Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warning: Adult themes and violence.

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a sad sort of fic like this. I think it turned out pretty well, though. Reviews are very much appreciated!

Never Leave Me

"Please Bakura," Ryou moaned softly as the yami pressed him onto the bed. "Don't."

Bakura snickered and ignored his hikari's pleas as he flipped open his knife. Ryou began to struggle beneath him at the sound of the blade being exposed.

"I'll do whatever you want, Kura," Ryou pleaded, tears of fear spilling over as he eyed the blade in Bakura's hand. "I'll never disobey you again."

"No, I'll make sure you won't" Bakura said, grinning sadistically at the smaller boy beneath him. He let the cold tip of the blade trail down Ryou's chest menacingly, wrapping a hand around the boy's upper arm, over a purplish-green bruise and squeezed.

Ryou flinched in pain and his movement caused the blade to nick his pale skin, a crimson drop welling up, only to be licked away by Bakura.

Ryou cried out in a shaky voice as the blade was dragged lightly down his right side, leaving a red trail behind. When Bakura lowered the blade to do the same on Ryou's other side, he tried to flinch away, but Bakura held him still and backhanded him viciously across the face.

"Don't move," he hissed. "If you're not careful, I might cut you too deep to heal."

Hot tears streamed down Ryou's face as a dark bruise began to form where Bakura had hit him. He tried to hold very still as Bakura ran the knife down his chest and stomach, but he couldn't help but flinch every time the cold tip touched his skin.

Bakura chuckled softly every time his hikari cringed and dug the knife tip in just a bit harder, liking the way the bright red liquid welled up around the shiny tip.

Soon Ryou's chest, stomach, and arms were covered in crimson stripes. Bakura lapped at some of them, blood smearing across his lips and chin, matching the sadistic look in his eyes.

He rubbed a hand roughly down Ryou's abused body, making the smaller boy cry out in pain. He inspected his blood covered hand, and then wiped it across Ryou's face and hair, liking the stark contrast between pale skin and ruby blood. He leaned down over his hikari so that their faces were close and pressed the flat side of his blade against Ryou's un-bruised cheek. He heard the boy's breathe catch in his throat and smiled.

"Who do you belong to?" Bakura whispered in Ryou's ear.

"Y-yy-you," Ryou stuttered through his sobs.

"That's right," Bakura whispered. He let his hand rest on the boy's stomach, running his finger over one of the deeper wounds there. Ryou gasped.

"Say my name hikari," Bakura whispered in his ear as he continued to assault the wound.

"Ba-Bak- Ahh!" Ryou broke off in a scream as the yami dug his fingers into the cut.

"Say it!" Bakura hissed.

"Bakura!" Ryou cried breathlessly. A cruel smirk spread across Bakura's lips.

"I love the way you sound when you're in pain," Bakura whispered, licking the blood from Ryou's face.

"You won't disappoint me anymore, will you Ryou?" Bakura asked as he kissed his hikari gently on the lips.

"No," Ryou whispered. "I'm sorry, Bakura. It won't happen again."

"Good boy," Bakura breathed into his hair before standing up and wiping off his blade. "Now go clean up, you're a mess."


Bakura walked through the door to the apartment he shared with Ryou, laughing at something Marik had said behind him. They'd been out at clubs all night, and had just gotten home as the sun began to rise, spilling pale light through the window.

"Where's your hikari?" Marik asked, bored.

"Don't know," Bakura shrugged. "Probably off crying somewhere because I left him alone again."

Marik smirked. "Got anything to drink?" he asked.

"Sure," Bakura answered and went into the kitchen, bringing out two cans of beer and handing one to his Egyptian friend.

They sat down on the couch and Marik turned on the television, flipping through the channels.

After watching Marik whiz through all the channels for a fifth time, Bakura wrestled the remote from the other yami and switched the television off.

In the silence, Bakura noticed Ryou still hadn't come out from where ever he was hiding.

"Ryou!" Bakura called out, annoyed at being ignored by his hikari. "Where are you?"

Still there was no answer.

