CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The world was awash with water. It entered Roxas' eyes, slipped into his open mouth, deafened him to all but the constant pattering, the insistent rush of the wind. He gasped a breath at the icy, black quality of it all. Bandaged hands rose to push the already soggy locks of hair from his face, slicking it back against his skull.
He'd made it. He was out. He turned, just able to make out the shape of the cabin in the thrashing darkness. For a long moment, he stared, not quite able to believe his luck at getting out without Sephiroth immediately waking and coming after him. His chest hitched, he silently bid the fucker adieu, and turned to plunge into the night…
…Which was when mother rose up, like the roar of the ocean filling every pore, and demanded the core.
Roxas froze, blinking rapidly in growing horror as he realised that, yes – he'd left it behind. So intent on returning to Axel, he'd forgotten how he ended up this way in the first place. He moaned aloud, "Mom, no." But he knew he had no choice, none at all – if he refused, she would act in his stead and possibly destroy whatever chance he had of getting in and out again.
Now that he was out, though, now that he was free, terror spiked at the thought of returning to that trap, anywhere near the madness. He was locked in place, wanting so badly to just start running, run maybe fast enough to leave even mother behind, a smoky voice hanging on the air. A shame, then, that he couldn't run at all. He knew the only way he was going to achieve this was to pace himself, to find a way to gain distance without vomiting and passing out from exhaustion. He needed time on his side. If mother messed that up, made this into a hunt instead of an escape…
Swallowing, turning, he faced the cabin, reluctant dread sweeping through, wave after wave, increasing with each dull step. He felt like – a soldier. A soldier in a war, marching steadily towards capture, death. Axel was blinding in his thoughts, insistent, reminding him of the consequences of failure. He touched metal, lowered his chin to his chest, whispered, "Oh, fuck," and eased the handle back around, clutched the door hard to keep it from being swept out of his grasp. A burst of cold entered with him, howling briefly around the room, settling as he forced it quietly shut. The sudden respite from the weather was stifling – he couldn't get enough air in here. Wide, petrified eyes settled on the man's still-slumbering form. That he hadn't woken the first time was damn near to a miracle – that he didn't even now suggested a coma. But Roxas knew he just wasn't that lucky.
He drew a choked breath into his lungs, puffed them deliberately, trying to still the spinning in his head. His throat was dry, he nearly coughed, but panicked and clamped down on the reflex. His body was a buzzing jumble of nerves, painful in intensity, adding to what was an already burning existence. Mother directed his eyes to the bag in the shadowy corner of the room, sitting beside the long sword. Roxas hesitated, obeyed, quick, light, limping footsteps tracking water, panting quietly. Not wanting to think about what would happen if he were caught walking about like this, wet like this, he pressed a wrist against the wall, used it to help slide down onto one knee, keeping his right leg as straight as possible, stuck out at an awkward angle. Jenova spread her threads through him, drawing him far enough back from the pain to act without hesitation. And maybe he was going to regret that later, but now, he used it to his full advantage, leaning more heavily on his knee, using his stomach-muscles without fear, the two of them working together for once to achieve a common goal. Mother didn't care, one way or another, about escaping – she had formed sympathies for the silver-haired pretender, he could feel them connect to his thoughts of the man – but the fact remained that the core needed returning to the castle. She was willing to aid Roxas in his endeavour, although she persisted in believing somehow that Sephiroth would come through in the end, would realise what the duties of a 'good boy' were and let them overwhelm whatever sick desires already existed. It was fortunate, then, that one of them was in touch with reality.
