edge of the former's dagger pass through his back and chest. He inhaled, stunned, and the cry he let out was wracked in agony, more out of fear than the initial pain.

D fell to the floor and rolled away from the pair that came after him with twisted, rage-filled expressions. He could not catch his breath; the blood filling his right lung making it difficult to pull in the air. Coughing, he willed it to fill his mouth, hoping that it would give him an extra push, just as he knew the night was.

Dodging another attack, he sprinted forward, tackling the thing with the pistol. It was not expecting the sheer force behind the boy's actions and fell back with the ease D had hoped for. Ripping the weapon out of its grasp, D pressed the muzzle into its eye and fired twice before leaping away, gun in hand, as the other took another swing. His hand ringing from the recoil that did not show, D fired at the being again and again. Its knee exploded from the accuracy of the three shots.

"Behind you!" his left hand shouted, and D twisted around, firing the rest of the clip into the three that appeared from formerly sealed holes in the earth. Tossing the useless weapon aside, D coughed again, blood spurting from between his lips, tears streaming down his face, and grabbed for the blade. With deft fingers he spun the blade around and stabbed the remaining creature behind him, still facing the fallen being. D closed his eyes, his uneven breath whistling in his throat, and he kneeled into the dirt when he heard the thing behind him fall.

"B…" D mumbled, his body wracked with his shivering. He could not remember the last time he had hurt so bad. His voice, tear-filled, tried again. "Bakura-sama…"

"I'm alive."

While he would have liked the man to be beside him, he knew that this had been his own doing. There was no use in crying for someone to comfort him or solve his problems. He could feel a little ashamed, and proud, however. He had survived. He had gotten better. He was alive.

"So you are."

D body seized. What he had perceived as the cold wind, as the chilling anguish of the knife wound, was something more. His eyes snapped open, but his head felt too heavy to lift. Still he tried; his neck fighting against him in a slow arch upwards. First his eyes set upon traveler's boots, dusty and worn, but stylish in their way. Next came dark clothing, tailored to fit. Nothing like the unique, but mismatched clothes that the boy wore. D, choked into silence by pain and fear, almost fainted at the presence of familiar facial hair upon a jaw not unlike his own. Still, he did not stop until his eyes met the crimson contemplation that was his father's expression.

Contemplation, another emotion the boy could not place, and…was there a hint of pride?

D's lips pressed into a line of silence, realizing that once again, the only fool around him was himself. He could think of no immediate means of escape; not even when the man turned his attention away to observe that the orbs D had been so concerned about were weaving in their former pattern, one glowing brighter than the others. Not even when another human puppet appeared and was cut clean in two with a skill that D had not seen in ages. Even afraid, his mind drank up the stance and expert poise.

"Come," D's father spoke, sheathing his unbloodied blade. "It is not safe here. How you came to be here, alone, is a question I will save for later. Yet, since you are alone, I believe it is time for you to return home with me. Enough of this game."

'Just listen to him,' his hand urged. 'Have some sense of self-preservation!'

D wanted to counter with anything, anything to explain that he could handle himself. Unfortunately, his present state diminished that fact, even with his childish pride. The sound of a pebble falling from its place from a rocky outcrop clattered. Both parties stared at each other: one expecting compliance, the other searching for an out.

The boy swallowed his coppery spit, holding back his tears and refusing to move toward him; but even though he tried to show bravery, his shoulders slumped when he his father remained resolute. An unmoving obelisk. D knew so much of his sorrow came from his father's decisions, but also knew the man did have much to offer in the way of learning to live with his condition. As he stared up at the behemoth of a man he once had looked up to even in the smallest of ways, he saw a great wall between himself and the people he aspired to be like now.

But like it or not, all his attempts at freedom came to this.

