This is late. And I'm sorry. I could give you reasons why this is late, but the fact is that I could have had it done earlier if I'd tried.

Truthfully, I'm a little disenchanted with this pairing at the moment. I still love them, but their archive is dead— and that saddens me. So, I've been trying to rekindle my love for them and Kingdom Hearts in general. I started playing Re: coded and reading the fan fiction of other pairings. It's helped, but I'm still working on it. Just give me some time to get back into the swing of things. (And while you're waiting, check my favorites page for the stories "Candy Boy" and "Boys" for the Riku/Sora pairing. They will blow your mind.)

Summary (which I'm going to leave for the duration of this story for the sake of consistency): Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle…

Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month.

Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. I'm sorry you've had to wait so long.

I would also like to thank Besieged . Infection for betaing this chapter. She's awesome. However, still let me know if you find any problems.

Hope you enjoy!

Long, spindly fingers curled, pulling at the knots along the nape of his neck nervously. He felt stupid, emerald eyes avoiding those crystal blue pools, staring at the worn leather couch pushed so thoughtlessly against one of the apartment's living room walls. Really, there was no reason for him to be acting this way. He had just turned nineteen; he was an adult. He was an adult that was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He had before. It wasn't like this was going to be anything new.

But it felt wrong this time.

Something in the pit of his stomach felt like there was something wrong this time. That he shouldn't let him leave. That he should fall to the floor and pitch one of those fits he used to as a child. That he should do anything in the world to keep him here— against his will or not.

Those green eyes flickered at the thought, swiveling to watch as his brother bustled about his room, packing away clothes and other necessities. He wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't going to beg and plead for Reno to stay with him— Reno had played father long enough. It wasn't his job to watch after Axel anymore; he was old enough to do that himself.

So he wouldn't take this away from him. He wouldn't take away the only vacation Reno had managed to plan since their parents left. The man was almost thirty now, and he'd been taking care of him since he was just a child. He deserved to get away, to have some time to himself. He deserved a life that didn't revolve around Axel and all the little things that he had to provide to keep Axel happy. He was an older brother— not a father— and he deserved the chance to act like it. And if that meant leaving to go on a two week vacation with his coworker, then so be it.

Even if Axel really didn't want him to go.

"Yo, do you think this'll be too flashy for Olympus?" Axel tilted his head to the side, leaning precariously against the door frame, watching as his brother held up a pair of whitewashed jeans, his identical thin fingers wrapping around the scratchy fabric, crystal blue eyes watching him with that same air of curiosity that they always did.

"No, but they'll be too hot. It's scorching over there." Reno's thin nose scrunched at that, eyes rotating from Axel to the pants and back again before tossing them to the side, allowing them to fall into one of the many piles of clothes littering his floor and setting out to once again begin rummaging through his closet. Axel quirked his mouth to the side a bit, just watching him, listening to the grunts and groans he made in an effort to move things out of the way.

As much as he wanted Reno to stay, he wasn't even going to ask. He was going to stand here and smile and tell him that it was okay to have a good time, but only if he remembered to bring him back a souvenir. He was going to lie and say he was looking forward to two weeks of hanging out with Demyx and not having to deal with Reno whining about his job. He wouldn't like it, but he would say it. Because it's what Reno needed to hear from him in order to board that train and have a good time.

And Axel couldn't keep holding him back.

In the beginning, it really wasn't his fault. He was eight. His mom and dad had just walked out and Reno, being the only family he had left, had stepped in to take care of him. He had willingly given up everything to keep him from becoming just another kid lost in the government system of foster care and orphanages. He had given up his dream job, moved back to Atlantica, and become the parent that he really shouldn't have had to be. But he'd done it for Axel, and he'd never once complained. And as much as none of that was really Axel's fault, it was Axel's fault that he hadn't had the chance to live up to his full potential. He was the one who held him back.

But he wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't the same eight-year-old little boy that didn't understand what was going on. He wasn't the same kid that couldn't figure out his math homework. He wasn't the same gangly brat that kept acting out and making everything harder. That wasn't him anymore, and it was time for him to finally let Reno go. Not completely, because he could never, ever let Reno go completely— he was always going to be his big brother— but enough. He could let him go enough for him to have his own life, for him to live for himself for a little while.

He owed him that, didn't he?

Carefully, he pushed himself away from the door frame, those long fingers of his pressing against the old wooden door with an air of finality. He dropped to the bed once he reached it, letting the black comforter and mushy mattress swallow him for a moment —relishing in the feel of it for what ominously felt like the last time, pulling at the piles and piles of shirts taking up the space near the headboard. And as much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but smile, dragging the thinnest ones into his lap and folding them, still watching as his brother wrestled with the wreck within his closet for a pair of wearable bottoms.

For a while, they stayed like that. Axel packed away the shirts, filling in the space around Reno's rather carelessly placed undergarments, and watched as Reno pulled out more jeans and shorts, cramming the bed with them. Reno held up more pants for him to turn down, and the suitcase just got fuller and fuller until there wasn't any space left.

