Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.
Finally! On the day I said I'd post it!
Hopefully next chapter can have the same consistency.
Thank you again to those who read this, I hope each chapter is worth your while.
Anyway, enjoy!
Chapter Forty-Eight: Things Will Come
"You can style my hair, and I'll style your hair!" Claire exclaimed, practically falling out of her chair with how hard she had flung herself to punctuate her point. Mai raised an eyebrow at her offer before turning back to her task of preparing the double bed for the night. Their disguises for the day, mostly an amass of face masks, lay upon the dresser, ready for their morning donning. It helped that Albert had been sneezing up a storm again, having passed the damnable cold around to half of the camp, and that Josseline the most recent to catch whatever he had, resided in the miserable middle stages of the illness; most people gave them a wide berth, and it allowed for a fortuitous excuse to have something covering their faces.
"Think about it!" the girl continued, abandoning her seat and chasing after her as she moved to the other side of the bed. "No one would eever think someone like how you dressed before would do their hair like that, and with my goggles? You'd be unrecognizable! That's a word, yeah?" She turned to D, who nodded from his cross-legged seat on the bed beside them.
"You've used it before," the boy pointed out.
"Have I?"
"You want me to do yours?" Mai asked, bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand, observing the girl hop from one foot to another. She was grateful they were on the lowest floor of apartments. The girl's energetic bouncing would no doubt have kept a tenant beneath them up with the noise.
The girl nodded, beaming. "I get it if you have to cut it, or something, but I trust your fashion judgment." She jerked a thumb at the others around them and added, "I don't really trust theirs."
"We're right here," D grumbled, affronted. Bakura just laughed, having returned from his foray with their questionable ally. Taking the bandage off, he winced at the light that hit the formerly hidden eye before tying it up in a plastic bag and tossing it into the trash. Even then, D's eyes unconsciously flicked to their position, the scent of blood that obvious to him.
"I'm just saying: if we gotta do disguises for everyone he's seen—or that other dude's seen, we should do our best…without looking like a mess."
"Strange thing to say," Amami muttered softly in her direction, having snuck in to visit with them before they bunked down that night. Claire glared at her for the insinuation, although the ferocity she usually employed had dimmed somewhat.
"No one asked you," she said, sticking her tongue out. Amami returned the gesture, only drawing the corners of her mouth further away with her fingers.
"And that's enough for now," Bakura interjected, swooping in so Mai could have a chance to respond, and that this semi-play would not escalate into a fight. Thankfully, those had been rarer to say the least; he was not about to question why.
The woman judged the girl's intent, recognizing Claire was not usually the type to offer others making a choice for her if she had any say in the matter. As such, Mai knew this proposition was a sign of their strengthened bond. She nodded gracefully at the ball of energy before her.
"If you trust me, then, of course I trust you."
"So, she's going to dress like a normal person?" D's hand teased, and even though Amami flinched at its speaking, D let out a giggle in response. Claire shot him a dirty look before she moved to hug her friend with one arm around his neck. A hug akin to a chokehold.
Bakura turned to Mai, who simply shrugged as all three of the children got into a shouting match that somehow ended in giggles. Who were they to judge when they had watched very similar exchanges occur during their former days of dueling? They could only let out thankful sighs that whatever dissention in the young group that remained was fading quickly.
Later that night, as Claire and Mai snored on, soothed by the softest covers they had been privy to for ages, D poked Bakura in the face to check if he was awake. He had hardly tapped him before the man had raised a hand to catch whatever was brushing his face. D let himself be caught and smiled into the dark as he saw Bakura's face relax.
"Thank you for agreeing to this sleeping arrangement."
"No need to thank me," Bakura whispered, blinking drowsily as he tried reorienting himself with reality. "It made sense; we aren't in friendly territory, and Claire, for all her acting, would be rather irritated if we all weren't together. Time will probably change that, but for now it isn't a big deal."
"Is it really just Claire that would have been uncomfortable?" D asked, picking at the edge of his pillowcase.
"I figured you wouldn't want to be called out."
"Wow."
"Point made?"
"Maybe…" D said, letting out a silent snort of laughter. "Here I just figured you would have been too shy to ask for a certain roommate."
"What?" Bakura asked, his tone both confused and a warning to tread carefully upon the subject.
"You should feel bad. He was trying to get your attention so desperately."
"Nope, nope, nope," Bakura muttered as he tugged up their cotton sheet. "Not having this conversation with you."
"But Bakura-sama…"
"Don't you Bakura-sama me when you are talking about things you don't even understand," he finalized, poking the boy's nose.
"Sorry," D offered, patting the man's covered shoulder. "You are right. Next time I see him staring at you, I'll ask him to explain what he's feeling plainly. That way we both will understand why he does it."
"You're pushing it."
"Just trying to distract myself from the unpleasant truths of where we are," D sighed. He brought his knees up to hug them close to his chest. "I don't want to ruin our chances by getting caught. I know I look a lot like him, and it isn't like I'm practiced enough to defend myself from being captured by these people while you are away. I'm also worried for you and your friends—do you think your other friend recognized you?"
"I hope not."
"Maybe Claire's idea isn't so bad," the boy mused. "At least for now…"
'When I'm older and stronger, I won't have to think of things like this,' he thought privately as he watched Bakura rub at the side of his head in thought. 'I'll be able to protect the people I care about.'
Right?
