Unlucky Thirteen
by Ky

Summary: Everyone has bad days. When you're the youngest and the lowest-ranking member of Organization XIII, your bad days tend to be much worse. Good thing Roxas has a best friend to turn to.
Genre: Humor/General
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild language
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts II.

Notes: I totally randomly guessed Roxas's shoe size, based on the fact that I wear a size 9.5-10 women's shoe (8 in men's), and most teenage guys seem to have bigger feet than me, plus most Kingdom Hearts characters have giant feet/shoes, so I decided, what the heck, I'll give him one shoe size bigger than mine and hope that isn't too big, because he's so short… I wish I could find some sort of statistic showing average shoe size for age/height, but Google hates me. So, for now, you're stuck with my random estimate.

Oh, and I think I fixed all of the typos now, thanks to Delightful Sin.

"Hey Roxas. Where've you been?" Axel asked, taking one of the ear-buds from his portable CD player out of his ear as the Key of Destiny walked into his room.

Roxas groaned. "Larxene made me do her laundry again."

"Ugh," the Flurry of Dancing Flames sympathized, switching off the CD player and setting it down next to him on his red plaid bedspread. He drew his knees up to his chest so there was plenty of room for his friend to sit at the end of the bed.

Roxas accepted the offer graciously, sinking heavily into a seated position. "Yeah, she's all like, 'Dear, sweet Number XIII, since you don't look like you're busy, could you take care of this for me?' And she practically throws this basket of thongs and lacy bras and crap at me, 'And oh, while you're up, could you get me a glass of lemonade?' While she just sits there reading those gross novels of hers and giggling at God-knows-what.

"She can't possibly wear all that underwear in just one week, can she? I mean, by rank I'm the only one she can boss around. I know she does this just to torture me. And if I hear one more 'insubordination' lecture from anybody here, I might just go crazy." Exasperated, he ran a hand through his messy blonde hair.

"It's really that bad? Just don't do the laundry," Axel laughed. "I'll hide you from Larxene."

Roxas didn't think that was very funny. Letting out a deep sigh, he flopped back on Axel's bed, making the box spring creak. "Sometimes I think I should have left this Organization the moment I joined it."

&&&

"Hey little dude," the Organization's number II, the Freeshooter said by way of greeting, clapping Roxas on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Organization. We've gotta get you a cloak." He steered the blonde into a room filled with coat racks. Each rack held the same style of cloak—long, black, tight-fitting, with hood, beads, and giant zipper—but the racks were each labeled differently, with a white card proclaiming the size in bold, black handwriting. The Freeshooter (Roxas had learned everyone's rank and nickname at the initiation ceremony earlier that day, but he had yet to learn any actual names) took a cloak off of the MEN'S MED. rack, slipped it off its hanger, and handed it to Roxas. "Try this."

Roxas slipped it on and tugged at the zipper. The sleeves were so long that they completely covered his hands, and the ends of the cloak pooled around him on the floor.

"No, you don't zip it up all the way at the bottom. Like this." The Freeshooter gestured to his own cloak.

Roxas unzipped the bottom of the cloak's double-ended zipper, while Number II scrutinized him with the eye that wasn't covered by an eye patch. "I dunno, little dude." He sounded concerned. "Here." He handed him a cloak marked MEN'S SMALL. The effect was much the same.

The Freeshooter took one of Roxas's arms and rolled up the sleeve so it sat at his wrist. Then he barked, "Xaldin!"

A muscular man with large sideburns and black hair in braids walked into the room, carrying a thick paperback book. Roxas recognized him as Number III, the Whirlwind Lancer. "What, Xigbar?"

"Do we have anything in boys' sizes in the back?"

"No, why?"

Xigbar gestured to Roxas's oversized cloak. "That's a small." Then he addressed Roxas. "Sorry, man, the men's sizes run kinda big."

"Then put him in a woman's," Xaldin replied. "They run smaller."

"Nuh-uh, man. Wouldn't fill it right."

Xaldin sighed, like he did not want to be bothered with this. "Then we may have to make a special order. I'll get Saïx. Can you get him the rest of his uniform?" The Whirlwind Lancer left, leaving Roxas alone with the Freeshooter again.

