04 March 2007 (10 p.m. EST):posted by Apollymi @ 3/01/2007 09:52:00 PM
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Journal of Kaiba Mokuba -- Undated Entry:
Niisama tries way too hard, I think. After our trip to Egypt, I don't see how he can say magic doesn't exist. I saw that ceremonial duel -- and he saw even more than that in the "Memory World," getting there so far ahead of me. That duel was more than enough proof for me that magic does indeed exist: the two Yuugis, the cards animating themselves as they did, that strange gate opening, the second Yuugi starting towards it in leather and entering it in what I've taken to calling "Pharaoh garb"... Yeah, that was all magic. I can accept it. Not so much, though, for Niisama, I guess.
Niisama's thrown himself into his work big time, so much so that I hardly even see him anymore except at night and on the weekends. He's usually home when I get there on Saturdays, and we try to do something, just the two of us, on Sundays.
It's been over two years since the ceremonial duel and since that second Yuugi vanished, and I don't think our lives are ever going back to normal. And I miss Niisama. He should have been home hours ago.
Another long, boring night in a seemingly endless stream of long, boring nights, he thought sourly to himself. Tonight might have been a little bit longer and more boring than normal, but at least his brother would be pleased to see him, provided of course that Mokuba was still awake when he got home tonight.
He took a glance at the clock and winced. Almost three a.m. -- more than likely, Mokuba would already be asleep if he left now, and if he wasn't... Well, he'd be in for an earful and then some. He'd be doing good to only get a half hour long lecture. It was a pain, but it also wasn't. After all, it was nice that Mokuba still worried about him so much, even as a rather busy and terribly popular (given the email he'd received earlier in the day from one of the maids threatening to quit if one more girl called for his little brother) teenager.
Still, three a.m. was late, even for him. It was past time he headed home, he thought to himself as he stood, collecting his suit jacket that he'd discarded over the back of the chair only after everyone else had gone home and the briefcase he had stashed beneath his desk that had once held his world-famous Duel Monsters card collection but now contained schematics on the next generation of Duel Disks: smaller, lighter, and more portable, suitable even for duelists smaller than Mutou Yuugi, the infamous growth spurt-less wonder... if he could ever get all the kinks out of the systems. It seemed determined to make him stoop to the level of cursing it like an infantile child throwing a screaming tantrum.
It certainly wasn't that he didn't duel anymore though, but running his corporation and thus securing his brother's future was his top priority. Mokuba deserved better than the best, and there was no way he wouldn't move heaven, hell, and the entire earth to give it to him. Besides, he had grown a bit used accustomed to the fate of the world hanging on the next card drawn from all those times with and against Yuugi -- the "other Yuugi," as it were -- and without that, there simply wasn't enough thrill to pull him back in again. He could afford to rest on his laurels for a while.
Carefully he locked his important work up: what he would take with him into his briefcase, what he would work with on Monday in his top desk drawer. The next step of his nightly ritual was to telephone one of his drivers to meet him downstairs in twenty minutes. Once he'd hung up the phone, he threw away the empty espresso cups from the extremely overpriced coffee shop down the street and switched on the security cameras. He had installed a switch into his desk system to allow him to cut the room monitoring on and off. He didn't like that creeping feeling of someone watching him, so he left it powered down till he was about to leave and cut it off again when he returned in the mornings. He set his briefcase squarely in the center of his desk to pull on his overcoat, since extremely late night October air could be very biting. As he slipped his arms into the sleeves, he heard it: a faint tapping, almost like a scraping.
He frowned. If there was one thing he absolutely could not tolerate, it was deviations from his routine. If he had a driver who could defy the laws of physics, time, and space to get here this quickly, why hadn't he done so from the very beginning? Of course, that didn't make terribly much sense, especially on a sleep-deprived mind, so he discarded that theory. So, what--?
The knock-scraping repeated itself. No, not scraping. It was more like fingernails on a chalkboard... or glass. That would be even more impossible though. He was more than fifteen floors above ground, and people did not fly. There had to be a better explanation for all of this, one that confined itself to the tenets of science. He would accept nothing less, not even the voice that slithered into his mind and all around him and whispered in a voice like a thousand snakes hissing.
This put the invasive feeling of his guards watching him completely and utterly to shame.
Tap-sssscratch...
He wasn't going to turn around. Mokuba had informed him time and time again that, in horror movies, the villain never jumped out till the victim turned around to look.
Tap-sssscratch...
He wasn't going to look. He wasn't going to look, not because something might be there, but because there might not be anything -- and that might prove he was losing his mind. And if something was out there, then he might be losing his mind anyway. It was impossible for someone to be outside his window, simply and utterly impossible. It was just a bird, something simple like that.
Tap-ssssscratch...
Against every ounce of self-preservation and trepidation he possessed, he found himself slowly turning to look behind him.
Kaiba Corp security cameras, as viewed by Kaiba Mokuba and then the police the next morning
One moment, Kaiba Seto was in his office. The next, he simply wasn't. There was no evidence of a break-in, nor of tampering with the images on the security feed, nor that the camera itself might have been shut off for a few moments.
No, simply in the space of time it took for the camera to roll over from 02:59:58 to 03:00:00, Kaiba Seto just... vanished, as simple as that. That, of course, didn't mean Mokuba didn't fire every security guard on shift that night -- and even some that weren't. The police were called in and went over the tape but were able to offer no further clues regarding the disappearance of the wealthiest man in Domino. Finally, as a last resort, he called a number that had been in his wallet for over two years but he had never taken out and certainly never called before: the Kame Game Shop and, more specifically, Mutou Yuugi's private line.
Kaiba Mokuba believed in magic, after all, but he only knew a few people who possessed any knowledge of it. Every single one of them had a tendency to be located around Yuugi.
It had been two years since he'd helped his other to the Afterlife, two years since he'd heard that voice in his head that was so like his own but wasn't his, two years since he'd had to start getting used to those changes left in him and his friends -- and even the very world around him -- brought about by the other him... and two years since he'd seen two of his friends anywhere besides on television and at school -- and then only during tests.
Kaiba-kun was not going to be happy that Mokuba-kun had called him and probably even less so that they had been allowed into his inner sanctum. That was surely what his office was, even more so than his home. Did Kaiba-kun even know Mokuba-kun had called them? If he walked in during this little conversation, they were all in for it big time. Well, not Mokuba-kun certainly -- he had a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card as far as his brother was concerned -- but the rest of them could go ahead and sign their wills. That was why he'd only told Anzu, so far, about the phone call he'd received two hours ago, why only she was sitting next to him watching Mokuba-kun pace back and forth behind his brother's desk.
"Mokuba-kun?" Of course, the rest of the reason she was the only one with him had a lot to do with the fact her voice could be like kryptonite to any straight or straight-leaning male. "What's wrong? Where is your brother?"
The younger teen sighed and sat down on his brother's desk on the side closest to them. "Niisama vanished last night."
"Where would Kaiba-kun go?" he had to ask. This wasn't like the Kaiba-kun he'd known before. The Kaiba-kun he'd known two years ago would never have made his brother worry like this.
"I don't know. One minute..." Mokuba-kun shook his head and hopped to his feet, pacing back around the desk and turning the computer monitor to face them. "You have to promise me you won't tell anyone about what I'm going to show you." He nodded, and Anzu made a soft sound of agreement; that seemed to be enough for Mokuba-kun. "This is the security tape from last night. Just watch it, and tell me what you think." He hit a couple buttons on the keyboard, and images appeared.
He watched the short clip warily, constantly aware of the worried teen across the desk from him and the young woman next to him. On the screen, Kaiba-kun froze and stiffened, and Yuugi frowned. "Is there any audio on this?"
Mokuba-kun shook his head slightly. "No. Everywhere else in the building, certainly, but Niisama's never liked anyone spying on him. He's not overly happy with just this running as he leaves. I had to bribe him with two months of no horror movies for this much."
Somehow Yuugi had the impression that bribery had not been completely necessary. The younger Kaiba probably could have just turned watery eyes on his elder brother and have gotten his way without giving up his movies. This was far from the time for that discussion though.
The Kaiba-kun on the clip had just started to relax slightly when he suddenly tensed again -- then even more so. As stiff as a board, he slowly turned to face the window behind him -- the same window now at Mokuba-kun's back -- that was just out of the camera's range. An expression of horror blossomed across his face, and then... he was gone. The clip showed the empty office, continuing the sweeping back and forth motion of the camera another moment, before Mokuba-kun cut it off. Yuugi found himself staring at the black monitor a long moment before he finally forced out, "What in the world... How is that possible?"
Mokuba-kun let out a soft sigh. "That's what I was hoping you could tell me, Yuugi. Both the police and our security have already been over this clip -- in fact, they still have the original -- and neither of them could tell me anything useful."
"What am I supposed to tell you that the police can't?"
"The police didn't see what I saw in Egypt."
Mokuba-kun had an absolutely uncanny ability to say exactly the right thing to strike directly to the heart of the matter. He had to wonder if it was genetic or something. "Mokuba-kun, that was..."
"Magic. That was magic. And that was magic on that tape, that came in here and took my Niisama. You're the only one I know who knows about magic, so you are going to help me get Niisama back."
Wow. Maybe people should be limiting the Kaiba brothers' time together because if he weren't looking at Mokuba-kun, he would have sworn it was the elder Kaiba he was speaking to. "Mokuba-kun..." he tried again.
"Mokuba-kun," Anzu cut in, drawing both of their attentions to her. When had she moved behind the younger teen to the window? No matter; she had cut through the tension as smoothly as a hot knife through butter and gotten the pressure neatly off of him. "I don't think whoever -- whatever -- took your brother actually came in here." She lifted a hand to indicate the scratches on the outside of the glass.
His first thought upon waking up was, 'Is this what a hangover feels like?' He winced as he realized that even just thinking in turn fed the headache he already had, making it that much worse. Well, that was just wonderful. Typical too. It was simply his usual damn luck. Now just what had happened to bring him to this point?
It hurt so badly to try to think, but he had to. Besides, pain was something he was used to. He had learned early on how to deal with it, how to work around it - and so he would. Jump starting a genius mind shouldn't be too difficult. He had been in his office, getting ready to leave. It had been late, so he had called for one of his drivers rather than risk wrecking himself. He'd been putting on his coat when he heard a noise... on the window behind him. He'd turned and --
A monster! There had been a monster of some sort behind him! Its hand had come through the glass without breaking it, wrapped around him before he could move, then... blackness. He didn't remember anything else between then and now. But still, the whole monster thing, that couldn't be right. He couldn't have imagined it, though; his mind didn't work that way. Some kind of latent image perhaps? Something he'd viewed before flashing before his eyes? It had looked vaguely familiar, like a card he'd seen played before but not frequently, maybe just one time... on the rooftop of Kaiba Corp, only that had been a small white holographic creature, not the massive winged beast that had grabbed him. The card Diaboundo Carnel was among the most rare of cards, though, almost as much so as his own Blue Eyes. He found it hard to imagine there being another one in Japan, so that had to mean...
He started to jump up, intent on making certain no one had laid hands on his little brother again, not like the last time he'd seen that particular monster, only to find he couldn't move past his knees. His wrists were encased in metal cuffs which led via a bit of chain to the stone ground. For a split second, his vision blurred and it was everything he could do not to pass out or throw up (He'd sworn this would never happen to him again, not after Kaiba Gouzaburou!), but he made himself fight it down, in time to hear an unfamiliar voice speaking above him: "It would be advisable not to attempt to move about so much, Mister Kaiba. You're still a bit weak from the transfer here, and I really must insist you stay still, for your own sake."
"Who are you?" He was pleased with how nonchalant his voice sounded, like he was speaking to one of those idiot tabloid reporters who so enjoyed hounding him.
"No one whose name you would know. You do not exactly hobnob in my circles, Mister Kaiba." Almost definitely American, New England maybe, though it could also be British. Suddenly he almost regretted not paying closer attention to accents when his foreign investors were babbling on; he might be able to place where this person was from by that. He was definitely gaijin, though.
"Then what exactly is the point of kidnapping me? Money?" He halfway hoped it was something simple like that. It'd be interesting to see how many snipers and mercenaries Mokuba set after this guy. And people called him ruthless.
"Please, Mister Kaiba, do not insult me. I have no need for your money." So this guy was money but not a business person. "I have a service I need provided, and you're the only person who can currently provide it."
"And what would that be?" Already he was mentally categorizing ways to stall things out for Mokuba and the police. This person struck him as utterly overconfident; he could easily work with that. Overconfidence was something he knew a great deal about, after all.
"You, my dear boy, are going to help me acquire the crowning achievements of my collection, and all you have to do is sit there while I put to use all that lovely magical energy you are allowing to waste."
There weren't many things people could say to confuse him. Off the wall statements like that were among the group, though. "I don't have any magic." He didn't vocalize his next thought, that he didn't believe in magic. The thought of him having magic, though, was utterly laughable, but he restrained himself, instead occupying himself with locating the speaker the voice was coming from. It was so completely dark in this room, however, that it was impossible to tell. It sounded pretty high up on a wall, of that much he was certain.
"Come now, Mister Kaiba, there's no point denying it, not to me. I know better. Even if you deny magic exists, that still leaves the fact that you are here at the hand of my pet."
"Diaboundo Carnel." He didn't mean to say the monster's name aloud. That was another thing Mokuba had impressed upon him from his horror movies: saying the name of something like that almost guaranteed it would appear. Still, the voice was all wrong to be Bakura, but who else would have it - and why? "How?" was the question what he asked however.
"Actually, it's just Diaboundo, unlike the card. As for how, I'm certain you will find out soon enough. In the meanwhile, please enjoy your stay, and do try not to fight the drain when it starts. I've been assured it will only make the process that much more painful."
There was a soft click of the speaker cutting off, and the room plunged into silence. The only things he could hear were his own heartbeat and his own breathing, and they were suddenly deafeningly loud. Right now, he'd trade just about anything to hear Mokuba's voice. He'd settle for anyone, really. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he settled for cataloging what he could around him.
The cuffs were about two inches wide, completely covering his wrists and leaving him no room to move them. That was going to get painful sooner rather than later. He was indeed bound to the floor but not by chains as he'd originally thought; instead, it seemed to be cables, thick and heavy, maybe even the very same kind he used at Kaiba Corp to conduct large amounts of electricity. No panicking, not yet. He stretched his arms around as far as he could, continuing to take inventory. Behind him was what felt like a thin pallet, tempting a new flood of memories he had to stem back, this time of the orphanage. On two other sides of him, he felt nothing, just the bare expanse of grilled floor. To his far right, however, he encountered... something. It felt like a hand; those were definitely fingers, even if they did feel a bit charred yet at the same time clammy. He tried to slide it closer to him, and it moved easily, far too easily; there was no extra weight to it, no body attached!
There was no holding this bit of panic down, not with a disembodied hand next to him. He scrambled backwards to the spot he'd started at and just focused on controlling his breathing. What the hell was that thing doing here? Why would someone have just the left hand of a corpse and not the rest of it? A serial killer maybe? He'd read somewhere that they took trophies like this. What was it about him that made him a target for the crazies?
"It's called a Hand of Glory," a voice cut through his thoughts. "People used to think if you took the left hand of a dead man, it would open any door." A pause. "Of course, it can also be used to summon demons, if you believe in that sort of thing."
Not very reassuring, but then he'd never heard reassuring words uttered by this person. Hell, as crazy as this sounded, it might be the sanest thing he'd ever heard the other man say. This was not what or who he'd meant when he'd thought he wanted to hear a voice. But it was noise in the silence, and for that he was grateful. Even if it was him.
A few times in his eighteen years, Yuugi had wanted to pull his hair out. They had included trying to figure out why he kept losing time before he found out about mou hitori no boku, that final duel on Battle Ship against the darker half of Malik Ishtar, and trying to use his other's Heart of the Cards after Atemu-kun departed for the Afterlife, to name a few. He was going to have to add now to that list if he didn't start having more, better luck soon.
Tracking down Jyonouchi-kun had, of course, been easy enough. All Anzu had to do was pull out her cell phone; she had him set as speed dial three, after her voicemail and her parents. That had been the extent of their luck, though. Communication with Honda-kun had been spotty at best since college started, Mai-san wasn't answering her phone, no one had heard from Bakura-kun since he left for a university in Tokyo, and Mokuba-kun hadn't been able to reach the Ishtars since the exhibit was on tour again.
Poor Jyonouchi-kun, though. He looked like he might still be a bit unnerved by what Anzu had told him over the phone. Everything that had happened two years ago had only reinforced his loathing and increased it to a phobia of all things occult. Kaiba-kun literally vanishing into thin air certainly fit into the occult category, but the blond was hanging in admirably. Anzu hadn't even had to threaten to whack him with her purse yet. This was an improvement.
They'd been over the clip a dozen times already. The only reason they weren't staring at it right now was because Mokuba-kun had ordered a big screen TV brought in and the workmen were still setting it up while Mokuba-kun worked on connecting it to Kaiba-kun's computer. He'd also had Chinese food sent up for an early lunch. They were waiting till the room was cleared to resume discussions of the missing Kaiba brother, so in the meanwhile, he was slurping down lomein and trying the last numbers he had for Honda-kun, Mai-san, and Bakura-kun, to no avail.
"I just don't get Honda and Bakura taking off," Jyonouchi-kun was complaining over his food. "And Bakura, you'd think we'd at least get letters, as much as he likes to write them."
He could practically hear Mokuba-kun frown over behind his brother's desk. "Bakura Ryou?" he finally asked. Yuugi nodded and made a soft sound of affirmation. "He never did anything with the scholarship money Niisama sent everyone."
He frowned now in turn. "That's weird. He left to visit his father then pick out a school in Tokyo about two months ago."
Jyonouchi-kun made a soft snorting noise. "If it was the other Bakura, I'd worry that he had something to do with this. This Bakura wouldn't hurt a fly, though."
He sat in silence a moment longer, till the room was empty of everyone but them and the door was once again shut to speak up again. "We are sure the other Bakura is gone, though, Jyonouchi-kun. There's no way he could have pretended to be Bakura-kun all this time without giving himself away. So our Bakura-kun has just disappeared off the face of the earth along with Kaiba-kun."
Mokuba-kun sat down hard in front of him, not even touching the food he'd ordered himself. "Do you think there's a pattern then, Yuugi-kun?"
"It might be. Do they have anything in common?"
"Same school?" Anzu volunteered. "Two of the highest graduating scores in our class."
"Duelists," came Jyonouchi-kun's offer. "They were both at Battle City."
He and Mokuba remained silent a few moments longer till he hesitantly put forth, "They don't really have any similar physical characters, except that they're both tall and are... well, bishounen. Pretty, you know. No offense, Mokuba-kun."
"None taken. It's something I've teased Niisama about before. But there's one more thing they have in common, Yuugi: Egypt." Mokuba-kun paused, obviously collecting his thoughts. "The other Yuugi said something to us during Battle City about being a Pharaoh in Ancient Egypt, and it was true. Doesn't it stand to reason, then, that what he said about Niisama being a priest back then also stand a good chance of being true too?"
Jyonouchi-kun nodded. "It's certainly true, all right. We saw him in the Memory World."
"He looked so much like your brother," added Anzu. "It was freaky."
"And you just said there was another version of Bakura, like there was another version of you, Yuugi?"
He shrugged. "Not exactly the same. The other Bakura, I think he might have been more insane than Malik-kun ever was." At the curious looks he drew all around, he blushed slightly. "I've been thinking about it a lot since Atemu-kun left."
"I thought he was just evil. I mean, he sold out to that Zork creature."
"Do we know why, though, Jyonouchi-kun? All I have are tiny tidbits that went through what was left of the link between Atemu-kun and me. Whatever happened, it wasn't pretty and he blamed Atemu-kun's father for it."
"In a lot of ancient cultures, people could be expected to carry the guilt of previous generations," Anzu stated blandly. "It'd be like a version of our idea of family honor and saving face."
"Did some reading up on the subject, didn't you?" It was phrased as a question, but it certainly sounded more like a statement when Jyonouchi-kun said it like that.
It was her turn to flush slightly now. "I'll admit I wanted to know as much about Ancient Egypt as I could before we went there, so I checked a couple books out of the library. They were so interesting that I started buying whatever I could find."
"So Ancient Egypt and -- if no one minds me saying it -- magic are another connection between them?" Mokuba-kun asked, bringing the topic back around to its beginning. "Anything else? Anything at all, no matter how small it seems?"
"Bakura-kun disappeared at the end of August," he thought out loud. "It's almost the end of October now. Is that anything?"
Mokuba-kun shook his head, not in denial but in confusion, but it was Jyonouchi-kun who spoke up next. "He left early because he wanted to spend his birthday with his family."
And this time, the younger Kaiba paled. "Niisama's birthday is next week." Determination written all over his features, he shakily said, "We need to find Bakura Ryou right now. That might let us know where Niisama is."
"I might have known you were involved somehow," he bit out wearily.
The other rolled his eyes. At least he thought that was what he was doing. It was disconcerting that the only truly visible thing in the pitch blackness of this room was the other man. It wasn't that he glowed or something so esoteric, just that there was a light edge around him. His features weren't always too clear or always in focus, but it wasn't anything one would notice unless you were looking for it or staring for too long. Not that he was or had been staring, of course. "Relax, Seto. I had nothing to do with your impromptu visit here. It's not like I'm exactly a willing guest myself."
"Yet it was your Diaboundo that brought me here," he countered. "You can't stand there and, in all honesty, say you had nothing to do with this."
"I had nothing to do with this." With each word so carefully enunciated, it was a bit harder to disbelieve. "This... Collector, he's collecting magic: my soul, my Diaboundo, your magic..."
"I don't have any magic," he interrupted, actually drawing a short laugh from Bakura.
"I was here for the first time you said that, and I still don't believe it. You have magic, Seto. It's just not as obvious as my Diaboundo can be."
"Prove it then."
Another laugh. "The fact you can see me for starters. The Collector's last guest could only hear me. Your affinity for the Blue Eyes White Dragon for another. Your ability to create these technological marvels for dueling. That's your real ability this time around."
"What you're implying is that none of my accomplishments are my own then. They all belong to this 'magic' of yours."
"Of yours, you mean." He sighed, lowering himself to sit an inch or so above the ground. "Think of it this way if it helps: magic is like energy. On its own, it's chaotic, but when properly harnessed, it can accomplish things you'd never dreamed possible."
Put that way... "So 'magic' is just science."
"Yes, in a way, but also no. It's like science but with slightly different rules."
"But rules nonetheless," he persisted. How weird was it for the two of them to be having this argument? "Rules make it a science."
"Then a different sort of science, since magic can reside in higher concentrations in certain people. Most people don't even know they have it and focus it towards a single talent: writing, artistry, or in your case, technology."
"So this," he paused to search for a better word or phrase for it than the one they'd been using, "extra innate talent you say I have is why this Collector picked me up?"
Bakura nodded, looking a bit like the teacher whose students finally grasped a difficult concept. "Yes, again in part. Did you stall out on a project?"
How did he know? "A new model of Duel Disk."
"Your magic is built up around you so thick I can almost see it. With your project on stall, it must be stagnating and building, and that's why he picked you up."
"So if I could release this excess energy, he'd let me go?"
There was a soft sigh from the otherworldly figure before him. "Maybe, but probably not. If you found a way to use the excess up, he'd probably hold you until it built back up again. There's no getting away from him till he has no more use for you, dead or alive. Hell, I'm dead, and he apparently still has a use for me, so I can't get away."
"What kind of use would this Collector have for you? For either of us?" he corrected himself then frowned. He didn't just express something close to concern, not for him, not for the man - ghost? - in front of him, the same person who grabbed his little brother two years ago.
"Diaboundo, for starters. That there's no one else who knows more about the Sennen Items, for a second, and there's no one else who can control all of them to some extent. And..." Bakura trailed off, and he in turn found himself leaning forward.
"And?"
"And no one else knows more about the last two pieces he wants for his collection than I do."
"What exactly is he collecting?" He was going to regret asking that question. He knew that already. Bakura's wince only confirmed this.
"Artifacts from the Lost Dynasty, from the reign of the Nameless Pharaoh, to be exact. Atemu - Yuugi," he clarified. "It's quite the collection he has already: most everything I ever stole from Atemu, everything that isn't in the Ishtars' care, all of the Sennen Items, the soul of his greatest rival, the reincarnation of his high priest and cousin." He opened his mouth to argue, but really, it would do no good. He didn't have to accept this, yet, but it would do little good to try to persuade the other to agree. "All that's left is the tablet for the Sennen Items - and they're bringing it up out of the ground a piece at the time - and..." Bakura trailed off again with a sigh. It might have just been his imagination, if he had any, but it seemed that the other's form was just a little harder to see.
"What's the last piece?" he asked after a moment of silence. And faintly, even in the quiet, was that the sound of something mechanical cutting on? That whirr of machinery sounded so familiar.
"The Nameless Pharaoh himself."
"How?" Was it getting warmer in here?
Another waver of the person in front of him. He was just a little harder to see clearly, blending in a little better to the darkness than he had been before. "That's where your magic comes in, Seto. I doubt he's going to be satisfied with Atemu in a form like this, so it's going to take a lot of energy to put him in a body of his own."
"In other words, my-" His words were abruptly cut off as a painful jolt ran through him. It almost felt like one of the many times he'd gotten shocked working on a new invention, but instead of the energy running into him, it felt like it was running out of him. Old reflexes, left over from his time with his 'father,' Gouzaburou, was all that kept him from screaming.
As it was, it was all he could do to concentrate on not throwing up. Maybe that was why the floor was grated, he thought inanely to himself. He did let his body give into the urge to collapse to the floor, and he wrapped his arms around himself, barely even noticing that his blunt nails were digging into his arms through the cloth of his shirt. Hadn't he been wearing his coat also when he was taken? Where had it gone? Oh God, was this what dying felt like? Every piece of his body was in pain; even his hair hurt.
The agony just seemed to go on and on forever. Screaming might be within the realm of possibility if he weren't biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not, but he suspected they were tightly clenched closed.
If the physical agony wasn't bad enough, it felt like the world had expanded around him. Odd; usually pain did the exact opposite to him. Eyes closed, his body huddled on the floor, and he could still detect what was going on around him. For lack of a better word, he could sense the room around him: the disembodied hand on the floor near him; the Sennen Items in a hermetically sealed glass case on the far side of the room; the pieces of the tablet on a table in another corner; the cords that bound him to the floor giving off a faint blue glow; Bakura still hovering nearby with worry written plainly on him, even if it didn't show on his face. That was the bulk of what he could pick up on, though. How odd.
And another oddity: to some extent, he'd been halfway thinking of Bakura as still looking like his more modern counterpart. To some extent, he did, but there were also so many differences. For instance, his hair was a great deal shorter. That countered nicely to the fact his skin was several shades darker, like everyone else's had been in that odd other world RPG, and his eyes were many shades lighter, maybe light blue or even silver. He seemed taller too, maybe on an even height with him, and a bit older than he himself was, perhaps in his early twenties. How odd indeed.
The whole mess was just too weird for his tastes, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it. The pain surging through him from the wrists outward was a rather effective demonstration of the futility of that line of thinking, and it felt like it was never going to stop, like it would just keep going and eating away till there was nothing left in him that was him. Or had it already passed that point? Was he still Kaiba Seto, or was he just this force inside his body that seemed to be steadily waking up the more it was chipped away on?
Then, just like that, as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and he could breathe again. Or at least a facsimile, he thought sourly as he wheezed trying to get air in his lungs. That was the main concern. Once he'd gotten that down, he might try working on making his hands release his arms before he lost circulation. Then the next step after that would be getting the sweat off him, followed by finding out if he could still talk because he would really like to let go with a stream of cursing the likes of which the world had never heard.
"Seto?" That was Bakura's voice. "Are you still in there?" It was a huge effort, but managed to at least open his eyes. That would have to do for now because he wasn't sure he could manage anything more yet. Hopefully Bakura could see better in this darkness than he could. "Good. I know it hurts like shit, but I need you to let go of your arms. Otherwise you're going to hurt yourself. Can you do that for me?"
Dear God, it was an effort, but he forced himself to let go. He'd have loved to flip the bastard off, but he was able to manage a passably good glare and halfway decent growl, as well as a noise that might been a "Fuck off."
That drew a laugh from Bakura. "Yeah, you'll be fine. You never change, do you? Same prickly bastard. Get some sleep. We can talk more when you wake up, if you want."
Sleep sounded really good. He could just pretend it was all his idea and... Yeah, right. It was Bakura's idea and he knew it. That didn't make it less of a good idea. There was still more he wanted to know, but he needed to be able to think in order to get what he wanted to say out properly. He let his eyes close once more, and almost immediately, he started drifting off, but not before he felt a faint something brushing over his hair, moving it like a light breeze, almost like the afterthought of a touch. There was no dealing with that now, though, not with sleep creeping up on him.
That was it. He'd decided that it had to be genetic that both the Kaiba brothers were certified geniuses. Mokuba-kun had sent someone home for his laptop, and once he had it, Yuugi could swear he was looking at Kaiba Seto instead, especially with the speed he was hearing those keys being pressed. It was a steady clicking backdrop and was a good deal more audibly pleasing than when the workmen had been taking the windowpane out. He was told there were scientists downstairs going over it with a fine-tooth comb; he hoped Mokuba-kun hadn't meant that literally. Otherwise, he could only hope they got plenty of overtime pay. Jyonouchi-kun and Anzu were out trying to track down Honda-kun and Mai-san, to make sure they hadn't vanished as well. The same workmen had just finished putting in a new windowpane, this one twice as thick as the previous bulletproof one.
And during all this, he was going over the clip for what felt like the millionth time. Who knew? It might have been. He'd stared at the same forty seconds of material till he felt certain he was going to see it in his sleep -- if Mokuba-kun let him go home to give it a try any time soon. His eyes were blurring, and he felt about half past dead. Mokuba-kun showed no signs of stopping anytime soon, though, having even worked through dinner, and somehow he didn't think Jyonouchi-kun and Anzu were going to be back again before morning. With an exhausted sigh, he restarted the clip, even if he wasn't entirely certain he could clearly see it anymore.
