Hey, guys. I'm so so sorry that this is like three weeks late, but I really needed people to look over it for accuracy before I posted it and I couldn't push them because it was the holidays and they were having a rough time, and then it was my first few days back at uni so I was just struggling a little. But here it is! Hopefully I'll update on time from now on. Hope you all had a great/tolerable/not as shitty as it could have been holiday.
CW: Dissociation, anxiety attack, discussing Malik's early childhood, intrusive thoughts.
"The results from your tests are back."
Malik sat closer to the edge of his chair. He had done the tests a few days after his third appointment; once Hasegawa got his notes from his old counsellor. "And?" He drummed his fingers on the side of his chair.
"And..." She set her glasses on the table beside her. "Some of them are positive, and one or two are negative."
Six. He had done six. Malik licked his lips. They felt like he hadn't drunk anything in hours. "Which ones?"
"Well, you have a panic disorder that causes you anxiety and depression, as you'd expected." Hasegawa was using her soft, 'everything's okay' voice. Malik didn't like where this was going. "You also appear to have Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Dissociative Identity Disorder."
Malik's head spun, and he had to sink back against the back of the chair to ease the feeling that he was going to fall. It didn't help much. He focused on one of the flowers on the wallpaper, just above Hasegawa's head. "What does that mean?"
"It used to be called-" Hasegawa tucked her hair behind her ear. "-Multiple Personality Disorder. It's a form of dissociation that usually occurs due to childhood trauma that results in having... split personalities, for want of a better term. It's the mind's way of protecting you from what's going on."
Malik smiled. He smiled. "I don't have that." He shook his head. "It's a mistake. I'll do the test again, but I don't have that." He had gotten rid of his darker half in the Shadow Game. He had won. He was the only one in his body.
Hasegawa raised her eyebrows. "I know that this is a lot to process, Marik. Everyone deals with this differently-"
"No, it's a mistake." Malik gripped the arms of his chair too tight. His knuckles turned white. "I don't have whatever it is you just said."
"Dissociative Identity Disorder."
The clock on the wall was maddeningly loud. Malik squeezed his eyes shut. Block it out. "What makes you so sure?" Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. TICK.
Hasegawa turned a page of her clipboard. "Breathe, Marik." She waited until Malik took a few breaths. "Now I'm going to name a few of the symptoms of D.I.D, and I want you to stop me if you think there's been a misdiagnosis." She looked back at her clipboard. "An inability to recall key personal information. Distinct memory variations." Her eyes flickered up and Malik busied himself with digging the toe of his shoe into the rug. "Depression, suicidal tendencies, and mood swings. Sleep disorders. Anxiety, panic attacks, and phobias. Eating disorders. Psychotic-like symptoms. Substance abuse. Compulsions and rituals." Malik swallowed. His head was pounding. "You already mentioned you had your darker half during the Battle City fiasco a few years ago-"
"I got rid of him," Malik whispered. "That- that wasn't my fault-"
"I'm not saying that it was." Hasegawa set her clipboard aside. "But D.I.D. isn't a bad thing. It's a form of dissociation that someone's mind can create for protection after a particularly traumatising event." She leaned forward. "And I know that it's hard for you to talk about, but what your father did to you is absolutely a possible event-"
Malik stood up. "I-" His head spun faster, faster, faster. "I have to go."
"Marik, I really think you should stay-"
"I have to go." He lurched towards the door, stumbling over his own feet. Hasegawa stood up and said something else, but Malik didn't catch it, didn't process it- He yanked the door open and ran out into the hall, out of the building, down the street. No. No, this wasn't happening.
His head felt tight, like that day when he had met Atem again. He pulled out his phone, fingers shaking. He barely managed to type in his pin code and pull up his phone. Rishid. He had to call Rishid. But Bakura's name was first, so he pressed that.
It rang a few times, but Malik couldn't even bring himself to be angry that Bakura never picked up. Finally, the line clicked. "Hello?"
"Bakura," Malik choked out.
"Malik? Are you okay?" Something rustled, just on the mouthpiece. Bakura's voice returned, a little clearer. "You sound weird, what's going on?"
Malik sniffled and closed his eyes. For a moment, everything was dark. When he opened his eyes, he was scowling. "Nothing," he snapped, "I'm fine."
"Where are you?"
Bakura sounded worried, and he almost scoffed. He shouldn't be. It wasn't as though he could actually do anything. The tension spread from his shoulders to the rest of his body. He couldn't do anything.
