Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. This is a not-for-profit completely self indulgent fanwork.
I.
He kept having these dreams.
Demyx didn't have a whole lot to do. Vexen's words were lie low, which was an order he had no problems following. He kept moving, spending a handful of hours here, a handful of hours there. Often, he slept to pass the time, and seemed to wake up more tired than before. He dreamt too much to get rest from sleep. Dreams about… color, mostly, bright purples and teals and pinks and white buildings. Heartless and monsters and more than that, Keyblades.
It hadn't been the first time he'd had subconscious fireworks like these. They'd been there for a long time, but he hadn't attributed much meaning to them. There were always Heartless, always colorful worlds. But now?
You four will reveal your greatest secret of all; the ancient Keyblade legacy that slumbers inside you.
Xemnas's words nagged him endlessly. He tried not to dwell on them, but the more he dreamt, the more he was convinced that these weren't dreams at all, but memories.
It didn't make sense. All these years of being the weak one, the coward, the benched spare, and now this? How much of it was just another set of lies? And why had he let himself be swept back into the Organization in the first place?
He laid low. Kept moving. Kept waiting.
The thing about traveling from world to world meant time got screwy. It could have been weeks, or months, or days. Nobody came after him, called him to be unbenched. He was beyond under the radar. The sense of freedom was both exhilarating and terrifying. If they found out what he'd done, he and Vexen would be dead for sure.
But would it matter? He'd just be un-Nobodied again. He didn't remember the second transformation, not really. It had been quick. Painless. Xigbar had insisted it was his choice, though why he would have chosen this was anybody's guess. Was he really so gullible?
Probably.
More hours of negative time. He wondered if Roxas were back yet, if Ienzo had figured it out. Roxas'd really had it rough. And maybe this crazy plan was right, and he really could help. The more Demyx thought about it, the more he believed Xehanort was wrong. Why do all that work, anyway? The dude really needed some hobbies.
After what felt like a long time, something changed.
A vicious storm kicked up on the world he was on, battering him with wind and rain. Cold and miserable, he hid in a cave and tried his best to siphon water out of his clothes. The dampness felt bone-deep.
That was about when the pain started.
It felt like indigestion at first, which was all-too-probable considering the questionable things he'd been eating lately. He lay down and the pressure sharpened, catching under his breastbone and making his heart race. He hoped he hadn't done anything stupid like accidentally poison himself, which would figure.
Again, it was hard to tell how much time was passing, but with each breath the pain seemed to worsen, like something inside him was dying, and it clicked.
The bit of Xehanort's heart. Was this what it meant to be "unbenched?"
The agony immobilized him. Why had he done this? Why had he gone back to them? He didn't want this, he didn't know what he wanted, anything but this-
He must've blacked out.
The wind still howled outside. Demyx sat up slowly. He was shaky and cold and sticky with sweat, but the pain was gone. He felt at his ears-smooth, unpointed. Every muscle trembled with weakness.
He had to find Vexen. Vexen would know what had happened. He could help him. This was all his fault, somehow. After far too long he stood and nearly fainted, his vision threatening blackness. He pulled for a dark corridor but it didn't want to come. It took three more tries but even then the stabbing pain in his chest choked off any breath.
Just a bit farther.
He fell onto his knees in Radiant Garden. Looking up the long slope of stairs into the castle, he about cried. The air here was bitterly freezing. He hugged himself tightly and tried to find the strength to get up, or even to cast Cure. His vision blurred.
"Demyx? What on earth are you doing here?"
He could've shouted with relief at the familiar voice. As it was, he could barely turn his head towards Dilan, everything swimming.
The man approached him warily, but then his eyes widened.
"Vexen," was all Demyx could manage before passing out again.
It was warm here.
He woke up slowly. Everything hurt, like he'd had the worst workout of his life. Especially the muscles in his chest. He felt like he'd been stabbed.
At least this bed was comfortable.
