Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One… two… three… four… five… six… and seven. There they were, all there, sitting in the summoning stone pedestal in the middle of Toki Toki City. They glowed in tandem, flashing with untold power.

Trunks let out the breath he was holding. It had taken a long time to round up all the Dragon Balls since there still weren’t many Time Patrollers, but hopefully with this next wish that would begin to change. As he called forth the mighty dragon Shenron, he quietly thanked his lucky stars that Toki Toki City lived outside of time; if this went wrong, he could immediately start hunting down more Dragon Balls to fix it. Though if nothing did go wrong, all the better for everyone.

The ground around him darkened as the sky went black, wind whipped through his hair as lightning struck down around him, and the balls flashed bright white as the immense beast burst forth, rocketing into the air and looping all through the heavens. His immense head lowered toward Trunks, his red eyes just as intense and endless as Trunks had heard.

So this was Shenron...

“You have disturbed me from my slumber,” the mighty dragon rumbled. “State your wish.”

“Shenron… The existence of time itself is at stake! I need… an ally, a partner, to help me defend it, to defend time! The best you’ve got!” There was a long moment of silence, and Trunks opened his mouth to repeat himself. Maybe he wasn’t clear, or it was too confusing? But before he could say another word, the mighty dragon spoke, booming a strange message to him.

“…There is only one who can aide you in your mission. His potential must be unlocked, however...”

“Potential?” What did he mean by that? He didn’t have time to train someone when time itself was on the verge of collapsing! But that was what Shenron was telling him to do, wasn’t it? “...Yes, of course. I’ll do it.”

“...Very well… Do not let his appearance fool you, do not let his demeanor deceive you…” Trunks began to raise an eyebrow. Was he… trying to buy himself some time? For what? Did it always take this long for wishes to be granted? But it was too late to back out now, no matter how cryptic Shenron was being.

“Of course not. You have your reasoning for…” But Trunks didn’t finish, as there was a beam of light shining down to his far left, on the bottom level of the altar. He could see the silhouette of his summoned ally within the light, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of who it was.

“This being is from another dimension, he is not from this world.” It was almost like Shenron could read his thoughts. “There was a reason for a delay to your wish, a reason you will learn from him. But my time is up. Your wish has been granted.” As soon and powerful as he had appeared, the mighty dragon had vanished and the balls flew up and scattered.

Trunks took one final glance at the altar before rushing down the steps toward the newcomer. The smoke was fading, the image was becoming clearer. A man, not too tall, long hair, kneeling on the ground and gripping his arms like he was in pain. He didn’t seem to notice his presence, muttering to himself on with his eyes glued to the lily-pads floating on the water.

“...I plead ... guilty…” He looked… scared. His voice sounded hoarse, and there was a noticeable stammer. “I-I failed, and I plead… guil-”

“Excuse me-” After Trunks spoke, the other let out a quick gasp and started to back away. His hand covered his chest, as if he was trying to protect his heart.

“Wh-Who are you?! A… Ammit?! No... no...” His back hit the bridge behind him, making him feel cornered as Trunks stepped closer. His crazed eyes swept over him a few more times before narrowing. “Or are you Osiris? Where is Thoth?”

Who were these people this guy was talking about? Were they comrades of his from his world? But if so, why would he think that Trunks was one of them, and why would he be cowering away from him? From the look upon his face, it was clear that he was terrified.

“...You’re surprised, I’m sure…”

“No. Not surprised…” There was a weak chuckle from the man, a bit unnerving. “I knew I had this coming for a long time. I just thought I would have more time to avoid it.” After saying this, his fingers gripped tighter over his chest.

“Avoid what?” Trunks ran a hand through his bangs as he looked over the man nervously. Exactly who did Shenron bring him?

“You don’t know?” After a moment of realization, the man sat up straighter and took his hand away from his chest. He looked visibly pissed off, but at who exactly? “...I get it. You’re not a god, are you?” Trunks let out a laugh and rubbed the back of his head. Great, Shenron gave him a nutcase to work with. “So if you’re not a god… That means that I’m not dead.”

What?

“What?” Trunks repeated aloud.

It didn’t seem like the strange man heard him, that something else had his attention. He felt around on his chest, then around the back of his neck, then peaking inside his shirt for a brief second. “Where’s my ring?” Then he seemed to start frantically looking around. “Where the fuck is my ring?”

A ring? So he’s married, then? Did Shenron seriously split a man from his family just to help him? Hopefully he would reunite with them once everything is said and done… eventually. Still, it seemed odd to Trunks that someone would look at his chest for a ring. Perhaps he wore it on a chain around his neck, like some other couples had back before the Androids attacked.

“Maybe you dropped it when you landed?” he suggested. “I could help you look--”

“Fat fucking chance I dropped it, it’s the size of a damn frisbee.”

What even was today? “A… frisbee?”

“Yeah, you know…” The man held up his hands, curving them in a circular fashion. He looked displeased. “Pretty damn clear to see that nothing like that’s on the ground here.”

“Are… are you okay?” Of course he wasn’t okay, but the question slipped out so easily, like it was the only thing that he could say. This didn’t run well with the man, however, who scowled.

“Am I okay? Am I okay? Yeah, fucking peachy! I could sing a fucking ballad! I’m walking on goddamn sunshine right here! First I lose my chance at revenge by a bunch of card game playing twats, I lose my Millennium Ring, and I wake up alive when I’m supposed to be finally dead and gone with some purple dork asking me if I’m okay! I’M DANCING THROUGH A FIELD OF DAISIES HERE!”

Trunks wasn’t one for letting his temper get to him when he was being snapped at. Hell, he was used to it from visiting his father in the past to save his future. But there was something about the “purple dork” insult that, while was weak as an insult itself, spoke mediums that this man was trying to include him as one of his problems when all he tried to do was help him. So with a slip of self-control--

SLAP!! The sound of Trunks backhanding him echoed throughout the area. It was only a light flick of the wrist, but with his unbridled strength, he left a red mark on his pale cheek. While he couldn’t afford to hurt him too much, he seemed to have stunned him.

The man cradled his cheek in silence, staring at Trunks wide-eyed. “You hit me…” he said softly. “You little bitch.” For a moment they just looked at each other. No movement stirred, save for a small breeze ruffling their hair. Then the man’s face contorted in a snarl and he lunged forward. Trunks sidestepped easily, as it seemed as through this man had no clue on correct battle techniques. All of his body language screamed what he was about to do, as if his body was an open book that not even he knew how to close.

Trunks drew his sword. This man had no battle skill, no behavioural skill, no discipline and a bad attitude. Shenron may have summoned him, but Trunks had to test him, because this man was nothing more than a waste of time to him.

“I’ve had it.” The man cast a glance at the sword in his hands with nervous eyes, but more than that, he looked angry.

“Well well well… So have I.”

Though it was still obvious what he was going to do, Trunks was not anticipating an attack so soon. He dodged as Bakura made a move to knock the sword out of his hand, pressing the flat into his back as soon as his momentum carried him too far forward.

“What about now?”

Tension radiated from the man, so intense that Trunks almost expected his white hair to turn to gold and reach for the heavens like his would. Instead the man drooped and sighed. “Go ahead. What’s the point any more?”

Trunks had never heard someone sound so… defeated before.

He sheathed his sword. “I’ve seen enough.” This man definitely had the potential for an immense fighting spirit, but it was borderline suicidal, not to mention his attitude problems. But perhaps with time and effort they could make it work. “Come with me.”

The man looked at him over his shoulder, wary, but obeyed. Trunks knew very little about mending a broken spirit, but hopefully learning to fight, to fly, and to rescue would give this man a new sense of purpose. Maybe he would get to learn his story, about his revenge and his frisbee-sized ring.

“My name is Trunks.”

“...Bakura.”

Chapter Text

    “ This is where you live?”

    Getting Bakura up to speed and registered by the Supreme Kai of Time had been a long process, and with Toki Toki City still under construction, Trunks had to shelter Bakura as well. That meant taking him back to his ravaged timeline, and to his mother. Bakura kept looking around, wide-eyed at all of the ruined buildings. The sky above them was gray from the lasting damage caused by the Androids, but the sun peeking through holes in the layer of smog gave him a small flicker of hope that their timeline would see a brighter future someday. That in time, everything would heal.