"It might not be," Bakura agreed, settling deeper into his pillow. He yawned and tugged the covers closer to his chin. "Should I cut my hair?"
"Did you take your hood off?"
"No, just the bandana."
"Maybe. Have you ever had short hair?"
"When I was little. I'm not a fan of having short hair, actually."
"Then it might be a good idea for now. I don't think anyone was really paying much attention to us before, so we probably won't be questioned about it. For anyone who did…it could just be seen as us being able to express our styles again—now that we have the time and the means. Do you think we'll be around long enough for you to logically have to take off that bandage?"
"I hope not."
"Same here," the boy said, shivering. "Without a doubt, he's seen your face recently. That scar is a little too distinct to explain away."
"He's definitely shared that change," Bakura weighed in. "I'll figure something out if we stay longer."
D nodded, first staring at the man with respect and adoration before his eyes fell to his own sprawling dark hair.
"I feel very selfish," he murmured. "But I don't want to cut mine."
"Then don't," Bakura said.
"But—"
"Remember that woman, Malie?"
"Yes. Although, I remember Ember more. Which I sort of feel terrible about."
"I don't think she'd take it to heart," Bakura considered, laughing. "She gave Mai that red ribbon she wore in her hair. Maybe you could use that."
"Red ribbon…why? What would that do?"
"We want to throw them off as hard as possible. We haven't been counted in a census or anything just yet, either. You're smart enough to figure it out."
D scowled at the man, aware of what he was getting at. If he had not wished to leave badly enough before, it was now twenty times worse.
'When I'm older and stronger, never again,' he seethed inwardly once more. It was not like he thought that poorly of others, it was just the fact he was growing to very much hate pretending to be what he was not. If Bakura had access to the boy's inner thoughts, he would have been proud of such certainty. Such assuredness, no matter what the subject, showed that there was pride and a sense of self-acceptance deep within that self-hatred. Such an emotion would keep him pushing forward, long after the man was gone.
As it was, Bakura simply pat the boy's head and closed his eyes with a sigh. "For now, let's not worry on it. We should get to bed."
D grumbled a "good night" to the man which was returned before Bakura swiftly fell into his dreamland. The boy watched him for a time; worrying, contemplating. He sat up and observed their roommates as they slept on, unbothered by the uncertainties of the next day. Taking his left ring finger and middle finger, he twisted them around each other, back and forth, trying to decipher the strange tingling that still vexed him.
Studying Bakura once more, he wondered if he should wake the man and finally attempt to finish the conversation that they had attempted months ago. Instead, he fell back into his sleeping spot and glared daggers at the ceiling until his vision became hazy, and he plummeted into the darkness of his dreams, this time of his own volition.
A shadowy creature manifested beside the young man as he stared into a negative image before him. The visual depicted a distant land so familiar to him, even with the understanding he had only ever stepped foot there once as the person he was now. Yet, against this knowledge, the warmth of the land radiated against his skin even with the absence of the sun, and he dug his shoeless feet into millions of grains that eventually could burn him. As he did, he felt home.
The thing to his left existed solely as a mass that hinted at a human form. Their dark hair whipped in a sudden whirl of air; their eyes shone as bright whites, cat-like in their outlines. They blinked at him with engrossing curiosity. It would have been impossible to ignore them, this darkness against a bright blue-white background. With a breath that made the wind flutter once more, he acknowledged its appearance with a flick of his eyes before returning his attentions to the discolored landscape.
"It's you," they called, their voice wavering in and out as if they were speaking through a faulty microphone.
"Oh?" Bakura asked sleepily, wishing to slide down the staticky dunes into the crevasse of the rocks below to slumber in. They were safer than the emptied buildings. No one came to bother him there. He blinked thrice against the senseless thought but did not worry on it further. "You know me?"
"Yes. Do you not remember me?"
He shook his head, the action making him nauseous, as if acting against a lack of sleep and emptied stomach. Ignoring it, he observed the creature with interest. "I keep meeting people I'm supposed to remember. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?"
"For not remembering. It's rude of me."
"That's no trouble," the floating shadow comforted. "We do not know each other well. What do you remember?"
"Remember?" Bakura tried to focus, but the sounds of screaming began to ring in his mind once more and he clutched at his ears and fell to his knees. "I remember I'm hungry," he gasped, straining against the pain that the cacophony caused. "I remember I'm tired."
"I remember…I'm alone."
"Alone?"
"Wait," Bakura ordered against the noise; at himself and at the being. "No. I'm not alone. They're here. My family is here?" He looked up questioningly at the shadow, as if it held an answer. The wailing became a background hum of anger and anguish—loud enough to remain disconcerting, but low enough so he could focus on the thing before him.
"Is there anyone else?"
"My sister? No. My mother? No. My friend?"
"You sound unsure."
"I am," he confessed. "I think I'm dreaming. The only one I know for sure that is here is myself."
"What about me?"
He shook his head. "I don't even know if you are real."
"I am."
Bakura grinned before biting at a fingernail in a wave of misplaced anxiety. "You could be lying."
"Lying?" it asked, perking up. Bakura could tell by the way its eyes shimmered momentarily. "Who has lied to you?"
Bakura's smile widened. He dropped his callused hand at his side and felt the edge of a robe. It felt comforting and old. "Many people in my life have," he replied, toying with the edge of it. "You'll have to be more specific."
"Who has lied to you…recently?"
