#i don't think it's fair to tag ienzo bc he's barely in this chapter

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence, chapter 16

Summary:  After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

----

Excerpt of an audio recording from device 5.875.32.852 (admin is registered as EVEN [surname REDACTED]. Transcription programs recognize the speaking voice of the admin as well as one other distinct voice. Transcription errors due to colloquialisms, slang, accent, muffled speech, etc. are acknowledged and will be used in further evolutions of this program.

Recording commences at 16:03.

--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.

--Uh. Sure.

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

--Yeah. I’m [birth name and surname REDACTED]. I still go by Demyx. I’m twenty-two.

--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.

----

These memories don’t feel like mine.

It’s weird. I guess it’s more like I’m reading a book, or watching a movie.

“It” started, if by it you mean all this Keyblade crap, when I was five. I was my parents’ only kid. We were broke. Like, squatting and going to soup kitchens broke. There were the early days, when the Foretellers--the five chosen ones or whatever--were just building their unions and preaching about their ideas in the plaza. I’m honestly not sure if they were the first wielders, but they were definitely the ones that made it a thing, That promised this as the way to seek the light.

Heartless started coming--from the future, or so they said in the square. We needed a way to defend ourselves. So they started testing people for worthiness. Kids were always easier. Less corrupt. More full of light.

More manipulable.

They said they would take the kids from more troubled circumstances, and give them what they needed to survive. In my parents’ eyes, food and a place to live. The luckier ones could stay at home. So that caused a big influx of poor people sending their kids in to be tested and trained. While some of the better off ones saw it as a sign of honor, everyone else wanted to keep their kids safe. Even the ones with Keyblades were dying.

My parents figured Heartless were better than me starving to death. So they sent me, by myself, for the test.

The older ones could pick their unions, but the real little ones like me they chose a more “organic” approach. They take you inside, and there the Foretellers are with a little table of five toys. Apparently picking one shows some intrinsic quality they’re looking for, or whatever. I got chosen to be in Ursus. And just like that, my mom and dad hugged me goodbye and left me there.

It was hard. Physically, mentally. I missed my parents. The training was grueling, and it hurt. But whenever I would cry or get upset either Master Aced or one of the older kids would tell me to be quiet. Because I was lucky. And I had a chance to be something.

But you see, Even, it doesn’t matter how lucky I was. I was still getting razzed by Heartless, getting thrown in and out of time to these worlds, getting reprimanded for bunging off quests or not getting enough lux. I got kicked out of a few parties for that. Making friends wasn’t so easy when I got a reputation for being a crybaby and a coward, even though I was six or seven.

I still tried to see my parents when I got a chance. They moved around a lot. Dad tried to get steady work a few times, but I think he had some kind of mental illness or something, and he could never be on time, or do what he was told, or get out of bed, so they lost their apartments a lot. Mom was a street musician, and she took in students sometimes, but it wasn’t enough money.

She taught me, too.

Compared to Keyblade stuff, music was so easy. I was so good at it. Knowing I wasn’t terrible at everything gave me strength to go on. I had a way to take all the bad feelings, all the nightmares, and make something beautiful out of it.

I tried to quit the union.

You wouldn’t believe the telling off Master Aced gave me. “Why was I ashamed of my heritage”. “Why wasn’t I doing my part.” “What did I think I would become otherwise, I came from the gutter.” It was devastating. Without the Keyblade, they said, I was worthless. I didn’t want to believe that was true.

As the years passed, and this all kept happening, I tried to study music on the side. That’s when I started keeping the diary. I wrote these weird avant-garde compositions, but that wasn’t enough to salve the pain. So I wrote how I felt, and if anybody found it, I’d just say it was nonsense. But nobody did, though. During that time the tensions between the unions started to grow, mostly over who was getting the most light. Kids were fighting in the streets. Killing each other’s Chirithys--that’s how I lost mine. Even the most legendary parties fell apart. People were still dying.

One of these days, when I was almost seventeen, I was going back to the dorms after another quest. Master Ava--Vulpes’s leader--stopped me. She said she’d heard about me, and I braced myself for another lecture like the ones Aced liked to give. But it was my focus on the bigger picture of my life she liked, she said. She wanted me to join a special union she was building.

The Dandelions.

The reason she built this union was because she feared there would soon be war between the others, and that war would escalate to apocalyptic proportions. Remember, we’d all been training for years at that point, we all had way overpowered magic--even me. But because we had no foresight as to anything other than collecting lux, nobody could see the consequences of fighting.

She was going to take this special union, and she was going to teach us how to escape this world altogether, just to make sure somebody survived.

I know you’re probably dying to know how we did it, but I honestly can’t remember. It was some kind of spell, for sure. I know that each of us cast it, and we were all supposed to go together. But it’s one of those things too slippery and powerful to hold onto for long. Not to mention, this travel was supposed to wipe our memories of the trauma and give us a fresh start. So she said.