A shot rang through the silence of the night and D started. His shock overtook his despair as the boy watched blood splatter from a hole that manifested in his father's chest. Suddenly, the sound of a pebble meant so much more. The boy darted to his feet, and as his father turned—having barely dodged what would have been a troublesome shot—D used the speed granted by the blood that coated his tongue to dart in the sound's direction. He could feel his father upon him—the large hand nearly engulfing his upper arm before another shot doused the boy in his father's blood. Stumbling, digging at the dirt with feet and hands for purchase, D scampered to where his savior stood.

A rough hand yanked him behind their body, shielding the boy from view and harm, while the other hand trained the revolver at the face of fury. Clinging and coughing, D caught sight of Bakura's familiar face although with an uncomfortably familiar expression—death-promising dark eyes narrowed with a nasty snarl upon his lips.

"Yours is a face that I can't say I wanted to see again," Bakura called, the viciousness upon his face abating. "But I suppose this was going to be inevitable."

The man's grip, not unfriendly, nearly pinned the boy to his back. D could feel Bakura's heart beating, with the rush of blood signaling just how on edge he was. The fact he only looked annoyed at the presence that would have sent shivers down a sane man's spine was a testament to some great will.

"Still alive, I see," D's father answered. "I admit I am a little surprised. It is true that you should have expected me, however. I am here for my son." His eyes trailed the dirt, following the bloody tracks the boy made. "It seems that he has outgrown your means of keeping an eye upon him."

"I'm not going to argue parenting methods with you," Bakura said. "And he's not going with you, either. I'd say you have a much bigger problem."

Releasing D for an instant, he motioned to the ship, and made visible the fact that the orbs were all in a hurried dance. Something had been alerted, and the huge door of the ship began to peel open. Shadows from the other side filtered the light from within.

"There are others out there, too," the young man concluded, swinging his arm up to point at the sky before his hold on D resumed.

"Of that I have no doubt," the vampire replied. "Although, I do thank you for bringing their presence here to my attention."

"It's the least I could do," came the counter, a bitter grin upon a scarred face.

"I really feel that you misunderstood my previous intentions," D's father expressed, seeming not to care about the horde that was upon them. "But I feel that you would not care to hear what they were, nor my reasons why."

"You'd be right about that," Bakura said.

"I just wonder what your dear friends following after you would think." The statement shook the bravado of the young man for an instant. D turned his attentions behind them and could swear he saw a familiar figure in the distance, one hand to their ear. Listening for something. Or to something. The boy turned again and watched the man's grin return. The vampire seemed amused by the former response, yet, not so amused by the next.

"I don't think they'd really give a shit," Bakura said, his gun still pointed at the other man's face. "They care more that I can deliver."

A cold glare set upon the bloodless face. "Whatever is that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno, why don't you find out?"

"Do not be coy with me, boy," a warning growl sent shivers down D's spine, and he clung to the fabric of his liberator's shirt, pressing down memories of cruel actions that had seemed far too normal in the past. "I have entertained your existence this long. You are beginning to outlive your purpose if you think you can speak to me in such a way."

"You forgive that I've shot you, but can't take a few words critiquing you? For shame, O' Great One," the young man's body shook from a near silent snicker. "You really aren't living up to your name."

'The hell is he doing?!' D's hand asked from within, and the boy could only shake his head. He could not fathom Bakura's purpose, instigating his father so. The boy coughed again and watched the flecks of blood soak into the blue of Bakura's jeans. He was now feeling the pain of being stabbed full force; it took everything for him not to let out a whimper of pain.

D's father took a step forward, a blur of shadow in the night. Soon the crimson eyes that sent men far larger running glowered into the darkness of Bakura's own as he stood a mere foot away. In comparison, the man was a mass of pure night, while the younger stood like a lantern before it. The aura around them practically strangled every living creature around, including the new few who were creeping up to the standoff.

"You don't give me enough credit," Bakura said, standing his ground. "I'm much harder to push around—to kill—than you think."

"Whose improvements made that possible?" the other's cool voice asked.

"Not yours."

"Not mine?" The elder's confusion spread across his face. Corrected in an instant, but it had been there.