"Someone who I thought I could trust," he replied without understanding. It was as if he were talking, but it was not his own answers he was providing. Something within him wormed around, fighting to break out of him. He clutched at his heart, trying to quell the frantic movement.
"What did they do?"
"I don't know," he replied, and then added, his words almost like vomit, "I can't do the impossible if they can't keep their promise."
"What was the promise?"
"Justice."
"Justice? For what?"
"My…" Soul. Soul. Soul. The sound of the word beat within his mind, but he found his mouth unable to form the words. "Family?" he said instead. "These people are awful. The rulers are awful. They don't care about anything but themselves. But my god, My God, they said they cared, that they loved me, that they would watch over me, they would help me get my justice—"
'My revenge,' he thought.
"—but I had to give…"
My soul.
"To destroy—"
The world.
"It's not fair," he whispered, although his expression had not changed. "I tried; I did what was asked. That wasn't what they promised. That wasn't what was sworn."
'Wait?' the young man asked himself. 'What was promised?'
'I would never have done that. Not if I had known. Not if I knew I would lose myself only to lose them, too,' a voice added, as if his thoughts were on another frequency.
It had only been to avenge. Nothing more. He could have died happy with nothing more.
"Why don't you talk it over with them?" the shadow asked, clearly missing half of what his mind puzzled out. "See what they thought you were missing on your end. See when they were going to uphold their end of the bargain?"
"Get out of my head!" Bakura commanded suddenly, startling himself. A snarl replaced his perplexed smile. Inwardly, he wondered why his body was doing this. He was not mad. No one was in his mind. He was just confused. That voice was back. "You don't know what you ask me to do!"
"But aren't they your friend?"
"They're more than that! They're—"
"Then try to be rational and figure it out between the two of you," it replied almost selfishly. "There are people who depend on you."
And as if hitting a switch, the background shouting stopped.
In that silence, Bakura heard the wind whistle through the craggy spines of an eroding rockface—holes of windows in broken down homes. Upon that gust of air, the sound of children's laughter as people discussed their day to day lives. If he squinted at the dead town half-hidden by a mountain, he could almost see them wandering about. That village. Their home. His home.
What was more was that he saw himself—scarred but smiling and self-possessed— followed by the two children who forever tailed him, loved him as he loved them. If they were to come here, they could not be exposed to the deathtrap that lay waiting. He could not bear it.
He felt the urgency to make sense of everything completely (enough with accepting the half-truths), and make peace for all that he had done and would do, in order to enact the plan that he had only once spoken of—and that unconsciously (he could regret, but regret and push on). Which meant he had to speak to…them.
And somehow manage to not fall into the same trap as he had before.
Yugi was going to hate this.
"You're right," Bakura replied, ahold of his senses once more. He was no longer exhausted, either. The world faded into its natural color, although instead of day, they sat in a deserted night. The heat came from the sand itself, and that a fleeting thing, as the air above it carried it up, and cooled it. Much like it cooled his face. "But you still don't know what you're asking me to do."
"What am I asking, then?"
Bakura turned on the shadow with a begrudging look. "I don't care to answer. You should have thought to ask before making such a demand. Just know I'll do whatever dirty work it is that you and your master have planned. You've won, for now."
"What do you mean?" it asked in earnest. Yet, Bakura felt two sides of him, in unison, experience a feeling of great apathy for its question.
"Tell them to stop splitting off or coming after me in this way," he barked, unaware of how vicious his face looked in the process. How unnaturally feral and hateful compared to his usually kind and thoughtful features. "Tell them I said, 'Just face me as you are, already.'"
"Or maybe they can't," he sneered, pivoting on his heel to walk away from the place that held an ancient smell of decay. "Maybe I 'have to' come here because they can't touch me otherwise. Fine. But they'll not have anyone else. You'll not have anyone else. It's you and me, fucker. You…and me.
"But not yet. On my time. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
'And stay away from my sister,' he thought bitterly. 'Her existence is not for you all to mimic.'
"Wait!" the shadow cried. He could sense it followed after him. "How do I get out of here?!"
"Figure it out for yourself," Bakura spat, flinging his arm back to signal the swift gust of psychic wind that hurried its way. "Or face that. I don't care."
"I'm going to wake up, now."
There was a booming crash that wracked the large bedroom before a strange suctioning sound overtook it. Bakura leapt from his sleeping position, arms raised for a hand-to-hand fight with the unseen foe. He was aware of his heart beating double time before his eyes were even half adjusted to the low-lit room. Mai had grabbed a hold of Claire, who had jumped for her rifle. It lay undischarged in her left hand, her right in Mai's speedy grasp. The two looked startled, but unharmed.
He spun to look for D and felt his arms drop of their own volition at the destruction around their room.
The ceiling fan hung not quite from its namesake, but rather strained upon the electrical wires that kept it in the air. The screws had been stripped from their holes, and the sound of the metal pieces falling to the floor was deadened by the carpet. Their clothes and face covers were strewn about the room, dresser drawers flung open, and D's katana rested on its side by the door, having popped open from its sheath in the force of its fall.
On the bed lay a very wide-eyed child, his left hand raised just in front of him as he remained completely still. His skin was drained of all color—a feat in and of itself.
"What the fuck was that?!" D's hand and Claire shouted at the same time. Mai moved to cover the girl's mouth as a sign of disapproval, but her own eyes asked the same question.
"What happened?" Bakura asked, although he had no idea who had the answer. He could only recall the sounds—the rest of his knowledge rested in his dreams.
