Chapter Text
TW Disturbing imagery in this chapter. It should be the only one with this kind of explicit imagery, if you are not okay with gore I will mark the beginning and end of it with **
Ryou laid awake, staring up at the ceiling at the light dead center in his room. The faint passing of cars offset the sound of his own breathing, the light shifting across the walls when the occasional car drove down his street. He watched the light trail across the room until it faded with the tires. It was so, disgustingly, annoyingly, perpetually quiet. For the first time in 13 years he had absolute silence. He had no mockery in the back of his mind, no obnoxious laughter, only himself.
He’d dreamed of this day for so long, since the first child was sucked into a doll, he’d dreamed of it. Every waking hour of his life since age 5 had been filled with the chiding quips from some ancient monster that had grown so familiar it was as much a part of him as his own heartbeat. Now it was gone.
Ryou sat up and stared at his lap, trying to clear his head. He hoped the new position would make him feel better. Water started to hit the window, gentle at first. Ryou stared at it as the droplets began to collect and drip down the pane.
He didn’t know how to feel. Someone like Yugi could miss his spirit, the Pharaoh had been good to him, maybe not at first but certainly once they had a real rhythm going. Ryou wondered idly if Malik ever felt this way about his other personality after he vanished too, though the one time he’d gotten to meet him he’d seemed fine. Maybe it was just him then. Silently wondering if he should feel sorrow or relief and not knowing which to side with.
The rain picked up and Ryou could hear distant thunder. He’d been back home for maybe six months at this point. It had been six months of him with his own thoughts after waking up in a tomb in Egypt of all places. That seemed to be the story of his life, though. Months gone in a blink and he’s got to deal with the aftermath of the Spirit’s mess. The constant feeling that his friends never quite trusted that he was who he said he was, not that he blamed them. From what Ryou understood, the Spirit had a nasty habit of pretending to be him.
After the group returned, they were much more relaxed. The trip back was fine, and their company was genuine and welcoming and ever so willing to let him in. And then, when they arrived back in Domino and dispersed, the loneliness set in. Loneliness and paranoia. Everywhere he went he expected to hear some wry quip about whatever he was doing, quips that never came. It was maddening. He was so hollow.
Ryou gripped his head, all his thoughts swirled constantly, and he was so tired of feeling like this. It had gotten so bad that even in the company of his friends he just felt so damn hollow. Lightning flashed, lighting up the room and overhead thunder boomed.
He was the empty vessel of an entity greater than him left to wander the earth. Desperation filled his chest, welling with the loneliness, and Ryou could feel his heart beat against his chest as if seeking freedom. He could no longer breathe. A hand moved from pulling at his hair to gripping the fabric of his pajamas. He tried desperately to count his breaths out, calm the raging intake that served only to make him choke further. After a moment he let his shirt go and fell back against the now cool sheets, arms out to the sides.
He really was pitiful wasn’t he?
That thought was interrupted by a huge lightning strike and thunder that shook the whole house. Once it faded, a loud thud and splat from his backyard caught his attention and caused him to frown. Ryou got up and peered out the window, eyes widening at what he saw sitting in the rain.
Darkness filled every crevice of his being, it was cold and burned at the same time. Every breath he took was visible, his body shivering violently in the icy abyss. He’d been here before. He’d spent thousands of years here, but this time was different.
Time had always flowed so differently in the shadows, stretching and shrinking to suit pain and suffering. He didn’t even know how long he’d been there, his body unable to move due to the agony. The punishments came in waves, things shambled out of the mist, crawling to him. They dragged their wretched bodies, gnarled and mangled, creeping at him making horrid noises. They gasped and retched and wheezed, large eyes fixated on their prize. Things with hands whose fingers were unnaturally long and thin, bone scraping against the ground as it physically dragged itself closer. Other things had teeth growing out of every part, mouths extended and warped, but not always needing a mouth to grow them. Still others had bulging eyes that locked on his eternally rotting corpse. They were always grotesque, amorphous blobs that oozed and folded inward. Eldritch creations of nightmares, the things that lay forgotten in the dark, demons that starved for more.
** The group of them inched forward slowly, long enough for pieces of him to grow back. Last time was brutal, his lower jaw was missing, his arms ripped from him, his torso gashed open and the entrails from within strewn about. He couldn’t find the will to attach emotion to it, painful as it was. His bones cracked as they healed painfully, the feeling of his guts crawling back into place was awful. Yet he never healed all the way by the time the wave made it to him. He could smell them now, their odor was like nothing you could find on earth, it was putrid and lingering. He felt his stomach turn and, still jawless, emptied the bile out around him. Too weak to move, it just pooled there against his face as the first abomination reached him.