    “Not the greatest place to live, I know. But the threat that caused this is long dead, so we can rest easy for now.”

    “...Yeah.” Trunks looked over at him curiously. He seemed even more depressed than in Toki Toki. Maybe it was just the surroundings that brought his mood down even lower. Reflected on his face, he could see the horror he used to feel years ago.

    “...Are you okay?”

    “...Yeah…” There was something bothering him, but if Trunks had learned anything from their meeting, it was that prying information and trying to help him would only bite him in the butt. So he only gave a nod and continued on.

    Bakura stayed quiet the rest of the way home.

    They came to a door with some kind of heavy-duty reinforcement. It reminded Bakura of those security doors in experimental facilities or underground bunkers in the sci-fi comics his host read in his childhood. He didn’t think much of it back then, but now he was beginning to think about the things he noticed of him. His interests, his memories, his quirks… The more he thought about it, the more he was becoming an actual person to him and less of a vessel… Ryou . He was living in a sci-fi story Ryou would’ve loved reading.

    He couldn’t really remember walking inside; he was too caught up in his regrets until they entered the kitchen. A woman older than he and Trunks stood over the stove, stirring something in a pot. She looked up as they entered, smiling a tired, gentle smile and brushing some of her blue hair out of her eyes. “Trunks, you’re home early. I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours.” She lowered the heat on the stove and wiped her hands on a dishcloth, turning to face him. Her eyes fell on Bakura. “Oh, and you brought a friend? So much for leftovers, then.” She laughed lightly, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m joking, you’re very welcome here.”

    “His name is Bakura. He’s going to be my partner. Bakura, this is Bulma, my mother.” Bakura blinked at the mentioning of his name, zoning out of his internal thoughts and back into reality. It took him a moment to process what he had said, but the conversation had taken off without him.

    “Partner, huh? In what context, work or…?”

    “MOM! Work , he’s going to help me with defending time ! Not with… W-Why would you--”

    “I’m sorry!” There was something about her chuckle that didn’t sound as sorry as she said she was. “It’s just… Is there any particular reason you brought him home? Do I… need to leave for a couple of ho-”

    “ MOM!! ” A bright red filled Trunks’ cheeks and quickly spread all out his face. She let out a laugh and nudged him with his arm.

    “I’m kidding ! But seriously, though. It’s good to see that you got yourself a partner. Does the Supreme Kai of Time know yet?”

    “Yeah, she gave me the okay to summon him with the Dragon Balls. But he’s not ready yet to join the Time Patrol. He’s--”

    “ Excuse me?” Both Bulma and Trunks turned to look at Bakura as he decided to speak up. “I didn’t agree to any of this.” The woman casted a stern glance at Trunks.

    “You didn’t ask him? You can’t just force the responsibility onto someone like that!”

    “We were going to head up to what’s been built of Toki Toki City tomorrow so he could have a look around and decide for himself to join or not. But he said something about how he was supposed to being dead instead, so this isn’t by cha--”

    “ Supposed to be dead ?!” Bakura let out a heavy sigh, re-entering into the conversation that had gone off without him again.

    “He’s not wrong there. I suppose I have to explain everything. It’s a long story, and I don’t suppose I’ll be welcome here afterwards.”

    “What do you mean? Are you some kind of outlaw?” He let out a genuine laugh, one he hadn’t made in millennia.

    “You’re not far off from the truth on that, but there’s so much more to it. Just… listen for awhile.”

It was in the dead of night when he heard them approaching. Many men on horseback, thirsty for a sacrifice. His mother hiding him away before being stabbed through the gut. His family, friends, all of the village being thrown into a melting pot, boiled dead and alive, until the black magic turned them all into items that shone like gold with untold power.

They were made of the blood and souls of everyone he knew, and the Pharaoh was to blame.

The calling of the dark god Zorc Necrophades had been too sweet to resist. To get his revenge, to set his family to rest, to kill the Pharaoh and his men. That was all very well worth his soul.

5000 years of waiting. 5000 years until he found his host body. Only to fail again. The Pharaoh’s son, the nameless boy, banished the evil inside him, but the evil was too twisted up in and mingled with his soul. He slid down, down into the darkness, finally ready to embrace death, when suddenly...

    The table was quiet when Bakura finished his story. Bakura sat there, looking at his knees, still broken in spirit. It had been oddly easy to retell his story. Once he started talking, the words had just flowed freely. His story had turned from a distant memory, fading in and out of his consciousness, as his motive but also not, into his story. It gave him a sense of self, and that was oddly comforting after having been a demon for so long.

    It was cathartic, too. He had grieved terribly for his village when he was young, but over the years of existence their loss had worn off. Now he felt lighter, emptier. Now he could only hope that Atem had been listening to his tale and set the spirits of his village free.

    Bakura fidgeted with the sleeve of his coat before he looked up again at them both. He had expected them to be glaring at him, or looking at him in disbelief. But the both of them shared the same broken expression he had. As if his story of being a millennia-old spirit wasn’t absurd, as if they could easily trust him. Gods knew he wouldn’t if he were in their place.

    “...I’m sorry.” He stood up, not sure where he would go, but anything was better than sitting there and having them look at him with those pitiful looks on their faces. His chair scraped the floor, and the sound of two more caught his attention. They didn’t believe him after all, did they? They were going to restrain him, weren’t they? Lock him up and throw away the key. Panic set in as Bakura searched out the exit.

    But Bulma stopped him before he left the room. “Hey,” she murmured, setting her hand on his head and ruffling his hair. “Make sure you let us know if you need anything, okay? I mean it. We’re here for you.”

    We’re here for you.

    When was the last time Bakura had heard someone say that to him? When was the last time someone touched him like that, with tenderness and gentleness instead of an intent to harm? It scared him but it also enchanted him.

    “Why?”

    “Why not?”

    Bakura had no answer, and so the matter was settled. Bulma’s hand ran down the back of his hair and to his shoulder blades. She gave his shoulders a quick rub before gently pushing him back to the table. His defenses were back up and he was about to break out of her reach, but her words stopped him in his tracks.

    “Don’t leave just yet, we haven’t even had dinner yet.” Dinner? He felt a pang of hunger throb in his stomach, making him reach a hand to it. Bulma tsked and lead him back to the table. “You haven’t eaten in years, have you?”

    “You believe me?! You don’t think I’m crazy?!” She turned her back to the boys while she turned the stove back onto low-heat. She stirred the contents for a moment before making her way back to them to buy time.

    “Bakura, honey. I’ve seen and dealt with many strange things in my life. Superhumans, aliens, androids… There isn’t a single thing I can look at in disbelief anymore. And besides, even if you were crazy--” She playfully knocked on his head and turned back to the cooking. “--that’s okay with me.”

    Bakura rubbed his head and looked over at Trunks. He hadn’t said a single word since he shared his story. Did he think he was crazy? Did he think he made a mistake? Not that he was pleased with being dragged into something, but if Trunks decided that he didn’t want Bakura to join him, what was he going to do with him? He didn’t know where to go-- Hell, what if he just decided to kill him? He was supposed to be dead, any--

    “So…” Trunks brought his hand to his chin in thought as he spoke. His interjection broke Bakura out of his frenzied thoughts. “Do you know if… Zorc is still, uh… still a part of you?”

    “I… I mean…” He was Zorc, wasn’t he? …Wasn’t he?

    …No, that’s right. After he lost the duel, his soul was separated from Zorc, and he was supposed to cease to exist. The oblivion was nothing but bright white. And out of nowhere, there was some loud voice booming out to him that brought him back to awareness, even if just for a moment.

    “ SOMEONE SUMMONS YOU FROM A LAND FAR, FAR AWAY! NOW, COME FOR--! ”

    “Oh, really?! You heard Shenron talk to you?!”

    Bakura blinked. “I… Did I say all of that out loud? I thought that was… internal thought…”

    “You kind of just started in the middle of a sentence. ‘Supposed to cease to exist’.”

    “...Right. No, he’s not a part of me anymore. Zorc was split from me in the afterlife after I lost the duel. I’m not supposed to be here, my soul was supposed to be destroyed with his. But like you said, Shenron reached out to me, and the next thing I know, I wake up in the atrium some ways away from you. But I’m thinking that it was my judgement day, and you know the rest.”

