Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or its subsidiaries. This is a not-for-profit fanwork.
XXVII.
Confusion
A tingling shot up the back of Demyx's neck. "In vain?" he repeated. He shook his head. "You mean… I'm going to die?"
Luxord's Somebody hesitated. "I cannot say exactly," he said.
"You can't tell me or you don't know?" Demyx was surprised at the sharpness of his own voice. He felt like he had been plunged deep into his body.
"You may be paying for more than you receive," Ten said. "That's all I'm at liberty to say."
"Then why tell me? Why let me know if I don't have a choice?"
Ten took a sip of his tea. "Who says you don't have a choice? Tell me, Nine. Do you believe in fate?"
His stomach was churning. He looked over the edge at the ground far below.
"Fate is mere a result of the choices you've made," Ten continued. "Should you change your mind, your future would change as well."
"Why?" Demyx repeated again. "Do you want me to run away? Is that it?"
"What do you want?" The Somebody asked. "Now that you've rejoined yourself."
Demyx thought for one tremulous moment. His mind was racing and his heart had started to ache. He thought of Yuffie, of the music he could make now that that part of himself was starting to grow again, of the friends or the people who could be his friends. The life was there, waiting. Did it matter if he hadn't earned it?
"Your heart has changed," Ten repeated again. "Remember that." The way his bright blue eyes bore into Demyx's told him that there was something obvious he wasn't quite grasping.
"What does that mean?" Demyx asked. The stress was starting to overwhelm him and he turned away from the postern edge. His pulse raced. "I am so sick of people being enigmatic—"
"I have already told you more than I should have—"
"Who makes the rules? What will stop you, exactly?" His voice rang against the stone.
"Nine—"
"If one more fucking person calls me Nine…" He trailed off, unable to complete the threat. The adrenaline was pouring through his body.
Ten's eyebrows shot up. "Wait—"
But Demyx was already gone.
He let his legs do the work, and ran.
All the training and work had paid off. It was a long while before he exhausted himself. When he finally collapsed onto the cool stone of the crystal fissures, it was starting to get dark. His lungs were positively scalding and he knew that his legs would be virtually unusable in a few hours. He lay on his back and stroked the rough mineral sand that gently coated the heavy blue stone.
There should have been stars starting to peek out now. There was next to nothing.
He forced himself to sit up. His muscles were trembling and he was soaked with sweat.
It was the first time that he had ever been forced to consider that this mission might kill him.
Violation, he had expected. Torture, sure. Some sort of grim, soul-reaping initiation? Of course. But death? And if he took what Ten said at face value, then if he left Radiant Garden, he wasn't coming back.
Demyx realized that he didn't want to die. He wanted to be human, to get to know these intense emotions constantly draining him, to make art. To love and to be loved. He'd never gotten to do any of these things before. Something, or someone, was always taking that choice away from him, at least until Sora's Keyblade struck him down. He doubted dying would be as easy as it had been the first time.
The tears started so quietly that at first he thought it was just more sweat. What was he supposed to do now? What would make him more whole? The nobility of self-sacrifice? Or this whole second life? And would any of it be worth it if he didn't live through it?
If he chose not to go on this mission, what would the others say? Would they be disappointed? Would they reject him wholly? And Yuffie? She was so committed to protecting her town. If she had the choice, he knew she'd go, and go out with a bang. He couldn't imagine starting over alone. The thought of having nobody again was too much to bear. Who would want him if he chose so selfishly?
By the time he was found he couldn't breathe. His lungs were shaking but there was no sound, only a curious silence. A light shone down on him and he squinted to see who it was.
"What are you doing here?" Lea asked. "Oh, god. What did he tell you?"
Demyx couldn't speak. The fact that he had let himself get into this awful sniveling state was bad enough. He struggled to get to his feet but his calves were already screaming. He stumbled and Lea caught his elbow before he fell.
"Are you hurt?"
His sides were aching.
Lea shook him. "Talk to me," he said a little more forcefully. He held Demyx out at arm's length, studying him through the soft light of the fire in his palm. "What did he tell you?"
A thick, guttural animal sob escaped his throat. He pressed his hands over his mouth. Lea eased him back down to the ground. The fire he held in his hands cast strange shadows on his face. The heat pressed against Demyx's skin.
Once the tears stopped, there was nothing left but pure exhaustion. A new shade of numbness had filled him. He looked down at his own hands, warped in the firelight. "I'm going to die," he said.
"…What?" Lea asked.
"Luxord. Ten. He told me that I'm going to die."
A weak, hot breeze stirred the flames in Lea's palm. Demyx couldn't read his expression, but it looked harsh. When he finally spoke, he didn't offer comfort or even show surprise. He simply said, "I know."
That was the last thing Demyx expected to hear. "Did everyone know?"
Demyx could see Lea struggling to respond. The length of time it took told him everything he needed to know.
"They knew," Demyx said to himself. The numbness flooded him like lead.
"It had to be your choice," Lea said.
"Why?"
Lea hesitated.
"Tell me why." His breath hissed through his teeth and he tensed, ready to stop the flow of blood to Lea's muscles.
Lea raised his hands. The fire played along the left, perilously close to his shirt. "Easy. Easy, alright?"
"Fuck you," Demyx said. Something inside him was collapsing. "How long have you known?"
"These things don't get finalized," Lea said.
