Chapter Text
Not once in his entire life had Bakura ever cried from pain. Even as a toddler, if he cut his knee or bumped his head, his mother would scoop him into her arms and kiss the scrap and he'd whimper and hide in her hair but not cry. It was like he was distant from the stings and throbbing. He understood them, disliked them, but knew they would pass. He could still get up. He could still keep going.
Now Bakura wailed in the dark. Not at first, not even a scream when the torture began. Each time Zorc's teeth pierced deeper, he'd grunt, whimper, hold his breath. It wasn't until later—hundreds of years worth of later because time moved differently in the Shadows—It wasn't until Zorc grew bored with gnawing and wandered off—Truthfully, It wasn't until Bakura was left alone, that the unfamiliar sound of his own screams and sobs echoed in his ears.
And as he screamed, Bakura bled in the dark. The reek of copper clung in his nostrils and the taste stained his tongue. This is what it meant to fail Zorc, and now there was eternity for punishment. Worst of all was the awareness of just how brief the first bout of torture had been. It was a taste of millennia to come. A few hundred years of light-hearted foreplay. And there was nothing Bakura could do but lay and bleed and wait for more. He was mangled. He couldn't get up—no matter how many times he clawed into the Shadows to drag himself away. He could only lie on his belly and wail.
Pain was familiar and intimate. The claw and teeth wounds throbbed with consistent, unending hurt. But even those wounds weren't as bad as the light tearing through the pitch, exposing exactly how weak and useless and pathetic Bakura truly, truly, was.
“I found you."
Bakura squinted his blood crusted eyelids at a familiar silhouette, and wondered if this was some new psychological torture Zorc had imagined. What would be worse than teeth slowly piercing his stomach until all his flesh yielded?
Being rescued by his greatest foe.
“Gods." The Pharaoh physically flinched at the sight of Bakura. “Godsdamnit. Damn them. I can't forgive this."
The tears in Bakura's enemy's magenta eyes were more familiar to Bakura than the ones streaming down his own face. While Bakura wept in pain, Atem's were tears of rage. Bakura ached to trade. Rage was power and far better than the raw feelings currently grating Bakura's soul.
"Come on. You've suffered enough.” Atem trembled with fury as he scooped Bakura in his arms.
Bakura shook his head. This? Enough? This was nothing. Again, this was mere foreplay. Zorc would never decide it was enough.
But Bakura didn't want anymore Darkness, anymore Shadows. The light surrounding Atem took Bakura's breath away, made him yearn for that feeling he had as a child, being scooped up and held, having someone who cared. His arms betrayed him as he twined around Atem's neck and pressed against his cinnamon and myrrh scented body. He couldn't let go, didn't want to. Bakura hated himself for clinging to Atem as tightly as he was, and he hated himself for sobbing against Atem's chest.
“I was wrong," Bakura confessed.
Not wrong to be angry or wrong to fight against the injustice in his life, Bakura would never regret his motives.
But choosing Zorc? That wasn't the right way. Bakura wasn't sure there was a right way, anything else would have only gotten him killed sooner, but he hated what he'd become—in the end.
“I won't let go. I have you. Zorc will never touch you again. If he tries…I'll fucking kill him." Atem's cape fluttered as he stood and carried Bakura into the light.
For some reason, Atem's words made Bakura cry harder. Perhaps because he finally had a space to let his emotions exist. The fact that said space was in Atem's arms was irrelevant. Bakura was an opportunist. Here was the first opportunity he had since the night of the fire to simply break down, to feel the grief inside and the pain outside. So he wept into Atem's hair.
Honestly, Bakura expected the Tribunal, so he was confused when Atem laid him on a bed fit for a king. Bakura exhaled, moaning a little as the comfort contrasted with the uncountable aches and pains throbbing from his split lips to the bite marks on his calves, his stomach, his torso, his arms, thighs, and face.
“Here." Atem lifted Bakura's head and held pomegranate wine to his lips.