At the sound of the man's voice, D jolted up, his hand still outstretched and waiting for a reply to its own inquiry. He took in shaking breaths, setting his sights upon Bakura before he lowered his arm, much to the perturbation of his symbiont who still expected an answer. When he blinked, great tears formed in the corners of his dark eyes. The wail he produced was loud enough to awaken Jounochi, whose apartment was two doors down from them.
He refused to speak for the rest of the night but clung to Bakura as if his life depended on it. After a search run by their nearest neighbors along with Mai and Claire (Bakura incapacitated by the boy's impressive grip upon him) they found nothing of note. There was no explanation, nor would they receive one. They simply repaired the light fixture as best as they could and called it a night. Perhaps morning would have the boy ready to share what had caused the destruction as it seemed he had been the only one privy to what had created it.
For the rest of the night, the boy fell in and out of fitful sleep, leaving Bakura to receive next to none. Every twitch the boy produced brought the man into a new sense of wakefulness, ready to defend him against their unknown foe. Yet, he did not begrudge the child for it. On the contrary—as he watched everyone sleep, he felt a renewed sense of appreciation for them. With the odds stacking against him, Bakura could at least find some solace in sharing the days ahead with this family of his.
He did eventually sleep. Yugi found him in a protective huddle around the boy as the morning sun streamed through the slats of the wooden blinds. The girls had left them behind to catch up on what they had missed—going about planning and molding their appearances for the town.
Yugi hesitated by the door for a few minutes before smiling at the scene and closing the door. Another hour would not hurt.
"So, do you plan on talking at all today?" the boy's left hand pried mid-morning. D moved through the world sluggishly as he dressed himself, although based on any other individual, it would have been considered a normal pace for someone just waking up.
D paused in looping the ribbon through his already complicated braid to glare silently at his hand before continuing. He blinked slowly as he finished the process, turning his head left and right before putting on a pair of large fashionable glasses. He then glared at himself through the useless glass lenses and wrapped a black and gray striped scarf over his face. Even with his face covered so, he looked like a small ball of personified agitation.
To say the least, he was in an all-around bad mood.
"Is it because you cried?" his hand ventured. "You've done that plenty times before."
"Shut up," came the grumpy reply.
"Is it because…you didn't get enough sleep?"
"I said shut up."
"At least you've finally said something! Kid, you've gotta—"
"If you screw this up for us, I'll hack you off and feed you to the fish in the bay! Shut up!"
"Jeez…stressed much?" it said before going silent. The boy resumed his hateful stare before stomping to the kitchen (which simply meant that someone would hear his arrival).
No one was milling around in the kitchen, though. He resisted flinging open the stained wooden cabinet—aware he could easily break it off its hinges—and stared at the useless canister of oatmeal before him with pout that could rival one of Claire's. He let the door fall back and clatter against its magnetic seal before stomping over to the door. Not a second later came a knock. He had heard the person's arrival.
Being sure that the deadbolt was in place ('useless against vampires,' he thought bitterly) he opened the door and saw a very pleasant looking human stare just above his head, and then more confusedly, downward. Their smile was genuine, he just was not feeling it. The clipboard in their hands set his scowl to the next level. Thankfully, they could not see it.
"Hello! I'm here to collect some information from the head of the household," they began, picking up the pen attached to the clipboard with a frayed string. "Is your mother or father home."
"My…dad's not home," he grumbled.
"Pardon?"
"My dad's not home," he tried again, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.
"Oh. Is your mother?"
"No. I don't have one, she died. My aunt isn't home, either. Nor is my cousin. That's all the people that live in here. There's four of us. Please come back later if you have any more questions." With that he tried to close the door but one of their spare shoes had somehow wedged itself in the doorway. Bending down, he tried to stop his eye from twitching as he flung it out of the way.
"Would you happen to know when your dad's coming home?"
"No. Sorry. Good-bye."
He closed the door and slid against it down to the floor. Fighting back against threatening tears, D focused instead on being angry at his father for ruining what should have been a pleasant word.
Then he focused on another matter entirely.
"Those two might just deserve each other," he grumbled.
'Who?' the being in his hand asked telepathically.
'The Darkness and that…thing.'
'Going on about that again?' its thoughts sounded agitated, and D was grateful he was not the only one who felt so.
'That's what happened last night. We unlocked whatever "present" that thing gave us. Well…you did.'
'So, what I saw was what you see in dreams?'
The boy did not respond.
"Shit," it said aloud, and received another death glare.
'That can be explained through science you know,' it continued mentally. 'It was some sort of pocket dimension—'
'—That leads elsewhere. I've gathered as much. I may call it dreams, but I'm aware there is more to it.'
'This was the first time I ever felt anything, or saw anything, different.'
'Whoopie for you.'
'Is it just that that has your panties in a twist?'
'You are so ANNOYING.'
'Is it?'
'No,' D acknowledged.
'Then…'
'I was told by the thing to find "The Darkness". I found him.'
'The last time you spoke about him, you had nothing bad to say.'
D kicked his foot at open air. 'I don't know. Something just didn't feel right. I understand that he'd get mad about me suggesting talking to someone he's having an issue with, but…'
'He attacked?'
"He attacked!" D exclaimed, flinging his hands up to the sky. "It didn't say that it had made that him that mad! But even then, he wasn't talking sense!"
"Who wasn't talking sense?" Bakura called from the bathroom and D froze. How had he not noticed the man's presence? He could have sworn that he had felt him get up to leave for the day.
