1.

It was hot.

The Keyblade Graveyard wasn't a fun place to hang out in the best of circumstances. All the keyblades-broken, stabbed into the crusty hard sand-were eerie, and every time Demyx saw them he couldn't help but think of the people behind them, and how they were very definitely dead. It did not do wonders for his mood.

On principle, he tried to avoid going there. It was one thing to run errands for Zex- Ienzo. Another to go there for old man Xehanort's meetings. A third to go there of his own volition.

So why was Demyx finding himself going there as though compelled, though called on his duly-awarded gummiphone? He felt a draw, a pull. Did the old man need him? Was he being-ugh- unbenched? Who'd gotten themselves killed?

But when he got there… it was all eerily quiet, the only noise being the desert wind stirring the hot, dry air. Demyx walked for a while, feeling weird, feeling heavy , his chest aching like he had heartburn. He saw pits and craters in the ground which, upon closer inspection, were fresh. He saw footsteps in the dirt and, here and there, faint splatters of blood? He shook his head.

"'Lo?" he called. "Xehanort? Xemnas? Uh… anyone?"

He heard his own voice echoing.

"Did you need something?"

More silence.

"...Did you call me?"

Nothing. Demyx sighed heavily. "Well then I'm gonna go," he continued.

"Ah, not so fast, kiddo," he heard in the distance, and he relaxed a little. Xigbar came into the clearing.

"Oh hey Xig," Demyx said. "What's up?"

"What's up indeed ." He chuckled. "Did you take a look at all this?" He gestured to all the destruction. "Did you hear? The old man is dead."

Demyx's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, shit. Wait, so-who's left?"

He smirked. "Just you and me."

Demyx blinked. Thought of Vexen, Saïx. The former had texted him earlier, so he was still kicking. But Saïx… They'd had bad blood, but he still felt a little ping at his fellow traitor's loss. "Oh, shit," he repeated. "What now?"

"You tell me. It seems like someone's been a naughty little boy."

Demyx felt a punch-caught. But he kept his expression neutral. "What, for slacking off? Would help if you gave me something to do. "

"Cut the crap." His expression darkened, and Demyx felt a shiver of fear. "I know exactly what you've all been up to. How do you think this happened?" He spread his hands, then shook his head. "Never expected you to be a traitor."

Demyx didn't know what to say. His heart was giving these heavy, weird beats. "You guys wanted the end of the world," he said. "And, I dunno, I'm one of the idiots that lives in it?"

He put a hand on his hip. "I could care less what you did to Xehanort's plans."

Demyx frowned. "Then why did you call me here?"

"I didn't."

He blinked.

Xigbar took a few steps closer to him. "See, kiddo, the worlds have different passages of time. And you've got the equivalent of a time bomb in your chest. According to your body, the old man must've just bit it."

The pain in his chest was worsening. "What do you-"

"That bit of heart is going to want out."

"Okay, cool," Demyx said. "I'll just be me again. Sounds good." His voice trembled, and he swallowed. "But doesn't that mean I'd… lose the dark corridors? So shouldn't I-"

"Go while the getting is still good?" Xigbar's expression remained the same, but a faint aura of danger crept into it. "You could try. But there must've been a reason you were drawn here. Keyblade legacy, and all that." He gestured around vaguely. He grasped one of the broken keyblades and pulled it out of the ground. "Wonder if one of these is yours. Here, try it out." He tossed it down at Demyx's feet.

He frowned. He was feeling nauseous now, and a righteous headache was beginning to bud, not-quite-memories rising behind his eyes. "So you want my keyblade? Look, I don't want it, so take it. I don't care."

"No, thanks. Already got one of my own."

The surprise barely broke the haze of his pain, steadily rising. He's stalling me, Demyx realized. He pulled within him to get a corridor-probably his last-but it resisted. Before he could get an active one going, he felt a hush of air, and then he was being pinned to the ground, his arms bent behind his back, the brunt of Xigbar's weight making it hard to breathe. "Why are you doing this?" he forced out wheezily. "Just let me go. I don't want to get involved with whatever bullshit-" Xigbar leaned on him harder, and he cried out in pain.

"I'd love to do that, but there was probably a reason he wanted you. A reason that could throw yet another wrench into the plans. Sorry, kiddo. It's been real. But I can't have you doing anything else stupid."

" Please ," he wheezed. "Let me go, I'll disappear, I'll never bother anyone again-" The pain in his chest was so intense now blackness swarmed his vision.

"Oh, that I know." He felt Xigbar patting him down, pulling out the phone-his lifeline-and placing it next to him. Demyx just barely saw the flash of a blade- a keyblade? He wasn't lying? -as it smashed through the screen. "Nighty-night."

Darkness.

The ground was cool and dry under Demyx's face.