Her fingers reached out and grabbed his head, the long appendages sticking into his eye socket and plucking the left eye from his head. She croaked as her mouth open, splitting her head in two and dragging it to her tongue. Even severed, he could feel it, every nerve was still alive as it went down. The rest of them piled on and took bites of him, tore his flesh, devoured his bones. It was excruciating. If he wasn’t so numb at this point, so dead inside, he might cry out. Gods know he did for the first few waves, he wailed in agony, begging to be saved. Something his pride normally didn’t stand for.
No one was coming, though. No one would ever come for him and he’d spend his eternity here in hell, being constantly eaten by monsters with every breath he took being some of the most painful things he did.
It’s not fair. He thought. Worse people than me have gotten less. I wanted justice, peace for my family. It’s not fair.
That thought repeated over and over in his head as the sound of his flesh being consumed became rhythmic.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
His tongue was bitten off, hair pulled out, feet shredded into pieces.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
They took and took, carving him up and feasting. He was in agony; the pain was unbearable. Everything he’d wanted had been for nothing and all he’d gotten for his justice was imprisonment. They took his fingers, his ears, his nose. All the while, pieces had slowly started to grow back again.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
Tears pricked for the first time in what felt like centuries, though it likely wasn’t. A few even streamed down his face, but it only served to call attention to his remaining eye, and one of the toothed creatures went to bite it out. **
It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
Please, kill me.
And then there was a loud rumbling. The entire fabric of the dimension was quaking. The abominations began to scatter as quickly as their sluggish forms would let them. Loud noises echoed off every corner of the plane, bouncing everywhere and rocketing through his minced body. There was a surge of heat and light, a loud boom breaking just overhead and causing his ears to ring.
The ringing and the light blanketed him, and suddenly he was falling, rain drenching his body. Before he could turn himself to see where he was headed, he hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. He coughed repeatedly, the mud and muck around him stuck to skin he thought he’d lost. It caught him off guard, and he struggled to prop himself up, his arms and legs weak as if he hadn’t used them in months. His elbow gave out and sent him back into the mud, now clumping up his hair. His skin felt like it was just coming out of the heat, like a sunburn, it still burned but it faded slowly, the cool rain acting as his aloe.
He heard a door open, there was a pause, and then he heard footsteps slosh through the mud behind him. He kept trying to lift himself to roll over and face this being, uncomfortable with the fact he couldn’t see them or know what manner of beast they were, when a blanket was tossed over him.
The being moved closer, wrapping him up in it as tightly as he could, though not without getting the blue fabric a little dirty. He felt himself be lifted up by the gentlest hands he’d felt in his life, all 3000 years of it. The fabric covered his face and he was in no position to try and worm out of it as they moved back toward wherever this thing had come from.
The rain overhead stopped, or rather, it no longer dampened him. He could still hear it pattering away somewhere else. It didn’t matter. This thing carried him for a while, up some stairs and off down what he assumed was a hallway. Finally, he was set down, left to sit on another cold floor. He jolted at the feeling, his body reacting in fear at the idea of being left somewhere cold, but as he pulled the blanket off his face, he saw the floor was tile.
He was in a house.
He stared at the back of his savior’s head, it was covered by the hood of a rain jacket. This stranger fumbled with the faucets on a bathtub, letting it fill with water. Once they were satisfied with the bath, the stranger turned around and he looked on at his savior with slightly widened eyes.
“Ha… Ryou Bakura, as I live and breathe.” His thin, dried lips quirked into a smirk.
Ryou didn’t seem amused, if anything his expression looked exhausted. He shrugged the rain jacket off and moved to collect him off the floor. The blanket was left behind, and it was now that he realized he’d fallen from the heavens naked as a newborn. The skin on skin contact highlighted how cold he was, as Ryou’s hands and arms were so warm, he wondered if he might be singed. And when Ryou set him in the bath, the hot water was ten times more jarring and he hissed at the contact.
“Such hospitality.” He cooed, hiding himself behind that veil of mockery he so loved. “What a gentleman~”
Ryou sighed and grabbed a cloth, starting to wash the dirt off his body. The water turned brown rather quickly, and Ryou had to empty and refill it. Every touch was so delicate, as if Ryou were worried he’d break him, though the numb expression he carried hardly gave that impression. Even when Ryou graduated to cleaning his hair of muddy clumps, he remained as gentle as ever.