"My dream," D sent back, almost feeling bad for the census woman even as he worried on how to explain the insanity of last night. If he had just bothered to look…
"Your dream?" the man asked, rounding the corner. A clean bandage covered the scarred side of his face. "What are you doing on the floor?"
"Thinking. The census person came. I thought you weren't home so—"
"We can worry about that later. Was this the strange dream you mentioned a while back, or is this a new one?"
"You remembered?"
Bakura shook his head in amused disbelief. "We've been busy, but I'm not going to forget something that important."
"It's sort of new, and sort of the same," D said, not moving from his position. Noting this, Bakura instead sat in the empty area beside him. There would be no running from this discussion. "I feel stupid talking about it."
"Not so stupid that you can have a conversation with him?" Bakura said as he pointed to D's left hand.
"I'm attached to him," his left hand retorted. "Technically, I would be of higher priority."
"Uh huh. Anyway, please continue, D-kun."
"I…This…Uh," D fumbled with his words, realizing at the time that this would be one of the rare moments he would be caught off-guard so easily. "Ugh…there's this spooky thing, right?"
"Spooky thing?"
"It's like a monster, but not. It talks to me, and hides me from a bigger, scarier monster that is trying to eat me."
Bakura's face clouded over. The boy was unsure if this had struck a nerve in some way, or if something else had caught the man's attention. "Go on."
"The thing is, we don't really get along? It seems fascinated by me, but aside from that, it's really just annoying. I'm talking about worse-than-Claire-used-to-be annoying. But I asked it why I was there, and it said it would help me find out why, but first I had to talk to their friend. As a gift to show me that they weren't lying and that they had the power to help me, they did something to my hand," he lifted it to punctuate the statement, "and that was the dream from the last time."
"What about this time?"
"Their friend attacked me! I wasn't even being rude or facetious or poking fun! We started talking and everything seemed to be going well, then he said it was leaving and I asked to leave too, and he attacked me!" D gesticulated his shock and incredulity by using his hands to create a wide point to his person. "So, I freaked out because this attack was coming at me, everything was becoming dark, and it," he continued, pointing to his hand, "sucked up everything, the attack, the place, my hat—" He stopped to glare at his hand, the main reason he had been cross with it in the first place. "I didn't know what to say, or how to explain it. Everything had happened so fast."
D clung to Bakura again, just as he had the night prior. "I thought I was going to die. I thought I wasn't going to be able to see you again."
"Oh, D-kun," Bakura murmured, holding the boy close. D could sense the man was near tears but holding them back for his sake. What a change from before—the man had learned to hold back when it would distress those around him, but not because of some misguided thought based on "manliness". He had cried in front of him plenty of times. He cared so much, felt so strongly, but now maintained as measured a response as possible for D's sake—the complete antithesis of what his father provided. Everything ran based on his expectations. The boy rested his cheek against the man, grateful for his presence and the reverberation of his soft-spoken voice. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. That's awful."
"With you around, though, it feels like it was nothing," D said, meaning every word. "I'm sorry for putting this on you. It must be just another stressor added to your list."
The boy looked up with concern when Bakura did not respond. He had not expected the strange, livid, yet sorrowful expression that warped the visible side of his face.
"How long has this been happening?" Bakura asked, clearly pained—or even devastated.
"How long…? Don't worry about it, Bakura-sama!" D said with a smile. "Honestly, I'm more concerned about you. We used to talk so candidly, but since we started bringing on more people, you've been holding things back worse than usual. I can tell."
Bakura bit his lip, looking to the side as if debating with another person on just what to say. "I hear voices sometimes," he admitted flatly, quickly enough so as not to back down from the act of saying it. "But don't worry about that."
"Don't worry about that?!" D cried in alarm, shocked that such a thing had been kept from him. Had Bakura remembered his dreams from before? Finally remembered? Or was this a new development, like D's own dreams? Either way, this admission was nothing to remain calm over. "What are they saying?"
"I told you because you asked, and you've been around since all of this started, D-kun. It isn't your place to worry or ask those kinds of questions. I just wanted you to know so you would stress less. It's nothing really new, and it's something I can handle."
"Yeah, because that is so sane of you to hear voices," D's left hand piped up, snarky notes dangling from each word.
Bakura's head turned with an audible crack. The move had been so unnatural that D had almost released his hold of the man. Almost.
"What grand words of wisdom! Such sage advice coming from something with so little autonomy. What are you?" Bakura's voice danced, hardly a whisper. "But just a little pawn in the greater scheme of things, that can't even survive on its own?"
D's eyes widened. That voice resonating from him was the one that appeared at strange times, when he did not seem completely Bakura. D could not recall him interacting with the being in his left hand in such a negative way—to give such a callous and enigmatic response—even though it had never failed to be particularly nasty when it could.
"Bakura-sama?" D questioned, worried for the man beside him.
Bakura's uncovered eye locked onto him and his grin sat half-cocked on his face. "It's fine," he said. "I'm fine. Just a bit sick of his butting in. Anyway, we're probably already late. We need to hurry and not botch our first impressions."
Yet, as Bakura left him to continue getting ready for the day, D worried that he was further from fine than at the beginning of their journey. The shift in attitude had been so sudden, so eerie. He hugged himself involuntarily.