Maybe that was why he saw it this time.
It started out at the window, a glaze almost like heat rising off asphalt, only he'd never seen this almost sentient kind of behavior from heat. As the Kaiba-kun on the screen slowly turned to face the window and froze, it moved around him on the side furthest from the camera. As it snaked around to encompass him, he vanished except for his briefcase as it fell to the floor. The camera captured the same heat-like phenomena moving back out through the half-inch thick glass.
For a long moment, he wasn't sure he could breathe, much less move or speak. His hands shaking, he played the clip again, leaning forward to watch it more closely. It was definitely there but so faint that it was no wonder he'd missed it till now. No wonder they'd all missed it. "Mokuba-kun?"
The younger teen turned bleary eyes up at him. So much for him being exactly like his brother; Kaiba-kun never would have let something like this show. "Yeah, Yuugi?" He even sounded ready to drop, the poor kid. He'd had a very full day, worrying about his brother from just after nine a.m., when he'd overslept because his brother didn't wake him up nearly an hour and a half before, till now, when the digital clock on the wall said five till eleven p.m.
"I think I might have something here." He wasn't too surprised that Mokuba-kun didn't exactly jump to come look. They were both truly exhausted; neither of them was moving fast. He queued up the clip once more and hit the button to make it play -- then reduced the speed by half and moved up closer to the screen. "See this?" He indicated the heat wave lines. "It's just barely there. That's why we missed it so many times."
"It looks like an arm." Mokuba-kun hit a button to pause the clip and moved forward. "See? Here are the edges, here and here."
He hadn't quite been able to pick out that much detail; maybe stuff like this was why the Kaibas were considered geniuses. Still, with the dimensions the other had pointed out... "It's huge."
"So it's gigantic, it's invisible, and it's able to move through glass? What the hell could that be?"
Only one thing came to mind, but it was another thing he'd picked up off mou hitori no boku in the Memory World, and was, quite frankly, impossible. That had been in the Memory World, after all. Those ka monsters didn't exist in the real world -- or at least not anymore.
He woke back up to the sounds of a very bored Bakura. It was a fairly easy assessment to make; the other man had taken the time to translate "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer" into Ancient Egyptian and was now on bottle twelve. And he wasn't going to ask himself how he knew that. He was better off without that tidbit of knowledge; it had too much potential to be psyche-damaging to him. At least the other stopped at twelve bottles and didn't go for the other eleven. Not that he had all that bad a voice, but he was hardly an expert on singing. "Are you awake now?" Bakura's voice was still soft, something that the headache he continued to have appreciated.
He actually had to give the matter some thought. His eyes were open, but his brain was foggy. A pot or so of coffee would do the trick for waking him up, but somehow he didn't think he was going to receive that kind of luxury. In lieu of civilization, he sat up, wincing at how stiff his body was. "I am," he answered once he was sure he wasn't going to tip over. Well, mostly sure; even sitting, he was listing a bit to the side. "I think," he qualified. He shook his head a bit to try and clear, which only made it spin more.
"You should sleep as much as you can while he'll let you."
That was a fair statement. He was still so tired that he was dizzy, and even if he couldn't allow himself to admit it, he was hungry and thirsty as well. Still... "How long was I out?"
"About four hours, I think, but I'm hardly the best judge of time these days."
He groaned in annoyance. "Four hours? Damn... That's four I could have been-"
"Sleeping," Bakura interrupted, his voice hard. He looked up swiftly to see an equally steely look on the other's face. "The Collector's little invention drains off your magic -- and in turn, your soul, what makes you you. He's killing you by degrees. The more energy you let yourself build up, the longer you'll last."
"You sound awfully certain about all this." He couldn't help the suspicion bleeding into his voice. It was just all too convenient for his tastes, how this was neatly laying itself out.
"I've watched it happen before, to his previous guest."
The response was completely deadpanned, and he had to take a second or two to decide if it was serious or not. But when had he known the other to kid? Had anyone ever known him to joke? "Did this other person survive?" He didn't bother to ignore the fact his voice shook slightly; his own life depended on the answer. No, not just his: Mokuba's too. Without him, his brother could be sent back to that orphanage. Unacceptable. Thoroughly and completely unacceptable.
"I don't know. He looked close to dead when they took him out of here." Bakura's face remained utterly unreadable. For that matter, his voice was also completely bland as well -- and that said a great deal. "Of course, he didn't have the magical resources you do, Seto, so he didn't last very long anyway. And certainly no one would look for him the way they surely are for you. So maybe it doesn't matter and it will all be okay."
It was hope, tossed out almost carelessly and waiting for him to seize it up, even if it was definitely far from bright or certain, and yet there it was. Thus far in his short life, though, he'd found hope to be a treacherous ally, one that was quick to desert at the first whiff of trouble. Therefore, it was with some hesitation that he stated, "Mokuba's probably whipped the city into a frenzy."
Bakura nodded. "Exactly. So no worrying about dying here, and put that genius brain of yours to work on an escape plan instead."
That was pretty sound thinking in his opinion, so he made himself a bit more comfortable and started examining the wrist cuffs as closely as he could with no light and only touch to go by. He worked in silence for several moments, barely paying attention to the quiet man (ghost?) on the outskirts of his line of vision, till curiosity finally conquered him. "How exactly did he manage to get a hold of you? I thought you'd be -- that it'd be harder to capture someone who's already dead?"
Bakura remained silent another long moment, long enough that he started to think he wasn't going to answer, then he sighed softly. "I didn't receive any funerary procedures. Anywhere my name was recorded for me to present to the gods was destroyed, so I couldn't present myself to be judged. Without rights or the proper procedures, Ammut couldn't even eat my soul. I was stuck waiting. And then he brought the Ring out of the ground. My soul had been in it so long that I guess it got tied to it."
As he continued to fiddle with the cuffs (there was a razorblade thin slit where the two edges of each cuff sealed together -- if he could just somehow pry it open...), he let his mind ponder over what the other had said. Mythology had never been of any major interest to him, but it was definitely pinging some half-forgotten information in the back of his mind, barely remembered images of a man with a jackal's head proceeding over the judging of a person's soul, questions a soul must answer to move forward. The information didn't come with any sources, though. Maybe the theory of a collective unconscious held some water, after all, as ridiculous as it sounded. "So as long as the Ring is here, you're stuck here too," he summarized, trying not to let it sound like a question.
"There are ways to get out of them, but I don't see myself trying them any time soon. In the meantime, though, that's right: I'm trapped here as much as you are." And he sounded every bit as happy about it as well.
"What kind of ways?" Could they be used to help him? He was willing to work with more... esoteric methods if they would help him achieve what he wanted. And damn it, it was starting to warm up in the room again. That wouldn't be good. Last time this started, it hadn't been too pleasant.
"Let's see: I could always destroy the Ring. Maybe I could go with refusing to tell him anything else and see if he'll destroy the Ring."
"Are there any ways that don't involve death?" he clarified. And now his hands were starting to tingle. This was just too much.
"I-" He stopped to think, as if considering the options. "I don't know. If someone else takes up the Ring again, I might be able to borrow their body. Or..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "No, that's stupid."
"Tell me." It wouldn't be long before the machine cut on again, and he wanted to know. No, he needed to know, before Bakura's form got any blurrier.
"I could always try to do myself what the Collector's trying to do with the idiot Pharaoh: siphon energy till I can make my own body."
That didn't really help him, at least not where he could see in the short term, and damn it, there was the click and whirring sound, letting him know to brace himself. There was really no preparing for it, though, for when the pain hit, as sharp and as bright as a knife. Again, the room exploded around him, only this time a bit crisper, a bit cleaner, a bit more detailed, much of it plenty more information than he strictly needed. For instance, something within him informed him that the disembodied hand on the floor was charred slightly on the fingers, which meant it had been used recently. The glass sealing the Sennen Items was indeed hermetically sealed, but it wasn't very thick, definitely not bullet-proof -- and probably thinner than the glass on his own office windows, so not Diaboundo-proof either, if it was possible to recruit that monster. If what he understood was correct, though, the creature was soul-bound to Bakura; that had to mean something.
What would he do if he could get in the case anyway? Get the Ring for Bakura maybe, his mind supplied, and perhaps take the Rod and the Puzzle. That was odd. He could understand getting the Puzzle, as it might slow down the Collector's plans since that object which represented the other Yuugi as much as the Ring did Bakura, but why the Rod? Why was it calling to him? All he knew about it was what he'd seen Malik Ishtar do during Battle City -- and what little he'd witnessed in the Memory World RPG with the other version of himself. Neither was particularly impressive, so... why?
His attention turned from the case containing the Items to the chains. The glow was brighter this time. Did that mean more was being taken out of him at a higher volume this time, or was he just seeing it better now? He was hoping for the latter, as strange as that seemed to him. Hope was such a foreign emotion to him. How did people live with the constant disappointments that came with believing in someone or something and being let down?
Belief, whispered some hidden part of his mind, belief and love. He dismissed both notions out of hand. They were foolish and only served to cause trouble. What was even stranger was that his mind decided to counter with, then what about Mokuba. How weird was it, to be arguing with a voice in his mind that sounded vaguely like his own -- yet vaguely didn't? Maybe Bakura was right about it killing him by degrees, but could it also be driving him insane? That would certainly explain him wanting to snatch the Rod along with the two important Sennen Items.
His eyes were clenched tightly closed, and his hands were drawn into fists so tight that they both ached and stung. He certainly wasn't about to let this Collector bastard make him cry out in pain. He'd withstood far worse than this at the hands of his so-called father, Kaiba Gouzaburou, as well as the other Yuugi, so there was no way in hell some random asshole off the street was going to get any acknowledgment of that kind from him. They'd have to kill him first.
"Seto." Who was talking to him, especially in that quiet, almost worried tone? The only person he knew who cared enough about him for that was Mokuba. The Collector hadn't gotten to Mokuba, had he?! No, that was ridiculous; it wasn't Mokuba's voice anyway, and only one person was either brave enough or crazy enough -- or both -- to use his first name. "Watch your breathing, Seto. Otherwise you're going to hyperventilate. Slow it down."
Did Bakura practice at being annoying, or was it a natural talent? If he was going to be annoying, couldn't he have the common decency to not have a valid point when he was doing it? His body didn't really want to listen to more than one of his commands at the time, and he'd made not screaming a priority. Still, he tried to force his breathing down slower. Weren't there meditation techniques he'd learned that taught this? Why the hell had he let himself get out of practice with them anyway? Oh yeah, he hadn't needed them for a while. Not since the other Yuugi left at least, so maybe it was fitting that he was starting to need them again now that there was the threat of the other Yuugi returning.
A cool wind seemed to brush through his hair. No, not a wind: a hand, ethereal and a bit chilly (or was he just that hot?), but damn, it felt so good where it touched skin that felt fevered from the pain. His hands moved without his prompting to reach up and grab it, holding it to his face. Odd... It felt like a familiar gesture, one he'd perhaps done before, but he couldn't remember ever doing it before. The ghost-like hand he held felt familiar in a way too, and he pried his eyes open to look at it: a bit on the transparent side, but dark-skinned and a bit broad, with long fingers, nicks and scars littering the surface. He followed it up a maroon cloth-covered arm to Bakura's wary and somewhat confused face.
Strange; he prided himself on being observant, but he hadn't noticed the scar on the other's face. A single, long line ran from his forehead, mostly hidden by his hair but clearly visible below his eye, down his cheek with two shorter lines cutting across it, like the katakana for 'ki'. Who had done something like that to him? And why would they? It was definitely a deliberate act; there was no writing a scar like that off as an accident. All this newfound knowledge bouncing around his mind contained no information for him on the subject, if it might have been a ritual punishment or something of that ilk. What use was all this new information if it couldn't answer the few questions he did have?
As suddenly as the pain started, it stopped again, and he could breathe once more. Had it hurt worse this time than last? It was hard to tell. For now, it was all he could do to lay still on the floor, panting softly and clutching onto Bakura's hand like it was his last link to sanity. If that was the case, though, his grip on reality was in for it; he only held onto the other for a moment before his hand went intangible again, dropping his own hand to the grated floor before him. It was an effort, but he managed to wrestle his eyes open and lift his head slightly to look at the white-haired man.
Bakura... looked mystified, staring at his own hand in shock. Somehow it made him recall a vague memory from the last time this had happened: something brushing against his hair, something his exhausted mind had processed as an 'afterthought of a touch'. Weirdly it made a kind of sense; if Bakura was a ghost, then Mokuba's horror movies informed him that he shouldn't be able to touch things except during moments of extreme duress, so that he had just been able to do so in a moment of calm probably meant something, though he wasn't sure what.
"What the hell was that?" He knew damn well he wasn't supposed to know Bakura had said that since the other man had only whispered the words -- and not the Japanese version of the words. Finally the other shook his head slightly as if to clear it, and when he spoke again, it was in his native language. "You should probably try to rest some more, Seto." He shook his head in negation. "Why not?"
He had to take a deep breath before he spoke. "... 'm losing time." Was he slurring his words? How embarrassing. "I don't like it. I don't want to lose anymore."
Bakura looked close to either grinning or letting loose with one of those laughs that seemed predisposed to terrifying everyone around him, but thankfully he apparently managed to rein in the impulse. Not that it had that effect on him, of course; that was preposterous. "You really do need to keep your strength up if you want to make it through this."
"Don't have to sleep to rest." Yes, he was slurring, almost as bad as Gouzaburou on a bender, and he consciously tried to correct his speech as he went. "I don't even sleep this much at home."
A small chuckle escaped the white-haired man. "Why do I have no doubt about that?" He settled himself to sit, no matter that he was a few centimeters above the ground. "So there's no talking you out of this, is there?"
It was obviously a rhetorical question, but answering it gave him something to concentrate on as he forced his body to sit stiffly upright. "Absolutely not." He could and would ignore the twinges and tiny pangs his body was sending him for trying to do even this much movement. "Why?"
"'Why'?" Bakura sounded puzzled. Who knew if it was true or not. "What do you mean: why?"
"Why are you doing this?" Almost immediately, he could tell it was the wrong thing to say or the wrong way to say what he was trying to, as he watched Bakura bristle indignantly.
"I said I had nothing to do with you being here, Seto! I meant it! I wasn't lying!"
And that's when he noticed it, much to his own bewilderment. How odd. It wasn't worth mention aloud yet though, so he kept it to himself, at least for the moment. "I didn't say that," he cut back in. "I said, why are you doing this -- staying here with me, talking to me?"
"Is there a reason why I shouldn't?" He still sounded incensed. He might not be contemplating violence on the first handy person, namely him, but he was assuredly Not Happy. "And it had better be a damn good one, or I'm not accepting it."
Someone in the world might be as stubborn as he was, he thought in tired amusement. "Nothing in particular. I was just thinking you might have been able to get out of here via the fact you used to share a body with the other Bakura, Bakura Ryou. Why stick around here with me?"
"You don't know anything."
Now that caught his full attention and pricked some spark of his old angry aloofness. "What did you say?" he hissed back. Anger felt... good. He felt a bit more like his old self with its shield around him, wrapping around him like a living web.
"You don't know a thing about this." If he let the cocoon down for a moment, he could see something like despondency on the other's face, but he didn't particularly care to let it go long enough to let other things sink in.
"About what?"
"The Collector's previous... guest." He took a deep breath and released it slowly, obviously an ingrained habit to make sure he was calm before he spoke, because it wasn't like he was using the oxygen; his mouth wasn't even moving when he spoke! "It was yadonushi... Ryou..."
It had taken a good deal more work than any of them were willing to admit to, but they had finally tracked down Bakura Ryou. Now they were wishing they hadn't.
As he'd predicted the previous night, Anzu and Jyonouchi-kun had rejoined them the next morning. They'd found a record for a train ticket to Tokyo, where his father currently lived. By all accounts, Bakura-kun had arrived safely in Tokyo -- then vanished for a week. After that, he'd reappeared, comatose in a small private hospital far away from his parent's address, checked in anonymously.
If that was what was in store for his older brother, he had to wish Mokuba-kun hadn't been the one to turn up the information. Of course, once they found out, the younger Kaiba had bought them all tickets to Tokyo, in the hopes they might turn up a lead of some sort. Jyonouchi-kun and Anzu were still upstairs with Mokuba-kun outside Bakura-kun's room talking to one of the head nurses about their friend's strange case, while he'd admitted (to himself at least) a temporary defeat and was waiting for them on the front step. This had to be the most upsetting, nerve-wracking, and discouraging thing he'd experienced in his life.
How had they not known about this? Bakura-kun had been here for so long, and no one had even guessed anything was wrong. After all they'd been through with the Sennen Items two years ago, it seemed like he should have known something was happening to his friend, like he should have somehow sensed something was wrong. Now Bakura-kun was like this, and the same thing might happen to Kaiba-kun if they didn't find him soon. But they had no clues to go on, no ideas about what might have happened or who might have done this, and in the back of his mind, he could hear a clock ticking. What were they going to do? And if they managed to do anything, was it going to be too late?
In his pocket, his cell phone rang shrilly, startling him. His hands shaking, he fished it out of his coat pocket, flicked it on, and answered with a quiet "Hello?"
"Yuugi?" Now this was a voice he hadn't heard lately.
"Malik-kun?" he asked in disbelief.
"Are you all right, Yuugi? You don't sound so good."
He sighed softly. Malik-kun always had been too perceptive by far. "Not really. A lot of bad stuff has been happening around here lately. Bakura-kun... and Kaiba-kun..."
"I heard. Kaiba's disappearance has been all over the news everywhere. No sign of him yet?"
"No, nothing." He paused, recalling the heat image on the clip. "We have about half a lead, and that's the extent of it."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Not from--" He paused, finally really hearing the background noises from the other end of the phone. There were several voice clamoring for attention in the din -- and all of them that he could hear were in Japanese. "Where are you?"
"I flew in Tokyo a few minutes ago. I thought you might need all the help you can get." The Egyptian paused. "And some other things have been happening as well. Pieces of the exhibit were stolen... and some of our people back in Egypt say there's an excavation team at the Pharaoh's tomb."
He froze. "A-at Atemu's--?"
"They've already gotten the Sennen Items out, Yuugi. Apparently they're bringing up the slab they were created on a piece at the time; you remember how it broke, right? The only information my people could find out is that it's for a private collector."
"Then with what's been going on here," he whispered, dread starting to fill his voice, "it has to be connected."
"Which means anyone with any connection to the Sennen Items could be in danger. Where are you, Yuugi?"
"In Tokyo." He rattled off the hospital's address. "Do you want me to come pick you up?"
He could practically hear the other consider the options before he spoke again. "Who else is with you?"
"Jyonouchi-kun, Anzu, and Mokuba-kun." He paused a moment, eying the car parked at the curb before him. "And Mokuba-kun's bodyguards."
"You'll be safest there, so just wait. I'll come to you." He started to protest but was quickly cut off. "I'm still a lot more dangerous than anything this collector asshole can throw our direction."
A laugh escaped him. Well, that was certainly true. Now that the other Bakura was gone, Malik-kun was the most dangerous person he knew. "Okay. You're right. Be careful, though, okay?"
"Of course. I'll be there in under half an hour. Just stay in some place where you'll be safe. In fact, stick with the others and those bodyguards you mentioned. I'll be there as soon as I can." He was silent for a moment before quietly saying, "It'll be nice to see you again -- to see all of you again. I've missed you."
He opened his mouth to say... something, he wasn't sure what exactly, when he heard a quick click and a dial tone; Malik-kun had hung up what obviously been a pay phone in the airport. Carefully, he shut his own phone back off and stood to head inside. He wasn't relishing explaining this to his friends in the hospital, no more than he was looking forward to seeing the shell that remained of one of his friends.
He hoped Malik-kun made it here okay.
He hoped Kaiba-kun was still all right, wherever he was.
It was a fight not to scream. It was just too damn quiet. He hadn't realized there was that much noise that could be generated by a spirit who didn't speak outside of one's own head, but it was at least enough to break this sense-numbing silence. He wasn't quite ready to admit how worrisome it was, yet, but he wasn't far from it. It was not going to be long now.
What was especially... bothersome for him was he had no idea why Bakura had gone so quiet. He had ideas but nothing definite, and that was... annoying to him. Of course, that wasn't the exact word he meant, but it was close enough to work. What could have set Bakura off to make him go so quiet anyway? Telling him about the other Bakura? He wasn't sure exactly what sharing a body with someone entailed, but he had to imagine it could make two people feel as close as family. A shudder cut through him as he tried to imagine having to watch this happen to Mokuba. He'd have killed himself if there was any possible way to do so. Only the other Bakura -- Ryou worked better, he supposed -- wasn't dead, if he followed the logic of all this correctly; his soul -- his spirit, what made Ryou into Ryou -- was gone, but his body was presumably still alive somewhere, maybe in a coma-like state. (Mokuba might make a zombie reference at this point, but he was going to resist.) He wasn't sure which would be worse: dead or... He wasn't sure he had a good word for it.
Or had something happened to Bakura? Maybe something he couldn't see? Something that only spirits could? It was quiet enough and had been quiet for long enough to make him think Bakura was gone, to make him wonder if he'd dreamed the other being there. But why would his mind supply Bakura to implant, someone he hadn't seen in two years instead of Mokuba, for example, if that were true? Why Bakura indeed? What was his subconscious trying to tell him? And why didn't he just go ahead and call out the other's name and see if he really was here or if he had truly gone over the deep end?
"Bakura?" he called into the utter blackness. It was almost a relief to hear his voice echo back at him; at least it was noise beyond his own breathing and heartbeat.
"Yeah?" This time he did breathe a sigh of... was that relief he was feeling? Yes, he was fairly certain he was. "Seto? Are you okay?" He could almost laugh, it was so absurd, so he gave into the urge, which just seemed to alarm the Egyptian more, as he appeared before him, a worried expression on his face.
"Just making sure you were still here," he explained himself, the explanation falling weak even on his own ears.
Bakura shook his head in apparent confusion. "Where the hell am I supposed to go? I'm stuck being where the Ring is, and it's locked up over there." He nodded in the direction of the sealed case he'd seen one of the first times his mind had expanded from the pain.
"The Rod is there too," tumbled from his lips without warning, and he raised a hand to cover them and maybe stem the tide before something slipped out that he'd rather not escape. "So is Yuugi's Puzzle and the other Items..." he finished, trying to cover his previous babble. Not that it did a thing to alleviate the suspicious look on Bakura's face -- and he couldn't say that he blamed the other: he'd never shown any interest in the Sennen Items at all before now, yet here he was, rattling off their location. If the situations were reversed, he would probably be curious as well. No, scratch the 'probably'; he would be.
"How did you know?"
"I just did." Like that was going to work, especially on someone at least as stubborn as he was, if not more so.
"Not good enough. How did you know, Seto?"
For a moment, he considered clamping his jaw shut and utterly refusing, like Mokuba used to do when he was younger, but at his age, it would be a silly gesture. "I saw them earlier."
"How? It's not like the lights have been on."
He scowled to himself, a trick he'd perfected in any number of board meetings. "...I don't know. When he started... draining me with this thing," he lifted his wrists, positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that Bakura could see them, "I could just see them. I could see a little more each time. I don't know why or how, but there they are." He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I don't know why the Rod is what came to my mind first, but it was." And he didn't know why the hell he was talking all this -- to Bakura of all people no less! -- but he suspected it was at least partially to fill the silence and partially because he couldn't seem to shut himself up.
"It was yours in Egypt." Sooner or later, it always seemed to come back down to Egypt with this group.
"I never touched it in Egypt."
He had the distinct impression Bakura was rolling his eyes at him again. "You saw the High Priest in the Memory World, right? Or do you not believe in that either?" He let out a growl and didn't answer beyond that. "You were the High Priest of Egypt and then the Pharaoh."
"That wasn't me."
Bakura actually laughed, dropping down to the floor before him and stretching out like an overgrown house cat. For an inane half-second, he pondered petting the other's bare stomach and chest to see if he'd purr, but he dismissed the notion quickly. First off, he didn't actually touch just anyone -- and if he did, it probably would not be Bakura -- and secondly, he was a little pissed from being laughed at -- not to mention the minor fact that the white-haired man was, for the most part, a ghost.
"No, you most certainly are not Seth." Now that got his attention. That sounded like a personal comment, and not many of those had escaped Bakura so far. He had probably let twice as many incriminating statements slip. Did that mean he was winning or losing? Was this even worth competing over? "You act just like him sometimes, then you're completely different. Seth would do one thing, and you do another. But it's odd because you could be his twin if it weren't for skin tone, and then there's the way your magic seems to mirror his..." He trailed off with a frown of frustration. "Are you trying to confuse the hell out of me or something? Because if you are, you're certainly succeeding."
Now it was his turn for an eye roll. "Yes, I got myself kidnapped and tortured just to confuse you. You figured me out. Now I must change my diabolical master plan," he deadpanned.
"Gods forbid," an equally bland voice returned. "So what do you plan to do about it?"
"About what?" Was this some kind of Egyptian spirit weirdness?
"About making it up to me for the confusion."
He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What exactly did you have in mind?" And if it was anything more than he was willing to work with, he was so going to find a way to kill the spirit.
"Nothing much..."
He had about half a minute to wonder what that meant before Bakura sat up abruptly. Out of reflex, he started to lean back away from the other, only to find a surprisingly solid hand on the back of his neck holding him still... and Bakura leaning forward.
Over movie sessions with Mokuba, he'd had half-formed thoughts of what a kiss was and what his reaction might be to it. He had clinical definitions, as dry and as stale as the dictionary he'd gotten them from, and on some level, he'd known there was supposed to be a deeper meaning to this act, a demonstration of mutual affection between two consenting parties... but it wasn't something he'd ever experienced (or even thought to experience, honestly) for himself. And now he had to wonder what it would be like if the person kissing him wasn't little more than a spirit.
On some strange level, he was surprised Malik-kun hadn't arrived on a speedboat or something equally as flashy again. The image of him sedately walking into Bakura-kun's hospital room, a small black wheeled suitcase rolling behind him, as commonplace as it would be for anyone else, seemed so odd for the Egyptian. The sheepish look was something he associated more with the "Namu" persona he'd presented during the first part of Battle City than Malik-kun himself, but really, there was no mistaking the distinctive person before him for anyone else: no one else was quite like Malik-kun.
"Sorry I'm late. I forgot how confusing the cities around here can be." He laughed in embarrassment. "I got so turned around backwards."
"I was starting to worry," he admitted. "Not that I didn't think you could handle whatever came up, but..." Behind him, he could hear Anzu trying to stifle a laugh, and Jyonouchi-kun wasn't even bothering to try hiding the snickers. He dropped back down in the chair he'd jumped out of to stand when Malik-kun came in the room, and he wait for it to swallow him, embarrassment and all. "Guys..." he complained quietly. "Don't be mean."
"Thank you for worrying about me, Yuugi." Malik-kun sounded as embarrassed as he felt. "It's good to be back here."
"Do you think you'll be able to help us figure out what's going on here?" Anzu managed to get serious and ask.
"I'm going to do what I can." He glanced past them to Bakura-kun's still form and frowned hard. "How long has he been like that?"
"Almost two months, about seven weeks." Even Jyonouchi-kun was serious now. Something about the way Malik-kun spoke as he stared at the man on the bed sent chills down his spine. Mokuba-kun was leaning forward, anxiety and curiosity playing on his face. "Why?"
"He's dead." At what must have been expressions of alarm on their faces, he continued, "His body is still going out of habit, but his spirit is completely gone. Bakura is gone, but his shell still remains."
"Like he was hurt and is brain dead?" inquired Mokuba-kun.
"More like his soul was cut out, and not very neatly at that. Like someone tried to cut along the dotted line with a dull machete, if that helps you to imagine it."
"It's not... like the spirits? Like when they took over?" he asked softly, coloring slightly when that made him the center of attention.
Malik-kun seemed to consider the question a moment longer, glancing from him to Bakura-kun and back again before shaking his head. "No, not quite like that. Even..." He paused, apparently changing his mind on what he was going to say. "There is nothing left of him. I doubt even the Spirit of the Ring could have done something like this."
"What about that Zork thing?" was the next question. "Could it be back again?"
"That's something I'm really hoping doesn't happen, Jyonouchi-kun," he sourly stated. "If Zork was back, we'd have found out before now, I think."
"Well, if it's not Zork, then it's someone -- or something -- else," Jyonouchi-kun countered. "What if it's a person who's doing all this?"
"That would fit with what's been happening in Egypt." They turned inquiring eyes to the Egyptian. "There is someone excavating the Pharaoh's tomb, some kind of private collector." There was no doubt just which Pharaoh he meant. Of all the Pharaohs in Egypt's history, there was always only one that any of them meant.
"Who would go after his tomb?" he blurted out -- and immediately felt stupid, wincing at himself. "Did I just say that out loud?"
"Sorry, yeah, you did." Somehow Malik-kun was avoiding laughing at his little verbal faux pas. Maybe that was a sign of just how serious this whole situation was rapidly becoming. "Some of my people were injured and one was killed trying to keep these people out of the tomb." He paused and winced slightly. "The one who died, they desecrated his body. They cut off one of his hands."
For the first time he could recall in his life, he was dreaming and he knew it. He knew he had to have dreamed before because the human body couldn't function without it, which he found... so inefficient. But he'd never been so keenly aware of the fact he was asleep and lost in a dream that he didn't want to contemplate the origin of. He certainly didn't want to be dreaming of Egypt. He heard enough about it on a day-to-day basis without his subconscious flashing it at him too.
Regardless of his wishes, he was certainly seeing an Egypt very like the one in that damn so-called Memory World RPG. Well, similar, but it wasn't a dead-on match. Maybe, though, it was just that he'd never been to this part of the palace during the game. And he'd never been this close to the man who was supposed to have been him three thousand years ago, not that he really believed that bullshit. Because, really, he didn't.