So slowly, he stirred. All of him was achy, but especially his chest, like someone had crushed his ribs (and he'd know-been there, done that. Thanks Sora.). He gasped one breath, tasting dust. He was dizzy and he thought he might get sick. It took a good minute of trying to get his bearings, of feeling if he had injuries, before it started to come back.

The pull to the graveyard. Xigbar. Xehanort's heart leaving him. No more dark powers. His phone, smashed to bits.

Demyx sat up slowly.

It was night in the graveyard now, and thankfully cool. He could barely see by the light of the stars. He felt around in the dirt and found the fragments of the phone, which was nearly in two, a massive hole punched out its screen. Dead. No way to call for help, or for that matter, a ride.

Panic, thicker and stickier than he remembered, washed over him. He pulled for a dark corridor, and the pain that shot through him was so intense he was actually sick. "Fuck," he spat. "Fuck!"

Alright. No need to panic. No need to panic. He was just stuck here, alone, in a desert, with no way out, no food, and if he had no powers, no water. The sensation of hopelessness (so intense?) rose and rose until he was gasping for breath, and he realized the intensity of these emotions came from his new humanity.

Human. But in this case, human was not what he wanted to be.

It took Demyx a long while to calm down. He rocked back and forth, feeling sorry for himself, until finally he could breathe somewhat normally. His mouth was so dry; part of his power usually kept him from needing to drink water. This new thirst was only another real sign of how fucked he was.

He held out his hand and called for Arpeggio. It came instantly, and he couldn't help but hug it tightly. At least there was this. He tried to call for his other powers, but nothing came; he tried regular magic, too, but that, too, gave him trouble.

Correction: no food, no water, no way out, but a sitar.

Demyx checked the contents of his pockets. A protein bar, two potions, an ether, and a utility knife. Not super promising. Well, he thought, at least I can off myself if it gets too bad.

Not how he thought he'd be spending his first moments of humanity in years.

The potions and ether would have to suffice as water. He'd have to see if he could find a source-anywhere here. But then what? Even if he got water, he'd need food. He'd seen no animals, no plant life anywhere.

He looked at the blade, shiny in the starlight. It'd be quick. Better than suffering to death.

That's probably what Xigbar wants, he thought. He should at the very least try to survive.

But for what, and why? He had no friends, no family that he could remember, barely any memories. He thought of Vexen, of Ienzo. Of how it had felt to help the "good guys." Demyx wondered if this were some form of karmic payback for all the bullshit he'd done as a Nobody. He felt his eyes watering and forced himself not to cry, to save that water.

If Demyx was good at anything, it was surviving.

While it was still dark, he kept moving.

The Organization-the first one, anyway-had trained them for wilderness survival. Ironically, Xigbar had been one of his partners. He'd been the one who recruited Demyx. He was taught how to read the stars for directions, how to find water, how to build traps if he needed to catch something to eat, how to build a fire. All of this in the rare occasion that his dark powers became incapacitated. In other words, a situation a lot like this. It was hard to see in the semidarkness, but he knew that if he tried moving in daylight, he'd just dehydrate himself faster, and possibly end up with heat exhaustion or heatstroke. Nobody bodies were more forgiving, able to recover more easily from such things. Demyx's body was no longer like that.

It was all so… eerie. Aside from the soft gusts of wind, there was almost no sound, and he took to singing to himself just to break the silence. No Heartless so far either, for which he was grateful. He walked through the labyrinth and found more signs of battle, but no water. He took tiny sips of one of his potions. Demyx was no longer used to thirst, its ache, the small tab in his brain whining for more. But he restrained himself. It didn't help that potions were slimy, oily. At least the slickness in his mouth was better than the dryness.

As it began getting light, he was able to find a place in the canyons to take shelter. He was exhausted, and the muscles in his chest were still sore. He thought he'd have trouble falling asleep, but he went under almost immediately.

He dreamt.

The memories were vague, almost cauterized, hazy at the edges-running across cobbles in a world he did not remember ever going to, other kids, a haze of Heartless battles, men and women in animal masks. When he woke, the dreams faded away, and he found himself struggling to recall what they were about. He was dizzy. He couldn't tell if it was the early onset of dehydration, the heat, or partially due to his sort-of-reformation. Was he fully human? He hadn't died, just lost the bit of a heart. But Xemnas had told them in the new Organization that they'd had a bit of a heart all along. Was his still growing?

He was hungry, and he had to pee. He ate a few bites of his bar, though all it did was make him hungrier. And it was only when he was through peeing that he realized he probably should've saved it to drink, though the thought made him shudder. I'd rather kill myself than do that. Demyx knew it was a matter of when, not if, he'd have to do that if he didn't find a water source soon. "Fuck me," he said aloud.