Again, Bakura's body betrayed him, as he drank from the Pharaoh's hand like a tamed thing, but the wine soothed his dry throat and replenished some of his heka.
"You're covered in my blood,” Bakura whispered as the tears ebbed.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is you're out of the Shadows." Atem wiped below his jaw where Bakura had buried his face into the crook of Atem's neck, but smeared the mess instead of cleaning any away.
“Where are we?" Bakura choked on the blood still leaking down his throat.
“My room." Atem helped Bakura drink more wine.
“Deflowered on the Pharaoh's own bed." Bakura tried to snort, but the pain was too great. “Seriously, you're never getting these stains out."
He could feel the linen growing wet and heavy beneath him. In a mortal body, Bakura would have died after the first few bites, would have bled out at least three times even here in Atem's bed, but oh the joys of being an immortal spirit.
"Fuck the bed. We need to treat these gashes." Atem used his cape to try and stop the bleeding of the gash over Bakura's heart. "I can't believe the gods let this happen. They were content to sit and do nothing as you suffered in life, and what? Eternity as well? There's no justice in your torture—nnngh.” Atem's rant was halted when he gripped his own chest.
“What's wrong with you?" Bakura muttered through chewed and swollen lips.
"Nothing.” Atem faked a smile, reminding Bakura of his old host. "I used a lot of my magic to reach the Shadow Realm on my own, but I'm fine. You're the one who needs to be taken care of.”
Bakura's entire spirit whirled with how desperately he needed what Atem was offering, but his independence was hard baked at this point.
“I don't need to be taken care of. I've made it thousands of years on my own, so—”
“So what? I'm with you now, and I'm going to take care of you." Atem gathered a bag of random supplies.
Bakura raised an eyebrow. “I know a loot sack when I see one. Did you steal medicine?”
"Yes, but I wasn't sure what I'd need.” Atem showed Bakura bandages and salves and various medical supplies. “I figured you'd be hurt but…n-not like this. I'm not even sure how you're alive."
“I'm not." Bakura chuckled despite the flaring pain.
“I mean, I'm not sure how you're here. When a soul is fed to Ammit, they're no more, and it looks like Zorc…" Atem shook his head as he gathered what he needed.
“Well, you see, mean people suck, nice people swallow, and Zorc simply chewed me up and spat me out."
“Why?" Atem flinched.
"I failed.”
“I hate him as much as I hate the gods." Atem mixed a bowl of water with herbs and dipped a cloth into the mixture before wringing the excess liquid. “I'll try to be gentle, but this will hurt."
“No," Bakura said. “Nothing you can do could hurt me, not after the last few years."
"I'm sorry it took so long to get to the Shadow Realm. No one but Mana would help me with the spell."
“You’re fucking apologizing?” Bakura closed his eyes, exhausted, exhausted enough to let the truth slip from his lips. “I'm so relieved to be out at all, I could kiss you."
When he opened his eyes again, his gaze met Atem's. Atem stared, bloody and blushing. Despite Bakura's lacerated lips, he smiled. Maybe he was losing too much blood somehow. Clearly, he couldn't think straight.
After a moment, Atem blinked his attention back to Bakura's wounds. He scanned Bakura's body, trying to decide where to start. Overwhelmed, Atem dabbed at a few spots only to back track to another area. There were too many lacerations. Atem might as well defeat an ocean with a mop. Bakura held out his hand, so he could take the cloth and clean his own wounds, but Atem interpreted the gesture as a starting point. Holding Bakura's hand, Atem worked the cloth against Bakura's palm and to Bakura's wrist.
Exhaling, Bakura stopped resisting. Atem would pause to give Bakura wine and clean the cloth, but managed to wipe the old blood away from Bakura's torso and better gage where the worst damage was.
"The bleeding is slowing,” Atem said.
"The wine."
“I have beer as well." Atem fed some of the fermented gruel to Bakura.
