Work Text:
The Land of Departure attunes to the wills of its residents.
That’s what Brain’s been told, anyway. It’s grand, it’s massive, and it can accommodate anyone’s wishes should it be reasonable enough. Effectively a world of its own. Those are the rules one just has to roll with.
Even if it’s, unfortunately, a crapshoot. A bedroom with the standard commodities? Sure. Balcony right outside? Just fine. Setting said bedroom anywhere close to the library? No, no, surely all the bedrooms have to be in the same wing. Your own private study? Why would you want that? You’ve got a perfectly good library six million paces away. Have fun walking!
No, this world can’t fix your place in it. No, it can’t give you the strength to wield a keyblade of your own. Master’s Defender was never yours to keep, didn’t you know? It’s up to you to play catch up. Breakfast ends at 11, enjoy your stay!
Suppose he is a guest here, so it’s not like it’s his place to make demands. Unfortunately.
Ventus's housemates — friends? Family? — are gracious hosts. Pleasant folks all around. Really, he’s glad Ventus’s been able to find a home for himself with so much love to give. But cripes, are they overbearing. Maybe it’s something to do with making Ventus’s friends as comfortable as possible, or maybe it’s because they’re part of his past that he’s, apparently, barely been able to remember.
Maybe it’s because, out of the three of them, Brain’s the closest in age to Ventus. He’s certainly not seeing them smother Skuld and Lauriam the way they’re doing to him.
So, lovely people. But Brain’s element is in solitude. Always has, always will.
(Is there a point in lying to himself? Sure. Just have to figure it out.)
It’d taken some convincing (“Thank you, Terra.” “Will do, Aqua.” “All good, Skuld. What about you? Maybe you should get some rest.”), but now that he’s finally got time to himself, he can breathe a bit easier. Realign, compartmentalize, the whole nine yards. He’s practically a pro at getting used to a new normal by this point.
Just. An adjustment period, is what this is.
He’ll get with the program eventually. He always does.
That’s how Brain finds himself secluded away in Departure’s library for the majority of the day. A wide variety of books to sift through, all types of genres. Nothing much in terms of history beyond some dry, clinical accounts in dust-ridden textbooks, which is… odd, at best. The existence of the Keyblade War is undoubtedly documented and known, but beyond that, it’s a weird blip of knowledge this library doesn’t have.
Might be a bit presumptuous to say, though, given he’s barely made a dent in this library’s catalog. Brain squints through the darkness at the myriad of shelves coating the walls. Could be miscategorized somewhere, but he’s taken a glance at all the relevant-looking documents in the history section, and those seemed filed just fine. It’d take ages to read everything here just to verify.
Well. He’s got all the time in the world. First time for everything.
"Yeah, why'd I expect anything else?"
Skuld's voice, exasperated yet fond, carries from the doorway. Brain looks up from his page. "What?"
"Trust you not to follow your own advice." Skuld pushes herself from the wall and strides over, two ice cream bars in hand. She offers one. "Eat something, will you?"
Brain regards it with skepticism. Not that he doubts the well intent or anything, but… he's never been too fond of ice cream.
"It's good." She nudges it closer. "Trust me?"
Of course.
He'd trust her to oblivion and back.
Brain grabs hold of the ice cream bar and takes a tentative bite. It's an odd taste – he must have had a visible reaction, since Skuld snickers.
"So?"
"Sweet." Brain grimaces. "But salty."
"Good though, right?"
He rocks his hand. So-so.
Skuld laughs, slipping into the nearest chair. "I'll take it. I hated the taste when I first tried it, so don't worry. It grows on you."
"Absolutely riveted to know why you'd keep eating this, then."
He'd meant for the words to be in jest, but something in Skuld's face softens, more subdued. Bittersweet, almost like the ice cream. "These two boys would always bring me sea salt ice cream every time they'd visit. They came by a lot, so you can imagine how fast it grew on me."