But whether or not he wanted to believe, here he was in what seemed to be a bedroom, which was draped in rich tapestries and lit with torches that cast flickering contrasts of light and shadows throughout the room. He was pacing -- or rather he was watching a version of himself pace impatiently in tight laps across the room. Or maybe 'impatient' wasn't the word, and 'worried' fit that expression he wore better. He didn't know that much about this supposed other version of himself, but he didn't wear a look like unless something was happening to someone he cared about, namely Mokuba.
He had done a fair bit of observing of the High Priest in the Memory World Game, as much as he could anyway, enough to realize their similarities, from the familiar face and body to the expressions and carriage that could have been his own. He didn't want to believe in past lives, but the person in the RPG and now his dreams apparently was pretty compelling evidence for the validity of that idea. Even the room around him vaguely reminded him of his own in its spartan furnishings and almost total lack of personalization. From what he'd seen, after all, this version of him had no Mokuba to add homey touches like pictures and mementos.
But if this version of him (What had Bakura called him? Seth?) had no Mokuba, just who was he worrying about and waiting on so impatiently?
A soft noise at the window made the other -- made Seth, he mentally corrected himself -- jump and turn to look. In response, he did as well. If he was expecting someone to show up through the window... Suddenly he had a sinking certainty that he knew just who Seth was waiting on. It was confirmed not even a moment later when a familiar white-haired man hoisted himself in the room, a wide smirk on his face.
"Where have you been?" Now that was a tone he recognized from his own voice, from when Mokuba had gotten hurt at school last year and hadn't wanted to tell him, that tone of frustrated worry. "Your note said you were going to be here just after dark. It's not long till dawn now."
"Just a little trouble with the guards," Bakura stated easily with a smirk, settling himself to sit in the window frame, just barely hidden from outside view.
"'A little trouble'?" Seth seemed to just barely be keeping himself from yelling, not that he could really blame him; he himself had noted not too long ago that Bakura seemed to have taken lessons on being as annoying as hell. "A 'little trouble' should only be a few hours' delay maximum, not half the night!"
"So you want to waste the rest of it fighting?" the thief fired right back. Well, that was certainly reassuring, that no version of himself and the so-called Thief King got along perfectly; in fact, if they had, he being questioning the validity of the dream. As it was, he was uncertain why he wasn't already. Maybe it was because this wasn't the first dream -- vision -- whatever -- he'd had with the priest in it. Between those flashes at Battle City and the Memory World Game, he was developing an affinity for this Seth person.
"Of course not!" He took a deep breath and released it as a heavy sigh; he did that himself when he was fighting a losing battle not to be annoyed. "I didn't say that, Bakura. It's just -- Our time is limited enough between your reputation, my duties, and the Pharaoh. Do we really need to add the entire palace guard in there also?"
"I can't help everyone wanting a piece of me."
"Yeah, preferably your head on display outside the palace." He paused briefly in consideration. "I think the Pharaoh and Lord Akunadin would prefer to display your entire dead body outside the palace to prove to the populace you're no more."
"And then some people want my body for more... fun purposes." That smirk was knowing, like he could see exactly what Seth was thinking. And if Seth was another version of him, then he might be thinking something similar to what he himself was. His face felt so warm and flushed that it was a wonder it hadn't caught fire yet. They weren't even doing anything, and his mind was already calling all nature of definitions of what 'fun' could mean, based a good deal on the way Bakura's voice purred the words out. "People like you perhaps?"
"Only if your mouth isn't attached."
The smirk only grew as Bakura climbed gracefully to his feet, slinking across the room to the other man, an arm stealing around his waist and drawing him closer till their bodies were flush against each other. And how was it that he felt this warm just watching and Seth wasn't even blushing?! "I think you'd miss everything my mouth can do to you if it were gone, Seth."
And if their idea of flirting wasn't bad enough, seeing them kiss was ten times more so. Even to a relatively inexperienced (okay, or maybe almost completely inexperienced) outside observer such as himself, the thief was definitely in charge, leading it as he wanted it to go as they moved back towards the bed in the middle of the room, and Seth didn't seem to mind -- and it was every bit as demanding as the one he'd received had been... not tentative but questioning. He doubted Bakura had a tentative bone in his body, probably a good trait for a thief, and Seth certainly seemed to benefit from it.
Which begged the question of why Bakura had kissed him. Because he looked like Seth? He wasn't sure he could even pretend to act like this other version of himself, if he had it in him to demand the white-haired man hurry up, to grab both layers of his robes and start peeling them off, to pull him down on top of him on the bed, to trace sure fingers and even more certain lips over golden scar-crossed skin. How had he known the undeniably visible one on his face was far from the only one?
Maybe he wasn't as bold as the priest, but damn it, he wanted to reach out and touch him. He wanted to trade places with this other version of himself moving beneath the other man. Greedy or not, he wanted it more than he'd wanted anything in a long time. Almost without thought, he moved closer to the bed they were on, coming closer slowly. Maybe this was just a dream and he could do as he pleased, or maybe it was a memory and he wouldn't be able to, but he had to find out. He reached out to touch the bare, scarred flesh of Bakura's back --
-- and the pain hit, hard. It was definitely stronger this time, almost enough to overwhelm, strong enough this time to force a scream from his lips.
Where was he? He'd said twice before that he couldn't leave, he was stuck here while the Ring was here, so where the hell was he? Ahh, there. Still close at hand but apparently trying not to hover this time. He made himself reach out, ignoring how much it hurt to move even this much; instead, he pushed the pain aside for the moment and tightly grasped Bakura's hand. He wasn't quite at the end of his restraints' reach, but it was enough of a reach to hurt right now, so he pulled lightly and Bakura moved easily back to him, touching him carefully, like a precious treasure, like something that would break if handled too roughly. Right now, that assessment might not be too far from the truth; he felt like he might break apart into a million pieces from the pain -- and it just kept going and going and going.
Bakura's hand was in his hair, brushing through it lightly. "Breathe, Seto. Keep breathing." His voice was rather soft this time, even compared to the previous times this had happened. It was nice, it gave him something to concentrate on instead of how badly everything hurt and how the world was expanding around him again... and how he could feel something, an angry something, waking up very near them. Against everything it could mean, he hoped it was the other Yuugi, because the other possibilities were simply too alarming to be contemplated right now. Right now... Right now, there was something he needed to say. Just... it was so hard to force the words outs, in more ways than working them past the pain.
"I-" Fuck, he was stuttering. He had to ignore that and get what he wanted to say out now, before he lost his nerve or his ability to make himself semi-coherent. "I'm n-not Seth." Concentrate on his breathing a moment -- it would do no good to hyperventilate now -- and finish, "Don't t-treat me like this if you're pret-pretending I'm him."
Silence reigned for a long moment, till he started to wonder if he was going to have to repeat himself, before the white-haired man spoke, in what he was starting to think of as typical Bakura bluntness, "Seto, don't be an idiot. I thought we'd established that you are very different from him. Even though I don't know how you know about that--"
"Saw it," he cut in with clenched teeth. He would not scream again. He would not scream. He wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream again.
He sensed, more than saw, Bakura shake his head. "No way. We were over by the time the Memory World started." Over? Now that was intriguing. "There's no way you could have seen it, unless..." He stared down at him in dawning surprise, the hand in his hair finally stilling.
"Dreamed it," he confirmed.
Silver eyes narrowed sharply. "Is that so?" It was quite obviously a rhetorical question, but he nodded faintly anyway. "Just how much do you remember?"
"Not a- a lot."
"Then you don't know how the story ends; otherwise, you wouldn't have asked me that. The Memory World should have been a dead giveaway, you know, that it was over and Seth would rather I was dead and rotting. Really, I think I should hit you for that, if I could."
He tuned out the rest of the rant, something about him having a tendency to jump to conclusions, as the previous bit began to sink in. Did Bakura even realize he very nearly was touching him now? Something the other had said before (Yesterday? Two days ago? A week ago? Time didn't seem to be making much sense right now.) slipped back into his mind and helped launch the beginnings of a half-formed idea: "I could always try to do myself what the Collector's trying to do with the idiot Pharaoh: siphon energy till I can make my own body."
How much energy was equal to a human body, though? To create a new one from scratch, even utilizing the memories presumably stored in the Sennen Items? Based on the increasing lethargy he felt after each session thus far and what had happened to the other Bakura, he was willing to say quite a lot. Something out of nothing went against a few basic laws of the universe, so the Collector had to be backdooring his way around that by using the... energy of people connected with the Nameless Pharaoh in various ways. Grabbing someone as well-known as him must have been a last ditch effort; maybe he thought he'd need Yuugi as a template for the other Yuugi, and everyone else who could possibly be connected was constantly on the move, like the Ishtars, and sadly, he did have a pattern.
He couldn't figure out how to start from scratch like the Collector had, but from a template, that was a different story. The big question now was how. How did he make this work? And more especially, how to make this happen before every ounce of his energy was pored into the other Yuugi? He just had to--
Another wave of pain ripped half a scream out of him before he managed to bite it back once more. Faintly he could feel blood running down his chin; he must have bitten through his lip again this time in an effort to keep quite. There was no more time to debate on it. Besides, making it up later was easier than asking for permission.
At least this extra bout of pain had the pleasant side-effect of shutting off Bakura's rant rather neatly. Maybe it wasn't the best method to achieve quiet, but damn, it was effective. In that eerie silence, broken only by the sound of his own labored breathing, he made himself give the other half an explanation for what he had in mind: "Got - got a plan. To get out," he specified.
"Really?" That sounded vaguely condescending and even more sarcastic, and that was annoying, but this was the best -- the only -- plan he'd come up with so far. He wasn't letting it go.
He nodded. "And if it works..." Bakura nodded to show his attention. "If it w -- wor -- works," it was getting so hard to say what he was trying to, "I'll kill you if -- if you don't come back right. You have to get me out of here."
The other barely had time to look confused before he, for lack of a better phrased, pushed at the energy flowing out of him, directing it from the cords to the hand he held. It was... surprisingly easier than he'd expected, getting this strange energy to do what he wanted it to do, and he wasn't even going to let himself consider why that might be.
Before his eyes, Bakura's form quickly started becoming more opaque, less transparent and ghost-like and more like the Bakura he'd seen in that dream-memory. He didn't look too happy either. Well, he wasn't an idiot like some of the people he knew; he must know what he was doing. "Let go, Seto." He was speaking out loud now, though not in Japanese. He was counting that as a partially good sign at least. "Stop it now, before you hurt yourself." And part of the way through that, the language shifted, from what something in him said was the language of Ancient Egypt to modern-day Japanese.
"No," he insisted. Shorter was better than explaining at length right now; at least it gave him time to recover. "Plan."
"You're out of yo--"
Bakura vanished in midword.
Exhausted eyes blinked open, taking in their owner's new surroundings warily. Wherever he was, it was nothing at all like where he last remembered being. He may not have been happy or content where he had been, but at least it wasn't... Where the hell was he anyway?
He looked around him, almost too tired to wonder why it was such an effort to move. Surrounding him were Egyptian relics, some of which he recognized from his reign as Pharaoh, while others were of a similar time period but not items he recognized. Only about a meter in front of him hung the Sennen Puzzle.
'Well, shit,' was all he could think for a long moment. Why couldn't he seem to wake up? 'What in the world happened?'
And that's when he noticed the other person in the room: an older man, with hair that must have once been black but was now peppered with more than its fair share of white. He'd never seen him before, not in either of his lives, but still, there was something strangely familiar about him, something he couldn't quite manage to place.
"Welcome, Pharaoh Atemu." His Egyptian was, at best, a complete atrocity, and his tone was smug and extremely self-satisfied. "Welcome to my little collection. I do hope you'll enjoy your stay. I've gone through so much to get you even this much here."
Here? This much? In confusion, he glanced down at himself -- and froze. He'd had some time to get used to be solid again. Suddenly being able to see through himself again was a bit of an unpleasant flashback; even if he'd enjoyed his time with the friends he'd come to make, it hadn't been where he belonged.
"What you done, mortal?" he growled in his native language, moving to climb to his feet, only to find he couldn't.
"My deepest apologies, Pharaoh. It seem your battery source downstairs apparently decided he had better plans for the energy that was to finish your return."
"'Battery source'?" he echoed in confusion.
The man nodded. "Yes. Kaiba Seto."
Exhausted eyes blinked open, taking in their owner's new surroundings warily. Wherever he was, it was nothing at all like where he last remembered being. He may not have been happy or content where he had been, but at least it wasn't... Where the hell was he anyway?
He looked around him, almost too tired to wonder why it was such an effort to move. And more to the point, what the hell was that infernal beeping sound?! And why the hell was everything so fucking... white? And why was he so tired... and feeling like he was wearing something he'd outgrown years ago?
Well, sitting around wasn't... He knew that voice. "Why would they cut off his hand, Malik-kun?" Holy fuck, that was the Pharaoh's brat. The hell?! "Isn't that what the Turks used to do if you were caught stealing?" Fucking Turks. Still... Hmm, the Pharaoh's midget apparently had twice the brains of the Pharaoh, not that that was hard to accomplish or anything.
"It was also used in more European magic, to open locked doors and such. It's called... I think the term was a 'Hand of Glory' then." And that was Wants-To-Be Pharaoh. Who was stupid enough to let Malik Ishtar back out of Egypt? Had the police and military been notified yet?
Where the hell was he anyway? Something about that steady blipping noise and the too clean smell called the appropriate memory from the depths of his mind: he was in a hospital. It felt about the same in that impersonable way all hospitals were, from what yadonushi had told him. Yadonushi... That was that 'tight' feeling; he should have recognized it immediately. How many times had he commandeered this body, after all?
Just what the fuck had Seto done? Better still, how had he managed to jam him into his former host's apparently nonoccupied body? When he got a hold of the other man, he was going to have some answering to do. Which would mean motivating his body to move.
A soft hitch in breathing wasn't much of a clue, not when he wasn't standing right beside the other, but a low groan was a completely different story. He shot to his feet, turning to stare at the figure on the bed as it sat up slowly. One arm, the one with the I.V. , braced him stiffly, obviously going a long way to holding him upright; the other held his head as if trying to ward off a headache. What in the world...? Hadn't Malik-kun just said...?
"Tell me you were just wrong," Jyonouchi-kun demanded, a slight thread of worry in his voice. "'Cause either you were wrong or we've got a problem. We don't need another problem right now."
"I- I-" Malik-kun didn't seem to be able to force a coherent thought out of himself. Not that he really blamed him; he was in much the same boat. "There wasn't anything there! I know there was nothing left of him!"
"So what the hell?!" the Japanese blond yelled back. "Is it Night of the Living Dead or something?" He was already visibly repressing shudders. Poor Jyonouchi-kun; he'd never seen someone before with such a phobia of all things occult or supernatural, yet still be able to handle him and Atemu switching places and all okay. Maybe it was more Bakura -- or rather, the other Bakura -- that freaked him out so much, he thought, shaking his head slightly.
"Are you all right, Bakura-kun? Do you want me to call a nurse?" he asked softly, moving closer to the white-haired man. A squeak came out, instead of actual words, when the hand that had been in the other's white hair suddenly lashed out to grab him by the front of his shirt and yank him in closer, up off the ground so that the other's mouth was near his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the others rushing forward, to help, he supposed. He was even vaguely surprised that Malik-kun had moved closer faster than Jyonouchi-kun, though only barely.
"Get me. The fuck. Out. Of here," Bakura-kun hissed. That wasn't right. "Now, if you in any way value your miserable little life, Pharaoh's midget."
"Bakura." Jyonouchi-kun's warning growl was what really cinched it for him, even more than the nearly choking grip he had on him. This wasn't their friend, Bakura Ryou. This was the Spirit of the Ring, somehow back after two years. But how?
"Put him down." That was Malik-kun's voice, and he sounded like he was, well, pissed. Wow.
Slowly the grip on him loosened, but Bakura didn't completely release him. He could certainly breathe easier, now that his feet were touching the floor, but this close to the Spirit of the Ring was about twenty meters closer than he wanted to be. Even if... Bakura looked utterly exhausted? This close, he could tell the other was breathing hard, almost panting, like he'd just run a race. The Spirit of the Ring didn't do stuff like that, didn't show that much behind a smirk, though; it- he- it (Which one was it? Was this the thief or the demon?) was very like Kaiba-kun in that way. And wasn't that odd -- and convenient; the Spirit of the Ring showing up a few days after Kaiba-kun was kidnapped -- and in Bakura Ryou's body no less!
"How are you back, Bakura?" he whispered.
Tired eyes lifted to look at him, and they weren't that rich shade of chocolate brown Bakura Ryou had possessed. No, they were an odd shade between blue and silver, the same color the thief had had in the Memory World. He seemed to be holding himself together and conscious by sheer force of will... and maybe a load of anger that he'd be happiest not being carried out on him. "Do you want to talk about that, or do you want to save Seto before it's too late?"
That... hadn't gone as he'd intended. The thief certainly wasn't supposed to just disappear, at least not the way he'd planned it. This was the most imprecise science he'd ever had the misfortune to deal with; there was too much room for human error. Not that was his fault, not when he was still this new to this... subject matter, but Bakura was supposed to collate into a more solid, effective form in this room, not wherever he'd vanished to, where he'd presumably be able to get him the hell out of these handcuffs and both of them out of here. He was supposed to be a thief, right? These should be a snap for him... if he were here and solid. Where the hell had he vanished to?
What if he'd accidentally killed him -- or at least sent him back to the Afterlife, instead of bringing him here? There were just too many possibilities of things that could have gone wrong, but really, what other choice had he had? He had to get get out of here. No, they'd both had to get out of here, but only one had managed so far. Wherever Bakura was, after all, it wasn't here, and he had the feeling that wherever he actually was, he'd be back. He wouldn't leave him here, no matter what had happened between the thief and him -- Seth -- in Ancient Egypt.
Bakura wasn't here, so there was no one to goad him into resting, but damn, he was tired. Whatever insane escape plan Bakura was no doubt cooking up, he would need to be rested and well-prepared for it. A brief catnap could hardly hurt matters at this point, and it might actually help a bit.
He had no sooner lay back down, curled up on the pallet-covered grating that he'd been using for a bed these past few days, than he was asleep... though he couldn't be too surprised by that fact. Even an idiot would know this was taking a lot out of him. What did surprise him, though, was that he seemed to be catapulted back into the Egypt dream. It wasn't the same point in the dream, but that was certainly Seth. He was leaning against a cliff in the middle of the desert. The darkness seemed nearly impenetrable to someone used to the constant glow of city lights at night, and even he could feel how cold it was.
Seth looked worried. There was no mistaking the anxiety on his face for anything else. It was written all over him: the way he held his body tightly, as if ready to spring into motion; the way his eyes kept darting around furtively, trying to keep a look out for the thief, he supposed; the way he jumped at every sound. Something had happened. It must have. It couldn't have been good either, not to create this kind of worry in any version of him.
The priest looked around him, sighed, and muttered, "Where are you, thief?"
"Such love." That was Bakura's voice, but at the same time, not. It wasn't the almost sane tones he'd gotten used to during his imprisonment here and from the other dream-memory; this was the Bakura from Battle City... and that couldn't mean good things. He and Seth looked up to see Bakura sitting on the edge of the cliff above the priest. Yes, he recognized the dark look in his eyes. "One might almost wonder what your feelings are towards me?"
He watched faint traces of emotions move over the face of the other version of himself: relief, exhaustion, worry, suspicion, to name a few. "At the moment, annoyance. You've been gone without a trace nearly a year, Bakura, and now you reappear and--"
Seth cut himself off abruptly as Bakura leapt down easily to land before him, falling back a step reflexively. He looked surprised now, and it showed up clearly. "'And' what, Seth?" He stalked forward a step, and somehow the other held his ground, not that he had a lot of room to move with the cliff wall behind him and the thief before him. "Am I different? Acting oddly perhaps?"
"You're not yourself, Bakura. What's happened to you?" He had to say, he was proud Seth's voice didn't shake. He'd not had much in the way of close experience with the Bakura from his time, only the duel on the rooftop of Kaiba Corp to get Mokuba back, but this was more than a bit on the terrifying side. "What happened while you were gone?"
The smirk Bakura wore tightened into a sneer. "Not myself, you say? Maybe you just didn't know as well as you thought you did." And then the expression turned truly evil... and entirely too familiar. "Or maybe I just got tired of playing nice for you. Did that ever occur to you?"
"That's not it. You're Bakura, but you're not Bakura," Seth insisted stubbornly, refusing to move again as the thief came a bit closer. "You will tell me what happened."
Faster than his eyes could follow, a hand shot out, fisting around part of Seth's cloak worn against the frigid desert night air, and slammed the priest back against the rock face hard enough to make him drop the collected expression from his face. "Maybe I died and returned to life out there in the sand and came to realize there's something in my life that needs to be finished, something more important than a couple of fucks." The sneer was back in all its derisive glory. "But it's possible I can squeeze one or two more in before I start my work."
"You bastard." The other version of him pushed at the thief but was apparently unable to throw him off. "Let go of me!"
"And here I was think you loved me, priest." A smirk and a shrug. "Then a kiss to say goodbye."
He yanked the other close, slamming their lips together brutally. Seth struggled, trying to get free, finally reaching behind him for the Sennen Rod, pulling the blade free. Holding it to the thief's throat, he finally broke away. "Don't you dare touch me like that again, thief."
Bakura didn't seem to care, standing there nonchalantly with a smirk on his face and blood running down his chin; Seth must have bitten him. "You're mine, priest, and I'll touch you however I want. You would do well to remember that."
"I'll kill you if I ever see you again." The hiss was low and deadly. He had absolutely no doubt this other version of him meant every word of it. He stepped away from the other, only to be held in check by the hand still grasping his cloak.
"As long as you have that Sennen Rod, my darling Seth, you will see me again. Maybe not tomorrow or even this year, but you will see me again. Count on it."
"That day will be your end then." He slipped out of the cloak, leaving it in Bakura's hands, and backed away towards the horse he'd left tethered nearby.
Bakura remained still till the sounds of hoof beats had faded completely before the maniacal smile dropped, leaving behind a sad and weary version of the thief he'd come to know. Every movement aching with exhaustion, he lifted the cloth to his face, breathing in the other's smell.
Suddenly the paralysis that had gripped since Bakura dropped into view broke, and he found himself moving closer to the white-haired man. The final story must have been the truth, making this just after the demon Zork had possessed him. Just how long before the RPG was this? What had changed in the time in between?
He turned and frowned. Seth had to still be watching from somewhere; otherwise he shouldn't be able to "remember" these events occurring, most notably after Seth left. It didn't make sense. So where was he at?
"Let him go," a voice whispered behind him. He whirled around, but only Bakura was there. "He has abandoned you, left you to me, forgotten child of Kuru Eruna. And he has one of the Items."
"You will not hurt him." Dear gods, Bakura sounded exhausted. "That was part of our arrangement."
"Revenge for your people and the life of your lover. It will be as I promised."
He turned again angrily to look for the other version of himself (he had to be hearing this) -- and saw only darkness, an utter and complete blackness stretching out into forever.. He turned back to where Bakura had stood only a split second before, but there was nothing there; even the cliff and the desert had vanished. It felt like he was falling -- or maybe floating -- in nothingness... and then he woke up, gasping for each breath. Something... 'felt' different in the room, something that in some way reminded him immediately of someone. "Bakura?" Maybe, somehow, he'd managed to come back and was here again now. "Are you there?" It was actually an effort to remind himself to pitch his voice low so maybe the Collector wouldn't overhear his words and realize the other had somehow escaped.
Silence greeted him, but the presence strengthened. It felt like it was completely surrounding him. He reached out blindly, and his hand brushed against something that felt like... scales? It wasn't small enough to be an ordinary snake, plus it was too high off the ground; each scale was roughly the same size as his hand. "Diaboundo?"
The silence continued to stretch out, but there was a faintly positive ring to it this time, almost like agreement. If Diaboundo was protecting him like this, then Bakura was almost certainly still alive and out there somewhere, somewhere in the city maybe, and in control of the monster again. This... could be a good thing.
This was shaping up to be the weirdest week of his admittedly weird life thus far. Not that he was complaining about its highlight, Malik-kun being back, but the rest was just odd: Kaiba-kun getting kidnapped, getting recruited to help out in finding him by Mokuba-kun, all these weird tales of cutting hands off dead people and a collector of some sort, and now the Spirit of the Sennen Ring putting in a much delayed reappearance and apparently knowing what had happened to Kaiba-kun. He wasn't sure which part of it was more confusing, that he knew the information or that he actually seemed... concerned about what was happening to the other man. That sentiment didn't exactly go along with the Spirit of the Ring they'd known before, and he had to wonder if this was the man he'd been before Zork had taken him over. There was no way he was asking, though, not with a very fresh memory still in mind of being dangled above the ground. Possessed or not, Bakura was still dangerous to be around.
The fact he was currently arguing with Malik-kun in a language that had been dead for millennia did nothing to alleviate how dangerous he was. He was getting a few words here and there, curse words Jiichan had taught him or that Atemu-kun had let loose on occasion (thought he was still fairly certain Atemu-kun had had no idea what he was saying, just that it was bad) that apparently included something about Malik-kun being the 'son of a jackal's ass'. The fact that the three of them were trailing him down the hospital hallway (and he had no intention of offering to help and getting his arm torn off for the trouble) just added to the weird factor, in part because Mokuba-kun might have been taking notes.
The Spirit still didn't look too steady on feet, but maybe that was to be expected when the body he was in hadn't moved on its own in over a month. He was going with 'he' and 'him' and other masculine pronouns for the Spirit for now; it seemed to be the thief and not the demon from what he could tell, after all. He was just really curious as to how the Spirit was back after a two year hiatus and if he had had a hand in what happened to Bakura-kun and/or what was happening to Kaiba-kun.
"Bakura!" He blinked and glanced over at the boy beside him. Trust Mokuba-kun to have fewer inhibitions about speaking up, especially where it concerned his brother. It was definitely another of those Kaiba traits.
The white-haired man turned to look down at him. "What?"
"Where's my Niisama?" If the Spirit could resist the sad look Mokuba-kun wore, he was made of much sterner stuff than he himself (and probably Kaiba-kun) was.
The Spirit slumped against the wall, his entire body signalling complete exhaustion -- and maybe a bit of distraction. "For the moment, he's safe, but I can't say for sure how long that will last."
"Who has Niisama?" They might as well keep letting Mokuba-kun ask the questions. Apparently not even the Spirit of the Ring was completely immune.
"I don't know his name exactly, but he's a collector." A collector? After Malik-kun's story? Now that was too much of a coincidence to be for real. Beside him, he could tell Malik-kun was standing a little straighter and paying much closer attention. "He has Seto to get to..." He broke off, glaring over at him, and he had to fight not to fall back a step. "To get the Nameless Pharaoh."
"I thought you were the one after the Nameless Pharaoh," Malik-kun snapped at the thief, earning a growl in return.
"I'm far from the only one, aren't I? I seem to recall some Egyptian besides me after him during Battle City." He sneered hard. "Who could that have been?"
"Why would they need Kaiba-kun to get mou hitori no boku?" he had to ask, careful to keep his voice quiet. Not that it was a huge stretch. The Spirit of the Ring was frightening.
"Do we have to talk about this now? The longer we wait, the less time I can guarantee Seto's okay."
"Yes," Malik-kun returned immediately, though Mokuba-kun frowned up at the blond, clearly disagreeing with that statement..
"/Inbred, retarded piece of camel waste.../" Bakura muttered just loud enough to be heard. What more amazed him was that he'd understood every word of that. "The Collector is trying to bring your precious Nameless Pharaoh back to round out his collection of items from the Lost Dynasty. Atemu is the last thing he's missing. He needs souls and magic to do that, to bring Atemu through from the Afterlife."
Mokuba-kun bounced, apparently catching up. Magic did seem to be a favorite topic for him after all. "So this Collector's using Niisama like a battery."
"Yadonushi also." He stared at the Spirit in nothing less than abject shock. So that was what had happened to Bakura-kun? He'd halfway been beginning to wonder if the Spirit might not have had something to do with their friend's current state so that he'd have a body to use for whatever his purpose was. "Can I go now, or do you want to ask any more stupid questions?"
"I'm coming with you!" Mokuba-kun piped up. The white-haired man didn't look too happy but nodded silent agreement and turned to start back towards the hospital exit.
Malik-kun looked over at him, a question clear on his face: were they following the Spirit also? He shrugged: he couldn't very well leave Mokuba-kun alone with him; if anything happened to the kid, Kaiba-kun would find ways to make him regret it till the end of time. "One more questions, then we can go," he finally vocalized.
With an annoyed sound that was equal parts sigh and growl, the Spirit stopped but didn't bother facing him. "What?" he snapped. Mokuba-kun was standing next to the white-haired man and sent a pout over his shoulder at them.
"How do you know for a fact Kaiba-kun is still okay right now?" He didn't really mean to sound so suspicious, but he'd learned to be wary where the Spirit of the Sennen Ring was concerned.
"Diaboundo is with him."
That was supposed to be reassuring?! Bakura was on the move again, and Mokuba-kun appeared to be hovering, apparently in case the other needed his support. "Great," Malik-kun muttered beside him, "they've joined forces." Before he could respond, his hand was seized in a tanned one and he was being dragged by Malik-kun behind the other two.
"You're following Diaboundo, aren't you?" Dear God, Mokuba-kun seemed to be trying to make friends with the Spirit. Quite the ballsy kid; he doubted it'd mean a thing or accomplish much, but he was trying. The thief simply nodded in answer, as all his attention appeared to be set in putting one foot in front of the other. He'd known that the white-haired man was determined and more than a bit single-minded when set on a goal, as he'd been on the Sennen Items two years ago, but he was having a bit of trouble on why he was so determined to rescue Kaiba-kun. "Diaboundo will make sure nothing happens to Niisama?"
