Title: To My Heart's Other Side, An Epitaph
Rating: T
Genre: Drama/Tragedy
Pairing(s): Roxas/Xion, Axel & Roxas & Xion
Tags: Major character death, implied/referenced suicide, alternate universe – canon divergence, existential angst, sort-of compliant with the start of KH2
Characters (in order of prominence): Roxas, Xion, Riku, Axel, Naminé, DiZ
Plot summary:
What if Roxas runs into Xion before she enters the Twilight Town mansion on Day 356? And what if she gives him all the missing information that he so desperately seeks? How will he react once he learns the awful truth of their situation – and the ultimate price they must pay?
An alternate ending to 358/2 Days, in which Roxas has more agency in deciding his fate.
A/N: With the recent release of KH3, I've decided to revisit the series. 358/2 Days is my favourite instalment, and Roxas and Xion are my favourite characters. Going through their story was like taking a giant wrecking ball to the heart. As much as they deserve a happy ending, I believe DDD and KH3 did them (and numerous other characters, Axel included) a serious injustice by undoing their deaths. A tragedy loses all of its impact if its high stakes do not actually exist.
Ten years on, I still wonder how things would've unfolded if Roxas hadn't been forced to fight Xion and then Riku, resulting in him going through the ignominy that is the fake Twilight Town. What if he were relieved of his ignorance instead? Would he return to Sora of his own volition, as Riku had guessed? Hence this story was born, though I'm probably a decade late in penning it.
There are a number of story concepts/character interactions that don't seem to have received adequate attention (either in canon or fanfiction), so I'll be addressing them here. They include:
-The moral dilemma in sacrificing Xion and Roxas to wake Sora, and Roxas confronting the various involved parties about it, Riku in particular
-A final reconciliation between Roxas, Xion and Axel
-Roxas taking steps to forcibly remember Xion
Roxas' relationship with Xion plays a prominent role in this story. Days portrays them as best friends with subtle romantic overtones, which mirrors the canonical Sora/Kairi. However, they're too pure and inexperienced – and in Roxas' case, lacking enough self-awareness – to go down the romantic route proper. I'm aiming to stay as faithful to this portrayal as possible, but my inclination for this pairing shows, so I've tagged it accordingly.
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1. Gate to Oblivion
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Running away from the Organisation is more dreary than Roxas might have expected.
Only a day had passed since he'd made his escape, and already he's unnerved by the lack of pursuers. After emerging victorious from his clash with Saïx, Roxas hadn't gotten into any more major fights. There were no lesser Nobodies sent after him, not even a horde of Dusks hot on his heels.
It's as though the Organisation doesn't care he's on the loose.
Maybe that's too optimistic a thought. Maybe their silence is just the deceptive calm before the storm. They're probably still focussed on retrieving Xion, their functioning Keyblade wielder. What reason would they have to prioritise him, the useless castaway who's been struggling harder and harder to complete his missions?
Whatever. Roxas is done with the Organisation. Never again will he obey their orders, be a mindless tool for some grand scheme that he doesn't even know anything about. If he isn't important enough to warrant their immediate attention, all the better for him. He can certainly use some breathing space to think things through. While by no means unwelcome, this newfound ability to make decisions for himself isn't one he's familiar with.
That's a bit of a understatement, really; it leaves him with the distinct feeling that he's in over his head.
Because he doesn't know where to go, or what to do.
When Roxas chose to desert the Organisation, he hadn't formulated a plan of any description, just followed the overwhelming urge to get out. Fighting his way forward was simple; he'd mercilessly cut down anything that stood in his path. Not even Axel's intervention had slowed down his relentless march. What with distrust firmly wedged between them, the older Nobody's warnings had rung hollow in Roxas' ears.
So he'd left his former best friend behind, and proceeded to the threshold of Fragment Crossing. Here, he'd cast a final backward glance—
(taking in the view of ghostly spires silhouetted against the heart-shaped moon)
—and hesitated.
Though cold and sterile and rather uninviting, the Castle That Never Was had been his home. It was a refuge of sorts, somewhere to rest when he was tired, and to fill his belly when he was hungry. It was also the gathering place of not-quite-people like himself, people with whom he could mingle and feel a sense of kinship. Within its colourless walls, he was given purpose and an identity, however mysterious and obfuscated.
Bereft of all that, Roxas had nothing.
Turning back wasn't an option, however. His mind was – still is – full of questions without answers. Answers which nobody at the castle had seen fit to give him.