"Malik, stay at the counselling place - I'm coming to get you-"
He hung up. Stay at the counselling place. He turned and looked at the grey-slab building behind him. North-East Counselling was emblazoned on the side of the building, near the door, in copper letters, turning black from the years of bad winters.
He scratched the inside of his thumb. He didn't get out much. Malik usually handled these things. Stay at the counselling place. He made his way over to the building and looked up at the fire escape. It was just steps - not even a ladder. He probably wasn't meant to be up there. In fact, he definitely wasn't. His eyes hurt, and the water spilling out of them only made it worse.
He dug his hands into his pockets and began to climb, trying to ignore the tears. Big boys don't cry. Big boys don't cry. By the third set of stairs, he had managed to ease his breathing, and by the fourth, his eyes felt painfully dry. The building was tall, five or six stories, so when he reached the flat roof, his legs hurt. He climbed off the metal escape and sank down to the ground. The sun shone down at him, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of it beating on his face. He could still feel the tear tracks on his cheeks.
The area was smaller than he remembered. Then again, he hadn't been out for long during the games either. But he remembered skyscrapers - not six-story buildings with North-East Counselling written on them. He pursed his lips. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Well, at least someone had told Malik.
He leaned his head back until it hit the small concrete wall behind him. That explained a lot. His hands itched, and he patted the side of his pants, just to check. No. No, the Rod was definitely gone.
Good.
It took a while, maybe twenty minutes, before he heard footsteps thundering up the fire escape. He looked up in time to see an ashy head of hair peek up over the wall. Bakura smiled, but the smile fell within seconds. He climbed over the wall and sat beside him. "Where's Malik?"
"Gone for a bit."
"Who are you?"
"You met me before."
Bakura's eyes flashed. "His darker half. In Battle City."
"Is that what he's still calling us?" Despite the stab of irritation, he grinned. It was somewhat amusing - Malik really thought they'd been banished. It wasn't all him, but-
"Then what's your name?" Bakura leaned closer. It reminded him of that damn therapist that had triggered Malik badly enough to draw him out. "If you don't want to be called Malik's darker half, what do you want to be called?"
He looked up at the sky. It was still blue. It helped a little, and he preferred it to the starless night sky, dyed orange from the city lights. He felt freer. "Nasir."
"Okay..." Bakura nodded slowly. "You're... different."
"You mean I'm not on a murderous rampage." Nasir closed his eyes. "No Rod," he muttered. "No power, no items, no plan, no Rishid." Who else should he fight? The therapist? Bakura? No. No, Malik wanted them safe for some reason. He seemed to want everyone safe these days. He had very little use for Nasir, let alone for Amir.
"So the Rod was influencing you?"
"I think so." Nasir's face scrunched up. His nose was itching, like he was going to sneeze, but his eyes burned too. Just like they had when he was climbing the fire escape. "I don't remember much." His gaze fell to the cloud floating a little bit above the horizon. "Is that how you felt?"
"For a while," Bakura admitted. "Then it began to come back."
Nasir hummed. He shifted forward so his back wasn't pressed against the wall, and he leaned back on his arms. He was surprised his back hadn't acted up with the rough surface. "Sounds fun." He tapped the heel of his shoe against the ground.
"So-" Bakura moved so he wasn't on his knees. He sat cross-legged across from Nasir. "-when's Malik coming back out?"
"When he's ready." Nasir closed his eyes. "The therapist person in there told him we have D.I.D. so he's currently processing that. Or leaving me to process it, I guess." He frowned. He didn't like that. He didn't like Malik leaving all of the dirty work to him again.
"D.I.D?" Bakura pressed.
Nasir nodded. "Yeah." He didn't offer much further explanation. He'd taken a look when they were younger, the one or two times he'd been in control, but hadn't managed to yield much results information wise. Then again, he hadn't been quite certain what he was searching for. I'm in a body that isn't mine didn't lead to many productive Google results. It just didn't go his way.
Nasir's eyes were beginning to water. Nothing went his way. Even Bakura was being too distant - he hadn't once touched Nasir. Not once. "The shadows tasted horrible," he whispered. His eyes overflowed, and he squeezed them shut. He didn't want to cry again. He was meant to protect, not curl up in a ball and sob.
Fuck. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing the wet away- rubbing it into his skin, across his face. "Hey, it's okay," Bakura tried to soothe, but his voice was just as cool as it was when he'd first seen him and known he wasn't Malik. Nasir shook his head. It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay.