"Maybe he's out," Marik suggested.

Bakura grinned evilly. "I doubt it," he said, thinking about the fun they'd had last week. Poor little Ryou doesn't want his silly friends to know what he lets Bakura do to him.

Bakura turned once more the empty house, "Ryou, were the fuck are you?!"

Nothing. Bakura was beginning to get angry. Perhaps that lesson I taught him last week didn't get the message across.

Bakura left the living room, and began to search the apartment for his naughty little hikari. Marik followed him, hoping for some fun.

Bakura pushed the door open to Ryou's neat room. It was empty. Bakura growled in annoyance and went across the hall to his room. Ryou was going to be in trouble when Bakura finally found him.

Turning around to smirk at Marik when the larger yami tripped over something and almost ended up sprawled on the floor, Bakura pushed open the slightly ajar door of his bedroom.

When he turned back to walk through the door, Bakura stopped cold, staring at what lay on the floor in the corner of his untidy room. Marik nearly ran into him.

"Oi, Bakura what's wrong?" he asked, annoyed that Bakura wasn't moving. He glanced over Bakura's shoulder into the other's room and saw what had made the white-haired yami freeze. "Oh my god," he whispered.

Ryou was on the floor, propped up against the wall in the corner of Bakura's room amidst various black t-shirts emblazoned with skulls and the names of obscure rock bands that were scattered haphazardly on the floor. His head was tilted forward so that his chin rested on his chest, soft white hair falling around his face. Bakura's favorite knife, the one he had used on Ryou last week, was in the boy's relaxed grip. Sticky blood stained the carpet underneath the boy's arms. The deep cuts in his small wrists were still bleeding sluggishly.

Bakura took in the sight before him and all he could see was the crimson stains of Ryou's blood staining the floor. It filled his vision until it was all he could see. And then a single thought floated through Bakura's mind. Ryou is dead. My hikari is dead.

That was all it took to snap Bakura out of it as he collapsed at his bleeding hikari's side, gathering him in his arms. He paid no attention to the blood soaking through the knees of his jeans, but softly shook Ryou, as if he would just wake up.

"Ryou," he said quietly, grabbing his favorite t-shirt off the ground and wrapping it tightly around the hikari's wrist. "Ryou, wake up!" His cried got louder and more frantic when his hikari did not respond, but only lay limp in his arms.

Bakura found another shirt and did the same to Ryou's other wrist. He pressed the material tight against the wounds with one hand, trying to stop the bleeding, and stroked his hikari's very pale face with the other.

"Wake up, Ryou," Bakura whispered, tears falling on the unconscious boy's face. "Please, please wake up! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Don't leave me."

Bakura's voice broke as he cried into Ryou's hair. Marik knelt beside his friend and said in a horrified whisper, "I called an ambulance, Bakura. They'll be here any minute."

Bakura nodded into his hikari's hair. He'd forgotten Marik was there.

He let the taller yami take over pressing the t-shirts against Ryou's wrists to stop the bleeding and Bakura clung to Ryou's limp body helplessly.

I'll never forgive myself if he dies, Bakura thought bitterly as he heard sirens nearing.

Two white clad EMTs burst through the door into Bakura's room and quickly knelt at Bakura's side, trying to take Ryou from him.

"Don't touch him!" Bakura snarled at them, baring his sharp teeth, eyes wild with fear and guilt.

"Sir, we need you to let him go. We have to take him to the hospital," one of the EMT's told Bakura calmly.

"It's my fault," Bakura said out loud, not to anyone in particular, clutching Ryou's limp body closer to him.

"It's okay. Just let go of him, and we can try and fix this," the same EMT said softly to Bakura, reaching out for Ryou once more.