In the end, he'd opened a corridor of darkness to Twilight Town. When in doubt, Roxas would return to the land of his birth. (How he'd cobbled together enough self-awareness to remember his first day, he'll never know.) It's quite the contrast to the World That Never Was, with picturesque brick terraces and paved streets bathed in the warmth of the perpetual sunset. Overlooking the town is the iconic clock tower, the place where he'd wiled away countless afternoons eating ice-cream with his friends.
This time, Roxas' visit wouldn't involve anything quite so pleasant. Survival was his current goal, and he needed somewhere to camp until he could figure out his next move.
Though he knew very little about how to live on one's own, Roxas understood the basic necessities. Eat, drink, find shelter, sleep. And beat off the intrepid Heartless that like to use his Keyblade as a homing beacon. In this case, his first course of action was to buy himself a proper meal.
Unfortunately, sea salt ice-cream would not do. He'd endured plenty of lectures from various Organisation members – not Axel or Demyx – on its nutritional merits; that is to say: none.
For that purpose, he'd brought along whatever munny he could shove into his pockets. With careful rationing, it would carry him through a few weeks. The remaining pocket space was taken up by his diary – his only possession with personal value – and a bunch of curatives stocked up from the Organisation moogle merchant, out-of-date Elixirs excepted.
The noodle bar cashier had given him a weird look when he'd stepped up to the counter – and why wouldn't she? He's a strange boy in a strange black coat. To his relief, she hadn't denied him service. As soon as the box of takeaway changed hands, Roxas had slinked off to some shadowy, discreet corner, where he'd stepped through a dark corridor to the top of the clock tower. Materialising one of those in plain sight wouldn't help him in keeping a low profile, after all.
His body had moved of its own volition, folding him into his usual seat. There were only two people who would think to look for him here, and neither of them were coming for him. Glancing at the empty spaces on his left and right only served to reinforce that fact.
In an effort to stave off the hollow ache in his chest, Roxas had turned his attention to his takeaway. But every mouthful had tasted like ashes.
Without the Organisation – without his friends – he was lost. A confused runaway wandering one foreign neighbourhood among many. Alone.
After a few minutes of mechanically shoving food down his throat, Roxas found himself unable to bear it any longer. Pushing away the remains of his meal, he shuffled inside and slumped against the nearest wall, unseeing eyes fixed on the ceiling. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, putting an end to his aimless, morose thoughts.
Then the next day arrived by virtue of the tower bells striking eight o' clock. Roxas had startled into full wakefulness, his joints numb and a painful crick in his neck.
He still hadn't worked out what to do.
As a non-native in conspicuous non-native clothes, wandering around in broad daylight would draw too much attention. It occurred to him to change his outfit, but he'd ultimately ruled out that idea. Shopping wasn't a luxury he could afford. Besides, in the event that he needed to make a hasty exit, the Organisation coat would grant him safe passage through the darkness.
So he'd made his way to the woods. It's unlikely that anyone would bother him here; the threat of lurking Heartless tended to keep out the sensible townsfolk. Plopping down on a fallen log, Roxas let his gaze settle on a patch of sun-dappled undergrowth.
That's how he'd landed in his current, dreary state of affairs.
He isn't sure how long he'd sat there for, weighing the pros and cons of taking refuge in the various worlds he'd visited, or brainstorming unsuccessfully of ways he might find out more about this all-important 'Sora'. Every so often, his musings would be interrupted by a handful of encroaching Shadows. However, the ensuing battle is never long enough – or intense enough – to siphon away his ever-building frustration.
The fifth time he is shaken out of his thoughts, Roxas hears the sound of twigs crunching underfoot.
Comprised of pure darkness as they are, Shadows cannot make audible footsteps. Has something larger and more dangerous appeared, perhaps a pursuer from the Organisation? Or is it one of the more foolhardy civilians, out here on some stupid dare or misadventure?
Snapping wary eyes back and forth, Roxas spots movement at the edge of the forest. There's a human-shaped figure picking their way through the underbrush. Someone about the same size and height as himself, wrapped in a telltale black coat—
"Xion?" he calls out without thinking.
The figure halts in its tracks, turning towards his voice.
Rising to his feet, Roxas takes a few tentative steps in its – her – direction. "Xion, it is you, isn't it?"
The figure remains silent, but he can sense her unseen gaze on him. Taking this as some sort of positive sign, Roxas removes his hood and makes a steady, if still cautious approach. A few metres short of reaching her, he stops, forestalled by her raised palm.