Roxas quietly, anxiously, unzipped the bag, rifled through, touched something hard and metal, something soft and malleable, something small – small and smooth to touch. Senses heightening, shaking uncontrollably, Roxas' fingers tightened around the box, pulled it free, fumbled for a moment and pulled it open. A wave of soothing relief, from both of them, satisfaction and approval washing through his muscles, and abruptly mother was gone again, leaving him gasping and straining, struggling not to cry out at the position he found himself in. Cursing her heatedly, fluently, his nails sank deeply into the wood, the muscles of his left leg hardening, bunching, struggling weakly to support and lift his entire body. Pain sparked through everything, sweat popping out despite the cold, teeth slammed together at the front, face contorting with the effort of not making a sound. Still, he couldn't keep the low hiss of air from seeping out from peeled-back lips, the almost-weeping panting as he finally straightened. If he didn't know any better, he'd have called this sabotage on her behalf. Why even bother sending him back in, if she didn't intend to let him leave again? Or was that the whole point?
He glanced frantically over at the slumbering man, as Sephiroth grunted slightly, sighed. The sounds of the outside elements increased, becoming more storm-like, as had been predicated. There was a roll of distant thunder. Roxas hadn't seen the flash, could only hope it would remain far enough away to not disturb the sleeper. Sucking his lips in between his teeth to stifle any further noise, nostrils flaring in an attempt to obtain deep enough breaths through his nose to cater to his fear, he tightened his fist around the core's case, started back across the cabin. His first steps were too confident, he buckled slightly, nearly thumped to the floor right beside Sephiroth, who was beginning to stir a little, the beginning stages of rousing. Roxas briefly closed his eyes, steadied his step, favouring his healthy leg, the toe of the other barely being used to help propel, more a balance than anything else, and oh, God, how the hell was he going to pull this off?
He hesitated just before the door, wavered, because already he was hurting, already his limbs were heavy, his lungs aching with the effort of all the hard breathing going on. His stomach twisted, heat prickling under his skin, inside his thigh, his palms, the ever-present soreness flared beyond reason. He dipped his head, eyes squeezing shut, both hands forming fists, one nursing the lump of the jewellery box.
Axel…
So much less certain now, so much less determined, though it seemed like only minutes ago he'd been so sure this was the answer, this was salvation, for both of them. Hell, it had been only minutes ago! Despair, uncertainty, agony and anguish, a bewilderment of conflict, and above it all a hovering fear that nothing was going to work out. Better to quit? Better to go and curl beside the tormentor, and leave this for another day?
Better to let it all go, she whispered. Better to trust, and be cared for.
Trust who, precisely? Roxas' brows dropped savagely. Mother might be in his head, she might interfere, she might influence his actions, but she wasn't going to stop him from doing this. Roxas didn't need caring for by that. He needed Axel, and Axel needed him, and that was all there was to it.
He grasped the handle, twisted, a second time pulled it painstakingly open, trying to do it slowly enough so that the change in air pressure didn't alert the silver-haired man on the ground. The air came cutting through nonetheless, rustled his spikes, his torn shirt and jeans, made him wince at the knife-coldness of it.
Sephiroth grunted, muttered, "Cloud?"
Roxas didn't bother to freeze and wait for the danger to pass – panic reared up with gnashing fangs, sank into his heart, sent him gasping and practically falling out the door. He pulled it shut – too hard. It thumped.
He ran.
Feet pushing through the rotting leaves, snapping over twigs, shoes catching on rocks, mud squelching. A strange, lop-sided gait, left leg slamming, right toe dancing, arms lifting slightly with every lope, bent at the elbows. He vanished into the tree-line surrounding the cabin, fought his way down a slippery slope, reached the bottom just as, behind a rumble of thunder, he heard a bang, a roar, fury reaching him even at the distance.
He'd never win in a direct sprint, that went without saying – to try would destroy him. So instead of continuing, gasping until collapse, he found a tight copse of intertwined trees, fingers digging into soggy, rough bark, dragging himself to the filthy forest floor, hugging the wood, holding on and pretending pain didn't exist.
"Clooouuuud!" A howl on the wind.
Axel, his mind whispered, a prayer. How long was he supposed to stay here? How was this going to help him get away? He was a rabbit, frozen in its tracks under the eyes of a hawk, imagining this was any form of defence. Would the predator spy some other flicker of motion and follow it instead? Or was he just making things easier on them both?