Demyx reached with his consciousness. Before he could even get at Lea's vascular system he was already in a headlock. The flame had been snuffed, leaving them in near perfect darkness. Lea's bony arm crushed his airway and he choked. Demyx pushed harder, feeling the veins in Lea's left arm. A pair of fingers struck a certain point next to his neck, and he blacked out.
His ears were ringing and there was something wrong inside his body.
Demyx struggled to push through into alertness, but something was keeping him from it. It tasted sweet, and sickly. It was hard to move or do much more than slit open his eyes. The room he was in was bright, and the ground he was laying on was wooden and a little dusty. His wrists hurt. He heard voices, one loud and yelling, the other quiet and measured. All the sound was muffled, as were his powers, which draped over him like a musty carpet. It felt like someone had reached into his consciousness, ripped it out, and paralyzed it. Which, he realized, someone probably had.
The jolt of adrenaline didn't quite shake whatever he had been drugged with, but it did help him open his eyes. His wrists were bound with a soft purple cloth and, strangely, someone had put a pillow under his head.
He didn't recognize this room. There were huge pieces of furniture covered in white sheets, and the smell of mothballs was overpowering. It was hot, too. Demyx wiggled his wrists. The binding was too tight to give much motion, but not tight enough to cut off circulation. He recognized the knotting right away. He'd been taught exactly how to get out of this hold in the Organization.
It took a while, in his drugged state, and judicious use of his teeth. When he finally had his hands free he had gotten over the worst of the sedation, though his ears still rung and his mind was still foggy. He spotted a wastepaper basket and groaned, mostly because he knew a way that might shake the rest of the drug, and it wasn't pleasant. There was practically nothing in his stomach when he forced himself to throw up, and his hands tasted like sweat and dirt. It must have been hours, if not longer, because the light streaming through the window was bright.
Standing was even worse than the vomiting, and he nearly blacked out again. Someone had taken his knife, leaving him with an empty holster. His legs were still brilliantly sore, and each step was agony. At least his hearing was starting to work again.
What the fuck was going on?
He crossed over the door of the room. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. He searched the room as quickly as his compromised state would allow for something that would allow him to get out: to break the lock, or lift the hinges. He debated just breaking the door down, but his legs were too sore for kicking, and there was nothing in the room he could lift that would do the trick. Besides, it was a solid, old wood, and it would take too much force.
He approached the window. This whole situation had awoken in him something dark, something Organization-y. He'd never had to use these skills before in this castle. He wondered if it was a part of the real Demyx, if he'd always had to struggle like this. He had a feeling that was the answer was yes.
Before he could start calculating his options, the lock rattled. Demyx snatched the piece of purple cloth. It was the only possible weapon he had. He wasn't sure he would be able to go through with… whatever it was, but he needed the option.
In walked Ienzo. There was a rather tense moment where Ienzo looked at him, the trash can, and the cloth in his hands. Ienzo shut the door.
"Yes," he said. "I told them this is what would happen. Even insisted on disabling your powers. I said it was barbaric."
Demyx squeezed the cloth.
"You must be disoriented," Ienzo said. "The sedation doesn't help, but neither does the shock." He took a step closer.
"Don't fucking move," Demyx hissed through his teeth.
"Alright. I'll stay all the way over here." Ienzo made a big show of his empty hands, but Demyx knew he didn't need a single thing to incapacitate him. He'd already done that with Demyx's own memories.
"I need answers," Demyx said. "No more lying. No more averting."
"I'm afraid I don't know much," Ienzo said.
"Bullshit," he spat. "Lea told me you all knew from the beginning I was going to die."
"If I'm correct, so did you," Ienzo said. He looked so small standing there, but Demyx doubted he could overpower him. He was already starting to tremble all over; probably some stupid side effect of whatever medicine gagged his powers. "Your deterioration, Nine. This was a long shot from the beginning."
"That's not what this is about," he said. "Ten told me that if I went on this mission that it would kill me."
"I thought you had accepted that risk," Ienzo said unwaveringly.
His head was already spinning with confusion. "I thought that they would try to break me, or put a bit of him inside me," he continued. "Not that I would…"
"Did you think the stress of that would have no effect on your condition?" Ienzo asked calmly.
"I thought I was getting better." The anger was cooling. The cloth slipped in his hands. He waited to feel Ienzo's grip on his mind, but none came. How had he been so stupid? How had he not realized… "Lea said this had to be my choice."
"Survival was your choice," Ienzo said. "All along you've fought your deterioration. But this isn't something that can be fought. The fact that you decided to go on this mission is somewhat irrelevant."
"So if I don't go… the result is the same," he said. "What about Sora's light, and Yuffie? Didn't that help at all?"
"I can't say," Ienzo said. "As much as Even and I like to believe it's slowed things down, we can't know for sure. While I was highly skeptical, part of me hoped that, should you return to the Organization, they really would be able to undo what they had done to you. As impossible that must be. Why should Xehanort really care about his pawns?" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Nine. I'm sorry for this miscommunication. I can only imagine what you must be feeling."
"…And the others?" he asked. "Are they getting worse too?"
"Not as drastically as you," he said. "But yes."
He felt like he was drowning. "Can I sleep?" he asked Ienzo. "Please."
"Of course," Ienzo said. He brought him all the way back to the same familiar room, to the same hard bed. He didn't lock the door, didn't even sedate him again. Demyx slipped under the covers and let sleep come.