"As much as possible."
"It was Diaboundo that took him though," he felt compelled to pipe up.
"I didn't have any choice in that matter," the thief snapped. "The Collector has the Items and was able to use them to control Diaboundo. If I'd had any control in the matter, Seto would have been the last person I'd have grabbed to do this to."
He opened his mouth, the word 'why' about to come out, when Mokuba-kun signaled his car over. "We can go in the limo. It'll be quicker, and we can cover more of the city that way." And there was the Kaiba logic peeking through again, though he wasn't too sure of the intelligence of trying to befriend the thief.
The kid held the door open for Bakura, letting him slide in before turning to them with a hard look reminiscent of his older brother. "If you are going to pick on Bakura more, don't bother coming. He's the only one who knows where my Niisama is, and if you annoy him till he doesn't tell me, I'll kill you in painful and inventive ways."
Wow... Statements like that made it very apparent whose younger brother Mokuba-kun was. The similarities were startling and perhaps a bit frightening.
The little Kaiba brother certainly reminded him a good deal of his older brother. There was certainly something familiar about the take-charge attitude the little guy projected. There wasn't a lot else similar between the brothers, but there was that and the ability to threaten the miniature Pharaoh rather well. He wasn't going to think about it too much right now, though. Right now, he just leaned back on the seat, closed his eyes, and tried to tune the others out so he could concentrate on exactly where Diaboundo was. And he was so fucking exhausted that it was harder than it sounded; the cramped feeling that he was getting in yadonushi's body wasn't exactly helping matters either.
And he resolutely was not thinking about what had happened to the boy who had been his host. Maybe he'd never really gotten to know him all that well and maybe a lot of who yadonushi and his friends had thought to be him had instead been the demon possessing him, but it wasn't a fate he'd wish on even Atemu, much less Ryou. In the time he'd been the Collector's prisoner they'd gotten to know one another a bit better than when they'd shared a body; he definitely wouldn't have wished this on him -- and most especially not for Atemu's benefit.
Yadonushi -- Ryou had asked him if he still hated the Pharaoh. It had been one of the last things they'd discussed in the blackness of that room. He'd probably scared the boy with the vehemence of his 'yes' answer; it had been a little while before he'd spoken again, this time to ask why. He'd been the one who was silent for a long moment before the story of Kuru Eruna had tumbled out of him. Ryou had responded by telling him about his mother and sister. It was a bit startling how alike they were, in matters besides their looks. Ryou had eventually also asked if he'd had any friends, anyone who had cared for him, and it was only then that he'd been truly unable to answer. He couldn't even tell his former host about Seth, much less Seth's reincarnation. It was doubly unnerving that Seto had dreamed it, even just part of it.
He shook his head to clear it. This was not anything he needed to be thinking about right now. He needed to be tracking Diaboundo and, through him, Seto. He didn't need to let his mind wander like it seemed wont to do at the moment.
"He's west of here," he prompted. He guessed Mokuba signaled the driver because the car started moving. "It was a house of some sort, with a large underground room where Seto is."
"So probably outside the city." Hmm, he did have to give the miniature Pharaoh credit for being a good deal more intelligent than his counterpart, though he still maintained that was easier done than anyone wanted to admit.
"It was a fairly large place," was the closest he was allowing himself to admitting that the boy might have a point.
He could faintly hear Mokuba whisper something at the man driving the car. He could appreciate that: it made the difficult job of concentration a little easier. He definitely wasn't a bad sort of kid. After a moment, he felt the seat shift as the kid settled down next to him. "Bakura?" he asked quietly. He opened one eye to look over at him. "Do you know how far it is?"
It was a fair question, so he didn't ignore it like he might if it was one he considered stupid. He shook his head. "No. I'll say when we're getting close."
Mokuba nodded and flopped back on the seat next to him. Odd. He was much more accustomed to people being too terrified to come near him than people willing to get within easy reach. Ishtar and the Mini-Pharaoh, for example, were doing their level best to be as far away from him as the car would allow without seeming too obvious. As if sensing his eyes on them, Malik glanced over at him, lavender eyes narrowing to a glare, and pulled the Mini-Pharaoh further away from him -- and coincidentally closer to the inbred lump of baboon dung. Well, that was certainly interesting.
He closed his eyes again, as much to stem off a rather fierce headache as to tune the others out, and concentrated on the location of his ka monster. This would be so much easier if Seto had managed to send the Sennen Ring along with him. Then he could just use it to locate the other Items. But without the Ring, he was left searching this way, as hit and miss as it might be.
He wasn't picking up much from Diaboundo, not that a lot was possible at this range, even if that was closing, but at least that meant nothing bad was happening. His monster was not having to fight to protect its charge, so he still had some time. Not a lot -- he wasn't going to relax till this whole thing was over, one way or another -- but still some time. Apparently, Seto's little stunt, namely somehow sticking him into Ryou's body, had bought them some leeway.
It felt like they were racing down to some sort of a margin, almost like time was running out for... something, and it was not a feeling he particularly cared for. But he was getting closer, though. The distance between them was definitely narrowing. It wouldn't be long now.
There was probably some terrible irony that he was immobilized on the golden seat that had been his throne thousands of years ago. Just out of his reach was the Puzzle, whole and intact once again. Had it survived the fall into darkness intact, or had this man found someone to reassemble it? No. With how long it had taken his aibou to put it together in the first place, he didn't believe any common person could have possibly done it in a hundred years.
And thinking of his aibou... This man who called himself a collector had mentioned Kaiba, Kaiba Seto to be exact. If his former rival was his 'battery source,' whatever that could possibly mean, obviously it was still within a lifetime of when he'd been here before, if Kaiba was still alive; he couldn't picture the man having descendants. Mokuba, perhaps, but not his brother. And if Kaiba was still alive (the prickly, overstressed asshole that he was), then might not his aibou and their friends be as well?
Hesitantly, he reached out to where his connection with Yuugi had lain years (days? months?) ago. His previous attempts to use his magic hadn't worked too well and had made him leery to try again. This was his aibou though; he had to try, he had to know.
//Aibou?// he sent out worriedly. He scarcely dared breathe, lest he miss a reply. //Aibou, can you hear me?//
Silence stretched out, long enough that he almost began to doubt Yuugi was going to answer, when finally a response came: /Atemu-kun?/
Atemu, not mou hitori no boku... It must have been years for him to finally break that habit. //It's me,// he acknowledged, barely keeping the relief he felt from entering his voice. //Do you know what's going on?//
He sensed a nod from his other half. /A lot of it, and what I don't know, I can guess. Is Kaiba-kun there with you?/
//No. I'm not sure where he is, but the person who brought me back mentioned him,// he paused, reluctant somehow to go on for a moment, //as a battery source.//
/He can't be too far away then./ There was a pause, like someone else was talking to him. /What about the Sennen Items? Are they close by? Can you see them, any of them?/
Who was talking to Yuugi, wherever he was, asking these sorts of questions. There were only a few people he knew who were this interested in the Items. If he didn't know better... //The Puzzle is right here, just out of my reach. I don't see the others. Why do you want to know about the Items, aibou?//
/So we know where we need to look for them./ Another pause, this one a good deal shorter. /I'm supposed to tell you -- and maybe you can make some kind of sense out of this -- but if you feel something like a burst of energy coming into you, try to push it back where it came from? I'm told that means the energy's coming from Kaiba-kun and he probably doesn't have that much left to spare./
How in the world did his aibou know so much about what was going on? It was almost enough to make him wonder how close Yuugi was to what was happening, like maybe he was being held here as well. It wouldn't be the first time they'd been kidnapped, and Kaiba's name tossed in the mix just made it all the more plausible a theory. Still, what in the world was going on?
He couldn't say he liked the way the Spirit of the Ring was glaring at him. If it got much more annoyed, he'd fear his head was in danger of melting from the heat of the other's stare. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned hearing Atemu-kun's voice, but it had seemed like it might be important information towards what was going on. After all, if he could hear Atemu-kun now and he hadn't been able to before, then didn't that mean they were getting closer? That they might be able to get to Kaiba-kun sooner rather than later?
(He was holding no illusions that that wasn't the thief's purpose. At this point, the Spirit could launch into a long-winded speech about the Sennen Items and defeating the Pharaoh, but he wouldn't be fooled. He'd seen enough hints along the way now to figure this particular puzzle out. There were feelings there of some sort. He was smart enough, though, to keep his mouth shut; just because the other Bakura seemed to really like Kaiba-kun, it didn't make him any less dangerous to know. Hell, it might make him more so. The man had terrifying levels of dedication, after all; look at what he was doing now. He did not envy Kaiba-kun in the least.)
In retrospect, though, maybe he shouldn't have mentioned Atemu-kun being awake, at least not with Mokuba-kun around. The smaller Kaiba might be startlingly mature for his age, but he was still just thirteen. He'd almost certainly connected the dots between Atemu-kun's return and his brother's well-being. He hadn't quite perfected the stony mask Kaiba-kun was so good at; he could see the worry radiating off him where he sat stock-still next to the thief. He didn't know what to say to repair the error and 'I'm sorry' didn't quite seem sufficient, so he bit his lip in worry and fretted over if Atemu-kun felt any closer or not with every turn of the car.
A hand touched his knee. He glanced over at Malik-kun, a question on his face. The other's voice was quiet when he spoke, "You'll find them, Yuugi." Obviously a little uncertain about what he was saying, he paused and considered his words before he said anything else. "I know you, and if you want to find them, you will -- and they'll be all right."
"You think so?" he returned as softly. There was no sense drawing any more of Bakura's ire down on his head, after all.
Malik nodded decisively, like there was absolutely no doubt in his mind on the matter. "I know so. That's your magic, Yuugi."
Diaboundo didn't really have a lot to say or do or anything, but the ka monster wasn't too bad to be around, he decided to himself. It didn't talk enough to annoy him; it didn't say anything at all, really. Rather its silences had degrees that, if he listened intently enough, he could just about determine the meanings of. That suited him well enough, he supposed, but... Well, he never thought he'd miss Bakura's ramblings and scoldings, but in a way, he supposed he did. He'd never thought he'd be the type to feel lonely without someone, but...
He shook his head to clear that line of thought. There wasn't a lot of point in missing Bakura. Either he'd come back or he wouldn't, and if he did come back, either he'd stay just long enough to get him out of here or he'd stay longer. He wasn't counting on that though. The longer the other was away, the more he had to wonder if -- and why -- he might be interested in someone completely anti-social and off-putting as he was, if he wasn't looking at him and seeing Seth.
Diaboundo shifted around him, and the silence almost sounded like pouting. Could Bakura hear though the monster? That could be... interesting. Was he listening right now, to see if he was all right? Excepting Mokuba, he was wholly unused to someone worrying about him. He supposed that's what he could classify the complaining Bakura did as; he wasn't too sure since it wasn't exactly something he had a lot of experience in till now.
He'd had a brief moment earlier where he'd wondered why Bakura didn't just use the monster to get him out of here, but it had been short-lived. The Collector's device drained magic and the soul, at least according to Bakura and the Collector, and the creature was a creation of both of those. That probably meant the machine was resistant to anything Diaboundo could do to it, that it was resistant to magic being used on it, especially offensively like that, which in turn likely meant it was going to take something physical to get him out of these cuffs, like lock picks -- if Bakura had found some by the time he arrived -- or a knife. Like the blade hidden within the Sennen Rod perhaps...
It just felt like it would be so easy to call the Rod over to him, like it would just float over into his hands. It might have done that with Seth as Its wielder, but as Bakura had stated, he was not Seth. It might not -- no, it would not -- behave for him as it had for his counterpart.
Nevertheless, a glow was beginning to emanate from the case he knew the Sennen Items to be housed in, soft and golden. From where he lay, he couldn't detect what shape the glow might be taking and therefore which Item it might be. Something told him the Puzzle was gone from inside the case, which meant someone had come in here at some point to remove it, which lead his exhausted mind to ready options for the glow: the Rod or the Ring.
And if it was the Ring, that could only mean one thing. Bakura was back.
Saying a light bulb went off in his mind was clichéd and not wholly accurate. It was more like a lightning strike of awareness in the way it hit him fast and hard. This was the building Diaboundo was in; this was where Seto was being held. And more than that, he could sense the Ring as well. He was going to pretend that the voices of his people, the spirits of Kuru Eruna, weren't also just faintly audible. If he could just hold on to the sense of where his ka monster was and try to tune out the rest, he should be okay. Once this was over with, though, he was going to have to spend a few hours freaking out. Somehow he'd been so certain that once he was really dead and Zork was defeated, the ninety-nine spirits in the Items would be released. But it looked like they wouldn't be free till the Items were truly destroyed.
The little Kaiba was truly attentive. He'd barely had to gesture to the house before he'd had the car stopped. He had debated on telling the kid to wait in the car, but the Pharaoh's midget had beaten him to it and got to be the 'bad guy' for once. So in turn, Mokuba had quickly shuffled through what cards he had with him and pressed a few monster cards in his hands with a whispered explanation of "Honda told me what you could do at Duelist Kingdom". So he'd let the Pharaoh's midget and the inbred ass-end of a hippo (otherwise known as Malik Ishtar) go traipsing merrily along in the direction they thought the Pharoah might be in -- and here he was, in the dark and closing the gap between his ka monster -- and in turn, Seto -- and himself. It wasn't totally unlike groping his way through various tombs during his first chance at life, but apparently yadonushi's eyes weren't quite as adept at seeing in the dark as his had been; he kept running into things.
It was frustrating him to no end. There was only one wall left between them. He knew it. He had to have made a complete lap of it, though, and he'd yet to turn up a way in. There was no door that he could find; in fact, there was barely more than a seam, and that was only in one section of the wall.
This would be so much simpler, he thought to himself with a huff of annoyance, if he felt in any way safe pulling Diaboundo away from Seto. He wasn't ready to take that chance yet though. He hadn't become the King of Thieves by taking stupid chances in dangerous situations, after all, and he wasn't dumb enough to start now, not when Seto was -- of course -- right in the middle of that very same trouble.
He felt along the wall till he came to that seam again. Yes, it definitely felt like it had the potential to be a door, if he could find a way to open it. A careful examination, a good deal more thorough than his first scan, revealed what felt like a keypad directly beside the seam. It almost blended in with the wall, which was probably why he'd missed it before. And as it stood now, he wasn't too much better off than he'd been before: this was new 'trap' technology to him, something he'd only ever seen before, mostly through yadonushi's eyes, and not anything he'd ever had to beat. It wasn't like any of the tombs he'd ever robbed had had one in them.
Okay, he could handle this, one way or another. There were twelve buttons in all of equal size and evenly spaced, so maybe it was like a telephone: numbers one through nine, a zero, and two other buttons, perhaps enter and clear? He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall and tried to think. What kind of a password would the Collector set? Something easy for him to remember, obviously, but what? What would someone like him choose? And beyond that, how would it be entered? Frankly he was striking out, but at least there was a resource near at hand that he could still tap.
Diaboundo's attention was on what he was guessing to be a far wall. It had shifted slowly in a complete circle around him, and even he could tell it was focused on something just on the other side of that barrier. It didn't seem hostile towards whatever it was sensing, but it was definitely looking attentive. Coupled with the fact that the bright glow emanating from the case the Items were in was starting to take on a familiar shape, despite the fact it was nearly bright enough to light the entire room, it had to be Bakura. It had to be him.
"Seto?" The quiet voice he could just hear through the wall only confirmed his thoughts: it was definitely the white-haired man.
Was the Collector listening? Did he dare answer? At this point, what did he have to lose by not at least trying? "Bakura?" he returned.
"Yeah." He could hear the exhaustion in the other's voice. Whatever had happened, whatever he had done to the other when he tried to bring him back, had left the white-haired man with few resources left to run on. Immediately coming after him and leaving Diaboundo couldn't have helped matters in any way. Even with his eyes wide open, he could picture the exhaustion sagging through the other's body. "I'm going to get you out of there, but it's going to take some help from your side."
He shifted away from the monster to kneel on his own, though Diaboundo didn't move away from him. Even that much motion made his stomach threaten to turn; really he wasn't in much better shape than Bakura at this point, but they both needed to keep going. When this was over, though, he had the feeling they were both going to crash and sleep for a week. "What do you need me to do?"
"There's a keypad by the door. Twelve buttons, so I figure it's like a phone: numbers, enter, and clear? Sound right?"
He closed his eyes and mentally called up an image of the keypad to Kaiba Corp's lab. Bakura's guess was probably fairly accurate. It was just a matter of expanding upon it. "It's possible. If so, then there are a couple options. One: it's a specific set of numbers, like his birthday or something like that. Possibility number two is, he's using the numbers like letters and it spells something. And since he sounds American, it'd probably be in English letters." He proceeded to give the breakdown of numbers to letters as best he could recall from some of his American clients' phones. "Enter would be on the right and clear on the left." And if they were extremely lucky, the Collector wouldn't have it set to completely close off if the wrong code was entered.
That Bakura was cursing in an impressive array of languages, some of which he could only suppose the meanings and origins of -- and that he didn't want to guess at how the other knew -- probably wasn't a good sign. Apparently his first guesses hadn't worked. He could just imagine the frustrated look the white-haired man wore, and that the image jumped to his mind so quickly was a little alarming. That he knew Bakura would next mutter something like "What the hell" and start trying random codes... Well, it didn't bear thinking on.
Only a second or two later, he heard a faint hiss and then fumbling footsteps. Diaboundo didn't move, so it had to be Bakura. A pale form moved slowly into the light: Bakura... Ryou? But it had sounded like the Bakura he'd been coming to know these past few days. How could it be the other Bakura... unless...
Suddenly the dots connected in his mind. The Collector's last 'guest', who had been drained of his soul, had been Bakura Ryou. So, against Bakura's predictions, he must have somehow survived. Well, at least his body had survived, but without a soul, it wouldn't be very useful, unless one happened to be trying to recreate the body of a three thousand year old spirit; somehow he must have stuck Bakura back into Ryou's body. It was the body that should be more recognizable to him, from Battle Ship and the duel on the rooftop of Kaiba Corp, but somehow he'd started to assume that, when Bakura returned, it would be as the tall tanned thief. It didn't matter that much to him, but it was a bit of a surprise, to be expecting one and see the other.
"Diaboundo." It was just the monster's name, but it moved to attention. The single word was obviously a command, because it moved away from him to the case where the Items were sealed. It looked like his guess from earlier was correct: the glass might be supposed to be bullet-proof, but it was obviously not nearly the same caliber as his own -- and not even close to Diaboundo-proof. The monster dropped the Items into Bakura's waiting hands, who in turn shuffled all but two into a rucksack that looked terribly familiar. It should, after all, since Mokuba had dragged him out to help look all over the city and into Tokyo for that one specific one. So, somehow, Bakura had gotten Mokuba's assistance but had left him behind. That was a good thing. The two Items Bakura kept out, though, he'd definitely recognize in a heartbeat: the Ring, which he quickly pulled over his neck and tucked under his shirt, and the Rod.
Almost immediately after slipping the Ring on, Bakura's stance straightened. There was obviously still some magic left in them, and he was tapping it to keep the exhaustion at bay. He was definitely moving more fluidly as he crossed the room to drop to one knee before him. "Ready to get out of here, Seto?" he asked sardonically, a smug expression beginning to cover his face.
He couldn't help it; he felt an answering smirk tugging at his own lips. "Past." He lifted the cuffs. "I'm not too fond of these."
Bakura flipped the Rod over and unsheathed its hidden blade and set to work, using it as an overgrown lockpick. "So no handcuffs in bed, I understand."
He felt heat rush to his face, and it was all he could do not to choke. "When exactly did I agree to this, Bakura?" He was rather pleased with how steady his voice sounded, despite the nervousness he felt.
Silver eyes looked up to lock on his. "You will," the other stated, utter certainty in his voice. The words were immediately chased by the quiet clicking sound of the cuffs unlatching.
It felt like he'd been wandering in this monsterously huge house for just about an eternity. There was something vaguely unsettling about each room he'd been in thus far, mostly little things that seemed odd next to everything around them. At least Mokuba-kun had agreed to stay in the car. This place just wasn't for someone that young; he wasn't sure it was somewhere he needed to be.
The thief had vanished very soon after they'd gone inside, moving unerringly -- if a little wobbly -- towards a door which had turned out to reveal to a downward-leading stairwell, but at least he wasn't alone in this creepy place, he reflected as Malik gave his hand a light squeeze. This was pretty rough, but it was made bearable by the fact he wasn't alone. Who was with him was also helpful, he thought to himself with some personal amusement.
Atemu-kun didn't feel any closer the more he explored the place; in fact, the further up he went, the further away he seemed. He didn't want to go down into that basement, though it didn't look like he had any choice. Heart pounding in his throat, he slowly descended the stairs into pitch blackness. How in the world was he supposed to find Atemu-kun if he couldn't see where he was going? Had the Spirit of the Ring come through here after Kaiba-kun?
"It looks like there's two pathways," Malik-kun interrupted his dire thoughts. "One goes just off to your left and the other to your right."
"Malik-kun, you can see in this?" he asked in sheer amazement.
"A bit. It's not that much darker than when we lived underground. I can't really make out too much definitely but I can see shadows of objects. Which was does it feel like the Pharaoh is?" It was all just so matter-of-factly said that he couldn't help feeling even more impressed.
He reached out with his mind to where his connection with Atemu-kun was.... who had apparently been lying in wait for him. //Aibou?//
/We're almost there,/ he returned in assurance before turning his attention to Malik-kun. "The right."
Malik-kun led him down the hallway, which just seemed to go on forever, until he saw the faintest bit of golden light ahead. It was a very particular kind of a glow, one he'd only ever seen come off the Items. With a new sense of wariness, he followed Malik-kun the rest of the way to it and turned the corner into a wide open room filled with antiquities museums would murder to have. His eyes tracked the light source quickly down to the far wall, where the Puzzle hung suspended from the ceiling -- and it reflected off the golden throne just behind it.
It was odd: the last time he'd seen Atemu-kun, he'd looked like the tanned man seated before him, but somehow he'd been expecting a near clone of himself, if just a bit taller and with slightly different eyes and hair. He hadn't really expected to see the Pharaoh. Malik-kun looked much calmer about all this, but then Malik-kun looked much calmer about all this, but then Malik-kun was a lot better at that than he was. And maybe Malik-kun was seeing something he wasn't. He took a longer look at the man before them and noticed at last that he was transparent, like when he'd been a spirit. No, even more so. He was fading before their eyes!
"Atemu-kun!" burst from his lips as he dashed forward. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he couldn't just stand idly by and watch him go again.
"Aibou." The single word was short and authoritative -- and it brought him to a quick stop. This was the Pharaoh, after all, and that he was accustomed to having people obey him immediately was apparently. He definitely was. "It's good to see you again, aibou. I waited here for that." He smiled tiredly and perhaps a bit sadly. "You haven't changed at all."
"Atemu-kun, are you..." The words stuck in his throat, but at least he wasn't choking on tears for this goodbye. Not like the last time Atemu-kun had left.
"Aibou, I'm gone. I just wanted to say goodbye to you." He gestured at his fading form. "I will not exist like this: needing others' magic and souls to survive. My history is soaked in enough blood and regret." Hard eyes turned to lock on Malik-kun. "Take care of my aibou."
"I will." He glanced over his shoulder to see Malik-kun regarding the Pharaoh with the utmost sincerity. "You can count on it."
"I will be watching." He turned back to the other, in time to see him finish his fade away with a final "Goodbye, aibou" before he was gone.
"Goodbye, mou hitori no boku," he answered to the disappearing light.
He bolted upright, panting his way out of sleep. It had been years since he'd had a nightmare, till the first night he'd slept in his own bed again, after that ordeal with the Collector a few weeks back. He'd been double-teamed once Bakura had gotten him to the car, and between him and Mokuba, they'd convinced him to go to a hospital. Once Ishtar and Yuugi joined them, the pair unusually down-looking, they'd left as quickly as they possibly could. The drive back to the hospital Ryou's body had been and where bonkotsu and the dancer were waiting was silent, and those four had stated it would be best for them to return to Domino on their own. He'd had to no wish to put up with them for the drive back anyway, so he'd readily agreed. Bakura, though, had proven a good deal harder to get rid of, not that he'd tried all that hard.
Still, the three nights he'd been in the hospital had been nightmare-free, though to be fair, he was unsure what, if any, additional drugs might have been in the fluids he'd been given via IV to make up for two days without food or water. He didn't even really have too clear a memory of being in the hospital: so that supported his theory: he'd been too drugged to remember what dreams he'd had. Not that he had a clear memory, even right now, just after waking up, of what the nightmare had been about -- other than that the rescue never came. There was only that room and the darkness and the pain.
He pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, chafing his wrists where the cuffs had bitten into his wrists and pulled at his energy and left him with marks which vaguely resembled burn scars that the doctors were helpless to explain. They were just two more scars to add to his collection, but they always seemed to ache after the nightmares, more so now that the bandages had come off.
He was all right in the daytime and at night when people were around and there was light, but here alone in the dark, it was harder to forget, harder to let go, and harder even to breathe. He refused to be a prisoner to this, but apparently the rest of him didn't agree. For the events that had occurred, this was probably an ordinary reaction, but he'd always prided himself on being extraordinary; so much of his life, he'd had to be. He couldn't let himself be crippled by this, so he refused to leave a light on and why he wouldn't tell Mokuba or his new... house guest (since Bakura seemed to have moved in and Mokuba, surprisingly enough, hadn't argued in the least) about this. He wasn't going to--
The lamp on the opposite side of the room switched on, blinding in the sudden change from pitch black to light, and he winced his eyes shut against it involuntarily. They were dragged back open when a quiet, familiar voice asked, "Nightmare?"
He opened his mouth to deny it, but there wasn't much point. The truth was fairly apparent, and since Bakura looked comfortable enough in the chair for his writing/computer desk to have been there a while, he was better the other had been since before he woke up. "Yes."
"It's to be expected, Seto. You've been through a lot recently." Silver eyes gazed back at him, almost daring him to deny it.
He couldn't believe he was having this conversation in his bedroom, dressed in only silk sweat pants and staring across the room where Bakura was wearing pajamas that had to have been Ryou's. Of course, that led to thoughts of other things they could be doing in the bedroom, which in turn brought a faint flush to his face, and he glanced down at his knees hoping to conceal it. "Perhaps," he conceded, "but I can't afford this weakness, not with the Collector still out there."
"You can't afford to be dead on your feet either, and since you're so stubborn.." Bakura sounded like he'd made up his mind on something as he stood up when he spoke, walking to the bed; he, on the other hand, kept his eyes carefully locked on the identical scars that circled Bakura's wrists as well, souvenirs from Ryou's stay with the Collector. "Seriously, Seto-babe, you need a keeper; you refuse to take care of yourself. Slide."
It took a second to catch up with the non sequitur, since he'd been preparing to argue that he didn't have time to take care of himself, and for him to realize Bakura was standing beside the bed, staring at him in waiting -- and just what he was waiting for. Almost hesitantly he slid towards the center of his bed, watching as Bakura slipped under the sheets after him and made himself comfortable. "Bakura..." he started then let himself trail off. There was no arguing with this one: apparently the lamp was going to stay on and he was going to have a bed partner. He was learning to pick and choose his battles where the other was concerned.
Cautiously, he laid back down then promptly jumped as Bakura threw an arm over him and moved himself to spoon up behind him. He was... warm, perhaps comfortable, like this was something he'd missed instead of something wholly new. For the first time in weeks, likely longer, he felt... relaxed. There was such a sense of security at times like this with Bakura, when he snuck up behind him to embrace him or even just when he showed up at the office to drag him home before it got too late, that he was starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be in rigid control of everything in his life, that maybe he could let someone else in and take control of some of it. And, while he knew the other wanted more, he hadn't pushed him for anything he wasn't ready for yet. That made a difference as well.
"Tomorrow..." Bakura yawned, interrupting his words. "Tomorrow, call in sick and stay here," he paused, obviously debating, "okay? With me." The arm around him tightened just slightly. "A day in bed could do you some good." The tone changed slightly to the more seductive flirting tone he was becoming familiar with, that rolled through his mind like silk and made him think of things he had no experience in but was steadily becoming more interested in trying. "I know it would do me some good."
...And he could find no way to argue with that. He had plenty of reasons why he shouldn't, but... "Okay."
Bakura nodded, obviously pleased. "Good. Now get some rest."
Half a smile threatened to appear on his lips, but he held it back. "Yeah, yeah."
He closed his eyes and slept.
posted by Apollymi @ 2/25/2007 12:10:00 PM
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//Can you still hear me?//
The voice was much softer now, so much quieter than it had been only days before. He bit his lip before letting his eyes slide closed and his attention turn inward. /I can, but just barely. Are you all right?/
//Are you?//
He should have known better. That particular question - as well as any of its ilk - would never be answered. /I'm fine. Is IT trying something? You sound so far away./
//I don't think so. Not yet anyway. Go back to what you were doing.//
What he was doing was biting his upper lip in worry as he opened his eyes again. He almost wished Yuugi was here. Even putting up with the older boy's other half would be worth some answers. He was worried about his other half after all. After the debacle that was Battle City, they'd hardly switched off at all. It almost felt like he was being punished for his inability to hold the third part of their mind at bay.
//That's not true.// His other half sounded like he was pouting. //I'm not punishing you.//
/I know. It's just-/ He wasn't going to say or even allow himself to think it really, but he was still steamed at both Yuugis for the whole Osiris thing.
//It's hardly your fault you're not bad enough to hold IT back.//
He pouted. /I am so bad./
His other half chuckled, and he had to resist the urge to preen. //You cheated on your Domino High entrance exam, and you cussed - once! Badly, I might add. Yeah, let's put you in line for the next great evil, little one.//
It was so rare that his other half sounded happy at all anymore. Not that he had all that much to start off with, when he first got the Ring from his father. Then he'd been sullen and withdrawn, certain he'd only be in this body for a short while, before either the body was destroyed by IT or the Ring was sold to escape the 'curse'. He didn't know how many bearers the Ring and its two occupants had been through before him, but evidentially few of them had been long-lived or particularly kind. He'd seen some of his other half's nightmares, and they confirmed some of his suspicions.
