Okay. So. This friend of mine (LJ's ronsard) writes AMAZING stories, and I just so happened to click on one that featured these two characters...I'm sure you've heard of them...Axel and Roxas? Yeah. I thought so. Anyway, I clicked on the story knowing absolutely nothing about Kingdom Hearts, but from that point on, my doom was sealed. I have fallen head-over-heels for AkuRoku, and this is the result. Like I said, I haven't played the games, so my knowledge of characters and worlds isn't quite up to par yet, but hopefully this is enjoyable anyway. Hopefully. :D
Tin Man
It is amazing, really, how a phantom heart can hurt, can twist and churn and break in a cavern that houses nothing at all, nothing but emptiness.
You're a Nobody. You don't have a heart.
Fact undeniable. He yearns for a heart, yes; like the rest of his kind, he searches blindly for something, anything to make him feel human, to justify the body he masquerades in. Human beings are emotional creatures, are they not? They laugh and cry and love and hate and fear, don't they? Hearts pounding, slamming against ribcages, swelling, deflating, beating.
Human body but no heart. He is a creature that should not exist, should never exist.
Yet he exists. A flaw in the grander scheme of nature, perhaps. A hiccup. A blemish. A freak. Human body but not human.
So why then, why, does it feel like he's wagered his life (half-life) on a game he thought he'd win and lost everything? How is that possible, when he has nothing to lose? How is it that a single choice, made by another pretender in a human's shell, has left him even emptier than he was before?
"You really don't remember."
Said in an illusory world, transparent to all but the one ensnared by it. His tone is ironic, slightly exasperated, though not quite resigned. He isn't willing to give up right away.
"It's me. You know, Axel."
As if his name will trigger recognition, as if he has made an impact on this boy who suffers the same affliction he does. Why would Roxas remember? He has no heart for Axel to make an imprint on. No heart, you fucking idiot.
He let himself into Roxas's room without knocking, a habit he'd picked up somewhere along the way and Roxas tried, unsuccessfully, to break him of. When it began, Roxas would throw things at him—pillows, remote controls, books—and Axel would duck out before the words "Leave," crossed Roxas's lips, the hastily chosen projectiles thumping ineffectually against the door (or occasionally Axel's head, if he wasn't fast enough), at which point Axel would waltz back in to commence whatever mischief he originally intended.
Roxas cottoned on quick, deciding to save his energy for when he truly needed it.
So now, at least, Axel didn't have to worry about getting brained by a supersonic copy of Catcher in the Rye for asking for a bar of soap. Roxas's temper was often enough to contend with, let alone warp-speed Salinger.
"Gonna borrow your comb," he said, passing Roxas, who was seated on his lumpy old hand-me-down futon (inherited from Demyx) with his eyes trained on the television. "Mine broke."
Roxas grunted and turned the volume up.
Axel talked over it.
"Look, my hair's hard to manage, okay?" He found the comb on the sink in the bathroom, next to the cup that held Roxas's toothbrush. "I've got all these damn cowlicks everywhere and….well, fine I guess I go overboard sometimes with the comb but I've gotta just yank it through or it'll—what're you watching?" He meandered out of the bathroom and hopped onto the futon beside Roxas, comb in hand. "Holy shit, she's ugly." A scary green woman-beast-thing dominated the screen; she peered into a crystal ball while her posse of winged monkeys jumped around like…like monkeys.
"She's a witch," Roxas said dryly. "She's supposed to be ugly."
"There's ugly and then there's ugly with a capital H. Hella ugly. Or a capital F. Fugly ugly." A pause. " Got it memorized? She's both. Yuck."
Roxas frowned.
"Did you say fugly ugly?"
Axel grinned.
"I did."
"Fucking ugly ugly?"
"Uh…yeah."
"Sounds redundant to me."
Axel waved his hand nonchalantly. "Details, details. You still haven't told me what this is, by the way." He motioned at the screen with the comb.
"A movie."
"I know that. Smartass. Does it have a title, perchance?"
"The Wizard of Oz," Roxas said. He had a strange expression on his face. Strange, in that it didn't seem to fit there, didn't seem to reflect the stagnant state of a Nobody's feeble emotional capacity, given the lack of a certain vital component. Subdued, Axel lowered the comb. "There's a character in it named the Tin Man. His chest is empty. He doesn't have a heart. So he's going to Oz, to find the wizard and ask him for one."
Axel realized he'd been holding his breath. He released it in a whoosh.
A moment of silence later, he rallied.
"We're all Tin Men, eh? Except for Larxene. She's a Tin Battleaxe."
Roxas laughed.
They watched the rest of the movie together, Axel providing an endless stream of commentary on a variety of subjects, from Dorothy's dog Toto ("Toto! If I ever have a gerbil I'll name him Toto. Gerbils are so weird, I love 'em."), to Emerald City's resemblance to a cluster of giant phalluses ("This is a kiddie movie? Seriously? You're lying.), to Glenda the Good Witch's voluminous pink dress ("How many midgets do you think she fits under there? Munchkins, sorry. Sorry!).
And when the Tin Man got his heart, in actuality a cheap-looking clock, they glanced at one another with raised eyebrows.
"That answers that," Roxas said quietly.
Tin Men—and Tin Battleaxes—could only be what they were made to be.
Hollow.
No heart, no heart, no heart…
Axel wants to call him a coward for leaving, because by leaving, he forgot. By leaving he closed off his memories of Organization XIII, closed Axel and their friendship, such as it was, out.
But leaving had been the bravest thing he'd ever done, the thing Axel wasn't capable of doing. Roxas chose to abandon familiarity, to put his fate completely in the hands of the unknown. He sought answers, unafraid of what he'd find.
Anywhere's better than here.
Here, where everyone is the same, where everyone is no one. Nobody.
No heart.
"Axel…"
His name. His name out of that mouth, on those lips, soft, so soft. That emptiness in his chest tightens. Maybe…maybe…
"…we…we're best friends, right?"
It is amazing, really, how a phantom heart can hurt.
Standing there, face to face with the only person (person?) that he's ever claimed affection for, the only person who stirred that empty, hollow cavern, made ripples where there was no wind, and now tries to remember him but can't, Axel has an epiphany of sorts.
The Tin Man wears his heart on the outside. There is nothing to sustain it on the inside.
Exposed, unprotected, this heart takes the brunt of the pain and suffering and disburses it, distills it, prevents it from leaking inside. It tears and it bleeds, yes, it is destroyed beyond repair, but it does its job.
We're all Tin Men, he'd said.
And so they are, each in his, or her, own way.
Axel breathes in deep, extends his arms, summons his chakrams.
"We were."
Best friends. More than friends.
"I'm bringing you back with me."
This is future, this is past, this is what was and never was. This is Axel's phantom heart, pounding, thrashing, beating on the outside…
…crying for Roxas to see it, and remember his imprint.