The drink was nostalgic, nutritious. Bakura could almost breath without pain as the liquid fortified him and helped heal the smaller puncture wounds.
“Why do you suddenly care?" Bakura asked after drinking half the jar.
“Bakura, I never asked to be your enemy."
Atem’s hands shook again as he wiped around Bakura's cuts, so careful, so intentional to avoid hurting Bakura. The tenderness made Bakura quiver. He hadn't experienced gentleness in thousands of years.
“I saw Aknadin." Atem's voice was low, as if someone might hear. "And…something snapped, in my head, in my chest. Why is that traitorous bastard forgiven and not you?"
“Because he's your father's brother."
“That's privilege, not justice." Atem's jaw clenched.
“I know that. I've always known that."
“Well, I didn't," Atem snapped, winced at his own harsh tone, and washed the blood from the cloth once again.
Wringing the fabric more tightly than necessary, Atem moved to dab the blood around Bakura's mouth. The area was sensitive, and Bakura turned his head away.
"I can clean my own wounds,” he insisted a second time.
"Of course you can. I bet you have dozens of times. Maybe hundreds.” With deliberate care, Atem turned Bakura's head and continued with his work. "But you shouldn't always have to.”
"Sticking a bandaid on a few cuts doesn't redeem you.”
"I don't expect it to. I just…want you to feel taken care of, even if it's only one night." Atem clenched the towel and glanced away. “I'm sure you'll run off and join your village as soon as you're fit to jump out the window, but let me bandage you first."
"My village?” Bakura jerked upright, but a jolt zapping through all his nerves made him crash into the pillows again, hissing in pain.
“Easy." Atem finished cleaning Bakura's cheek. “Yes. They're here. I've seen them from a distance."
“Too much the coward to look them in the face?" Bakura sneered.
“Yes." Atem dropped his hand.
“But they're okay?" Bakura asked in a softer tone.
“Yes." Atem half grinned. “I probably shouldn't tell you, but there's a statue of you."
"Bullshit.”
"You're their hero.” Atem fidgeted with the towel.
"Hero. Villain. It's all perspective.”
"You're right." Atem moved to Bakura's neck.
This, too, was sensitive, and Bakura had to hold back a moan and keep himself from verbally cursing because of how nice Atem's fingers felt as they steadied Bakura and tended to him.
“I wish it hadn't taken 3,000 years for me to figure that out," Atem said.
The more Atem gently massaged Bakura's skin with the lavender and herb scented cloth, the more Bakura relaxed. His thoughts swayed, but it had nothing to do with the bleeding and everything to do with how horrible Atem's soothing actions felt.
Horrible not because they were too much. The pain ebbed from Bakura's body the more Atem worked—but that's why it was horrible. Bakura coveted this, craved this, but how could he accept this from The Pharaoh? The gentleness made Bakura want to pull him closer…return the comfort.
Bakura's thoughts evaporated the moment Atem tried to slip his robe over his shoulder. Years of bleeding, drying, and bleeding again had the fabric matted to his skin, and Zorc's teeth even embedded some of the cloth into the gashes, joining flesh and fabric together. Atem choked back bile when he understood the extent of the problem.
“Here."
Bakura grabbed the cloth and tugged, meaning to rip it away despite the pain, but the threads felt twined around his nerves. Fresh tears welled in his eyes as Bakura let go and curled into a ball.
"I can't—I can't take this. Gods end me, I don't want to hurt anymore.”
"I'm sorry." Atem held Bakura's face and kissed his forehead, once, twice, three then four times. “I'm so sorry."
"Sorry doesn't help.” Bakura grabbed Atem's wrists to pull them away, but stopped because…
He wanted more. Staring at Atem's eyes—his lips. He wanted more. More and more and more. Always greedy, Bakura wanted to drink in the comfort, the pampering, the gentle touches. Yes. Yes. Let the responsibility all fall on someone else for once while he got fawned over.