He shoved Bakura away and jumped onto the fire escape. He had to get out. He had to move. Everything was too close to Malik, everything was too close. His feet slapped the pavement, and he ran across the road. A car beeped at him, but he ignored it. He glanced at the building to see Bakura only reaching the bottom of the fire escape, and he pushed himself faster.
His eyes burned. Run, run, run. Run, run, as fast as you can; you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man. He ran until his right leg sank underneath him, and instead of a hard, gritty sidewalk, he rolled onto grass.
He lay on his back and stared up. The trees covered in the sky around him, but it felt better than the plain open one. Nasir took a shaky breath. The park. Forty minutes he'd run, and Bakura hadn't caught him. Maybe he was the gingerbread man.
He forced himself to sit up. The park was practically abandoned, bar two young women in jogging gear, wheeling black prams with yellow blankets around the grass. One gave him an odd look, but he ignored it. The gate was at least five minutes away. He had fallen a few metres away from the lake, where swan boats sat tethered to the docks, waiting for the weekend when tourists would take them out to stretch their wings for a little bit. He was lucky. He might have kept running, straight into the water if he hadn't fallen.
He dragged himself to his feet and trudged over to the bench closest to him, parked underneath a tree with rough, grey-brown bark. It overlooked the water, but Nasir couldn't find much beauty in it like he knew he was meant to. He could just see the bugs hopping and skimming on top of the water. That was nice, he supposed. At least they were having fun.
He leaned back against the bench, and then frowned. Concrete, falling, grass, and now wood, and his back hadn't acted up. He stretched and reached a hand up his shirt. That was odd. He could have sworn his scars were low enough to reach from the bottom.
He tried again, stretching over his shoulder. He ran his fingers over his shoulders. Nothing. Lower. Nothing. Spine, shoulder blades, upper back, lower back, nothing, nothing, nothing. Nasir's nails dug into his skin. Where were they? Where were they? Where-
"Nasir?"
Nasir jumped and slipped. He nearly hit his head off the back of the bench, but the small white man caught his arm to stop him. Nasir sniffed. "They're gone," he whispered. "They took them."
"What are gone?" The old Bakura helped him back up onto the bench, but Nasir just turned and hid his face in the man's stomach.
"They're gone!" He sobbed. "I- They- They were mine!" He was the one who went through the initiation. He was the one who'd dealt with the pain of it, who had been forced out, who had been born out of it. He deserved those scars back. He had earned them.
The old Bakura carefully placed his hand on Nasir's shoulder, holding him a little closer. "It's okay," he whispered. "I know it hurts."
No he didn't - he didn't even know what Nasir was talking about. No. No, he didn't want this. He didn't want to deal with this. But this was his line of expertise. This was meant to be what he could deal with, but he couldn't. He sniffed and burrowed, and cried. The old Bakura's hand ghosted over his back and Nasir sobbed. Gone, gone, gone.
"Oh," the old Bakura breathed, "oh no. Oh, I'm so sorry-"
"Shut up!" Nasir sobbed. "Just shut up!" The old Bakura fell silent, and just let Nasir cry himself to the point where he was nearly dry heaving onto his shirt. Heavy footsteps crunched on the ground, running, just as Nasir managed to gulp down a few, steadier breaths.
"Thank gods you found him," he heard Bakura pant. The Bakura he knew, not the old one. "Nasir-"
"Go away." Nasir squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't like dealing with Bakura. Bakura just wanted him to be Malik, and he wasn't.
"It's okay," the old Bakura assured him. "Bakura isn't going to hurt you." Hurt. Healing. Heka. He did it. Bakura did it.
"Like I could," Bakura scoffed. He already had. Nasir nearly started crying again, but it was almost like his body had gotten rid of every drop of water it owned. He peeked up at Bakura to see his arms folded, a scowl on his face. Off-colour green leaves framed the back of his head, distorting his whole red-and-grey scheme. "Come on, you need to calm down and-"
"And what?" Nasir's eyes narrowed. The water might have been gone, but a pile of hot rage sat boiling and ready for use just in his throat. His eyes itched with heat and he had to resist bringing up a hand to rub them. "Bring Malik out again? Because I can't. That's not- I can't-"
The old Bakura shushed him. "It's okay," he murmured. His hand dragged through Nasir's hair. "We're not expecting you to bring Malik out." Bakura shot his host a look, but didn't say anything. "Do you know my name?"
Nasir shook his head. He normally didn't like new people touching him, but with his chest tight and back aching with phantom pain, he couldn't bring himself to object to the old Bakura's fingers combing through his hair.
"I'm Ryou." The man smiled at him. "Are you hungry?"
