Hahaha, man this took forever to write. And to post.

I don't have a lot to say, except for the fact that this wonderful idea is simply a spin-off/addition to xxIAmTheSkyxx's Brotherhood Chronicles series. If you want this oneshot to make sense, read "A Cracked Raven" first. And if you want ACR to make sense, then you'll have to read a few oneshots from xxIAmTheSkyxx herself. She has the order on her profile, people. Check it out and everything will go smoothly (plus, you'll have something engaging and more than worth your while to read).

Disclaimer: Don't own KH, never will (probably. People can dream, no?).

Warnings: Rated mainly for language and some short scenes involving violence.

Train tracks.

I stood there waiting for death.

Right on the track, feet planted squarely on the rails.

I was ready.

But then he came running. Ventus, red-faced, blue eyes blazing with pain. Shouting, yelling.

I turned away. The train was too close. He wouldn't make it.

But then . . . the impossible happened.

Just a split second. One split second . . . and then a shove.

I landed on my back, gasping for air.

Ventus towered over me, his face a hardened mask. He had ripped his heart out fully for me to see, presenting a dim view of the crazy world he called home.

And then he outright said it: "You're not going to die. Not today."

. . .

The only thought that stuck long enough in my head proclaimed the truth. I couldn't deny it.

He was the brother I had failed to be.

Exs{p}{i}{r}{a}ti{o}n Date{s}

{A Brother's Backstory}

Hey, Ventus. It's been a while. Well, a while since we talked face to face. I've kept my distance. You've been busy with whatever you do at work.

So . . . I've been thinking about how you're going to hate yourself when you're done reading this.

Yes, you read correctly. You're going to hate yourself.

You'll wonder what you could have done. You'll wonder how you could have missed certain signs, as analytical as you are. You're smart, you do your job well. It's when the danger is right in front of you, living with you, that you miss the obvious. I guess it's just one of those things Sora and I have in common.

Alright, well, I guess I'll quit stalling and get to what I want to say.

So, earlier last week I tried to cook some eggs. Yeah, it was just as terrifying for me as it was for you when you first entered the kitchen that day. We both learned something new.

I can't cook. Anything that is required for me to cook will become another method in a horror movie called "A million Ways To Die In the Kitchen." That's probably what you were thinking.

I was obsessed with the fact that I had missed the expiration date on the carton of eggs.

Oh, that reminds me. I'm the one who stole your planner. And your calendar. And . . . uh, your notepad. I'm not apologizing for all of this. For one, you need to relax. You always remember what you're supposed to do on each day so it's not like you actually need the stuff I stole.

For me, dates are important. I like to cross the days out. I like to fill in each day with a pen, just screw over the whole box until you can't see the numbers. If I don't have a pen then I rip out the days with my bare hands.

Yeah, I hoard calendars. As you've probably guessed, this is something I don't go around telling everybody. When I was homeless the houses I robbed had nothing to do with aesthetics or whether the place looked secure and other shit. I picked the houses that had calendars.

. . . alright, that was an exaggeration. I admit it.

Ahem, but really, time is very important to me. When I was locked away they never told me what day it was. Every cell was nighttime, every hour was the forbidden hour, and every second I knew I was alive through pain. Through continuous torture I knew that death hadn't stolen what was mine.

But, you know, my captors had an interesting sense of humor. Ripping apart my flesh can get boring after they've used every possible object known to man. They decided to play games with me along with the torture to make things more interesting.

Most of the time I didn't have anything to say. They would always get me to scream. That's unavoidable when it comes to certain things. Like meat cleavers. And . . . uh . . . what's it called, a scalpel?

Whatever. I scream and shit, but they're tired of my screams. They're used to it. They're bored of it.

When the games didn't work they tried to squeeze in bits and pieces about what's going on with Sora. They were doing it at the same time of the experimenting phase (me hyped up on drugs). I . . . don't really remember those talks very well.

But one day they found leverage.

"Hey kid," they would say, "you know what this is?"

They'd shove a box of cereal at me. Yeah, cereal. Not much of a meal, but it's the first real food I had seen in ages. Naturally, I rip apart the box and just start wolfing down the dry stuff. Lucky charms I think. God, that cereal used to make me sick.

They probably expected this because they just started laughing. "You know," one of the guards snickered, "you're eating rotten junk, boy."

The other one made a tsking sound. "Check that expiration date, kid."

I didn't want to. I was too hungry to notice it at first, but soon the bad taste in my mouth slowly pushed away the hunger pains. I coughed and wretched, forcing myself to vomit.

Yeah . . . they stuck with that for a while, even going as far as suggesting to the boss to cut off whatever crap they were feeding me so that the only option I had left was rotten food.