Well, he was determined he was going to be the last bearer of the Sennen Ring. He was the first to share a name with one of its occupants, after all: the great, nearly broken Thief King Bakura.
He'd been making such progress, up until Duelist Kingdom. Stupid other Yuugi. Stupid graveyard. Stupid eyeball soup. Stupid Pegasus. Stupid Yuugi. Stupid Change of Heart. Stupid creepy Millennium Eye licking. Stupid Honda. And did he mention stupid Yuugi?
//I believe you did, little one.// There was a chuckle in his other's voice. //But I might suggest answering your teacher's question now.//
"Bakura-kun? The answer please?"
It would have helped to know the question. "Forty-two?"
The tittering laughter from his classmates, as well as the teacher's put-upon sigh, assured him that he most positively had not guessed correctly. The answer to life, the universe, and everything though it might be, apparently it was not the correct one this time.
//Concentrate on school. I'll talk to you afterwards.// The voice faded further away, and he was left with only the faintest of impressions of his other still in his mind.
He slammed the apartment door closed behind him, clicking the locks home as he toed off his shoes. He started to drop his bag in front of the closet door. /Are you there?/ he called desperately.
There was silence for several seconds, till his fingers had tightened on the strap of his book bag and his knuckles were white. //I'm here, little one.//
He released a sigh of relief, his legs going boneless so he sank to the floor. "Thank God," he whispered aloud. /I thought- I didn't know what to think. I was so scared./ He let out another breath. /I thought you were gone./
//You're not getting rid of me so easily, you know.// The voice was softer now than it had been even this afternoon in class.
/I'm coming in./ He always tried to warn his other before slipping into the room in his mind that he supposed was his soul. He wasn't too sure, but he believed his other appreciated it.
//Not yet.// Was that a desperate note in the former Thief King's voice? Worry, just beginning to recede a bit, rushed back up through him in a cold wave. //Why don't you at least change out of that uniform and into something more comfortable first? Weren't you just telling me last week how uncomfortable the winter uniform is? Go change, then come in.//
He wanted to object and barge directly in. Every inch of his relationship with his other was built on him not pushing Bakura too hard, though, or not going beyond any point the thief felt comfortable with, and he didn't want to ruin that now. His other was probably just tired. Yeah, that was it: he was tired. There was no reason to go plunging in their minds and risk ruining what he'd spent so long building. He'd never be able to take the thought of his other thinking he was like that, like them, like those who had held the Ring before him.
He drew himself to his feet and trudged back into his bedroom. Once there, he snagged the first shirt and pair of jeans he could find and changed into them. It was only once he'd settled into the nest of pillows he'd made for times like this in the room that had once housed a giant tabletop version of Monster World, yami no game-style, that he realized he'd put back on the same blue and white striped shirt, the same teal overshirt, and the same blue jeans he'd worn throughout Battle City. He'd been avoiding the outfit ever since then, with the memories it dredged up; he'd even been considering burning it or throwing it out. Well, he'd do that later. He had much more important things to be doing right now, after all. /I'm coming in now,/ he warned again.
Without giving his other a chance to respond, he slipped into the room that was supposed to represent his soul. Since it was a copy of the room his body was sitting in, only with said giant tabletop Monster World game still intact, he didn't see how that was supposed to be. Given the state of his other's room, however, perhaps these rooms were the embodiment of their worst memories. He was willing to bet it wasn't like this for Yuugi and the other Yuugi; their rooms were probably all their happiest memories. Stupid Yuugis.
He maneuvered his way out of his own less than comfortable room and up to the doorway leading out. This was never an easy step for him to take. He knew his other's room was directly across from his own, but he also knew about that treacherous hallway that lay between them and seemed to widen every time he came through here. With one more deep breath, he pushed the door open. The distance was up to about five meters now; no wonder his other sounded so far away, with the rate the hallway was widening. After all, the first time he'd done this, there was barely more than a meter between the doors.
Hurriedly, he crossed the distance, rapping on the thief's door before pushing it open, slipping in, and closing it just as quickly behind him. Really, he did not like that hallway. He knew one direction led to control of his body, but the other was a gaping maw where IT resided, never too far away. If he were a slightly more paranoid person, he'd say IT was after him. However, he was a realist; IT wasn't after him - IT was after the entire world, starting with the other Yuugi.
A world-weary sigh crossed his lips. IT was making him and his other into pawns in ITS dark game against the other Yuugi. Railing at IT was pointless, though, since he was nothing more than a mortal in the shadow of a dark god, so he instead chose to blame the other Yuugi for continuing to play against it and thereby dragging them in as cannon fodder. They were so far beyond screwed.
"You're perilously close to cursing again there, little one."
He turned to see his other standing a ways behind him. In the dim light, he could just make out the circles beneath Bakura's eyes... and were those fresh bruises on his wrists and cheek? Either he'd been asleep - and for some reason, whatever happened to him in his dreams also happened to his soul's body - or IT had been in here somehow. Neither option was particularly pleasant, but either presented a possibility on why the Thief King hadn't wanted him in here immediately. As worn down as he looked now, it was probably a vast improvement over then.
He walked slowly closer to Bakura, careful to make no sudden movements. Whichever possibility it was, he knew the thief wouldn't react well to him moving quickly. Stopping before, he lifted a hand to the taller man's injured cheek, willing himself not to be upset at the inevitable flinch his other made. "What happened?" he asked softly.
"I fell asleep," came the quiet admission.
He glanced around slightly. "And most of the torches have gone out." When he'd decided to add light to his other's room, he'd discovered the rather pleasing side-effect of it keeping some of the night demons from haunting the man.
The thief nodded. "And most of the torches have gone out," he repeated in confirmation.
He didn't really understand it, but somehow it was always a simple matter for him to stare at the dark torches till they relit themselves. As always, the sound of many-legged creatures skittering away accompanied the return of the light. He didn't like thinking of those creatures either; he didn't want to consider how close they may have come to his other before he received the Ring or what they might do to the thief if he was unsuccessful in his bid to free the man.
His other's room wasn't something he liked thinking about much either. Perhaps once it had been beautiful and proud, but now it lay in broken shambles, much like its owner. Blood-red linens hung from the walls and ceiling in tattered ribbons. Chipped artwork covered the broken stone walls. A bed that would have made kings sigh in pleasure took up most of one wall, but its white sheets were blotched dark in place, stained with its owner's blood. He frowned every time he looked at it. He'd begged Bakura not to go to sleep on it and to instead use the pillow nest he'd made for him in a particularly well-lit corner, much like the one his body now rested on, but somehow he got the feeling his other forgot from time to time. He'd slept there for thousands of years, after all. But even he knew some of what the previous Ring holders and IT had done to the thief in that bed. He wasn't going to touch him on it though; he didn't want Bakura associating him with any of those memories.
He held a hand out to his other. There was a long stretch of time till Bakura grasped it and gave it a light squeeze. He favored the thief a smile and pulled him over to the nest he'd created one of his first visits here. It was something of a relief how easily the Thief King came with him this time. Once upon a time, this never would have occurred, at least not so easily. Bakura was finally starting to trust him. He had to hold himself back from jumping up and down in joy. No sense scaring the man needlessly, after all.
It was probably another mark of how far they'd come in the time they'd been sharing a body - and at least part of a mind - that his other allowed himself to just lay down. At first, he'd been- Well, to him, it was scary. He couldn't deny his other was beautiful and he was definitely falling in love with him and he could see himself someday having sex with his other, but it had definitely fallen in the realm of weird and freaky when Bakura first did that artful arranging of his body and started whispering words that still made him shudder to think of.
Sometimes he wished the former holders of the Sennen Ring were still alive. He'd like to rip their throats out with his bare hands, much like Bakura had admitted to having done to the mind of the first one who touched him. But the Ring had been through many holders over three millennia, most of which were hardened, cruel men, and as time passed, one by one, they started breaking the thief. And, both fortunately and unfortunately, the last had died fifty years before he was even born, much less received the Ring. There would be no revenge to be had, and he wasn't too sure his other would understand why he was killing the hell out of those bastards anyway.
He settled down into the pile of pillows and blankets, leaning up against the wall before letting Bakura arrange him as he would. He held back his surprise when the thief draped himself over his lap, resting his head on his stomach and wrapping his arms around his waist. "Bakura?" he asked softly.
The Thief King shifted slightly. Almost against his will, he found his arms coming up to gently hold the other as well. Lightly, not too tight, he reminded himself. He didn't want his other to think he was holding him down or anything. "Hush," he intoned softly. "You worry too much, little one."
"I'm sorry," he answered as quietly. He brushed his hand through the thief's hair. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to you ever again."
His other let out of a soft sigh. It sounded content. "I think you're the only one who's ever worried about me before." He was pressed close enough that he could feel the taller man swallow nervously. "Thank you."
Again, he ran his fingers through the other's hair, marveling to himself as always how much softer it was than his own. This was something he'd learned early soothed his other: any form of soft, non-forceful touches, to his hair especially. "I wish-"
"You're always so nice to me, and I don't understand why," Bakura interrupted him. This was most definitely new. Bakura had never interrupted him before. This was, in his mind, a good sign. "You don't even ask me to do anything, even when I offered," he continued, his voice a bit muffled as he spoke into his stomach, but in this place, the words were easy to make out. "You've kept me safe and you've given me the light, and I can't give you anything in return."
"You keep me safe from IT," he whispered, a little fearful that saying ITs name might summon it. "You keep me safe too, and you've been my only real friend for forever." He hugged the taller man closer to himself. He wanted to say he loved him, but... How would he take it?
"I don't think I know how to love someone." Oh no, he'd actually said it out loud?! "I don't even know if I can anymore, if I could to start with. No one has cared for me since my family was... killed, except Diaboundo and you. I've always been alone."
"You're not alone anymore," he broke in. "I'm here, and I'm going to find a way to free you from the Ring."
"Why do you care what happens to me?" There was that note of curiosity in his voice again. "I'm not even what I was before. I'm not even a thief anymore, much less the Thief King!" Hysteria was edging into his voice, though completely without the self-pity he would expect from a lesser man, but he kept speaking into his stomach. "I'm just the spirit-whore of the Ring and-"
He yanked the thief back enough that he could meet his eyes. On some deeper, calmer level, he was surprised at his own strength, especially given how much bigger than him the Thief King was. "You are not a whore, Bakura! You never have and you never will be one! You were as much a victim in this as anyone!" A faint glimpse of fear crossed the other's eyes, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, willing his fingers to unclench from his other's robes. When he spoke again, he was careful to modulate his voice. "Please don't think of yourself that way. Think of yourself as the one I love."
He wasn't sure the shock and confusion he saw now was any better than the fear, but he'd take it. "But why do you love me? I haven't done anything to earn it."
He brushed the backs of his fingers against the bruise on Bakura's cheek, quietly surprised as it vanished beneath his touch. He would definitely have to remember that. "You don't have to earn my love. You're you. That's enough." That was more than he'd ever expected since he moved away from his family to prevent IT from getting too close to them.
"Even though I don't know how to love you back? Even though I'm not very good at protecting you from IT? Even though I worry you all the time - and I scared you that once?"
"I was thirteen! Half of what you said didn't make sense at the time." He chuckled softly. "Besides, I think I scared you worse when I jumped like a scalded cat." An almost timid smile covered the other's face, and he felt one building on his own in response as he touched his face again. "And yes, 'even though' all of that, I love you."
"Even though I'm trying to prepare him to face IT, and you don't like him?"
Maybe he shouldn't make such a big deal about his dislike of the other Yuugi where the thief could hear it from now on. "That's your," he floundered a moment for the word he needed, "job - your responsibility - as the spirit of the Ring. I couldn't think bad of you for it." He leaned down slightly to kiss his other's cheek. "And I think you're doing a very good job at it. The other Yuugi will be ready for IT when the time comes." If the other Yuugi had the sense the gods gave a stone, that was. The other being that inhabited the Ring wasn't going to be defeated in a simple game of Duel Monsters, after all.
"You're always so nice."
He grinned and even let out a giggle. "Not always." Before the confusion could really cross his other's face, he reached out and sought the ticklish spots he'd found along the thief's too thin ribs. Bakura howled in laughter, squirming to get away from him as he squirmed to stay close enough to keep touching, even letting his fingers wander inside his robes to better reach flesh.
When he finally stopped, both were in a heap of limbs and out of breath. "I take it back, little one," Bakura panted.
"Hmm?" was all he was able to get out in reply. Even though he too had been laughing nearly as hard as his other, he was beginning to suspect that much of the reason he was short of breath was from how the Thief King was lying above him - and he certainly wasn't complaining!
"You are the next great evil." The thief sounded so amused and he was even grinning broadly, another thing he'd never seen the man do before. "You just hide it better than the rest of us." He leaned down to kiss his lips, and he nearly lost what tenuous control he had on himself. His thief had no concept of closed-mouth kisses, after all.
It had been three years since he'd tasted Bakura, and then he'd been a scared boy, too confused and frankly terrified to realize how good the thief tasted. His sister's romance books always assigned flavors to people; if his other was any flavor, if any flavor came close, it was dark chocolate: bittersweet but so smooth and sinful. He could get addicted. He tasted so good, and he was so beautiful, and he had no idea what to do to make Bakura feel as good as he was, but that was okay because the thief knew where to place his hands, and if Bakura felt half as good as he did, then he had to be melting.
He felt a shudder go through him, and he arched into his other's touch. It took another shudder for him to realize it wasn't coming from either of them. The thief was already pulling back from him, looking around in... what looked like a combination of terror, surprise, and anger.
"Wh-what's happening?" How long had it been since he stuttered? It was his other's expression that did it, really. He'd never seen the thief look like that before. Everything else had bled away to leave nothing but the anger.
The Thief King was climbing gracefully to his feet, taking his hand and pulling him up as well. This was the face Bakura showed the other Yuugi, especially when he was preparing him for IT. When he had this face on, his thief looked invincible, unconquerable, and a bit... well... evil. Was this how he'd looked before he was locked in the Ring all those years ago?
The confidence on his other's face, that his entire body showed... He couldn't help it - this Bakura was gorgeous, at least as much as - if not even more so - what he was used to seeing. He wanted to reach out and touch him, see if he felt, tasted, smelled any different when he was like this. No, bad self. No molesting his other because he looked hot and dangerous - because he was looking like that for a reason. As long as he had that firmly in his mind... "Bakura?"
"I think..." He trailed off, staring off at nothing. "IT's making ITs move."
"So soon?" He followed his other's gaze, but there wasn't anything to be seen. What did the thief's silvery eyes see that he couldn't?
The taller man turned his attention back to him, and for a second, the thief he usually knew was there before his eyes shuttered back down. Tugging the hand he had yet to release, Bakura led him towards the door. "I want you to get in your body and run. Just keep running."
"Bakura?" he queried. "IT's in my head. How is running going to help? It's not like I can get away from IT."
"It's harder to take control of a body in motion. We might be able to buy some time."
"For what?" The Thief King was silent, instead opening the door to that evil hallway. "What are you going to do?"
"Don't ask, little one."
He attached himself like a limpet to his other's robes. "I don't want to lose you! You're my only friend. I love you! I don't want to lose you!" He was repeating himself, but he failed to care. He'd rather condemn the world to darkness before he gave up his other now. He'd beg, murder, steal, anything to keep him, to protect, to keep him with him forever. "Please don't leave me."
"This isn't going to be our farewell yet. Now move. I'll hold IT here as long as I can."
"Bakura..."
The thief was silent, staring at him for a long moment. He fought the urge to squirm beneath that silver gaze and looked right back at him, trying to will his reluctance to his other through his eyes. The room shuddered around them again, Bakura's hand released his, and... And he was back in his body. The Thief King must have shoved him back here, and he had to fight the urge to go right back into his mind. He... should... "Bakura?" he called aloud. /Bakura?/
For the longest moment of his sixteen years, silence stretched out, then, as faint as a whisper... //Go!//
Without another thought, he pushed himself to stand and ran to the door, jamming his feet into his sneakers without bothering to tie them, and was out of the apartment. He didn't even notice if the lock was in place or even if he closed the door. He had to keep moving. If he kept moving, it would be easier on his other, right? Right?
He could barely draw in a breath. His lungs hurt, his entire chest ached with each breath he drew in. He had long since started tripping over his own feet, and each time it was harder to get back up. He fell again rounding the metal pipes (Bike racks? he asked himself in exhaustion), and this time he had to stay down a beat longer than every other time to catch his breath.
///Where are you going?///
That... wasn't his other's voice. Or rather, that wasn't just his other's voice; there was a scraping metallic overlying layer on it as well. IT, perhaps? Had his other been unable to hold it back any longer? This long was a miracle in and of itself, but...
He shoved himself to his feet, forcing himself to run down the alley. Where was he anyway? He wasn't any too sure where he was; he had just started running and kept going. Was he even still in Domino anymore? He'd left the apartment in the afternoon, and now a full orange moon hovered in the sky. What time was it? How long had he been running? However long it had been, he couldn't keep it up indefinitely. He wasn't the most graceful person by nature, and utter exhaustion wasn't helping that any. Even his mental voice was shaky as he wearily called out again, /Bakura?/
There was no answer save his own panting breaths.
At the end of the alley, it loomed, like some kind of tattered angel of hope. He didn't know where it had come from, but it was a Christian church. Weren't they supposed repel demons or something like that? He wasn't sure what IT was, but 'demon' seemed an applicable term. If what they said about churches was correct, maybe he could stop long enough for his body to recover a bit.
The doors opened easily beneath his hands. How odd that they weren't locked. That was like asking thieves to come in, he mused... or half-possessed people looking for an escape from one of the spirits in their bodies.
Then the candles at the altar began to light up, one and two at a time till the front of the church was awash in a soft light. It should have been beautiful, but instead it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. This meant IT was here. "L-leave me alone!"
The voice spoke again. ///You can't hide. You have a mission to accomplish.///
IT didn't differentiate between him and his other? IT thought of them as the same person? "Mission?"
///Now the Sennen Items are in the hands of the Pharaoh and Shaadi, who will give his Items to the Pharaoh sooner or later, so all the Sennen Items will be in his hands. When the Items are collected, the Door to the Afterlife can be opened. You have to find and hide the eighth Item, a key.///
Oh gods, IT wouldn't be coming to him for this if his other... Where was Bakura?! And that ringing noise that accompanied ITs voice, it was driving him crazy! "I-"
But IT was ignoring him. ///The eighth Item is the key to the door of the Afterlife. Its secrets are hidden in the Pharaoh's memories.///
"I don't know anything about it!"
The buzzing noise ceased abruptly and around him, the stained-glass windows shattered, but there was no way he could really do more than just notice it peripherally. Something - IT was tearing ITs way into control of his body, and oh God, it hurt like he was dying, but even dying had to be better than this! To make matters worse, IT was still speaking. ///Nameless Pharaoh, when the door to your memories is opened, the ultimate dark game that has spanned three thousand years will begin.///
And worse than ITs speaking was ITs laughter. It drowned out everything: his thoughts, his attempts to hold onto control of his own body, his screams of pain.
When darkness swam up to swallow him, it was a welcome oblivion.
The oblivion did not last long enough. He felt like he'd been through a cheese grater, and sadly he was pretty sure this was a huge improvement. A cool hand lay upon his forehead. Where was he, that someone would touch him with such consideration? Not even his so-called friends would care enough to try to sooth his pain. Still, it felt so nice that he didn't want to even attempt opening his eyes yet.
"Time to wake up and play, yadonushi."
'Yadonushi'? He felt his eyes going painfully wide, and he struggled to sit up. Above him was the demon. IT wore the face the thief presented to the outside world, but he could see the mad glitter that declared this was IT, not his other. When had IT traded his overshirt for a long black coat? And more importantly, why was he in that forsaken hallway?! Where was his other?!
He shot to his feet and glanced around desperately, ready to try to sprint to Bakura's door. The door was fading, though, and fading fast. Then, before his eyes, it was gone. Did that mean his other... No. No time to worry now.
"Does this mean you don't want to play, my sweet little yadonushi?"
The demon's idea of playing probably involved lots of blood and body parts never designed to be seen suddenly being outside the body. "G-get away from me!"
A thin, delicate-looking finger reached out and trailed down his cheek, as light as a tear, before he flinched back away from it. "Beautiful, terrified yadonushi," IT crooned, ITs voice so like the thief's that he wanted to sob. "Your body is mine."
"No!" he cried out in automatic denial, but IT ignored him.
"Go hide in your soul, yadonushi, and watch as I destroy the Nameless Pharaoh."
That sounded like the best plan he'd heard in a long time, and carefully he stepped away, backing away till he hit the wall beside the door. There was no way he was giving his creature his back, which it seemed to find quite amusing. Quickly, he threw open his door, slipped inside and slammed it shut again, leaning heavily against it and closing his eyes to block out the sound of ITs laughter. The silence and near darkness of his room had never been such a blessing.
The disappearance of Bakura's door still plagued him. That meant the thief was gone, didn't it? If these rooms were their souls and Bakura's room was gone, then...
"Little one?"
No, it was too good to be true. How could Bakura still be alive?! This had to be some trick of the demon's! If he answered, then he'd hear that insane laughter at how easily he'd been tricked. If he opened his eyes, he'd see his own face, twisted and mad, not bronzed skin and silver eyes. "Bakura," he moaned out, completely unconsciously.
"Is that really you this time?"
It was the 'this time' that drew his eyes open. Even if it was a fake Bakura or one created by his mind, it didn't deserve any of what the demon would do it it - him. The blackness of his room was too close to absolute for him to see more than an inch before him, but if this room really was a copy of his gaming room, then there should be a light switch next to him. He groped for it, a full ten centimeters further than he'd anticipated. This wall wasn't set up like the RPG room, though, he thought to himself; it was more than his bedroom. He flicked the switch on and tried to contain his surprise that it was indeed his bedroom now! Not that he was complaining, but - how?!
No, that wasn't quite correct. There should be a wall separating the RPG room and his bedroom, a wall which was no longer there. It transformed his tiny bedroom that was barely big enough for himself into a spacious room better suited for two people. But there were also a few other differences, not the least of which being the man laying down on his bed with its suddenly different set of sheets.
He wanted to answer the man's question, but what came out was "Are you really Bakura?"
"I think I am?" It sounded like a question, and that drew a wet, thick sob from him.
His legs threatening to give out on him every step, he made his way over to drop to his knees beside the bed. "I was so afraid you were gone. When I saw the door to your room disappear, I thought... I thought you were..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even if this wasn't his Bakura, he couldn't say it, that he'd feared the thief dead.
"You're hurt." The words were shaky at best as the other man slowly sat up and turned to face him full on, a leg on either side of his still kneeling body. "What did IT do to you, little one?"
"Wh-what?" He couldn't think. All he could see were the long, lean lines of the thief's body - and all the new wounds that adorned it. Oh god, this had to be his Bakura; his own mind would never have created such a detail, and IT wasn't creative enough for something like this, and the Thief King had said he would try to hold IT off as long as he could - was this what that entailed?
A warm fingertip moved down his cheek, following the same path as the previous one had. He fought to hold back a shiver, and Bakura's hand instead moved to touch his forehead. "You're bleeding."
He reached up to his face, surprised when his fingers came away wet and sticky with his own blood. "It's where IT touched me." Bakura's hand returned to his cheek, and he leaned into it, eyes slipping shut as exhaustion began to catch up with him. "It doesn't hurt."
A loud noise like cloth ripping pulled his eyes back open. Bakura had pulled a long strip off the sheets and was dabbing at his face with it. "I don't like you being injured at all, little one, whether it hurts or not," he was scolding.
"What about you?" The thief really didn't look so good. If Yuugi's friend Jyonouchi was here, he would probably say the man looked like he went three or four rounds against an entire gang. It might as well be the truth, he reflected. In three thousand years, the thief had never once gone against IT, and now he had. IT was never going to forget this.
"I'm fine." The Thief King's voice was terse, but that was probably because he was concentrating on his task of getting him cleaned up. He reached up to hold his other's hand still before he spoke again.
"Why the double standard? I want you to be safe and happy and not hurt too."
"I'm not important."
"Yes, you are. You're important to me. You're the one I love."
"Even though-"
This was definitely his Bakura. Only his thief could keep challenging him on whether or not he really loved him. He gently put a finger from his free hand over Bakura's lips. "Whatever 'even though' you can come up with, I'm still going to love you."
Bakura was silent for several long minutes then sighed. Once he moved his hand, the other spoke again. "You're very strange." He started to interrupt, but the thief kept speaking. "I don't know why or how you could even care for something like me. But I'm... going to try to be... whatever it is you want me to be."
"I want you to be you. That's all I've ever wanted from you, you know that. I love you." He leaned up slightly to kiss his other.
When the kiss broke a few moments later, the thief let out a soft breath, almost a sigh but not quite. "I can almost believe you when you say stuff like that." He gave the arm of his shirt a light tug to come up on the bed with him. "Come here, littl - Ryou."
This was certainly shaping up to be a night of firsts: the first time Bakura interrupted him, the first time he'd told the thief how he felt, the first time he'd seen the stronger side of the Thief King, the first time his name had passed his other's lips. If it weren't for IT, this would all be so perfect.
He crawled up on the bed and let his other arrange him. This, at least, he was used to. This was within his relative range of normal. Right now, thief kind of normal was what they both needed.
Forget the outside world. Forget IT - no, it was safe enough now to call IT by ITs name - Zork. They could all rot for all he cared. For him, there was the here and now. There, now it was perfect.
It was two days before he felt even slightly able to return to his own body, and even that was just to see out his own eyes. What he was able to see shocked him, and he hurried back to the room in his mind where Bakura awaited him.
He had to admit the thief was looking a lot better. The cuts, scrapes, burns, and bruises were all mostly faded. He was definitely sleeping better here in his room, with its infinitely safer bed and more reliable light source. With every passing minute, he was more the Thief King he'd seen for a split second before and less the abused, broken man Ryou had first encountered. He couldn't say he disliked the changes.
"So?" Bakura prompted, pacing the enlarged room. "What did you see?"
"Zork took the body for a joyride," he replied, hopping up on the RPG table. The thief stilled and stared at him in confusion. "I think we're in Egypt. I saw a lot of desert, I saw the Ishtars, and I saw Yuugi and his friends heading down to it already. It's time to retrieve the Pharaoh's memories."
He nodded slightly. "And with them, the eighth Item, the key to the Door of the Afterlife, whatever that may-"
The overhead light fizzled then went out completely with a popping sound, plunging the room into darkness. He couldn't help it; a short scream escaped him, first when the room went dark and again when a hand closed around his.
"Ryou..." That was Bakura's voice and so much closer than it had been. "It's me. Don't worry." He wasn't worried, no. He was terrified! He trailed his free hand up Bakura's arm to place him then threw that arm around him to pull him closer. "It's all right. IT's entered the Pharaoh's memories."
"So what about us? Aren't you supposed to be there?"
He felt an arm beneath his knees, and Bakura released his hand to move his other arm behind his back, lifting him easily. He had no idea how his other could see what he was doing, but he navigated them to the bed quickly enough. Bakura laid down first, letting him lie on top of the thief as they settled back against the pillows.
"Bakura?" he prompted again.
"I had already sold my soul to Zork for my family's revenge by the point IT's probably going to start the story." He could feel the air from the thief's sigh ruffle his hair. "Apparently, neither of us is important to the storyline."
"Th-that's good, r-right?"
The Thief King sighed again. "If the Pharaoh's ready."
He felt his blood run cold. Bakura was right. This was it. It was all down to the other Yuugi now. Strictly to himself, he lamented the world's impending doom, but for his other, he managed to get out, "It'll be fine. We've done everything in our power to show him what he'll need to now. He has learned that sacrifices will have to be made to win. He's learned some opponents don't fight fair." Beneath him, he felt some of the tension bleed from Bakura's body. "He'll defeat Zork. I know it."
"Liar." He almost started to sit up before he realized the undertone he'd heard in the man's voice was amusement. "You're just as worried as I am."
He laughed and snuggled closer to his other. "Terrified out of my mind. I mean, it's the other Yuugi. He's not exactly bright."
Bakura snickered, wrapping an arm around his back. "It's probably from all those time he hit his head."
"What?" Now this promised to be a story he hadn't heard about yet. "Why did he keep hitting his head?"
"Pure and simple clumsiness."
"The other Yuugi? Mister 'I'm a total god, look at my leather, prowl prowl'? He used to be clumsy?"
Bakura's snickering was getting worse. "The very definition of it. He couldn't walk a straight line, he couldn't sit down on his throne, he couldn't mount a horse. It was great entertainment."
"Now that I would have enjoyed seeing. Holier-than-thou other Yuugi, falling on his face."
Another laugh escaped the thief, and he felt lips brush his forehead. "And they all think you're so sweet and innocent."
His smirk was lost in the dark. "And for anyone other than the Yuugis, I am."
There was silence for a long moment. "You really hate them, don't you? The Pharaoh and his other?" He couldn't tell anything by Bakura's voice; it was completely neutral.
"I can't help it. I try not to, but I do anyway." He tried to move impossibly closer. "I don't like the way the other Yuugi looks at you or how they're all so quick to jump to conclusions about you and about me and about us."
"The Pharaoh's not supposed to like me. We knew he wouldn't when we started this."
He shook his head. "He looks at you like a bug beneath his feet." He sat up and looked down in the direction he guessed Bakura's face to be. "You're my other half; you complete me. I won't stand for someone treating you like that."
He heard the thief chuckle tightly. He could guess what Bakura was doing from that sound: he was still lying flat, the arm that wasn't perilously low on his own back draped over closed silver eyes, his expression a blank. "You're about three thousand years too late to stop the first person who looked at me like that, little love, and I'm sure the Pharaoh won't be the last. Ammut will look at me like that before she devours my soul."
