12.

Even returns to his quarters. He knows he needs sleep, but he feels too wired, and he doesn't want to take something lest they need him in the middle of the night. He's soaking his lab coat in bleach, but he's not optimistic. Instead, he sits darning a hole in an old one he found.

He seems Demyx poke his face in the cracked door. "Something the matter?"

"That depends." Demyx sighs. "Do you think it's possible for me to regain my sitar? Or do you think it would hurt me like it did Ienzo?"

Already so much more resolved. Curious. "Truthfully? I think that you will likely be fine. Lea can wield two weapons simultaneously-though why that miscreant needs to be doubly dangerous I have no idea."

"How do I do it?"

He blinks. It still feels so odd to see the different color. "I'm afraid in that case I'm out of my depths. You might try giving one of them a call. I'm sure Ienzo would not mind if you used his gummiphone in his absence."

"Sure. Thanks." He turns to leave.

He bites the bullet. "Demyx? Could I perchance… take a look at it?"

"At what?"

What else? "The Keyblade," he says slowly. He never really got to study Roxas's-or Xion's, for that matter, despite creating it in a roundabout way. Funny. Demyx was once a thorn in his side; now he's a living relic.

He raises an eyebrow. "I mean I haven't consciously summoned it in literally hundreds of years."

"I have a feeling you'll be able to." Now that the boy is human… and feeling remorse… he may very well be worthy again.

The boy holds out his hands. With a flash… there it is.

It's a slight, delicate blade; the hilt an inverse sort of heart. Even notices the coloring, light and dark blue. "...Fascinating," Even mumbles. "Lea's chakrams were incorporated into his blade as well." He leans forward a little to get a better look.

Demyx draws it away. "Don't! I'm not going to risk passing this on."

...And how would that be done? "It's not a virus."

"It sorta is," he says, frustratingly vaguely.

"As if I would ever be worthy . Very well. If it soothes your neuroses."

The boy holds it protectively, and, Even notes, with something like disgust; he looks like he's smelled something bad.

"Have you had it long?"

"Literally?"

Even crosses his arms. "You do realize that you simply traveled through time, yes? You're still only twenty-two. A babe."

He shrugs. "Since I was five. More or less. That's just how it was then."

Paydirt. "How what was?"

He sighs. The weapon vanishes. "I hope you got time."

"For this, I will make the time."

He sits the boy down, starts a recording. Demyx bristles a little when Even does this, but says nothing. "I hope you do not mind that I am recording this. I assure you any we can redact any exceedingly personal information. This is for my edification only. I would never dream of letting it fall into unsavory hands."

He shrugs. "Sure."

"Can you state your name and age in its entirety?"

He nods, and then as though embarrassed, gives Even his old name.

"That's your name? That's not what I thought."

"Yeah, well. It seems like I'm full of surprises. I don't care who knows it, but it doesn't seem to fit right anymore. You know?"

"I suppose. So. Can you tell me what you remember, as far back as you can, as comfortably as you can?"

"I'll try."

When Even looks back at the recording later, it's only about half an hour; but it seems like he and Demyx were in that room for much longer. Demyx tells him the story slowly, about his own impoverished beginnings, about a time when Keyblade wielding was almost guaranteed, about complex family dynamics and Foretellers, about child warriors being exploited. They were throwing these kids in and out of time (how?) on missions to destroy Heartless, collect light. Not too much unlike the Organization, Even notes. Xehanort must have known all this. But if they were letting these kids time travel somehow, far enough into the future where they would naturally be dead… it defies logic. But it allows Demyx to be sitting here, now.

Doesn't everything?

But rather than how darkness corrupted the apprentices, light seemed to corrupt these children; they fought over it, began killing each other, as well as one another's pets (Chirithys?). Even remembers the old fairy tales-people used to fight over the light, and it's this fight that begat darkness, which begat the World's fracture.

Demyx has lived through all that.

He seems unaware of all this, of the implications of it. He tells Even instead about unions, Keyblade groups, a specialized sect called Dandelions. He tells him about a war.

It's around then the gravity of everything seems to be setting in. Demyx's voice becomes more and more halting as he describes the war, people (children) dying. Finally he breaks down. Even can't offer him much comfort other than a glass of water, something to dry his eyes, a hand to hold.

Their history was so much more human than he could've thought, more than the sing-songy fairy tales they'd all been taught. They had repercussions.

But if it were the second set of Foretellers, and not Xehanort, who wiped the boy's memory, how on earth did it return? Was just the trigger enough? Is it all sheer coincidence?