"Let him go, Kura." Marik whispered to his friend, running a hand through his hair comfortingly. At his words, Bakura went limp and let the EMT's take Ryou from him. They laid him on a stretcher and quickly peeled the bloody t-shirts away from the boy's wounds and bound them tightly before wheeling him out to the ambulance. Bakura got up and followed them, completely ignoring the EMT that tried to stop him from climbing into the ambulance after Ryou. He sat next to Ryou's stretcher and watched as the EMT in the back inserted a needle in his hikari's arm. He glanced nervously at Bakura as he did it, but Bakura said nothing. He just sat there staring at his beloved hikari all the way to the hospital, not even noticing he was covered in Ryou's blood.


Once in the emergency room, Ryou was transferred to one of the beds there, and a curtain was pulled around him. Bakura was about to pull the curtain back so he could slip inside, but an intern grabbed his arm stopping him.

"You can't go-" he started but was cut off as Bakura growled murderously at him, wrenching his arm out of his grip and slipping behind the curtain.

"Hey!" the intern said indignantly, following Bakura behind the curtain.

Bakura stood at the head of Ryou's bed, staring down at his unconscious hikari. An older doctor was on the other side of the bed, unwrapping one of Ryou's wrists. A little metal tray with needles and stitching was held by a nurse.

"I'm sorry Doctor," the intern said as he pulled aside the curtain and made to grab for Bakura. "I'll escort him out."

"Don't touch me!" Bakura snarled, wrenching his arm out of the intern's reach. The weathered looking doctor glanced at the white haired man dressed in black clothes and metal jewelry, and looking decidedly menacing as he snarled at the intern.

"He's fine, let him stay," the doctor told the intern. The intern looked like he wanted to argue, but instead closed his mouth and retreated behind the curtain.

The doctor had finished stitching up one of Ryou's wrists and moved to the other. Bakura stepped out of the way hypnotically, never taking his gaze off of Ryou.

"Do you know his blood type?" the doctor asked Bakura pointedly. It took Bakura a moment to realize the doctor was talking to him.

"The same as mine," Bakura said.

"What type are you?" the nurse asked him.

Bakura shrugged. "I don't know. But we have the same blood."

The nurse gave him a slightly odd look that Bakura didn't notice.

"He needs a transfusion, and it is critical to make sure we give him the correct blood type," the nurse told him.

Bakura rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm in the nurse's direction, "Take mine."

"I'll have to type it first," she told him.

"It doesn't fucking matter!" Bakura screamed at her, finally breaking his gaze at his pale hikari. "It's the fucking same! Just give it to him!"

"I can't do that," the nurse began.

Bakura turned the full force of his glare on her. "If he dies, I am going to rip out your throat," he said hissed.

"Sir," the nurse said unperturbed, "We have to test your blood to make sure the types match. If it doesn't, it will kill him. Now stop wasting your friend's time and come with me so we can accomplish that."

Bakura blinked at her, then let his arm drop to his side and followed her into a room full of all sorts of doctor's instruments which Bakura eyed distrustfully.

The nurse took something from one of the drawers and instructed Bakura to hold out his finger, which he did. She pricked it and squeezed a drop of blood onto a glass slide, then turned her back to him as she worked at the counter to verify his type with Ryou's.

"It's my fault," Bakura whispered again to no one in particular, the bitter feeling of guilt flooding his body.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," the nurse said kindly. "Most people never recognize the symptoms until it's too late."

"I should," Bakura said miserably. "I didn't treat him right. I hurt him." The nurse turned to stare at Bakura as he paused, tears running silently down his cheeks.

"He deserves better," Bakura said, his voice breaking.

"Then if he survives, maybe you should make sure he has better," the nurse told him sternly. Bakura blinked at her through his tears. People usually didn't talk to him that way.

She held up two slides and smiled at him. "You were right, it's a match," she said. Bakura sighed, feeling his tense muscles loosen ever so slightly.

"Come on," the nurse said, leading him to a chair and sticking a needle into his arm. Bakura watched the red liquid flow up the clear tubing and fill a bag attached at the end. All he could think about was the sight of his Ryou lying in the corner of his room in that puddle of brilliantly red blood.


Marik entered Ryou's hospital room to find Bakura in the exact same spot he'd been in yesterday, perched on the edge of a chair dragged close to Ryou's bed, his elbows propped on his knees and his head resting on his folded hands, watching Ryou closely for any hint of movement.