"So, you're the Key of Destiny?" Xigbar asked, opening up a cabinet that sat against the back wall. He pulled out a folded pair of pants. "Didn't expect you to be such a little guy." He held the pants up in front of Roxas. "Those should fit you." Xigbar re-folded the pants and handed him three more pairs just like them.

Roxas groaned. The memory of the initiation ceremony that morning was all too clear in his mind. It had been a cheesy affair, with lots of speeches and lighting of candles. It culminated with a speech by the Superior, Xemnas. "And I christen our Number XIII, as I have christened each one of you, with a new name, a name fitting of your role in our great Organization. Henceforth, you, Number XIII, shall be known as the Key of Destiny, for you hold the key to all of our fates, to our Kingdom Hearts. Yes, friends, our Number XIII is the wielder of the Keyblade!"

Xigbar piled several shirts with varying lengths of sleeves on Roxas's arms, jolting him back to the present. "You can wear these under your cloak. Different ones for different weather. So, Key of Destiny, what size shoe do you wear?"

"Don't call me that. My name's Roxas."

"Okay, Roxas. Name's Xigbar, but you probably already know that by now. So, can I get you some boots, little dude?"

"Yeah, size 9."

"There ya go. You only get one pair, so take care of them. We rotate who gets to use the washing machine throughout the week. Your day will be Friday, with Zexion. If you need to wash something before then, you'll have to see if you can squeeze it in around someone else's laundry time."

Xaldin re-entered the room, the blue-haired Luna Diviner, Number XII, Saïx, in tow. Xaldin held a clipboard and a measuring tape. "The Superior will not be happy to hear of you two squandering Organization funds on frivolous things like special-order cloaks," Saïx snapped at Xigbar and Xaldin.

"He'll spare whatever expense for his Key of Destiny," Xaldin replied, handing Saïx the measuring tape. We just need your clearance before we ship anything. And we could use your help. Start measuring, Number VII."

Growling, Saïx unrolled the measuring tape.

"Number XIII, if you would hold out your arms, like this." Xaldin demonstrated, stretching out his arms like a child pretending to be an airplane. "Chest," he said to Saïx.

Saïx wrapped the tape around Roxas's upper body, and then called out a measurement, which Xaldin wrote down.

"Waist." Saïx looped the measuring tape around Roxas's waist so tightly that it made him gasp.

"Not so tight, man!" Xigbar exclaimed. "You're hurtin' him!"

Saïx loosened it, but only slightly, and then told Xaldin the measurement.

"Back."

Saïx measured from the base of Roxas's neck to his waist, calling out the measurement.

"Hip. That's 9 inches below the waist."

Roxas let out an exclamation of discomfort as Saïx wrapped the measuring tape around his nether regions.

"Careful of 'im!" Xigbar called out unhelpfully. "Couldn't he do that one himself?"

Xaldin ignored him. "Waist to floor."

Saïx read off the measurement.

"And one more. Arm length."

Xaldin wrote down the measurement Saïx gave him, and then finished filling in the blanks on what Roxas now guessed was some type of order form. "We'll have it delivered through a Corridor of Darkness, and you should have it in a day or so. You can go put your things in your room if you wish."

Roxas made his way through the grand halls of the Castle That Never Was, searching for his room, which he had been shown earlier. It was incredibly easy to get lost in this castle. All of the hallways looked basically the same at first glance, so one had to pay extra-close attention to the nonsensical decorations in order to find one's way.

Just when he was sure he was hopelessly lost and going in circles, Roxas found himself in a room he'd never seen before. He was standing on what appeared to be a small island of floor. Beyond it was a deep blue chasm that seemed to never end. On a hunch, he took a step forward. Instead of air, his foot connected with a smooth, crystalline surface that had just sparkled into existence. Tentatively, he stepped out onto the odd surface. It supported his weight just like the floor had. He was about to continue walking across this weird invisible floor when he was stopped by a voice behind him. He turned to discover that it belonged to the Chilly Academic, the Organization's number IV. He was a thin, angular man with long, blonde hair in a style that managed to make his face look even longer and thinner than it already was.

"Number XIII, the very man I've been looking for! I was wondering if I might borrow some of your hair."

"Um…why?" Roxas wanted to know.

"For science. The results of this research could benefit you for years to come, as well as our goal and the rest of soci—"

"Don't you have plenty of your own you could use?"