Xemnas found Demyx, wounded, reeling, and dying in this graveyard. Of course the boy begat a Nobody-but the Nobody, without memories or a Keyblade, was essentially useless, trauma warping his personality radically.

"Goodness gracious," he mutters, wanting a stronger word. "This is a window to our history."

Cried out, he's exhausted. "Yours, maybe."

"You simply must tell me more about these Foretellers. How is this organization structured? What was their training regimen like? Who was their leader-did they have a leader?"

"It's a lot to talk about." Flat. Lifeless. Even remembers the boy is human, not some kind of walking encyclopedia.

He pauses the recording. "I suppose you're right. Of course you must be very tired. It's been a long day."

"Yeah. Yeah, I would say so."

"Thank you for sharing this with me," Even says. "I realize… it is not easy. Especially given our past relationship."

"Like you said. Forgiveness."

He nods. But how has Even earned Demyx's forgiveness? "Would you like something to help you sleep?"

"I think I'll be okay. But thanks."

He's not sure what else to say, so he tries for humor. "Well. Don't get too used to it."

Demyx purses his lips. "Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo," he says. "Please."

"You can be sure of it."

He watches the boy go. He's trembling all over himself, weak. He thought hearing about the past would be illuminating; instead he feels something of a voyeur. This oral history is probably one of the only truths they have. But knowing he's the one who's taken it does not give him a sense of pride. Rather, he feels keenly the weight of responsibility. Demyx likely does not want to live being gawked at, questioned. But he's never had such insight before to the past.

For some reason Even thought that, prior to the Fracture, the World was something utopian. But people starving in the streets? Greed and exploitation running rampant? Maybe they did not yet have literal darkness, but it still lived in the hearts of men. Waiting.

Forever polluting.

He falls asleep for a few hours, restlessly. He bathes, forces himself to eat. He checks in on Ienzo, finds everything still steady and vital. He knows one thing he may be able to do.

Even finds the EEG machine broken and bashed in inside of a closet. He carries it back upstairs, seeking Dilan-the man was always better with his hands. He runs instead into Ansem. He's in no mood. "Have you seen Dilan?" he asks instead.

"He's keeping Demyx preoccupied. For the best, I suppose. What are you doing with that?"

"Well-it would be prudent to try to monitor Ienzo's neural activity," he says. "But like everything else in this godforsaken castle, it too needs repairs."

Ansem appraises the machine in Even's arms. "I may be able to help you," he says. "Come with me."

The lab is colder than everywhere else, despite the computer. Even shudders.

"I admit I did not miss these winters," Ansem says. He takes the screen and coil of wires and sets it down, then plugs it into the console. "I'll do a diagnostic. It'll only take a moment."

They both wait, saying nothing, refusing to make eye contact.

"This… does not surprise me a whit," Ansem admits.

"What? That everything's broken?"

"That the boy would do this," he says. "I'm afraid he gets that from you."

Even scoffs.

"It's true. You were always… in your own way… putting everything else above yourself-especially those you cared for. Once Ienzo arrived-I cannot recall one single touchpoint where the boy was not a priority."

"Children have no power here," he says softly. "I… now this must be kept in confidence."

"Always," Ansem says.

"Demyx told me the story of his past. I said I would not share the details-and I won't, without his permission. But… I'm afraid to say the past was no different. The people in charge, such as they were, were merely using them to gather light."

"Sounds familiar," Ansem says, with a shake of his head.

"...Quite. Naively, I hoped… that the darkness of man was artificial. But it seems that it was not, that we as humans… were always dreadful to one another. It's so dismal. I thought I would feel good, making these discoveries, but I…" He trails off and crosses his arms.

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Regardless of darkness."

"So it seems."

"And there's always light in the darkness, Even."

He scowls. "Can't you say something more than a mere platitude?"

"It's truth." He tilts his head. "If anything… this convoluted suffering of these two boys… has brought back out this tender part of you I feared gone."

"...I struggle, to be Even," he admits. "I feel a helpless wretch. Seeing Ienzo in such danger, I could not lift a finger. I could not do anything aside from watch."

"But you were there. Which is more than I can say." He taps a few things on the screen. "This actually appears to be in good shape. Needs a new motherboard. That's all. Those are easy to come by, in the market. We can go together."

"...But shouldn't someone be here in case-?"

"Everyone here has a gummiphone, and they also know how to use it. It'd do you some good to get outside. I don't think any of us will leave Ienzo without company."

They walk, slowly. Even realizes, almost for the first time, that he's taller than Ansem; the man always seemed larger than him. How odd. "Do you… know what happened?"

"I've been briefed by nearly everyone, yes."