And it was stupid and silly and overly dramatic, but Axel felt like he was packing away his life with every inch.

"Are you planning anything while I'm gone?" Red hair blanketed Reno's face as he said it, leaning over to zip up his leather blue suitcase, the zipper straining around his clothes, but Axel could just imagine that smile of his stretching across his thin lips. "Something with Demyx and Naminé maybe?" And as apprehensive as his voice sounded when he asked, quivering in just the slightest way, he was just as hopeful as he was nervous. Axel could understand that; Reno was worried about him in the same way that he always was. So, he did the only thing he could do. He made it easy.

"Yeah. Nami's leaving in a day or two to go on some trip, so I'll probably stay with Demyx the whole time you're gone. That's cool, right?" He smiled that convincing smile, lifting thin eyebrows, and leaning back against his palms.

Reno looked at him out of the corner of his eye, standing up straighter, cocking his hip slightly to the side. "That's cool, yo. Just don't forget to call. And make sure no one breaks into the apartment too. That's the la—"

A horn blared from outside, echoing against the apartment walls and cutting him off mid-sentence

Scrunching his nose, Reno checked his watch, one gangly wrist sticking out from beneath his sleeves. "Shit! I'm going to make us miss our train!" And just like that, he was stuffing his feet into his shoes and running towards the door, that offending suitcase knocking against his hip.

For a moment, Axel just sat there with that sinking feeling in his gut, the sounds of Reno leaving reverberating through the apartment, but then he was up, tripping over his sock-clad feet as he made his way through the kitchen just as Reno was opening the front door.

"Hey!" Reno stopped, head tilted slightly to the side as Axel pulled him into a bone crushing hug, their thin frames whacking against each other in a way that was almost painful. And it only lasted a few seconds, but Axel just kept trying to savor it, taking in the way his brother always smelled like pinewood and burnt pizza, taking in the way they would never quite fit together because they were just too thin. Then, it was over. He was pulling away and knotting his fingers against the hemline of his shirt to keep from grabbing at him again and never letting him go. "Be safe, okay? Do that for me."

Blue eyes just looked at him, slightly concerned, those thin lips turned upwards in just the slightest way. "Yeah, bro. Always."

Then, the horn blared again and he was gone, fingertips brushing against him one last time before he made his way out the door. And Axel didn't turn away. He just stood there and watched as Reno made his way down the apartment's stairs and into the awaiting taxi. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was the last time he was ever going to see him, so he had to make sure.

He had to make sure he didn't miss a second of it.

November 7, 2011

"Keep your eyes peeled. This place is a lot bigger than the shop; they could be hiding anywhere."

Icy blue eyes squinted at that, startling at the noise, taking in the setting sun streaking through the cracked windowpanes up above. That wasn't right. The sound wasn't right. He hadn't heard anything like that in days— maybe even weeks. There were screams from outside in the beginning, begging and chewing and desolation, but there wasn't anything like that. There weren't any coherent sentences. There were no conversations. It was all probably just a figment of his imagination. A piece of a pretty dream he didn't quite want to wake up from. A hope, a fantasy that there was someone else left in this place.

Stupid. He shouldn't dream like that. It would just disappoint him.

"Are you sure coming here is a good idea? We passed another shop on the way here. We could check there."

Those eyes widened, their lithe owner bolting upright, body tensing. That was a different voice than the one from before. It wasn't as sure; it wasn't as precise. Honey blond eyebrows scrunched, taking in what that could mean. If the voices weren't just in his head, it meant that there was someone else. That he wasn't dreaming and that he wasn't alone.

"Just keep your gun out, Dem. Stay close to Zexion and make sure you're ready if you need to be."

His heart sunk into his chest, fingers knotting in the camouflage blanket pooling at his waist. Guns— they had guns. That was never a good sign. In the beginning, he's thought that it would be easy to join up with another group of survivors. He'd thought that he military would swoop in with a plan. That was how the movies always went. They made it seem easy, like everything just fell into place.

But it wasn't easy.

The military wasn't deployed in time. He'd lost his friends in the frenzy, watched as one was eaten alive. And there was no one left he could trust. When the outbreaks had just begun, he'd gone into hiding, found himself a place where he knew he could stay safe— it wasn't hard; he'd been a part of Twilight Town since he was a child— devised a plan. He was going to wait until someone came through that he could tag along with. Someone he could trust.

When stragglers were still coming through the area, he thought he'd have a fair shot at finding himself a group of people. But there was always something wrong. Some people would come through by themselves, sick and feverish, raving nonsense about how it was all a conspiracy, about how they were right all along. Others would come with their heads held high, angry frowns turning their lips. They didn't seem right. Nothing about them felt safe.

And then, there were the people with the guns.

