A project for the Tumblr fanzine, kh-worldsconnected! This fic is accompanied by some very lovely art, which I'll post in my profile. Go check it out, Cleoodles did a fabulous job with it! I'm likely going to continue this sometime in the future, as I liked it way too much..!

Inspired by the song, 'Drumming Song' by Florence and the Machine

Theme: Time, Witching hour

Sweeter than Heaven and Hotter than Hell

..

"There's a drumming noise inside my head

That throws me to the ground

I swear that you should hear it

It makes such an almighty sound."

..

"In accordance with the law, this court sentences you, Mr. Starkov, to 240 hours of community service."

Roxas frowned down at his shoes, shifted one foot, and decided the high gloss reflection staring back at him must be a stranger.

The judge, with all the appeal of the witch that tried to eat Hansel and Gretel, tapped her fingernails on her table. Tap. " And because this is not the first time you are gracing my courtroom with your presence, you are going to be required to attend weekly teen A.A meetings." Tap.

There was a smudge on his right shoe, distorting his small reflection. He tilted his head and squinted. It sort of looked like a muppet.

Tap. " This is the last time I want to see you, Mr. Starkov." Tap.

The gavel sounding out through the courtroom may have been the final nail in Roxas' coffin, but the only thought that his hangover wracked head wanted to spit up was that he really needed to brush his teeth. He could feel the grime taking up residence on his gums, the stain of lousy food and cheap alcohol.

Flinching at the mere thought of food, Roxas began to shuffle out into the hall with the rest of the crowd. Someone called his name but he ignored them. The hall was filled with people all trying to exit at once, so he easily slid out amongst them. As he walked, he fished his phone out to check the time, only to flinch and fumble hurriedly to dim the phones screen as its piercing light ripped into his corneas.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning softly from both the pain and the new knowledge of just how long court had dragged on for.

I just want five minutes of peace. Is that too much to ask for?

..

Just over an hour later, Roxas stared with weary eyes at the blinking numbers above as the elevator rose level after level. No music played. Instead, he had the pleasure of hearing grating and sliding metal as the death trap climbed into the sky. His lip twitched as he mentally added the threat of death to his 'shit to deal with' list. Right under 'fix the bathroom sink'.

A few numbers away from his destination he began to loosen his tie and its stranglehold on his throat.

The elevator slowed to a stop at the 8th floor and took its sweet time opening its doors. Roxas just stared ahead, eyes blank. He didn't have enough sanity left for the added stress of impatience.

Finally, he was able to step out onto his floor and make his way down the poorly lit hall. Overhead, yellowing sconces provided only the barest minimum of light. Whether it was a cheapskate move by the landlord or an attempt to hide the decaying decor, he did not know.

He passed by several patches of suspiciously brown wallpaper, and areas of peeling white paint before he stopped in front of a door with the number '32' hanging on precariously. His knock jostled the metal number, adding to the echoing sound.

Wincing as the sound pierced his skull, Roxas took a step back and rubbed at his temple, inwardly vowing to never knock on another door ever again.

The door opened to reveal a small face, pinkened with delight and perhaps markers, peering up at Roxas. Red hair that had once hung down in an easy bob was now sticking up in various directions. It looked sticky.

"Hey Kairi," Roxas smiled at the small girl. "The boys ready to go? Where's Demyx? Zexion?"

"I dunno," she grinned cheekily and scampered away towards a mass of lanky limbs and grinning, drooling faces all piling up onto a hunched over form.

"Who's there?" Somewhere in the mass of tiny bodies an exasperated voice called out. "If you've come to arrest a certain little boy named Riku, then by all means!" a hand pressed up out of the pile of laughing children and pointed further into the room.

Roxas followed the gesture to a boy with hair equally as sticky as Kairi's. Riku's eyes went wide with horror at the man's words; that is, until he saw just who was standing at the door.

Silver eyebrows lowered as he frowned and crossed his arms. "Liar. That's just Roxas!"

Nice to see you too, kid. Roxas thought wryly.