That didn't last long. They were taking things further. Crueler tests and punishments. I wished for death every day. But it was a futile wish. They couldn't let me die because they still needed me to keep Sora under control. By this point he was becoming what the organization wanted; A ruthless killer who struck with no hesitation. I hadn't seen him in two years, and if he did come to visit me it was never when I was awake (they made sure I wasn't).

Despite all this, hope eventually reared its ugly face. It had to come at the worse of times. It was during a rotation. Different set of guards. A remark meant for their ears alone. "Sheesh, the little shit is a grown man now. Don't see why we even bother keeping this bastard alive. He's already dead in the head."

Grown man. Was I not a teen anymore? That was news to me.

Questions slowly rose to the surface. How long had I been there? How in the world did I make it that far?

"Pfft, grown? He's a skinny little bastard. My twelve-year-old is taller."

"Twelve? Last time you told me he was five. I'm fucking getting old."

The closest thing to a normal conversation in hell. That's what you're witnessing, Ventus. One of the guards hadn't spoken. He was staring at me. He must have seen something in my eyes, something different. I put my blank face back on but it was too late. I was interesting again, and being interesting meant that I would soon be in pain.

I made a keening noise when he kicked me in the stomach. "What are you staring at, boy?" He pulled me up by the hair, smirking. "What are you thinking about? What are you acting all surprised for?"

I stared at him, blinking slowly. He slammed me back into the ground, pinning my head against the dirty floor. "How does it feel to know you're going to die here?"

It was a miracle when I spoke. They, including me, had forgotten I knew how to talk. "How old am I?"

The other guards were standing next to me. Nameless masses, towering, frozen briefly in shock. Then their voices assaulted me, sneering and jiving.

"Ain't that cute. He wants to know how old he is."

"As if we're supposed to know."

"As if we even care."

They all kicked me simultaneously. I started wishing for death again. It was the only constant in my life now, the intense moments of desiring death.

Please kill me, please kill me, please kill me.

I curled in on myself. They laughed even more, never relenting in the force of their kicks. Imagine that, Ventus. Being nearly six feet tall and having to force your skinny, mutilated cadaver of a body into the fetal position just to avoid another cracked rib.

"Look at that. He's just a dumb kid."

"A man would stand and fight."

"He can't even stand."

The first one, the one that had seen hope in my eyes, forced my hands away from my face. His smile almost looked normal. "Tell ya what. I'm going to take the suspense out for ya. In fifty days you're going to die."

I couldn't repress the shudder. The other guards were very pleased with themselves as they strapped me to a different table. They were rejuvenated. "And don't worry about forgetting the days, kid. We'll just keep reminding you until then."

I wasn't in control of my facial expression anymore. I think deep down I had always wanted more information about the passage of time outside this place, a marker of sorts. Something to connect me with the real world. Not like that. Never like that.

They kept their promise. Even on their off days they would come by to remind me, always laughing at the faces I made. In the end I guess both sides got what they wanted, to their delight and my horror.

Less than two months. I supposedly had less than two months to live. It was all incredibly stupid. They couldn't kill me, as long as Sora lived they wouldn't be able to kill me.

But every day, every single day they had to remind me that time was something they could control. In a dark place, they gave time meaning. My body knew, I consciously knew what they were telling me was wrong. They didn't even deny it either. Once it got to the single digits they started screwing around.

"Six days left." A kick to the chest.

"Four days left." Another kick.

"Eight days left." He decides to be orginal and opts for whipping me.

"Sixteen days left." Electrocution day.

"Four days left." Waterlogging.

"Fucking two days left!" And . . . we're back to kicking again.

I am not kidding, Ventus. They seriously started screwing with me like that. It's one thing to have no idea what place you hold in the realm outside. It's one thing to be tortured on end, humiliated about how scrawny you are, and treated like an animal.

This . . . pathetic bid for my sanity was the final blow. I decided I wasn't going to take it anymore. I never wanted to get this deep, I didn't think it was necessary for you to know how I broke out. But you know what? This is my suicide letter and I can say whatever the hell I want. I'm not going to let it sit with me while I'm in some coffin.

So . . . if you really want to take down C.L.O.U.D. you'd better get another notepad and take down some notes. This is how I escaped from the hellhole that consumed my life.

Ventus paused, taking in a deep breath before turning towards me. "You hearing this?"

I had the decency to scowl. Of course I could hear everything. By god, I had practically written the damn thing.

Yes, I, Vanitas Crowe, had contemplated suicide. I wrote the damn letter, I got drunk faster than even I thought was possible, and then I had stood for three hours on a set of active train tracks waiting to meet my maker.