They were the worst ones. In the movies and the novels that used to be so popular, they were the ones that you wanted to be with. They were the ones who survived. But, here, in reality, they were terrifying. He'd only seen two groups of gun wielders so far, but he already knew that he didn't want to see anymore. The first was small, made up of only two people with raggedy hair and tattered clothing. Their smell was vile, almost worse than the infected, putrid enough to keep him from getting too close. But that wasn't what made him stay away. It was the way they smiled with their crooked, yellow teeth and acted like they were enjoying it, laughing when they shot up into the sky and called the hordes towards them. The second group wasn't much better. They were larger in number— he only saw five of them, but he was sure there were more— but they had the same air about them. They were dressed like they were going hunting. And that didn't sit well with him. He couldn't think of the infected like animals to be gunned down.

They were people once, weren't they?

"Okay. I can—" He could hear a breath being taken, sharp and near panic-stricken in the musky air. "I can do that."

"Just calm down. Everything's going to be fine."

Blue eyes blinked, thoughtful, head tilting toward the sound coming from below. They didn't sound right. And maybe he was just being hopeful and idealistic, but there was something different about the voices coming up from the ground below, echoing against the walls. They didn't sound like the others. There was something else there, something young and human and scared.

With that thought in mind, he silently crawled toward the metal railing that secured his platform and looked out to the factory below, baggy jeans shuffling along his knees and pulling against the blanket. Carefully— so carefully— he peeked his head between the rusty metal bars, making sure to keep his face mostly obscured in the shadows, his fingers brushing against the splintering wood.

And he couldn't help but think that they looked different than the others.

There were three of them. Two of them were farther back than the one, close to one another, but not too close. One was a step ahead of the other, shielding him in a way, gun held out before him, shaking in his two-hand hold. It didn't look right, like the wielder wasn't used to its weight. And, despite the fact that he couldn't see the wielder's face in the dim lighting, he could almost imagine the nervous way his eyes would dart around at every little sound, the way his bottom lip would stay sandwiched between his rows of teeth. Not that he would know for sure.

The one beside him was smaller, frailer, almost hidden in the shadows. And while the other one was open, talking with the one that was making his way farther and farther into the warehouse, this one was closed off, body turned slightly to the side, backpack pulling at his shoulders. He didn't look ready for a fight at all, arms held protectively against his chest, like he was trying to keep himself together.

But that was a silly thought. Maybe isolation had him trying to understand a little too much.

The one that was away from them was taller, body hunched in just the slightest way to protect his midsection as he made his way forward, muscles tensed like he was ready for anything, bulging bag held high on his shoulders. He couldn't see his face, much like the others, but he could see the shocking red hair knotted against his neck, sticking up in every direction. He was obviously the one in charge, or, at least, the one that the other ones were following, listening to. If any one of them was a threat, it was him.

Abruptly, the redhead straightened, turning back towards the other two and motioning them forward. "There's nothing here. We're safe," he shrugged his backpack off, allowing it to drop to the cement floor with an echoing thump. "For now, anyway." He snuggled closer to the bars, honey colored hair falling into his eyes, head tilting in an effort to hear more of the muffled words exchanging below.

The others shuffled forward, the apprehensive looking one sliding his gun into one of his belt loops as he came closer, the other seemingly watching the tips of his shoes. They were an odd group. Not like the others. But he wasn't sure yet. He wasn't sure yet if he could trust them or if he should give up his hiding place. He'd been here for a long, long time. And he was safe. He couldn't risk that for these people. Not just yet.

"So… I guess we should block the exits?" The one with the gun tilted his head to the side, watching as the leader's head swiveled. "That's what we did before."

"Yeah. We can move some of these crates to barricade the doors at the front. There's probably a set of loading doors in the back we'll have to cover too." The redhead seemed thoughtful for a moment, seemingly taking in the warehouse floor and the many crates of equipment covering it. He had to admit that it was a solid plan. Block the exits— make it so that no one can get in so you don't have to get out. It's what he did in the beginning; it worked for him before, and it had apparently worked for them in the past as well.

The frailer one, the one with the protective arms and unnatural interest in his shoes, shook his head at that, hair swinging against his cheeks almost violently, like he rejected the whole idea. "That won't work here." And the way he said it was so final, whispered like a secret, that he nearly didn't hear him from his perch up above.

With red hair shuffling to the side, the leader regarded him, eyes raking over his thin frame, eyebrows rising. He looked like he was about to reject the statement, but the other one spoke up, head tilting, his own bag hitting the floor. "Why wouldn't it, Zexion?"

The one called Zexion took a step back, arms wrapping around his waist— and he could just barely see the white of bandages peeking out from beneath his baggy sleeves— as he spoke, "There's too much open space. Blocking the exits would work for a little while, but most of these crates should hold fishing equipment. We won't be able to move them. We won't be able to put enough force around the doors."

And he could attest that the rather frail looking boy was right about that.

