The Hard Part

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, its characters or storyline. This little oneshot is mine. I was really planning on writing a Christmas fic, but this happened instead. I've always been interested in how Sora and his friends fight so earnestly to find and save each other, but they only ever mention their parents ONCE. Even after they get back to Destiny Islands, there's no mention of their parents. So I whipped up this little thing to cheer myself up about the whole ordeal. Merry Christmas everybody!

..:--X-:..

Being ripped away from the only home you've ever known. Waking up in a foreign world. Thrust into the middle of a war against a universal enemy. Finding yourself the lone target of said enemy. Being handed the most pivotal weapon in the war and told to just do it. Bringing down the originator of all Heartless. Having your memories broken apart and dissected, replaced with lies before being broken and repaired again. Battling a new breed of universal enemies and toppling Organization XIII. All the while searching for your missing best friend and eventually having to rescue another close friend…again. Not to mention dealing with some serious identity crisis. Facing the aftermath with a smile.

And he couldn't even legally drive yet.

Sora could cope with all of that. The expectations, or lack thereof, and the confidence, or lack thereof, and the stress, or lack—oh who was he kidding? He was bound to go bald after everything was said and done, no thanks to stress itself.

Still, he could handle all of that, even the less than pleasant falling meteor-esque plummet back to Destiny Islands. This…this was the hard part.

Coming home.

Not just the physical act of coming home…a few thousand meter drop through open air to hot, salty water…Sora shuddered…and not the nice little reunion on the beach with his friends. At least they fully knew and understood what had happened. He hadn't seen his parents in almost two years. What in Kingdom Hearts was he supposed to tell them?

Kairi had been home for a year after their hands broke apart at the End of the World. Then she'd gone missing again for about a week while they finished off Organization XIII. Her advice for breaking his absence and reappearing before his parents had been straight forward.

"Just go in and tell them what happened. They love you and they'll understand."

Well, that advice was about as useful as using a toothpick to pole vault over the ocean. His parents were going to have heart attacks. No, his mom would pass out, wake up, have a heart attack, and die. His dad would go for the old Winchester he always kept by the back door. The man tended to get trigger happy when he panicked like that. Needless to say, April Fools Day was no joke in Sora's house.

These were the thoughts bouncing around in Sora's head as he headed home. They had spent all afternoon over on their island after he and Riku returned. It was surreal, lounging on the sand, playing in the foamy ocean, just leaning against the crooked paopu tree and watching the sun set. King Mickey, Donald, and Goofy had left not long after dusk, having to get back to Disney Castle to settle things down. They had their own joyous reunions to join in.

Sora clasped his hands behind his head, keeping his eyes on his shoes as they kicked through the sand and the dirt as he walked. It was amazing, how different everything seemed. Even the dirt held a level of value he'd never considered before. Suddenly, every blade of grass and every grain of sand was priceless and hard earned. He had sweat for this. He had cried for this. He had bled for this. And no one even remembered.

Kairi had explained it. Sometime around Namine's reconstruction of Sora's memories, there had been a chain reaction that had erased everyone's memories of the Heartless invasion and the destruction of their world. The natives of Destiny Islands all had perfect lapses of recollection. She said Selphie had even forgotten Sora had ever existed. Sora could only hope that wasn't a permanent side effect.

Sora's stepping staggered. What if his parents didn't remember him? Was it possible? To forget you ever had a son? That would make this little reunion even more awkward. Hey, Mom, Dad, you have no idea who I am, but I'm your son, I promise. Yep, little war hero returned from the battle for the universe. Apocalypse averted, thanks to me. Aren't you proud?

Yeah…that'd go over well.

What if things had changed? Destiny Islands looked the same as the night the storm had come, but physiology of the world could only cover so much. Every house was in its right place, the trees were the same, and there were more stars in the sky than Sora had seen in years. None of the little details would matter if he went home and found out it wasn't home anymore. To have his own mother look at him with no sign of recognition: he didn't know if he could take that.

Kairi and Riku remembered him. Then again, they had been through the whole ordeal. Kairi had admitted to not being able to remember him for a while, but that had passed. Sora slowed his pace to a stop, hands still cupped behind his head, elbows sticking out, but arms trembling. This had to be worse than amnesia: mass amnesia circa Sora.

Sighing, he pushed himself forward again and turned the looping corner. His house was the farthest of his friends. Riku and Kairi were no doubt already home and past that awkward 'I'm back' moment. Back into warm, loving arms and the atmosphere of familiarity and family. Unlike them, Sora could only pray that he had that going for him. Hey, if Riku's parents could remember his ugly mug, Sora's parents would surely remember his much more attractive one. Right? Right?!

"Whoa, calm down." He hissed through gritted teeth. "No need to work yourself into hysterics before you even reach the front porch."

Then he was standing in front of the front porch. Sora stopped just shy of the steps, looking up at the old house. It was a small, modest house. Sun-faded turquoise paint covered by tropical vines of a clashing green color. The front porch was bowed on the left side like it always had been. The white paint on the steps' railing was chipped. He could see the chunk missing on the corner where he'd had a bad bike incident. He lowered his arms from his head to his sides with a slap.