Time passed, impossible to track. What he wouldn't have given for some kind of foresight. What he wouldn't have given for a whole, healthy body to attempt this with.
At last, sitting and waiting was achieving nothing for him. If Sephiroth hadn't come crashing through the underbrush by now, chances were he'd chosen a different direction to Roxas. When the blond tried to rise, however, he found himself uselessly stuck – his numb limbs refused to co-operate, stranding him in the mud, barely fifteen feet from the trap of wood, which he knew, from this night on, would never be escapable again. A raging hiss, rain slamming to earth all around, thunder flashing beyond the distant hills, strobing the horizon. Roxas cast about for some sort of leverage, the trees too broad to be able to wrap his arms around without scrabbling and slipping several times. There was no room for trial and error, no room for error at all, because to fail in any way, shape or form would no doubt leave him floundering in an even weaker physical state than he'd started with.
He found an old, rotten branch sunken in the mud, light, hollowed out by insects and decomposition, gnarled and misshapen. It hooked around, twisted, but was long enough and easy enough to wield to be used as an aid. Its end stabbed deep into the ground, Roxas' arms straining and fighting, left leg shivering, heels perched on a precipice between finding solid standing and sliding away in a heartbeat. It hurt like fuck, it left him breathless, but his success in standing sent a fire through his veins, telling him, either truthfully or deceptively, that he could do this. There was no other choice, now, anyway. No giving up, because to do so would be to fall prey deliberately to Sephiroth. He would never do such a thing.
Roxas started hobbling, the branch acting like a replacement leg, allowing his right foot to more or less trail in his wake, the scabs stretching but not tearing. He leaned heavily upon the aid, travelling blindly, putting as much distance between himself and the cabin as possible. He realised that pacing just wasn't possible anymore – this leg of the journey, at least, would need to be done in the longest spurt he could manage. It didn't matter if it left him too frail to even lift himself anymore – as long as he was out of that man's power, he would find a way to be okay. All he knew was that, within it, he didn't have a hope in hell of ever seeing Axel again. He still remembered those words, though Axel hadn't known he'd been conscious enough to comprehend them: "I'll slit his throat before I see him with you again!"
And mother thought he was in safe hands?
He found himself weeping as he struggled along in the building storm, hot tears lost among cold drops. He didn't even know where they sprang from, what their exact inspiration was, but they just – they kept coming. As the storm ebbed, then roared back to power, he simply lost himself inside it, dragging each breath into increasingly raw lungs, a choking stab occurring with each inhalation. His leg dragged along behind him, not even pretending to help anymore. He could feel it coming, the wave that would knock him down, the pricks of light indicating that unconsciousness wasn't far off now. Eyes rolling back slightly, fingers slipping then gripping tighter than ever, knuckles white, bandages soaked and falling apart, revealing small sections of sliced palm. Water saturated every inch of him, flooded every concave, dragged at his clothing, the mud sucking at his sneakers. Axel, his mind desperately reminded, as he struggled along.
Again, the weather dimmed, left him in a world of darkness and dripping, the sound constant, all-encompassing. As numbness stole through his extremities, he found himself able to use his right foot more often. It didn't really – hurt anymore. It all joined together and seeped away into the background. This wasn't mother making it okay, it was his body… giving up? Almost? It was getting ready for when it wouldn't need to feel for a while. The blood had drained in towards the vital organs, leaving Roxas anaesthetised, shivering. He licked his lips, swallowed, swayed. His steps slowed abruptly, from the crawl they had become to a bare shuffle. The pricks became explosions, swallowing chunks of the world into glittering silver and white, everything weak, useless, sweat appearing in amongst the trails of water pouring down his skin. Mother stirred, checked to make sure the core was still being clutched, subsided once more. Roxas hung his head. The voice repeating Axel's name faded far into the background, as the world began to fuzz out and away.