They were silent for a moment, Zexion looking back down at his shoes, the leader looking as if he was trying to decide if he was right or not. In the end, he seemed to accept it, leaning his head back to look into the skylight above, taking in the ever-darkening sky. And then, just like that, he was moving towards the crates, leaving his backpack behind along with the others. He couldn't help but tilt his head a little farther to the side, rusty bars biting into his cheek. What was he doing?

"You said most of these crates hold fishing equipment, right?" Zexion nodded at the sharp chin and shocking red hair pointed his way. "Then, there should be weapons here too, yeah? Hooks, nets— anything. We could even use the bait if we have to." He started to pull at the latch on one of the crates toward the center of the warehouse, thin forearms straining at the weight of the heavy metal.

That wasn't okay.

Anything else. They could do anything else. They could stick around for a day or two, make a campfire and start singing Kumbaya for all he cared, but they couldn't do that. They couldn't search the crates. Nearly every provision he'd found since going into hiding was hidden among those crates. They couldn't search them; he couldn't let them take everything.

Quickly, angrily, he snatched the knife hidden beneath his pillow, flipping it around in his palm, getting used to the weight of the thing as he silently lowered the rope ladder that kept him separated from the cement ground below. He wouldn't let them take anything, different from the others or not.

Demyx shrugged a bit, watching as Axel worked with one of the crate lids, dirty blond hair touching at his shoulders and shaking against his cheeks. He knew he should help, but something just didn't feel right about this place. It didn't feel dangerous. Really, it didn't. But he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that they were being watched, like there were eyes raking down his back.

It was unsettling.

"Will we be able to carry it?" He swiveled his head to the side, sea foam eyes locking with the much deeper blue pools of the boy beside him. Zexion. He was an oddity, someone that he really didn't understand. And maybe that was for the best.

"Hmm," he hummed, chapped lips pressed together, body turning in just the slightest way so he would know he was listening.

Zexion bit at his lower lip, eyes shifting away and flicking between Axel and the tips of his battered shoes. His feet still hurt; he could feel the cuts scraping against the bandages when he tried to walk. He didn't think they would be going away anytime soon, all of them deep and angry. Sighing a little to himself at the thought, he shifted back to Demyx, fingering the tattered straps of his backpack, anxiously taking in the feel of the fraying material. "The equipment, I mean. We won't be able to carry much more in these bags," he swallowed, voice cracking at the end, his throat still raw and sore.

Demyx opened his mouth as if to speak, but then let it close again, dirty blond eyebrows furrowing above his eyes. He glanced at his and Axel's bags lying on the ground, mouth quirking a bit as he looked back toward Zexion. He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah… Probably not. Axe—"

A loud bang echoed throughout the warehouse, the sound bouncing off the walls and pulling against their eardrums. Zexion cringed, nose scrunching minutely as he hurriedly cupped his ears, Demyx mirroring his movements and taking a step back, sea-like eyes wide as he stared toward the ceiling. The skylight rattled along its frame.

Axel stood upright, acidic eyes scanning the area, alert. Carefully, he removed his spindly fingers from the crate's lid, taking in the way that nothing seemed to move, that the sound could have come from anywhere. That wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. He swallowed thickly, turning his body in just the slightest way so he had a clear line of sight to the center of the warehouse where the other two stood, the optimistic hope that maybe they were the ones who made the sound crawling at his throat. They had barely moved, the both of them facing him with wide eyes, maybe hoping that it was him.

The sound echoed again, stronger this time, the crates along the warehouse floor vibrating, rattling at the sound.

They stilled, bodies tensing as if prepared for an invading army, and Axel could clearly make out the barely concealed panic clouding Demyx's eyes, taking over his friend's face like it did on the first day of high school. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his back against the crate he'd been trying to open, his spinal column protesting against the shock of the cool metal, and started signaling to Demyx, fingers reaching toward his belt loops. The blond just looked at him for a moment, those eyes so wide, before he started to move, his hands visibly shaking as they traveled around his back.

Again, the sound went off, this time louder, closer, the distinct sound of rubber against concrete tickling his ringing ears. And he saw Demyx's mouth open, eyes going so impossibly wide, but it was too late.

His hair was being pulled, neck bent over the top of the crate, the feel of cool metal pressing against his flesh. "Don't move."

He swallowed, inhaling and exhaling as steadily as he could with a blade stretched across his Adam's apple. His hair was yanked backwards, his body bent, tip-toes keeping him as planted to the ground as they could. Vaguely, at the bottom of his vision, he could make out the figures of Demyx and Zexion, Zexion's body turned slightly to the side defensively, Demyx's gun held out in front of his trembling form. He took another breath at the sight, deeper this time. Demyx could take the shot. He could make the shot. But he couldn't. Not with him so close to whomever his attacker was. He wouldn't take the chance.

That didn't bode well for him.