"Roxas." Her voice, the way she pronounces his name – soft and mellow and wonderfully familiar – leaves no doubt as to who she might be. "I'm not going back to the Organisation."
"That's fine by me," he replies, lapsing into the easy manner that he normally has around his second best friend, "'cause I'm not going back either. I've run away, too."
"You have?"
His affirming nod must have satisfied her, for Xion throws off her hood. Roxas feels his chest tighten in response; never had her choppy black bangs and indigo eyes been a more welcome sight. While he'd always liked looking upon her face – admiring how the light would catch on her pretty, delicate features – doing so now fills him with an immeasurable relief. Here she is, a friendly presence in the midst of so much uncertainty.
Overtaken by a sudden impulse to make sure she is real, Roxas closes the remaining gap between them, capturing her wrists. Her warmth and solidarity seeps through the fabric of their gloves, grounding him.
"Xion, I'm so glad you're here," he declares, his words nothing if not heartfelt.
"I'm glad to see you too, Roxas." Her reply is no less heartfelt, but he can also hear sadness in it.
"Since we're both in the same situation, how 'bout we run away together, you and me?" he offers, giving her wrists a gentle squeeze.
Instead of providing the reassurance he's aiming for, this only seems to make her sadder. "As much as I'd like to, I can't come with you," Xion confesses, her eyes deep pools that reflect the shaded gloom around them.
"Why not?"
"There's something I must do, and I can only do it alone." She averts her gaze. "I'm sorry, Roxas."
He feels his lips pinch together into a displeased line. "That's not telling me anything."
"If I tell you about it," she explains, still not looking at him, "you'd try to stop me."
Roxas' frown deepens; that sounds too much like an echo of Axel's various excuses. "So it's something I won't like to hear; I get that. But don't I have a right to know, as your friend?"
Her expression is a mix of guilt and pleading when she turns back to face him. "Roxas—"
"Does it have something to do with you being a—" he barrels onward, forcing out the hated word, "—a puppet?"
There is a prolonged pause before she answers. "Yes."
"Then explain to me why. Please, Xion," he implores, shaking her wrists for emphasis. "I've been kept in the dark for so long. I just wanna know what's going on."
She studies his face for another prolonged moment. "I have to go back to where I belong."
"Where do you belong?"
"With Sora."
That omnipresent name again. "Xemnas says he's the connection between us. But who is Sora?"
Xion's eyes widen at his question, as though it had caught her by surprise. "He's the person I was before. The person you were before."
With a resounding mental click, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. He can scarcely believe it. The answer had been right under his nose all this time—! "You mean, I'm his Nobody?"
"I honestly thought you already knew that," she confirms, eyes still wide.
Roxas lets out a humourless chuckle. "No, it's news to me," he says with no small amount of bitterness. "No one bothered to tell me, not even Axel. Hell, he even made a point of keeping it a secret."
Xion casts her eyes downward. "I'm sorry."
He shakes his head, dismissing her apology. "That's on him, not you."
"I kept my fair share of secrets from you, too," she persists, stubbornly contrite.
"But you're giving me the answers now, aren't you?"
There's resignation in the way Xion dips her head, but sincerity too. Then she shifts as to reciprocate his gesture, her fingers coiling around his wrists.
"Roxas, please don't be angry with Axel," she pleads, locking her eyes with his. "He was only trying to protect us."
"By withholding the truth?" he counters, incredulous. "How's that's supposed to protect us? What's wrong with telling me that I'm Sora's Nobody?"
"I'm afraid that's only… the beginning of the story." Her words are quiet, troubled.
"Will you tell me the rest of it, then?"
In response, Xion untangles their intertwined wrists, letting them fall back to their respective sides. It's as though she's taking some precautionary step by deliberately putting distance between them, and already Roxas mourns the loss of her touch.
"As I said before, I have to go back to Sora. That's because some of his memories have found their way inside me. But they rightfully belong to him, so I have to give them back. He's been sleeping for a long time, and he needs those memories in order to wake up."
Bringing up a fist and resting his chin against it, Roxas ruminates on this new information for a minute or so. It doesn't line up with what he knows. A Nobody is created when a strong-willed person turns into a Heartless, right? How then, is it possible for Sora – his past self – to co-exist with him and Xion at the same time?
Why does he have a sneaking suspicion that there are complicated, outside-the-norm mechanics involved?
