Note: First fanfic, so go easy on me. Birth by Sleep has taken over my fagirling, and I couldn't rest until this was written. It's dark, twisted, and a 'what if?' But I think it could be plausible. I shit you not.
Disclaimer: None of the characters or the game belongs to me.
What About Now?
I remember the first time you left.
I was three, then. Because mom died the same time my sorry ass was born, I was on my own a lot. What I remember was how much you talked about the Keyblade, and how one day you said you would master the darkness and maybe even take on Apprentices.
You never really were happy to see me, were you? I could tell. I can still tell. I'm not as stupid as you think. There was no pride, no smiles; there was nothing. It was almost as if you were ashamed that I was your son. It hurt. It hurt so bad.
It was while I was growing up that I really started to notice how little you cared about me. You were never home; you were always out 'working,' whatever that meant. I don't know. All I know is that it remained the same old thing: you never praised me, only belittled me. You didn't want to hear about my dreams, my aspirations. You didn't care about me at all. It was too bad that I sucked up to you to the point that I considered you a hero. I wanted you to be proud of me, more than anything.
You never showed any pride in my case.
Sixteen rolled around, and by then you told me you were going away for a long, long time.
You didn't lie.
For sixteen fucking years.
You were out of my life for half of it.
I waited for you for sixteen years. You never once checked in, or came to see how I was doing. For sixteen whole years, I hadn't heard a word from you. Oh wait, you would send a letter here and there telling all about how you were doing and how your life was going. There wasn't once you asked how I'd been. On top of that, I could never respond on the count there was no source. Your letters would just... come.
I was all grown up, a big boy. Thirty-two. I was still young, but not young enough.
You know what else I remember about you? You always told me that you would be proud of me if I became a Keyblade wielder like you. For sixteen years, and before that, I dreamed of that day that I got one of those mythical blades in my hands. Over time, and due to your absence and neglect, I got obsessed with it. Big time. It got so bad that it was all I thought about.
Oh! During your extremely extended absence, I became Ansem's personal hitman. I helped keep the town clean for him, and kind of guarded the castle. Then, of course, I always had an awesome aim. The best in Radiant Garden. Though, all you ever cared about were Keyblades. It didn't matter if I was talented in a different area. It was Keyblade this, Keyblade that. That was all it ever was... when I actually saw you.
Anyway, I digress.
When I was thirty-two, you magically popped back into my life and started telling me all this crazy shit. You wanted this Kingdom Hearts, and to have ultimate knowledge... I think. You told me about the darkness, and how rewarding the powers from it were.
Your talk about darkness got me hooked. I fell right into your trap.
I mean, come on! I could defy fucking gravity and manipulate space! I loved it, and I still do. Walking upside down, warping; it was incredible. Darkness helped me do that, along with your influence.
Alas, you still ceased to be proud of me. I still couldn't wield a Keyblade, only darkness. So, of course, my obsession grew even more. It got out of hand and ate away at my very being. I would get physically sick.
You started telling me about this Keyblade wielder kid, and how your colleague was training him to be a Master. You, of course, were already a Master. You told me you had this plan to fake kidnapping at my hand. I would get a chance to get his Keyblade, and you would... well... I think you wanted to mess with the darkness in his heart.
Like the dumbass I am, I agreed.
I found ways to get back at you, sure. I stopped calling you 'dad' and replaced it with 'Master.' It was like I was your Apprentice or something. That backfired, though, as you didn't notice the change in the slightest.
Anyway, I fought that Keyblade wielder, got permanently disfigured, and fucked up what was left of my pathetic life.
I went batshit insane. Even more so than I could have imagined, or was already. That was it.
So, this is who I am now. Your only son, Braig, who bended over backwards to make you show the littlest bit of acknowledgment of me, but failed...
What about now, dad, what about now?
Note: Feedback is appreciated. By the way, I love Braig. This is not necessarily bashing him, but more of a fun little experiment of mine.
--Nessa