    “Yeah. I remember you calling me a purple idiot.”

    “Purple dork , actually. Have you seen your outfit?”

    “Have you seen yours ? I haven’t worn shoes like that since I was five .”

    “In my defense, I don’t dress myself. The host… no, Ryou dressed the body. This is one of his better outfits… you should’ve seen the sweater outfit. It looks like pastel prick shit, a yellow sweater over a green dress-shirt, it was terri-”

    Bulma then came back to the table with three bowls, piled high with rice covered in a thick, steamy curry. “One of Trunks’ favorite meals. Hope you like garlic because we definitely do.”

    Bakura took one sniff and his mouth watered. “I love garlic,” he whispered, mostly to himself as he remembered nights out in the desert, crunching on a clove as he plotted and planned. Suddenly ravenous, he scooped some into his mouth.

    It was spicy. Very spicy. Very garlic-y. There was a distinct lack of meat, and yet, despite it all, Bakura loved it. He almost shoveled it in, barely slowing down, even when Bulma warned him he would get a stomachache.

    “Honestly, you eat just like a Saiyan,” she chided.

    Bakura blinked, his mouth still full. Chewing and swallowing, he asked, “What’s that?”

    Trunks laughed nervously. “Ah right, I knew I forgot something…”

    “It can wait until after dinner,” Bulma said, and neither Bakura nor Trunks complained as they tucked back in to their food, polishing off bowl after bowl.

    “You really were hungry,” Trunks remarked, clearing the bowls from the table. He kissed Bulma on the cheek as he walked past to put the dishes in the sink.

    “Maybe it’s a side-effect of being brought back to life.” It was the only explanation Bakura could think of. He kept seated, looking down at the wood grain of the table and listening to the clinking of the bowls as Trunks washed them. He heard Bulma yawn and the legs of her chair scrape against the floor as she pushed herself back.

    It was… homey. It was nice.

    Bulma walked past him, ruffling his hair again, and his eyes closed in delight. Why? Why were they so kind to him? Why did he enjoy their company so much? He had to say something. Anything at all.

    “...Bulma…?”

    “Yes, dear?” Bakura slowly looked up at her from the table. His eyes were watery, and the garlicky sauce dribbled down his chin which he wiped away on the back of his sleeve.

    “…Thank you, for everything…”

Chapter Text

    “Just concentrate your energy.”

    It was easy enough for him to say. Trunks had done this shtick all his life so of course he would have no trouble flying around and shooting energy. Bakura hadn’t even had a body of his own for millennia. Every movement was strange. It was as if a veil was lifted and the movements were finally his own, as well as all of the failures and consequences. He could no long blame Ryou’s body on his shortcomings, his lack of strength or his shortness of breath. The best he could say about it was that it could take a beating if needed. Bakura ghosted his fingers over his bicep, remembering where he had stabbed Ryou all that time ago.

    How long had it been now?

    “That doesn’t look like concentration to me.”

    “Piss off, I’m thinking.”

    How exactly did Trunks expect him to just meld into a new reality and start flying so soon? He was supposed to be dead. Dead and gone, crushed in Ammit’s jaws just like every other piece of shit soul in the world.

    “Bakura.” Trunks’ hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it. “You were spacing out on me there. Look, your hands are shaking.”

    So they were. Bakura flexed his fingers, making a fist and then relaxing it again, until the shaking eventually stopped, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Everything about him was just so… just so hopeless.

    “Why am I here?”

    “Because I asked for you.”

    “Why would you do that?”

    “Because if you’re the one Shenron chose, you have so much potential in you.”

    It sounded hollow to Bakura. “Potential? I’m worthless.”

    A moment of silence followed, and then Bakura heard the whistling of something approaching. Instinctively, he raised his arm and blocked the punch Trunks aimed at his head just in time. “What the fuck ?” Bakura spat, shoving Trunks’ arm away. “What was that for?”

    Trunks just grinned. “You’ve got great reflexes, and enough survival instinct to block when you’re in danger. I don’t think you’ve given up just yet.”

    Bakura glowered at him some more. “Asshole.”

    Trunks sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Look, maybe I’m explaining this in the wrong way. You don’t think you have potential, but you’re here. You’re the one Shenron chose, out of everyone in this world and any other one, that could help balance the fabric of time. Instead of thinking that this is a curse, maybe think of this as a second chance. One that you’re getting whether you like it or not. So, are you going to keep whining, or are you going to learn to fly?”

    Bakura crossed his arms and looked away. Now he definitely wasn’t going to listen to him. If he just kept ignoring Trunks, maybe he would go away and Bakura could just mope around like he wanted to.

    Instead he felt a pair of hands reaching into his crossed arms and pulling them apart, grabbing at his hands. “Come on,” Trunks said, “I’ll show you.”

    All of a sudden, Bakura felt it. Bakura felt the energy of the world flowing easily into Trunks, and how it was all centered, contained, and then pushed out from his feet. Trunks was floating. Trunks was floating and pulling Bakura up with him.

    Holy shit he was going to fall and die.

    “Let me down right now holy fuck let me down LET ME DOWN!”

    “Stop struggling, I got you--”

    “You’re going to drop me! You’re going to drop me and I’m going to fall--”

    “BAKURA!”

    “WHAT?”

    “We’re half a foot above ground.”

    “...Oh. You can let me drop now.”

    Trunks just sighed and gripped his hands tighter. “You felt it, right? That energy? It’s called ki, and everyone has it. If you learn to control it, you’ll unlock skills you never thought you had.”

    “I’d rather not have any more godly potential, thanks.”

    “Just try it.”

    Asshole .

    Bakura focused on his core, trying to push the energy he felt out of his feet, let go of Trunks…

    ...And landed with a thud on the ground. Trunks ran his fingers through his hair with a long-winded sigh.

    “No, no, no. Not like that. What were you even doing?”

    “Exactly what you told me to do! It’s not my fault you’re a shit teacher!” The last word rattled inside Trunks’ mind with an echo, and all he could see was Gohan’s face. Then the Androids’ faces, then Gohan on the groun--

    No. Trunks shook his head furiously to shake the thoughts out of his head. Not now, he couldn’t afford the distraction or to break down in front of Bakura over flashbacks. His chest still hurt, though, knowing he couldn’t bottle it in forever.

    “...Just… Just try it again, okay?”

    Bakura groaned, but kept jumping with the vague hope that it would eventually work and he would stay afloat, but he had already given up on the inside. His legs were aching and he was tired of trying. Nothing was working, and why would it? He wasn’t some super alien entity, or a dark god. He was a sad, angry man, hopping out his frustrations. “I hate this,” he grumbled aloud, already running out of breath. “I don’t know why your dragon friend said I could do anything, he’s a damn idiot and so are you.”

    “Your anger is weighing you down, Bakura. The angrier you get, the harder it is for you to fly. What are you feeling inside when you’re trying? Warmth?”

    “I’m feeling something alright.” Bakura groaned, kneeling and then sitting on the ground. “So emotional wrecks can’t fly, am I getting that right? Or am I just even more hopeless than we thought?”

    “”Well, I guess so.” Trunks could sense the self-pity Bakura wanted to have, that he was trying to pry from him too. So he was going to give him what he wanted and see where it would lead them both. “I guess Shenron was wrong, after all. Maybe I messed up on my wish or something. Maybe you were a mistake.” Trunks walked away to a nearby rock to sit on, giving his undivided attention to the scenery instead of the hot mess that was supposed to be his granted wish.

    “...Well fuck you too. Asshole.”

    That was progress.

    “What are you talking about? You said it yourself, you can’t do it. You won’t even try, so why should I bother?”

    “Because I’m your wish! You’re supposed to help me! ”

    “How can I help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?” Trunks was facing as far away from Bakura as he could be, a cheeky grin on his face as he could feel Bakura biting. If he was going to have to use reverse psychology on him every time to get him to do anything, though… Well, he would cross that bridge when he got to it.

    “You’re supposed to help me!” Bakura yelled again, beside himself with rage. He leapt to his feet, storming toward Trunks. “Not just give up on me like everyone else! How the hell else am I supposed to reach this potential of mine?”