"No." It dawned on D then that something was amiss in the soft familiarity of Bakura's tone. Something that paired with the unusual expression D noted. "You only think you rule the darkness. So naïve."

"You speak as if you have knowledge on something you know nothing about. Perhaps if you would give up now, I would give you the chance to listen—"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Bakura sneered. The scent of anxiety was upon his brow but D watched in awe as the mere human dared to disrespect his father so blatantly. The boy waited with bated breath for the next exchange.

"I know that somewhere, deep, deep, down, a complete monster could not have made this boy," Bakura paused before adding in addendum, "Don't get me wrong. You are a true monster. But I'm not the one who taught him that humans deserved respect. You must have had some respect for our kind to make this kid and view him as a success. I mean, you fail to respect us at every other turn, and there's a high chance you mistreated his mother, but from my memories, you don't 'only' see us as food for you. Just mostly."

"I'm glad you can see this," D's father said through clenched teeth. "Although, again, you fail to understand the deeper—"

"I'm not done. As an insignificant human, I'm flat out telling you not everyone who's seen the depths of that darkness needs you as their savior. Or wants you to be it. You lack quite a bit to be one, in that respect.

And you're not the first, and definitely not the last who will try to control the darkness for their own selfish desires. Get off your fucking high horse."

Facing the renewed rage of his enemy, Bakura chuckled. "Honestly, you should direct your rage to whoever those things are. They're going to be the thorns in your side. I mean, if you want to take over the world or something; whatever absurd thing you have planned. They have the manpower and resources. What am I but an annoying distraction?"

A distraction, D surmised, unblinded by his emotions—the opposite of his father at present—to distract from the tainted humans who were mere feet away.

"Here, I'll help you understand," Bakura said in response to the vampire's silence. "This is just a little something that they do."

There was a flicker at Bakura's side, and D was drawn to Diabound's camouflaged state. His father seemed to also see the being and appeared as shocked as D had been the first time. He clearly had not known about this ability. Diabound raised its transparent hands and suddenly a sound unlike any the boy had heard before screamed through the area. It rattled his brain, and he felt dazed even without it being directed at him. It shoved his father back enough to fall into the clutches of the puppets, although even they seemed to be affected by whatever the spell afflicted.

As D reeled from the aftershock of the attack, he felt an uncomfortable weight surround him, tugging him deep into a darkness he was oddly familiar with. The sound of grinding stone and peat filled D's ears. He could hear Bakura's breathing, near and strained. The smell of damp earth filled his nose before the air around D ceased to exist. They were underground. Underground!

"Don't look for us," came a warped, echoey voice from everywhere.

The boy did not know if his father had been alarmed, shocked, or angered further by these unforeseen events, but D was certain to keep his mouth shut. Bakura needed to concentrate, and D admitted to himself that his own concentration needed to lay in healing himself. Not that it was his will that healed; that was thanks to his bloodline and the hand that seemed to function even in these bizarre circumstances. He could already sense the grumblings of his hand, and for once he was interested in listening. D had thought he had been frightened enough into sense before, but this interaction with his father showed him differently. Now, he was truly keen on never having this happen again.

There was a strange lift, and a dip, and a lift again, before D unceremoniously fell to solid ground, stumbling before barely righting himself in time. He heard a retching sound behind him and turned to see Mai releasing a recent meal upon the pebbling tarmac. Then a wild screech made him twist to see Claire struggling against Bakura's grasp, her eyes closed, her face contorted in fear. Bakura's mouth moved quickly, his comforting words pouring forth like a stream of much needed water. Once she listened, Claire eased out of her tense position, and held onto the man's arm for dear life. Wild, petrified eyes darted across the land. Her alarm took time to peter out.