Bakura once had said he had to fix himself. Was this what he had to fix? Had D just never noticed the severity of this bizarre wavering between personalities because he had been so focused on his own problems? Or was everything just becoming worse the closer they got to their unspoken destination? The boy had hoped that the man's newfound control and abilities regarding Diabound had been a positive sign, one that signaled his improvement. But how was this an improvement?
And then, there were D's own dreams to contend with. Why had the boy he had been speaking to suddenly strike out against him? What had that thing done to make its friend so reluctant to return?
He released himself to stare at his left hand, feeling the pulse that beat through it and wondered just what else was in store for them.
Was it all a trap?
The boy rose from his seat slowly and moved to the edge of the wall. Leaning slightly so just one side of his face was visible, D watched Bakura with a scrutinizing stare, waiting for further anomalies to arise in his actions. These things—while always brief—never simply ended that easily. And with how severe that reaction had been, he knew he had to be on the lookout for odd behavior
The man paced in and out of the bathroom with a look of distress upon his face, like an animal confined in a cramped cage. Against his hand's judgement, the boy trailed his target when he returned to the bathroom with a large pair of scissors; his careful footfalls falling silent on the beige carpeting. Crouched and prepared to protect Bakura from himself, D rounded the corner—posture at the ready—to see Bakura grimace as he lifted a pair of scissors to a sectioned piece of hair. The blades actually shook—as if the adult before him was afraid and having second thoughts. D dropped all tension in his form and stood up straight. He was not sure what emotion to feel. This was not what he expected at all.
"I didn't even cut it when the gym teacher told me to," Bakura whispered under his breath. Then as if arguing with himself, retorted, "You've had multiple haircuts since then. Just because it's going to be short this time doesn't mean anything."
D waited in silence.
"Just…cut it."
The boy folded his arms. The man was so transfixed on his personal debate he did not even notice the boy standing blatantly in the mirror's reflection. In a time where observation was key, he certainly was failing spectacularly. The fear that had been rising in the young observer melted much like a cube of ice tossed into a boiling pot.
"Cut it quickly. It grows back."
"…Bakura-sama?"
"It's for the best. He'll recognize you otherwise."
"Bakura-sama."
"It doesn't even matter what it looks like, it doesn't have to look nice…But I've always liked how my hair looks…" Brown eyes lowered shamefully at the swift admission.
"Oh, for the love of all that is good, just give me the scissors Bakura-sama," D snapped, demanding the tool with an open palm. "I've cut your hair before; I'll make it nice."
Bakura jumped, nearly dinging himself with the blades as he registered the young voice behind him. He sheepishly turned to see the boy side-eyeing him and sighed in defeat. Sitting on the closed toilet and passing the scissors back, Bakura sat still as he waited for the first cut to be made at the nape of his neck. The blades threatened with their gray gleam in D's hands.
"You've never been so nitpicky about your appearance," D mused, trying to visualize what style would best shape the man's features. "But I suppose I can't blame you. I flat out said I didn't want to cut my hair."
"I guess after all these years, I've just grown attached."
"Unless you plan on dying today, it will grow back."
D smiled hearing Bakura's falsetto laughter and set to making quick work of what the man dreaded. With each cut he grumbled a complaint inwardly, sometimes on how troublesome thick hair was, others on wondering why he felt he had seen this particular hairstyle somewhere before. He did not realize until much later why it looked so familiar.
But by that point the deed had been done and they would be an ocean away from the city.
For now, an uncharacteristic grin displayed his heritage as he demanded Bakura to look at what he had managed to produce. Never mind the ground littered with white clippings and wayward strands that they would have to clean before leaving for the day.
He was a cleanly child—but hair was a messy thing.
"When were you planning on telling me about your weird dreams?" Claire pouted late that afternoon, kicking the ground as she sent herself flying high swinging. Amami shoved herself to and fro on the one beside her, never quite lifting off. She observed the other children at play with a sad expression before offering her take on the situation.
"Does this mean that there's something that could attack us in our sleep?"
"No," Claire answered for D on her downswing. "He's the only one having dreams that aren't dreams."
'With Bakura as another possible victim,' D thought. Outwardly, he hoisted himself atop the monkey bars and counted the magnolia warblers that he spotted. Pigeons had been his first bird of choice, but they were a little too plentiful to make it any fun.
"How can we be sure?" Amami disputed. "If D—our friend didn't tell us until now, then why would anyone else?"
Claire sighed and skidded to a stop. "You might be right. But you might be wrong. We've all had a weird dream once in a while, right?"
"Yes, but none of our dreams lead to other places."
"Exactly. We'd know if we were being affected. Our buddy over here says that in his dreams there's a bunch of monsters that talk to him, and one kid-like person who's apparently in a really nasty mood right now."
"You both suck," D said, silencing the both of them in their conversation. "You're lucky that there's nothing here that's listening in on us, or that no one has chosen to play with us yet."
"Sorry!" Amami cried, covering her mouth. Her medical mask crinkled beneath her fingers.
"Oh yeah!" Claire exclaimed, realizing her folly. "Well, at least I remembered not to say someone's name."
"You still keep saying 'he'," Amami stated through her fingers.
"Honestly," D sighed, shaking his head. "It's for the safety of everyone. Can we try to be a little more careful?"
"You're the one dropping a bombshell like that dream on us," Claire complained. "Getting 'new powers' and everything."
"Maybe we shouldn't have spoken about it here," Amami said, punctuating her thought with a nervous toying at her hair. "What if someone was listening?"