Okay, so technically I did more than just contemplate suicide. I had attempted suicide. Obviously, with a healthy hangover and a rabid detective on my case-scratch that, the most well known detective on the freaking East coast on my case . . . yeah, it was a failed attempt.

I sighed as the irritation throbbing in my head forced my body into a slouch. I could almost hear the sore muscles in my stomach cracking from the tension being released from my rigid spine. Ignoring the pain (something I'm fairly good at), I exhaled loudly, responding with a good dose of venom. "Yes."

"You sure? I'm more than willing to repeat this," The cocky bastard said, his tone a perfect match to mine. "We have all day."

Screw him, I thought bitterly, gnashing my teeth together. "Whatever makes you happy."

The sound of a bottle being slammed nearly made me jump. I looked up warily, watching Ventus cross his arms, his eyes shooting multiple daggers. Red-rimmed, eyes that spoke of exhaustion, relief, guilt, agitation, and confusion all at once. There was something about his stance that scared me, something about the way Ventus' eyes flashed that made me feel really guilty.

Never-mind the fact that the man had insisted on reading the letter out loud right to my face. What kind of detective does that?

Ventus sighed, glaring at the bottle before knocking it aside. It joined a pile of three, lying idly on the floor. "I need another drink," he muttered before standing and walking towards the refrigerator.

Right. A drunk detective. I sighed, idly pulling against the handcuffs that were locked into place somewhere in the middle of the table. The apartment was radically different than when I first showed up about a month ago. There were newspapers cluttered on the lone island in the middle of the kitchen. There were bits and pieces of various newspaper clippings lining the walls of the hallway, including some that led to the esteemed detective's room (which I've never entered).

There was just something off about the entire place. The air itself weighed us down, full of imaginary accusations and bitter resentment. I don't even need to see to know Ventus was entering the room again. The sound of his footsteps echoed painfully in my head, a resounding set of thuds that made me gritt my teeth. When Ventus sat back in front of me his expression was controlled, nonchalant even.

I blinked as he lifted the bottle to his mouth. He made the motion seem so natural, like he was just breathing.

For a man who had spent a majority of his life being forced to withstand one unpleasant experience after another, watching someone as strict as Ventus indulge could get unnerving fairly quickly. It didn't help when his mouth twitched into an uncharacteristic smirk. "You seem surprised," he noted.

"No, just worried." I resisted the urge to shrink back when his grin grew wider in response. "Is there some secret case you're not telling me about?"

For all that we've been through together, I would be lying if I said I wasn't grateful to be out of Ventus' workspace. He had become rather . . . uptight these past few weeks. There were the press conferences and interviews to spaz over. It was all Ventus seemed to complain about a week ago, which I could somewhat understand given the detective's qualms against being in the spotlight. Everyone had their way of dealing with stress, and now he was simply reuniting with his ex-method: alcohol.

Given the agony currently eating away at my head from within, I've forgotten some of the snide and raucous jokes I had overheard from "loyal" coworkers. It was a rare sight, since the detective had a high distaste for the depressant. A sight only seen when his buddies had managed to force him into a night at the club. Apparently, Ventus was supposed to be a very interesting drunk. I never planned on finding out why, but with the way this current conversation sprung up I didn't really have a choice.

The sound of him slamming yet another bottle against the table interrupted my rambling thoughts. "You know, it's people like you . . . " He pointed a finger straight at my chest, as if he were targeting the heart, "that get me so pissed off."

"Uh huh," I muttered.

"No, don't grunt like that thinking you understand and expect to get off!" Ventus stood up quickly. His eyes were blazing now and he held the letter up, held it as if he were about to rip it to shreds. "Are you going to explain this bullshit?!"

"So you're not going to read the rest?"

"I already read this five times. Each time I read it I hoped it was false. You don't know how many times I wished this was just you pulling something out of your ass. While I'm freaking driving, searching every freaking corner of this damn city to figure out where you were, I would reread this piece of crap." Ventus raised his hand to his chest, muttering under his breath. "But no, it was real. It was all too freaking real."

For some reason the rant offended me. "Yes, it's all real. I don't have it in me to lie. Not about the organization. It's all real, it's what they are, and you're the only one smart enough to put in a single dent." I shrugged. "No pressure."

Ventus' face was flushed. I couldn't tell if it was from anger or the drinks. "Pressure doesn't matter. I could care less. That's not what I'm talking about and you damn well know it."

Get to the point already. "Then what are you talking about?"

There was a stretch of silence, longer than my trek to the train tracks, longer than the time I spent waiting for death.

I came close. Really close.

But one instant. One second was all it took for things to change.

Two hands. Two paths. A single push.

Now here I sit at the mercy of yet another unstable man. I'm not insulting Ventus' mental capabilities in any way (okay, maybe a little).