And that's when he heard the crunch. Distinctive, loud, heavy. Roxas caught himself, eyes fluttering back open from their swooning state, brows drawing together as he struggled to discern a cause for the sudden noise. It was a forest, right? Animals. Animals lived in forests. He took an unsteady step, made a snapping noise of his own, froze. There was silence, deep, pure, blooming and pregnant.
A hoarse, rasping whisper through the darkness, as if the voice had been screamed raw: "Cloud?"
Roxas was moving, jamming the branch into the ground and stumbling, heedless of how much sound was being made. "Cloud!"
"Fuck," he gasped, staggering into a desperate, shambling run. "Mom!"
"CLOUD?"
Branches whipped, leaves slapped, droplets fell into his eyes and blinded him for a blink. Breaths bursting and bulleting in the mid-storm hush, the ice of the air becoming a fire to wade through, skin burning all of a sudden, steps slipping. Roxas slid, yelped, caught himself and plunged onwards, hobbling at full-speed, almost achieving a run, pumped full of chemicals urging him onward. No more tears, no more hopelessness, no room for thought. Survival took the helm, shoved aside everything extraneous to the cause, sank into him in much the same way that mother did, spurring him when sense would have had him drop, his body would have cut its own strings and waited for whatever end was due to come. Teeth clamped together, breaths sucked between, eyes wide and wild, pupils eating up his irises, body feeling leaden as his senses sped up several paces and flew ahead, spun outward. This wasn't just any old hunt, this wasn't just Roxas in trouble – every part of his being was a hundred percent sure that, if captured, he would die. Axel didn't exist in this moment – it was all about Roxas. Roxas wanted to keep hurting.
He sprinted. The branch was still being used, his leg still being supported, but it wasn't allowed to be feeble, it had to run, it was just a bunch of fucking cuts. The wood hit the ground every two seconds, tearing the mud, sending hard jolts into the blond's shoulders. He didn't hear footsteps behind him, but hell, he wasn't listening for them. Unless Sephiroth started panting down his neck, Roxas barely even cared where he was. Splinters sailed into his fingers, stabbing and burrowing, palms only half-protected, the exposed lacerations being ripped anew. An ankle twisted, a knee buckled, Roxas continued. Whatever littered the ground didn't matter, wouldn't trip him, he just launched himself across it all. He found his body's limit and broke it, killed it a little. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in and watch a figure drop from the trees. He rammed to a halt, screamed hysterically as Sephiroth lunged for him, hands hooked into claws, snarling like a beast, like he'd wrap his jaws around the blond's neck and silence him forever. Roxas swung the branch, shattered it over the silver-haired man's skull and face, encouraged blood to erupt from his nose, a splinter in the corner of one eye, dust and crumbs lost in volumes of long wet hair. Sephiroth spun briefly, an instinctive yell escaping bloodied lips. He caught himself, shifting from animalistic to psychotic, a low, enraged scream renting the air.
Roxas couldn't run this time. He tried, windmilled, fell back into the mud. Moments later, as he scrambled weakly to rise, slender fingers wound through his hair, tightened, and wrenched. Crying out, Roxas was yanked up from the ground, leaves and dirt clinging. His hair was wet, making him slip briefly in the man's grasp. Sephiroth merely renewed his grip with a jolt, and started walking. Roxas was dragged in his wake, wails high, virtually voiceless, feet scrabbling for a hold as he gripped the man's arm, tried to lessen the tearing at his scalp. He fought, tugged, struggled, collapsed and was hauled along by the thick clump of follicles. Necessity returned him to his feet, and in this fashion, they trailed back to the cabin.
.o.O.o.