It took awhile for things to sharpen and become clear and for his thoughts to feel more coherent. Where was he? Had he found Vexen? What the hell had happened?
He sat up, expecting from some vaporous part of his mind to see the piercing whiteness of the Castle, but this room was a pale green with an old, crumbling dresser and a small table with a washbasin. His coat was neatly folded on a chair, but thankfully he hadn't been undressed farther than that.
He got up. Strange pinpricks of feeling washed over him in little waves, twisting his empty stomach into an anxious knot. This didn't feel like whispers of Nobody emotion, but he'd been so sick it was hard to tell. Demyx slid on the coat. It smelled like it had been freshly washed. He splashed some water on his face and caught his reflection in the small mirror above the basin.
His eyes had gone back to teal.
"How-" he asked out loud, but before he could so much as complete the thought, he heard the wooden door creak open. He froze.
"...I thought I heard something," Ienzo said. "I think it's time we had that chat." He smiled.
Demyx found himself seated in a cramped kitchen, nursing sweet tea as Ienzo cooked oatmeal.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Ienzo said. Demyx couldn't get over how odd he looked without his Organization cloak. "Even was worried, but I knew you'd come around."
He clutched his mug tightly, as though for support. "What happened?" he asked finally. "Why are my-" He touched the skin under his eyes. It seemed difficult to talk.
"I admit we were confused about that at first, but it's really quite simple. When Xehanort was killed, the piece of his heart that had been put inside you must have been purged. Even went through the same thing. So the good news is that you're a vessel no longer."
"I'm… not?"
"It seems like you were one of the lucky ones," Ienzo said. He ladled out two bowls and placed one in front of Demyx. "If you had been a true vessel, you probably would have perished."
He looked down at the food. Thoughts pinged off the inside of his skull too quickly to keep track of.
"It'll take time for your heart to grow back and for you to adjust. Thankfully, time is something we have a lot of now." He smiled. "Roxas and Naminé send their thanks. It's partially because of you, after all, that they became their own people again."
Demyx couldn't speak. His throat felt tight and painful; it took far too long to register the fact that he was feeling something for the first time in years.
"You must be overwhelmed," Ienzo continued. "I assume this reticence will pass. You should eat. Get your strength back."
It was hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. Ienzo had sweetened the oatmeal with sugar and honey, and for some reason this worsened the pain. Demyx realized in an odd moment of clarity that he wasn't used to people being nice to him. All the while Ienzo sat across from him with a patient look in his eye. Finally, after way too long, he asked, "Where are they?"
"Roxas and Naminé? I'm not quite sure. I believe they're in Destiny Islands at the moment, with nearly everyone else."
Tears clouded his vision. He blinked hard, trying to keep it together, but they ran anyway. He drew a shaky breath. Ienzo handed him a cloth napkin.
"Your heart might not take that long after all," Ienzo said lightly.
"Did you just crack a joke?" Demyx asked between sobs.
"I do have a sense of humor," he said. "Why don't you come get some rest?"
He slept most of the first day, and part of the second. Dreamless.
The third day it rained. In the stale cluttered mess that was once the castle's lab, Even checked Demyx's vitals, taking notes and muttering to himself.
"You seem physically healthy," he said. He sounded bored. "Now, tell me, what was the process like for you? I'm still trying to understand it." The familiar inquisitive glint was back in his acidic green eyes. "We were the last two Nobodies whose reformation didn't necessitate some sort of murder-suicide. It goes against almost everything we've learned so far."
Demyx hesitated. "...Painful," he said.
Even waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, he scowled. "I seem to recall a time when I could not get you to shut up. Now, when there's actually matters of interest, suddenly you become as taciturn as Aeleus."
Demyx looked down at his lap. Even clicked his tongue in frustration.
"I'm trying to understand so that I can help you," Even said slowly, as if he were talking to a child.
Demyx struggled to find the words. "It just started hurting at one point," he said.
"Your heart?"