"I can cut the robe and soak the wounds." Atem searched his bag, growling when he didn't find what he wanted. “This would be so much easier if the afterlife had modern scissors and not these little shears."
"Tell Yugi to put some in your tomb,” Bakura teased.
"And a Super Nintendo.”
"They'll have to install electric outlets for that to work.”
Using what he had, Atem derobbed Bakura in strips and saturated the remaining patches with fresh herbed water.
"I must be drunk from the wine. I want to thank you.” Bakura watched Atem work and savored the skin on skin contact of Atem touching his shoulders and arms.
"Can you manage some food? I have grapes and almonds.” Atem washed and dried his hands before grabbing a jeweled plate and feeding Bakura a grape.
"Fuck that tastes good.” Bakura moaned, unable to hold back any longer.
“Good. Have more."
Atem’s fingers brushed against Bakura's swollen lips, but it didn't hurt. In a strange way, the soft, unsure touches felt like healing magic.
"I'll sneak some meat in here later,” Atem promised.
"Fuck. Meat. I've forgotten what it tastes like. My mouth got so used to copper.”
"Here's an almond.”
"Mmm…"
Bakura savored the nutty flavor, and moaned again when Atem fed him another two. Bakura accidentally licked the tips of Atem's fingers, but like the touches, the texture of Atem against Bakura's tongue somehow made the entire experience even better. Atem's pupils dilated as he watched Bakura eat. Bakura finally plucked a grape from the tray and pushed the fruit into Atem's mouth.
"What was that for?” Atem chuckled, his cheeks pink as dawn.
"You said you were low on heka, so you should eat with me.”
"Sure, but I can feed myself.”
Bakura chuckled, strengthened by the food.
"What?" Atem asked.
“You sound like me," Bakura answered.
“No. It's different because I—actually, sure, we can feed each other to make it even. This is so much more fun than dueling.” Atem gave Bakura another almond and Bakura mimicked him.
"Mmm…this is good." Atem closed his eyes, lips sucking at Bakura's fingers a little.
And fucking hell, he was trying to be sexy—and worse yet—succeeding. The thrill from the gesture went directly to Bakura's cock. Bakura wasn't even sure when the craving for shared comfort became sultry and charged with something far more primal than hatred, but the shock of desire was intoxicating.
"I'm pretty sure your royal family wouldn't approve of this." Bakura teased a grape against Atem's bottom lip.
“I was explicitly forbidden to go after you.” Atem snatched the grape with his teeth before continuing. "Too dangerous. Too many things could go wrong. Why concern ourselves when you choose your fate? As if the decision hasn't been burned into you thousands of years ago. Cowards." Atem's laughter was bitter. “The gods are such worthless cowards."
“So you snuck me into your room like a secret boyfriend?" Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Won't the gods be able to sense my soul’s back in their realm?"
“If they come for you, they'll have to get past me first." Atem's face grew taut, his rage returned.
“You're…serious,” Bakura whispered, amazed at how earnestly Atem seemed to be taking his rescue mission.
"I can't make what happened in the past right. But I'm going to do what I can to be better now.”
“Gonna fight the gods for me, are you?" Bakura snorted.
“Maybe I will." Atem checked the soaking bits of cloth.
"Don't.” Bakura gasped, the pain stole his breath as Atem freed the cloth from the puncture wound in Bakura's shoulder.
“It's out. It's done." Atem pressed dry linen to the hole left behind.
“I feel like you just ripped away part of my fucking ba. Shit.”
“What can I do to make the pain more bearable? More wine?”
“Sure." Bakura could now half sit against the headboard and drink deeply.
“Anything else?" Atem sealed the wound with herbs before bandaging the entire area.