"You left me!" Roxas was thrown across the length of the room, the door slamming, the walls shaking with the force. He cried out in agony, screamed, Sephiroth advancing in the dark, a hulking shadow of hate. The man knelt, grabbed the blond's shirt, wrenched him up a foot to slap him, once, twice, three times, countless times, the claps of skin growing shorter and more ferocious, a wild abandon crackling the air. The smacking became claws, nails scratching, digging frantically, became hair gripped again, head shaken too hard, shoved back against the wall with a sharp sound. No words, just panting breaths, silence from the teenager as the attack briefly ceased. Sephiroth stood, snatched up his bag, tore through it, threw it aside a moment later, silver flashing in the black, coldness jammed against Roxas' temple. "I'll shoot you," the man said shakily, tears trailing down his face, through his voice, grip choking-hard and trembling. "I'll shoot you with my brother's gun, and then you'll be gone." He dug the barrel further down, Roxas quivering, sobbing without moisture, without breath. "Isn't that what you want?" he shrieked through the blood, fingers wrapping around the boy's neck and squeezing. "You want to leave me! You'd leave me, you'd leave Sephiroth, you'd leave us all!" He paused, eyes flicking blindly in the dark, dug his fingertips in hard, shook Roxas. His voice lowered, softened. "That's what you want, right, Cloud? You want to go, don't you? All you do is leave, you leave and Sephiroth wakes up alone…" He lifted his empty hand, punched hard on the blond's chest, a howl bursting out. "You shouldn't have run! You shouldn't have left!" He was frantic, panicking, gasping, driving the gun deeper still, Roxas whimpering faintly. "You shouldn't have left us," he wheezed. "But you're still trying to go – still trying to leave me – so do you – do you really want to leave?" He cocked the hammer on the gun, thumb brushing the smooth metal quickly. "Huh? Cloud? You want me to send you away?"
"I'm not… Cloud," the blond whispered brokenly. "I'm Roxas."
Sephiroth was savage, teeth clenching, both hands around the gun now, holding it firm, steady. "But you look like him. You look enough like him for me to pretend." Finger on the trigger, wavering, about to pull and ready to regret, already hearing the screams of anguish echoing off the walls, when Roxas stiffened.
"Don't hurt mother," he said quietly, steadily. "You might want to hurt Roxas, for resembling the dead man's love, but if you do, mother goes with him." His fingers clutched feebly at the small box, ever-held, mother having taken over the hand long before Roxas lost the will or ability to keep it tight. Sephiroth jerked with a gasp, small noise escaping his throat. Roxas' head turned slowly, pulling away from the barrel's edge, only to nestle it more securely against the bridge of his nose. Blue eyes flashed, unseen. "Will you tell me your name yet, child?"
The gun shivered. "Sephiroth," he insisted, cracking halfway through.
"Sephiroth," Jenova said calmly, "let us tell truths. Pretence has hurt you and Roxas badly. You are Sephiroth as I am a mother, we are agreed. Who are you, then, when I tell you that I am a program designed to protect and love the children of Twilight Town? Less, even – I am the remnants that should have ceased to exist weeks ago." There was silence for a moment, before she added, "I call myself their mother. What do you call yourself?"
"I…" Gun shook, steadied. "I call myself… Sephiroth." Uncertainty, eyes wide and wet, but tears slowed almost to stopping. Cloud was no longer in the room – just the woman.
"My name is Jenova," the blond said softly. "I am the core."
A small sound, like a dry, hitching sob. "My name is…" The gun flipped away as he lifted his wrists to wipe his cheeks sharply. "Kadaj," he said harshly. "My name is Kadaj. I am… the brother that didn't die."
A long, quiet beat, as the tension suddenly leaked out of the man. He sagged against the wall, drawing the gun against his chest, hugging it.
"Hello, Kadaj."
A sigh. Heavily, he replied, "Hello, Jenova."
"Roxas is injured again," she said, with concern. Kadaj bristled.
"Fuck Roxas," he snarled. "I don't care about him! He's a shit puppet – just like Cloud!"
"You should be kinder to him. He could be your brother."
"My brother?" The man was incredulous, upper lip peeled back. "My brothers are dead, okay? All of them! They're dead."
"There are other brothers, if you are interested," she answered simply. "Brothers to replace those you lost."
Kadaj stared through the black gloom. "You – you bitch," he said numbly. "You want me to – just forget? Just forget them?" Anger sparked, threatened to shift and flood.