He scowled. “Must you treat me like I’m porcelain?”
Ryou paused, looking at his face for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you could afford to be picky right now. Would you prefer I dug my fingers in harder, Spirit?”
That name gave him life, renewed any sense of self he had left in his weathered body. Another smirk twitched across his features.
“So, you have some bite to you now? My my…”
Ryou ignored him and rinsed his hair out and drained the tub, refilling it again. This time, he sat back, pulling his knees to his chest and just stared at the Spirit. They both just stared at each other. The rain was the only soundtrack.
“What are you doing here?” Ryou asked finally, his tone wavering slightly.
The Spirit hummed, the full extent of his hoarse voice apparent. “I can’t really say. One moment I’m lounging in the dark, king of the shadows, and the next I’m plummeting into your house. I suppose you should be grateful I didn’t crash through the roof.”
“You didn’t do this then?” Ryou didn’t seem to believe him, his eyes wary. There was something else about the way Ryou looked at him that the Spirit couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Why would I want to leave and give up my throne?” He scoffed, sinking into the water. He wouldn’t dare tell Ryou about the reality of his time there. Vulnerability was not an option, it was never an option.
“If you miss it so much, just leave.”
“I’m not sure it works like that, host. I didn’t exactly choose to be here, why would you think I could choose to go back?”
“I’m not your host, and I don’t know. Worth as much as any other idea.” Ryou stood up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go find something for you to wear.”
The Spirit watched Ryou walk out and the moment he was gone, he tried to stand up. His arms shook with the weight of his body, trying to lift himself up. All he managed to do really was dump himself over the side and onto the tile. He swore under his breath as Ryou returned with a frown to see what had happened.
“Why didn’t you just wait?” He asked, stepping over to him and lifting him onto the lid of the toilet.
“Because I don’t need you to help me.” The Spirit seethed. “I can walk.”
That tired expression fell on Ryou’s face again and he just turned to continue looking for clothes without replying to the Spirit’s prideful foolishness. This time, he stayed put until Ryou returned with a towel and some clothes. It took a few minutes to dry him, but once he was dry enough, Ryou started tugging a shirt over his head, helping his arms through the holes like a parent would a child.
The whole thing really pissed him off.
“I can do it myself, landlord, I do not need your pity!” He shouted, his voice cracking due to the strain. It was like this body hadn’t spoken in ages.
“I’ll let you put the shirt on yourself next time, but I really don’t see how you’ll get your pants on if you can’t even stand, unless you’d like to writhe on the floor like an idiot.” Ryou held up the pair of sweatpants.
The Spirit wanted to argue, assert himself as capable, but at this rate he risked looking like a child throwing a tantrum. He conceded quietly, allowing Ryou to finish dressing him.
Ryou picked him up again, this time carrying him off to a bedroom. The Spirit knew this room well, the walls lined with shelves and figurines. Some of the figurines were familiar and some seemed new. There were posters and books all with the nerdiest topics, things the Spirit had made fun of him for in the past. Right now, it didn’t matter too much, he’d have all the time in the world to catch up on mocking him.
The sheets of the bed were cool, but not unpleasantly cold. They were soft, smelling sweet, the Spirit wasn’t sure if that was just Ryou or the detergent he used. Ryou walked to the other side of the bed and crawled in next to him.
“I take it you can pull the covers up yourself?” Ryou asked, facing his back to the Spirit.
“Is this really the only place you can put me?” The Spirit sighed. “I don’t really want to sleep next to you.”
Ryou propped himself up and looked at him as if he were ridiculous. “You just fell out of the sky and can’t even lift yourself up to crawl anywhere and you think it’s a good idea to just… have a room to yourself? I know you’ve said you don’t want my help but that seems particularly stupid, even for you. I can’t really help you if you can’t come wake me up.”
He glared. “I don’t recall asking for your help. I don’t understand why you’d give it.”
“Goodnight, Spirit.” Ryou rested back on the bed, back still facing the Spirit.
He was annoyed with Ryou’s insistence on dropping the conversation but conceded regardless. The Spirit let himself relax into the sheets, the moment his head hit the pillow fatigue slammed him like a freight train and he was asleep in moments. The thunder in the distance rolled on, growing quieter and quieter as both boys drifted off.