[fic] Streak - Yugioh, YamixYugi, angst/drama, PG-13, theme 032 (100_chances)
Theme: 032- Streak; for 100_chances
Author: Chey (duelist_gurl163)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst/drama
Pairings: YamixYugi
Archive: Here
Warnings: AU, OOC-ness, slight insanity, character death, violence
Spoilers: None.
Summary: He could remember, clear as anything, the day he was reborn. The day he’d pulled himself to his feet, harnessed his pain, and made the choice that led him here.
Disclaimer: Yugioh. It's what's not mine.
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The gun felt ugly and heavy in his hand. Yugi unconsciously shoved away his disgust, taking a long breath as he pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and counted out the money on the table. The young man across the table scooped the cash up.
“All yours. It’s clean. Has a silencer and a full clip.”
Yugi nodded. Without a word he slipped the gun into his jacket and bowed his head, letting himself out the back door of the innocent-looking restaurant.
Outside it had begun to rain, but he paid little attention. A rainy night was perfect for what he had planned. However, as the drops began to run down his face he found his thoughts drifting, thinking of how rain and tears and blood all acted the same on skin, creating trails, leaving shiny streaks behind. This meandering thought carried him for several miles through the empty streets.
Then, as he entered a familiar section of town, he felt the back of his neck grow icy. The vague blur in his mind vanished, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of where he was. As he walked, he was taken back to the night ten months before. To the night they were walking home on this very same road, to the night they found themselves suddenly surrounded by shadowing figures, one of them demanding, “Give us your wallets and valuables. Now!”
And at first he’d believed it would be okay. The men seemed pleased by the amount of cash they’d found, and Yugi felt Yami’s cool hand slip into his, giving his fingers a comforting squeeze. With the group's attention focused on their wallets they had begun to back away, about to run, when one of the men plucked a photograph from inside Yami’s and held it up. “What’s this?”
Yugi knew what it was, he had a copy of the same picture in his wallet, they just hadn’t found it yet. He and Yami on vacation, hugging, Yami’s lips pressed to his wind-blown hair.
“Wait, it’s a picture of those two.”
“So what we have here are a couple of fags.”
Yami had sensed the dangerous change in the men’s voices and pushed Yugi behind him as they continued to back away, saying, “Just let us go."
“Why should we? Your kind aren’t welcome around here.”
Their greedy expressions had changed to dark glares. And at that moment, Yami had seen what Yugi hadn’t as the first man reached inside his jacket, and Yami had grabbed Yugi's arm and shoved him back. "Run, now."
For a moment, Yugi hesitated. Something didn't feel right, why would Yami shield him and give him an order instead of running too?
He understood a moment later when he heard the click of a trigger. The explosion was muffled; instead the click was followed by a thump and a mist of something warm and wet. Yami fell backwards into him.
The funeral was a few weeks later. It wasn’t long after before his friends took him to the hospital, where he was put on drugs and a feeding tube was forced down his throat.
It took five months before he was allowed to live by himself. Six and a half months before he began his search for the men. Nine months before he began tracking down someone to sell him a gun. And now tonight…when he was finally able to set foot on this street again.
He couldn’t remember much of the time between each of those milestones. The police had talked to him, but he couldn’t remember what he said. At some point he’d been forced into therapy, but he had no clear recollection of it. He’d lived with his family for awhile, but it was all a vague blur. He could barely even remember Yami’s wake, having cried himself into incoherence for it.
Amazing, how much time had passed…it all swam together into a jumble of half-formed memories. But he could remember, clear as anything, the day he was reborn. The day he’d pulled himself to his feet, harnessed his pain, and made the choice that led him here.
Yugi stopped outside the warehouse to pull on gloves, checking the address and number. He could see a light on under the door, and could hear voices inside. Moving carefully, he slipped one hand inside his jacket. He'd brought the gloves to avoid having to touch the weapon, but the chill of the metal grip seeped through the rubber over his fingers. With his other hand, he pushed the door open.
It took him only a second to recognize the people inside, all of whom had turned curiously toward the door. It took only another second to pull out the gun and fire.
He didn’t close his eyes, hesitate, or look away. He forgot how much he hated the sight of the gun or how nauseating the smell of gunpowder was. He forgot that he had used to hate violence, forgot that he had always despised killing.
It didn't matter now. Passive, peace-loving Yugi Mutou had died that night with Yami. Whoever he was now no longer had those weaknesses. Survival had a price.