But he had changed. This whole experience has hardened him. I don't even think he realized it consciously, but somewhere deep down he must have known that the moment his life got entangled into Sora's tragic destiny that his innocence was lost forever.

We all go through it. Some quicker than others. Ventus was losing what little hope he knew of, what he possessed. He had lost a group of friends in the span of a few days, and he knew the assailant firsthand.

It's something I know I'll never understand. And, as much as it pains me to say this, it's something that I can't fully bring myself to care about.

This struggle isn't for me. It is above me. The moment my obsession with dates reared its ugly head I knew all was lost. I couldn't get by without checking the clock every minute, I couldn't bear it when the power went out and the clocks were messed up . . .

And ultimately . . . despite my age and various coping techniques I'm still afraid of the dark.

This is only the tip of everything. If Sora was alive . . . maybe things would be different.

He's not. That's a fact.

So . . . suicide seemed like the next step. It was natural, it was right to me.

Ventus took that chance away from me.

Sitting on a bench in some random park. October 25th, 1999. It's a cold day.

In my hands there's a bag. The smell coming from it is revolting.

Think sweat, dog-piss, and rotten enchiladas. Yeah . . . understatement of all smells.

Unhealthy unknown shit from the dumpsters. That's our usual breakfast.

In front of me, prancing around as if he's in a field of daisies, is Sora. That's right. All in brown rags with complimentary jeans twice my size.

The skinny little idiot is avoiding me. Trying to make me eat this shit myself. "Hey, get over here, asshole!"

He's on the swings now. Typical. "I'm flying!" is his lengthy response. In other words, he's giving me the finger.

Whatever, guess it's my fault for bringing him to the park. Always transforms him into a little demon from hell. "Get down from there before I kick you off!" I try again. Threats work 75% of the time.

The other 15% . . . "Hmmmmm, nah!" He finishes with a haughty laugh, swinging like he's some normal kid.

His wide, goofy grin almost convinces me. It almost makes me think everything between us is settled. No strife, no pain, no sadness.

Yet, he's not looking me in the eye. Those smiles are never meant for me.

He hasn't forgiven me for lying to him. He never will.

I sigh, staring at the sky. There's only one more thing I can say to get his attention. "It's getting dark," I say in a normal tone.

A secret fear. One he'll never know about.

He only sees it as a warning.

I'm not nice when I'm scared.

His voice contorts, he's careful with what he says. "Aww, you're so mean, Vani!"

He's careful . . . to a degree. "I told you not to call me that!"

"Vani!" And he repeats it for good measure.

I love him. I have to repeat this in my head, to keep myself sane.

I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I hate that nickname, I hate that nickname, I hate that nickname, I hate that nickname, I hate that-

Okay . . . would you KINDLY shut the fuck up? "Sora, I'm warning you."

"You're no fun." The air from his mouth slaps me square in the nose from behind. Yeah, his breath stinks like my bottom.

Hey, we're hobos. We can barely afford garbage to eat, let alone freaking cologne. I cough and hack instead of telling him to back off. Cause that's what siblings do. We usually don't say anything when it comes to each other's mouths. "Well, life isn't fun."

"Only if you don't want it to be."

First he somehow teleports from the swings to here with his skinny self, then he becomes a philosopher. Just my luck.

I turn around to screw with his naïve little idea. Then I see his cheekbones, sticking out like a few nerds in a crowd of varsity footballers. He grows, skinny arms turning into lanky arms. His clothes fit him, the rags replaced by a white T-Shirt stained with someone's food problems, but the jeans are the same. His eyes are no longer accusing. Puberty has made him understand me, understand that lying is sometimes necessary.

A few years have passed. It is now December 13th, 2002.

I blink, staring into his wide eyes. "Wah?"

"You fell asleep," he chuckles, a hint of something mocking me in his tone. A deep voice.

Where did my little skinny idiot go? I frown. "Strange dreams . . . "

Sora shrugs, staring at the bag in my hand. "I was honestly hoping you wouldn't wake up." He sticks out his tongue. "Wasn't really looking forward to dinner."

I sniff what's in the bag and make a good show of pretending to actually be aroused by whatever lovely thing we were about to consume. "This right here? It's heaven in a bag. I can not wait to take a bite out of this!"

"Ewww, hell no! I hate it when you do that!"

He may be fuller but his appetite is still a skinny little bastard. "Take a bite."

"Bite me."

"I just might."

"Well, then I'll bite you!"

"What are you, five?" I roll my eyes. "For that lame comeback you can eat the whole bag. You need the pounds."

He makes a snorting sound. "Me? Gain weight?" His smirk disappears and his voice lowers an octave. "Ask me one more time and I'll punch you in the dick."