    Just one more push… Trunks forced his face to calm and looked Bakura dead in the eye. “You tell me, you’re the one who can’t do anything.”

    “FUCK YOU!” Bakura screamed, storming off in anger. “I’LL SHOW YOU!”

    Trunks felt it almost immediately, the spike of energy coming from Bakura was intense, sudden, and growing. Bakura jumped again, again, shaking with anger and effort, and again. And he was off the ground, as Trunks was also off the rock in awe. The man he had seen tearing himself down because he couldn’t fly was rocketing up into the sky, his aura sending waves throughout the surrounding area. Trunks felt his breath catch in his throat.

    Bakura was laughing maniacally, screaming down at him, “HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, ASSHOLE?”

    All Trunks could do was crack a small smile and fly up to meet him.

    “How did you do that?”

    “I like to call it a healthy dose of ‘fuck you’. Does wonders.”

    "You literally exist out of spite, don't you?"

    "I've literally existed out of spite for the last five millennia, Trunks."

Chapter Text

The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. It seemed to grow heavier by the minute, and if they weren’t already in a hurry to escape, the lightning flashing in the distance got the lead out of their steps. They had to travel out to a city that had survived the horrors of the Androids from years before, and they were almost back to the ruins of their city after being out for two hours. Flying to the store was easy, but flying back proved to be a challenge for the both of them with the bags threatening to tear.

    Walking seemed to be a better option for Bakura as well; with a low amount of stamina, flying was something that tired him out more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t the only thing he wasn’t willing to speak up about, but his staggering breath and occasional sniffling made Trunks raise an eyebrow at him, and Bakura tried to avoid his worried gaze.

    “Are you getting sick?”

    “What? No… I’m not.”

    “You don’t sound good.”

    “I’m fine, trust me.”

    The short and sudden exchanges between the two men were awkward, but Trunks insisted on addressing the elephant in the room.

    “Bakura, I’m serious. Are you getting sick? How are you feeling?” Bakura didn’t say anything for awhile, but finally let out a sigh and looked at Trunks with defeat.

    “Fine. I’m probably getting a cold or something. But nothing serious. I just… I’m not used to people looking out for me like this. It’s not… uh… I haven’t...” Trunks didn’t press it. He understood what he was trying to say, even if Bakura didn’t know how to word it.

    “I know.”

    “Having people care about me is weird . Whenever there was any concern for me, it wasn’t for me , it was for the host. Ryou… Well, they were concerned with him being controlled by me. And if I were anyone else, I would’ve been worried for him, too.” There was a long awkward pause between the two of them before Bakura continued. His tone was melancholic and he refused to make eye-contact with him again.

    “...I treated him like shit, Trunks. I used him like a vessel and I didn’t care what happened to him, so long as I got what I wanted. And look at me now, I failed and I was defeated… I was supposed to be destroyed along with Zorc. I don’t even know why I’m here.”  Bakura stopped walking. It took Trunks a moment to realize this as he continued on ahead. He turned to face Bakura, who was now staring forward with a perplexed look written upon his face.

    “Bakura?”

    “...Why am I here, Trunks? I should’ve faded into an oblivion. I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve to… be.”

    “You… You know I wished you here with the Dragon Balls, we’ve been over thi-”

    “No. You wished for a strong warrior, right? And?” He gestured up and down his person with his hand and let out a chuckle in disbelief. “Neither strong nor a warrior. I’m weak, you could hit my arm and probably break it with how fragile it is.”

    “No, actually I wished for ‘the best’, but… I don’t question how Shenron makes his decisions. Your body is weak because you haven’t trained before and we’re training you before you can rejoin-”

    “But why do you have to train me anyways? Shouldn’t you have someone strong who doesn’t need any kind of training?” Trunks shook his head with a frown.

    “Hey. You shouldn’t write yourself off like that. Maybe Shenron chose you because he saw potential within you that shines more than any warrior now. Maybe you’re here now instead of fading into oblivion to unlock that potential for the greater good.”

    “Full offense, but that’s fucking dumb. How can someone like me have potential? What good can I do?” The tone of Bakura’s voice sounded bitter and venomous, but was directed at none other than himself.

    “...If you ask me, avenging a village that you considered your entire family isn’t a completely bad thing.” Bakura looked like he wanted to say something, but kept his mouth shut and looked down. “...Your actions had in bad consequences, but your intentions were good, not just for causing havoc. And you sound pretty remorseful for some of the things you did, which is more than I can say for plenty of villains I’ve had the… displeasure of meeting.”

    “...Well, I’m remorseful now , but that’s only because I’ve been given a second chance at life to look things over-”

    “ Stop .” Trunks was done listening to Bakura’s constant wallowing. “The fact that you were even given a second chance should tell you that you deserve it. And believe me, if any of the bad guys I’m talking about were given a second chance to live, or were to change the choices they made, none of them would change a thing.”

Bakura stayed silent. If he were given the opportunity to change anything he did in the past, would he really change anything? Every fiber of his body said no, but the burning sensation in his stomach reminded him of all the things he felt bad about, like his treatment of his host, Ryou, treating him more like a pest when really he was the parasite. And maybe redirecting his hatred towards someone who really --

    “Did you hear that?” Trunks’ voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Bakura was about to ask him what he had heard when he picked up a small squeak to their right. What was a box doing lying in the middle of the grass like that? Had it been there the entire time? The both of them walked off the road to investigate it, and for the first time in a long time, Bakura’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes widened while his pupils shrank, and he let out the softest gasp as he knelt down beside it. Soaking his jeans was the least of his concerns.

    “ H-holy shit …” Lying within the cardboard box was a small kitten, dark gray like smoke and ash. It craned its head up at both men and let out another disheartening mewl, lengthy and pitiful with hunger and misery. The poor thing only had a handwritten note inside the box with it. The rain had washed away some of the writing, but the “feed me” was still legible. “ Holy shit …”

    “Who would leave a kitten out in the rain like this? On the side of the road where no one can see it? That’s terrible!” Bakura wasn’t listening to Trunks, otherwise he would have agreed. He reached out slowly and picked the cat out of the box. Its fur was damp and matted, caked with dirt and mud. Its little paws batted at his sleeve, claws out, and the kitten hissed, scared out of its mind, but Bakura held it to his chest. He felt the dirty water soaking through his shirt, and the trembling of the tiny kitten as it squirmed, but eventually it stopped, still tense, but too tired to keep fighting.

    “I’m taking him.” It wasn’t up for debate.

    “It’s a girl,” Bulma announced. She was patting away at the kitten’s damp fur as she squeaked and squirmed, trying to get away from the towel. As the dust and mud was washed away, her fur had transformed into a paler grey, marked with black tabby stripes and white paws and a white underbelly. The instant Bakura had shown the kitten to Bulma, she had immediately ran a bath for it while ordering Trunks to scrape together a meal of fish and meat for it.

    “She is?” Bakura looked more closely at the damp, unhappy kitten, still struggling from within the folds of the towel.

    “You can check if you’d like.”

    Bakura opted instead to sit back and watch. As Bulma continued to rub the water away, she asked, “So. What’s the name?”

    “Name?”

    Bulma laughed. “Listen, you don’t bring a kitten from somewhere on the side of the road without planning to keep her. I can tell we’re not letting this one go. So what’s her name going to be?”

    A load fell off Bakura’s shoulders and he sighed in relief. “Bulma, have I told you that I love you?”

    “Not yet. Today, anyway.” The kitten let out a mewl and Bulma moved down to her back. The little hairs stood on end like seeds on a dandelion. “Hm… I’m guessing not Fluffy?”

    Bakura considered the little cat. It just didn’t suit her to be a Fluffy or a Whiskers or any of those names. He considered Bastet, like the goddess, but it didn’t fit either.

    “I found her in a box in a field,” he said, trying to come up with a name from that.

    “So what’re you thinking? Box? Field? Grass? Clover? Muddy?”

    “Clover, huh? Like good luck?”

    Bulma cracked a smile. “A little good luck charm you found in a box in a field.”

    Bakura exhaled heavily. “It’s been a weird day today.” Another squeak drew his attention back to the cat. “Well, it wasn’t all bad, I guess.”