Bakura’s breathing was labored. Something wild and desperate in him wanted to ask to go back to them feeding each other. To be held. To experience comfort in a way he never had time to explore in life. To give him a contrast to thousands of years in the Darkness of the Ring and the Shadows. Fuck. How could he stop these thoughts? He shouldn't be having these thoughts. How fucking badly did the Shadows ruin him if a few caresses and a little gay awkwardness was all it took for Bakura to offer himself to be held by the Pharaoh. He hated his body for how desperately his skin craved to be caressed—sucked, kissed, stroked.
“Bakura?" Atem traced his fingers around the bandage, as if sensing what Bakura wanted.
"Can't we just leave the rest?” Bakura grimaced. “Deal with it later."
"No. Look.” Atem held the torn rag for Bakura to see.
There was blood, but only at the tip. Most of the cloth was soaked through with black ichor. Bakura looked around him, he'd been hemorrhaging not only blood, but Shadows, bleeding away everything Zorc had filled him with. His other wounds were red, but the two patches stuffed with cloth were blacker than tar and spreading dark beneath the skin like blood poisoning.
“I really need to remove all of them before they fester, but if you need—”
"Water." Bakura licked his lips, his body crawling with realization, with why his emotions felt tenfold suddenly.
His soul was becoming human again. Zorc was oozing out of him like puss from a wound, leaving only—
What? What was left after 3,000 years of darkness?
“Um…I only have beer and wine. Maybe I could—"
“Beer then.” Bakura swallowed.
He refused to ask for a taste of Atem's lips instead, though fucking hell the was desperate for it. All he could think of was I've never been kissed. 3,000 years and I've never even been kissed.
"Okay." Atem lifted the beer close to Bakura's lips.
Bakura placed his hands over Atem's to tilt the jar. He brushed his fingertips across Atem's knuckles, enjoying how breathless the subtle touch made Atem. After Atem set the beer aside, a sharp whistle pierced the room from outside.
"What's that?” Bakura asked.
"The wind,” Atem said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Are storms…normal here?” Bakura stared at the reed-braced matts covering the windows.
“They're not common, but they happen." Atem traced a finger along Bakura's chest, to distract him, or perhaps trying to distract himself.
“Are you okay?" Bakura asked out of suspicion, not concern.
"Nothing going on with me can compare with what you've been through.” Atem's fingers rested over Bakura's heart, the gash there now bandaged. "I never asked to be your enemy. I never wanted—anything that happened. It was so…fucked." Atem sneered the last word, his grief mixed with rage.
“Tell me about it. What a shit show, yeah? Felt righteous at the time." Bakura winced, disgusted by the rot surrounding him…inside of him. “The bed’s sticky."
“We really should be doing this in the bath.” Atem stood. "Can you walk?"
“I don't think so."
"Don't worry. I got you.” Atem slipped his arms beneath Bakura and lifted him above the bed.
"Aren't you supposed to carry the bride over the threshold before getting maiden blood on the mattress?” Bakura snorted, distracting himself by how much of the mess wasn't blood at all.
And what good did any of it do me? I lost. I gave up my entire soul and still lost.
Why is getting carried so sexy?
I really was more demon than me, by the end. I'm not even sure how much of me is left.
Atem's skin would be smooth under my tongue if I licked his throat. Fuck, I should lick his throat.
"I know inappropriate word play is your primary coping mechanism, but the wedding night jokes are strange even by your standards.”
"Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with me today.” Bakura chuckled, but the sound died, resurrecting as a sigh. "Just feels right—to tease you, I mean. Not…not…"
You holding me. You holding me feels right. You laying me on the bed somehow felt right. You could press against me, and my legs would wrap around your waist.
Bakura rested his head on Atem's chest, sighed again, and closed his eyes. There was something about Atem being strong enough to carry Bakura—it felt like a…like a mmm, like honey on his tongue, like the first few bites of food after days of starvation. Bakura brushed the tip of his nose along Atem's collarbone, caressing their skin together, and ahhhhh soft. Bakura couldn't stop. Atem swallowed, breath quickening.
