Fate: This is based on a recurring nightmare of my own. People tell me I'm a lot like Bakura, for some reason. Spastic, sociopathic, unwilling to be nice to anyone, and desperate for evil l33t dark p0w3rz. Or something like that. I think it's a load of….unsightly things. But here's the fic all the same. I do like how it turned out.

Disclaimer: The nightmare is ours. You wouldn't want it anyway. The rest belongs to Kazuki Takahashi, including the flying subtext.


It always started the same way. The ocean.

I'd had no idea what the ocean really looked like, but in the...the dream, it's there and I hate it. I don't know how to swim. I've never known. I've never needed to. But it's this harsh pure blue and it melts with the sky and it's all around me, no matter where I look. I always feel so dizzy seeing it, like the blue can blind me. It swirls around, and I feel like there are people there, but I can't see them. 

I'm barefoot on sand. This is a Very Stupid Thing, and I know it, but I'm still shoeless. I can't feel the burning, but I know it's sand, and it's hot. I can't see the sun, either, but it's there and it's burning my skin dark and bleaching my

hair from silver to white.

I'm being burned alive, and I can't see a damn thing around me, and I feel myself falling.

I'm on my hands and knees, and there's a crow in front of me. I don't know where the crow came from. It's like the ocean, wavering and shifting and all I can see, darkness looming in my vision. And it laughs. 

Suddenly I'm seeing the pharaoh, dark and flashing in the crow's mouth, and he's laughing too, laughing like he was when he finally had me pinned down to a table, screaming and writhing and choked with tears and vomit and saliva and blood, desperate and terrified and hating and hopeless...

And suddenly it all shifts again, and I'm huddled on the ground. It's dark and I'm lying on stone, and there's a castle looming in front of me, dark with lightning flashing across clouds in angry streaks, lighting up the pharaoh's former home. And I'm sprawled on my back, stunned and confused and wondering what I'm doing there, like I've been thrown down and I don't know what's going on.

Then there's this metal stick and a bucket of blood in front of me, and someone's huddled in front of me. They're the crow, with feathers in their hair and blood on their fingers.

They raise their head and smile, and I try and scramble away, but I'm terribly weak and can't move. It begins scraping the stick along my feet, drawing something I can't see and whispering. Blood sloshes everywhere as it works feverishly, telling me it has until the end of time to finish this, and if it's not done before then, I die. But time ends soon, I know that. I can see the Ring gleaming around its neck, and I know it's going to kill me if it finishes. And if I stop it, I'll be torn apart and then I'll die as well. 

I look at my hands, and it's already done them over in blood and is moving on to my arms, sloshing the blood everywhere. It sticks in my hair and drips on my face as it keeps going, swiftly scratching blood onto me. It's not my blood, it's the blood of everyone who died there, back all that time ago, back home. But in a sense, that's my blood too. It draws blood with the metal and it mixes and runs, but stays in the

scratched runes and wells up slowly. 

It's done my arms and legs and hands and feet, and is moving on to my head and neck when I'm staring at my fingers. I can't read, so I don't know what the writing says, but I think that maybe I could understand them if my eyes don't stop sliding off. And that's about when I realize that someone's crouched at my right shoulder, holding me up vaguely with one hand. I whirl, and I can't see their face, but I know they're not the crow or anyone who's trying to kill me. They're just an observer watching me, but their indifference doesn't scare me. It just makes me clutch at their wrists mindlessly, tears coursing down my face and slipping off the runes, begging

them to not let me go.

They don't.

They hold me vaguely, then tighter, and then the runes burn themselves across my eyes, and I die in a swamp of blood and a flash of gold light.

Yami no Bakura woke up screaming again.

He stared mindlessly into the darkness, panting, unable to move, hands clenched over his mouth. Sweat stood out on his forehead as he lay there in sudden silence, huddled on the floor of Ryou's living room. He was paralyzed in the fashion of one just woken from nightmares. Rather than the dramatic sitting up, gasping, and then relaxing in the approved fashion, he was unable to move for fear of jarring the nightmare loose from the unforgiving darkness, but didn't dare close his eyes in case the land of dreams was closer than he thought. He simply lay there, hardly daring to breathe, terrified. //No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...// he whimpered. //Don't leave me...//

He slowly pulled his hands away from his mouth, shaking. //I can still see the marks...// he whispered. 


A wild thumping came from Ryou's bedroom, followed by a slamming noise as Ryou vaulted the couch and landed in front of Bakura. /Yami?/ he demanded. 

Bakura clutched at him wildly, eyes wide. //Can you see them on me?//

/What?/ Ryou asked, trying and failing to disentangle himself from his terrified yami. 

//The blood. Can you see it?//

Ryou shook his head. /No.../

//It's gone?// Bakura whispered.

/I promise,/ Ryou said impulsively. Bakura's fingers relaxed slightly, but he still looked half-wild and scared of the random shadows in the room. /I'm turning on a light,/ Ryou said, moving away.

//No!// Bakura flinched back. //I don't want to be able to see!//

/The sun's going to have to rise sometime,/ Ryou pointed out.

Bakura winced again. //No.// 

/Yes,/ Ryou said, leaning back and flipping on a light, then turning back to his yami. /Are you all right? Silly question, you're not. But could you be?/

//I doubt it,// Bakura said slowly, shuddering.

/Tell me?/

//No,// Bakura snapped.

Ryou jerked back. /Why can't you trust me? You never do. I might as well not show up. I might as well not even be here. You can take my fucking body and do whatever you want, and I won't care. My God, I just don't care anymore. I never get

anything from you, for all I give!/

//You were there?// Bakura whispered. //By the castle, you were there? It was you that...?//

/Shut up!/ Ryou screamed, shoving Bakura away and falling back into the table. He slumped to the floor, eyes closed against tears of pain and anger. /Shut up shut up shut up! You're insane! You'd never let me near you! You'd

never...you'd never...you'd.../

//I'm not mad...I'm not mad...I'm not...// Bakura murmured, crawling forwards and taking hold of Ryou again pleadingly. //Help me...//

/Let me and I will,/ Ryou said, his eyes shadowed by his hair. /Let me./


/Then why bother asking?/ Ryou asked bitterly. He slowly turned Bakura's hands over, then stopped. /Yami.../

Bakura looked dreamily at the blood welling up on his fingertips. //It had to happen, you know,// he said. //I've had the dream too many times for it to not come true.//

/No,/ Ryou said breathlessly, pulling his yami towards him with an odd, violent sort of strength. /Don't./

Blood soaked into his shirt from invisible cuts as his yami slumped in his grip, drained and unable to fight back. //Then don't let me...//

/I take it back,/ Ryou whispered. /Never will...you're mine. I got you and I'm keeping you.../

Blood spattered on the floor.

One drop.


...begging them to not let me go...


Fluffy: Yyyyyeah. Maybe this wasn't the smartest idea in the world. But hey, it's a fic. And a spontaneous one, too. Woo, go us.

Duel: Review. Please. For the love of all that Is, stop making me scream and explode things. It's getting old. So just do it. For me? Because you like making cute leather-wearing redheads with a blood fetish happy?