When it did, D waited for Bakura's shouting. The man had all the reason in the world to be angry with him. They all did. The boy did not know why the others had followed, but there they were. Wherever they were. He had no idea. D waited, his left hand gripping the right, his arms huddled over his chest. When the man turned to him, he bowed his head and flinched preemptively. Bakura had never struck him intentionally before, but seeing his father again brought up the cool way he seemed to dismiss or destroy what displeased him. Bakura would not kill him, so his mind went to the next most obvious conclusion.

A hand did connect with his head, but not in the way he expected. D cracked one eye open to peer up at the man who gently stroked the boy's head with his free arm.

"Are you okay?" Bakura asked, and even with the remnants of anger in his voice, it was still kind, still concerned. Still something that D felt he did not deserve.

"I will be fine," D said. The pain in his chest throbbed, but he could tell it was not life threatening any longer. It just hurt. He held back the tears that came with the pain, to not worry anyone further. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?!" Claire shouted. Whereas Bakura could contain his roiling emotions to comfort the boy, it was clear Claire could not. "What are you doing outside?!"

"I could ask the same of you," Bakura added, wryly.

"I followed you, 'cause you were following him. You're always telling me not to get into trouble!" She moved to jab him in the chest. The boy recoiled and Bakura grabbed at her hand. She paused, seeming to recognize for the first time that D was injured. "And you're hurt! Two things that you tell me not to do, and you do BOTH OF THEM!"

"I was just trying to help!" D shot back, but the excuse felt thin, even to him.

"How's getting hurt getting help?!"

"I don't mean to be that person, but can we argue somewhere else, please?" Mai interjected, having finished emptying the contents of her stomach. "I couldn't see clearly, but that guy you were facing off with looked like bad news for us." Her expression held a tint of fear as she edged closer to the group. Fear towards D's father, and towards the man she spoke to.

"I think that he will be distracted for a little while, considering what we left him with," Bakura mused. Whatever disposition he held before was gone. It was the usual, thoughtful and kind Bakura. "But being less visible would be better for us. I'm not certain if we left a perceivable trail."

"I've got most of our important stuff!" Claire cried out, pointing to her back, where her bag bulged, along with her rifle, D's sword slid between the two. "Didn't know how long we'd be out here! I thought if you were worried, he might have run away…It's heavy!" She then paused for a longer period, and added, dejected, "I didn't bring my guitar, though."

"I appreciate that, Claire-chan…" Bakura acknowledged. "We'll be sure to grab it before we go."

"We go?" Mai questioned.

Bakura turned his attention to the woman that still shuddered a little in response to the remnants of magic. "We can drop you off, and give everyone the gist of what happened. We can't stay, though. It wouldn't be safe. He knows we've been around here, but not for how long. The longer we stay, the more he has on these people. We have to go." The fact Bakura looked disappointed as he said this sprouted the seeds of guilt in D. Even though D had wanted to leave, he had not considered (or cared) that the others may have found home in the tunnels of that underground city. There would be little time for deserved goodbyes to anyone they had gotten close to. This time, the boy truly felt their present dilemma was his fault.

"You're right. Best not to risk anyone's safety," Mai said, shaking her head. "I think I'm still in range to contact them. I'll relay our position and that we're on our way. After we share out…I'm coming with you." Her face hardened, one hand resting upon her hip. Somehow, even though she had been thrown into an event of the supernaturally strange, she regained her composure with impressive speed. "There's a chance I was spotted and that'd be dangerous for them if the city is found. They'll be fine without me. Also, I know when I've been pulled into something I can't get out of—and I've got a lot of questions for you that I didn't ask before out of being polite. You owe me."

"Fair enough," Bakura conceded.

And then it was D's turn.

"Are you hurt?" The rephrased question seemed simple enough even with the silent 'still', and the new addition to the group seemed concerned that it was even being asked. Yet, there was far more to it; and as D breathed in, pressing at his side for one last check, he felt a return of that comfort that he had wished for. As he was still a child in many ways, he allowed himself this relief, but he also reinstated his understanding of the consequences of his actions. If he was not prepared for such consequences, he had no reason to be a part of whatever placed him there. Something his 'hand' and he agreed upon.