From inside the pile, someone, Demyx, he assumed, called out, "Seriously? Oh, thank god. I was wondering if you were ever going to show up." The pile of children shifted as their chosen victim began to rise out from underneath their weight. Two or three shrieked and began to crawl off, but the remaining two each held onto a limb with all their tiny might.

Simultaneously the two called out,"Hi, Roxas!" before starting to climb up Demyx's legs.

Roxas bit back a laugh as he watched Demyx try to crawl away from the attacking children. "Trouble?"

He received a disapproving glare, which just did not fit on Demyx's face. "Hardee har har. Laugh it up fuzz butt. These two are your problem now." Demyx groaned with effort as he drug himself to his feet using a chair as an aid. Giggles erupted from the two still attached to his legs.

Roxas stepped closer, "Alright, alright. Sora, Ven. We gotta get going guys." He froze, and felt his stomach drop when he caught sight of their faces. Strands of blond and brunet were stuck haphazardly to their bubblegum pink cheeks and foreheads.

Oh no.

..

As soon as the lock clicked open, Sora burst into their apartment, talking up a storm about their day at daycare, with Ventus close and quiet on his heels.

"Hey! Go straight to the bathroom and start getting cleaned up!" Roxas called after them as he bent over to pull off his shoes. A thought made him stiffen and shout, "And don't waste all the towels!"

His wallet ached at the thought of washing and drying a load of towels covered in jam.

Sora poked his head out of the bathroom, face and hair still covered in sticky jam. His mouth was tucked into a pout. "Where's mom? You said she'd be home. You said ."

"You did say," Ventus nodded and perched his chin on Sora's shoulder, quiet as a mouse. "You promised."

Roxas placed his shoes neatly to the side.

"I know, I'm sorry. She's probably just out getting more vitamins for you, Ven." Which wasn't a complete guess. Between court, daycare pickup, and school, Roxas hadn't been able to swing by the pharmacy himself. She probably went ahead. "Go clean up, okay?"

Sora stared at him for a second before pouting even more and backing back up into the bathroom. Ventus shifted in the doorway, and when Roxas sighed and gave him a small smile, he grinned ear to ear and followed Sora.

Roxas ran a hand through his hair as he turned to examine the apartment. For once it seemed relatively tidy. There was nothing out of place; the couch still had his pillows and blankets set up, and every colorful, exotic nic nak seemed to be in its place along the shelves and end tables. The excess of family pictures hung with pride were still in place.

Feeling marginally better, now that he knew he wouldn't have to clean the apartment with a hangover, he took two steps into the room and leaned forward to peer more closely behind the couch, down the dark hallway. The only sign of life was the light under the bathroom door and the occasional laugh.

"Kick me when you're done!" he called as he collapsed down onto the couch. "I'll just be… resting my eyes."

Trying his best to forget about his day at court, Roxas let himself fall into fretful sleep.

..

Echoes of bells sounded through the evening air, bringing Roxas to a stop just inside an elaborate iron gate. His eyebrows rose in bored curiosity, and he wondered how much he would have to put up with those bells during his 240, long, hours here.

A well worn path led past him, drawing a gray line through a sea of headstones. He followed the path with his eyes until he noticed a stone building in the distance. At the very top sat the tolling bell.

Already, clouds blocked out a good deal of the sunlight, and large, looming trees covered much of the rim of the cemetery. Cawing birds made themselves known in the distance. A glimpse of dark water was visible through branches in the distance. Adding the echoing sound of bells did not help the atmosphere whatsoever. Throw a couple cobwebs over some of the headstones and dim the sun, and you would have the setting for one hell of a bad horror movie.

Even as he rolled his eyes and strolled down the path, the ominous bells continued their laughter.

At least he didn't seem to be late. Around ten others around his age were standing around in a gaggle near the stone building, all wearing the same mandatory neon vest. Dreading every second of this, Roxas took every opportunity to stop and stare at some of the more obscure or ornate headstones, but a towering stone carved into the twisting, writhing shape of a basilisk made him walk a bit faster.