"Well, after cursing you to Hades and back I'd just have to do the same," I mutter, dangling the bag in front of him.

"Pfft, now look who's five." The anger in his voice hasn't gone away and his eyes are darker now. The one thing of his that is growing is his temper.

I don't give it much thought. After all, it's helped him survive this far. "Look, you're going to have to eat a little more. Don't think I haven't noticed you throwing away the food behind my back."

"I'm never really that hungry these days."

"Bullshit." I poke him in the stomach. "Say that to someone who doesn't know you."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Why don't you take your own advice. Hypocrite." He shoves a handful into his mouth, making a face, and swallowing quickly. I know he only did that because I was watching. "Ugh . . . I'm going to hurl."

"Hey, you trust me, right? I only pick what's edible. Quit being a pussy."

"Uhnnn . . . I think it moved . . . blegh, ick . . . "

"Was there a bug?"

"Hell if I know. Nasty piece of crap." He hands the bag back. "Your turn."

I quickly stuff my face, for all intensive purposes. Swallowing quickly, I crumple up the bag, working to control my expression before speaking. "There . . . not too bad."

"You're such a liar." His voice is a bit bitter at the end of that statement.

"Aren't I?" I mutter as I throw the bag in the air behind me. Yeah, I litter. Going to sue? "But we're alive, aren't we? I'm not a complete bastard."

"No . . . " His tone is soft now, breaking at the seams. I look at him right when he grips me tightly, arms transforming into snakes. "You're my bastard."

I chuckle, hugging him back. "Come on, we don't need to waste energy on hugs." I tilt my head, making out the last streaks of sunlight piercing through the trees. "It's almost dark."

"I know." He doesn't move. "We can sleep here."

"We've been over this. I know how much this park means to you." I sigh. "But . . . Sora, I've been thinking. About . . . this town. I don't think there's anything for us here."

He sits back, releasing me immediately. From the way his eyes flash I can only kick myself internally for not bringing this up sooner. I knew how he would react. I knew I needed to give him more time to prepare.

My timing is always crooked, no matter how perfectly the dates line up for me. At the tender age of fifteen, Sora is going to be shattered a second time. "Sora . . . "

"You promised." He frowns. "You promised me, Vanitas."

"I know. We've been all over this county. There's not much left for us here."

His eyes darken. "Except for them. Or have you already forgotten?"

I swallow. Now was definitely a bad time. His mood wasn't great before. I'm in fire now. "We've spent enough time looking for their bodies. Someone else has probably buried them by now. I'm sorry, I don't know what else you want me to say."

His fist speaks first. Right in my chest. The very same spot of years past, a mirror of before. "Don't do this! Don't lie again!"

"Sora, I shouldn't have made that promise, alright?!" I growl, shoving him back. "I was ten! I didn't know what I was thinking, okay? What do you want from me?"

"Shut up!" He hits me again, harder. "I'm tired of your excuses! They're our parents, Vani!"

That nickname . . . I can't.

Before I know it my fist is flying. Flying faster than Sora's skinny, kid legs on the swing set that's coated with rust and decay behind me. My knuckles, white with tension, hit him in the forehead. Now he's flying, landing in front of me in a manner that is far from graceful. The lump in my throat forms at the same time his skin darkens, a purple mesh just below his bangs. His blue eyes are wide, pupils diluted. He's freaking scared of me.

I swallow, pushing away the guilt, making my voice firm. "They're gone. They're never coming back. I told you this before. You can either take that and suck it up . . . or you can continue chasing their stupid ghosts. Either way, I'm not dealing with it anymore." I stand, clenching my fists tightly. "They don't exist to me, Sora."

He needed to hear that. It had to be done.

So . . . why does it feel like I'm stabbing a sword through my own chest?

He's standing and now I'm the one whose nervous. He's just as tall as me now. Just as strong. I've hit a nerve, I know it.

Go ahead. Do what you've always wanted to, Sora. Strike me down, strike me down like I know you do in your dreams.

Don't just stare at me like that. Just . . . do something! "Sora . . . "I reach out and he's off. Running, running faster than I've ever seen him run. Far away from me, far away from reality.

I should be running after him. He won't survive out there. He-

Huh.

That's the problem.

I'm a crutch. I can't always be there for him. I can't.

I won't just sit there, always by his side, pretending like death will never take me away like Mom and Dad. I need to protect Sora, and that means I have to make sure he can survive out in this world.

Even . . . even when I'm not in it.

It's the only way. He'll have to deal, and I'll have to let him go.

Three months.

90 days.

Hours of agony.

I follow Sora. I watch from the shadows. He kept coming to the park, but eventually he stopped coming. Has he left the past behind him? Has he let go of me?