She replied, "Yes."
He choked, hissed, curled up further into himself, turned away from her. "You don't know anything. You really are a machine, aren't you?" His head swivelled to the side, he demanded bitterly, "So why shouldn't I shoot you, after all? Roxas is only going to leave again. You're a machine." He hitched a breath, muttered, "I have no reason to keep you."
Jenova pondered. "What will you do if we are gone?"
Kadaj frowned, hunching, cheek pressing to the gun. "Wha – what?"
"If you shoot Roxas and mother," she elaborated, "will you then go after Cloud?"
The man blinked, twisted his chin away. "I – I don't know."
"Once Cloud is dead, what will you do?" she persisted. "The data I have gathered during our interaction suggests that he would survive you no better than Roxas."
Kadaj swallowed, brows twitching lower as he struggled to process her words. "What will I – what? I – I don't know."
"You have no purpose without us," Jenova stated firmly. "Therefore, you must spare Roxas his life."
The man stiffened, shook his head sharply, head coming up. "But – he'll run again! I can't – " His voice cracked desperately. "I can't let him leave me."
Relentlessly, she continued. "What is your ultimate goal regarding Roxas? Where will he be a year from now?"
Green eyes widened. "A year? I don't – "
"A month."
He swallowed. There was silence for a long minute, before he rasped, "I have to. I have to shoot you."
"You will die without us," she responded tranquilly, with such certainty. "Did you survive your brothers only to join them after misdirected revenge? You would rather join than replace them?"
Kadaj snapped, gripping fistfuls of silver hair as he shouted, "I don't know! I can't think with you in my head!" His eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. Noticing the weight of the gun against his skull, he stilled. "I'll shoot me, then," he stated shakily. "I'll get rid of the problem. I'll…" He sat straight, stared at the barrel, placed it against his head. "I'll do it like Sephiroth did it." Tears returned. "It'll be like history repeating…" He laughed harshly all of a sudden. "I chose well with your Roxas, didn't I? I wanted to – to recreate Cloud and Sephiroth, and… and I did!" His breathing shortened, sharpened, becoming hyperventilating as he gazed at the barely shining trigger a bare several inches from his eyes.
"Will you let mother hold you?"
He jerked, flinched, gaze dragging reluctantly over to where she lay. "What?" he breathed, anguish lacing his tongue.
"If you help me up, I can hold you," she offered softly. "We can pretend you have a mother."
He stared at her, grip on the pistol hardening, before trembling almost to the point of letting it slip. He fought to keep hold of it. "I thought pretence was hurting me," he laughed desperately, shrill.
"Pretence works," Jenova corrected, "until it is pierced. I will not try to disillusion you this time." Silence, filled with fast panting. Her voice was gentle. "This is what mother does – she takes the children with nowhere to go, and lets them pretend. We are all pretending. It gives them peace."
Some kind of low, voiceless moan. "…Peace?"
"Help mother up, and let's pretend, Kadaj."
He gazed at her figure helplessly. "But – you're just… How do I know this isn't a trick? You're only trying to save Roxas."
"Mother takes care," she replied neutrally, "of all her children."
The man's shivering reached a fever-pitch, an agonised whisper escaping his lips, head tilting briefly back. The gun was placed aside, and suddenly frail hands gripped the blond's shoulders, easing him up to sit against the wall. Kadaj brought his face close, eyes flicking over the grey features. "You're sick," he realised with a croak. "You're hurt." A faltering hand rubbed red trickles away. "You're… bleeding."
Roxas's lips curved tiredly. "As are you." The man was baffled, reached a hand up to his skin, winced.
"O-ow."
A hand patted Roxas' damp, jeans-clad thigh. "Lay your head here, child. Be a good boy and rest."
Kadaj hesitated, shrank a little, panic flaring in his eyes. Blue eyes regarded him evenly, little expression in place. Thunder rolled distantly, the wind picking up again outside, making the little cabin in the woods creak. Roxas patted his thigh again, encouraging, and warily, the silver-haired man eased back onto his heels, twisted to the side, settled onto one shoulder and cautiously placed his ear to the cold leg. A hand lowered instantly to his tangled hair and began a slow, soothing stroking.