He took a deep breath and released it slowly, gathering his courage to speak. "If I could, I'd rip the eyes out of each and every person who ever looked down on you, man, woman, or even the gods. I'd cut the fingers off anyone who raised a hand to you. And I'd eviscerate every last one of the men who... hurt you." There were two words he'd never been able to say, at least not in conjunction with Bakura: 'dead' and 'rape'. He held no illusions on the actions of previous Ring holders, but he couldn't say the word.
There was utter silence in the darkness. He knew it. He'd scared the thief away for sure this time. He had ruined it.
"Ryou?" He managed to get out a questioning noise through the tightness in his throat. "Would you really do something like that?"
"If I could, I would, in a heartbeat." And he wasn't going to say it out loud, but he'd like to do the same to the Yuugis. They kept the game going against Zork, after all, by continuing to search for the other Yuugi's memories.
"You do say the nicest things sometimes, little love." Bakura pulled him back down to his side. "I guess you are my other half, after all. You can't be all sweetness and light all the time, not and be part of me."
He smiled against the thief's robes. "Neither of us is all that good, are we?"
"Of course not!" He could hear the amusement in his other's voice, and his own smile grew to the sound of it. "You're the next great evil, the one they'll never see coming, and I'm the almighty Thief King, the biggest pain the Pharaoh's posterior to ever walk the earth."
"No hope of redemption whatsoever for the two of us ."
"Not a chance."
It was as good as it was going to get.
On a lark, he'd tried to summon up some of his favorite foods for Bakura to try, especially some of the foreign dishes his father had introduced him to after his trips abroad. His first few attempts had been dismal, though he had improved with each try -- and the thief had complimented each one in turn, even the failures. It was actually quite sweet, even if the occasional glimpses he got in game let him know some of what the Thief King was used to eating. He didn't think he'd ever really hated the other Yuugi till then. Was Ancient Egypt really so different from any other kingdom, that the ruler didn't care that his subjects ate scraps or that the palace guards had been the first ones to who... hurt him and had been the ones to carve that scar on his face.
Bakura was asleep now; he could tell by the man's breathing; so he reached over to run his fingertip over the smooth flesh of his scarless cheek. The thief stirred beneath him but did not wake. Since this new darkness had descended upon them, he'd gotten very used to touching the Thief King and not worrying if he was going to hurt him, and he'd definitely become accustomed to Bakura's more confident hands on his body.
Even like this, touching the man blind, he could feel the rougher textured flesh of his scars. They had to be from before he was sealed in the Ring; anything that happened in here always healed quickly, usually disappearing in hours. Still, there were so many! What he couldn't give to have just a day alone in a room with the other Yuugi and an assortment of knives.
A faint shudder went through the room, but it was enough to wake up Bakura. How could it not? The man operated on instincts that the rest of the world could only dream of having. "What's going on?"
"I don't know," he whispered. Why he wasn't sure, but nonetheless he kept his voice soft, even as he sat up and made his way to his feet. "I'm going to go check on the body."
"Be careful. Something feels strange."
And if he hadn't felt paranoid before, he certainly did now, but he certainly wasn't about to let that show. Even if Bakura couldn't see his face, he wasn't going to let that little bit of information out. He moved quietly across the room, memory telling him where everything was so he didn’t trip, till his hand was on the door. He pulled the door open...
...and fell back into his body. Exhaustion plagued him as it never had before, and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. His stomach growled loudly on cue. And eat; eating would be very good. He seriously doubted Zork had bothered to stop for food, so it had been at least two days since he'd eaten. No wonder he was starving.
Somewhere below him, there were people talking. That seemed as good an option as any for where to go, so he slowly pushed himself to his feet and stumbled down the steps. The closer he got, the more recognizable the voices were. There was the other Yuugi, Yuugi's friend Jyonouchi, and... Kaiba Seto? What was he doing here? Better still, where was here?
Maybe they finally heard his faltering footsteps or maybe he finally came into view or maybe he was just in Kaiba's way, but now he was presented with all five of them staring at him like they'd seen a ghost. The blond, Jyonouchi, was the first to recover his voice. "Bakura!"
"Everyone?" Yeah, it did look like the whole gang was there: Kaiba Seto, Jyonouchi Katsuya, Mazaki Anzu, Honda Hiroto, and even the other Yuugi. Everyone he usually kept up his innocent victim act up for was present and accounted for, so it was easy to slip back into that role. "Where are we?"
"'Where'?" Jyonouchi sputtered. "Don't you remember?"
He remembered more than he'd ever let any of them know, but that was completely beside the point. "Oh yeah. Something seemed to be chasing me, then..."
Abruptly, his body gave up its struggle to remain upright and he fell forward. If Jyonouchi hadn't been there (and hadn't been more willing than Kaiba to catch him), he'd have certainly ended up crashing into the floor face-first. "Bakura!" the blond yelled, nearly in his ear. "Are you okay?"
"Bakura!" the other Yuugi echoed. If he weren't so tired, he'd sneer at the bastard.
"I'm so hungry!" he managed to get out before blackness swam back up to greet him.
"What happened? Are you all right?" Strong arms pulled him up on the bed, both patting him down and lifting his shirt to check under it for injuries.
"I'm fine. I think Zork's finally-"
Before his eyes, Bakura's form wavered. No! He wasn't losing him! Not after all of this! He didn't even take a second to consider and pounced, wrapping both arms around the thief and holding him tight to his body. Whispers of prayers he hadn't said in years escaped him, mingling with his sudden fearful tears.
Slowly, slowly, he calmed as he felt Bakura's arms around him as well, heard the words he was speaking: "It's all right. I'm here."
"Wha- what happened?" He eased his grip a bit but did not let go; he knew his other appreciated the gesture as he squirmed slightly, rearranging them both into a more comfortable position.
"Someone took the Ring." The thief sounded so tired. "My existence is still tied to it."
"Shouldn't that have put you back in the Ring then?" he whispered. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't have made his voice come out any louder, not while he was still terrified of losing his other.
He felt the Thief King nod. "It should have. You were too stubborn to let me go, though. I guess I'm yours."
"Of course you are," he answered immediately. Sudden white, bright terror shot through him with his next thought. "Unless you'd rather not be."
Bakura chuckled, laying a kiss on his hair. "You're mine also, little love."
"So what does this mean?" Finally he leaned back and blinked. How had he not noticed the lights were back on?
Apparently his other noticed his confusion as he chuckled. "They came back on when you left. As for what this means..." He shrugged, and he held the taller man closer. "I don't know. This is new territory to me. I guess now I'll be around as long as the Ring is." The thief dropped a brief kiss on his lips. "So, the way I figure it is, as long as the Pharaoh doesn't blow it and somehow get rid of the Items, I'll be with you the rest of your life."
"Then what?"
That got a laugh. "You're definitely my other half. So many questions. I don't know after that. With the two of us in here, who knows how long you'll live anyway. You may even be immortal, little love." His chest warmed with pride and pleasure. Now that he certainly wouldn’t mind, an eternity with his other.
"Then the other Yuugi had better not screw up if he knows what's good for him. If he costs me you, I'll hunt him down and kill him in the most imaginative ways. You're the most important person to me."
"You do say the nicest things, Ryou. Still, such strong language. You're going to lose your status as the innocent one here if you keep it up."
He could almost curse the lights being back on: surely the flush he could feel heating his cheeks was glaringly obvious. "I thought a worse one a few minutes ago."
"Oh?" If he wasn't laying on him, the thief probably would have perked catlike. He sounded much too eager, and the temptation was there to compare him to a kid at Christmas. "What was it?"
He buried his reddened face in his other's robes. "I... kind of thought to myself... that the other Yuugi is a bastard."
Bakura let out a loud laugh, startling him. "I'm so proud of you! That was great! I wish you'd said it. Then I could have seen his face."
Oh yeah, if the other Yuugi took Bakura away from him now that he'd discovered this happier, more relaxed, and much more cheerful side of him, there would be no end to his revenge.
On Bakura's urging, he'd woken his body up and eaten. It hadn't been the best meal he'd ever had, but he'd been eating to support two souls. He was just thankful it wasn't three souls anymore. While he'd been finishing up, Malik had wandered in. The Egyptian had looked...
//Like something I'd kick back in the scrap heap?// Bakura had questioned helpfully.
To himself, he had agreed. Aloud, he'd asked what was going on. Malik's deadpan answer had chilled him, but maybe Yuugi setting the other Yuugi off to the Afterlife would free them from the fear they themselves would be found out. All the same, it was a scary proposition. That was why he had come to watch what the Yuugis did -- and why he stood to the back of the group, as far from the Egyptian as he could manage and not be obvious about it. Malik was more perceptive, even in this broken state that reminded him eerily of the Bakura he'd first met, than anyone gave him credit for being, and he wasn't going to risk anyone finding out Bakura was still around.
Bakura was keeping up commentary on the duel, some of it even aloud for him. It was just as well. He couldn't concentrate on the duel if his life depended on it. That was actually kind of funny now that he thought of it; in a way, it did, and he still couldn't concentrate on it.
//When did you turn into such a fatalist, little love?//
/The Yuugis did this to me. If my hair wasn't already white, they'd have turned it that color./
Bakura snickered but then silenced abruptly. //The end is about to happen.//
/You think so?/ Absentmindedly, he tuned back in -- to see Yuugi wipe out the rest of the other Yuugi's lifepoints. /He should have brought back Black Magician instead of Osiris. Do you think he just let Yuugi win?/
//Maybe.//
The Yuugis were talking. For all he knew, they could be discussing who would be on top between Kaiba and Jyonouchi (//Is it possible for two people to be on bottom?// put in Bakura), but somehow he was a little distracted by the fact Yuugi was crying awfully hard for someone who'd just won against the King of Games. Didn't he have any pride as a duelist or as an other half? In his own pathetic way, Yuugi was helping his other half; he should feel gloriously pleased with himself. The Yuugis were such strange creatures.
The other Yuugi stood and started towards the door, which opened for him. It was so hard to keep his sneer contained as the man's leather faded away into what he could only think of as 'Pharaoh garb', though really he could have designed better in a game of Monster World. What a prima donna. The once-Pharaoh walked through the door, and he let himself breathe a sigh of relief. It was finally over.
//Ryou...// Bakura began as the doors closed behind the other Yuugi.
He turned his focus inward in the near-silence as the echoes of the doors closing slowly left the room to quiet, save the sound of a few people crying. /What is it?/
If Bakura said anything, he lost in the rumbling. The tablet where the seven Sennen Items lay shattered to reveal a huge pit, and one by one, the Items winked out of sight into it. He felt a pain like nothing he'd ever imagined before, like part of his mind was being ripped away. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet and look up to see the Ring vanish into the abyss.
/No! Bakura?/ Silence greeted him from his mind. /Bakura?!/
Around him, the temple began collapsing -- and somehow he couldn't bring himself to care. He hurt so much, and Bakura was gone. What was the point of moving? Let the rock bury him here with his love. It was only fitting after all.
"We can't stay here!" Who said that? Who pushed him to run towards the door? Oh, Yuugi's grandfather. Hmm, Yuugi...
A faint smirk built on his face when they stopped running outside the tomb. Everyone else was staring at the dust-filled doorway, but not him. His eyes were fixed on Yuugi. The other Yuugi had escaped him, but this one wouldn't.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malik looking at him. This time, he met the Egyptian's gaze straight on and smiled. It was probably reminiscent of some of his other's more insane ones, but Malik returned it in kind. The Yuugis were responsible for hurting both of them; the remaining Yuugi would suffer for it. He would suffer like no human had suffered before or would again... and he would live for every moment of it.
It started out small. He knew the value of a dramatic buildup; it was stock and trade for a Monster World DM. First he'd just left Honda and Mazaki threatening notes printed off a computer at Kaiba Corp; Mokuba had been gracious enough to let him allow him access when he told the boy his home computer had a virus.
No one knew Malik was in Japan so it was easy for him to take things to the next level. It certainly helped that Malik enjoyed killing things, even if it was just Honda's dog and the stray cat Mazaki had been feeding. It was difficult to restrain himself from letting loose with one of his other's more maniacal laughs at their expressions and their sobs of 'Who could be doing this to us?' the next day they came to school.
Holding Malik back from killing too soon had been a little bit more difficult, but when he'd finally allowed the Egyptian to do as he pleased, even he had been surprised with the results. Of course, he had been a great deal more pleasantly surprised than anyone else. The man had skills with a blade that bordered on genius. He couldn't wait till the coroner released that they had been alive for the entire experience, even when he'd filleted the skin from Mazaki's face or when he'd showed Honda what color his stomach really was.
Now he just had to wait for the star of the show to wake up. It had been terribly easy to grab the boy from his house. All he'd had to do was show up all teary-eyed and bruised. He certainly hadn't wanted anyone catching on just yet -- and Malik had barely objected to beating the crap out of him. He certainly had looked convincing, so some bruises were worth it. Leaving a few clues (like pieces of the other two) pointing to the spiky-haired freak had been fun too. It was all going according to his plan. Now if Yuugi would just wake up. But wait... Ah, here he came.
"Welcome back," he greeted cheerfully as purple eyes raised to meet his in confusion. "Did you enjoy your sleep? I know I did; you were finally quiet for once."
"B-Bakura-kun?" No no no, this wasn't where Yuugi was supposed to speak yet.
"It probably looks to all of you like I'm holding together well. It may even look like I'm happy to be alone. Alone... That word should have a whole new meaning for us now, shouldn't it?"
"He probably has no idea," Malik cut in, his voice a low growl, stepping into the light. His knife was nowhere in sight, but he didn't really need the knife to be intimidating, if the look in Yuugi's eyes was any indication.
"I don't know. I think you know what it feels like, don't you, Yuugi. You're just as alone now as we are. How do you stand it, this silent darkness where our others used to be?" He didn't give the shorter boy time to speak, instead moving over to stand closer to him. "I think sometimes the silence is driving me insane. I keep waiting to hear his voice or hear him laugh or... There is always silence now, and I want it to go away! I want to scream and cry and rant at the world, you, and the gods till they give me my other back! I can't take the silence anymore!"
He unfisted his hand from his hair, unsure when it had tangled there. When had he started tugging at it? Such things the Yuugis did to him... Well, it was only fair to return the favor, he supposed, as he swung his hand down and around to catch Yuugi sharply across the cheek with the back of it, snapping his head to the side. A short cry escaped the smaller boy before he looked up at him. "Bakura-kun..."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"
Malik laughed at that, a frightening sound like shattered glass. "I could make him hurt, Ryou."
"Not yet. He doesn't understand yet." He turned his attention back down to the boy he'd bound to a chair. "I know what you and your friends used to say about me. You all thought I'm better off alone. You think I'm happier alone. You think we both are happier this way," he gestured to Malik now, "and you're the only one with this gaping hole inside you. Well, damn it, you're not! You took my other away and left me broken inside. Your other did worse than that to Malik. Damn you! And damn your other too! There isn't a curse strong enough for the hatred I feel for the two of you. You should be glad he's gone. In whatever secret corner of the Afterlife he's hiding, he's safe from me and the revenge I've been planning. My other was right; I'm the next great evil you never saw coming. You and your friends keep taking my other from me. You probably cheered when he went too, didn't you? One of your friends made me have to hunt for the Ring during Duelist Kingdom. Do you think I enjoyed hunting through those woods in a blind panic, trying to find where the Ring landed? Do you?!"
"That's why we cut off Honda's hands then?" Damn, he'd almost underestimated how much the other Yuugi had broken Malik. Maybe he'd been like this before, and no one noticed it. It suited his purposes though. Malik was an evil genius, yes -- or he had been when he was a whole person -- but even now he was a force to be reckoned with. And the Egyptian was enjoying just as much as he was. This was the grand finale to both of their revenge after all.
He held out his hand, and with a sadistic grin, Malik placed one of his knives in it. He took a moment to test the sharpness and to decide where to cut before he carved a small gash down one of Yuugi's cheeks. A scream escaped the other this time, and he made a few tsking noises of dismay. "That hurt too? Really? That was nothing."
"Bakura-kun..." Hmm, it was acceptable for Yuugi to speak now, so he silently tilted his head to the side in interest to hear what he had to say at this point. "I didn't -- Mou hitori no boku and I thought Bakura was hurting you. We just wanted to protect you."
Of all the things Yuugi could have said, that wasn't even on the list, he mused in surprise. "He'd never hurt me! What would make you think something like that?"
"The cut on your arm." Yuugi was panting, his voice tight with pain. How adorable.
"My arm? Oh, in Battle City. He did it to himself. I never felt a thing till the duel with the other you. So that I ever felt any pain was entirely your other's fault."
"Were you helping him, Bakura-kun?" He sounded so resigned, even keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. Had it really taken so little to break him?
"Of all the stupid-!" he sighed in exasperation. Malik was snickering. A laugh escaped him as well. It was actually rather funny now that he thought about it. "Of course! He was my other! Your other was too stupid be ready for Zork without us preparing him." Purple eyes shot up to him again. "We never wanted your stupid Puzzle."
"Zork," the Egyptian behind him helpfully piped.
He nodded. "True. IT did want the Items. We didn't want it to get them, but we're not the ones of the Prophesy. No, that just had to be you and the other Yuugi. So my other had a responsibility as a spirit of the Items to prepare your idiot Pharaoh for that creature." He sighed. "And now, of course, the Sennen Items are gone, fallen into endless darkness, and probably destroyed. Do you think those souls are free now, though, or are they just wandering spirits?"
"Th-They're free," Yuugi barely got out. What was Malik doing behind him? He glanced over his shoulder. Oh, just playing with one of his knives. "I think they're free."
"Well, you're an optimist," the Egyptian spat out, fingers clenching around his blade. He didn't even seem to notice any pain it might have caused, only casually licking the warm liquid off his hand.
"I think the only souls that made it to the Afterlife were those priests of your other -- and of course, your other himself. The almighty Pharaoh can't be left waiting, now can he?"
"Gods forbid," came the deadpanned answer behind him.
"Do you think he even misses his other, Malik?" he asked. "He seems so much happier and whole than us."
"It's probably because he had a choice in the matter," the Egyptian muttered. "Saying I wanted to take responsibility for my actions didn't mean I wanted him completely gone."
This was why Malik was his perfect companion for this little adventure. He felt the same pain he himself did, even if his other half wasn't a spirit of the Items. He reached behind him to place a hand on the Egyptian's shoulder in what he hoped would be a calming gesture. "He's going to be missing him soon, Malik. You know that." The other nodded, and he turned his attention back to Yuugi. "You fixed us both up so well, Yuugi. There's not enough left of the other Malik to try to retrieve, and I can't even go get my other back this time. I'd spend days -- weeks! months! whatever it took! -- in Pegasus' damn forest looking if it meant escaping this silence. I hate it!" he snapped suddenly, screaming at the spiky-haired freak. "I hate it! And I hate you! Why did you have to take him away from me? He didn't do anything to deserve! He just wanted to help the two of you! And if you were so anxious to get rid of the other you, did you have to fix it so the other me can't come back too? It's not fair! I never asked for the other me to be taken away again! I'm still waiting in the silence to hear him say something -- anything -- to me! The silence... Always the silence!"
Arms wrapped around him from behind, and he collapsed into them. Maybe if he pretended hard enough, Malik could be Bakura. Maybe Malik was pretending he was his other half too. It was a pleasing fantasy and helped to calm his nerves, almost as much as the Egyptian's whispers of "It's okay, Ryou. Calm down. It'll be all right. Let's just finish it up, and it'll be all right."
"Are you going to kill me?"
He could kill Yuugi for that if they didn't already have plans for him. He gathered himself as best he could, taking a deep breath or two before he let himself speak. "Of course not. It wouldn't accomplish anything, even making us feel better. You see, we want you to feel what we're feeling, and you won't feel the same empty loneliness if you're dead. You wouldn't get to breathe that same despair we breathe in every day if you're dead." He pushed himself to his feet shakily, Malik supporting him, before he managed the same adorable face he'd used to disarm them all at Duelist Kingdom. "Besides, didn't you always say I'm the good one, Yuugi-kun?"
"Is it time for you to go already?" Malik sounded a little saddened, but behind it... There was a sense of excitement. When Ryou left, he would get to play after all. Maybe he wasn't allowed to kill Yuugi, but he could still have a bit of fun.
"Yeah, it's almost time for the press conference. Jyonouchi'll be waiting."
That got Yuugi's attention, as planned. "Jyonouchi-kun?"
He smiled innocently at the tied-up boy. "The police found... souvenirs from two recent serial murders hidden away in your room. You remember: Honda Hiroto and Mazaki Anzu?"
Now Yuugi struggled, the chains they'd used to secure him rattling loudly as he tried to get loose. "You did it! You're the ones that killed my friends!"
"You two killed our other halves!" Malik yelled back. "Hiroto threw the Ring into the forest, and that Anzu girl would have supported the Nameless Pharaoh if he said to kill off half the planet."
He put a hand on Malik’s arm. "Anyway, Jyonouchi and your grandfather are holding a press conference, asking you to turn yourself in. Jyonouchi asked me to be there for them, seeing as how it was you who beat the shit out of me. Jyonouchi was the one who found me and got me patched up and all."
"That was a stroke of remarkable timing and luck," Malik put in. "You don't know how many people I had to work over to get Katsuya to show up just then." The Egyptian turned him around and straightened his clothes a bit. "Be careful. I'll see you in a couple of hours."
"Have fun while I'm gone. Remember: nothing too permanent." He could already see the gleam in Malik's eyes as he turned back to inspect his knife collection for the proper tool to start with. "I'll be back soon enough, Yuugi. We'll have to talk more then." He walked out of the dockside warehouse to the sounds of Yuugi screaming, like the finest symphony. Malik was playing him like an instrument. In a way, he was: he was an instrument for both of their revenge.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could almost hear Bakura saying 'Good job, little love'.
It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to start.
posted by Apollymi @ 2/25/2007 12:06:00 PM
0 comments
He was running. It seemed he'd been running forever, and he was starting to forget a time, if there had ever been one, when he wasn't running. Every breath in and out of his lungs hurt now, and his legs felt like they were burning. His whole body was aching to collapse, but there was no way he could stop now. He had to find them, the Bakuras. They were somewhere in this city. This city had been his only clue, if he had read the elder Bakura's sign three months ago right. Dear God, let him have interpreted the sign right.
One neon sign blurred into another then finally bled out as the shopping district gave way to apartment buildings and homes. How the hell was he going to find them in all this mess of people? The clue he'd been given wasn't enough to go on after all, and he couldn't slow down. For all he knew, they were closing in on him right now.
"Kaiba Seto?" The voice was unfamiliar but spoke with such surety that, despite the phrasing, informed him the speaker knew exactly who he was and what he was doing in Domino City. The voice wasn't old, though, the speaker probably no older than him -- not one of his pursuers.
He stopped and slowly turned to take in the tan young man sitting on the doorstep of the building he'd been passing. With that skin tone, coupled with the blond hair and purple eyes, he had to be a gaijin, though there was something... familiar about him. "Who are you?" He had to be proud that, no matter how tired he was, he didn't allow himself to show it to this virtual stranger.
"You're a little earlier than I thought you'd be. Good thing I came down early anyway. I'm Malik Ishtar. I live upstairs with the Bakuras."
This was almost too good to be true. No, forget 'almost'. "Prove it."
"What, that I knew you were coming isn't good enough?" No, there were too many ways that information could have been found out. He shook his head, and Malik laughed in response, a harsh, broken sound like shattered glass. The tanned man dug in one of the many pockets on the vest he was wearing and tossing something at him.
In the split second before he caught it, an image flashed through his mind of a tanned hand digging through a pocket. That's why Malik seemed familiar: one of the Bakuras must have included it in the message. Then he caught the thrown object, and a new wave of images assaulted him: Malik settling down on the steps to wait; one of the Bakuras putting the object in his palm; "get upstairs, Seto, it's getting late;" one of the Bakuras (sometimes it was so hard to tell which one was which) grabbing this object and the one they'd left him before from the younger spiky-haired kid; "get your ass upstairs, Seto, now..."
With an effort, he stemmed off the flashes and focused weary eyes on Malik, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Do you believe me now?"
He nodded slowly. "Where are they?"
The blond man bounced to his feet. "Upstairs waiting on you. Ryou's been in a fit since we heard you escaped."
Then the younger Bakura hadn't changed much, he mused as he followed Malik inside and into an elevator. Good, he didn't think he could take stairs. All the same, he had to glance over his shoulder a few times. Paranoia was a force of habit now.
A hand touched his shoulder, hitting nothing but the cloth of the long-sleeved shirt he wore, but still he shied back, almost to the wall but not letting himself touch it. Malik held both hands up before himself, his voice and face apologetic. "Sorry, I forgot they said not to touch you. I just wanted to tell you that you lost them four blocks back. You're safe here for now."
"For how long?" He must be tired, if that slipped out.
The blond shrugged. "A few hours ahead is my limit, but right now I don't sense any danger coming for a while."
The Bakuras obviously trusted this guy, and it sounded like he was one of them. Maybe he could relax for a little bit. As the elevator started to rise, he glanced down at the object he still held in the palm of his hand: a domino, one of Yuugi's at that. Had the elder Bakura been saving it till now, so he'd know it was safe?
When he'd gotten the first one, hand-delivered by Yuugi several months after the Bakuras' disappearance, he'd been so confused and skeptical that he almost hadn't taken off his gloves to see what was going on. Curiosity (Why was Yuugi, the only one of them who still got mail from his family, getting a domino with a note attached that only said for 'For Kaiba Seto'?) got the better of him, though, and he'd looked. After that, it had just been a matter of planning his own escape, waiting for the right moment, and running for it... and running and running and...
A bell dinged, and he straightened to attention as the doors open. "This way," Malik stated, leading him to door 601 and knocking two times, pausing, then knocking once more. He could hear locks opening, and the door swung open. For a moment, he wondered which of the Bakuras he was seeing, till Malik solved the dilemma by grinning and stating, "I'm back, Ryou! I told you guys he'd be here soon." The blond moved past the white-haired man, still talking. "Man, it was cold out there! I hate Japanese winters. How can you people stand all the damn snow?"
Ryou shook his head before turning back to him. "I'm sorry about Malik, Kaiba-kun." As unfailing polite as he remembered, most definitely. "Please, come in. Our home is your home for as long as you wish to stay."
It had been so long since he'd been anywhere but the Institute that he almost forgot to take off his rather battered shoes and put on slippers. A pair was waiting for him just inside the door, blue at that. The elder Bakura was the only one who knew how much he liked the color, though, so this had to be his touch.
"Where's your brother?" he found himself asking. It felt so good to be inside where it was warm and not a chilled sterile white. Every part of him was trembling with exhaustion, but he couldn't drop yet. Not until he saw the other Bakura too and was sure he was all right also.
"Setting you up a place to sleep." Ryou smiled faintly. "We thought you might like a place to rest first then eat and settle in."
It was just like the Bakuras to think of everything. For two people whose abilities didn't include foreseeing the future, they always seemed to be prepared for it. "Thank you," he muttered softly. "Which way?"
//Down the hall, first door on your left,// whispered in his mind.
It had always surprised him how at ease he felt with the other Bakura. He was a very private person and had actively rejected the other telepaths at the Institute. Bakura he got along with, though, probably because the white-haired man never tried once to pick his thoughts apart, no more than his brother had ever tried to mess with his emotions.
He moved past Ryou and Malik, following the directions he'd been given. The door wasn't even pulled closed all the way, so he had only to elbow it open. "Bakura?"
Another white-haired man straightened from smoothing out the covers on the bed. //Welcome to Domino, Seto.//
He'd never heard Bakura speak anywhere but in his mind. He doubted anyone except Ryou and perhaps the scientists at the Institute had heard the man's voice. He had only ever used his telepathy to speak for as long as Seto had known him. "You could have left me a clearer message, you know."
//You wouldn't have believed it was from me if I did. I know you, remember?// Silver eyes looked over him critically. //You look like hell.//
"I feel like I've seen a slice of it."
"Niisan, here's the extra blanket." He nearly jumped to hear Ryou's voice behind him. The pair of them were both too quiet, but usually it was only the older Bakura that was able to sneak up on him, though Ryou had managed it a time or two before. Today, though, he was jumping at shadows. He'd be better once he got some sleep. "And here, Kaiba-kun. These are the only gloves we have. Malik and I will go pick you up a better pair tomorrow." Carefully, he accepted the proffered gloves, slipping them on and forcing a brief stream of images to stay back for now.
//How did you make it this far without them?// And there was that familiar faint note of worry. No one else but Bakura really worried about him anymore, since his own family died six years ago. This was why he found his way here, after a year since he'd seen the other man.
And both Bakuras were staring at him expectantly, obviously await an answer. "The doctors would have suspected something if I'd gone outside with them on."
Bakura was nodding, but it was Ryou who replied. "Of course, and those people's ideas of clothes don't exactly include lots of pockets."
He nodded. "Then I just ran and kept running and tried to keep from touching anything or anyone."
//You'll be safe here for the time being,// Bakura's voice whispered in his head, thoughts so soft he could nearly wrap himself around them. Hell, he seemed to recall having done that a few times before the Bakuras' vanishing act. There had been times he'd stumbled into the room he'd shared with Bakura, barely getting one foot in front of the other as exhausted as he was by what seemed like endless tests, much as he was now from running, and found the white-haired man awaiting him, and before he knew it, his body would be tucked into one of the two beds while his mind was in whatever new scenery Bakura managed to dream up. It was the advantage of having a skilled, powerful telepath for a roommate.
When he first met Bakura, he had thought the other man was much, much older than he was. The white hair and his old, world-weary eyes threw him off. Of course, he met Ryou shortly after that and soon came to realize that apparently both Bakuras' hair had gone white from the force of their powers. They were incredibly strong individually but even more so when together, so they'd been forbidden to room together in the hopes it might keep them from being powerful enough to escape. No one at the Institute except the Bakuras, him, and maybe Ryou's former roommate Yuugi knew that, no matter the distance they were separated, the brothers could always communicate telepathically, just as they could always sense each others' emotions.