"I'm fine. I'm alive."

Bakura smiled. There would be time for checking the boy over, D knew he would not get out of it. He knew that hidden look behind the upturned corners; it held extreme worry deep within. For now, somehow, Bakura still trusted his word. That was enough for him.

The man gently lifted the boy into his arms, with strength the boy would have never expected a year ago. Checking for further injuries did not mean ignoring what still bled. D rested his head against the crook of Bakura's shoulder, not so much embarrassed as grateful that there would be no further discussion. He silently aided Bakura's scan of the land and shook his head when he saw nothing of consequence.

"Good," Bakura replied in response, with Mai's questioning gaze deepening. "Then let's go."

Shock welcomed them back into the folds of the underground city; the guards that had allowed for two breaches had been relieved for new pairs who observed Bakura cradling a blood-soaked D and tailed by Mai and Claire. The former commanded them to be on high alert, the latter passed by them with a wave and an absurd amount of supplies stashed upon her back. A busy night to say the least.

When Mai demanded over the control board that there was to be another meeting held by the Counsel, the annoyance could not have been clearer. That was, until the woman questioned the council members' abilities under emergency circumstances. Bakura stood beside her, holding D close to him. His arms were tired but he refused to put him down. Now that the sheer force of adrenaline was leaving him, the reality of how close he had come to losing the boy was able to fester within. He stared forward, noting buttons he would never use, wishing that he could hold Claire closer as well. Fear…he had thought he had felt it all before. Thought he knew the worst, of dying, of not knowing if he could protect them. Now he realized losing them would be too much. He felt sick.

He wished he could use the restroom.

Instead, he carried the boy to the Counsel's chamber, never letting the girl out of his site. He waited his turn as Mai put forth an impassioned speech for some direct action of ensuring the safety of the city. He tried to maintain his composure. Tears kept threatening to spill over as deliberation tugged back and forth over the mere concept of leaving. To remain silent, Bakura bit at his lips, already pressed into a firm line.

Soon the questions would be directed at him.

"Dream Eater," what felt like a silly name already took a moment to register as his call for response. "What have you to say?"

"That I am sorry for my negligence," he began, "I am sorry for any distress I have caused your people. For your safety, I request that my boon be put forth now. We will leave, for everyone's safety—"

"Excuse me," Ray interjected. "You want to run away from the situation? Something that your child chose to instigate further?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Annika cried in disbelief. "This child was attacked, and with luck, is here alive! I doubt you followed all instructions when you were his age!"

"Yes, but my disregard didn't threaten hundreds of lives!"

"We've done more poking at this hornet's nest than the child ever has!" The woman's cheeks flushed red, contrasted against the blue of her ensemble. "If anyone is to blame for anyone's attentions upon us, it is ourselves!"

"This new threat, though?"

"Not the boy's fault," Bakura cut in.

"He was still outside!"

"Which is shameful in regards to our security measures!" Annika snapped. "With the latest attack so fresh, even I know that our measures should still have counted for monitoring a child!"

"I concur," the one in yellow stated before turning their head in thought. "Two children, considering the whole situation."

This seemed to quiet the room for a moment. Claire huddled closer to Bakura, whose arms still held D, albeit close to the point of shaking. Fatigue was setting in, but still he held fast. He could tell by the awkward shifting that D tired of the situation; whether from embarrassment or concern of the tonal shift, he did not know. What he did know was that he was not going to put him down, not in such a hostile environment. Not when they would really see how bad the injury had been. There would be too many questions.

"My concern is how is being down a man helpful?" Daniel said, raising his hand for silence. "You say we have two brands of enemies up there. Shouldn't we then…stick together? More is better." He gave Bakura a tentative smile which Bakura returned. It seemed that his prior aggressive opinion had waned over the past weeks.

The others, however, took this as an invitation to argue.