"Yes. Well, I guess not technically. And then the pain just got worse, and I felt like I was dying, and then I tried to open a corridor to find you, but it took a few tries. I passed out and then when I woke up it was gone." He hoped that was enough to sate Even's curiosity. He didn't feel much like talking. Mostly he was just tired, and achy, and slightly numb in a scary way.
Even scribbled rapidly. "Yes. Yes, my experience was similar. Did you experience weakness, feverishness, and delirium as well?"
"Well I did have dreams-but they've stopped."
"What kind of dreams?" Even asked. He stared Demyx down.
"I… I don't know. This place I don't quite remember. Something about Keyblades."
"...Fascinating," Even mumbled. "I wonder if you were seeing some of Xehanort's memories."
"...Maybe," Demyx said. He didn't like the thought of that at all.
"But if that fragment had bound to you so tightly, I'm surprised it let go as easily as it did. Perhaps Xehanort willed it when he passed."
Demyx shrugged.
Even peered deeply into his eyes, as though searching for some fleck of gold left behind. "I have a favor to ask of you," he said. He fished around in a drawer and pulled out a plain notebook. "Keep track of your dreams to see if anything like that happens again. I will as well. Maybe we can divine some meaning from them."
Demyx sighed. "Homework?"
"This is for the advancement of important scientific research!" Even snapped. "Don't you see what we can learn?" He shut his eyes tightly. "Why did it have to be you," he muttered, under his breath but not softly enough.
"Good question," Demyx said. He took the notebook. "I'm gonna go now."
In a haze, he set off down the hallway. This castle was basically a labyrinth; he kept getting turned around. He didn't even have a direct destination and yet still it pissed him off. What if he had to get somewhere?
It was also unnerving just how uninhabited this place was. There were maybe six of them here, and yet the place was huge. Maybe if it weren't in a highly populated world it would seem less out of place, but the ambient creaking of pipes and whooshing of air in vents just made him feel… weird.
One of these days Demyx had to get to town. Get some fresh air. Figure out what the hell he was going to do now.
He stumbled upon a library. The ambient smell of dust was overwhelming, and he sneezed. Little motes glittered in the rays of sunlight from the long, high windows. The carpet, though dirty, was thick, and absorbed all sound.
He hadn't really, truly played sitar in days. He guessed this place probably had decent acoustics. He climbed up the wide staircase to the first landing and sat down in the sunlight. He reached to summon his sitar.
And felt nothing.
Normally the connection was instantaneous. Maybe, somehow, he was still weak from recompletion, or whatever. He tried again, pulled hard. Nothing. Another try. Just dryness. His breaths were coming faster now, less controlled. No, no. He just had to relax. He was psyching himself out. He shook himself out, cracked his neck, took a few deep breaths to try and lower his heart rate.
He tried to summon one last time, and was left with handfuls of dead air.
Demyx stood and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could, so clumsily that he tripped on the last two and fell painfully on his left knee. He got up and kept running, tightness constricting his throat and chest. He needed to find someone who could fix this-Ienzo or Even-
Up ahead Aeleus was strolling down the hallway, carrying an armload of boxes. He turned, a befuddled look on his face. Demyx had to stop to avoid colliding right into him. His knee was smarting terrifically.
"...Demyx?" he asked.
He couldn't breathe, but it had nothing to do with his mad dash. Something was unraveling. "Tell me," he all but yelled. "Your tomahawk-do you still have it?"
Aeleus blinked, taking in his disheveled and panicked appearance. Slowly, he shook his head.
"What about Dilan's lances? Or Even's shield? Or Ienzo's lexicon? Do any of us still have our weapons?"
"We have no need for such things anymore."
"But can we."
Aeleus shut his eyes.
Demyx leaned against the wall, thick panic overtaking him. No, I don't want this either. He's wrong. He has to be wrong-
"Are you alright?" Aeleus asked.
Demyx tried to push past him, but Aeleus grabbed his shoulder. Powers or not, his grip was like iron, and Demyx could not get free.