I wanted to intervene after two weeks. He barely ate. He was thin. Thin enough to where joking about it made me hurl.

No. He does what I used to do. He collects stuff from garbage. He loots, but only what's necessary. He even . . . huh, he sometimes collects the calendars too. When did he notice?

At two months I was impressed. But that quickly turned into bitter resentment. Did he ever really need me? Maybe I'm not good enough for him.

By the third month I'm ready. There's too much left for me to say. He still has that bump on his head. Maybe . . . I went about this the wrong way.

What made me so nervous? Why didn't I confront him sooner? His pale face has hardened into a mask I don't recognize. Is the Sora I cared for gone?

I still follow behind him, a safe distance. Why doesn't he turn around? Why won't he look at me? Does he know I've been following him? Is this his way of punishing me for abandoning him?

I never abandoned you, Sora.

No . . . you don't see it that way, do you?

You survived the winter without me. Sora, you've done enough! So-

"Grab him!"

A gag. Wretching coughs. Struggling.

"Shit, get his legs!"

The hell?! Where did these freaks come from?! Fuuuu-"Mmmph!" is all I can say as I thrash.

"Come on, take the bait."

The bait? Are they talking about Sora now?

What do these bastards even want? Crap, there's five of them!

"I don't think he hears us." The gag comes off. "Looks like we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

I get out one breath then scream as loud as I can. "SORA, RU-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Someone . . . did someone just break my ankle?

Uhn . . . my wrist too. They broke my wrist at the same time. God, my fingers. No, no, don't!

I'm crying. I told myself I wouldn't cry. Why am I crying? Why . . . ?

My eyes open, blurred from tears. Blue. Brown and blue. I blink and I see his face. His expression makes me flinch.

The men crowd around him, sneering, laughing at him as if they were a pack of rabid dogs. I can't see him, they're surrounding him. "No . . . just go . . . " I cough out.

That's when I hear it. The sound of a bone snapping. "Get away from him!" I push myself to stand and collapse immediately. My body won't cooperate. Of all times to fail. I punch the ground with my good hand, shaking as more sounds of flesh being beaten, ripped, overwhelms me. "Not him . . . please, not him."

Die. I'll die. Leave him alone. Leave him alone.

Two of the men jump back, chuckling above me. "He's perfect, just what the master would want."

"Yeah. Not bad for a random punk. He's doing pretty good."

"Been a while since I've seen anyone get that angry."

Right in front of me, it's like I'm not even here. Those son of a bitches. Fuck. "You can go to hell," I mutter.

"Oh, there's no need. We already are."

I groan, shifting onto my elbows and knees, shaking from the pain in my left wrist and left ankle. "Shut up." I look up and am met with a sight I'll never forget.

There's only three guys fighting against Sora. All big, all with muscle. And yet . . . Sora's still standing. He's got a black eye and there's a few splotches of blood on his shirt. But then I watch as he tackles one man, gripping the man's head and snapping it to the side.

Just like that. As if he were twisting a bottle cap.

Something inside me twists and my heart seizes one pitiful fact. The old Sora I knew is gone.

As if reading my thoughts he looks at me, blue eyes darker than ever and his frown is potent. He's not moving, bloody hands still clutching the man's head. The other two men are just staring at him.

This isn't real. I did not just watch my little brother kill a man half his size. I open my mouth, to say his name, to say anything, but when his frown deepens I hold myself back. The two men slowly start clapping their hands, a nervous, jittery sound. Sora is still staring at me though.

We're the only people that exist. He slowly gets up from the corpse, walking over to me. The hardness finally leaves his face and when he smiles I have to cry.

So, he doesn't know. He doesn't know that his long lost brother has been with him the whole time. His bloody hands wrap around my torso and he's crying into my shoulder, snot settling into my shirt and hair, deep voice cracking with heartbreak and awe.

Nothing I deserve, and it's enough to make me forget to warn him. We're surrounded by the enemy. This display of emotion is dangerous.

But . . . I don't care.

I hug him back as much as I can.

Though I don't know it yet, it's the last hug I'll ever give him.

I should have held on tighter.

The memory was unbidden. I blinked repeatedly, trying to work my way back to where I was, back to Ventus' voice.

It's hard to fight your way back into silence. He was still mulling over my last question, and when I come to, staring into his eyes, I finally realize what's bugging me about his expression. What's bugged me ever since he started taking in booze.

"Ventus . . . " I chuckled, bitter and confident in my assumption. "You're going to collapse the way you're acting now." The stress, all the events were now weighing him down, but it was more than that. In this past month, Ventus had been more open than ever before. I just never saw it until now.