    “Come on, just a little more aaaaaaaannnd… done!” Bulma pulled the towel away with a flourish, and the kitten shook herself, still a little wet but looking much better than before. “Trunks, sweetie, are you almost done?”

    “Right here!” Trunks called from outside the door. He nudged the door open with his hip, one hand clutching a plate with scraps of meat and a few full fishes. The other held a bowl of water. “How is he?”

    “She’s just fine.” Bakura reached out for the kitten, who recoiled from his hand, still nervous.

    Bulma patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, she just needs to get used to you. If you feed her, she’ll probably love you forever.”

    “Speaking from experience?” Bakura quipped, and Bulma gave his arm a light smack. All the same, Bakura took a piece of meat from the plate Trunks offered him, and gently placed it in front of the kitten. Slowly, uncertainly, she inched her way forward, but in the end hunger won. She darted forward and chewed on the offered food, wolfing it all down. Bakura took another piece and placed it down, and the kitten didn’t hesitate this time. The third piece didn’t even make it to the floor before the kitten snatched it from his fingertips.

    “Looks like it’s working,” Trunks remarked, taking a piece himself and offering it to the kitten. Once again, she approached slowly, but much less afraid this time. As she ate, Trunks reached out, tentative, and brushed his fingers over her head, right between her ears. The kitten jumped, but didn’t attack. Bakura reached out himself, and rubbed his fingers along her spine.

    The kitten was frozen, perhaps in fright, but the more Bakura and Trunks worked at her, giving her soothing pets, the more she relaxed. Once she started purring, Bakura’s breath caught in his throat.

    “Aww, now that is just precious!” Bulma cooed, clasping her hands together. She too knelt down in front of the kitten, this time taking one of the sardines from the plate as an offering. The kitten trotted right up to her and ripped the fish apart with her tiny teeth while Bulma stroked her fur. “Such a sweet precious darling, yes you are! Yes you are!”

    Trunks glanced at Bakura. “Guess she’s ours now, huh?”

    Bakura nodded, looking down at the little scrap of fur and feeling his heart warm. He remembered his conversation with Trunks, about how maybe, just maybe, he could have the potential for good. For repentance. He had almost given up on himself, until now. Now he had someone he wanted to see grow healthy and strong. Someone he wanted to protect. Someone who he wasn’t afraid to love.

    “She’s ours. Our little good-luck charm. Our Clover.”

Chapter Text

   “That’s it!”

   Bakura felt a surge of pride as his latest ki blast hit its target with incredible precision. After months and months of training, he had improved to the point that he could actually consider himself a fighter. Trunks kept talking about how he would be able to go on missions soon, and in spite of himself, Bakura was excited. He had people to fight for now. He had Trunks, and Bulma, and Clover. He charged up a little more, still in the air, aimed, and fired, hitting the last target with no trouble at all.

    Trunks was clapping by the time he got back down to the ground, so of course he had to take a bow.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, and Trunks, my greatest performance yet.”

    “You’re telling me! You’re progressing really well! At this rate, we’ll be able to find out who’s causing the time distortions and stop them!” Trunks had him at the compliments, then lost him at the end.

    “...Then what? What are we going to do after time stops changing? Am I just going to go back to being dead?”

    “Time isn’t going to stop changing. Ever since I split the main timeline, changes to history happen all the time. We will always have to correct history changes, no matter how small they are. So you don’t have to worry about having to go back to… being dead, I guess…”

    Bakura blinked. “So I was wished into a career with extreme job security, is that what I’m hearing?”

    Trunks gave a small laugh, and Bakura’s mouth twitched upwards. “Yeah, pretty much.”

    Bakura sat down on the ground, and Trunks joined him a second later, handing him a bottle of water. “Drink up. I’ll be meeting with the Supreme Kai of Time today, and if everything goes right, you’ll be on your first real mission tomorrow.”

    “Do you really have to call her that every time you address her? What if there’s an emergency and you’re out of breath? Are you really going want to say that mouthful when you’re trying to catch your breath?”

    “What kind of emergency?”

    “The kind that would make you run all the way to your boss? I don’t know. Doesn’t she have a name or something?”

    “Sometimes we call her Chronoa, but it’s more polite to call her by her title.”

    Bakura made a face. “I’ll think of something better.”

    “Please don’t.”

    “Already am.”

    Trunks let out a sigh. “I guess it can’t be helped. Either way, tomorrow’s going to be a big day if I can clinch this.”

    “Something like… Time Wizard.”

    “No.”

    “Marshmallon with arms.”

    “I… What?”

    “Mmmm… Scott.”

    “I give up.”

    “No but see, if you abbreviate Supreme Kai of Time, you get S-K-o-T, so--”

    Trunks stood up. “I’m leaving now, bye.”

    Scott really did look like a Marshmallon with arms. And hair. And tits. Having only seen her once shortly after he was summoned, that was the only thing that had really struck Bakura at the time. He half-expected her to bite at his side in seething anger while some teenager battled him over the right to some dead guy’s name, but that was all in the past now. He needed to move on and punch people in the face instead.

    “Bakura, you’re looking well. Much better than day one.”

    “Oh god, you actually talk.”

    Trunks looked at him in horror. “Bakura! Show some respect!”

    “He’s not the first to say it, Trunks, and he’s not going to be the last.” Scott sighed, but still looked as insulted as Trunks suggested. “But he’s right, show me some respect! I’m practically a goddess, you know!”

    “What’s a god to a non-believ-” Trunks covered his mouth with an irritated scowl on his face.

    “Sorry, he’s an idiot.” Bakura shot him a hurt look.

    “ You don’t say .”

    “He’ll need some time to get to know you. He has an issue with respecting authority. He still mouths off to me. He’s a work in progress.” With a nervous laugh, Trunks gripped tighter on Bakura’s jaw as a warning not to open his mouth.

    “If you say so. I’ll put my trust in you, Trunks. We’ve waited long enough for the fighter that you promised us.” With that, the Supreme Kai of Time turned back to the table behind them, with one scroll giving off an ominous purplish-black aura that reminded Bakura of the Shadow Realm. Of Zorc’s terrible energy.

    Suddenly he didn’t want to go on this mission so much anymore.

    But all the same, the tiny Marshmallon thing handed him the scroll. It was weightless, and yet felt heavier than anything he had ever held. “So I just… open this, or-” The scroll started to unravel itself on its own. Trunks tried to catch it, but the scroll was faster than his fingers and he had to chase after the runaway parchment.

    In a flash, he had a vision. Two men fighting, and a green demon thing about to shoot them both. But something was wrong; a strange aura surrounded one of the men and he dodged, and by the end he was the last one standing. Bakura blinked, and suddenly he was back in the Time Nest. The first thing he saw was Trunks rerolling the scroll up and fastening the band back around it, dishevelled and frowning.

    “What… the fuck … did I just-”

    “That right there was a time distortion,” Trunks explained, a little short of breath. “In that timeline, Raditz is supposed to die.”

   “Who’s Raditz?”

   “It’s up to us to make sure time goes back to normal.”

   “No seriously, who’s-”

   “The one with the hair.”

   “Ah. So I have to kill him?”

   “No, just make sure he’s weak enough that he doesn’t escape this time.”

   “Sounds easy enough. Not the first time I’ve killed someone.”

   With that sobering sentence left hanging in the air, Bakura gripped the scroll and felt himself get sucked away, lights flashing past his eyes and his body feeling unreal, as if he never truly existed.

   He smelled grass and trees, and the next thing he knew, he was in midair. Then gravity kicked in before he remembered how to fly.

   THUMP!

   “OWWW MOTHER FUCKER ! SHIT! FUCK! SHIT !” The earpiece of his Scouter crackled to life immediately after his fall.

   “Bakura are you okay? What happened?!”

   “‘What happened’?! What did it look like, moron! I landed on my ass !”

   From across the field, the three of the original history looked back at this mysterious stranger with bewildered faces. Momentarily forgetting their feud, they watched him in confusion, and a bit of concern if they had to be honest. No one knew where he came from. No one knew who he was. How long had he been there? They didn’t even sense his presence until he crashed into the ground. And now he was… yelling at himself?