“Bakura, are you okay? Obviously not, but you're kind of—I-I mean, I like this, actually…a lot. Fucking hell, I'm pathetic. You're hurt, and all I'll thinking about is—taking care of you, but like…there so many ways I'd like to, and you're—”
“I know. I know. I'm acting crazy. I know. But everything has hurt so badly for so long, and now I'm being carried, and I just…can't fight anymore…"
Bakura dipped closer to touch his mouth to Atem's skin. He trembled as he parted his lips, kissing and sucking as delicately as possible. Truly savoring each second, putting so much tenderness in the actions that he didn't even recognize himself in them, but he was getting fast acquainted with this part of himself as Atem reacted as desperately and as intensely as Bakura felt.
“Mmm…fuck, please.” Atem leaned against the wall, but he tilted his head to give Bakura free reign of his royal neck. “This is better than anything else in heaven—gods. Bakura.”
“You want more?" Bakura grinned into his kisses.
“Fuck-fuck. I-Ive never—" Atem gasped.
“Don't worry, neither have I. Maybe we can figure it out if we practice.”
Then, just as Bakura’s tongue tasted the salt above Atem's pulse and Atem shuddered and whimpered ‘more’—two guards shouted from the hallway.
"Pharaoh!”
"I do not wish to be disturbed!” Atem shouted, clutching Bakura more tightly.
“Sire, It's an emergency! The Shadow Realm—”
"I said leave me alone!” Atem screamed.
Static filled the air, raising the hair on Bakura's arms and the back of his neck. As the scream left Atem's mouth, a wall of black flames consumed the space between them and the guards. Atem spun and marched further down the hall, but Bakura panicked and struggled to escape. He tumbled to the ground, opened some of his larger wounds, and bled (all red this time) over the polished marble below him. Bakura cried out in pain, curling in on himself even as he reached out to crawl away.
“Bakura, what are you—” Atem grabbed for him.
"Stay away.” Bakura flinched
"Why?"
"Why? Why? I know that silly little apprentice didn't teach you that kind of Shadow Magic." Bakura clenched his teeth. “Stay away. I don't want that shit anywhere near me. I can’t go back to being Zorc’s puppet." Bakura flinched. “I can’t.”
"What?” Atem crouched beside him, reaching out.
"Don't play dumb!” Bakura smacked Atem's hand away. “Look at those flames! You know that’s Shadow Magic as well as I do. But how did you…"
“I don't know," Atem moaned. His expression was miserable, and he wrung his hands together and the shadows from the fire contorted his face. “They were going to stop me. The gods probably want you sent back, or Weighed, but I'm not letting them hurt you. I'm not! They can't force me to stand aside this time! You said you can’t be Zorc’s puppet anymore—well I can’t be the gods’ puppet! I can’t!"
Bakura paused and lifted his head to study Atem. There was something…chilling, in his voice, a darkness Bakura was familiar with, but not from Atem. If anything, it reminded him of Malik…
Atem flung both arms around Bakura and cradled him. Again, Atem shook from rage. In a low voice, he whispered.
“They can't feed you to Ammit. I swear on my soul, Bakura, I will protect you even if I have to destroy Heaven and the Shadow Realm."
Down the hall, the flames still burned, consuming nothing, but radiating pulsing angry heat. The sight of fire, the sort of fire that could melt bodies into gold, still had Bakura in fight or flight.
Nevertheless, Bakura yearned for Atem's embrace. Atem's vow made Bakura's insides queasy and his cheeks burn.
Loyalty. It was something Bakura gave wholly to his village, and now Atem was giving it back to him.
No one had ever done that before.
Bakura had been loyal to Kul Elna. To Zorc. To vengeance, but nobody had ever truly…
He trembled in Atem's arms, but didn't pull away. He was trapped on a knife edge with the memories of his village on one side, and the gentle kisses he'd pressed against Atem’s skin on the other.
“Trust me, Shadow Magic will do nothing but consume you until you're a broken shell. Don't use it unless you want to end up like me. Empty. Full of void.”