Gritting his teeth, he let his jade eyes swivel upwards, the warehouse's skylight with the dim lighting of the outside illuminating his vision for just a moment as he tried to take in his captor's face. He couldn't see much, most of him hidden, either by his own red hair or the shadowy lights, but what he did see was surprising. He didn't know what he was expecting to see. Age, maybe. Dark lines across their forehead, hair as dirtied as it always was in prison photos. He didn't expect wisps of honey blond and endless blue, slathers of fading freckles dotting a rather button-like nose.

No. That wasn't what he was expecting at all.

"Get your boy to drop the gun." His hair was tugged backwards a little harder, that voice— his age, maybe younger— as cold as ice, but still human. Still undeniably human. Maybe he could still reason with him.

"Look, man, we're just—"

Another tug to his hair, his toes straining, calves shaking as he tried to stay upright. There would be no reasoning. "I will slit your throat right here and now. Make him drop that gun." To get his point across or maybe just to accent his own words, he pressed the knife's blade a little harder against his unprotected skin.

He sucked in his breath, chest expanding as he tried not to panic. "Dem… shoot." His hair was pulled back impossibly far, the figure behind him, mostly hidden by the crate, crouched lower.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," the voice growled at him. It was definitely angry, but… there was something wrong. There was something else there. Fear? No, that couldn't be it.

"Demyx," he called, voice shaking in just the slightest way, lips trembling, "shoot him. Just take the shot."

"What? I can't— Axel, I can't— Not with you like—"

The knife pressed a little closer, slicing through the first layer of skin, warm blood dripping along the tip. And he was going to die here. He just knew it. "It's okay, Dem. Just do it."

He felt the knife scrape along his neck, an accidental, harmless movement as the captor readjusted his position, his breath speeding up as he tried to keep himself out of the line of fire. "I'll gut your friend if you don't drop that gun. Don't think I won't." The voice was louder this time, addressing the room at large instead of just the redhead, his voice echoing like the sound from before, but there was a quiver in the way he spoke, like maybe he wouldn't deliver on that threat even if Demyx did refuse to drop the gun.

But he wouldn't. Because Demyx didn't take chances like that.

The gun dropped to the unforgiving cement, the clatter of it sharp. "Let him go. We'll— We'll just leave, okay? No one has to get hurt." And Axel couldn't see him with his head bent back as far as it would go now, but he could just imagine those wide eyes of his, his shaking hands held up in surrender.

He felt breath against his hair, wobbly and unsure as it puffed out against the red mess. The knife fell in just the slightest way, the tenseness in the body behind him draining now that the gun was no longer in the mix.

And he took his chances.

In a split second, with that knife pulled just the barest inch away from him, he let his body fall, swerving it to the side. The grip on his hair didn't waver, but he was obviously bigger than the one holding him upright, his captor's body following him towards the floor, tumbling down onto him. Axel was okay with that; he could fight back now.

His head slammed into the ground, stars swimming in front of his eyes, but he didn't let it stop him. As soon as he was down, he flipped himself over, the honey blond hair of his captor tickling his nose as his body was flipped as well. And then they were eye to eye, blue to green, breath quick and tense between them, the knife fallen within arm's reach. Hastily, angrily, Axel grabbed it, placing the tip carefully above the other's pulsing jugular.

"I think you have some explaining to do."

Icy blue eyes stared up at him defiantly, seemingly more angry than anything, blood rushing from a scrape near his hairline. With no warning at all, he spit, the saliva bursting against the redhead's face. "Fuck you."

Axel's jaw tensed, his eyes seeing red as he grabbed at the other's hair with his free hand and slammed his head back down against the cement, body falling over him as he leaned closer towards those damn eyes. "What the hell, man," he snarled, those spindly fingers of his knotting in that honey blond hair.

And suddenly, there were hands at his shoulders, pulling him up. "Axel, Axel— Please, he's not a threat. You don't have to—"

He shook them off, ignoring Demyx's voice as he brought them forehead to forehead. Blue eyes didn't blink. "Give me a reason. I swear, right here, right now, give me a reason to slice you open."

Sounds echoed through the warehouse. Metal and flesh, aluminum and rubber and fabric all mixed up into one.

He stopped, pulling himself slightly away so that he was straddling the blond below him, that knife still poised to break through skin. Emerald eyes shifted slightly, keeping an eye on the widening eyes of the blond, but taking in the way that Zexion and Demyx had come closer without him even noticing them, Demyx biting his lip and staring at him like he was pleading, Zexion turning his head this way and that way as if trying to find the source of the sound, his bag still held against his back, Demyx's held waveringly between bandaged fingers.

"Who else is here?" The knife's blade pushed a little harder against creamy skin, those blue eyes staring straight at him.

The blond swallowed heavily, icy blue pools so wide— frightened now. "I'm the only one."

"Like I'm going to believe that." The sounds started up again, his voice nearly lost in them as they vibrated against the outer walls, shaking breaths coming from his former captor like rapid little puffs.