He was greeted with a nonchalant glance by their designated watchdog, a mouth breather named Seifer. Roxas flipped his hood up and stepped to the side so he was behind a wavy haired boy. He and Seifer never had the pleasure of sharing the same elbow room, and if possible he wanted to keep it that way.

"Looks like we are still missing…" Seifer paused to count them. In front of Roxas, the wavy haired boy muttered something under his breath and snickered. "Alright, so we are waiting on two morons... Screw it. We're getting to work. I don't want to be here all night, got it?"

Roxas rose up on his tip toes when he heard the shuffle of papers and saw the others passing around a stack of papers. As soon as each person got their sheet they started wandering back down the path, some paired up and others apparently decided to become the next target of a serial killer or a demon; because why else would you wander a cemetery alone? The guy in front of him turned around to pass Roxas a sheet, not bothering to look up from his own.

"Great," the guy frowned at his sheet and propped a hand upon his hip. "I hate going near the lake. You get anything good, new guy?"

Staring down at his own sheet, a list of gravestones by name and location, Roxas suddenly felt years worth of weariness fall on his shoulders. He needed a drink. "What, did they give me the whole cemetery? I'm going to have grandchildren before I can finish this list."

Laughing, the guy looked up from his own list and cocked his head to the side, grin firmly in place. "So that's a no? Let me see," he plucked the sheet from Roxas' hand and held it between his thumb and forefinger. His coffee brown eyes glanced up between Roxas and the list. "Ugh. You're in the same boat as me, man. I always get stuck working lakeside. Sucks eggs."

Roxas retrieved his list with a quiet sigh before stepping away and tucking it into his back pants pocket. "Great."

The guy merely grinned and gave Roxas a firm slam on the back, causing him to stumble forward a step. "Ah, don't worry! You get used to the frogs," he started up the path. "Just follow me, I'll walk you over. Oh and, uh, the name's Hayner."

Roxas followed him silently, but Hayner didn't seem to mind. He seemed content to do most of the talking, and making crude comments about some of the more unique gravestones. He eventually led Roxas up a hill, to a high ledge overlooking a dark, still lake surrounded with vegetation. Up higher on the hill sat lines of headstones and numerous empty plots. It seemed to be far more seclusive, as in, a very expensive stretch of land to park your body in for eternity.

Hayner nudged him and pointed down the hill, past a line of trees to another stretch of gravestones; where Roxas would be working. Which is when Hayner made a pained face and left with a wave, sighing something about getting his own work over with.

Roxas did the same, mind going in a million directions as he pulled weeds out from where they grew around the gravestones. If he only spent two hours at the cemetery, then he would have time to take the laundry down the block and get it started before his night shift at work. In his spare time, perhaps he could google the inventor of jelly, go back in time, and kick him solidly in the groin.

Gravestone after gravestone, he cleared away what might have been weeks or months of plant growth and dirt. No stone seemed completely forgotten, however. Most of the stones on the hill had some object or vase of flowers leaning on them, symbols of loved ones visits. He was careful not to mess them up.

The whole job was messier than he expected, and before long he had dirt and grass stains all along his jeans. Flecks of dirt and mud were spackled up and down his hands and arms. And somewhere back up on the hill was his sanity.

Dropping his small provided bag, Roxas wandered back down the hill until he was closer to the water and collapsed against the base of a willow tree. He had just started stretching his legs out, testing how far he was from the edge, when he noticed a dark shape in the bushes beside him. At first he shrugged and just leaned back against the tree, soaking in the nonexistent sunlight.

It didn't take long before curiosity got the better of him.

On his hands and knees, Roxas reached into the shrubbery and shifted the foliage aside. The curved edge of a gravestone was brought into the light.

He wondered what the person had done to have his grave forgotten like this. The thought made his gut clench. It was such a lonely thought.

He released the bush, covering the stone again, and quickly stood to leave.

Yet despite how he originally hurried from the grave like its occupant was climbing out to greet him, he found himself sitting in that same spot day after day. The willow tree and its swaying tendrils offered the perfect cover. No one ever noticed him lounging, taking a break from the depressing labor.