Their walk to town is nearly completely silent. They wade through the snow. "I thought I would know what to do, once I began my pitiful attempt at atonement," Even admits. "But all I've done to help so far-results in nothing."

"I'm not much better. I tried to assist Ienzo, but all I did was allow the boy to destroy himself. I wasn't… a good father. I never allowed him to even call me "dad."" He shakes his head. "I never prioritized him. He was… something of a pet, looking back on it."

"Yet when I suggested that you became extremely defensive."

"Because I'm a stubborn idiot, Even."

The frankness with which he says this makes Even look up.

"Does it make you feel good to hear you were right?" he asks. There's no sharpness to it; he really wants the answer.

"No," he says. "Not at all."

For a while all that is audible is the sound of their boots crunching the snow. "I should've listened," Ansem continues. "We could've placed the boy in a good home. He could've grown up safe, loved-more than the desiccated love of researchers. Xehanort might not have used him, might not have held him as a chip over you. Because I'm sure he did."

"And none of this would have happened?" Even asks dryly.

"I'm not sure about that. But we could've spared one life." He sighs. "I admit I'm… glad for Demyx, in some ways. He's giving him a support we couldn't-and still can't."

"I feel the same," Even says dully. "All along I thought he was-that he would-"

"Physically use the boy and cast him aside?"

Even shrugs. "But has anyone in Ienzo's life done anything more?" His eyes ache, from exhaustion and the whiteness of snow. "Demyx was there when it happened… his devastation told me his feelings are genuine."

"...Perhaps we should get used to him, then."

"It could be worse." He frowns. "I'm… trying not to consider what might happen if-"

"Ienzo will not give up if he has a say in the matter. Have faith in the boy."

"I do," Even says haltingly. "But I wish… we had been on better terms prior to… I have so much to make up to that boy. The least I can do is ensure he has a long and happy life."

"Is that not atonement enough?" Ansem asks softly.

"It never will be. Never. It's all become so dreadfully human to me, what we did. I wrote an impact statement for the committee. These people were more than just hearts, they were…"

"Dreams? Memories?"

Even nods.

"I understand," Ansem says. "I turn back towards what I've done, my abuse of those Nobodies. They may not be human, but they are still living, they still have their own wants and needs. And now… because of you they have a second chance to really live as they were meant to."

He shakes his head a little.

"I've been much too harsh with you," Ansem says.

Even stops in his tracks. "What?"

"Being cruel to you will not fix things. It will not change what's been done."

Is that all? "Oh."

"But I find your humility promising."

He can't stop it. "I'm not an irredeemable wretch after all?"

"You were never. I'm afraid I… stumble more with my words than I used to."

Even drops his eyes. They're almost back at the castle. "I did try," he admits. "Just not hard enough."

"Try what?"

"To get him out."

Ansem stares at him. "When was this?"

"The night they threw you into darkness." Even's heart seems to itch. "I was going to run. But they… guessed." He swallows. "Xehanort threatened to-"

Ansem touches his shoulder. "Peace."

"I could've tried harder. I could've. Yet more painful that the boy forgives me for all of it."

"You can do better now. You already are."

"...You needn't tell me sweet lies."

"It's not a lie. You're changing. I wish I could follow."

Even blinks. "Can't you?"

Ansem chuckles. "This city is in shambles," he says. "The ones picking up the pieces are children, inexperienced but hopeful. Rather than return here, to assist this resistance, I… tried to do everything myself. I let the people suffer. I let someone clean up my mess. Sound familiar?"

"Do you believe it's too late to change?"

Ansem doesn't answer. "Come," he says instead. "We should check on the boy."

The days pass. Even finds himself again becoming numb, but he tries to take care of himself. He needs to keep it together for Ienzo.

The boy sleeps and sleeps.

For the first few weeks, Ienzo has next to no neural activity, essentially reading as braindead; which would track if his will is not rebounding. He fears for the worst. How long should they wait before…

No. He will not go there.

He tries to research the subject further, but all there is are fragments, scraps of similar things in ancient, moldering texts. There truly is no precedence for any of this. There's nothing any of them can do aside from take care of him and wait.

If Even or Ansem isn't with him, Demyx is. Somehow in all this he's regained the ability to summon his sitar, but Even finds he doesn't mind the noise. It fills the utter silence. It keeps the boy company.

Perhaps for this reason, Ienzo begins to manifest some activity. It's incredibly limited-barely noticeable-but to Even's sharp eyes, it's there.

"You surely are taking your time," Even mutters.

Seeing it is a relief. It means this all isn't for nothing.