"Never got sick of it?"
"How could I?" Skuld chuckles, eyes trained on the sea salt. More bitter than sweet. "It was all I had."
There’s a weariness settling in her face, pronounced by the dimness of the room. Years may have passed, but the pressure she carries is so unfathomably familiar that it tears into Brain without warning. Suddenly they’re fifteen again, newly minted Union leaders with the world on their shoulders and a meeting room that quickly becomes their second home. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine the grooves of mahogany he can trace in his sleep, the type of scratches worn that only an endlessly abused table would have. Imagine the desk in its own little nook like a safe haven. The warmth of people with so much life to give, even with so little numbers, with so much pain in their hearts.
If he closes his eyes, it’s like the Skuld he’s always known is right there, by his side.
But he doesn’t. She isn’t.
He lets the chill of marble and ice cream under his palms dredge him back to reality. Steadies himself. Realigns.
This insurmountable gulf of experiences can’t be ignored. It’s the new normal. Brain just has to get with the program.
"Do you think he'd be proud of us?"
Brain looks up. Skuld stares straight ahead, gaze lost in a past of her own. Ice cream drips down her glove. "Sorry?"
"What we're doing here. What we've done." She doesn't specify the who, but Brain's not an idiot. "I just… I wonder if he’s happy. Wherever he is.”
Scala ad Caelum’s early history is an era buried by time. A realm of dreams and distortions existing outside causality, allowing exit only through the most cosmic of loopholes. A land built from the wreckage of total obliteration, and a founder whose lineage spans even beyond his natural life. A full life. A completed one.
Not that Skuld is aware of that.
Brain lets the rest of his ice cream melt in his mouth. It lets him stall long enough to pretend to be deep in thought. He’s had months to consider this exact question, after all, from the moment he first laid eyes on the statue of Scala’s founder.
“I like to think so,” he says, mindful of his tenses. “It’d be lonely otherwise.”
“Mm.” Skuld closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath. When she opens them, something in her expression clears. "I think I've had enough of being alone.”
Her gaze slides towards him, pointed and sudden. Something unspoken. She’s had enough of being alone. Haven’t you?
Well. If she won’t say it aloud, then neither will Brain. He hums noncommittally, tossing the barren ice cream stick into the nearest waste bin.
They settle into a peaceful rhythm, after that. Brain mindlessly pretends to read while Skuld pretends her ice cream is at all salvageable. She doesn’t try pushing any further conversations, which Brain is cautiously thankful for. Skuld is someone who speaks her mind, and the fact she isn’t means she’s either holding back for Brain’s sake, or she’s become someone who no longer speaks her mind.
Neither option is all that appealing, yet Brain can’t figure out which is the truth.
"There you guys are."
Ventus enters from the doorway, the hallway light spooling out from behind him. "Are you guys just… reading? In the dark?"
Brain flips a page. "Yup."
"It's our favorite pastime," Skuld adds.
Ventus makes a noise that's suspiciously like a sigh, turning the lights on. Brain grumbles in protest, feeling his eyes flicker to get used to the light, but it dies in his throat when he glimpses at Skuld.
He hadn't noticed it, but compared to just a moment ago, Skuld seems much more relaxed. Shoulders untensed, expression less guarded. It's subtle enough that he doubts it's a conscious effort on her part, but the differences are there. Something about the lowercase-D darkness puts Skuld on edge.
Brain glances down at his book, flips a page, and files that information away. "Need something, Ventus?"
"Not really." Had Ventus known, then, about Skuld's aversion to the dark? Or was it one of those things they just understood about each other, the way Brain couldn't? "Just wanted to check up on you guys."
Brain hums. He flips another page. "Don't worry. I've got adult supervision."
It's a joke. It's a joke, because Skuld is no longer the studious peer he knew, because she's now a world-weary adult with experiences he can't begin to imagine. She's an adult and Brain is not. It's just a joke.