Demyx kept wandering. The thirst was almost constant now, and he only allowed himself a few sips of potion every few hours. At least the night was cooler, though no less dry. He started getting a headache, growing slowly more painful as time passed, and only then did he let himself drink more than a few swallows. It helped, but not for long. He found it hard to focus, his eyes glazing over as he looked out over all the sand and rock. Water, you idiot, find water. But consistently, he saw no signs of anything that would lead to an oasis of some sort-animal tracks, greenery. Nothing. It was all just wasteland.

Maybe he should turn his attention to finding a better place to die. Then, in the next breath, not yet.

What had happened to this place?

There were craters everywhere, scorch marks, massive cracks in the ground like the earth had opened up. Keyblade everywhere, wavering in his tired vision. Partially out of boredom, he picked up one here and there. The headaches grew worse, and he thought he was almost remembering.

No time to worry about all this. Time to worry about staying alive.

He was rapidly running out of fluids, and he was completely out of food. He was so hungry he was nauseous, and found himself getting tired more easily, having to sit and rest more often. He was already sweating less; it was too dry. The air must've been wicking the moisture out of him.

On the third day, he ran out of fluid entirely. He was starting to get faint, breathless more often, his joints aching. Dizzy, out of it. He elected to rest for a while and tried to play Arpeggio, his fingers hurting too much to play any more than some simple melodies. He cried a bit, though weirdly there were no tears. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. There was the thought of the knife. He almost brought it to his throat once, but couldn't find the strength to slash. I'm not ready yet.

Time started to get weird, passing either too slowly or in big great gasps, and he would be walking in daylight instead of night. He started feeling a pain in his back, growing steadily worse, and he was shaky. It was getting harder to walk. Maybe his best bet would be to find a cool, quiet place to curl up and try to sleep ( forever , he thought, but pushed the notion away). Demyx made his way back slowly towards the labyrinth where the battle had happened; there had been some nice crevices there, and maybe if one of the guardians of light came back they'd find him. Some hope. His body was starting to protest in earnest; his vision was swarming at the edges, and now and again he thought he saw things flickering and sparkling. He was hot, but he couldn't sweat, and shivery. It was coming soon.

He was just barely able to get in the shade before his knees gave out. The pain was everywhere at that point, but particularly in his head and back, his heart beating harder now, more quivery. "It's okay," he said to it. "It's okay. Just stop." He took the knife out again, but his hands were shaking too hard to pull out the blade itself. "Okay. Okay." He tried to make a pillow for himself out of his own arm.

I really am dying, he thought. Weird. Was he still a Nobody? Was he going to disappear again? Was he going to wake up fully human? Had he been fully human these past few days? Was there a point to any of this?

Demyx wished he weren't alone, that someone were sitting with him, he'd even take Xigbar. Maybe Axel, they'd got on well enough in the Organization. Or Ienzo, he seemed like he could use a friend. Demyx would take his sass any day…

He jerked a little, realizing he was drifting in and out of consciousness. It didn't hurt so much anymore, and for that he was grateful. It was getting harder to tell what was real and what wasn't. He thought he saw people in his vision, people in black coats. "Hey guys," he said softly. "What's up?" Heard the whisper of their distant voices as they talked, smudges of color. "Thought you were… dead."

One of the voices grew louder, and he winced. He thought he could make out the words. "...Isa. Isa? I think I see something-"

"Really? Does it look like it could be him?"

"Black coat-but I dunno, maybe."

The colors grew closer. Black, red, blue. Nice after all the brown of the sand.

"It's not moving. I think they're dead."

"The body would've faded." Quiet footsteps.

Then, "...oh no." Quicker footsteps, and Demyx could see the red above him, smudges of green. He tried to speak, but he couldn't get his mouth around the words. "Isa, quick, get over here." A hand against his throat, feeling his pulse (since when could hallucinations touch?). "He's… he's alive."

" Who? "

"Demyx-hey, buddy. Hey. Look at me."

Finally, a syllable. "Ax…"

"Yeah. Hey."

Demyx could see the blue, the paleness of their faces. He couldn't focus his eyes, and it was getting harder to breathe.

"Is he wounded?" Blue asked.

"I don't think so… look at his eyes , Isa, he must be human-"

"Stuck here-I'd have to guess dehydration." Some vague rummaging, then a bottle was being brought to his lips. He could barely find the strength to swallow. "It won't be enough. He needs serious medical help."

"Can you hear me?" Red asked. "Can you talk? Blink?"

Demyx tried to blink. His eyes were full of sand; it burned. Things were starting to clip.

"...Pulse really elevated-"

"Calling the eggheads-"

"...get his legs. I'll get the rest."

For a moment, but just one, everything was completely clear.

"Stay with us, huh?" Axel said to him. "Just for a little while longer. I'm not done being annoyed by you."

It all went dark.