The war started earlier than expected. The only reason I went to the battle was to find the other Dandelions so we could leave. But I’m not sure if I missed a memo or something. They were gone. Then again, there were so many bodies that had been just so completely fucking destroyed that they could have been some of these people.

…

…

…

[Audio muffled or indiscernible; external knowledge of social cues suggests emotional distress.]

People were just fucking killing each other. They… they tried to kill me, too. I remember Keyblades hitting my armor and I panicked. And I guess instinctively I cast the spell and got out. Got somewhere, or I guess some when is the better word. I ended up in the same place, just later, surrounded by all these rusting Keyblades, my memories completely cleaved and running through my fingers like sand. I remember that, feeling it all drain away like a dream.

That’s when Xemnas found me. When things started to hurt. The shock and the armor made it hard to tell, but someone had stabbed me clean through the chest.

He was nice to me, too. He said he’d been waiting for me and that I was going to be okay. He could give me purpose. My wounds would heal.

I died, and Demyx was born. Memory-free.

You know the rest.

End recording, duration--25:17.

----

“Goodness gracious. ” Like a child listening to their favorite story, he’d been leaning forward attentively. He’d even started recording it on his gummiphone, which Demyx initially felt was a violation of his privacy. But considering how close-lipped Vexen had always been about his experiments, he knew, if anything, his words would be safe in Even’s hands. “This is a window into our history.”

“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." His throat was dry from talking for so long.

Even exhaled. He paused 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.”

A beat of silence.

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

“Like you said. Forgiveness.”

He nodded once, curtly. “Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

“Well. Don’t get too used to it.”

Demyx looked at him. He didn’t know how else to be kind, Demyx realized. It must take immense effort. “Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo,” he said. “Please.”

“You can be sure of it.”

----

The next several days, he felt utterly hollow. Demyx slept a lot. This was a sort of mental exhaustion. He was afraid to stray too far away from Ienzo’s side, but his condition remained unchanged. Guilt clung to him. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He cleaned his room, which took all of ten minutes considering his lack of possessions. Did laundry. Found a couple books to read which weren’t half bad. It was a toxic combination of boredom and stagnation. At the end of the first week of this, Dilan asked him to come play cards.

“I figure you could use a bit of a diversion,” he said. He offered a smile.

“I guess I’m being pretty pathetic, huh,” Demyx said. He forced a laugh.

“Given the circumstances? No. But wallowing must be horrifically boring.”

Dilan’s quarters were even smaller than Even’s. He and Aeleus shared a sitting room and kitchenette. A faint smell of garlic lingered in the room, along with something like eucalyptus. He had a small herb garden, each one meticulously cared for. Near this was a pile of puzzle boxes.

Dilan took out a pack of cards. Demyx sat gingerly on the couch. It was less stern than the other furniture, a bit more comfortable, a soft velor that felt good to touch. He was becoming increasingly reliant on the tactile to stay grounded. He didn’t know if this was one of his myriad issues, or an effect of being overwhelmed.

Dilan crossed to a small glass cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“God. Yes.”

He poured them each a few fingers of whiskey into small crystal glasses. It burned when Demyx sipped it, but he liked it. “What shall we play? It’s a shame we’ve no third. I’d rather have liked to play Blackjack.”

“It’s not like I have anything to bet.”

“Too, too true.”

They settled on Hearts. Demyx didn’t know what to say to Dilan. After winning the first game, Dilan got them another drink.

“I’m not sure how I feel about your newfound reticence,” Dilan said. “It’s so odd, to see how humanity has changed you youth.”

“How so?”

“You were hardly ever so reserved. Ienzo was never so friendly. You should have heard him, chattering away to Sora. ...I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me. To hear his name. Either of them, I mean.” He felt only a shadow of the ping of anxiety he got when thinking about Sora. Of course, knowing what he knew now, it made sense that Sora’d had to strike him down. Psychically, there were bigger fish to fry.

“You’ve got a focus to you. An intensity. It’s like you’re more present.”

“I don’t feel very present.”

“Well. We’ve all received some shocks recently.”

The alcohol was making him warm and a little dizzy. Demyx wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the sensation. He slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. “Why did you become an apprentice?”

Dilan thought for a moment, shuffled his cards, and then drank down the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow. “Why indeed,” he muttered. “I was only a boy at the time, a bit younger than yourself. I needed something to do with my life. I’d always liked creating things. Building things. Ansem had passed some initiatives to make Radiant Garden a haven for the sciences. I applied to study engineering under him, and was accepted.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He chuckled. “Why did you choose to become a Keyblade wielder?”

“I didn’t,” Demyx said. “It chose me. I was poor. Being a wielder was pretty much the only way to survive.”

“I abhor such economies,” Dilan said sourly. “I cannot understand how some leaders will let their charges suffer for basic human rights.”