"Why, you! I will not tolerate such disrespect! I'm a higher rank than you and –hey! Respect your elders!"

Roxas had long since decided that it would be a good idea to run, even though he couldn't see the floor.

The Chilly Academic chased after him, shouting about disrespect and insubordination as he ran.

Roxas turned a few corners and dashed up a flight of stairs with the Chilly Academic in hot pursuit, only to be thrown against a wall by a torrent of cool water that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

When his vision cleared and he had coughed up all of the water that had forced itself down his throat, Roxas realized that he had dropped the pile of clothes he'd been carrying when he raised his arms to protect his face. The clothes were now sopping wet and half-floating in the 6-inch deep water that covered the floor. Water also dripped down the walls, down the stairs, and from Roxas's hair. He was soaked to the bone. He was about to bend down and pick up his belongings, when high-pitched, raucous laughter began to ring out around him. "Man! You should have seen your face! Hahaha! That was great! Nice one there! You're hilarious!" The laughter and jeering comments belonged to the Organization's fauxhawk-ed Melodious Nocturne, Number IX. "Welcome to the Organization!"

Roxas wondered briefly if the Melodious Nocturne's other might have been a frat boy, until the Chilly Academic caught up to him. Number IV produced a plastic bag and a pair of scissors and swooped down on Roxas, cutting off a lock of his hair and sealing it in the bag.

"Your contribution to science is very much appreciated," he said, storing the scissors and the bag away in his pocket. "Demyx, clean that up."

"Man…I'm getting to it, okay…" the Nocturne whined as the Academic turned around and walked down the stairs.

"Man…" Demyx whined again, as a bright blue sitar appeared in his hand. He halfheartedly plucked a few strings, and the water gathered up off the floor into a large bubble that then disappeared. Once he was finished with damage control, Demyx began playing a happier tune on his sitar. "Hey, wanna dance?"

Roxas gave the Nocturne an incredulous look, scooped up his wet clothes, and stalked off.

"Hey! Don't be mad! Is this about the water? It was just a joke! Nothing personal!"

Roxas ignored him. All he wanted to do was find his room and collapse.

Just when he was thinking he was almost there, Roxas heard a familiar yell.

"Roxas! Look out!" Xigbar shouted, hanging upside-down from the ceiling in front of Roxas. Except he seemed to be missing his arms.

Oh, there they were. Sticking out of the wall a few feet away and firing laser beams.

Laser beams! Roxas's brain kicked in, and he threw himself out of the way. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath, when the wall suddenly collapsed behind him and he fell backwards. His head collided with something, he managed to throw his wet clothes everywhere again, and he landed on his back on the floor, mind reeling.

He stared up at the red-haired person standing over him and decided that he was Number VIII, the Flurry of Dancing Flames. Roxas realized that he'd been leaning against a door, not a wall, and the Flurry of Dancing Flames had tried to open it from the other side.

"Need a hand?" the redhead asked, offering Roxas his and pulling him to his feet. "Name's Axel. A-X-E-L. Got it memorized?"

"Roxas," the blonde replied, starting to smile in spite of himself. Then he noticed that Axel's lip was bleeding. "Are you okay?"

"What, this? This is nothing." Axel wiped the blood away with a hand. You've got a hard head, kid."

&&&

"And that's when you met me," Axel finished, smiling at the memory as Roxas completed his story. "That must have been one hell of a first day."

"Yeah and it's only gotten worse. I hadn't met Larxene yet. Or Marluxia. Them and Vexen and Saïx are the worst. Xemnas is the only one who's never tried to humiliate me or make me do his chores or donate bits of me to science. And all he wants to do is have tea with me, so we can talk about Kingdom Hearts and Keyblades and our meaningful non-existence. I hate tea. And maybe he forgets, but I'm not the Keyblade's destined wielder. He is. My other. I don't have any sort of great purpose to fulfill with it. That's his territory.

"I'm sick of this Organization. I hate everyone here. They all drive me crazy." He stopped glaring at the ceiling and found himself staring into Axel's bright green eyes. "Except you. You're the only one I can really talk to."

Axel stretched out on his stomach, so he was lying on his bed perpendicular to Roxas, with his head propped up on his arms. "Isn't that what friends are for?"