But try as he might, he couldn't ignore the grave.

"I don't know how they expect me to finish this in one day. I'm only one guy," under the willow tree, Roxas dropped his chin into his palm and leaned forward onto his criss crossed legs to stare at the list laying on the grass in front of him. If it blew away, then that was nature's will. Nothing he could do about that. "Seifer must be the one making these lists. That would be just my luck."

He leaned his head back as he took a long swig out of a small silver flask. Burning relief slid down his throat and eased the tension in his shoulders as well as the his stressed mind. Which made it easier to overlook the fact that he was talking to a grave. There was a lot he could overlook with vodka lime in his belly.

"He's such a asshole," Roxas flicked the flask shut and stuffed it away for later use. "I mean, he was a jerk even before he thought he was better than everyone."

There was obviously no reply, and he didn't expect one. He was just complaining for the sake of complaining anyway.

It had been three weeks since he started this little adventure in the cemetery, and with every passing day he wondered just how much of his sanity he was losing that he found talking to lonely old stones a passable alternative to human communication.

His only excuse he allowed himself was the vodka lime in his pocket.

He wasn't lonely.

Right?

"Lonely," Roxas soured at the thought. "Not a chance. Why would I be lonely? I have the boys and mom." And exactly no one else.

His mind picked that line of thought up, turned it around, and gave it a quick boot to the butt to get it moving away. In its place, a much more positive idea formed. Roxas ran a hand through his hair, considering it quietly, before shrugging. He turned to face the gravestone and began brushing aside some of the shrubbery to try and peer at the face. It was caked in dirt so he scrubbed at it to reveal the information he was sure was there.

After thorough scrubbing, Roxas had enough dirt on his sleeve to make his mother cry but the face of the simple, curved stone was revealed. He sat back with a grin and read. Under the layers of dirt and grime, lay faded lettering spelling out:

'Axel Sinclair

1889-1917'

Revealing the name on the stone made Roxas' fingers twitch for his flask. He felt uncomfortable, sad even, and not quite knowing why only put his already overloaded head through more confusion. Sinking back against the tree, Roxas rubbed his forehead and stared at the gravestone.

His eyes fell on the dirt caking his hand and sleeve then to the lonely, abandoned gravestone, quietly considering.

There would be no one waiting for him at home today; his mother would be on the night shift and his brothers had wanted to stay the night at Riku's apartment. If he stayed longer, no one should notice. His homework might keep him up late if he put it off, but that was a mild problem. The apartment needed some heavy cleaning and he had to press his work uniform for tomorrow, but maybe… Maybe for once he had the option of doing something he truly wanted to do.

The bushes would definitely give him the most trouble, he decided as he shifted closer to the gravestone. They would have to be moved or trimmed, and since he didn't have any shears on hand it appeared he would have to dig deep for some muscle to yank them out of the ground. He steadied himself on his knees, took a breath, and pulled hard.

His very next field of vision showed the clear evening sky, sun setting and turning the clouds a cotton candy color. Apparently, as his sore backside could now attest to, the bush was not held very securely in the ground. The other shrubs surrounding the stone came up just as easily and he tossed them to the side.

The sun had fallen just below the skyline when he finished scrubbing the stone clean of dirt and yanking a entire family, women and children included, of growing weeds and ivy away from its base. The resulting product was still far from pretty, the stone was darkened from deeply ingrained dirt, but the sight quelled the strange sadness he felt.

"I guess," he mused as he stared at the name on the stone. "Maybe I just know what it's like to be a nobody."

Collapsing back against the willow, Roxas took a long drink and just stared at the lake in front of him, his eyes feeling dry and weary.

He blinked and the world had changed.

Sitting up abruptly, Roxas gawked at the star dusted sky in horror. "When did I-?"

The echo of a bell caught his voice, silencing it. It echoed three times.

"Three o' clock? No no no ," he groaned loudly and slapped his forehead. There was no chance of him getting anymore sleep now, not with the homework load he still had to finish. His hand covered his eyes as he gritted his teeth. He couldn't afford to make mistakes like this. "What am I going to do ?"