He frowned, walking closer to me. "Don't put words in my mouth. I know my limits." He rubbed the space between his eyebrows, eyes narrowing. "Again, you're missing the point. This has nothing to do with the deaths, with Sora . . . okay, so he plays a part in this. But not the way you think."

I sighed. His name was toxic. Every time it escaped from his mouth I felt something plunge through my heart out of my chest. "Just don't," I muttered.

"Sora plays a part . . . but this isn't about him." He was right in front of me now, slowly unlocking my handcuffs.

I considered making a run for it, I considered asking him for a beer because I wanted to forget this day. Forget the letter, forget that weird presence I'd felt at the train tracks.

But after he placed the handcuffs on the table he turned to look at me and . . . it was different. There was no anger, no pain. It was like staring into the face of a child. He was staring at me with such intensity that I actually felt a little self conscious. Before I can move back to give us more space his hand catches my shoulder and I'm being pressed into his chest.

It's not really a hug. Too awkward for that. Whatever the hold was . . . I could tell from his relaxed posture and the way gripped my back that it was genuine. When he spoke his voice was low, nearly close to a whisper. "When you first told me you were Sora's brother I didn't believe you at first. But . . . we've lived together for a while and . . . I've noticed a couple of things."

"You have, huh?"

In a manner that's surprisingly brutish for a guy who can really only use one arm, he shoved me to the side. His posture is still straight, hell, he honestly looked more aware to me than when he is sober. Only his glazed eyes showed the confusion and exhaustion. With a small smile he shifted his gaze to the table. "You both have your own routines, various ways of destroying my property for one. You're both just . . . quirky I guess." He shrugged. "But I could never really stay mad with either of you. I don't know what it is, but . . . " He paused, looking up towards the ceiling as if it will finish the sentence for him.

After a few minutes of silence I decided to switch gears. I can't just leave him like this. We have to talk again when he's sober. It's only fair. "Hey, maybe you should just rest. We can continue this tomorrow," I said.

He chuckled. "Who said I was finished?" He gave me a small smirk, gesturing weakly towards the note lying on the floor. "Believe it or not, I get what you're going through."

I scratched my wrist, avoiding the old scars lacing down my arms. "Look, no offense, but our situations are different. You were there for him at least. I missed a whole decade of his life, and for what?" It was getting harder for me to control my voice. "My last conversation with him . . . ugh, I can't even remember it. Everything was just all broken up."

"Well, everyone has their breaking points." He gestured to the letter. "Normal people find a way to live in spite of that."

"Normal," I snorted. "It's an overrated term."

"That's the thing. We're not normal, Vanitas." He clasped his hands together, knuckles white from the grip. "The burdens left for us to take would send some people to the psychiatry ward. What's left for us to face is something the average person wouldn't be able to handle. That's why my job exists." His smile is sad. "You're still missing the point, though."

"What point?" I was both angry and curious.

"I guess I'm just a little disappointed." He turned towards me. The small smile was back on his face, but his face expressed nothing but sadness. "I'd hate to lose another friend. You're the only one who gets it. I already told myself I was going to bring C.L.O.U.D. down. You play a big part in this war. Or had you forgotten?"

"I didn't. I'm not sure I can do this."

He blinked a few times then leaned further into the couch, closing his eyes. "Well, why are you doing it?"

"You already know the answer to that question."

"If the answer is Sora then that isn't enough." His eyes were still closed. "Doing it for yourself doesn't cut it either, though it's a healthy place to start."

"Ventus . . . "

"Shhhhh," he lifted a hand to his own mouth before standing and stretching. "You weren't paying attention earlier, were you?"

"How early are you talking?" I rolled my eyes. "Wasn't planning on lasting this long, as you already know."

He frowned before leaning down to pick up the bottles he had left on the floor. "You're really going to make me say it, aren't you? You want a speech on why you should live. That's usually how it works."

"Correction. You want to give a speech." I sighed. "You're not going to remember it later, so why bother?"

A loud crash sent my muscles back into a rigid position. Ventus paid it no mind, just shot that intense stare back at me. "You were at a crossroads. When I had finally found you it was too late. The train nearly ran you over. The only reason you're talking to me right now . . . is because someone pushed you."

"Right. I knew that much." I frowned. "And I'm sure you think you know who did it."

"I don't think, I saw it happen." His slowly lifted his finger up. "Sora saved you."

I looked away from him, shuddering once. "It's not possible."

"The fact that you made it out of C.L.O.U.D.'s clutches is an impossibility in and of itself." His smile grew a little. "You're an exceptional, Vanitas."

"Praise won't get you anywhere, detective. We both could have been hallucinating."