"We should honor our word—"

"Anyone leaving might draw attention…"

"Attention has probably already been drawn!"

"If this is all the case then the whole 'moving' thing needs to be off the table!"

"What do you mean?! Now we really should leave!"

"It's too dangerous!"

"And if we are found it's all the same in the end!"

Mai's voice reverberated against the polished walls, cutting through the cacophony with a frigid slice. She pointed, the arc sweeping over all of the counsel. The chamber regained its silence as all waited for her words.

"We need to cut the crap, and any fluff that we have going on in here, right now," Mai declared, clear and in command of the situation. "It's what we've made ourselves to be, but we don't stand a chance if we don't look at the hard facts right now."

She turned to Bakura, her gaze hardened. "Put D down."

The young man rocked on the heels of his feet, as if she had slapped him. "I don't thi—"

"Put him down. They need to know. They need to see." 'How else?' her eyes seemed to implore. 'I know I promised, but how else?'

"Know? See?" There was a hiccup of whispers as Bakura set D down, his mind racing with ways to alleviate the situation. He put his faith in Mai's reasoning, for now. Until he thought of something better, there was not much else he could do.

Although, if things went south, he would show his own hand. To protect him.

The boy stood there, spattered with blood that was his own, and some that was not. His arms lay folded against a wound that should have killed. Skin that already held a pale complexion sported one of death. Yet, his young face remained serene. For an instant, his lips moved as if speaking silently to something unseen and then D turned his head up—remorse plain, but all of the fears that dwelled within Bakura seemed non-existent within his expression.

"Seeing injuries that I brought upon myself will not change the eventuality of what's going to occur," D began, choosing his words with care (although there were few there who could tell). "And at any rate, all of you are correct in your summation."

None on the Counsel had spent enough time with D to know of all of his quirks, but his display certainly garnered their notice. Bakura struggled to tell if their rapt attention was due to his words, or the plain ease he used them.

"It doesn't matter if you stay, or if you go. Either the aliens will find you, or my father will."

"Your father?"

D's mouth formed a thin line before nodding. "Yes. We keep this information from people because I don't wish to return to him. I don't agree with his methods, or his actions."

Flabbergasted, Oly spoke. "But he's your father…Were you kidnapped?" His attention swiftly turned to Bakura, ready to fly into a rage. The others looked on, shocked and alarmed.

"No," D said, sighing, before Bakura could reply. "I wanted to go." While the truth was more complicated, the gist of it was there enough. "Can we focus on the fact that it's my father that you have to worry about, rather than the man who gave me a chance to live a normal life?"

Annika fingered the glued lace of her fan. "You mean to tell us that—I mean—your father is—"

"Yes. He's a vampire. One with more backing and technology than this city could dream of at present." As the council members stared at him, the boy rolled his eyes. Bakura found his annoyance amusing, given the circumstances.

"You don't believe me entirely, do you?" He pulled his shirt up, peeling the now sticking fabric from his body. "I was stabbed here," he said, pointing at an area that seemed like someone had little more than slapped it. "My blood has soaked into my clothes, but as for the injury, I'm healed. This type of rapid healing just from a dhampir like myself. Imagine how an old and powerful being would be affected by that. By what any of you could do. And then think of the stories, and what they could do to you."

"But then…what do we do?"

"How should I know?" D asked, almost petulant. "We told you we wanted to leave. That would be the safest thing. Because he will find you, whether he wins this battle or not. You need to forget we ever existed. The more you act like you know something, the more we remain here and you can't help but know more than you should, the higher the chances of losing everything you built."

"If you stay here," Bakura said, attempting to quell the panic rising in the bulk of the Counsel's eyes, "while there's a chance you could stave off the vampires for a time, you run the risk of being attacked by The Arid Sea. That's why it might be for the best that you move on."

"That's too many people, and too much risk!" Ray exclaimed. "Our backs would be to the enemy. They'd get us!"

"You think there's a chance that the vampires could be repelled?" Annika inquired.

