NOTES: Here it is, the much awaited (maybe) rewriting of Heaven Help Us Now. Comments, critiques, questions—put them in a review or private message and I'd be happy to answer them! RL got in the way far too easily for me, but I have a beautiful three year old daughter named Isabelle to show for it, so I'd say it's a fair trade, wouldn't you? I recently got my muse back, so be ready.
Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any names or places you may recognize.
And now for…
chapter o1: of dreams & reality
the storm begins
On the night of the storm, there was chaos.
I remember it so vividly, everyone running and searching for places to hide. There were explosions everywhere, fighting and screeching, every manwomanchild for themselves. There was a small explosion, maybe ten yards in front of me, and from the fire came the Organization.
I see it every night when I close my eyes: Master Xemnas at the head, resplendent in his Godliness, Xigbar to his left with his guns at the ready and Xaldin to his right with his lance clutched tightly in his hands. Fear—mind numbing fear—swelled inside the hearts of those in the area, trembling in the shadow of these Holy Men. There was a line of prisoners in chains behind them, reigns being held by Lexaeus, and I quickly panned over them to make sure he was not a part of it—he wasn't and I let out a breath in relief.
Scrambling away on my hands and knees, I noticed absently how awe-inspiring these men were. Surely, if they were not trying to take over the country with brute force alone, we would welcome them with open arms. Surely, if he had not killed the king before him—struck Him down in full view of His people—we would crown Xemnas' Holiness with all the love our hearts could hold! But the Saints, these Holy Men, would never understand that.
Squatting on the side of the road, my eyes wandered back to the prisoners in time to see Vexen pull maliciously on the one of the chains, making the adults stumble and the children fall. My eyes lock on a girl that stops to help the child in front of her; auburn hair, indigo eyes, a bit cleaner than the rest of in the line. She must have been royalty at some point—the lost princess, perhaps?—but she looks so broken. Looking at her is like looking at a mirror, her features are so very similar to my own, marred by soot and dirt and blood.
My eyes flit to the child she helps stand before she takes a blow from Vexen for her insolence, and there he is in negative splendor: My brother, only not my brother, a dark contrast in the flesh. The little prince who looks defiant in the face of his own pain, petulance in his eyes the way it shows in the eyes of my baby boy, and my concentration is broken. I tear my eyes away, scramble off into the alleys, and restart my search for my brother. Another explosion shook the Earth, throwing me into the corner of a building head-first and blackening my vision.
-BREAK-
There was fear, the night he was born.
Our family was very poor, and when Mother went into labor it was too late to even beg our way into the kindest person's cleaner home. Mother crawled into the barn and Father sent me to gather items for the birth; I was six, but I understood the gravity of the situation. There was snow on the ground and Mother was sick, the implications weighing heavily on our hearts.
Hours after Mother went into labor, she finally gave birth to the child. We three would share the raising of it, so it was as much mine as hers. When Father brought it into the house I went to follow him, but he stopped and told me to help Mother inside and to clean her up as best I could. The boy—a brother!—would be ill as well.
An hour later we were settled into the bedroom we shared and Mother was feeding him, cooing and petting his silky baby hair. When he was finished filling his tiny belly, Mother stopped caressing him and just stared; Father extracted him from her grasp, and she began to heave great gut-wrenching sobs. Father held the blessing close as we made our way to the family room, sitting down and trying to tune out Mother's wailing. He handed me the child, showed me how to tuck him safely to my chest, and as I looked down at the sleeping babe I made a silent promise to him. I would take care of this boy, I would feed him and bathe him and teach him the ways of our world and its people. I would protect him…my Roxas.
…
Mother died about three years later, on a quiet day in the Springtime. She had never recovered from the labor, she knew she never would, and her body finally gave up its fight.
Even Roxas hushed when her sobs and whimpers ceased, indicating to Father that something had changed. We all knew she was gone, that we should go move her—bury her—do something. We couldn't bring ourselves to do it right then, knowing we were just postponing the inevitable.
When Father finally went to her, he stayed with her for a very long time. I drew a bath in the sink for Roxas and let him sit and play with the army men I'd accumulated over the years. We stayed in the kitchen for a long time, Roxas picking at the little men and me leaning on the counter wearing one of Father's old shirts, and when I finally moved the sky outside was dark.
Father had not been idle in that time; he'd found her a nice rock and dug her a nice hole, calling us outside when he lowered her body into the ground. There was no procession, no gathering, no pained cry of "Aerith, no, don't go!" There was just us—we three—her family. We were enough.
