Work Text:
She wasn’t sure why she’d chosen the name Xion.
It had just seemed to fit, somehow. It wasn’t that it was familiar – it wasn’t –but it seemed to suit her in a way she couldn’t quite articulate. A train of thought as intangible as she herself was.
She couldn’t remember who she was, she couldn’t remember anything that would make her ‘her’. When she looked down, she didn’t see anything. Just the grass, the ground, not even a shimmer in the air to show where she was inhabiting space.
She was, in all senses, not there.
It was disconcerting. She couldn’t be sure of anything. No body, no form. No name, no memories. What was she, then? Could she even say that she was? Did she exist? What did existence even mean in this context?
She chose the name Xion because she saw a flower by the side of the road that she liked, and it made her think of that name, and she liked it, and kept it. And because she liked that name, she decided to assume that she was a girl, even though she had no idea whether that was accurate, or true. She knew nothing at all.
It was hard to think about. The fact that she was nothing. That there was nothing to prove that she existed aside from her own consciousness, untethered by anything. She tried not to think about it. It seemed like the type of thing that could drive a person crazy if dwelled on.
She wasn’t sure if she was even a person.
Don’t dwell on it, she reminded herself firmly. Don’t think about it.
Not thinking about the validity of existence while stilling being aware and present was a difficult task. It helped to have something else to focus on. Something else to direct her attentions to. It was why she was so fixated on keeping track of this…
This…zombie?
Shortly after…coming into awareness. Of waking up without body or form or memory, Xion had come across a, well, a body. A person? No, a body. A zombie?
She doesn’t want to say zombie. That seems ridiculous. That seems impossible. Almost as impossible as her existing as some kind of…ghost.
But come across a…shambling, confused, damaged looking body she had. A young man, covered in dirt and grime, hair colour unidentifiable, skin sallow and drawn. Eyes devoid of comprehension or awareness of any kind.
It- he- it wasn’t groaning or anything. Or moaning about wanting to consume flesh. Or visibly rotting, though the skin was a bit of strange colour. So…Xion didn’t want to jump to any utterly illogical conclusions and call him a zombie. But…the fact that he did sort of look like he’d just busted his way out of a grave was a little incriminating.
She couldn’t touch him to see if his skin was cold. She couldn’t touch his neck or wrist to see if he had a heartbeat. Couldn’t wave a hand in front of his face to see if she could feel breath on her palm. She couldn’t touch him at all.
But he could hear her.
He could hear her voice. She couldn’t even hear her voice. But when she tried to talk, when she tried to articulate her thoughts externally, tried to push sound through the mouth that she did not have, the body, the boy, the possible zombie, reacted. His head would lift a little, he’d turn in the direction her consciousness was hovering, and sometimes, he’d follow what she was saying. He was capable of that much comprehension, at the very least. But not much else. He had a lack of awareness of his surroundings, a seeming inability to react to the world around him, and was constantly walking directly into potholes, ditches, and trees.
But he could hear her. He could hear her, and so Xion made it her mission, her focus, to direct him as best she could.
“Don’t go over there!” she shouts into his ear, or tries to aim for that general direction. He stumbles as he confusedly changes direction, away from the area of the dodgy, dry field of grass that’s littered with old car parts and broken glass.
“Watch out for that hole!” she warns, and he startles, doesn’t quite avoid it, falls on his face.
Direct references to things in the environment don’t quite seem to work. Staying vague by saying ‘over there’ and ‘change direction’ is better than saying ‘avoid the hole’. It’s like the body, the person, he, has forgotten the specific names for things. Like he can only comprehend the most general descriptions of the world.
And speaking of general descriptions, Xion doesn’t like just referring to him as ‘him’, or the body. She wishes she had any idea of a name for him, but she also feels like it would be presumptuous and a little condescending to just slap a name onto him that she comes up with herself. After all, she might be ordering him around like one, but he’s not a dog.
She gets some luck when she’s unable to catch him from stumbling one time, and something tumbles out of his pocket as he falls flat on his face. It’s an ID card of some sort, distorted with water damage. She can just barely recognize the blurred, distorted photo as the boy, but the name is a mess, the ink running. And she can’t touch it. Can’t hold it up to the light to try and see it better. She still can’t touch anything.
Not thinking about it. Not dwelling on it. Focus on directing her new zombie friend. Focus on that.
She can make out some letters on the card. An S. Maybe an R? Something like an A…maybe.
She’s really not sure what it is altogether, but she decides to work with what she has.
“Roxas,” she says outloud, using letters from her own made up name to fill in the gaps. “Does that work for you? Roxas?”
The zombie- Roxas, doesn’t respond to direct questions like that, but he inclines his head slightly in her direction. She takes that as the best form of accord that she’s going to get.
He continues shambling on. Xion continues to follow and steer him as well as she can. And she might be imagining it, but she thinks that he responds better when she calls out his name first.
“Roxas! Steer left! You’re going to walk into that tree!” He veers immediately, almost no hesitation and disconnect between the command and the action.
“Roxas! Change direction! There’s a ditch up ahead!” He’s a bit confused, doesn’t know which direction to turn to, but stumbles in a half circle and moves away at a reasonable speed.
“Pick up your legs, Roxas. Don’t drag them through the mud! Lift! It’ll be easier to get through if you lift your legs, Roxas!” A fine motor command. He stills for a moment, knee deep in the field of mud and muck they’ve found themselves in, and then begins struggling to lift his legs to her order. There’s a strangely determined look on his sallow, partially decomposing face.
(the zombie question isn’t really a question anymore)
Xion’s not sure how much time is passing, exactly, but she feels as if she should be alarmed that they haven’t made contact with any other people. Or. With any people. She’s not sure if she and Roxas count. They are both dead.
They are both dead, she’s certain. He is a zombie and she is a ghost. It even occurs to her that they might have been the same person, once. Maybe she was wrong to assume he was a boy. Maybe she’s wrong to call herself a girl. Or maybe when they were together they were both or neither. There’s no way to know now.
Xion and Roxas are dead, and they are also alone. The land they stumble across is deserted and barren, the sky is empty of birds or planes, and there has been no sign of people for miles. Even when they come across an empty house or barn, a line of abandoned cars and farm equipment, there are no people.
Maybe they’re just in a really rural part of the country. Maybe they’re just not walking the right way.
Or maybe the world is as dead as they are.
It doesn’t matter, either way. Not for them. All they can do, ghost and zombie, is keep moving forward. Roxas will walk and Xion will guide, for as long as their impossible existences continue.