"Well…I mean, if superstitions hold true—"

"Many do," D mumbled, remembering the sting of Claire's book.

"If they do as you assume," Daniel said, removing his mask, "And the vampires win out, that's one enemy down. Can we be certain that they are focused on The Arid Sea, right now?"

"Pretty sure that's someone's main concern," Bakura replied, for once feeling as if the man looked to him as an equal. The motion had not gone unnoticed by the others either.

"If we can ensure that, and the superstitions work as a barrier, then we might not have to leave."

"Some of us will," Mai stated. "My position has been compromised. If they see me, they might assume that we all know D, and retaliate."

"Are we certain that the vampires would even attack us?"

"Well, they definitely will if they think he's here."

"But Mai, if you go, who's going to take your place?"

Mai gave them a wistful smile, and Bakura felt for the woman. He knew what it was like to leave what had felt like home behind.

"I have an idea of who's up for the job."

"—and I never thought that this would be how I got it," Jael muttered, uncapping a spice jar and sniffing at the contents. "Wonder if dried works…"

"At any rate, congratulations." Bakura offered, giving her shoulder an apologetic pat before returning to a nearly blank piece of paper. Rubbing at his temples, he sucked in air between his teeth. The situation felt insane. His eyes flicked to the battery-powered clock that rested on the crook of the desk and concurrent wall.

He wracked his brain for what felt like days upon the remnants of his passions for the occult, although it had been little more than hours. The fact he had not slept all that night weighed upon his focus, and rubbing at his eyes did little to make them ache less. He listed any obscure factoid he could recall to bolster the protection of a town he had been forced to enter and inadvertently placed in harm's way. The first were easy, obvious, and some…absolutely useless at the moment. The safest time to be outside was during the daylight—unless one traveled with someone with the same affliction, they could not cross water—unless entombed in dirt—and whether or not it killed them or simply immobilized them was unknown, decapitation could kill (D popped in when he wrote that one, and warned him it was a timed experience). Fire might be able to kill, if completely set on fire. Garlic and holy symbols were the easiest to remember and the surest thing, and thus Jael going through their collection of spices. He doubted they had any wild rose, holly, or wolfsbane around. They definitely had salt.

"Does the sprinkling of millet seeds work? Or was it mustard?" he mumbled to himself, scratching the back of his neck. "It might have been both, and rice…but I think it is just a deterrent."

"What are you goin' on about?" Jael asked. Bakura shook his head and scribbled down a few notes. She leaned over and read what he had. Her nose wrinkled.

"Holy items…does that go for all holy items?"

"Dunno," he mused, his hand toying with his shirt at mid-chest level.

"Hope it does. Some of us don't ascribe to crosses."

"Ah?"

"Yeah, but I'm supposing you might not either."

"Never really thought too hard on it." Bakura twirled a lock of his hair around his finger as he scribbled down "iron—silver is a maybe". "I'm not one to say one thing is correct over the other, or one god exists instead of many. There are many inexplicable things that can happen in this world. Oh! Don't forget that eating garlic is like a pesticide, too. And it's good for you."

"Yeah, helps that I've always been a fan," Jael said, laughing. "It's a pity it isn't fresh. I'd like make some garlic confit and put it on some challah bread."

"Maybe grow some?"

"Find us the seeds," she snorted, "or bulbs, or whatever. After you teach me how summoning works."

"It's really not hard."

"I get the general idea, but when you told me about the old rules to compare 'em, I started confusing those rules with the 'newer' ones."

"I'll be sure to find time, then." Bakura looked back at the paper, and scribbled a few more ideas down. How much help all of this would be, he was unsure. Many of the ideas were common knowledge from movies, but neither movies or superstition were tried and true. He looked back at Jael, who was now staring into the blank space before her. He placed his pen down. "You'll do fine."

"'s not that."

Bakura blinked. Tears were now streaming down Jael's face. She turned to him, her face storming with her sorrow.