   “.. .I DIDN'T THINK I'D BE IN THE FUCKING AIR WHEN I DID THIS KIND OF THING! ...WELL, EXCUSE ME!"

   They all looked at each other. Someone had to know that weirdo.

     "...Is he... an ally of yours, Kakarot?"

   "I don't even know who he is. Is that... someone you know, Goku?"

   "Why would I know him?!"

   "...Well no matter. No matter how much trash there is, it's still trash!"

   “HEY! WHO JUST CALLED ME TRASH, I’LL KICK YOUR ASS!”

   And just like that, the battle began. Bakura had cause enough of a distraction that Raditz wasn’t prepared for a three-on-one battle… that is, until Bakura’s inexperience started to show.

   “Augh!” Yet again, Bakura had been blasted into the ground with a well-aimed Double Sunday, dazed and pained. The tall green alien stopped by him and pulled him out of the small crater he had left.

   “Get going, you’re not ready for a fight like this.”

   Bakura wheezed, spitting dirt out of his mouth. “I… can’t…”

   The alien just grunted in annoyance and dropped him back down.

   “Don’t be a brat, kid. Run along before I kill you myself.”

   “No, I mean it! I can’t lea-”

   “Then make sure your ass doesn’t get killed, because I’m not going to come save it again. And I’ll make sure that Goku doesn’t either.” And with that, the alien flew head-on at Raditz and left Bakura behind him to grumble. That was, until Raditz took notice of him, and charged at him. He was covered by the taller man’s shadow, and while it was too cowardly of his nature, Bakura stumbled back away from him.

   “Who are you, exactly?”

   “That’s… none of your concern. The only thing you need to be concerned about it is me beating your ass three ways to Sunday.” Admittedly, that was big talk for the current situation he found himself in. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to land any damage on Raditz, but he narrowed his eyes in defiance as the other laughed at him.

   “Is that so? With a power-level of… ah, actually quite impressive for what this planet has to offer, I’ll give you that.” Raditz removed his hand from the Scouter and pushed it in front of himself while charging up another attack. “But you’re still nothing, and it won’t take long to-”

   Raditz stopped talking. His gaze met with Bakura’s fist before it hit his nose. He blinked and wiped away the blood from the nostrils. “...Not bad. For a bitchbaby.”

   “...What did you call me?”

   “A bitchb -” The alien was back suddenly, slamming his elbow into Raditz’ shoulder-blades, then grabbing him by the armor and flinging him back behind him, his arm extending out to ensure some distance.

   “What the hell did I say?”

   “...I’m not dead yet, am I?”

   “I swear I will kill you myself after this fight!”

   “Not before I kill him for what he said to me.”

   Bakura’s energy was pushing forth, surging with silent fury. The alien regarded him with a frown, but refrained from speaking. Instead, they both shot forward to help their third comrade with his battle, with renewed strength and vigor.

   “IT’S CHARGED!” The green alien shouted across the field to where Bakura was still fighting Raditz alongside Goku, having taken a massive beating and feeling very ready to stop and sleep for a year or maybe seven.

   “Oh thank the gods…”

   Bakura looked over at the green alien, who was still pointing at his forehead, then whipped his head back as Goku slid behind Raditz and held him in place.

   “PICCOLO! NOW!”

   Bakura’s brows knitted together. Now? Would he even have time to dodge?

   His question was answered as he saw a beam drill right through both of their chests at once. He jumped up into the air in recoil, eyes still wide from shock of what he witnessed. Was he supposed to prevent that from happening? His hand shot forward, as if he wanted to catch their souls out of the air and put them back where they were supposed to go. His scouter crackled with static, and a few voices, but he paid no attention to it.

   Death. Right before his eyes. He fell to the ground on his knees.

   The next thing he was aware of was being in the Time Nest with Trunks’ hands on his shoulders.

    “Are you okay? It got kinda rough out there. Or that’s what it looked like, anyways.” Trunks gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but-”

    “You didn’t tell me both of them would die… Was I supposed to stop him from doing that?” Bakura’s voice was low and soft. Just like how it was when he first arrived, still in his trance of the afterlife. He sounded miserable, scared, shocked.

    “Uh… No. It’s… vital to the timeline. If history had played out right, you would’ve seen what you witnessed.”

    “But… Goku-”

    “Is revived later with the Dragon Balls. He needed to die so he could be trained by King Kai.”

    “Couldn’t he go see him after their fight?! Why did he have to die?! And what about his family--that was his kid , wasn’t it?!”

    “Bakura. You’re stressing out over nothing-”

    “NOTHING?”

    “ Nothing . It works out in the end. There’s a reason for everything. I learned this from working with time. Horrible things need to happen sometimes for some better things in the future. If Goku didn’t die, Piccolo wouldn’t have trained Gohan to be the warrior he grew up to be. In both timelines.”

    “Who’s Gohan?” Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

    “That--That kid. He eventually grows up to be my mentor, and--look, we’re getting off topic. Things need to happen for other things. If none of this happened the way that it did, you wouldn’t be here today. Probably because I wouldn’t even be here. But then time would’ve never been split in the first place, and Chronoa wouldn’t have to have--”

   “What does any of this have to do you with you? What does Scott have to do with any of this?!”

   “ Oh for the love of Dende . Bakura, just… trust me, okay? It works out in the long run.” Trunks patted him on the back and walked back to the Scroll. “You’ve had an unusual experience, maybe just take a walk around the city, alright? I’ll finish things up here and then we can go home.”

   Bakura didn’t need to be told twice. He picked himself off the ground and stalked out the door. The air felt cold and unpleasant against his skin, still overheated and pained from battle. He was beaten and bruised, replaying the sight of two men getting murdered over and over in his head like a skipping record.

   He didn’t know that was what he was supposed to be expecting. He didn’t know that he had to lead some people to their deaths.

   He walked blindly, trapped in his head. People passed by, their voices blurring all together into some sort of dissonant white noise going in one ear and out the other. Bakura paid no mind to his surroundings until he walked right into someone.

   He jumped backwards, ready to argue with whoever it was who had the audacity to stand in his way when he was processing the most traumatic moment he had had in several months, then stopped short.

    He was there. Standing right there like nothing happened. Raditz. Bakura rubbed his eyes. He was still there, loitering around with his arms crossed and a stony look on his face. Bakura approached him, still not quite believing his eyes.

    “What are you staring at?”

    “...You died.”

    “Excuse me? Do I look dead to you, kid?”

    No, of course not. But that was what tripped Bakura up. He watched a death beam drill into the chest of the man before him. And here we was, as if nothing had happened. It made his trauma seem… pointless. If Raditz was right there, and real -- he had to be real, he had ran right into him -- then…

    “What are you doing here?” Bakura demanded, more angry than he should have been.

    Raditz only snorted in contempt. “What’s it to you, bitchbaby?”

    Once again, Bakura’s fist collided with Raditz’s face. Once again, Raditz wiped away the blood from his nose slowly and thoughtfully. Bakura only seethed. “Call me bitchbaby one more time. See what happens.”

    “Hmph. Maybe you’re worth my time after all.”

    “...What.”

    “Look kid, I don’t offer my mentorship to just anyone, you got it? Take it or leave it.”

    Bakura blinked. This was yet another strange thing to happen today, and the only thing he could think to do was to roll with it.

    “I’ll take it, then.”

    Raditz smirked. “So kid, ever hear of a move called Weekend?”

Chapter Text

    “For a man who used to play cards all the time, you’re not very good at this game.”

    “Just shut up and deal again.”

    “You sound like a sore loser.”

    “No, you’re just a sore winner.”

    Trunks chuckled and collected Bakura’s hand from him--as well as some of his chips from his plate. Salt and vinegar, his first choice. Not to mention, Bakura looked like he was made of pure salt and vinegar anyway, so it was probably for the best that he was losing so many hands.

    “Let me win once out of pity, for fuck’s sake. Or leave my chips alone. I’ve got cookies you can take instead.”

    “Hey, I’m doing you a favor, you’re already salty enough as it is. Why would you need more?”

    “I need to replenish, chucklefuck.”