"I swear to you, I didn't cast a spell. I was angry, but I didn't do anything.” Atem shook his head, upset to the point of tears. "I have no idea how that channeled into black flames. They just appeared when I screamed.”
Bakura pursed his lips. Before he could make a decision, Atem lifted him back into the air.
“Your wounds reopened. I have to get you completely bandaged."
The wall of flames only acted like a shield, Bakura reasoned. Neither guard had screamed in pain or injury, so they were probably fine—not that Bakura cared. At least, he didn't want to, so he convinced himself having a powerful bodyguard benefited him, and he shouldn't worry about it.
It wasn't until they reached the bath, and Atem sat Bakura on a stool that they spoke again. Pulling up another seat, Atem sat across from Bakura.
"You're upset.”
"I'm hollow,” Bakura said. "And still reeling from the Shadows.”
"But the fire upset you. I'm sorry.”
“No." Bakura hugged himself. "Not the fire. The combination of fire and Shadow Magic. A campfire hardly ever made me think of that night, but what you did…"
“I'll…try not to do it again.” Atem rested his hands on Bakura's knees.
"Sure.”
"Wh-what were you saying before we were interrupted?” Atem stooped and lifted one of the water jars off of the ground.
“I won't fight you anymore if you don't give me a reason to.” Bakura stared at his feet. “You said my village is safe, and you pulled me from the Shadows. I'm done.”
That wasn't quite what Bakura had been saying. Well, it was, but he wasn't going to punctuate the statement with a kiss to Atem's neck this time.
"I suppose you'll be going to Kul Elna as soon as you can travel.”
"Of course."
“Take me with you.” Atem stood, holding the jar, but not tipping the contents.
"What?” Bakura snorted.
"To Kul Elna. Take me with you. I don't want to be here anymore." Setting down the jar, Atem tore away his blood-stained clothes and hurled his crown across the room. “Fuck being Pharaoh! It's brought nothing but misery! I want a home, not a palace!”
Crashing to his knees, Atem gnashed his teeth, his fingernails digging into his palms. Bakura's blood smeared across his upper body because he kept carrying Bakura.
Dipping his hands into the water, Bakura allowed the liquid to trickle from his palms and over Atem's skin, cutting thin trails into the bloodstains. Shocked, Atem calmed down enough to turn and stare upward.
"We only have beer and bread. No fancy fruit on our plates.” Bakura grinned.
"You loved your home so much you committed atrocities in its name. Yugi was the closest thing I ever had to a real home, a home I loved as much as you loved your village, but we're separated. I can't wait here for him…” Atem pulled at his own hair. "I'll go mad.”
"Are you going to kiss the feet of my statue when we walk into town?” Bakura smirked.
“You're such a hot head. This should cool you off." Atem stood so he could dump the jar of water over Bakura's head.
Bakura burst into laughter. He had to hold his ribs because he still hurt, but fuck it was good to laugh. Atem joined him. The water soaked into Bakura's bandages, and Bakura thought that getting them wet would only cause an infection—if those existed in Aaru. They were both shit at healing and tending wounds, but fuck it. He was already dead, and the blood slipping from the wet bandage ran blessedly red and not black unlike the two remaining, uncleansed wounds.
"I guess I don't need this while I bathe.” Bakura dropped the wet shenti into the ground.
"Here.” Atem handed Bakura his own jar and they took turns dousing each other, laughing and revealing the truth of naked bodies beneath the layers of dried blood.
Atem only stopped laughing when he reached for the tangle of shadow-soaked linen peeking from Bakura's thigh.
“I'm going to try."
“Quickly." Bakura braced himself, but still shrieked when Atem freed the fabric from the mess of clotted blood and opened the wound.
“It's over. It's over. You did good. Only one more." Atem pressed a clean square of linen against Bakura's thigh to stop the bleeding.
“No." Bakura shook his head side to side. “No more."