No white picket fence or immaculately kept lawn. At least Mom and Dad hadn't used his college money to pay for a groundskeeper yet. The window of his bedroom, to the right of the gable, was exactly where it should be. That meant his room was still there. If his parents had forgotten him, wouldn't they question why their house was equipped with a teenaged boy's bedroom? A small comfort.

The lights were on inside, and he could hear the television's nightly news garbling through the open window in the vicinity of the living room. The beige curtains were rustling in the night breeze, distorting any peeking into the house. The distinct smell of his mother's cooking (slightly burnt) reached him and Sora found his body trembling. He blinked back the sudden heat stinging the back of his eyes.

"It's okay. It's okay. They'll remember you. They wouldn't forget you." He reassured himself.

Now came the hard part.

Steeling himself, Sora exhaled heavily and lifted a foot to fall on the first step. The wood was hard and solid under him, encouraging him to keep going. Still exhaling, he moved forward, lifting his other foot to rest on the next step, drawing him another step closer to home. Reminding himself to breathe, Sora reached out and brushed his fingers over the worn wooden railing.

The simple realization that the wood didn't shrink away and the house didn't disappear when he blinked was enough to slow his progress, almost overwhelming him as he climbed the steps to the front porch. The porch was just large enough to hold a suspended swing and a rusted, antique steel plow. His mom loved antiques. Sora had hated the rusted old thing; it was the source of countless bruises and cuts, the way it blended into the vines like that. Now, Sora could have kissed it.

Upon reaching the porch, he became aware of how close he suddenly was to what had been his past life. Even if his parents remembered him and nothing in his room had changed, everything else had changed. He had fought in a war. He had been exposed to space, and war, and death, and he couldn't just shelve that for the innocent life he'd led before the Heartless. That book was closed. Even if his parents remembered him, they might not recognize him. That hurt worse because at least their total amnesia was a possibility instead of a promise.

Drawing up to the front door, he reached for the handle but paused, his hand inches from the knob. Forcing himself to breathe normally, Sora withdrew for a moment and then lifted his fist. Here it goes, the moment of truth. With white knuckles, he knocked five times on the wood of the door.

"—no word yet on the unusual celestial activity that resulted in a short meteor shower this afternoon." The reporter on the television continued to drone.

Sora waited, his blood pumping through his veins at an elevated rate as his pulse escalated. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, thinking maybe he should knock again, maybe they hadn't heard him.

"Coming! Just a minute!" His mother's cheerful voice quipped from inside.

Sora hadn't realized how much he'd missed her voice. Just her voice! It nearly sent an icy throb through him. The adrenaline was coming faster now, and the heat from that clashed with the icy shock of hearing his mother for the first time in two years. The result was a mild dizzy spell. Blinking repeatedly, Sora shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out at the front lawn. His eyes caught on his bike, tilting against the vinyl siding of the house. The sight strengthened his hope of being remembered.

The knob of the door turned and clicked and Sora returned his gaze to the door with a snap. The door was pulled inward into the house, spilling out a pool of interior lighting. Sora's mom pulled the door completely open, blinking twice as her eyes adjusted and the light hit Sora. She was a petite woman, with boyishly short blond hair tied back in a bandana. She was still in her nurse's scrubs. Her large blue eyes fell on him and a beat passed.

Sora let the lights burn his eyes, refusing to blink for fear of it all disappearing like it had so many times in his dreams. He swallowed hard. Wow, now he really was getting worked up.

"Who is it, Daylia?" His father's voice came from the living room.

Daylia continued to stare at Sora with unreadable eyes and Sora's heart dropped into his stomach. In a last ditch attempt, he took a breath.

"Mom." He meant it to be a strong statement, but it came out as more of a hoarse whimper.

Daylia said nothing. Had his mom been that pale before the invasion? Maybe his own memory was failing him, because he was sure she had had more of a tan and definitely more fire in her eyes. She looked worn out and…defeated. Like she'd given up. Given up on what? Him?

"S-Sora?" His name was uttered softly, barely above a whisper.

Sora fixed his eyes on hers. "Mom?" He repeated.

"Daylia?" His dad said, louder this time.

"Sora!" Daylia cried out.

His mother launched herself out of the light of the house and at her son. Her arms were flung around his neck and locked together like steel bars. Daylia burst into tears, sobbing openly against Sora's chest and pulling him closer, as if trying to fuse herself to him. Sora closed his eyes at her warmth and the agony that was making his mother tremble against him. He lifted his arms around her back and held on for dear life. His head dropped onto her shoulder and he completely fell apart.

"Day—" His father skittered into the hallway, concerned about his wife's screaming.

Sora opened his eyes and met his father's gaze. Sure enough, the Winchester was cocked and loaded in the man's right hand. He went rigid when Sora met his eyes. Daylia was sagging in Sora's arms, dancing the lines of faintness. Sora held onto her and sank with her to his knees, leaning against her as much as she was leaning against him.

"Son?" His father questioned, his voice higher pitched than usual.

Daylia straightened before Sora could answer. "Oh, Sora." She sobbed, her grip frighteningly strong for such a little woman. She was holding onto his shoulders. Without warning, she planted a kiss firmly into his hair.