"You must stop panicking," Aeleus said. "We will figure this out."
Demyx seized Aeleus's wrist with both hands, but still couldn't get it to budge.
"Take a deep breath."
He did as he was told. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The second breath was easier, the following easier still. He felt so weak that he found he was relying on Aeleus's grip to stay standing, holding tightly to his hand instead of fighting it.
"We should go see Even," Aeleus said.
"Your stuff," Demyx said.
"It's not urgent."
So again he found himself back in the dank basement lab. Aeleus disappeared, leaving Demyx wanting the small modicum of comfort that his presence had given. He sat on his hands.
"...Our powers are gone?" he asked dully.
"In all probability-yes. It's unusual for humans to have abilities as specific and powerful as we did." Even's eyes were stony.
"Can I get it back?"
"I never thought you cared about fighting."
"This isn't about fighting," he said. "Without my sitar, I-"
Even's lip curled. "Oh. That. I'm not certain what I could do for you, Demyx."
A few beats of silence. He felt numb, disembodied.
"You could have a look in the marketplace. You might find something there that might help you make noise." He said this with an exasperated toss of his hair. "Now if that is all you're concerned about, I have work I need to tend to."
A cutting remark caught under the lump in his throat. For the second time that day, Demyx stormed off.
It was still raining.
The steady patter of the storm against the window was something to hold onto. He felt like he were being suspended over a pit, about to fall.
There was a knock at the bedroom door. He exhaled.
Ienzo poked his head in. He carried a small bundle of fabric. "Sorry to intrude. Ansem suggested you might like something else to wear, other than… that." He gestured to the cloak. "Doubtful you'll need its protection any time soon."
Demyx said nothing.
Ienzo put the clothes on the dresser. He crossed his arms tightly for a moment, then let go. "I realize this process has not been easy for you-" He tripped over his words, clearly uncomfortable.
An understatement.
"I failed to make the connection. I didn't realize that gaining your humanity would result in another type of loss. But of course your connection to your power must have run deeply."
"It's just always been there," he said. "I feel like part of me has died."
A long moment of silence. "Yes. I imagine it would."
"Don't you feel the same way?" Demyx asked, turning fully towards him for the first time. "I mean, in a sick way, becoming Nobodies kind of brought out the best parts of us."
Ienzo's gaze dropped to the floor, his hair almost entirely obscuring his face. Quite quietly, he said, "I disagree."
Demyx felt his face flush. He'd been there for the emotional reunion between Ansem the Wise-in a way he had made it happen-but of course at the time he hadn't put any significance in it, because it hadn't affected him. Of course Ienzo would feel that way. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. A hot feeling washed over him. How could he take it back? It was true, after all, for him.
"I'll let you rest," Ienzo said, and left.
He took a bath, his first in far too long. Washing up in streams and with powers could only do so much good. Despite the knots of tension and gross, sticky emotion welling up inside of him, the warm water was soothing. He hadn't meant to linger longer than necessary, but the quiet and warmth made it easier to think. Each revelation was bigger and messier than the last.
He was human.
No more Xehanort, no more vessel. For the first time in years he was his own person again. Not Demyx the Nobody, not Demyx the benched. Just… whoever this person left behind was. How much of his personality was just a lie based on memory?
He was powerless.
He'd miss it, but he could deal without power over water. It was dead practical and it could be gorgeous at times, too. Yet for the longest time his sitar was the only constant in his life, in a time without friends or even alliances. He'd always told himself he didn't need any of that. Not if he had music. And to a degree Even was right; Arpeggio wasn't the only instrument that existed. It just that that sitar knew him so well; it was laced not so much with feeling, but with memory. It had seen what he'd seen, done most of what he'd done. It was basically the only part of him worth salvaging, and now it was gone.
He was stuck here.
No power meant no dark corridors. For the foreseeable future, he was stuck here in Radiant Garden. And he'd just snapped at the one person who had shown him any least bit of kindness.
So, really, he was fucked.