“I can’t really have a realized perspective of it. I was still a kid when I left.”

“What will you do now?”

“What will I… do?” Demyx repeated numbly. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“You and I both.”

He continued to pet the velor. He was feeling dizzier still, and heavy. “I want to be with Ienzo,” he said. “And I want to make friends. Real ones. But I don’t know where I’d fit.”

“What’s that old adage? “Be yourself?””

“Hasn’t exactly worked in the past.”

“It is a theory of mine that becoming a Nobody worsens one’s flaws and insecurities.” Dilan poured them another drink. “Our personalities devolved and repelled. Fed by darkness. Take your time. Be honest. That’s all.”

Demyx picked up the crystal cup and swirled the amber liquid around a little. “I guess.”

“What about that guitar of yours?”

“Sitar?”

“Yes. That.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll find out.”

---

The next day, it sleeted. The echo of the splotches of snow piling up outside was audible within the confines of the castle. Demyx went to the library, armed with a cup of coffee. He lit a fire in the hearth. Once it was large enough to tend to itself, he sat down cross legged in front of it.

For some reason he was nervous. This was akin to stage fright. He’d much rather be worthy of Arpeggio than the stupid Keyblade.

Demyx held out his hands and pulled from within. The Keyblade appeared. He sighed. “I don’t want you,” he muttered. Let it disappear. He remembered the way the sitar had felt, the perfect weight of it, the smooth varnished wood.

Keyblade again. Demyx had to resist the urge to just toss the damn thing. He stared down at it. Traced the smooth shaft, twisted the links of the chain.

“Please,” he said to it. “I don’t want to fight. I just want--”

Not to be an idiot talking to an inanimate object?

Vanishing. Reappearing. It didn’t matter how long he thought about his Nobody memories, of all the music he’d ever made with Arpeggio. Of the fights or occasionally lack thereof.

“Are you mad at me?” Demyx asked out loud. “I didn’t ask for this to all happen.”

Hadn’t he?

Oh, we do too have hearts. Don’t be mad.

“Shut up,” he hissed at himself.

The fire popped as a log settled, startling him.

“Is it because I’m not him anymore?” he continued. “I’m still the sa-- no. I’m not.”

Demyx lay back on the plush carpet.

Remembering death was not easy. Doubly hard now that he knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been slain with Keyblades. Some of them were sharp, most blunt. You’d crush your ribs before you drew blood. Which was what happened. He rested his palm on the spot were the scars were.

Sora, Donald, Goofy. So much rage. Realization that this was a murder-suicide. He was able to pin Sora twice before the pain was too much. Before fading. Before waking up. Before Braig, with a soft smile, and a boy with silver hair, and a hot stab to the chest. What would have happened, really, if he hadn’t been turned into a vessel? What would he have done? Run away? Spent his life friendless, unloved and alone?

Without Ienzo?

He needed connections. Without them he could never hope to be whole--at least, figuratively. He had to do better. To be better. But how? Fancy displays of heroism were functionally worthless if there was no real intent behind them.

Demyx stood. Despite it all, he sort of had an idea.

----

The winter coat he had was warm enough, but it was not quite waterproof, and by the time he’d waded through the slop he was damp and chilly. When he reached the door of the committee’s headquarters, though, a knot of anxiety overrode his physical discomfort. Demyx stood for several moments at the door as wet snow piled on his hat, unsure of what to say. Several times he reached up to knock and withdrew his hand. He had barely placed his palm on the doorknob before it opened of its own accord.

“‘Could’ve finished War and Peace in the time it took you to make up your mind,” a middle-aged blond man said gruffly. “Come on in, kid.” He was smoking a cigarette, and its smell mixed with the ambient woodsmoke. “Don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Cid.” He offered his hand. “Saw you unconscious, but I don’t think you remember that.”

“Not--exactly--” Demyx shook his hand.

“Let me take your jacket before you get snow everywhere.” He took the wet garments and hung them on a coat rack.

“It’s warm in here,” Demyx said, half in wonder. He was so used to the drafty castle that he’d forgotten what adequate heating felt like.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “‘Course it is.”

“It’s, um, the castle. Heating’s not very good.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

A beat passed. Demyx felt his anxiety rising and floundered for things to say.

“I’m guessing you’re here for Aerith?” Cid asked. He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray.

“Well. Sort of. I want to help.”

“With what,” he said blankly.

“Anything. I mean I--” Demyx could feel himself turning red.

“In the middle of winter?”

He bit his lip and looked down.

Cid chuckled. “I’m messing with you, kid. We’re always happy to have an extra pair of hands. Any of ya’ll got a sense of humor over there?”

“Let’s just say it’s been a tough week,” Demyx said.

“I’ll say. Weather’s been driving us mad. I finally kicked out Yuffie and Leon to get some peace and quiet.”