    And there was another chuckle. Bakura was a little shit, to say the least, but he did have some interesting things to say. The Time Patrol was admittedly livelier now that he came, and after he started training under Raditz, he… Well, he missed him. With no new missions about, Trunks only got to see him after he came home from training. And he was usually too worn out to talk, passing out the moment he lied on the bed. He couldn’t believe that Bakura was up for a few rounds of Blackjack. Shame he didn’t know what he would be in for when he agreed to it, but then again, it was his loss.

    “Losing isn’t making you salty enough?”

    “Are you cheating or something?!”

    “You wish! Just get good.”

    “I can’t believe you of all people actually said that.” Trunks ignored Bakura’s scoff and dealt him a new hand. Maybe luck would be in his favor this round. Probably not, though. He slipped him two cards, a two and an eight.

    “Do you want to hit or do you want to stay?”

    “Hit.”

    “Five. You’re at 15, hit or stay?”

    “Hit.”

    “Eight.”

    “FUCK.”

    Just as Trunks reached for his chips again, a soft knock resounded at their door. Bakura turned his head, but Trunks took his earnings before paying any attention. Bulma slipped her head through the door before slipping in.

    “You better not be playing strip poker under my roof.” Clover slid past Bulma's legs and into the room, trotting up to Bakura and climbing into his lap. “This little girl wouldn't leave me alone until I opened this door.”

    Bakura stroked the kitten’s soft head. “You are my only friend in the world.”

    Bulma glanced at Trunks and the sheer amount of chips on his side of the table. “What kind of mother would I be if I allowed gambling under my roof?”

    “A fun one.” Trunks dealt an extra hand over on the table. “Catch up to Bakura in three turns and I'll wash the dishes every day for as many weeks as you have extra chips.”

    “Deal.” Bulma’s face shifted into a grin and Trunks knew that he wasn’t coming out of this the winner. With a glance over at Bakura, he figured that might have been just as well.

    “Dealer?”

    “Okay okay, let’s see here…”

    “Is your mom like… secretly made of cards? Because I swear she pulled those out of her ass. Or sleeve.”

    The two were flying along, on their way to the warp point for Toki Toki City. Trunks’ head was still reeling from his upcoming three weeks of dish duty, but he put aside his unfortunate gambling woes to explain.

    “In a world that was pretty much destroyed by two robots, we weren’t left with many options for fun. Even after I destroyed the Androids, underground poker games are one of the only things we do to get out and let loose. And mom, when she’s not in the lab… well, you’ve seen. She’s a monster to play against.”

    “So are you.”

    “Well, I am my mother’s son. Capsule Corp isn’t the only thing the Briefs’ have a reputation for anymore.”

    “Wouldn’t have thought either one of you as a gambler.”

    Trunks side-eyed him. “Did you think you had a monopoly on card games?”

    “Shut your dumb face we’re here.”

    As Bakura rushed to the pickup point for Toki Toki city, still a good several yards away, Trunks wondered if maybe that comment had gone too far.

    Bakura trudged down the stairs into the Time Nest, where sure enough, Scott and Trunks were waiting for him. He had been informed of a new mission for him, right in the middle of training with Raditz.

    Training with Raditz was unexpectedly pleasant. Raditz’s praise was weak, but strangely frequent; even when Bakura only seemed to just do the bare minimum, Raditz didn’t berate him for not doing better, but rather told him that he ‘wasn’t completely useless’, and as someone who lived off of spite for millennia… it was the kind of encouragement he found himself responding to the best. Nothing tearing him down, nothing overly-enthusiastic, but a middle-of-the-road kind of approach that was genuinely pushing him while making him feel good about himself, little by little.

    He liked being mentored by him… which was probably why he wasn’t thrilled to be dragged away into more time-fuckery.

    “What time-murder bullshit am I doing today?”

    “‘Time-murder bull-’? Is that what you think of this?” Scott’s arms crossed over her chest, clearly not pleased with Bakura’s disposition about his job.

    “You need me to kill someone again, right?”

    “Ah, well… No. Not this time. The enemy has gotten stronger, and the Z-Fighters need some support to handle them. You don’t have to, well, kill anyone this time.”

    “The who?” Scott pinched the bridge of her nose, then scowled at Trunks.

    “I thought you caught him up on everything!”

    Trunks rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a work in progress.”

    “Look we all know I’m a work in progress, can I just get to the thing already?”

    “Bakura! Some people would give an arm for the job you have!”

    “Yeah, but-” He shrugged. “-I was already doing something, and I want to get back to the thing. So, let me have the thing so I can do the thing so I can go back to the thing that I was doing.” Trunks handed him the thing--the scroll, with a look of utter disdain.

    “Here, just don’t-”

    As soon as the scroll touched Bakura’s fingertips, he was thrown into a vision and the parchment unrolled onto the floor, just like last time. The last thing he heard of reality was irritated grumbling under Trunks’ breath, something about the scroll being on the table from now on…

    There were… A lot of people on the ground, and probably out cold, even the kid,from before, from the last miss-- what the everloving hell are those?! Was he going to have to fight the cabbage-brain things? They were hideous and creepy and damn why wasn’t there a card like that in Duel Monsters? Like a zombie token or something?

    That guy was back. The one who died from the last mission too, Spikey McOrange. And… gorillas in armor suddenly. He was pretty sure Raditz had said something about them before. He watched quietly as Spikey powered up but ultimately fell before the Great Apes.

    Then, just like that, he was back in the Time Nest with a frazzled Trunks and Scott still rolling up the scroll.

    “So I have to beat up a couple of giant gorillas whose weak points are the tail? Easy enough.”

    “How did you know about the tail?” Scott almost lost her grip on the scroll in her surprise.

    “Raditz talked about the Great Apes before. But I don’t understand why they both transformed. It’s almost a last resort, because moons were rare on their planet. And… the fight was already won before Spikey got to the scene. It was unnecessary, and I’m gonna guess that’s the point of time distortion?”

    “That and the power-ups. The Saibamen weren’t supposed to be that strong, or the Apes.” Trunks took the last of the scroll from Bakura and Scott and finished rolling it all up and fastened it, placing it on the table. Until Bakura learned how to hold it right, that was where it would remain.

    “I wasn’t sure about Raditz being a mentor for you, since he’s not even registered as one, but look at that! He taught you something after all! I didn’t think you were capable of learning anything.”

    “Yeah, well…” He didn’t have a comeback ready for her this time like he usually did, so instead, he rushed to the scroll and put his hands on it to dive right in. Looking back at her, he stuck his tongue out at her smug Marshmallon face.

    He was in over his head. This was too much. Too much too much too too much…

    First Scarface was exploded. Then Triclops lost an arm and died. Then Baby Clown sacrificed himself for absolutely nothing. Jolly Green Giant died for the kid and it was too much for him to handle. Bakura’s eyes kept shifting back to Chrome Dome, one of the last survivors, and the kid… The kid didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to see his friends and family killed before his eyes.

    Just… like him. Just like Kul Elna. Slaughtered like farm animals. The kid and Chrome Dome just stared back up at him, with a look of fear in their eyes. Not of him, but of their surroundings, the amount of death and sacrifices made around them. He had almost forgotten the sting of death, where was that old bastard of a god when you needed him? He missed being numb, then he could go back to laughing at death and not freezing up over it on missions. He needed Zorc, he needed… help…

    “Someone help…” Bakura scanned his eyes over the bodies on the ground. Slowly before them, they were turning into the bodies of his fallen Kul Elna villagers. The plateaus around him, into the ramshackle buildings of the ghost-town. And the cabbage-brained gremlins, into the guards who took all of his brethren’s lives, all 99. He swallowed thickly as back was pressed against a cold rocky surface as the Saibamen--the guards, cornered with the vilest of expressions on their warped faces.

    The first one lunged at him, and he weakly blocked it with his arm to its throat. He threw Ki blasts where he could see them, but half of his attacks missed. A ballsy one jumped onto his chest, and he managed to rip it off and chuck it at another before it tried to take him out like one did with Scarface. There was a buzzing in his ear and he knew Trunks and Scott were trying to talk to him, but he couldn’t make out a word. All he could do was breathe in the scent of death and dust. The Saibamen--the guards, just kept getting up, multiplying. WHERE WAS SPIKEY MCORANGE ALREADY?

    “WEEKEND!”

