Chapter Twenty-Five
Freedom

"Roxas, I love you." Axel's eyes shone happily and the blonde blushed deeply, staring at the punk's face, he ignored the blackness that surrounded them, ignored the constant ringing in the distance and tangled his fingers in fiery red hair. He tugged Axel's face down to his and realized he was sobbing, he felt the salty tears making their way in between Axel's and his lips, he tasted them mingling in their kiss but he ignored everything even the way his body was throbbing in pain. Axel wrapped his strong arms around the boy's thin waist and Roxas shivered, clinging to Axel tighter.

"You saved me," he breathed, tears still streaming and Axel looked at him, smiling softly, lovingly.

"Of course," The punk responded and Roxas laughed, caressing the sides of Axel's face and admiring the boy's pale skin.

Axel's image began to blur and Roxas blinked crazily, grasping at the slowly disappearing boy and he looked around frantically when everything began to blur away into complete blackness. There was a bright light shinning and he narrowed his eyes looking at it, his hand reaching out towards it and he was aware of the floor underneath him...but what was stranger was that he could feel it against his cheek. The feeling of smooth stone pressing against his skin made him blink and the bright light got closer and closer. Once it was right in front of him, Roxas realized that it was like a tunnel, and at the other end was the church and his father...

Roxas howled in pain as his father's boot came down on his wrist with crushing force as he came back around, having passed out briefly when his head crashed against the alter. The agonizing feeling fired up his arm straight into his brain, making him instinctively yank his hand away, trying to get it out from under the rough, rubber soles but only succeeding in increasing the pressure. The pain was nowhere as intense as when he had broken his nose (What was that, days, weeks, months ago?) and Roxas prayed his wrist wasn't broken because he had no clue how to fix one of those.

He looked up, feeling blood slowly dripping down his chin and his father stared down at him, eyes ablaze like the fires of hell. Roxas felt his insides turn to stone because that look could only mean one thing. The man was still furious with him. With a twist of his foot, Roxas' father pulled the skin of boy's thin wrist with his boot, almost as if he was stubbing out a cigarette. Again, Roxas screamed, choking on tears, mucus and whatever else was dripping into his mouth and throat. He could feel the gash on his forehead, the blood oozing out, working its way down into his eye making it hard to see and his ears were ringing, but he still heard his father grunt as the man squatted beside him.

"Who are you trying to protect?" The man hissed and Roxas shook his head, trying to sit up and scramble away, trying but failing. He was weak, living for God knows how long on nothing but water and the scraps of whatever it was his father decided to feed him. He was sleep deprived, because the man made him read from the bible day and night when he wasn't trying to force a confession out of him and he was injured because of the brutal beatings which seemed to only get worse as the days progressed.

Roxas held strong though, not uttering a single word about what he'd done with Axel, or how he'd felt jealous because of Sora or anything he knew his father wanted to hear. Those were not sins, Roxas was only human and Roxas knew that if he loved Axel, as he truly felt he did, then nothing they did together was wrong, nothing Axel had made him feel tainted his soul.

However, the boy's resolve was weakening. There was only so much pain he could handle; there was only so much of his father's torture he would be able to endure. He was tempted to scream at the top of his lungs everything, tempted to tell his father even what he had eaten on those days as long as everything would stop. He knew though, in a dark corner of his mind that if he were to confess, it would not make anything better. The pain was making him delirious, he reasoned, and that was what kept his mouth shut.

"Tell me Roxas, you're running out of time," His father breathed in his ear, and the boy shivered violently, feeling sweat collecting over his brow as he tried to push himself up, his wrist on fire and his entire body simply burning in pain. His father pushed him down easily and he toppled over, crying out when he landed on his wrist. His breathing was ragged, his face was caked with dirt and he tried to crawl away, weakly tugging his body away from his father but in no clear direction. The man stayed behind for a few seconds, giving the boy hope until his boot pressed into the small of Roxas' back, crushing him into the cold floor.

"Does your soul mean nothing to you?" The man growled, pressing harder and harder and Roxas squirmed, gasping out in pain but not making any other sounds. His throat was raw and the familiar taste of blood was settling on the very last taste buds of his tongue.

"Y-yes," Roxas choked out, and the man removed his foot, kicking him onto his back and Roxas took a huge gulp of air, eyes wide when his father leaned down once again.

"Yes what?"

"I-I do…care," speaking was difficult; he could feel his throat working around every word as he pushed it past his chapped lips.

"Then why don't you want to be pardoned of your sins, and cleanse your soul?" His father looked at him, seeming genuinely confused and Roxas realized it was probably the first innocent, non-malevolent expression he had ever seen on the man's face. Then he realized his father looked insane, not angry or confused, the look he was giving Roxas was a blank one, one only a truly disturbed person could give.