“...Er. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure one or both of them will be back soon. They know a bit more about the operations stuff than I do. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Demyx perched in one of the folding chairs. Cid sat back down at a computer and began absently writing code. He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Ask questions. He kept his hands knotted in his lap.

A door he hadn’t noticed previously opened, and out came Aerith, drying her hands on a towel. “Demyx? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine--well, enough. I’m here to help.”

She crossed over a plant on the table and cut off a few of its leaves. “Can’t do a whole lot in the winter other than plan, unfortunately.”

“What are you doing with those?”

“Making medicine.” She nodded her head towards the other room. “Want to see?”

He followed her. It was a small, narrow room, with a cot up against one wall. The other wall was lined with cabinets and some counter space. A few different types of dried leaves and blooms were stuffed in the myriad little drawers. She took the leaves, scattered them into mortar. To Demyx, the mix looked like a salad more than a medicine. She crushed it down, whispered a spell, and then with an odd little device began packing it into capsules. “Pectin,” she explained. “Goes down easier than the raw leaves. And doesn’t get stuck in your throat.”  She held up the tiny pill so he could see.

“What does it do?” Demyx asked.

“Cold cure,” she said simply. “We need lots of it this time of year. And colds always change. I’m forever tweaking it.”

A memory he hadn’t fully process washed in. He’d never been the best fighter in any of his parties, often left to provide background support. The spells then he’d used had been barbaric in comparison, but at least it kept people alive.

“When did you learn how to do all this stuff?” he asked. He was feeling odd.

“Oh, ever since I was a kid,” she said. “My mom and grandma before me were healers. They sorta taught me what I know now. And I’m also teaching myself.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone else to learn?”

She crushed more herbs. “I’m sure it is. It’s magic like anything else.”

“What about--say--me?”

Aerith turned slightly. She appraised him.

“I’ve been wanting to help people and I don’t know how. You saved me. You saved Ienzo. I can’t do science, and I’m not a good fighter. But I have a good memory.” He considered the irony of that statement. But he’d always been good at memorizing.

“It’s a long road. This isn’t something you can do halfway. People’s lives could be at stake. But you know that.” She smiled a little. Tapped her forehead. “You’ve been through a lot in your life. Seen a lot of suffering.”

“Haven’t we all,” he said dryly.

“That’s… right.” She dusted off her hands. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or believe you can do it. But you’ve gotta have a certain kind of tenacity. An ingenuity. Tell you what. Why don’t you read some base healing theory? There’s no way Ansem doesn’t have books about it. If that doesn’t send you running for the hills, we can talk.” She winked.

Demyx nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good luck.”

He stood.

“Was that the answer you needed?” she asked.

“I think it was.”

----

A week or so passed. He tried to do what Aerith said, and study. But Demyx had never been the most studious, and almost everything he learned sans the very basics he’d learned in the field. He spent these minutes and hours alternating between the text and the dictionary. Why were academics such bad writers?

Sometimes he studied near Ienzo, sometimes he didn’t. Ienzo slept and slept and slept. Demyx could feel the utter lack of presence like a missing tooth. Honestly, being around him and not being able to talk to him was nearly painful.

During one of these marathon reading sessions, Even came in to check Ienzo’s vitals, as he did several times each day. “EKG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming.”

“About what?” Demyx asked.

“I’ve no idea. ...What is that?” He reached town and felt at Demyx’s temperature. “Are you quite alright?”

Demyx sighed, marked his place in the book, and shut it. “I’m studying. Sue me.”

“But why?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I will… not,” Even said with great restraint.

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

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

“I’m thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic.” He braced himself.

Even didn’t laugh. “Really? Why is that?”

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

“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.”

“Do you think I can do it?”

Even considered this. “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 scowled. “I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem.” Then, softening. “As you said. You’re not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence.” He picked up 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 picked up another bag of saline. “Well. If you’re so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much.” He showed Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals. “I’m hoping we won’t need to do this for too much longer. But that’s all up to him.” Even patted Ienzo’s head.

“I miss him.” He felt tears in his eyes.

“As do I,” Even said softly. “Come. Are you hungry?”

---

The more Demyx studied, the more his memories became clearer. In those first shocked days, it had been hard to focus on any memory for very long. Now, not so much.

He’d been a healer then, but not a very good one. He’d still been a coward. More than once someone had gotten egregiously hurt because he hadn’t been willing to step up. He’d been kicked out of multiple parties that way.

He didn’t want to be a coward. It was time to be mature; a grown up. Deal with grown up things in a grown up way. Don’t run. Face it. The hurt will be over that much faster.

For the first time, he tried to summon the Keyblade because he wanted to. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead of cool metal, there was warm, varnished wood. Familiar. Well-worn. He held the sitar tenderly. Cried a bit out of relief.

He was still, despite it all, himself.