Kadaj lay awake for a long time, never quite relaxing, until finally, exhaustion caught up and carried him reluctantly away. Jenova stayed awake the entire night, forsaking the health of one son for the sanity of another.
.o.O.o.
Daylight came, dripping fresh. Roxas was shuddering, skin like ice, lips a pale purple outlined in white. Golden-brown eyelashes fluttered, as Jenova milked his energy reserves, determined to not leave Kadaj alone. It wasn't long before the man woke, habit drawing him out with the sun. Teal eyes were slowly revealed, confusion creasing his brow. "Roxas?"
The boy's chin rose sharply from his chest, eyes rolling briefly before focusing down at the pale face. "It is still mother." She smiled thinly. The man's eyes widened.
"You're shivering." He reached up, pressed a hand to Roxas' cheek. "You're so cold!" he exclaimed in sudden horror. He sat quickly, turned onto his knees, gripped the boy's face, peeling away the hair that stuck to his forehead by way of sweat and old rain. "Holy shit, you're freezing." His breaths shortened, instant alarm. "I – I'll refill the generator and get it going. It'll be okay, it's under a rainproof cover, and I – I'll – " He glanced around wildly, settled on the bedsheets. He leapt to his feet, scrambled to them, snatched them up in a bundle in his arms. "I'll heat this over it, okay? It'll only take a few minutes. Just – stay here." He started for the door, stopped suddenly halfway there. He twisted on the spot, studying the blond with concern mixed with unease. "You – you'll still be here when I get back… won't you?"
A tired smile. "Mother won't leave."
"M – mother…" He remained still for a moment, then sucked in a breath, nodded jerkily, hitched the sheets tighter against his chest. The door opened, shut, and fast, crunching footsteps could be heard.
Roxas dozed a little, Jenova relaxing her hold on him. There was silence in the back of his head, worrying her. The more she let go, the more he started to slump. Blue eyes flicked slowly back and forth. "Roxas? Can you hear mother?"
Roxas, can you hear mother?
He didn't respond. There was blankness where she normally was able to touch his thoughts, hear his tears. Fingers started to pick with unnoticed nervousness at the frayed material in the tears of his thigh. "Mother doesn't mean to hurt Roxas… Mother must care for all her children." A note of fretting entered her tone. "Does Roxas understand?"
She sat quietly, stayed well away from his pain, and sighed, waiting for the good boy to return.
The generator rumbled to life, grinding and choking for several seconds before settling into a fast rhythm. Jenova smiled slightly, at how anxiously he ran to protect her. She wished, briefly, that she had had access to the brothers. All lost boys needed a mother.
A sudden bellow tore the disturbed air. Roxas' head whipped up, shock registering as, a moment later, the silver-haired saviour came bursting in, without the warm sheets. He smashed the door shut, rammed his entire body against it, hair flying. "What is it?" Jenova demanded. "What is happening?"
Wild, frantic, terrified, "They've come to take you away!"
Roxas gasped slightly. Jenova planted one hand against the ground, leaked back through the blond's muscles and, moving stiffly, grappled up to standing. "Kadaj, come to mother, she will protect – "
The flimsy covering across the window collapsed as a figure came busting through, dark blur, hitting the ground, rolling up to his feet as a sudden pounding began on the door, Kadaj fighting to keep it shut, failing inch by inch. "Roxas!" Leon bellowed from outside. Vincent straightened quickly, extended his gun, prepared to pull the trigger and end the madness for once and for all – when Roxas darted in front of him, moving with a swift grace that belied his physical appearance, blue eyes enormous, arms thrusting wide. "No! You will not hurt the good boy!"