Whatever. Roxas might look into those another time. Right now, he has other, more pressing questions to ask, such as:
"Is it that important to wake him up?
"Yes," Xion asserts, conviction in her tone. "He has many friends waiting for him. And I shouldn't be taking something that doesn't belong to me in the first place."
"I'm pretty sure the strange dreams I keep having are actually Sora's memories," Roxas points out. "If you have to give them back to him, won't I have to do that, too?"
"In the end, yes."
"Do you know what will happen to us once we give them back?"
"You and Sora are two halves of the same person," she exposits without hesitation. "You're the body he's left behind, just like he's the heart you're missing. When you two join together, you'll become whole."
This revelation makes it clear that there's something very wrong with the big picture. "All this time, we've been collecting hearts to complete Kingdom Hearts," Roxas says slowly, his voice filled with combined wonder and incredulity, "and now you're saying I've never needed it?"
Xion nods, a grim set to her mouth. "I don't know much about the Organisation's plans, but I'm sure of one thing: Kingdom Hearts isn't the solution. You, me, even Axel – we've only ever been tools for Xemnas."
Tools. As he recalls their superior's dismissive account of the Replica Program, Roxas finds himself nodding in agreement. Though it's something he'd worked out in part by the time he fled the Organisation, having Xion confirm that fact doesn't make it any less unpleasant.
"So you and I have always belonged with Sora," he muses aloud. "If I join with him, will I still be me?"
The look she gives him is apologetic. "That, I honestly don't know."
"And what will happen to you?" he prompts. Clueless as Roxas can often be, it hasn't escaped his notice that Xion has yet to divulge her side of the answer.
Her shoulders droop, and a soft sigh escapes her. "I'm just a puppet, a copy. I'm not even meant to exist, so I'll…" she trails off, seemingly unable to continue.
"You'll disappear?" he finishes for her.
Xion doesn't reply, and Roxas knows that he'd hit upon the correct answer. Not that it brings him any joy whatsoever. Is this the truth that Axel had tried so hard to shield him from all along? That Xion has no salvation waiting for her, for the very nature of her existence is also her doom?
If so, he understands Axel's motives a bit better now. It's far too painful a truth to bear.
Lunging forward, Roxas seizes her wrists again. "I can't let you do this, Xion."
She doesn't object to his less-than-gentle treatment, simply smiles a tired smile. "I knew you would say that. You know, Roxas, I'm grateful to be able to see you one last time. I wanted to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" he repeats, shaking his head in utter, frantic disbelief. "Xion, you can't expect me to just… let you go!"
"But it's my choice to go away, Roxas."
He recoils from her, blindsided by her statement. It leaves him breathless and hurt, even more so than Lexeaus' full-force blow to the gut. "Why?" he cries, feeling hot moisture prickle at his eyelids. "Don't you wanna stay with me? Doesn't our friendship mean anything?"
There's a flash of something fierce across Xion's face. "It means everything. I want to be with you – you and Axel, forever. But you and I can't be together," she finishes, her ferocity giving way to despondence.
"Why not?"
Within her eyes is a sorrow so vast that Roxas fears he might drown in it. "You're dying, Roxas," Xion chokes out, "and I'm the one responsible. You've noticed how you're becoming weaker and weaker lately, right? That's because I'm stealing your powers, just by existing. It isn't something I can control. If I knew how, I'd give you back everything in an instant." She scrunches her eyes shut, and her lips peel back in an agonised snarl. "Forgive me, Roxas. I never meant to be a parasite."
So Xion is the cause of his deteriorating health. Somehow, learning about this doesn't trouble Roxas so much as her forced involvement. How horrible would it feel to be in her place, knowing that she is sucking the life out of her best friend through no action of her own?
"That's not your fault, though!" he argues on her behalf, spreading his palms emphatically. "It's not like you're doing any of it on purpose!"
Xion's eyes snap back open, and he can see something terrible within their indigo depths. "But it is my fault," she corrects him with surprising vehemence, "otherwise we wouldn't be in this situation. Simply put, I don't deserve to exist. Every day that I choose to live is a mistake."
For the second time within the space of two minutes, Roxas feels like he'd been sucker-punched. Yet whatever hurt or disorientation he feels is swallowed up the urge to prove her wrong – even if he must defend her from herself.
Reaching forward to grasp Xion's hands once more, he exclaims, "Don't say that, Xion! It's not true! You're not a mistake!"