One of these days, he's in checking Ienzo's vitals when he sees Demyx sitting by the window, reading, oddly enough. He consults the monitor. "EEG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming."

Demyx looks up. "About what?"

"I've no idea. ...What is that ?" He thought that the book in front of the boy was one is Ienzo's fantasy stories, but taking a closer look at it… Why on earth is Demyx reading something like that ? "Are you quite alright?" He checks the boy's temperature. It's the only explanation.

Demyx scowls and shuts the book. "I'm studying. Sue me."

"But why?" He already has the boy, no need to impress him further.

A sheepishness replaces the anger. "You're just going to make fun of me," he says.

"I will not ."

He gives Even a doubtful look.

"I must admit I am still getting used to the new you. Tell me. I will withhold judgement."

But the last thing he expects out of the boy's mouth is, "I'm thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic."

The last thing Even expected to hear."Really? Why is that?"

"I want to help people. And this seems like something I can actually do." He sighs. "I hate feeling helpless. If I can help someone not feel that way, it'd be nice. You know."

He does know. All too well. It's still jarring to hear Demyx talk about this, when he once couldn't be trusted to do what he was told, or really follow anything other than his own whims. But knowing all he's gone through… he can understand that itch, that need to ease suffering.

(And, somewhat gallingly, Demyx's bedside manner is better than his own, degree or no.)

"I admit I never put much stock in such magic initially. But seeing how that woman has cared for the two of you, I'm starting to change my mind."

There's an earnestness in his newly-green eyes when he asks, "Do you think I can do it?"

Demyx might not be booksmart, but if Even remembers anything of the Organization days, he knows Demyx's magic was powerful. "You had a fairly potent magical ability in the Organization. I don't see why not."

"You don't think I'm too stupid?"

He's getting aggravated, but for a completely new reason. Since when does anything Even says mean anything to him? ( You're his in law.)

(Do not think about that. )

"I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem. As you said. You're not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence." He reaches for the tome. "I'd be glad to help you, should you so want it. These aren't exactly light reading. It'd be convenient to have another pair of hands." He picks up another bag of saline. "Well. If you're so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much." He shows Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals; he watches with interest. "I'm hoping we won't need to do this for too much longer. But that's all up to him." He pats Ienzo's head.

Demyx is tearing up. "I miss him."

His emotions are always so clear, so close to the surface. Even is vaguely jealous. "As do I. Come. Are you hungry?"

They actually end up spending quite a lot of time together, in the upcoming weeks; Even has a feeling Demyx is lonely, and if he's being honest with himself, so is he. Sometimes the boy will sit near him, as he writes or works in the lab, nose buried in a book (the sight is so bizarre; Even feels half delirious), only looking up to ask questions about anatomy or for a definition of a word. It reminds him of his days teaching. He used to find that work paltry, annoying, something to get through so he could go back to the worthwhile. But he finds he doesn't mind it. Demyx is sharp, perceptive; he must've been, to have gathered such good intelligence in the Organization, but only now is Even seeing it. And finds himself wondering how much of his ill will towards the boy was baseless.

"...Sorry," Demyx says one day. "But do you mind if I play something? I… I can't focus otherwise." With a soft laugh.

He sighs. But to answer in the negative would just discourage the boy. "If you must."

The boy hefts the instrument into his arms, tunes the strings, begins absently playing a quiet melody to himself. Even glances up, observing him calmly; he pauses every now and again to flip a page, but his gaze is focused.

"Are you glad, to be back here?" Demyx asks suddenly.

He blinks. "In this lab? I should think not-it's a disaster."

"No." He chuckles. "Here, here. In Radiant Garden. As Even."

He swivels his stool to face the boy. "If I'm to be honest-it hasn't been easy."

"...No," Demyx admits.

"But I…" He doesn't know what to say.

"Where else do you go?" he asks wryly.

"Yes… and… I may still be able to… be of use, here." He curses his inelegance.

"But what do you want?"

The earnestness of it makes him laugh. "When you get older you'll realize you can't just live for yourself."

"I mean I know that already." He shakes his head. "Even. What would make you happy?"

He blinks. "Do we deserve happiness, after what we did?"

"Is suffering any better?"

Even feels vaguely shaken.

Demyx lets the sitar disappear and comes over to him. He leans on his elbow. "No reason for you to be one of your own victims," he says. "So you might as well lighten up a little. I'm going to go do laundry. ...I'm on my last pair of underwear." He wrinkles his nose and disappears.

"I did not wish to have that information," Even says to his retreating form.

But once he's gone… Even ponders what he said. Turning it over.

Wondering if the boy might actually be right for once.