…
They came for him one night, not long after.
Father protested vigorously of course, saying they couldn't take Roxas—he was too young, a baby really, and what use would he be to them? Saïx smiled as he smacked Father to the floor then advanced toward Roxas and I. Xigbar and Xaldin stopped Saïx, and he said he would be back the next day—with Master Xemnas—to take the boy. He left with a flourish of his cloak, stepping on Father on his way out.
When Father finally caught his breath and rose from the ground, he was agitated, panicked, stomping on the floor. He must have decided what he was going to do because he smiled and rushed to our room, filling a duffel with clothes, food and water. He explained the Holy Men wanted Roxas, he didn't tell me why, and that we had to flee. He pulled up a floorboard to reveal a hidden crawlspace, dropped the duffel inside, and told us we would hide there the next morning. We were to stay there until Saïx left, then escape into the night and hide, preferably find our aunt or uncle.
True to his word, Saïx brought Master Xemnas for back for my boy, but Father stood his ground. Roxas and I peered up through the floorboards, my hand clamped over his mouth and barely daring to breathe. I was nine, he was six, and we hid under the floor and tried not to cry as our daddy's blood dripped onto our faces through the slats. At the age of twenty-nine, Cloud Strife violently joined his wife in death; it was the end of our childhoods and the beginning of something more.
Thanking all the deities above that the Holy Men didn't decide to torch our home after they killed Father, we left his cooling body on the floor and ran out into the night—and toward freedom.
-BREAK-
Groaning as I came to, I crawled to my feet and lurched into the first unlocked building I came across as the ground shook again. There was blood running down my face and though I couldn't see it, I know there was already a bruise forming around the gash on my forehead; quite the gruesome sight, I was sure. I was fumbling to open my duffel when I heard a gasp, immediately tensing to escape like the wounded animal I was. I should have assessed the situation first—I blame the head wound.
"Oh hell, are you okay!?" a male voice exclaimed. "There's so much blood!"
"Head wounds always bleed a lot," I mumbled, wiping my face and squinting at the guy. He was standing just inside another doorway that must have lead further into the abandoned home. "Is it so bad?"
He shrugged, running a hand through dirty blond hair. "I don't think it'll need stitches, but I'm not really the best person to answer that. We need 'Luxia—you wanna come with? He's in the kitchen."
"Er, no, thanks. I'll wait here," I said, clutching tighter to the strap of my duffel.
He shrugged again and wandered through the door, presumably to the kitchen were this mysterious 'Luxia was. While I waited the room began to spin—maybe the wound was worse than it looked.
Suddenly a man with pink hair (pink, really?) scurried through the door with a first aid kit. Catching sight of me he let out a low whistle, told the blond to go get more towels, and hurried up to me.
"That's quite the gash! Hit your head on a sharp rock?"
"Building corner."
"Oh, ouch! Well I'm Marluxia, I'll be your Healer for the day!" he said brightly. "Luckily it doesn't look so deep that you'll need stitches or staples, so we'll just clean it up, glue it closed, and you can be on your way. Come, sit on the floor while we wait for Demyx to bring some more towels."
"You're very chipper," I observed.
"Have to be, love, or we wouldn't have survived this long!"
The blond from before—Demyx—came back with towels tucked under his arm and two bowls of water. Marluxia thanked him and told him to go get some soup from someone named Riku so I could eat when he was finished. The floor shook as Demyx walked away again and Marluxia hummed as he began cleaning my face.
It was silent until he was finished gluing the gash closed and taping gauze over it, then he sat back and smiled.
"That should do for the time being, but you'll want to take it easy for a few days. Dem'll be back with some soup in a bit; how're you feeling?"
"Woozy…wait, is the water running here?"
"Yes, but only the cold water, unfortunately," he answered.
"Oh I don't care, I'm taking a shower."
"Wait until after you eat, then I'll have Larxene help you. Stay here with us at least for tonight, you can decide what you'll do in the morning. I never got your name, by the way."
"Naminé," I answered, eyes locking on Demyx as he came back with a steaming bowl and a glass of water. "My name is Naminé Strife."
Later, after a blonde girl with antennae-like hair named Larxene had helped me shower and I was tucked into a sleeping bag, I would ponder the look Demyx and Marluxia shared as I ravenously ate my food. I didn't get the chance to think too hard about it, though, before I was lulled into sleep by the sound of Larxene breathing next to me.