"I swear, I'm the only one. There's no one else. That's them." And maybe it was the way that his voice quivered and his hands came up grab at his wrists for the first time, but Axel believed him.

They had to move, and they had to move now.

With surprising agility, Axel rolled off, banging his knee against the cement and making a run for his bag, the blond scrambling to his feet and motioning towards them to follow him as he ran through the warehouse, zigzagging passed the metal crates despite the dim lighting— Nightfall? It was already nightfall? — and leading them towards a rope ladder obscured by a mountain of crates, concealed perfectly in its surroundings. The blond was out in front, Zexion right at his heels, despite his damaged feet and the bag slapping against his back. A few feet behind him, Demyx was struggling to keep up, his bag of supplies half on his back and pulling him slightly to the side. Axel brought up the rear, his own bag secured against his back once again as he caught up to them, that horrible sound of flesh and metal and who knows what else increasing as it got closer and closer. They were in the warehouse now. They had to be with that sound doubling as it echoed and vibrated.

The blond was the first one on the ladder, climbing the thing with ease. Zexion went up next, slipping every few steps as the ropes swung, his tattered shoes not being able to steady him as his ascended. And when Zexion finally made it up and onto the safety of the platform above, the climb seemingly taking ages even though it only took a few precious seconds, the sound was getting louder, closer. Screeches and claws— and the stench, the smell of rotting and corpses wafting towards them, burning their nostrils.

And Axel did the only thing he could do to make sure Demyx made it up.

He pushed his friend forward, closer towards the ropes, grabbing the bag off of his back and slinging it onto his own. "Go, Demyx. Go."

Blue eyes looked at him, wide and terrified, those chapped lips trembling, but Demyx did what he was told. He snatched at the ropes and pulled himself up, faster than Zexion, his shoes keeping him in place as the ropes tried to swing out from under him. The other two grabbed at his shoulders once he made it to the top, and Axel took that as his cue to begin.

With the sound and the stench coming closer and closer, he shouldered the backpacks and climbed, muscles straining against the added weight. He was going slower than the other two, so much slower, but he couldn't let the supplies go. They needed them. And he wasn't going to be the reason they were lost. Steadily, he made it to the top, nails pulling at the platform as he tried to yank himself all the way up against the splintered surface.

His foot slipped.

The ropes swing with him, jerking him this way and that— And he could see them, their shadows running along the ground, sliding into each other and swerving between the crates. They looked so human, but they weren't. They just weren't. They were horrible and vile and they were going to make it to this damn ladder and eat him. And he knew he should look away. He knew he should. But he could already feel the panic setting in at that realization, at the very idea of it all ending right here and now. What was going to happen if he never managed to see Reno again? What was Demyx going to do without him? What was he going to do if the supplies went down with him? It would be all his fault and he wouldn't even—

Hands snatched at him, grabbing at the bags on his back, grabbing at his hair, grabbing at anything they could reach. His feet kicked against the ropes, his body swaying dangerously as those hands tugged at him. And just like that, he was on the platform, splintered wood grating against his chest, someone lifting the rope behind him.

Emerald met icy blue and he'd never been so thankful in his life.

Deep blue pools stared at the tips of tattered shoes through a curtain of hair, their owner curled tightly in the corner, hands cupped over his ears to try to keep the sounds from sinking into his head. They had been safe for hours, the four of them held high above the ground on the wooden platform with the rusty metal bars. The sun was completely gone now, the moon high in the sky, its light sneaking in through the skylight and illuminating the ground below, illuminating the bodies of the infected as they scavenged, as they fought each other, ate each other.

He'd only looked over the side once, curious when the noises had reached their peak. He wouldn't be doing it again. What he saw in those few precious seconds… He didn't think he'd ever be able to un-see those images. Those images of rotting flesh peeling off by the pound, of claws and teeth, of yellowed eyes and matted hair. Those images of walking corpses and oozing blood as they started tearing into each other, hungry for anything and anyone. Those images would play across his eyelids forever. He'd never be able to make them go away.

Just like the ones from before.

Hesitantly, he glanced upwards, eyes taking in the knobby knees pulled so carefully to his chin before searching out farther, the moon's faint light revealing the faces of the others. Demyx was the closest, the blond lying on his back near the wall, turned away from the chaos, lanky arms held over his eyes like he was trying to be anywhere by there, his bag and Axel's making a makeshift blockade between him and the rest of the world— he couldn't really blame him for that. Axel sat farther away, his body cross-legged as he leaned against the bars, emerald eyes shining with a strange sort of fascination as he watched the ground below. Every so often, he would take a deep breath and then let it drift away, his chest rising and the falling with some unknown sort of rhythm.