Vincent froze, a bare millimetre short of blowing the boy away, gasping sharply as he realised how close he had come. He backed off, relaxing his grip on the trigger, while Leon continued to hammer at the door, Kadaj battling with increasing futility. A moment later, a large blade shoved through the gap, wrenched to the side and cracked the door's edge directly into the silver-haired man's forehead, sending him reeling back. Jenova spun at his cry, flew to him as he wheeled and fell, caught his head before it could hit the ground. Blood trickled anew down his face, from a wide gash on his hairline, eyes blurred from the stun.
Leon burst through, arms hard with the weight of the massive sword he carried, whirling on the pair. "Roxas, come away, quickly!" he urged.
"You have hurt him," the boy bawled angrily. "He has done nothing wrong, yet you come here and injure him! You have frightened him badly, you bad boys!"
Leon's jaw dropped, bewilderment stamped all over his face, gloved hands sinking, the fur collar of his short jacket depressing as he sagged in astonishment. "Roxas, what – ?"
"Not Roxas," Vincent cut him off softly. His eyes cut down to the resentful figure cradling the leather-clad man. "Jenova."
Leon's head whipped to the side, amazement growing. "What?"
"It's just as Vaan said." Vincent drew a breath, lowered his gun, glaring slightly. "You've taken him over. You're the one that hurt Axel."
"Mother did what was necessary," she snapped, holding Kadaj closer, adjusting his head on Roxas' arm. "We knew from the start that Roxas' love would try to stop him. In the end, he would not have done it himself, so we had to intervene. We didn't fatally injure the good boy, we merely stopped him."
"Holy shit," Leon declared, the tip of his sword thudding to the wooden floor as one hand rose to clap his head. "It really is the computer?"
"We had to recover the core." She glared at them. "The bad people aboard the transportation were going to take Roxas away, and Kadaj saved us."
"Saved you?" Leon's outrage knew no bounds. Vincent's eyes, however, sharpened abruptly.
"Kadaj?"
"Yes?" the man answered dazedly.
"You will not harm him," Roxas said darkly. "He belongs to mother now. You must destroy her to get to him, and she is within Roxas." His chin lifted, a challenge. "Will you destroy Roxas?"
Both brunets stared, silence falling thickly over the cabin, except for the growl of the generator underlaying it all. Leon glanced sideways at Vincent, who kept his gaze fixedly on the blond. "What do you suggest, Jenova?" the thin man asked quietly. "Your Kadaj is a murderer. He's insane. He kidnapped Roxas, no matter what you might think of his intentions, and tried once to kill Axel, before beating Roxas into hospital."
Roxas' eyes closed, he sucked in a breath. "Mother doesn't deny that the one who called himself Sephiroth has made mistakes, but they were born of pain. He was confused." Blue eyes flashed open, hard, determined. "I wish to take him with me."
"Where?" Leon demanded incredulously. "You think he's getting anywhere near the castle?"
"He will have to," she replied curtly. "That is, if you want Roxas to survive."
Stillness. "What do you mean?" Vincent asked.
"Roxas is not answering," she said sharply. "Mother cannot reach him. Perhaps he is dying, I cannot be sure, but I will not let you heal him until my demands have been met."
"You'd sacrifice your own son?" the man asked quickly, as Leon exploded into a snarl.
"I wish for there to be no sacrifice," the remnant program answered with something akin to frustration. "But I will use one son to save another, yes, and hope that your decisions mean that both can survive."
Leon was shaking his head. "This is madness," he stated furiously. He glared down at the silver-haired man. "Why are you even still alive? Cloud said you were dead!"
Kadaj blinked slowly. "Cloud?"
"Meet my demands," Jenova commanded. "Or you risk losing Roxas."
Vincent looked over at Leon, met storm-grey eyes with helplessness. The scarred man ground his teeth, scowled at the ground. Vincent lowered his gaze once more to the pair, speculative, sliding his gun carefully away. "What exactly…" He flicked a glance at the bleeding man. "…did you have in mind?"
Jenova told them and, minutes later, the two men walked from the cabin, each weighed down with a body.