    The Saibamen in front of him fell like dominoes, their strength halved with that attack, and suddenly Raditz was there, standing in front of him  and he had to scream, to say something or else-

    “Kid, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to fight?” No, he wasn’t okay, he was going back and forth between two horrible realities, and he couldn’t move… Wait, he didn’t ask that.

    “I… I…” That was all he could manage to say. He was never like this. Never once had he been so spineless, so helpless, except for Kul Elna, and gods dammit why did he have to be haunted by it again? Why did it have to take control of him now, when he had something to prove?

    “Come on, kid. I’m not the hero here. This is your job, isn’t it?”

    “I… Yeah, I guess-”

    “Good, now quit cowering behind me and fight! I’m only here to assist you because your mental breakdown is going to get you killed.”

    “What? Little weakling Raditz is here?”

    Bakura had almost forgotten that Baldy 2 Electric Boogaloo and Widow’s Peak were still there. He still tried to regain his composure, but a flash of irritation welled upon Raditz’s face as he stood up straighter, turned to face the two cruel Saiyans and said:

    “Who are you supposed to be?”

    The bald one’s mouth dropped while Widow’s Peak snarled, “Is that any way to talk to your Prince?”

    “You know, I don’t have a clue who you’re supposed to be, but if you keep demanding respect from me, you’ll find yourself eating dirt.”

    “Oho! Is that right, now? Did you hear that, Nappa? Little Raditz thinks he’s telling a joke ! Well, I have--” Widow’s Peak tore his gaze away from Raditz and to the sky instead. “--Ah, so there’s the one we’ve been expecting.”

    Bakura looked up, and sure enough, Spikey McOrange touched down onto the ground beside them, taking in the body count at his feet. Despair was written on his face, but soon changed to fury.

    “Gohan, Krillin. Just stay back! I’ve got this!”

    “Goku! Be careful out there! And, uh… Maybe lure the kid out there off the battlefield, too. He… doesn’t look so good.” Spikey followed the direction Chrome Dome pointed in, at Bakura, who was still clinging onto himself. “He came out of nowhere to help us earlier, and he’s a good fighter, but something changed and he’s… I dunno. But he doesn’t look so good…”

    Great, pity. Now everyone thought he was a liability.

    “I can take care of myself, back off!” He shouted over at them. He pierced them with daggers, and held full intent on proving them wrong--

    “I will not be ignored!” All eyes turned to Widow’s Peak, as a ball of energy appeared in his hand, a demented look sparking in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll listen to me now with this! ”

    He tossed it upwards, and the light flared brighter than the sun for a moment. Bakura shielded his face until the glare subsided, feeling the ground shake and hearing angry roars loud and angry enough to shock him to the bone. Once he looked up, blinking the glare away, the ball of energy hung in the sky, shining like a second sun, and before anyone could ask why, three large apes stood in the wasteland before them.

Chapter Text

There were three of them. There was only supposed to be one giant ape terrorizing the planet, and he was supposed to take care of two of them. But now there were three. And from the scolding in his ear from Scott, which he diligently muted, it sounded like the third better make scarce if he knew what was good for him.

Apes clashed together, shaking the earth with every blow. Raditz was fighting tooth and nail, with everything he had, but it was still two on one.

“Hey there.”

And now Spikey was tugging on Bakura’s sleeve to top it all off.

“What do you want?” Bakura snapped, ripping his arm away. “Can’t you see? We have to help him!”

“Yeah, I know, but… why is he here?”

“He’s not--he’s diff--Raditz is…” He groaned loudly, shaking his head. “It’s confusing, alright?! This isn’t the time to talk about this, Kakarot! You’re distracting us from what’s right in front of us!” Bakura looked ahead. His mentor was struggling, and he was still on the sidelines, arguing with his idiot younger brother about the up and up. He glared back with irritation. “And that’s a giant monkey fight that we need to stop right now .”

Bakura dodged anymore questions from Spikey, darting towards the brawl. He barely heard the confused utterance of “Kakarot?” as he made a beeline for his targets. Nappa’s teeth sunk into Raditz’s neck, narrowly missing the spine, and Raditz let out a howl that rattled the mountains in the distance.

“ RADITZ !! ”

Bakura sped up; this wasn’t a joke. This was a death match. Genuine survival. Bakura could smell the blood again. He could hear the screams just below the horrendous screeching of the apes before him.

His mission had changed. Fuck history. Fuck correcting timelines.

He had to save Raditz before he lost anyone else.

Bakura saw Vegeta’s hand rise high in the air and in a fit of pure desperation, shot himself directly at it, firing as many ki blasts as he could muster. He didn’t know if he could actually take these apes down, but he had to do something, anything , to keep them from killing Raditz. Vegeta’s hand flicked away at the small burns and his snout twisted into a snarl, but now Bakura had his attention, and he was going to make the most of it.

He darted through the air, flying between Vegeta’s fingers as the ape tried to swat him like an insect. Trunks had said that Bakura’s strength lied in his agility, and Bakura was inclined to agree. He was fast, too fast for the large, slower ape, and his ki firing kept his attention.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw that Raditz was faring much better now that he had only one opponent to focus on.

There was something exhilarating about being able to dodge Vegeta’s hands and see him get angrier and angrier. Even as the growls and screams grew louder and more deafening, Bakura was getting a rush that he had missed. A rush that he had once known so well. Peals of laughter escaped him as he bobbed and weaved through the air, free like a bird. He dove once more, planning on getting close enough to Vegeta to make him smack himself in his own face…

...until he let out a cry that made Bakura’s ears start ringing, and started shrinking.

“Wha…”

“Hey! New guy!” Spikey McOrange flew up next to him and clapped his back with a grin. “You did great up there, but it’s okay now! See?”

There were massive tails on the ground. How had he missed that?

“Why didn’t you do anything?! Your brother was getting his ass handed to him!”

“I didn’t want to get in your way! You looked like you were having a lot of fun so I told everyone to leave you to it!”

Bakura slapped his forehead. Spikey McOrange you pure idiot sonofabitch. “Thanks, asshole! I was but that’s not the point here! I was risking my-”

A thunderous boom cut off Bakura’s sentence as he heard his ears ring again. The non-moon had vanished, leaving a massive dust cloud hanging in the stratosphere.

“You’ve done enough.”

Trunks, bless his stupid purple dorkish face, descended towards Bakura, a frown creasing his face as Raditz and Nappa shrank down to size in the background.

“At least I didn’t ruin the new moon. That affects the tides, you know.”

“Bakura, do you have any idea how much work you’ve left me because of this? You and Raditz?”

Bakura looked over at his mentor. Even now, in their humanoid forms, he and Nappa were still wrestling like wild animals. “You could have stepped in earlier, you know.”

Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, mission’s over. Grab Raditz and go back to the Time Nest.” He pulled a small, stick-like device out of his jacket. “I have some memories to alter.”

“Wait, so that’s how you-”

“Go. Now. I need all of them in one place. And unmute your scouter while you’re at it, the Supreme Kai of Time’s about ready to strangle you.”

“That’s nothing new.” The icy look on Trunks’ face indicated that he wasn’t messing around. Bakura turned back to the mass that was Nappa and Raditz, all that needed to separate them was a sharp elbow in Nappa’s gut. Trunks grabbed the still-ferally fighting Saiyan and raised his device to his face. Bakura, in a moment of good judgement, decided to look away.

“Come on.” He reached down to Raditz and slipped his arm over his shoulders to support him, much to his mentor’s surprise.

“Hey! What do… What do you think you’re doing! I don’t need your help!”

“Yes you do! Sheesh, will you just let me do this one thing for you for once?”

The strained look on Raditz’s face came to a peak when he looked down at Bakura. “Not in that state you’re not!” He pointed down at Bakura’s leg. “What is that? ”

A small but deep gash on Bakura’s leg peeked out of his ripped pants right above the knee. Bakura hadn’t even noticed it, but it certainly didn’t seem as dangerous as Raditz’s stumbling. Even still, it stung like hell when he pointed it out. How long had that been there? Did he get it from flying through Vegeta’s massive monkey fingers?

“We’ll find out once we get out of here.”

With that, Bakura took hold of the scroll from his belt, and they left the timeline in a flash.

And they certainly didn’t get a warm “welcome back” from Scott.