Marik pulled a chair up next to Bakura and sat down. The white haired yami didn't move.

"Bakura," Marik said, sounding worried, "Maybe you should get some sleep. You've been up with him all night."

Bakura shook his head slightly. "No, I have to stay here."

Marik gave up and they both stared at Ryou's medication induced slumber for several minutes before Bakura broke the silence.

"The doctors didn't say anything about his scars or his bruises. Don't they usually file an abuse charge or something with wounds like that," Bakura asked Marik accusingly.

"I helped out a bit," Marik said, fingering the end of his Millennium Rod.

Bakura nodded. "I thought so." Then a short pause. "Maybe I should be locked up. Look what I did to him. My own hikari," Bakura whispered in a disgusted voice.

"No," Marik said firmly. "You made a mistake, Kura. Now you have a chance to fix it."

Bakura nodded, not looking the least bit convinced, then fell into silence once more.

"Was there a note?" he asked Marik quietly a few minutes later. A pained expression passed over Marik's face, but he said nothing.

"What did it say?" Bakura asked. He heard Marik sigh and dig into his pocket, and then a folded piece of paper appeared in his line of vision.

"It was left on your pillow." Marik said dryly.

Bakura took the paper and unfolded it to Ryou's familiar sloppy handwriting.

I'm sorry Bakura. I'm sorry I can't be who you want me to.

I won't disappoint you anymore.

Marik put an arm around Bakura as he let the letter fall into his lap, tears streaming down his face.

"Don't!" Bakura yelled, trying to pull out of Marik's grasp and failing. After struggling for a moment, Bakura allowed himself to be pulled into Marik's embrace and sobbed into his shoulder.

Marik stroked the other yami's hair and whispered, "It's alright. Ryou's fine."

"He's not," Bakura said into Marik's shoulder. "He's not. Look what I've done to him."

Marik said nothing, but just held his friend until he stopped crying and pulled out of Marik's arms to resume his position of watching his hikari, his face wet and shiny.


Ryou opened his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the dimmed light. He sat up slightly and looked around. He was in his room. Sunlight was streaming through the windows in stripes on the floor. Ryou glanced at his wrists and saw they were wrapped in stark white bandages.

Ryou heard a noise that sounded like soft breathing and glanced over to see Bakura asleep in a chair next to his bed.

Ryou felt panic rising in his throat. Bakura's going to be angry, he thought dejectedly. I can't even kill myself properly!

He decided he wasn't quite ready to incur his yami's wrath and quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" a familiarly cold voice asked. Ryou stopped dead in his tracks, tears welling in his eyes, more out of habit than anything. He slowly turned around to face Bakura.

"I'm sorry Bakura," he cried. "I just didn't want to be a burden for you anymore. I know I'm weak and stupid, and I thought it would just be better if I wasn't here anymore," Ryou said quickly. Bakura stood up and advanced on him. Ryou braced himself for Bakura's anger and squeaked in surprise as strong arms wrapped around him instead, pulling him close.

"Don't," Bakura's pained voice rasped against Ryou's neck. "Don't apologize."

Ryou didn't know what to think, so he leaned limply into Bakura's embrace.

When Bakura finally released him, Ryou was shocked to see tears in the yami's eyes.

"Don't you ever, ever do that again," Bakura whispered severely, shaking his hikari slightly for emphasis. "You are not weak and you are not stupid." Bakura lessened his grip on Ryou's arms.

"I'm sorry," Bakura said quietly, staring at Ryou. "I'm sorry for everything. I will never hurt you again. I promise."

Ryou trembled, afraid to see Bakura like this. "Kura..." Ryou said softly, trailing off. Bakura pulled him into another uncharacteristic hug and Ryou tentatively wrapped his arms around Bakura's neck.

"Never leave me," Bakura whispered into his hair. "I can't live without you, Ryou. I love you."

A small smile lit up Ryou's face as he buried it in Bakura's soft mane. "I love you too, Kura."