The last area, where Zorc had chewed for so long that cloth and flesh became grotesquely intertwined, was larger and deeper than the other two. Bakura considered if Ammit wouldn't be easier than the pain of cleaving in two what had been one for far too long.
"Bakura. Listen. Listen.”
"No. No. No.” Bakura shook his head faster, frantic.
"Listen. We'll do this together, okay?” Atem clapped his hands with Bakura's over the wound.
“I can't anymore. Even I have a limit!" Tears replaced Bakura's earlier laughter.
Constantly switching emotions was exhausting. It was like the millennia of numbness he enjoyed while merged with Zorc was now being reckoned all at once. When Atem held his face to demand his attention, Bakura could only slump forward.
“Bakura.”
"No.”
"Please.” Atem touched their lips together.
A king saying please so prettily. Bakura adored the thought of teasing Atem and luring more kisses out of him, but the terror of what was about to happen was too strong.
"This one's deeper than the others. It's not just emotions, I think it's wound into my soul. You'll rip me in half."
“Then bite me," Atem said.
“What?"
“Bite down into my shoulder while we pull the last threads away. We're doing this together. I'll suffer with you."
"That's stupid.” Bakura blinked.
"Bakura, I'm pulling this out. You're not spending eternity injured and poisoned by Shadow Magic. Bite me for revenge or bite into a stack of linen, but we're doing this.”
"Fine. Fuck. Whatever. Let's get it over with.”
Despite Bakura's hasty words, the second Atem tugged the flap of red cloth, Bakura shrieked. Half mad with pain, Bakura dug his nails into Atem's back and sank his teeth in the juncture between neck and shoulder. Atem tensed as tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let go. He roared, yanking harder. Bakura shrieked, mouth full of Atem.
Bakura's flesh tore away with the cloth, little curds of white fat and stringy shreds of muscle were grafted so thoroughly into the fabric, that to tear one away was to tear everything. Now, the hole in Bakura's side was gaping. His vision dimmed and blurred from pain and loss, from void being ripped away but leaving him somehow more empty. He clutched the crater in his side, wild to somehow fill the chasm inside him. Atem cradled Bakura, his hand on top of Bakura’s to stop the bleeding, but the wound was too large, and they weren't stopping anything.
“I don't want to sound dramatic," Bakura muttered as his heart lurched and his vision dimmed. “But this is my second death."
“No," Atem insisted. “I'll get more food. We'll bandage you."
“It's okay. I feel…okay. For the first time since I lost my parents, I'm not hurting anymore…this is right. Thank you, Atem.”
Bakura's pulse fluttered in his veins: one moment fast as hummingbirds’ wings only to slow before racing once more. During the lulls, when his broken heart hardly bothered at all, Bakura didn't mind the thought of permanently dying. This was slow. This was peaceful. This was okay. Atem pulled everything away, and Bakura could go now. He could finally let go.
“Bakura! No! Don't you dare! Don't you leave me alone! Please! I'm begging you—don't leave me alone.” Atem pressed his hand to Bakura's side, but there was more hole than body there, and Atem could only cusp the edge or else his hand would plunge into the cavity. Tears glazed his eyes and trickled down his face
"Alone? When have you ever been alone?" Bakura snorted. “Everyone loves you."
“I can't talk to them. They’re all the same as they were 3,000 years ago, but I'm not. And I don't want to be the same because I hate who I was—"
Atem's sobs interpreted his words. Bakura cupped Atem's face, drawing him downward.
“I would have never imagined an asshole like me would have ever been rescued from the Shadows by a prince.” Bakura sucked Atem's bottom lip, thinking this is a nice way to die. I get to kiss him for the rest of my life. “Go home, to Kul Elna in my place. Challenge my grandfather to a game. If you beat him, the village will let you stay."
"We're going together.” Atem sniffed.
"Together…I would have fallen in love with you…had we grown up in the village…together.”
Bakura passed out, finally free from his pain… free from his grief.