His chest heaved as he raked his spare hand through his hair and pulled. "I can't fail this test, I can't ." When he tried to move his other hand up to his face, he finally noticed the gentle weight encasing it.

Someone was holding his hand.

Roxas' eyes snapped open, only to find that his hand was all alone. Yet a pervasive warmth was still surrounding it, grasping it. He lifted it to his face slowly and inspected it with a bewildered expression. The hold loosened, shifted, as Roxas moved his hand through the air, but it never left completely.

"What…" he wondered out loud, flexing his fingers experimentally. "I think… I think I drank too much." It was solid reasoning, even though he had never experienced invisible hand holding during previous binges. His imagination must be going haywire, and yet, despite that...

He couldn't bring himself to leave right away.

As strange as it sounded, sitting there under the willow tree, the shimmering lake in the background, vividly imagining his hand being held … a touch of contented calm fell over his thoughts. Peace. He didn't go so far as to pretend to hold the touch back, but did he relax against the tree.

Later, when he left the cemetery that night, he paused at the gate and looked back over his shoulder, his hand still tingling with leftover warmth.

..

With each passing day he spent more and more time under the willow tree, waiting to feel that gentle warmth on his hand again. It had made him feel normal for the smallest second, for the span of a few exhausted breathes, and he wanted that back. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

The touch never came again, and eventually he began to close his eyes and try to force himself to imagine it again. No face seemed to match with the hand, so he left that part of his imagination blank. He could picture it and think of the feel, but the same warmth wasn't there. He even tried pretending it was Axel Sinclair, a very dead stranger sitting beside him under the willow, holding his hand.

He tried drinking more and then a little less, only to get frustrated and throw his flask into the lake. It caught on a clump of foliage at the edge and he was more than a little ashamed that he wanted to climb down the ledge to get it.

Nothing worked. His days at the cemetery remained uneventful and his hand remained cold on his lap.

It seemed whatever peace he had found that night under the willow tree was gone.

But now, sitting where he sat, looking at the scene before him, Roxas could have really used that peace.

"Did you hear what I said, Mr. Starkov?"

Roxas didn't take his eyes off of Ventus.

Behind him he heard the doctor sigh quietly, and then the faint shuffle of papers on a clipboard. "We really do need your mother here. There is going to be paperwork, insurance forms to be signed-"

"I can take care of that," Roxas stated firmly, reaching forward to run his finger along Ventus' little, bone white hand.

An uncomfortable silence passed and he made a face.

"Mr. Starkov," the doctor set his hand on Roxas' shoulder. "It might be hours before he wakes up. Let him sleep and go pick up your mother. You're just a boy yourself, none of you should be alone right now."

Roxas' little metal chair made an awful shriek as he jumped to his feet and rounded on the doctor, eyes wide with anger. "You expect me to leave him here alone? That's not even in the realm of okay! There's just no way," he shook his head rapidly. "I can't let him wake up alone."

"You need to go."

"How can you say that!?" Roxas cried out, foot stomping hard. "He's just a little boy! He was fine a few hours ago! Just fine!"

The doctor laid a heavy hand on Roxas' shoulder, unperturbed by his anger. "He will be fine . It's like I told you, it's just a problem with his new medication," a frown marred his aged face. His nose crinkled and he stared at Roxas appraisingly.

Anger, and every other semblance of color and life, drained from Roxas' expression.

"Have you been drink-?"

"Fine! I'm leaving," he shoved past the man and out into the hallway, shaking slightly.

The past few hours played on a constant loop behind his eyes. It had gone wrong so fast.

Work had dragged on and he had finally gotten home, only to find the lights off. He had been all set to panic, his hand hovering with his cell phone, when a thick head of brunet hair popped up over the back of the couch and grinned at him.

"Roxas! Wanna play hide and seek? We turned the lights off to make it extra fun!" Sora asked, expression full of pride.

"Sora…" Roxas' shoulders slumped and he let out a long, ragged breath. The shot he had swiped at work had done little to ease the tension in his shoulders.