"Whether it was real not isn't the point. You've suffered enough. Don't you want to prevent this from happening to anyone else? Don't you want to watch this organization burn out?" His tone was authoritative now. "It's not just you or me anymore. We're dealing with a global crisis. You know how this organization thinks, you probably have pretty solid theories about the men they're going to target. Vanitas, we need someone like you. This is too important for any of us to be going in blind."

I could only nod. When he spoke again it almost shocked me. A quiet, contemplative voice had replaced the strict no-nonsense. "All of us, in some way or form, are controlled by time. We created these distinctions ourselves to rationalize our own odd behaviors and patterns. It has now become the norm. There is a way for you to be free of it, Vanitas. You don't need your life's expiration date."

I gasped upon hearing him say that as one last memory crawled sluggishly to the surface.

Tracks. I'm standing on train tracks.

The air is cool. The wind is playing with my hair. The sun is barely visible, hidden in the coming shadow of the iron giant facing me.

Inches away from my face. It's not moving.

This isn't possible. No, it's downright absurd!

Time can't stop.

"But . . . it is, no?" That voice . . .

I turn around, searching for him, wanting desperately to see his face.

He sounds normal. Sane.

"Sora?" I keep trying to look around but I can barely move my eyes.

"Sorry, bro, you can't do that. You can't see me either. Just a thing, don't have any control over it."

I frown. "So . . . this is it. I'm really about to die."

Somehow, the laughter that follows isn't surprising. "Vanitas . . . what are you doing?"

"I think you and I both know." I wince slightly as the train inches forward. "You won't be able to hold this back for long."

"You're right there. Looks like you have a choice to make."

"I thought I made it pretty clear," I mumble.

"Given your inebriated state at the moment I don't trust your judgment."

"You've always had a hard time trusting me from the get go, Sora."

"Yeah, I know. I'm paying for that now."

I sigh and the train inches forward again. "Let it go, Sora."

"Well, I gotta say, you've seen nothing yet. You still have a lot ahead of you, Vani."

"You're never going to drop that, huh?"

"Nope. And . . . I can't let you die right now either. Three, you get three close calls after this. I can tell you because you're going to forget most of this after the train passes."

"Hah . . . not going to give me a choice, huh? So stubborn, always ready to force me into one thing or another."

"Vanitas . . . you don't need your life's expiration date."

" . . . and what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, call it a signal if you will. Just . . . to let you know I'm still looking after you. Heh, we always stick together, even when one of us can't be seen, no?"

"Cryptic really isn't your style."

"You would do this. Judge the way I talk and avoid the real issue all together. Hah . . . it's okay to grieve, you know. You haven't lost that right."

" . . . Sora . . . I . . . "

"Yeah, I miss you too. But, time's up. You're going to feel a light push, if that's okay. Oh, and do me a favor and keep a sharp eye on Ventus, will ya? The guy is starting to slip. Damn achiever is always pushing himself too hard."

"Huh . . . I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks! And hey, watch for my signal! If you miss it then I'm seriously not going to forgive you."

"Funny, you talk like you'll be right next to me. Humph."

"Hahaha . . . that's the thing, Vanitas. I actually will be."

"Huh . . . "

"Yeah . . . you might need some booze, too. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Of all things to suggest? Weird conversations, that's all I'm getting from this. "Right. I trust you."

"Good to know. See you soon!"

I pushed myself from the couch, standing and staring at the man in front of me. ". . . shit."

Ventus raised a single eyebrow at me, as if I were the drunk one he had to babysit. "Pardon?"

I frowned, shaking my head. "Nothing. Just . . . this strange flashback. I . . . it doesn't matter." Crap, why is it slipping this fast? Who was I even talking to?

Wait . . . does it really matter?

When I looked back at him, Ventus' sad smile returned at full force. "Hey, the world is still standing. We're going to be fine, Vanitas."

After a few minutes I slowly start to relax. All the pain, suffering, the guilt . . . it melts away. With just a few words Ventus has changed everything. Things weren't the same, would never be the same, and the road ahead of us seemed long and onerous.

But . . . that wasn't a bad thing.

Somewhere out there a path is lined up just for us, for the goals we want to achieve.

I guess the time for waiting is over. We've experienced enough, we've suffered enough.

The paths start at the tips of our toes. Now all that's left is for us to take the next step forward.

Well, this ended up being longer than I expected. Hmmmm, still cool.

So, what did you think? I hope I haven't managed to tear the BC canon to shreds with this oneshot. Haha, well, I shall let the original creator herself judge.

xxIAmTheSkyxx, I hope you enjoyed reading this. :) I am forever grateful that you've allowed me to add on to your epic expansion of one oneshot that has become the foundation for many things to come. It's been an honor and I can't wait to see where these ideas take you next!

And to everyone else, thank you so much for reading! Have a good one!

Justice T.