"I've…confessed…all I've…d-done wrong," Roxas was in pain, his stomach felt as if there was a blade being slowly pushed deeper and deeper, twisted in every direction and his head was screaming in agony. He fought against the urge of curling up, like a potato bug and laying there and simply dying.

"Roxas…you're running out of time," Again the man said that, he had said it countless times and Roxas wished he knew just how much time he had left. The man got up and headed towards the area of the church he always disappeared to. A few nights ago, when Roxas had more strength, when his father hadn't beaten him he followed the man quietly, he had followed him all the way down the stairs and into the church's basement. Roxas had stood at the door watching the man as he sat at a table, there were papers scattered everywhere, bibles piled in every corner and cruxifixes hanging on every inch of wall. Roxas felt a powerful shudder at the sight of his father hunched over the desk, writing something and mumbling. What the man was saying, Roxas wasn't sure but he stayed watching him for a long while and the man kept speaking but Roxas didn't know to who. Something inside chilled and he realized it was to God.

Before Roxas' father left he turned and looked at Roxas, and he saw the only thing that could terrify the boy more than the man's eyes.

The man smiled.

"I'll be back Roxas…and now this will all be over. I will free your soul from the confines of that sinner's body and send it back into the grace of God."

The blonde heard the heavy wooden door shut and sat up quickly, regretting it when pain shot up and made him want to curl up but he couldn't. His father was going to kill him! The boy's body trembled as he stood and took an experimental step, his body throbbed in protest, his head pounding when he tried to take another step, he couldn't stop though, no matter how much it hurt. Roxas hunched over, his arm wrapping around his middle and trying to even out his breathing while taking a few more steps. All he had to do was get to the church doors without his father finding him.

The last attempt rang through his mind like a loud warning bell, and he remembered his father finding him, tugging weakly on the heavy doors, his body ached with the memory of how harshly his father had beaten him afterwards. Nevertheless, the boy shook his head, and took another step. It hurt, but his body was slowly getting used to the horrible pain, he was becoming numb and each step became bearable. Maybe it was the knowledge that if he didn't move he would die, that was making him so strong.

He was halfway down the aisle, his heart hammering loudly against his bruised ribs as he stared longingly at the doors. They were so close yet so far. The boy listened intently for any movement coming from downstairs, anything at all that would warn him to his father's arrival but he heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, he hurried his steps, taking longer, quicker strides, gripping his stomach tighter and tighter. He wiped away the blood that was still slowly trickling down his face on the back of his torn cardigan sleeve and ignored the way the once soft material, scrapped against his skin roughly.

Finally he stood just before the heavy doors and stared at them, the dark oak making them seem menacing, making them seem like prison walls. The tears in his eyes began to blur his vision as they leaked down his cheeks; he brushed them away with the back of his hand angirly, tired of crying and then wrapped his fingers around the door's handle. He gave a soft experimental tug and it easier to open than last time, as long as he didn't try to use his hurt wrist. His fingers clenched tighter to the brass handle and he tugged hard, the door coming open and revealing the scenery before him. He hadn't been outside since his father had brought him to the church, so to see the snow that was once up to his knees, all patchy and melting was a surprise.

The sun shone down, the bright light blinding him momentarily and he squinted into it as his eyes adjusted slowly to the drastic change in exposure. The inside of the church had been dark, only light by a few scarce candles and the light that snuck it's way past the heavy wooden planks across the windows giving the entire area a dungeon-like feeling. The boy smiled into the cold, moist air, his heart pounding and the ache in his wrist wasn't as bad under the warm glow of sunlight.

He had been in the church for such a long time, all the layers of snow had already begun to melt, leaving nothing but white chucks and muddy, dead grass. His heart clenched at the sight, and he felt sick to his stomach until he stepped outside and inhaled deeply, taking in what smelt like spring. There was still a cold breeze blowing crazily and Roxas wasn't quite sure what month it was. It could not be later than March…but if it was March, then that meant he had been with his father in the abandoned church for an entire month.

He looked down at his body, and now that he was outside, in clean air, he could smell himself, which disgusted the boy far more than words could describe, he felt his hair matted down to his scalp with sweat, mud and maybe even blood. His clothes, which had once, long ago, looked clean and pressed, were now torn into pieces, his black slacks ragged and sagging off his body. He hadn't gotten a good look at himself in a very long time, always preoccupied with thinking about when his next beating was, or when, if even, he was going to be fed. Now under the bright sun he looked terrible, he lifted his hands to his face and noticed how badly his wrist and fingers were swelling on one hand, on both the nails had dark dirt underneath and his palms looked brown, along with the rest of his once, white flesh. He realized now how truly horrible he looked. The clothes that had once been the right size now appeared to be 10 sizes too big. He feared what he might look like in front of a mirror.