"I'm gonna miss you."

Bakura's face softened.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

The rumbling of filtered air only punctuated the sadness that filled a chamber far too large for its inhabitants. Short, sharp, breaths almost kept beat as the return of the scratching of pen on paper added its lilting presence— "Invitations mean nothing. Look to old-school traps with the metals listed above."

"When are you guys leaving?"

"After Mai and I finish helping you and the rest of the Counsel set up the new precautionary measures."

"Shit," she said, sniffling. "That's quick. What kind of enemy did you make of this fucker?"

Bakura shrugged. Jael wiped at her face with rough fists before returning to opening another food storage carton. Finally, Bakura dropped his pen and sighed, plopping his face into his hands.

"I can't think of anything else," he grumbled into his palms. "Do you want to take a quick break?"

Jael raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have to go?"

"Don't you want to learn about summoning?"

"Oh, Dream Eater," she said with a chuckle. "You don't plan on taking all of my dreams away before you go?"

Bakura could not help but smirk. "Really? You know that'd never happen."

"But you don't know how close you come in doing so," Jael sighed. Rising to her feet she nudged him to follow her. Their last break together. "You better watch out."

"For what?" he inquired, thinking of a few strategies and cards she could use if she ever found them. "Are you lying about not knowing the rules?"

"No," she laughed. "No. Watch out for that kid of yours. What he picks up. With the way you are?" Their gaze locked for a moment that lasted long enough to make both of them uncomfortable. Jael coughed self-consciously before she continued. "You might unintentionally raise a heartbreaker."

Bakura, stunned to silence, could not think of a way to respond to that.

They split soon after their break to attend to other duties and the rest of the goodbyes were swift. The children that had grown close sobbed when they realized Claire and D would be leaving, while others held in their tears like their adult counterparts. The hugging, which occurred amongst the wet and dry-eyed alike, took the longest. Some of the guards, engineers, Beau, and Jim all came to say their goodbyes. Jim apologized for their original interaction with the conversation ending in good-natured laughter. The bulk of the city went on as normal—it was not like they had known everyone well, and the show needed to go on.

"We are sorry to see you go. All of you." Daniel said. He stood amongst the Counsel, in their final moments of departure. Jael stood amongst their ranks, bedecked in her own brand of rugged glamour. Upon her face she had a mask colored like iron, a purple streak across the uncovered side. She looked magnificent. All looked devastated.

"May we meet again," Annika added, tearfully.

"Thank you all, for everything," Mai said, wearing an outfit reminiscent of her past style, albeit better suited for travel. Boots without a heel, and a pair of jeans (dyed a deep purple in remembrance of her former status) replaced her preference for a short skirt. "Please stay safe."

"We will," chimed the council members.

"We must," added Ray.

"As a newly inducted member," Jael said, stepping forward from her place and shocking those of the departing party, "May I, Iron Jael, bestow upon you all the favor of the Counsel. May you never forget your time here, however long or short, and remember that we will keep you all in our hearts fondly." With that, she pinned to each of them something made crudely, quickly, but with a care that even the youngest felt. Even D looked moved at the gesture.

It held the crest that those of the city had fashioned for themselves when it had been founded anew, with the initials of the Counsel, new and old, upon it. Each one also had the name of the one who bared it. They were large enough to contain all of such information, yet small enough to hide. A piece of the city that had inspired something in each of them, for good or ill.

"We here, the citizens of what once was Hawthorne and Babbitt, will remember you all. Good luck. And stay safe."

The eastern sun greeted the quartet as they surfaced, bright morning light streaming over dried land. Exhaustion would set in soon, but for now, time was of the essence. They had to move on.

As they traveled, each member looked back at least once at the remnants of a town that had now evolved underground. Each carried their own regrets, their own trepidation, their own unexpected excitement for change.

And as Bakura turned his head forward, his face furrowed in thought.

Morning light lit their way; morning light transformed them. They were only shadows for those they left behind.