And then, even farther away than him, there was the honey blond. He was small, fitter than he was and maybe a few centimeters taller, but at least close to the same age. He hadn't spoken since the hordes had taken over the bottom level of the warehouse; he'd just retreated to the far corner and closed his eyes, his breathing eventually deepening and taking on a controlled sort of appearance. Zexion could tell that he wasn't asleep though, despite the way he looked. He'd pretended to be asleep before sometimes, when his parents were fighting and he couldn't listen to his mother's excuses anymore. He knew exactly what it looked like on a person.

Not that it mattered. None of those kinds of things really mattered anymore.

Biting at his lower lip, he let his forehead fall, hair cascading in front of him, eyes falling into his lap, pupils dilating from the added darkness. It felt stupid now, silly thinking about all the little things that used to happen. All the little things that used to make up his life. They didn't have a purpose anymore, not in this new world where no one was safe and nothing followed a routine. The money his family never really had no longer had a purpose. The empty promises and the court system were a thing of the past. He was still Zexion Snow, but he was no longer a kid trying to get away from the slums of Hollow Bastion. He was no longer the star of the track team. He was no longer the kid that everyone whispered about in the hallways.

Now, he was just Zexion Snow, another survivor trying to make it to another day. It's funny how the world works sometimes. Some people can never catch a break.

He felt a little push at his toes, the vibration of movement on splintered old wood racking his body minutely. Exhaling through his nose, he lifted his head, eyes met with sea-foam pools and the smile of chapped lips, dirty blond hair a mess, swished slightly to the side like a premature cowlick. "You should take your shoes off."

Zexion's mouth quirked a bit at that, the tips turning downward and taking in the way the boy before him spoke with such seriousness. "Why?" His brows scrunched beneath his hair, his body tensing as Demyx reached to begin untying his shoes.

"Your feet will feel better if you take them off for a little while," he mumbled, not bothering to wait for an answer, already pulling at the one entrapping his right foot, his slim ankle peeking out above the stark white bandages.

"Okay." And he really didn't feel the need to answer, since Demyx was already moving ahead without his permission anyway, but he wanted to because he needed to. He needed to at least pretend that he had some form of control.

Slowly, he began untying the shoe on his left foot, the right one already completely off by now and pushed off to Demyx's side. The blond was smiling at him, bottom lip held close to his teeth, but he didn't feel the need to smile back. Instead, he simply removed the shoe and shuffled back into his previous position, knees to his chin, hair shielding his face.

And that's when he noticed it. The deafening silence permeating the stale air.

His head tilted to the side, silver tinted hair sliding over his gaunt cheeks as he let those deep blue eyes look out onto the warehouse floor for the second time, bottom lip held too tightly between two rows of pearly teeth, afraid of what he might see. To his surprise, there was nothing. There were crates still littering his vision— some turned over, some not— but they were gone. He could see shadows in places, gnarled at odd angles, bodies of the infected that were torn apart, destroyed and left by the others, their stench still wafting up against the rafters. But there was nothing. There was no movement down below.

"They do that sometimes." His head snapped forward, eyes staring straight. The blond was moving, stretching away from the far corner and coming closer to the center of the platform, moving stealthily in the near darkness. "They come when there's a lot of noise. They leave when it stops."

Axel reared up at that, body turning away from the rusted security bars, eyes blazing. "Then why the hell did you make all that noise in the first place if you knew what was gonna happen," he hissed, crawling forward in just the slightest way.

And instead of fighting back, the blond just shrugged his shoulders, the shadowy figures of his fingers searching the ground for his abandoned camouflage blanket. "I thought they'd left."

The redhead was at a loss for words, mouth falling open in disbelief. "You thought they'd just left."

Icy blue eyes regarded him minimally before turning away. "Yup," he shrugged again, voice nonchalant, sharp and to the point. "I haven't seen them in days. I just figured that they'd moved on, went searching for more food, you know?" He made an enlightened little noise, finally finding his missing article and pulling it around him to fight off the growing chill in the air. Twilight Town was notorious for having a rather mild climate, but things were different this year. There was nothing to protect them from the elements— and the world was such a harsher place.

Axel groaned, running his skeletal hands through his knotted red hair, trying in vain to ease the knot in his chest. After several minutes of silence, he finally let out a sigh, "Who are you?"

The blond snorted, a derisive sort of noise coming out. "That's not how this works, man."

"What do you mean that's not how this works? We st—"

Zexion cleared his throat, coughing at the soreness as he pushed his hair away from his face, blue eyes regarding them with something like calculated boredom. Axel looked like he was ready to fight again, body tensed and angry, but the blond looked rather unimpressed by it all, annoyance shining in his eyes, a dark red streak dried to his forehead and cheek as a remnant of the fight from before. Demyx was beside him, seemingly just taking it all in without much to say. He vaguely wondered if maybe he had the right idea before he spoke, voice something like a whisper in the heavy air, "He means that we're on his turf. We're the intruders. He gets to call the shots."