Pushing that thought out of his mind, he looked back and lifted his hand, giving the empty church the finger.

He stumbled down the steps, a smile breaking out across his face at the thought of finally escaping. Sure, all he could see was nothing but trees for what looked like miles and miles but he knew that didn't matter. All that was important now was getting away from the church. He hurried his steps, almost sliding when his feet finally reached the soft earth, mud rising up around his boot and he felt a laugh bubbling in his throat. He was almost free, almost away from his father.

Roxas took a few more steps, the soles of his shoes sticking to the ground and making it a little harder to walk but he didn't care, he kept pushing forward, forcing himself to leave the church as far behind as he possibly could. The further he got, the more he noticed that all the snow wasn't gone yet, there was still quite a lot so his first thought that it was late March seemed less and less accurate. If anything, it appeared to be Late February...But he couldn't tell. He had forgotten what late March even looked like, and one could never trust the weather. For all he knew, it could have been April.

The further he got, the less his injuries hurt and he smiled brightly, stepping out of mud and into ankle deep snow. It didn't matter that he was getting wet, nor that he was slowly becoming colder and colder. The only thing on his mind was freedom.

He was almost running now, kicking snow up in every direction. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he thought that going straight was the best possible route. His legs ached horribly, his headache was still present, making itself known by pulsing painfully and making the back of his eyes sore but he tried to shake it away, tried to take in the delirious feeling of finally being free.

He ran for quite some time until he finally spotted something in the distance. It appeared to be an old path; he could see it underneath the melting snow and stared at it for a few minutes, not believing his luck. "Thank you God, thank you so much," he said almost in tears as he ran towards the thin road and once his feet touched the smooth pathway he felt like he just might faint from sheer happiness. Now he felt he was far enough and he chanced a look back, turning his aching head slowly on an even more injured neck.

To his dismay, he could still see the church in the distance, he could see it perfectly from where he was and he realized that he had not gotten as far as he originally had believed. The thought that it felt much longer than it really was sunk in and he realized that his exhausted body had fooled him, had made him believe that he had covered a lot more ground when really, he was still in the church's line of vision.

Instead of dwelling on it though, he turned and began running again, his feet sliding in the mud. He fell, his wrist taking a lot of the impact, and he bit his bottom lip before a scream could tear its way out of his throat. His body shook and he felt himself just about ready to heave from the pain shooting up his arm, but again, he couldn't simply stay there in the cold mud, his father could come out and find him. His father would kill him.

He pushed himself up and began running again, being mindful of where his steps landed and watching for more soft, muddy earth.

He could barley hear anything other then his harsh panting and the sounds of his feet hitting the ground but when a loud, roaring scream tore through the surrounding forest his eyes widened and it was all he heard. The boy threw a look over his shoulder. Roxas' heart clenched in fear and his throat dried instantly, his breaths rasping out and becoming a million times for painful. His steps faltered and he almost fell again before facing forward and pushing his body, forcing it to run even faster.

Quickly, he decided it would be best not to stay on the main road and he turned, running into the thick Evergreens that surrounded him. He tripped and fell but instead of landing flat on the ground be headed down and realized he had just fallen down a hill. He began rolling down the steep hill and scraping his face, and body against eroded roots, he bumped against rocks and felt the water and mud seeping into his clothes as he rolled quickly. He couldn't stop himself and decided he didn't want to, he was covering more ground this way, so instead of trying to slow down, he simply covered his head with his arms. The battered boy finally came to a crashing halt, coming inches from smashing his face into the ground. Roxas got on all fours and looked around, blinking dirt out of his eyes and taking in the sight of a river, leading far off into the distance. He smiled, looking up at the blue sky that was barely visible because of the millions of branches and pine tree tips overhead. The bright blue peaking through the bare branches that looked like claws reaching for heaven.

"Thank you God," Roxas breathed softly, looking at the river where the thick ice that had probably once covered it was melting. The boy crawled towards the water and looked down at his reflection, though he couldn't really see himself well. Deciding he didn't care for now, he dipped his hands in the ice cold water and splashed some onto his face, hissing when it soaked his face and wet his cuts. It felt refreshing though on his bruised cheek so he did it again, then cupped come into his hands and drank.

It was fresh water and his throat soaked it up greedily. He drank more, filling his stomach with it before standing and feeling slightly better. His body still ached and he knew it would for a while but he needed to get moving. He began walking slowly, finding no need to rush now that he was much further from the church. Something deep within himself told him he was safe, but a dark corner of his mind kept repeating: "for now."

A/N: He's not out of the woods yet! -is gunned down-
Ahh, my computer is being stupid, so there might be a few mistakes and such.
Nowhere near as bad as the first few chapters though xD
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Thank you all so much!