But despite all the fervour he had put behind them, his protests may as well have gone unheard. Xion is gazing at him now, a melancholic curve to her lips.
"I'm just glad that I got to know you, to be your friend," she declares, her voice filled with warmth. "I'm glad for all the times we spent together, the three of us. Watching the sunset from the top of the clock tower, talking and laughing and eating ice-cream together… Those were the happiest days of my life."
Recognising her words for the farewell speech it is, Roxas crumples. "Xion…"
With gentle determination, she prises his hands from hers, setting them down by his sides. "I have to go now. I can't let the Organisation catch me. They'll turn me into their true puppet, and make me fight you again. I don't want to hurt you anymore, Roxas."
In a whirl of black fabric, Xion turns her back to Roxas and proceeds to move away.
(away from him—)
It is then that desperation claws up from inside him, hardening into resolve. Rushing towards her departing form, Roxas seizes a handful of her sleeve. "Wait, Xion! I'm coming with you!"
Xion blinks at him from over her shoulder, eyes wide with astonishment. "Roxas, I'm going back to Sora. I've made up my mind."
"I know," he sighs, giving her sleeve a forlorn tug. Then his tone takes on a more insistent edge as he continues. "But I can't—I won't let you go alone. If this is truly goodbye, I'm gonna stay with you for as long as I can, until… y'know, the end."
Xion's response is to stare at him for several long seconds, so long that it leaves him in fear that she might refuse. But there's an over-bright gleam to her eyes, one indicative of unshed tears. "Okay. Thank you, Roxas," she says, her voice wobbly and choked-sounding. "This means more to me than I can say."
"Are you sure this is the only way?" Roxas cannot help but try again, though he's already certain of her answer.
She nods solemnly. "It's what's best for everyone."
He doesn't agree – cannot agree – but there's no point in saying that. Because Roxas knows Xion. Underneath her quiet and reserved demeanour lies a will that cannot be shaken. So he changes the subject:
"How will you go back to Sora?"
"I need to find someone called Naminé," Xion replies. "She'll show me what I have to do next. I'm told she lives in the mansion up ahead."
Is she referring to the same mansion they had passed by on many a mission, but never bothered to investigate? "Let's go, then."
Silence blankets them as they make their way through the forest. Roxas cannot bring himself to start up conversation, and neither can Xion for that matter. Even if he manages to get words past the large, painful knot in his chest, what would he say? With Xion's demise – and potentially his own – around the literal corner, he finds himself an utter wreck. There are so many emotions churning inside him – despair, helplessness, just to name the more prominent ones – and he has no means of relieving them…
Upon arriving at their destination, they are greeted by a massive, wrought-iron gate flanked by overgrown brick walls. Perhaps Roxas' mind is playing tricks on him, but the air feels charged, like the thrumming aftereffect of a Thunder spell. It makes the hairs on his arms stand on end, even through the insulating layer of his Organisation coat.
Xion is the first one to pipe up, breaking the silence. "Can you feel it, too? That strange magic in the air?"
"Yeah," Roxas agrees, glad for the reprieve. "I've been too busy all the other times to notice, but it's definitely there."
"It's a ward to keep people out," Xion reveals, surprisingly knowledgeable about the matter. "And it makes the walls unclimbable," she adds, noting his shudder as he steps up to the aforementioned wall and presses an experimental hand against it. The resulting sensation is not unlike someone ramming a Blizzard spell down his spine, which is to say: most unpleasant.
The gate itself contains no such repelling enchantment, however. Roxas grabs a couple of the wrought-iron bars and yanks, using his (admittedly measly) weight for leverage. But nothing so much as budges.
"I guess we won't be opening this by force," he shrugs.
"Maybe it's set up like that," remarks Xion with a thoughtful frown, "so that only those with the right key can enter."
With a golden flash, her Keyblade materialises in her hand. She levels the weapon at the gate's oversized lock, and a beam of light shoots from the tip and enters the keyhole. There's a loud click a moment later, followed by the gate swinging open with a rusty whine.
Giving a satisfied nod, Xion dismissing her Keyblade with a wave. Roxas watches the trail of fading golden motes, then walks up to her side. Eager to demonstrate his support – and seize whatever remaining opportunity they have to be together – he wraps his hand around her now-empty one. She provides no objection, even going as far as to give him an appreciative squeeze. It occurs to him then, how small and frail Xion's hand feels within his own.
She steps forward, and he matches her pace. As one, they enter the mansion grounds.