"Well then, we'd be royally screwed," Claire stated bluntly, and then swung sideways to thwap against the other girl's swing. "Stop looking so scared. Someone's coming."
And indeed, someone was. A boy a little older looking than the trio was nervously encroaching on their territory. This would be their first true interaction with the younger populace. There was something hidden in his cupped hands, but no one could tell what lay within from their vantage point. The three waited in silence for him to state his purpose.
Claire eyed the boy with impish interest; if he were to speak to her, she would be the harshest critic, but also the easiest to befriend. Amami shrunk into her seat, recalling how things had been in Domino, and how the older children could be swift to pick on the younger if no one else had been there to put them in their place. She was also very aware of her friend's "problem"—as her father put it. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally ruin what the others were trying to cultivate in this place. D watched on from his perch on the monkey bars, his dark eyes piercing and calling for caution even without the bulk of his features visible.
The two factions stared at one another, waiting for someone to break the soundless spell.
After realizing no one would be asking for introductions, the boy cleared his throat and turned his attention to D. Uncovering the seal of his hands, he procured a small bud of evening primrose from his palm and lifted it toward the bars. Claire's eyes widened, and a smile forcibly grew on her already amused face as Amami looked on, horrified.
D studied the boy's freckled face before resting his gaze on the yellow bud. It seemed as if the one standing with their arm outstretched wished to say something, but nothing was coming from his mouth. Just this simple gesture. Leaning forward, D plucked the flower from between the other's fingers and scrutinized it before tucking it where the ribbon began its trail through his hair—the tops of his ears having been covered for their obvious divergence of the normal rounded variety.
"It's pretty," D replied. "Thank you. Although, I think it would have looked better in her hair." He pointed to Claire; whose face dropped in horror at the attention. His face may have remained straight as he said this, but she could see the self-satisfied emotion in those sly glinting eyes.
With a perfunctory glance, the boy noted the existence of the others before focusing his attention on his intended target. "My name's Jake. Do you want to hang out with me and my friends?" He thumbed over to a group playing catch. One of them glanced their way before hurrying to turn back and catch the ball before it hit them in the head. "They didn't think I'd ask," he continued, scrunching his nose. It seemed that after the initial first words and gift giving, the boy's confidence was returning. "Shows what they know."
"Can my friends come?"
Again, the pair were looked over swiftly. "Sure. I guess."
"You guess?" Claire interrogated. "Who do you—What do you think we are?"
"Stop," D warned.
"We thank you for the offer," Amami said, coming to his aid. "Don't mind her, she just doesn't like to be left out. My name is Little Lady."
"Little Lady?" Jake asked incredulously.
"It's a thing our group does. We're new here, as I'm sure you can tell," Claire said, gesturing around them. "I'm Zipper Scope."
"But why?"
"I dunno, I liked it? I can run fast and have good aim. If you mean why are names are like this, then, ask my uncle. The adults started it ages ago; we just ran with it."
"What's your name?" Jake looked up expectantly at D. The boy on the bars kicked his feet, more interested in the game they had been invited to rather than the introductions. But his earliest teachings kicked in and instead of rudely passing by him to go off to play (something he would be prone to doing later in life—albeit the "game" would be more like a fight to the death), he hopped down and offered his hand.
"Nobody," he replied tonelessly. Then while Jake seemed to puzzle out whether it had been an answer or not, D motioned for his friends to follow and said, "Let's go play."
It did not take long for Claire and Amami to get over their individual misgivings as the game progressed. Soon enough they were all cheering and jeering on one another, and D held back just enough to where no one would question his abilities. The worst he received was a cry of "lucky shot" from one of Jake's friends when he used the ball to knock a rock tossed into the air and it happened to land in the nearby trashcan. They did not need to know he had done it purposefully, although Amami giggled at the action and Claire gave him a playful glare. They were all just having fun.
That fun also brought on the good news that they would be seeing more of each other. Some of the older children lived in a nearby complex, whereas the rest were only a quick walk away. Knowing this friendship would be brief did not stop the trio from integrating as much as they could; due in part because of their awareness of the need for good relationships for the sake of survival as well as for their own enjoyment. D found it a strange thrill in feeling an absence of fear in doing so. He hoped that his thirst for blood would remain low to nonexistent—he wanted to keep this feeling for as long as possible. This chance to feel like a normal child.
D even got to hear proper usage of why he chose the false name. One of his deliberate failings in tossing the ball led to a terrible fumble amongst the boys. It resulted in them crashing into one of the cornstalks that rested in a row of impromptu farmland nearby. Unfortunately, the stalk was destroyed while someone had been setting up to water a few rows down.
"Who did that!?" The adult shouted, and D made it clear with a gesture to blame himself.
"Nobody!" The boys cried and D led the pack in a run for their hides, laughing harder than he ever had before.
It paid to be well-read.
The chill of impending night heralded the dissolution of the band member by member. Soon enough only the three, Jake, and his best friend Leon, remained in the park. The two eldest were regaling the others with a story of playing a particularly crafty prank on their teacher involving ketchup and a light switch.
"We got in so much trouble," Jake reminisced. "But it was worth it."
"Yeah it was," Leon confirmed. He chuckled at the memory before nodding to D and his group. "I'm sure you guys will fit in just fine. So, don't act scared tomorrow. It'll be nice to have new people, and if you run into any assholes, you come to us."
"Although, next time, we aren't going to be blaming Nobody for anything."