"Oh, my baby, oh you're home. Are you real?" She cupped his face in her hands, kissing his forehead and then his cheeks and the side of his head and between his eyes and again in the hair. "Sweetheart, oh, Sora, baby, I thought you'd never—oh I knew you'd eventually—I almost thought you were—oh you're home and you're safe!" She burrowed into his neck, the epitome of the jubilant mother.

His father was still shell shocked in the hallway of the house, staring out onto the front porch. Slowly, he disabled the Winchester and set it against the wall, moving forward in a slow motion version of Daylia's reaction.

"Sora?" His gruff voice was heavy with a hopeful disbelief.

"Dad." Sora greeted, willing the strength back into his voice and his knees.

He stood up, bringing his mother with him. Daylia backed up slightly.

"Oh, look at me, falling apart." She brushed off Sora's shoulders, looking him up and down, "Let me get a good look at you." Not a second after she said that, she rushed forward and held him tight again.

It took all over Sora's resolve not to crumble back into a momma's boy mess right there all over again. Instead, he dug in his heels and dropped his cheek against the top of her head, breathing in that maternal smell of baking and sand. It took every fiber of his being to peel himself away from her and face his father.

Chris was a tall, wiry man with tousled brown hair that was curled out of control, bangs falling all around dark hazel eyes. He stood in the threshold of the doorway, an arms' length from his wife's back. Sora disengaged himself from his mother. Tear filled embraces were for Mom, not for Dad. Daylia reluctantly pulled away and wiped at her eyes fruitlessly. She kept a hand firmly around Sora's wrist as though terrified that he'd slip away.

What was it going to be? A light punch on the shoulder? A stern look that said 'You worried your mother.'? Was he just going to keep staring? It was better than snatching up the gun again. None of the above. Chris took a step closer, cautiously, lifting only one hand. Sora braced himself for whatever welcoming his father warranted the situation. His dad tentatively reached out and…poked him.

Sora stood still as Chris prodded at his collarbone with two fingers, testing his solidity. Any other time it would have been amusing. Satisfied that it was flesh and bone he was poking, Chris gripped Sora's shoulder with one hand. His other hand hovered in the empty air, palm extended.

"About damn time you came home." Chris grunted.

Daylia snorted and pulled the bandana out of her air, wiping at her eyes and her nose with it.

Sora smiled hesitantly, clasping the offered hand with his own. "Sorry, Dad."

Chris gave Sora's hand one hard shake and then pulled him close, wrapping his free arm around his son's back. Sora stumbled slightly and collided with his dad's shoulder, allowing himself to relax.

They remembered. They hadn't forgotten him. Of course they hadn't forgotten him. He was their son. He'd wrought enough havoc for the last sixteen years to make it impossible for them to forget him. Still, the relief was enough to steal the strength from Sora's knees. He swayed on his feet, swallowed up in his father's bear hug.

Then Daylia had thrown herself against Sora's back, wrapping her arms around Sora and latching onto Chris's sides, making an effective Sora Sandwich. The best kind, Sora thought, feeling his mom mumbling something, but her voice was muffled against his back. He smiled anyway and reached around to pat her awkwardly on the back.

Chris pulled away first, giving Sora the same once-over that Daylia had attempted earlier. Unlike his wife, he didn't burst into tears and throttle him. "You grew."

Ah, Dad, ever the eloquent one.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

Well, guess that's where Sora got it from.

Chris clapped his palm against the side of Sora's face, ruffling his hair and chuckling when the spikes settled right back into place. Daylia stood between her boys, the shortest in the family now, each arm hooked around one of them.

"You ARE taller! Oh, I bet you're hungry! Teenaged boys are always hungry, and mine's back now, so let the cooking commence!" Daylia announced, tugging Sora and Chris back into the house. "Anything you want! Ham? Potatoes? Pizza? Cookies?"

"Go ahead of fix all of it, dear." Chris instructed. As Daylia bobbed toward the kitchen, Chris met Sora's questioning eyebrow, "It relaxes her."

Sora nodded understandingly, sinking onto the plush red couch beside his dad before the television, the uprising of emotion balling in his chest and momentarily making him choke. Chris patted him on the back and settled into his seat. It went quiet for a moment. Sora could sense the questions. Through the happiness of his return, he could feel the 'Where were you?', 'What happened?', and 'Is everything okay?' plaguing his parents' minds. Well, there would be plenty of time for that.

He tried to convey that to his father with a smirk, leaning back in the chair amidst the clatter of cooking pots and chopping knives. Chris received the message and nodded, propping his feet up on the coffee table, plucking the remote from the armrest.

"You wanna watch the game?" He asked.

Sora smiled broadly, "Would I ever, Dad."

As his father flicked to the sports channel, Sora settled contentedly into the couch again. The hardest part was over. He'd broken the ice and his parents had recognized him and welcomed him back. He was back. He sighed, in perfect contentment. Listening to the sports' commentators detail how his favorite team was losing and smelling the aroma of already burning pizza, Sora clicked his heels absently and smiled. There was no place like home.

And he was home.