His hand twitched, but his flask wasn't there to reach for.

"You're just going to get hurt playing in the dark," he said softly.

"No, I won't!" Sora pleaded, bouncing back on his heels.

Roxas shook his head and sighed again. "Come on now, let's find Ven and get you to bed."

Only, when he called out for Ventus, he didn't receive an answer. Every second he spent searching for him after that was like a knife slowly pushing into his heart, and finding him, curled up and half conscious in the pantry, was the final push.

A car honked loudly and Roxas blinked, confused.

How he managed to stumble out of the building was honestly beyond his understanding, because he couldn't remember walking, let alone riding down an elevator and going through several sets of doors. Now he stood on the front steps, rain soaking his shoulders and hair.

Mom.

Anger and determination rose up in him, clouding the fear and heartache. She knew about Ventus' problems. So how could she ignore a ringing phone? This was far from the first hospital visit Ventus ever had in his life, and while this one wasn't life threatening, she should care enough to be there.

He wiped water from his brow and frowned at the night sky before ducking around the side of the hospital, flipping the hood of his jacket up. Rain was cascading off the ledges of the buildings, creating small waterfalls that, in the alley, were difficult to avoid.

Whatever. He needed a shower anyway. The smell of alcohol was still seeping from his skin;

The farther he got from the hospital the faster he moved, despite being thoroughly wet and aching as his soaking jeans were ground against his thighs. It made him feel like cheese fighting against a grater. But that didn't matter to him. All that mattered was getting across town to his mother's workplace and dragging her back to the hospital.

Cars sped by, honking when he crossed the road a little too recklessly.

When he sped around the next corner, heart pounding, he froze. Farther down the street was a familiar sight, the imposing length of elaborate iron work that made up the front gate and fences of the local cemetery. He ached, physically ached to go inside. Yet at the same time, he felt eternally foolish. It would only be a bad idea to go in.

Besides… he had no excuse to go in.

Roxas bit his lip and jammed his hands into his pockets, about to continue on, but suddenly his empty pockets reminded him: his flask was still stuck in some bushes by the lake.

Maybe… he thought, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Yeah. I just need to hurry.

Turning back toward the gate, he moved with purpose, hurrying along the fence and allowing his fingers to graze the cold bars as he passed.

The cemetery was dark and still, but it was anything but quiet. As he entered and darted down the correct path, the sound of bells reverberated throughout the grounds. They drowned out the rapid pace of his footsteps and the hooting of the owls. All living things were made silent as the bells tolled three, long times.

Roxas squinted off into the distance, vision not altogether reliable at the moment, and thought he saw the willow tree. The trees all seemed to blend together in the darkness so he couldn't be sure. They looked the same. Eventually he veered off of the path, feeling less confident about his nighttime navigation skills as he went.

It only took one more step for him to realize he went too far. With the echo of the bell tower still fresh in his mind, laughing at him, he tumbled forward over the ledge and into the dark lake below.

Gasping, Roxas slammed his eyes shut and waited for the icy impact.

Only it never came.

The distinct feel of a hand holding his jarred his brain out of its shocked state. Gingerly turning around, Roxas stared incredulously back into delighted jade green eyes.

Firm, warm , hands tugged him back away from the edge and Roxas gasped as he was yanked into an embrace. For a long moment, he stood frozen- despite the burning heat radiating off the man like he was the personification of Burning Man.

Overwhelming relief currently held first place for the strangest of his emotions. It didn't make any logical sense, but he knew those hands. They were the same ones that held his all those weeks ago. The same ones he hadn't been able to forget.

"Axel?" Roxas whispered, voice trembling.

The chest his face was smashed into rumbled as the man let out a light chuckle. Then Roxas' face was being lifted, and though it was impossible, he swore the person staring down at him was not opaque. It was like looking at someone from the corner of your eye. They were fuzzy and clear at the same time. You could recognize them as a person, but...

His thoughts melted into nothing as those smiling green eyes moved closer, until they were a breath away.

"Nice to meet you, Roxas."

The peace that filled his soul when those warm lips touched his was indescribable.