One of the first times Bakura had pulled him into his mind for the night, he'd summoned up the nerve to ask what he never would aloud: why Bakura’s eyes were so ancient, especially compared to his brother's, who was only three years younger. Bakura just did that sad half-smile and replied that Ryou never had thousands of people's thoughts hitting him all the time -- and he was shielding him from the worst of the emotions. It seemed Bakura had always been trying to protect them all from as much as he could.
"Thank you, Ryou, Bakura," he said softly, letting himself sink down on the bed. He'd almost forgotten how a real bed felt after six years of sleeping on the cot-like beds the Institute provided. Trust Bakura to find a way to get a Western-style bed. Then again, as he looked around, he recognized telltale signs that this was most certainly Bakura's room and therefore Bakura's bed.
"Good night, niisan. Good night, Kaiba-kun," Ryou called over his shoulder on his way to the door. "Sleep in if you'd like. Malik and I are going to get up early and get some shopping done. Niisan will make you breakfast or whatever when you get up." He pulled the door closed behind him, forestalling any reply he might have had.
He was battling to keep his eyes open at this point, but... He plucked at his shirt tiredly.
//They feel like that place, don't they?// He nodded, and Bakura left his post next to the bed to cross over to a chest-of-drawers. //I've got a pair of sleep pants here that should fit you.//
"I don't want to kick you out of your room, Bakura," he stated softly, closely watching the other's movements in lieu of letting himself fall over asleep as his body was begging to do. "I can sleep somewhere else."
//Seto, you can be such a dumb shit sometimes, for as intelligent as you're supposed to be.//
He blinked, half-wishing he could and half-glad he couldn't see Bakura's face with his back turned. "What?"
//We roomed together how many years?//
"Five," he replied immediately. He had been thirteen when he was brought to the Institute, while the Bakuras had already been there at least a year at that point. He remembered wishing he could room with the other Bakura because the tall sixteen-year-old with the strange eyes was intimidating. "This isn't the Institute, though, and it's been a year since we've seen each other." And Bakura had left him behind when he and Ryou ran. He winced as the thought slipped out unguarded; there was no way Bakura hadn't heard that. "I'm--"
//If you dare say you're sorry, Seto, I'm going to punch the shit out of you.// Bakura slowly turned to face him, hands apparently still grasping something in the drawer. //The bed is yours while you're here. We either share it like we used to or I'll go sleep on the couch. It's up to you. But don't you dare say you're sorry for anything to me. I don't want to think they broke you that much while I was gone.//
How had he nearly forgotten how passionate Bakura was about everything? "It'll be all right if we both stay here, I guess," he decided aloud. "It's not like we've never done it before, right?"
He could watch Bakura relaxing, then the grin he recognized built on the other's face. //All right. Catch.// Blue flew at him, and he caught it reflexively.
"Did you feel the need to buy everything for me in my favorite color?" he asked, allowing a faint smile to grace his face as he examined the matched pajama set.
//I even sent a color sample out with Ryou and Malik.// Bakura was smirking, but that was pretty typical. //Granted, Malik wanted to bitch about it a bit, but I convinced him otherwise. Think they'll fit?//
"Yeah." Didn't Bakura go out anymore?
Another pair of pants in hand, Bakura headed towards the other door. //The bathroom's through here when you need it. I'll be back in a few, so you go ahead and change if you want.// Bakura vanished behind the door, and he even felt his mental presence retreat a bit too.
He shrugged, starting to peel his way out of the clothes he was wearing. Bakura always was a bit odd, even for a telepath.
He didn't remember getting changed or collapsing on the bed, though surely both must have happened because that's where he found himself when he stirred a while later. Some things, at least, never changed: Bakura still took whichever side of the bed was closest to the door, and he still ended up wrapped around the other man during the night. Surely he had noticed as well, despite never breathing a word about it. He knew it never bothered him because it saved him from a hundred horrible dreams and memories, since the older Bakura was the only person he could touch without gloves or other clothes and never be assaulted by images.
Bakura seemed to be asleep now, apparently oblivious to his sudden return to wakefulness, so he cautiously crawled over the man and headed into the bathroom, completely unaware of silvery eyes following his every movement till they were blocked by the bathroom door.
/What's bothering you, niisan?/
He almost laughed aloud at the worry in his brother's mental voice. //Nothing's wrong.//
/You feel... concerned about something. Is Kaiba-kun all right?/
He let out a laugh purely between their minds. //I'm just glad he made it out. Now I can take care of him properly. He needs to be spoiled.//
/He doesn't need an older brother, you know./
A smile twitched briefly on his face before he carefully wiped it off as the bathroom door opened again and he returned to faking sleep. //That's not the position I had in mind.//
Seto crawled back over him and started arranging himself into the spot he'd originally occupied, carefully making sure the bed sheets were between him and the wall and several inches were between his bed partner and himself.
/Be careful not to rush him, niisan. I don't think Kaiba-kun's ready for any relationships right now./
//I know. I will be.//
He nearly gave himself away by jumping or speaking or something when Seto's bare hand touched his face. "I'm glad I made it back to you, Bakura."
He pulled back, feeling heat flushing his cheeks, and buried his face in the pillow. If Bakura was even marginally awake, he'd have either heard the words or picked up on the thoughts behind them. Still, he was too tired to be embarrassed for long, probably the reason why he kept slipping, and soon enough he'd drifted off again.
The next time he awoke, the bed was empty. It took him a few minutes sitting up on the bed and glancing around the room to place where he was again. He was a little amazed at what all Bakura had managed to accumulate over a year: a chest of drawers that he presumed to be full of clothes, books liberally covering every available surface save the bed and most of the floor, a few J-rock posters, and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and the walls. He liked that touch; it was very Bakura.
Speaking of the white-haired man, where was he? The room was lit by sunshine peeking in through the window covering, but the door into the room was still closed. He grabbed his gloves off the bedside table and pulled them on before moving to explore beyond Bakura's room. Last night he'd been too tired to really look around. The Bakuras had definitely made this apartment their own, with little knick-knacks littered down the hallway to the living room on small end tables or displays on the wall, definitely a Ryou touch. The living room, however, was crowded, and he could see more than just their tastes. It was a bit more Middle Eastern; Malik's maybe? He had to wonder what the gaijin's story was; he'd never seen anyone like him at the Institute, though he was obviously a talent like the rest of them. He'd have to ask Bakura about it whenever he found him.
The aroma drew him into the next room even before Bakura spoke in his mind, //Ask me about what?//
He would never in a million years would have pictured Bakura as being in the least bit domestic. He had always figured Ryou cooked and did everything around the house, but now that he saw it, it made a strange sense, especially since it seemed Bakura was the one inside most of (all of?) the time, not Ryou as he'd originally thought. "Malik? What's his deal?"
Bakura shrugged, setting two bowls down on the table. //He's a precog. Ryou found him frisking people blind, mostly in stuff like blackjack or anything else where he could make bets on what would come up next.// Bakura huffed, the breath fluttering his hair. //Ryou, being the kind-hearted sap that he is, brought him home and kept him, like a stray cat or something. All in all, he's not too bad.//
Of course, there was more to all that, but it certainly wasn't any of his business. He took a sip of the miso soup Bakura had given him before asking his next question, "What about this place? How'd you guys find it?"
//It found us.// His confusion must have showed on his face because Bakura chuckled and clarified, //When Ryou and I left that place, we had nowhere to go. He remembered the return address that had been on Yuugi's letters, so that seemed like as good an idea as any to start, and we went to Yuugi's grandfather's place.// That was strange. He couldn't remember ever hearing admiration for anyone from Bakura before. //He took us in for a while, then he went into debt to buy this building before it could be torn down. Everyone in here is working to pay him back for the place to live -- and most of us for more than that.//
Sooner or later, everything always came down to Yuugi these days. He'd known the boy was generous to a fault, but he never would have suspected it was a genetic trait or something. "I'm glad there was someone here who would do something like that." Till he'd gotten Bakura's message, he'd had nightmares of the brothers living on the streets or something, nothing protecting their abilities from becoming overwhelming or anything of that ilk. He could never bring himself to admit something like that. There was one more thing he would allow himself to admit, however: "I'm glad you're all right."
As always, Bakura seemed to know what he meant. //I was worried about you too.// A knee nudged him under the table. //Now eat. Ryou and Malik will be home soon.//
"Oh?" It definitely wasn't the best miso soup he'd ever had, but it was certainly far from the worst. "Do we have plans?"
//They're taking you out to get more clothes. Unless you wanted to keep wearing that all the time?//
"You're not coming?"
//...// He watched Bakura look away from him almost guiltily. So his suspicions had been correct?
"Bakura?" he prompted.
//I haven't been able to leave the building in four months, Seto.//
He could have been knocked over with a feather in that instant. Bakura, housebound, like some kind of common talent? The hell? "What do you mean?"
//I'm shielding almost every talent in here to some extent, some more than others. I'm extended to the point that I can barely shield my own mind inside the building, much less out of it.// A faint smirk touched his face as he looked back at him. //So, as much as I'd like to ogle you trying on new clothes, I'm afraid I'm stuck here.// He winked. //You could always model for me here, though.//
He felt heat flush his cheeks. Only Bakura could make him blush, and he had given up trying to make him stop years ago. He never thought he'd have missed this too, though. "Ba-Bakura!"
//What?// That voice was too innocent for Bakura. Why did the white-haired man have to so enjoy teasing him? He'd been doing it since he turned fifteen and had finally started shooting up till he was a little taller than Bakura. A pale hand picked up the bowl that he'd finished, and he glanced up. //Ryou and Malik are in the elevator on their way up. You might want to start getting dressed. No one outside this apartment is allowed to ogle you in your PJs, after all.// There was a brief pause. //And I'm not sure Malik's allowed either. Let me know if he tries, and I'll turn him into a vegetable, okay?//
"Does he get to pick which vegetable?" he deadpanned, drawing a laugh in his mind from Bakura.
"We're home, niisan, Kaiba-kun!" Ryou's voice called out.
"We're back and ready to go out again -- Oww! Damn it, Ryou! That hurt!" And there was Malik's voice. A second later, the pair appeared, Malik rubbing his stomach and glaring at Ryou. "I'm not a punching bag, you know."
"Poor baby. You'll live." Ryou was smiling broadly, more so than he'd ever seen him do before, and even he could read the lack of tension coming off him. Life outside the Institute was obviously agreeing with one Bakura at least.
//Knock it off, you two. You'll traumatize him,// Bakura chided. //Go get dressed, Seto. Some of my clothes may still fit you -- or at least come close. I'll do my best to kick these two into shape before you get back.//
"Be back in a few." He stood slowly and left the three of them in the kitchen. It was a lot to process at once. He'd never thought of Bakura's powers having such a limit on them, even though he'd know there had to be some kind of limitation or else the white-haired man probably would have gone mad or died from the drain by now. But that he was playing guardian to so many people that he could barely take care of himself? That was unlike the somewhat selfish Bakura he'd known.
This new Bakura was only somewhat similar to his Bakura -- err, the Bakura he'd known at the Institute, the only who had rerouted all the guards' minds so they thought they were chimps, the one who had put fudge in Atem's shampoo bottle, the one who had stepped up to take the blame for anyone else's mistakes, the one who hadn't spoken a word aloud in at least six years, though probably more. After the Bakuras, Atem had been there the next longest, and he had told him once that he'd never heard Bakura speak before either, so it was almost definitely a good deal longer than the stretch of time he himself had known the man, he pondered to himself as he selected a pair of slacks and a long-sleeved button-down shirt that didn't fit too poorly. So maybe Bakura hadn't changed that much after all and just had developed a larger base of people -- probably with a smaller idea of their own potential -- to play older brother to.
He tugged at the shirt sleeves till they just met the edge of his gloves. It was the best fit he was going to find here, of that he was fairly certain, but he was still enough taller than Bakura that it wasn't perfect. He'd have to wear a jacket or something because otherwise he ran the possibility of touching someone or something, neither of which he wanted to chance.
Almost nervous about what they would say, he stepped out of the bedroom, still pulling at the shirt self-consciously as he walked into the living room where they were now waiting. Silver eyes glanced up at him first as he'd expected, but it wasn't Bakura who spoke first. "You look like a foreign business man," Malik began, before choking on his laughter as Ryou elbowed him in the stomach.
"Then we'll just let you do the talking, Malik-chan," Ryou returned too sweetly, "and they'll think we're all gaijin for sure." The younger Bakura snickered and grinned as he sank down in a mismatched oversized chair. "You might be able to negotiate us some nice price mark-ups."
Bakura stood and headed over to a closet near the door, emerging with a long, thin coat as he spoke, //Mutou said to put it on the card this time, but don't go overboard. We're already in the hole for the month. Here.// He set the coat around his shoulders, careful not to touch him directly, not that he'd have really minded it from Bakura. He could tell Bakura's next words were for him alone. //Try to relax and have a little fun while you're out. Malik says there's nothing to worry about for today, and I have someone downstairs trying to make sure everything flows your way. So have a good time, okay?//
"I'll try," he leaned up to whisper in Bakura's ear. "I wish you could come."
//I can't, I'm afraid to say. I'll walk you guys downstairs, though.//
Maybe he was talking to Ryou at the same time he was talking to him, but the younger Bakura hopped to his feet and announced, "It's time to go, Malik! Time for more of your favorite thing in the world."
He had to smile as the gaijin groaned. "I hate shopping." But he started slipping back on a coat way too heavy for the current weather, grumbling something to himself about stupid freezing Japanese winters. As he pushed himself to his feet, he took a moment to really look at the strange young man: he'd already noted the bright blond hair and lavender eyes, plus the apparent precognitive powers, the odd fashion sense, probably about the same age as himself and Ryou, and... And apparently he was attached at the hip to the younger Bakura, who had been playfully messing with the many layers Malik was wearing but now was being tickled till he laughed helplessly by the blond. It was good to see, perhaps reaffirming in its own way. Still, he couldn't help feeling a touch of envy though, as he frequently did for people who either had no talents to speak of or had ones that were less obtrusive; they'd never have to go through life without being able to touch a single thing or keeping a mile-deep shield around their mind. Maybe Malik's ability had some hidden drawback he'd yet to see, aside from the limited timeframe he'd mentioned before, but for now...
For now he would content himself to just follow where the elder Bakura pulled him, though, stepping onto the elevator and watching as the doors closed behind them.
"Are you going down to see Jyonouchi-kun while we're gone, niisan?" Ryou asked. Who was this Jyonouchi, he wondered? Better still, what was this odd, hot emotion he felt upon hearing that? And why was Ryou giggling? "He was saying how much he missed seeing you the other day."
Very nonchalantly, Bakura leaned over and lightly smacked the back of his brother's head. //You make it sound like we're having a torrid affair or something, you little pervert. Now knock it off before you break Seto.//
"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, niisan." The younger Bakura grinned at him, as if he was part of whatever joke was being played on the young man's brother. Problem was, he had absolutely no idea what the joke was or if he even really was a part of it. He rarely got the joke, especially with these two.
//Don't worry about that. My little brother's just a pervert.// The words were accompanied by a purely mental sensation of arms wrapping around him. //Just try to put up with him a bit, okay?//
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced over to the other two occupants of the small elevator. Malik and Ryou seemed to be in some sort of protracted conversation that involved a lot of whispering and an equivalent amount of giggling. Why did he have the feeling he and Bakura were their topic of choice at the moment? Still... He leaned back so that he was just barely touching Bakura and whispered, "Thanks. I'll try to put up with him."
Was it his imagination, or were the other two oddly silent?
//Good.// Bakura sounded like he was grinning, but he didn't look as the elevator doors opened. //Try to have some fun today, all right?//
"Sure."
Malik and Ryou stepped around them and started speaking to a young man sitting on the steps, much as the tanned gaijin had been last night. "Jyonouchi-kun!" Ryou greeted him, turning that smile of his on a thousand watts.
"What're you up to?"Malik continued, stepping up behind Ryou.
The new blond man turned slightly to look at them behind the other two. "Waiting to see Bakura." Why was he almost literally seeing red? Bakura didn't even answer in words, merely tilting his head to the side. "Dad wanted to talk to you. Something about a case he needs help with."
If he could get his hands on Ryou and Malik, he might have to smack them both. Bakura was right; they made it sound like they were... involved. That seemed to be untrue now, though, and he wanted to know why they had implied so heavily. It wasn't like he and Bakura were in a relationship or anything after all, and even if they were, he certainly was not the jealous type -- and why was Bakura grinning like that?
//You're ranting a bit there, Seto.//
He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to think back 'So?', even if he wasn't sure it got through.
The elder white-haired man smiled even more broadly. //So, nothing. It was cute.// He started to bristle, but Bakura kept speaking. //There's nothing going on between Katsuya and me.// If it were anyone but Bakura, he'd be concerned by the usage of a given, instead of a family, name, but it was Bakura and he used first names for damn near everyone. //Don't worry over it, and go have fun. I'll see you when you get back.//
He had to fight a flush of heat to his cheeks as Bakura lifted his gloved hands and laid a kiss on the covered palm of each. Did the man know what he did to him? The grin had turned a bit mischievous; he'd say, yes, he knew, and he'd probably been counting on it. He -- he couldn't think. It was barely a touch, not even connecting with his flesh, and he couldn't think. He shakily drew his hands back to himself and stammered, "I -- I'll see you soon, Bakura."
He was pretty sure he was still red when Malik and Ryou dragged him out the front door, each of them pulling him by an end of his borrowed jacket.
It was starting to seem to him that Ryou and Malik knew everyone in this town, as well as exactly how to work each and every one of them. Every article of clothing had been bought at discount prices, and even the lunch they were now eating was at a reduced rate. Finally, he had to ask as the waitress brought some kind of desert with a wink and a grin, "Do you know everyone in this city?"
Malik was digging into the sweet with gusto. "Her?" He pointed at the waitress's back with one of the forks she'd also brought. "Never saw her before in my life."
"It's probably horrible of us, but we worked out a system." This didn't sound good; he wondered if the elder Bakura knew. "Malik's good at finding people who are easily manipulated, and I can make that even easier because I can follow where their emotions are going and steer them in the direction I want them to go."
Malik laughed, a little alarmingly in its sudden appearance and volume. "You should have seen it when Bakura still used to come out. He and Ryou could work a person like nobody's business. It was great. We never had to pay for anything."
"Are you guys really that broke?" something inside made him inquire.
As if by some unspoken signal, Malik set his fork down and Ryou picked up his own. "We are beyond broke. 'Broke' implies that you once had money. Niisan and I never have had any. Everything we have was either borrowed, stolen, or donated."
The Bakura he remembered was as prideful as they came, nearly as much as he himself was. He'd rather steal than take charity. How much in that room was stolen? Most of those lovely books to start with, he'd bet. Loans or things he could eventually return he'd have taken with fewer qualms than if they were 'donated'. He could understand the mentality; he was much the same way, after all. He would be paying all this back the second he got money of his own. He wasn't too sure how he was going to accomplish that, of course. His... handler back at the Institute frequently said he had a gift for investments. Maybe he could still make money move without that old bastard over his shoulder. Where to get the money to start with though? His parents had set up a trust fund for him and his brother before their deaths, but he couldn't touch it till he turned twenty, another eleven months from now. He wasn't waiting that long, not for something this important.
"Kaiba-kun?" Ryou sounded worried. How odd. Someone aside from Bakura and his own six-years-dead family was concerned for him?
"Yes?"
"Did I say something to upset you?" What an odd question, but Ryou was pushing on. "It's not really that bad, I swear. For the most part, we just have to cut out... luxuries, and niisan has got a deal going with the local police so we use our talents to help them out and they pay us a bit."
And the answer to his problem just fell into his lap. "I could help with that." Malik looked up sharply. "I could... I don't know... see crime scenes, tell them about the criminal. I know one of the police forces in Tokyo has someone like me on retainer."
"It's not easy, you know," Malik cautioned. "Half the cops resent us being there, and the other half only just barely tolerate us. Not to mention the nightmares from using your abilities like that." He gave a visible shudder. "It's horrible." He grabbed his fork up again, stabbed a bite off the dessert, and shoved it in his mouth, looking sharply away.
Ryou winced but turned back to him to explain, "Malik picks up murders when he goes up to the station. His surroundings determine what he sees."
So that was the drawback to Malik's abilities: they were like his own, but instead of seeing the past, he saw the future. Given what the blond liked to wear when not outside in the winter air, he was willing to bet he wasn't limited by touch either. It was strange, but he was almost glad he had that limitation now; it kept him from catching images at random.
Malik turned back towards them and spoke slowly but with excitement clear in his eyes. "Bakura says I'm sitting on a plateau with my powers. They're slowly stopping to increase and finally are evening out. Pretty soon I'll be able to control them better."
This seemed to cheer Ryou back up immediately. "Niisan's our resident expert. If he says Malik's powers are about to even out, then they will." He must have looked curious or confused or something because Ryou then kept speaking. "We were at that place for just about forever. He picked stuff up, more than I did."
Something in his stomach was tying itself into knots. "How long is 'just about forever'?"
"Since he was twelve and I was nine."
Nine years?! They were there for nine years? Holy fuck, no wonder Bakura could work the system in that place the way he could. "So long?"
Ryou snorted inelegantly, tossing his fork down on the table with a loud clatter. "They had to wait till Kaasan and Tousan had a little 'accident' before they could get us. Of course, I'm sure they didn't mean to kill our little sister Amane along with our parents."
Ryou sounded so callous, he could almost swear it was the man's brother he was speaking to. No, not callous. No, his words were just matter-of-fact, like his family being murdered wasn't the topic of conversation. If Malik hadn't already climbed onto the younger Bakura's lap to wrap his arms around him, he might have been half-tempted to reach out to Ryou himself -- because suddenly Ryou seemed a lot more like Bakura than ever before.
//Seto?//
The mental voice was little more than a whisper. Given how far they were from the apartment building, that really wasn't a surprise. Still... He had to resist the urge to check over his shoulder for the white-haired man.
Concentrating to form coherent words in his mind wasn't as easy as those two made it seem, and his eyes closed to work properly at sending the message 'Ryou's okay. He's just upset.' He paused a beat then added, 'I asked some stupid questions.'
There was a mental brush, so faint he couldn't tell if it was Bakura's equivalent of a slap or a hug before silence return to his mind, nearly deafening in its quiet. Ryou let out a jagged laugh, an almost frightening noise which sounded thick and wet and so very loud that his eyes were drawn open again. Malik was smiling as tears ran down his face. Looking around, though, the dark-skinned man was far from the only one upset; at least half the restaurant patrons were sobbing.
//He'll be just fine in a little bit. Come on home now, though, before my little brother decides all of Domino needs a good cry.//
He had to hold back the urge to nod. Sometimes it still surprised him just how much like talking this could really be. "Bakura-" he began aloud.
"Says to come home," Malik finished, wiping at his face. "He doesn't like Ryou being out when he's upset."
Between himself and the lamppost, he thought Bakura might have a rather wise idea there. But he wasn't going to say anything about it. And he wasn't going to mention that they'd just left without paying either.
"So that's one of the infamous Bakuras?"
He scowled at the voice's owner as the man spoke through almost hysterical tears. "Given the fact you're sobbing like a little bitch, I'd say that was Bakura Ryou."
"How can you tell?"
Really, if it wasn't such a public place, he'd probably go ahead and shoot the man in the face for his stupidity. "If it was the other Bakura, you'd be a drooling misfit now." More than normal, he clarified strictly to himself.
He'd known, if Kaiba Seto ever escaped, he'd lead them straight to the ever-elusive Bakuras. It had been a gamble, but so far it was paying off. As long as the other Kaiba never found out he'd allowed the man's favorite test subject to get out, it'd all be fine.
"If he's with the Bakuras, though, and they're as powerful as all that, how are we going to retrieve him?"
Again something twitched in the back of his mind, urging him to just go ahead and shoot his companion - put the man out of his own misery. He resisted. There was something odd about the thought. Not that he didn't regularly entertain notions of murdering this guy in his sleep, but there was a touch of 'other' there, something that simply screamed to him that someone else was influencing his thoughts. He knew the 'hand' of a telepath when he felt it. It was a little clumsy; either the telepath was a novice or he was too far away to work him properly. And given the topic of their conversation...
"We need someone who can get around the Bakuras and the young Kaiba," he reasoned aloud. His companion stared at him expectantly. "We need the summoner."
Maybe it was just him, but they seemed to have gotten back to the apartment awfully fast. Out of the six lights the cab had come to, only two were red though, so that certainly hadn't hurt matters any. That blond guy was standing just outside the door, bouncing on his heels impatiently. Malik started to hand the driver his fare, when the man's face went blank and he drove off without it.
He had to blink in surprise a moment. Bakura must have taken control of him. Were they really that desperate?
"Will you guys get in here?" the blond - that Jyonouchi guy, he reminded himself - hissed just loud enough for them to hear. "Bakura's having a fit."
He had half a second to wonder - no, worry - that he meant that literally, that Bakura was having the telepathic equivalent of a breakdown like he'd seen other 'paths do previously, before Bakura's voice broke in, //I am not. Just get upstairs, all of you.//
"Me too?" the blond chirped.
Bakura's voice was quieter, almost like he wasn't planning on him hearing what was being said. //Only if you really want to, Katsuya. Thanks for the help with the lights.//
The blond shrugged then turned his attention back to them. "Come on. I'll take you guys upstairs, then I'm heading back down to keep an eye out for Shizuka."
Ryou beamed and gave a slight bow. "Thank you, Jyonouchi-kun. Umm... This isn't a number three, is it?"
Number three? The hell? Even Malik looked a little nervous waiting for the answer, but the blond just rolled his eyes. "Six lights, four of which were green. I'm on number two of a set now. So if you're taking the elevator, now's the time to do it." He was speaking to the back of Ryou's and Malik's heads, though, because they'd already breezed by him upon hearing the words 'number two' and had pressed the button for the elevator to come down.
He must have been staring or something, for the blond shifted slightly to look at him. "What?"
"What do you do?" he blurted out.
Brown eyes stared at him curiously before he answered, "I change luck."
"I don't believe in luck."
"Then what the hell do you call that with the lights earlier?" He was all but growling.
"Coincidence."
"'Coincidence'?" Forget growling. The blond was snarling, and Ryou and Malik were staring like it was too horrific to look away. "I'll show you-"
//Knock it off, both of you.// He winced - they all winced at the sudden loud sound of the elder Bakura's mental voice. //You're acting like children, and this isn't the time for it. Now shut up and get the hell up here.//
"Busted," Malik singsonged under his breath. The doors slid open behind them as Ryou casually swatted him in the stomach. He seriously doubted the dark-skinned barely felt through all those layers, yet he was rubbing his midsection and complaining, "What was that for?"
"You're being a dork, and if you keep it up, you're going to get in trouble with niisan too."
"Bakura doesn't care what I do as long as long as I don't hurt you. Oww! Will you two quit ganging up on me?!"
Again he heard the faintest whisper of Bakura's voice in his mind. //When did I ever say that, Desert Rat?//
He couldn't help snickering, which got a pretty quick reaction from Malik as well. "What's so funny?"
"The whole Desert Rat thing." And why the hell were they staring at him like that?
//Because you shouldn't have been able to hear that.// Bakura's voice was... different this time; it sounded closer and more personal. Obviously now he was speaking only to him. //And before I was trying to speak only with the Desert Rat. How-?//
Ryou's voice cut in eagerly. /Niisan, what if Kaiba-kun has a bond with you, kind of like I do?/
"How?" he had to pipe up. He hadn't seen Bakura in years. Surely it would have happened years ago, back at the Institute, when they were together so much more, if it was going to happen at all. Wouldn't it? No one really understood how telepaths' abilities worked; far less was known about it than many of the other types of talents, especially when it came to 'paths of Bakura's levels, even at the Institute. He knew finding 'paths was getting harder and harder, at least according to his... handler, because the minute someone admitted to hearing voices in their head, they were treated as schizophrenics and pumped full of psychotropic drugs, any of which had the side-effect of shutting down the brain centers which governed telepathy. And everyone was staring at him again. Oh, the elevator had stopped on the sixth floor and he was standing there. At least Bakura was there now.
The elder white-haired man stepped forward and took his gloved hand. //Damn, Seto. You used to tell me you 'went away' when you were working on something. I see what you meant now. You zone out something fierce.// He almost mumbled an apology, but Bakura continued, this time obviously opting to speak to all of them. //Are you all okay?//
He nodded, vaguely catching Ryou doing the same out of the corner of his eye. Of course it was Malik who spoke first though. "A little ticked at being left out of the loop, but fine."
"What's wrong, niisan?" came next from Ryou.
Bakura shook his head, apparently not willing to answer yet, and that Jyonouchi guy piped up instead. "There were a couple of guys at the restaurant looking for you guys."
The murderous look Bakura sent the blond went a long way to killing any notions he might have had of the two of them together. If looks could kill, the other man would be six feet under. //I wasn't planning on telling them like that, Katsuya.//
"If I left it to you, you'd pussyfoot around it and they wouldn't know to be more careful." And apparently the Jyonouchi guy gave as good as he got. "I'm going to down to check on Shizuka." He couldn't help but notice he went through the door leading to the stairs. Maybe there was something to this luck manipulation after all.
As far as he could see, though, there was only one possibility for why these guys were showing up here and now: they had followed him. He had come to the Bakuras for protection, but instead he'd led those goddamn Institute bastards right to the brothers and every other talent in the building. He'd... betrayed them all. He should go now, while he still stood a chance of leading them off. That Jyonouchi guy's trick with the lights should have them thrown off just enough for him to make this work.
//Seto?// It was hard to ignore Bakura, but he was more than halfway considering giving it a go. He needed to start planning the next part of his journey, after all. //Seto-baby, shut up. You're not going anywhere yet.//
"I've led them right to you and your brother though!"