Within moments the group had been reduced to a scattering of unmoving bodies. Lowering the gun, he stepped inside, careful to avoid the blood on the ground, although he wasn’t sure why. Methodically, he checked each body to be sure each man was dead. Only then did he step back and allow himself to think again.
You’re avenged, Yami. They’ll never take anybody else’s loved ones the way they took you from me.
Which left only one other victim, and he raised the gun to his head, exhaling slowly. The sight of the bodies he would soon join caused memories to once again rush back over him. He felt no need to try and stop them; this was, after all, the last time he would ever have to relive the nightmare.
“Yami! Yami!!” His voice rose to a scream as he cradled him in his arms, collapsing to the ground with him. Even knowing it was too late, he still pleaded, “Yami, no…please no…”
Beside him, the gunman studied him as if deciding whether or not to waste another bullet. Yugi stared up at him and begged through sobs, “Kill me too, please, shoot me as well…”
But they had vented their hatred with the first shot. So they quickly retrieved the cash they wanted and sprinted back into the night, leaving Yugi to cling to Yami’s body, kneeling in a puddle of crimson. One whole side of Yami’s body was sticky with dark wetness from the gunshot wound in his head. Yugi could feel his fingers growing slick from the warm liquid. The scent was strong and sickening, forcing itself upon him as he clutched his partner to his chest, too deep in shock to get up or call for help.
And Yami’s eyes, his beautiful eyes, were cold and dull and glassy, wide open but unseeing as rivulets of blood ran down his face and collected on his eyelashes. Yugi couldn’t bear the thought of the blood staining his amethyst irises, and had closed them gently to protect them.
As he stood there now, barrel pressed against his skin, he strangely found himself remembering the two small fingerprints he’d left on Yami’s eyelids when he’d closed his eyes for him.
He wondered who would close his eyes.
I’ll just close my eyes before I fire. Easy enough.
He took in one last breath, feeling surprisingly peaceful.
I’m coming home, Yami.
But as his finger tightened on the trigger, something inside him seemed to freeze his hand, and an inner voice spoke up: “Not yet.”
Even though he’d planned for this moment for months, even though he’d expected it to come to this from the moment he saw Yami’s body, for some reason his hand wouldn’t obey. Doubt suddenly crept in from some long-forgotten place inside him.
Yami could have just grabbed his hand and run, but he hadn't. He had known they were still too close, that running wouldn't have saved them. So he had made himself the easier target. Death would be a welcome release from the half-life he’d created…but how would Yugi be able to face Yami in the afterworld? How could he look his love in the eyes and tell him that he’d thrown away what Yami had died protecting?
Now as he stood, he felt tears escape for the first time since that day months before when he’d chosen this path, and his hand holding the weapon finally shook.
One bullet. That’s all it’ll take. Yami will understand. He will understand that the pain was too much.
Yet that voice spoke up again, firmly. “No, it’s not your time.”
And he knew it couldn’t really be, but the voice sounded so familiar…
“Yami?” he whispered aloud.
Nobody answered him, but he found himself lowering the gun, placing it back inside his jacket, and backing out of the warehouse, again being careful to avoid stepping in blood. Only now did it occur to him why: so that the police couldn’t trace his shoeprints.
The rain poured down harder outside, soaking his clothing as he shut the door and began to walk. The drops mixed with the tears on his face, streaking his skin once more, but this time he had no blurry thoughts, everything was clear and coherent. A few miles up the road he stopped on the shoulder, taking out the gun and flinging it out into the air, watching as it sailed over the cliff and down where it vanished in the jagged rocks and crashing waves below. He stood there for a long time, leaning against the rail and looking out over the water at the lightning in the distance.
Maybe Yugi Mutou wasn’t dead after all. Maybe he had simply vanished for awhile, knowing that revenge had to be taken, and also knowing he wasn’t the person to take it. He’d thought it was Yami he heard, but maybe it had been himself who stopped him from pulling the trigger one more time. That old part of himself.
A crack of thunder brought him back to the present and he straightened up. Perhaps tomorrow he would visit Yami’s grave. He hadn’t been there for awhile. And he should take him some flowers. Yami would probably like that.
He turned and kept walking.
X - X - X
Notes: Most people would see the word “streak” and think: “Running around naked in public, lulz!” I see it and think blood streaks. There is definitely something wrong with me. x3;;
Happy birthday Riyunoa!