Skuld stares at him.
Brain pointedly does not look up. He flips another page. What's he reading, intro to potions? Riveting stuff.
"Ven," Skuld says, "can you grab us some more ice cream? I think we're probably going to want seconds."
Brain doesn't even have to think to recognize the excuse for what it is. He barely tolerated the taste of his and Skuld’s has long since melted.
Ventus groans. "Not you guys too. It's like everyone eats the stuff. Has anyone even heard of chocolate?"
The sounds of footsteps receding and jovial grumblings fading signal Ventus' departure. Skuld waits all of two seconds before she speaks again. "Come on, Brain. What is this?"
"Intro to potions." He flashes the cover. "Next issue's about Megalixirs."
"Brain."
"Skuld."
"Don't do this." She sighs. "Just talk to me, would you? I'm worried about you."
And that's the kicker.
"Did you know I can't summon a keyblade?"
Skuld stops.
"Mine was just on loan. Borrowed. Under temp management, however you want to spin it. It was rightfully Ephemer's."
She has some kind of reaction to the name drop, but he barrels forward. He needs her to understand.
"I've tried everything, Skuld. My heart just isn't strong enough to manifest one of my own. I threw a stick at a Heartless." He shuts the book with a very controlled, very calm slam. "I need you to understand that I'm not on either of your levels yet, and if you want me to stand by your side in whatever war we fight next, I can't have you coddling me like I'm a child. I need to figure this out on my own."
He levels a look at Skuld, expecting resistance. Skuld, however, is absolutely floored. Like she's two seconds away from crying, heartbroken, but like she's also staring right into his soul, plucking out every core piece of his being she knows exists.
But Brain cannot let himself falter.
"You're not," she chokes out. "A child, I mean, we… We never got to be children."
Brain falters.
"Ephemer told me something once, before I met you. That I'd… I'd be alright on my own." She stares down at her long melted ice cream bar, more stick than edible. Peeking out from her tight grip, there's a crown icon, followed by text he can't parse. "And I was. If it was just me, facing the world and all that came with it, I knew I could manage. I knew I could survive. But…"
Skuld's grip tightens. A crack marrs the crown. "But then the end came. And when the two of us reached the pods, as the world ended around us, all I could think was… was how thankful I was that Ephemer was there with me. That I didn't have to face the end alone."
Brain's mind reels. She may have only dredged up the memory recently, but he's always remembered his side of things. 'The two of us' is key, here. "What happened to…?"
Skuld quietly shakes her head. "Darkness."
"Ah." Brain tilts his hat down. So he'd failed to save everyone. Not them, nor the rest of the Dandelions, doomed to eternal slumber. He feels bile churn. "I didn't—"
"You saved us," she says, leveling him a serious look that infiltrates him to his core. No room for arguments. "You sent the pods back, didn't you? I wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't. I wouldn't be here if Ephemer didn't protect me, if Lauriam and Ven didn't jog my memories. We can survive on our own, but we don't have to, Brain. We don't have to be alone."
She sets the ice cream stick down and puts a syrupy, gloved hand on Brain's shoulder, steady and unyielding. "I don't mean to coddle. You're capable, no matter how different our experiences have been. Let us help you, the way you've helped us."
Cowardice has never been Brain's speed, but he can't find the strength to meet her gaze from under his hat. It's not as easy as Skuld is making it sound, yet he can't find a sensible rebuttal against it.
Would the Brain back then, the one who'd cared none about the responsibilities of being a Union Leader, the one without friends, have reacted this way?
He can't answer.
Skuld's hand eventually pries itself off his shoulder. Brain has a disorienting moment where he feels like he might sink before reality slots back in place.
"Get some rest, Brain." The sound of a chair pushing back and feet touching the ground makes it evident this is the end of the conversation. "I'll see you in the morning."
Skuld takes her leave, turning off the lights on her way out.
The melted ice cream stick on the table reads: WINNER.