"Now, you, I like already." Blue eyes glanced his way for just a split second, before resting on Axel's still rather prone form. "So, with that out of the way, who the hell are you guys?"

"Travelers," the redhead snapped. "Just a group of fuckin' travelers."

One honey colored eyebrow rose, thin arms crossing defiantly. "I can cut that rope ladder and still get down without breaking my neck, can you?"

Emerald and cool blue met for just a moment, both a little angry and a little disenchanted. And then, suddenly, Axel laughed, great puffs of air escaping his throat as he doubled over, grabbing at his gut. The blond glanced at the others, noticing the way that Zexion refused to meet his eyes and the other— Dem? Demyx? — couldn't seem to look away, mouth pulled to mirror something like concern.

"You," the redhead pointed at him once he'd managed to catch his breath, one spindly finger lessening the space between them, "are vicious."

The blond scoffed again, humorously this time as he leaned away, weight resting against his palms. He supposed that holding a knife to someone's throat, spitting in their face, and then threatening to strand them could count as vicious— he was fairly certain he could live with that. "I try."

Axel let his hand fall, flopping into his lap with a resigned thump. He didn't trust this kid like he trusted Demyx and Reno and nearly everyone else, but… he would admit that he wasn't that bad. "Fine. The name's Axel. A-X-E-L, got it memorized?" The blond's head tilted to the side, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he just watched as Axel smirked, cocking one thumb to the side to point at his two companions. "The blond is Demyx. The skeleton is Zexion."

"Skeletons are dead," the person in question mumbled under his breath, vaguely offended, letting his cheek rest against his knees as Demyx sent him an apologetic sort of smile. And he wasn't dead. Really. He really wasn't dead.

The other two didn't seem to register the comment.

"Roxas. Roxas Strife. Blond, not a skeleton, and yes, I do have it memorized," he— Roxas— rolled his eyes, still leaning back against his palms. They were a different sort of group. Axel was obviously the vocal one. He was the one who the others listened to. But not completely. He spoke to Demyx differently than he did Zexion. When he was in trouble before, Demyx may have been the one with the gun, but it was obvious that Zexion was the more cool-headed one, yet he still spoke directly to Demyx. He was more involved with him, more invested. He trusted him. He took his pack to make sure he made it to the platform; he always made sure that he was kept in the safest position, like when they'd come into the warehouse before and Axel was the one who went first, even though Demyx had the weapon. Demyx was the one that he was going to keep safe.

He was different with Zexion.

While he was obviously overprotective with Demyx, he barely paid the other any concern at all. It was like Zexion was an expendable piece of property to him. It was obvious that he wasn't originally with them, even just by looking at them. Axel and Demyx looked haggard, yes, but they still looked healthy. Their clothes were dirty, but still in good condition. Their backpacks were the same. Zexion wasn't like that. For one thing, he was thinner, so much thinner, bones sticking out through his clothes. And he was obviously worse off, his bag and attire in much worse condition, ill-fitting and tattered with holes, his body bruised and bandaged.

If anything, it looked like he and the others came from two entirely different worlds.

It was no wonder that Axel treated him so differently. He wasn't concerned for him because he felt no need to be. He didn't know him. If Roxas had to guess, he would say that they randomly met and decided to stay together— the old safety in numbers rule being the only reason for them to do so. And as harsh as it was, he could understand it. He'd seen the damage the infected could do. It was hard enough looking out for yourself. Axel was obviously already worried with Demyx. He couldn't add anyone else to that.

Roxas lolled his head back, letting his eyes search out the moon through the skylight above.

Real life really wasn't anything like the movies.

A/N: Look! It's a wild Roxas! ^_^

Anyway, I'm starting to get more of a feel for the characters. Demyx was really more of a throwaway in this chapter, but he'll get more screen time later.

For this chapter, I really wanted to focus on Axel. He hasn't been coming across in the way that I've wanted him to, so I decided to add the scene between him and Reno to show that he's not entirely heartless. I also wanted to get a little more of his selfless side thrown in there and give him a chance to come off a little differently.

Roxas was fun to throw into this chapter as well. I wasn't sure how well I would do writing his character, but I'm not displeased with the product. He has some growing room, and hopefully I'll be able to shed some more light onto that in later chapters.

And Zexion did get a little bit of a voice in this chapter. Not as much as he could have, but he hasn't been cooperating with me lately. I'll work on that.

Production: Quicker. I should be starting the next chapter soon.

Question: How do you feel about Axel? Do you like his character, hate him, or are you indifferent to him? Do you feel like you have a better understanding of him after this chapter?

And while you're at it, how do you feel about the recent site updates?

Quiz Winners: Shadow of a Fallen Angel and XxJewelxX. Many virtual cookies for you!

Quiz Answer: Roxas. He was first featured in Another Side, Another Story and his three counterparts include Xion, Sora, and Ventus.

New Quiz: Hesitation can be fatal. Who hesitates next chapter?

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