"Gods, Ryou, he's not a child." Bakura rolled his eyes.
Ryou ignored Bakura. "What age are you?" He asked. "Or do you know-?"
"I know," Nasir muttered, pulling away. That was enough to make him object. Of course he knew what fucking age he was. "I'm nineteen." Ryou paused, and Bakura scowled. "What?"
"Nothing," Ryou assured him. "Nineteen. Okay." He nodded slowly. "Do you want to come back to my place? I can pull out the couch for you."
Nasir bit the corner of his lip. Malik had an apartment somewhere. His nails dug into his palms. They were just trying to watch him. But if he went back alone, he might destroy the apartment, just to spite Malik. "I-"
"Come on." Bakura nudged him, and Nasir edged back. "Oh you can't be serious-"
"Bakura," Ryou snapped, "stop." Nasir winced. "Sorry. If you come back, I can make some hot chocolate."
Nasir paused, thinking. He hadn't had hot chocolate before. "With real milk?"
"Malik's vegan," Bakura muttered, still frowning. He seemed more irritable than earlier. He still wouldn't touch Nasir, and now, the other didn't mind. Fuck Bakura. Fuck him.
"I'm not."
"How about soy milk?" Ryou offered. "Real milk might make you sick if Malik hasn't had it in a while."
After a moment, Nasir nodded. "Okay," he mumbled, "I guess I can do that."
Ryou smiled and took Nasir's hand, helping him to stand up off the peeling brown bench. "Okay," he mimicked. "Come on - my apartment's this way." Even though he knew the way, Nasir allowed Ryou to lead him by the hand, watching as Bakura fell into step beside his old host. His lips moved, and Nasir strained to hear what he was saying.
"Malik- trigger- diagnosis-"
"I can hear you." He couldn't - not really. But it was enough. "I didn't cause this."
"I never said you did." Bakura didn't look back at him. "All I said was you've got D.I.D. and Malik panicked when he was diagnosed."
Nasir grunted. "It's not my fault. She should have eased him into it."
"What, you couldn't tell him yourself or warn him?" Bakura rolled his eyes.
Nasir's fist clenched, and Ryou had to give his hand a squeeze for him to relax again. "No, actually." He stared at the ground. "We can't talk to each other." None of them could. He'd tried after he got the Rod, and it helped. They were more controlled then - or at least, he and Namu were. But then everything was gone again. He hadn't heard from Namu since he had the rod.
"Stop badgering him, Bakura," Ryou sighed. "Let's just get home and get some chocolate, okay?"
Nasir looked up at Bakura to see the thief still glaring at him. Nasir narrowed his eyes. "Don't blame me because you're spiralling without him," he hissed. "That's your problem."
Bakura started, and Ryou seemed to be making a conscious effort not to look at him. Bakura finally looked away, and a dull sense of satisfaction brewed in Nasir's stomach, just above the fear that had been boiling there since the roof.
"You don't know shit," Bakura muttered, "so don't act like it."
"I won't-" Nasir held Ryou's hand tighter. "-if you don't act like you know shit." Ryou winced, but Bakura just grunted. The rest of the walk to Ryou's apartment was done in silence, and they reached the building just as it began to turn dark.
As the hot chocolate brewed, Bakura confined himself in his room. Ryou chatted with Nasir as they pulled out the couch. Nasir's chest was strangely heavy, and he kept looking at Bakura's door.
Ryou followed his gaze. "Are you okay?"
"Did he take his tablets?" Nasir asked. He remembered them - small, pink things he had seen in the bathroom one day.
Ryou just smiled. "Not yet." He tugged the blanket down over the couch. "Are you taking tablets?"
Nasir shook his head. "I don't think so." He frowned. "Malik ran away before she could give us anything." As always. Malik always fucking ran when things got hard. It was almost a surprise that he hadn't run from Bakura yet.
"Do you want to book another appointment?" Ryou fluffed out a pillow and let it drop on top of the duvet. "She might be able to give you something."
Nasir shrugged. Not now. He didn't want to bother ringing her. He couldn't remember her name. "Malik can deal with it," he decided. He was forced to deal with enough shit - Malik could deal with an uncomfortable phone call and appointment.
"Okay." Ryou took Nasir's hand and squeezed it. "If that's what you want." He didn't. He wanted to stop. "Now let's get the hot chocolate before it goes cold." No, he didn't want to stop. He wanted to be. Malik wanted to stop, and if he wanted to stop, then why the fuck couldn't Nasir be instead?
Nasir's not bitter at all. But hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! See you Wednesday.