//We'll deal with them. Trust me: if they try to hit here, we will hit them back.// The white-haired man stepped closer, carefully wrapping an arm around him. //I'm not letting them keep you away from me again.//
"Can you do it?"
The summoner rolled his eyes. "Yes, it'll be a cinch. What do you take me for, an amateur like you?" He returned to studying the cards in his hand and finally set one down. "I play Mystical Elf in defense."
"Ooh, you're up to something," the person he was playing against teased. "What are you going to do?" He set a card on the table face down and smiled. "Turn over."
"What am I up to, he says," the summoner complained, looking back down to the cards in his hand. "I'm trying not to get my ass handed to me is what I'm doing."
"Would I do something like that to you?"
"Since you're the only one who can? Yeah, you would, in a heartbeat." His competition grinned.
A little nervously, the other cut in again. "When will you do it?"
The summoner looked up again, a dire expression in his eyes. "Tomorrow."
"Tonight-"
"I'm not going tonight. I'm going tomorrow. Tonight I'm having a game-" red eyes snapped back over to the younger man he was playing against "-and I am going to win this time!"
"Keep telling yourself that, and play your next card already."
The other nodded slowly. "I'll leave you to your game then. Please take care of this first thing tomorrow." Stepping backwards, he moved out of the room. A second or two later, they heard the lock click shut and both let out a sigh of relief.
"I can't believe they managed to find Ryou-kun and Bakura-kun," the younger of the two whimpered. "Kaiba-kun must be so upset."
"Kaiba will be fine."
"Are you really going to go after them? Won't that be dangerous?"
"It'll be fine, I promise."
"What about Bakura-kun, though?" the younger persisted. "He won't be too happy if you go after Kaiba-kun. You don't think he'll try to hurt you, do you?"
"Bakura's my friend. He won't hurt me."
"But-"
"I promise it'll be fine, aibou."
It had taken hours to get Seto calmed down and in bed. Even now, lying in his bed, he didn't seem relaxed, instead twitching ever so slightly. He was pretty sure the taller man would be tossing and turning were his body not still used to the cot-like beds provided at the Institute.
He couldn't hold back a shudder, thinking back to those beds. In the nine years and eight months he'd been 'a guest' at the Institute, he couldn't recall more than a handful of mornings when he'd awakened well-rested on the slabs they tried to pull off as beds. Sleeping on the cold tiled floor might have been more comfortable, not to mention his feet always hung off the end, leaving him with the most uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in the mornings. And Seto had a couple of centimeters on him, so it had to be have been worse on him.
He didn't think he'd ever forget that first night of freedom, when he and Ryou had tumbled into the Kame Game Shop in the middle of a nighttime rainstorm. Sugoroku had taken them in and dried them off and then finally asked who they were. That first week, he and Ryou had shared a bed in what used to be Yuugi's room - and it had been a tight fit, but it was wonderful because it was a real bed like he'd nearly forgotten - before the old man had presented them with a gigantic tool kit and the keys to this place. It had taken them two weeks to make it habitable for them to even move in. It was difficult going, but they were slowly making this place into a home. From the moment the first new talents, Katsuya and Shizuka, along with their parents, had been brought in, he'd been working on making this place into a haven for people with abilities.
And always it had been in the back of his mind that he wanted to help the others in the Institute, bring them here, and it had always been his intention to start with Seto.
Seto was here now, though, and with the exception of this little revelation, he seemed to be adjusting pretty well to life on the outside. How had Ryou so elegantly described existence at the Institute to Sugoroku shortly after their escape? Life in a glass box, where you can see the world outside, but trying to touch it means hitting a wall or getting cut on the shards when the glass breaks... or something like that anyway. Ryou was always the more poetic of the two of them.
//How odd is that, since I'm the one who practically lives in my own mind all the time?// he murmured to himself.
It was also a little odd to him that he'd gotten so nostalgic since he'd been bound to quarters, so to say. Having late-night conversations with oneself was supposed to be a sign of madness, wasn't it? If he really wanted to, he could probably have them with the Prime Minister or just about anyone else in Japan - except those inside the Institute's bubble. He had never really figured out how they kept telepaths from slipping their minds in or out, but somehow that remained the case with this technological marvel of Kaiba Gouzaburou.
He hadn't been the one to turn up the information, but he'd verified Katsuya's father's findings. It was strange to think that Seto's uncle was the one behind that torture factory. He wondered sometimes, strictly to himself, what Gouzaburou's role in all this really was. He knew the man had begun the Institute after his own son, Noa, developed abilities - psychokinesis, if the reports read correctly - that, untrained, had imploded on the boy, killing him messily, slowly, and painfully. There were nights when thousands and thousands of voices clambered in his mind and he could imagine how dying by his own talent would feel.
Perhaps Gouzaburou had started the Kaiba Research Institute with noble intentions, but if so, they'd run far astray. He and Ryou had been among the first brought in almost ten years back, and it was already corrupting from within by then, back when Gouzaburou still took a hands-off approach to running the place. Right before they ran away, the eldest Kaiba had started getting more involved, mainly by become Seto's primary 'handler'.
He had always hated that term. It made him feel like an untrained animal. He was no creature to be put on a leash and controlled - and neither were any of the other Institute talents. If he could accomplish what he wanted to, none of them would have to hear that term ever again.
The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when he felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. Years of honed reaction had him on his feet and ready to fight before his body was even mostly awake. Grey eyes regarded him steadily, and that dead gaze made him feel like an insect. "It's time to go, summoner."
It took him a moment to place the face to a name, and when he finally did, he felt his eyes go painfully wide. "You're not supposed to even be out of the Center, much less thinking about going outside the Institute."
"I'm going with you." That was apparently that in the younger talent's mind. "Hurry up and finish getting ready before I start moving you myself."
This... was going to complicate matters.
Even Malik was subdued at breakfast this morning, he noted. Ryou didn't look nearly as chipper and happy as he had the day before, and Bakura... The elder white-haired man had barely glanced up from first his cooking then his eating. An air of gloom hung throughout the apartment, and frankly, it was starting to piss him off. In his mind, he was watching a clock tick down to when he finally exploded, much like those bombs on the TV shows Mokuba used to watch.
The faintest of smiles touched Bakura's lips at the image of the countdown he knew he was projecting, then Malik's head jerked up, whipping side to side madly as though looking for something only he could see. Ryou dropped the spoon in his hand with a clatter, hurrying around the table to kneel at the dark-skinned man's side, placing a hand on one of his arms. "What is it, Malik?"
To Ryou's touch, the other calmed slightly, though his breathing was still short and heavy. "Something's coming, something - It's fucking huge! It's coming here, looking for - for - for someone!"
Ryou reached up to touch Malik's shoulder. A faint glow surrounded him, the only clue Seto had he was using his powers to keep the other man from hyperventilating. "What is it that's coming, Malik?"
//And when?// came immediately after that from Bakura.
"It's - it's..." Lavender eyes abruptly went unfocused, staring off at nothing. "Blood dripping from the sky, lightning - divine light to punish the transgressors, holy sky dragon king."
The Bakuras exchanged a terrified look, the older one rising from his seat now, and Ryou turned back to Malik with new urgency. "When is it coming?"
"Now."
//Now.//
The word echoed, coming aloud from Malik and in their minds from Bakura as the building began to shake on its foundations around them. "Earthquake?" he whispered at Bakura where the man stood at the window, having moved there before Ryou asked his last question. He didn't believe it was anything so mundane, but he had to ask.
//No, worse: dragon. Goddamn it, Atem. They had to send Atem.//
"What's so bad about Atem?" He always assumed the spiky-haired man and Bakura were friends. They always seemed like friends, perhaps of the caustic sort but friends nonetheless. Once upon a time, he'd even though there was something between the two. Bakura's statement of 'it'd be like fucking my brother' reassured of the invalidity of that quickly enough.
//I can't read him. There are too many minds there to find his.// What exactly does that mean? Bakura glanced at him over his shoulder. //You do know what Atem does, right?// He shook his head, and the other man sighed. //He summons. There’s not even a real name for what he does. He just finds beings in other dimensions and brings them here. Like that dragon there.// Bakura gestured at the kitchen window, and he moved to look out.
A huge deep red creature swirled around the sky, coiling and uncoiling itself around buildings. It was easy to see the monster -- the dragon -- was waiting on something, and he had a sickening suspicion he knew exactly what that was... or rather who that was.
With a tired sigh, Bakura stepped away from the window, walking towards the door.
"Niisan!"
"You're not going down there alone," he found himself arguing, taking a few steps after him.
//Ryou, you need to stay with Malik and bring him back out of this. Seto, babe, what're you going to do against a dragon?//
"Got a gun?" he immediately fired back.
Bakura started shaking his head in negation when Ryou answered, "In the living room, under the couch." Bakura turned sharp silver eyes on his brother, who merely shrugged and continued, "It's Malik's. There should be a full clip in it. Be careful, both of you."
For half a moment, he watched Ryou turning back to Malik, touching him so very gently, speaking words no one else could hear. To himself, he quietly admitted what it was: envy.
The dragon was... certainly a lot bigger from down here. From the sixth floor, it was hard to get a scope for its size. At this angle, though, the creature was gigantic and very nearly everything he could see when he looked up.
Bakura was striding right up to the door like he didn't have a fear in the world, even if he did stop just inside the doorway. //Atem! Get your ass out here where I can see you right now! Quit hiding behind your pets!// Oh yeah, Bakura did pissed off rather well.
"I think Osiris would object to being called a pet, Bakura," Atem replied, stepping into view. "I knew that would get your attention."
//Believe me, you were better off without it.//
"You know why I'm here, right? You know what they want me to do."
//None of us are going back to that place. Never again. Go back to your masters and tell them Bakura told them where to stick it.//
"'Kura, you know very well I can't do that. They'll have my ass in a sling."
//That'd make things easier for Yuugi now, wouldn't it?//
"That's just mean."
"Yuugi?"
His head whipped around to the side and he nearly had the gun raised before he realized it was that Jyonouchi guy. The blond was staring at Atem like he'd seen a ghost or something. With Atem, that was always a valid possibility, but he didn't think that was the case this time. "That's not Yuugi," he finally answered. "It's Atem."
"He looks so much like Yuugi," the other whispered, moving closer to him to see Atem better. How did this guy know Yuugi? For the first time he could remember, he reached out to brush what little skin was unprotected at his wrist against the blond's hand. Images came hard and fast, but somehow he managed to sort them: "see you later, Yuugi -- I hope it goes well!;" checking the clock and waiting reluctantly for the call, because that's what best friends do, isn't it?; flipping on the news and seeing the unexplained fire at the Kame Game Shop; rushing to the hospital where Jiichan had been admitted with third degree burns; "Anzu said she didn't like you like that and left then everything started catching on fire?;" a tearful Yuugi nodding, and hugging him because that's what best friends do, right, no matter what they might feel for the other; men in dark suits walking into the room...
With an effort, he pulled himself back and discreetly shook his head to clear it. So the blond had it bad for Yuugi, which he supposed made it all the more interesting since he had to be the best friend the smaller spiky-haired boy went on and on about to no end, but this was hardly the time to contemplate this. Silently, he walked up to stand closer to Bakura and tried to think at him, 'Are you okay?'
//Atem's an ass.// The answer came fast, and he had to smirk. //Something's not quite right here, Seto. He's being cagey.//
"Are you going to come along, Kaiba, or am I going to have to bring you back?" Atem demanded. Absentmindedly, he wondered if Atem and Malik might be related or at least from the same part of the world. It was worth looking into -- but not now.
"Not a chance," he threw back quickly.
Atem glanced at the ground and back up, an unfathomable look in his red eyes. "I'm sorry then, Kaiba."
"Are we done doing things your way now, summoner?" a new voice asked. What new monster had Atem managed to call up now? He'd never heard of him calling one that could talk. A figure stepped into view behind the spiky-haired man, one with long, shaggy back hair and dressed in baggy jeans, a blue and green striped shirt, and a polar vest over it all. It wasn't till the other lifted his head and he saw grey eyes he hadn't seen in six years that he knew who this was. "Hello, niisama."
It couldn't be... It just couldn't be... "M-Mokuba?"
"Of course. Come home, niisama. Come home with me."
That voice was hypnotic, a thousand times more so than anything a telepath could ever hope to do to him. He couldn't resist it even if he wanted to; his feet were moving of their own volition, going right past Bakura, down the steps, and beyond Atem till he stood before the tall young man his younger brother had become where Malik's gun dropped from his numbed fingers. "I thought -- they told me you were dead, Mokuba," he whispered.
"Uncle thought it was for the best." He held a hand out to him, and he couldn't resist taking it. "Now come home, niisama. Come home so Bakura will."
"That wasn't the deal," Atem turned to argue. Mokuba didn't even look over at him. "The deal was to bring Seto back only."
"The Big Five want their top-prized telepath in Japan back where they can take care of him. That's why they let niisama out. And that's why we're heading back. All of us. Catch up."
He felt the ground vanished from beneath his feet then nothing.
//Goddamn it!//
Bakura had been yelling the last few minutes. It was really a wonder the entire block didn't have migraines. The volume had only been increasing since Kaiba vanished with the younger Kaiba, and since everything had been directed at the older one, he could only assume the white-haired man was being ignored or somehow he couldn't be heard. He was almost hoping it was the former because otherwise... Well, the otherwise was a little scary.
Still, the all-powerful Bakura, possibly the most lauded telepath alive today, standing inside a doorway screaming out to his... friend? Lover? What was Kaiba to him? He had screamed like the brunet was his most important person, but he hadn't moved.
He took it back. Bakura took about three steps forward out the door, the blond man behind him yelling for him to stop. He was barely out the door and down a step before he let out a purely mental scream, hands going up to grab his head in very apparent pain, then his eyes rolled up in his head and he was down.
"...fuck." And that was the blond where he was trying to lift Bakura. Amber-colored eyes looked up at him critically. "Hey, you, sorta-Yuugi! Can you give me a hand here?" He almost looked behind him to see who he was talking to. "Yeah, you, with the tan and the almost-Yuugi hair. He's not that light, you know, and I don't want to drag him."
Apparently, he was going to help because he was moving forward, after going back for the gun, and helping to pick up Bakura's legs. "What happened to him?"
"He can't leave the building." Holy hell... He nearly dropped his burden in his shock. Bakura, housebound? Suddenly he couldn't wait to tell aibou about this. They set the white-haired man down on the lobby floor, then the other looked up at him again curiously. "Why do you look so much like Yuugi?"
"We haven't really come up with an explanation," he answered carefully. They had their suspicions, but this was neither the time nor the place for that discussion. He had a few questions of his own, after all. "How do you know aibou?" He felt his eyes narrow. "You aren't... 'Jyonouchi-kun', are you?"
He'd have to be blind to miss how the blond's entire face lit up. "Yuugi's mentioned me?"
He had all of half a second to feel insanely jealous before a muttered //Shit// filled his mind. Bakura sat up shakily, the palm of one hand ground into his forehead.
"Bakura, you're an idiot," Jyonouchi-kun stated plainly. "What were you thinking?"
//That someone had just made off with Seto!// the telepath snapped, struggling now to his knees. //Katsuya, I need to borrow your sister.//
"You aren't seriously thinking of going there? That kid as good as said it was a trap!"
//You've never been to the Institute. You don't know what it’s like there. And Seto's back there.// There was an almost hysterical edge in the man's voice he hadn't heard in the six-plus years he'd know him. //There's no way in hell I'm leaving him there!//
Once upon a time, he'd thought he'd never see a day like this, where he'd see proof that Bakura could really care for anyone besides his brother. There was something there, and the absence of it was hurting the telepath, much as being away from his aibou pained him.
"How are you going to handle that?" Jyonouchi-kun asked worriedly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he too felt much the same. After all, he'd seen too many talents' powers turn them inside out, and he'd hate to see that happen to his friend. "You can barely--"
//I'll handle it! Just get your sister!//
He trailed the blond with his eyes as he stopped to the stairs, slamming the door closed behind him. Bakura sank back down to sit on his heels, rubbing tiredly at his temples. He moved to kneel behind the white-haired man, but his hands were knocked away when he started to touch his shoulders. "Same old Bakura. You never change. You still can't accept any help."
//I'm not forgetting that you came here to take Seto away,// the other snarled back at him.
"Bakura, he can't handle his powers. They need to finish training him so he can. He can leave when he can touch things and control his visions."
//Idiot.// He started to bristle before the other continued to speak. //Seto's been able to control what he sees for years. He'll never be able to touch anything and see nothing though. His powers don't have that kind of an off switch.// He sighed, finally dropping back to lean against him. //They don't want to let any of us go, even you and me, who are over the legal age.//
He blinked a second, letting this new information sink in. "So you and I could leave whenever we want?"
//In theory. We're both over twenty, but I did have to break out to leave.//
"We're old enough to come and go as we please, but they're not letting us," he surmised. "Isn't that illegal?"
//Our families are dead. Who's going to report it for us when we're on the inside?//
"What about aibou?" he had to ask in slow dawning horror. "His grandfather's still alive." He felt his eyes go wide. "And he's been able to control his abilities since just after Ryou-kun left. What are they going to do to aibou?!"
//Probably just take care of Sugoroku. Yuugi's a pyrokinetic. It's hard to top that for sheer destructive power. They won't hurt him, but I dread to think what they'll want him to do.// He let out another sigh, this one tired. //He's like a walking H-bomb, after all.//
He felt his blood run cold. "I won't let them do anything like that to my aibou. He's coming back with us when we leave."
Bakura nodded. //I owe his grandfather too much to leave him there this time.//
He climbed to his feet, pulling the white-haired man up as well, speaking softly as the door to the stairs opened again and Jyonouchi-kun and a redheaded girl stepped out, "Let's go get them back."
The minute Mokuba left the room, his mind abruptly cleared. Well, except for the blinding panic when he realized where he was and the utter confusion at how his baby brother was alive and being controlled by the Institute. And that was not to mention the fact he was apparently powerful enough to make him walk away from the freedom he'd been longing for... and Bakura. He couldn't believe they got him to just walk away from Bakura, just like that, after all he had been...
The door to the small, stale room in the Center where Mokuba had left him opened, and his brother walked back in, walking in the midst of all the members of the so-called Big Five. He halfway wondered if they even had names.
The one in front glanced around the room then locked eyes on Mokuba. "Where's Bakura? You were supposed to bring him back also."
Grey eyes blinked once, twice, before he spoke. "Atem was supposed to bring him. Niisama was the only important one to me."
The one who had spoken sneered, upper lip curling back, and raised a hand. As he started to bring it back down towards Mokuba's face in what could only be intended as a backhand slap, Seto rose to his feet. He had no idea what he was going to do -- try to stop it or maybe get between them -- but he only got a step before the man froze a split second then turned to point at another of the men and yell, "In the name of the Moon, I'll punish you!" The worst part was probably the fact it was a balding man in his late forties or early fifties doing the trademark pose of a blonde teenaged superheroine.
All of them had to blink for a split second before another of them turned shifting eyes at the door. "Bakura's here... Viva la France!" He even moved to pose with one hand inside his jacket in an obvious Napoleon pose.
Almost immediately after that came a third one piping up, "Let them eat cake," while the fourth just started barking.
By now, he'd had long enough to get over to his brother and at least check him over briefly to make sure he was all right. Unfortunately it had also given the final member of the Big Five time to gather himself. "Where are you, Bakura?" he yelled.
//Here,// the white-haired man replied, walking calmly in the room. He was standing closer to the man and could see the faint stress lines around his eyes though. Being here was hurting him, but here he was either way. //You really don't want me here, though, Mister Big Shot.//
"You have no idea. Now that you're back..."
//I'm not here for you.// Silvery eyes turned to him. //Are you all right, Seto?// He nodded slightly. //Let's go home.//
"No way," the man stated. "Mokuba, stop Bakura. He's trying to take your niisama away."
His little brother looked to him, over to Bakura, then back to him. "Niisama?"
"Stand down, Mokuba," he whispered, wrapping both arms around his brother. "Bakura's our friend."
"No!" the final Big Five screamed. "Take Bakura down, now!"
//That's quite enough from you. Why don't you go away too now, Mister Big Shot?//
"I'm a telepath too! You can"t just rewire my mind -- Oh ye of little faith, why reason ye among yourselves, because ye have brought no bread?"
//Who says I can't rewire your mind, asshole?// Bakura slumped against the door.
In his arms, he could feel his brother start to shake. Faint sparkles of tears began to form in the corners of his eyes as a short scream escaped the young man's lips. In the corner, one of the windows to the rest of the Institute shattered; no matter how upset or powerful he was, that shouldn't happen, since those windows were designed to withstand everything short of a nuclear bomb. "Mokuba?!" he cried in alarm. "What is it?"
//...fuck. Hold him, Seto.//
"What are you--" Abruptly, the boy went limp in his arms, and he had to struggle to hold him up. "What did you--"
//I shut off his mind temporarily,// the white-haired man replied, letting himself sink to the floor. //Apparently, Jesus there was the one controlling him. When I shut him off, it turned off the telepathy holding the kid back. Until I can fix him, I just shut him down for a little bit.// He took a deep breath and slowly released it. "He'll be fine once I have a chance to work with him some."
It took him a moment to stop feeling relieved and start realizing the last words had been aloud. "Bakura?"
"I can talk, yes." He shrugged in a tired movement. "It's just so... imprecise. It'll just be our little secret, okay?"
"Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not."
//Shut up, you. Shizuka, get in here.//
A light flashed before his eyes briefly. When it died down, a red-haired girl stood before them. "Done already, Bakura-san? That was quick. Oniisan and Atemu-san still haven't gotten Yuugi-san out yet."
//Take Seto and the kid here back to the apartment, then come back for the others and me.//
"You're staying?" It was hard to keep his voice soft, even for Mokuba's sake in this case. "Why?"
Bakura leaned close enough to brush his fingers through Seto's hair. //I'm ending this for good tonight, one way or another.//
///What the hell do you mean 'one way or another'?///
//Exactly what it sounds like, Seto-babe. If I don't make it back, I want you to take care of the talents for me. Keep my little brother safe.//
///You're coming back, Bakura, if I have to drag you out of hell myself.///
The white-haired man smiled faintly and nodded. //Sure thing, Seto.// A hand, delicate and feminine, touched his shoulder, and the world started to flash out around him. //One miracle coming right up.//
"I thought you said you could handle this lock 'no problem', Jyonouchi-kun." Yeah, maybe he was whining, but even his muted senses could tell his aibou was on the other side of that door, and he wanted -- no, needed -- to make sure he was okay with his own two eyes. "You said--"
"I know what I said. Now if you'll kindly shut the fuck up so I can tell what number I'm on. I'd like to know if I'm going to be able to pick the lock or poke myself in the eye," the blond snapped back under his breath where he was leaning down to inspect the lock.
Then he heard what he'd been waiting to hear: his aibou's voice. "Atem-chan? Is that you?"
"It's me, aibou! We're trying to pick the lock. We'll be in there in a few."
"Oww, shit!" Jyonouchi-kun yelped, half jumping on him. Behind the blond, he could see the lock turning into so much red molten metal before falling to the ground. "He's definitely learned to control it."
The door pushed open, and his aibou's face appeared around it. "Atem-chan! You're back, and -- Jyonouchi-kun!"
Aibou went into a full-fledged pounce, and he suddenly found himself on the bottom of a mini-pileup as the younger spiky-haired man tried to give the blond an impromptu tonsillectomy. There was a white-hot surge of jealous anger that went through him at the sight. Did this mean he just got dumped? He let out a completely undignified squeak as aibou pinched one of his nipples. Okay, maybe he wasn't out of the picture yet then.
//This isn't a porno, you three,// Bakura's voice echoed in their minds, as effective as a bucket of cold water at breaking the mood. //Straighten up. Shizuka's on her way to get you.//
The redhead, Jyonouchi-kun's sister according to Bakura, teleported in front of them, and whatever mood was left was killed.
Behind that door lay the key to taking down the Institute for good. Something deep inside him told him that once he stepped through his doorway, he'd be able to change their futures. Girding up every bit of courage he had, he pushed the door marked 'Kaiba Gouzaburou' open.
An aged man with hair nearly as white as his own and a neatly groomed mustache sat behind the desk at the center back of the room. Eyes that reminded him eerily of Seto’s little brother’s looked up at him. He braced himself, not sure what to expect.
"Ah, Bakura!" he greeted, his tone friendly enough. "Did you and Seto enjoy your visit? Are you bringing him back now? I know the boys were saying how much they missed him."
The hell? He reached out with his mind and scanned the surface of the other's. What he saw there both shocked and sickened him. Whatever kind of man he had once been, Gouzaburou was it no more. Now he was little more than a puppet of the Big Five, reprogrammed to the point there was hardly anything left of him. And this was the man who'd started the Institute?
As quickly as he could, he reached down his mental link to Seto. //Babe?//
There was a brief fizzle that transcribed itself into annoyance. ///Don't you dare leave me like that again! What is it?///
//I'm standing in front of Gouzaburou...//
///You're what?!/// Seto had definitely gotten the ability to change his mental volume down quickly.
//...and he wants to know where you are. 'The boys' were missing you.//
Confusion leaked through to him. ///'The boys'?///
//Apparently one of them is the kidlet there with you. Seto, babe, he thinks Noa's still alive.//
///He thinks... No. He was there when Noa died. He knows he's dead.///
//Not anymore. The same guy who was working the kidlet must have been working him too. There's nothing left of him now.//
///Can you fix him? Like Mokuba?/// There was a faint note of hope in his mental voice that he hated to kill.
//No, Seto. When I said there was nothing left, I meant there is nothing left. At least with the kidlet, I have some room to work. There's not even anything to build on here.//
///With the Big Five down, he's going to die, isn't he?/// Reluctantly, he sent an affirmation. ///Can you at least make sure it doesn't hurt? He is my uncle, after all.///
Completely to himself, he wondered if Seto knew what he was asking him to do and what the risks were in it. //All right. I'll have to go offline while I'm at it, so don't get too upset, okay?//
He waited till he got a note of agreement before he shut down the thready link between their minds. Really, would Seto have asked that if he knew what it entailed? Not that he wouldn't do it, but... The only way he could guarantee the man before him didn't die painfully was to kill him himself, shutting his brain completely down a section at the time. He'd never had to do it before, but he'd heard of another telepath who had, only to get stuck in the person's mind and die right along with them. He liked to think he was more skilled than the average telepath, but with the threat of death looming...
"Are you all right, Bakura-kun? You look a little pale."
He opened his eyes and stared at the man before him in resignation. //I'm fine.//
"When you were dropping Seto off, did you happen to see Noa? I can't seem to find him."
//I'll take you to see Noa,// he whispered. He pushed an image of the dead boy into the older man’s mind for him to concentrate on as Bakura started shutting down his mind.
"Where the hell is Bakura?" Jyonouchi fumed, pacing a tight lap back and forth in front of the chairs in the Bakuras' living room where Atem and Yuugi were sitting. "It shouldn't be taking this long!"
"He said he was going to finish all of this once and for all," Seto softly said, glancing down to where his brother lay with his head on his shoulder.
"But what does that mean, Kaiba-kun?" Yuugi piped up. "It's not like Bakura-san can take down the entire Institute on his own."
"Maybe he can," Atem countered, "if it's true the Big Five are out of the picture. Then that just leaves Gouzaburou."
"That's where he is," he responded. "At least that's where he was last time I talked to him."
"Shizuka?" All eyes shot over to Malik, who had been oddly silent till then. "Go back and get him now."
"He hasn't called for a pick-up yet," she negated. "I wouldn't want to get in his way."
"You won't. He's unconscious... I think."
The girl's eyes widened and she vanished quickly. Seto stood swiftly, laying Mokuba down to lie flat on the couch. Almost immediately afterwards, she reappeared, nearly on top of him. It was just as well too, since she collapsed under the man's weight first thing, and he caught the limp body, lowering him to the floor, his head in Seto's lap. "Bakura?!" ///Bakura?///
There was a distressing silence for a few long minutes. In the background, he could hear a sniffle come from Ryou. Belatedly, he reached down to check the older white-haired man's pulse at his throat.
//Stop it. That tickles.//
Ryou let out a jagged sound of relief that he wasn't too sure he wasn't echoing. It didn't get much better than this. That place was gone, he had his little brother back, and Bakura would be all right. What could possibly top this?
"Niisama?"
He batted the sheets away from his face, peering out at Mokuba sleepily. "Hmm?"
"You aren't mad at me, are you?"
He sighed but smiled to himself as well. It had been three months since the destruction of the Institute, as well as two months since he'd assumed the reins of power of his uncle's business, Kaiba Corp, and a month since Bakura had started making visible progress on Mokuba -- and it had been a very busy three months because of all that, not to mention finally making some much needed repairs to the apartment building they still lived in. And if being woken up at six a.m. several mornings out of the week was a byproduct of it all, well, it was one he could certainly live with.
"Of course not, Mokuba." He moved to prop himself up on his elbows, still lying on his stomach. "What're you doing up so early anyway?" Like he wasn't up this early several mornings out of the week for the past month to ask the same question.
Mokuba opened his mouth to answer, but the voice that spoke came from the other side of the bed: "Go away. We don't want any."
By no stretch of the imagination was Bakura a morning person, especially not at this time of the morning. He wasn't even sure what time the telepath had gotten in last from training with one of their new talents; of course he was exhausted. Still, grumpy or not, it made him happy his brother and his lover got along. He'd worried about that.
Mokuba finally stopped snickering at Bakura's sleepy words and replied, "One of Atem-san's little dragons is loose in the building again, the black one. If I can catch him, can I keep him this time?"
"Give the evil little thing to Shizuka, you mean." Bakura stuck his head under the pillow after that comment, completely missing the light flush that touched the young man's cheeks.
Life here wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination -- and he wouldn't have it any other way.
posted by Apollymi @ 2/25/2007 12:03:00 PM
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