They all snickered at the vow, ready to add to the conversation when they were interrupted by an individual D had known was coming. He turned to him with a smile, marveling at how this city would only ever see that cocky grin, and not the near-tears fiasco he had experienced that morning. A strange comfort to know he was one of the few special enough to be trusted in that way. Not that this had been Bakura's wish; he had realized his folly of resting any of the weight of his own problems on the child after the fact—D would never think of such a thing as an issue. The world was harsh, and he preferred not being lied to.
"It's time to go home," Bakura called. Two books were slung under his arm. One looked as old as it smelled from D's vantage point, while the other looked no older than a few years. All the children, save for himself, groaned their complaints and were quickly rebuffed by a friendly shake of the man's head.
"Come on, enough. You'll all be getting to know each other well enough later. Go on before your parents worry."
"Fine," Jake grumbled while Leon rolled his eyes at the nearby authority figure. "See you guys around!" He paused long enough to offer D an extra smile before racing his friend to their assigned apartment. Bakura raised an eyebrow, but D just shook his head. It was not worth discussing.
"I'm going to go ahead of you," Amami said. "I want to say hi to Ets—Dancing Queen's baby before going home. Also…you know." She hurried off, giving them a quick wave.
They did all know. Wanatabe begrudgingly accepted that his daughter played with the others but refused to allow her anywhere near them at night. A concession they were all willing to make to have a smooth—even if impermanent—integration into this society. Did she recently take to lying and saying she was playing with Etsu? Perhaps. However, both Bakura and Mai felt the call to let it happen was better than all three of them trying to sneak off.
"Nice flower," Bakura said out of the corner of his mouth as they waited for Amami to enter the building on her own.
"Isn't it?" Claire teased. "It was a gift from that kid. His name is Jake."
D touched his fingertips to the bud and smiled softly to himself. "At least I can accept a gift with grace."
Bakura gently tapped his head with the smaller of the books, aware of the deeper meaning, as Claire stuck her tongue out at him. "Anyway, it wouldn't match my hair," she pointed out. "You should have said that about Little Lady."
"She and I have the same hair color. And you need to learn to take a compliment," the boy said, rolling his eyes. Doing so allowed him to see the book's cover and he blinked in interest. "Oh, I've never read that one."
"The librarian told me its one of those that should be considered a classic, even if it was originally written in the 80's."
"It doesn't look that old."
"Nor is it in it's original language," Bakura said chuckling. "But that won't stop us, right? Oh, and Scope, I did see a few good horror stories we should read next. I just figured we all probably needed a little break from the strange."
"You could just say that a certain Nobody would be too afraid," Claire jeered, and was clearly pleased when D shot her an unamused look.
"I would not."
"Whatever you say," she said in a singsong voice. "It's fine; you guys read that story. It looks boring to me. I've got my favorite book anyway—I'll just start from the beginning."
Bakura readjusted his hold on his findings, then shrugged. "If you're sure. I mean this story is about someone searching for treasure in foreign lands, which can be just as frightening as a horror story."
"Oh, is it?" D interjected. Claire held in her reply; it was rare to see him so visibly involved, and it probably helped him forget the unpleasantries of his not-quite-nightmare. "What kind of treasure are they looking for exactly?"
"Even if I knew, that'd be cheating."
"But what challenges to they face?"
Claire slowed her steps, watching Bakura and D carry on their conversation about how a tale should unfold. While some might have assumed that she looked forlorn and left out, it could not have been farther from the truth. Silence from her did not always denote her unhappiness. She was simply content and feeling introspective. In her mind, those were her people, and sometimes…they just talked about strange things.
Moreover, she could not shake the feelings that her own special little dream had manifested—something she had refrained from sharing out in the face of her friend's bad experience. It just had not seemed fair to describe something so pleasant when he had experienced something so awful. Seeing the two carry on so only doubled that feeling, and her cheeks hurt from how wide it made her smile. She skipped forward and hurried into the empty place on the other side of Bakura, reserved just for her. The hurried hum of their discussion was the perfect background noise for recollecting what had occurred as she had slept; after they had found nothing to worry over the night before.
Everything had been the same. The same absence of a world around them, the same grassy floor beneath her feet. She felt brave enough to look up to the sky and saw exactly what she had expected. Light exuded from within them and the ground itself, but up above remained nothing but a river of black ink. If she had chosen to jump, she could have touched it easily. But that was not her focus.
Now that it had finally stopped raining, she found no difficulty in moving closer to the person kneeling before her. Still, she did so cautiously. Claire had worried that he would begin crying again, setting everything off to flooding, but that did not happen. Instead, the crouched figure offered her his hand. A hand her size, shaking tentatively as if prepared for the worst; though, it also seemed as if they were also asking for help. She took it, still having residual protective feelings from when D had frightened her awake flowing through her. She had worried about his safety. Whenever he cried, she knew something was wrong. She worried about this person, too—even if she was not sure why.
When they finally lifted their head, she was greeted with the most striking eyes she had ever seen. They were filled with an awe inducing color that stretched across the background of this galaxy she dreamed. A spreading color as familiar as the defiant smile that followed it. It was as if her offer had reawakened the true fire in their core and the connection between the two held an energy her mother had once explained to her without knowing the proper words. Except, who could ever explain the exultation of what some could call a spiritual awakening? Her heart swelled with joy as she pulled them up to their feet.
"I told you I'd be here," she said.