The memories of Ansem the Wise's six apprentices had helped to define the Nobodies that were left behind by the Heartless. They retained certain nuances of those men's personalities, from Braig's way of speaking to Even's facial eccentricities. Sometimes they fell into those memories, referring to one another as their departed 'Others' and momentarily forgetting.
It was especially easy when they were in each other's company—when the neophytes were not around to remind them of their present states and current goals. There was the occasional in-joke between Xaldin and Xigbar, the moment of reminiscence between Xemnas and Vexen. Lexaeus would sometimes be teased about the small rock sculptures Elaeus had kept, and he would look behind his headboard to assure himself that no one had discovered his own collection.
Cold, controlled, and calculating Zexion, on the other hand, had vivid nightmares.
He never spoke about them or let on that anything was wrong, but the former apprentices could tell when there had been one; the Cloaked Schemer would be even more withdrawn than normal, and his confident snipes would be replaced by curt dismissals. Xaldin once dryly commented that there would be more arguments over the issue if it had been any of them instead of Zexion.
Lexaeus, silently, agreed without reservation.
Zexion's first memories were muddled with the last of Ienzo's.
Ienzo had been too close to an explosion as the Heartless charged through the castle laboratory, thrown backwards over a countertop and landing in shattered glass. He attempted to stagger to his feet, knicks and cuts on his face and hands beginning to bleed as he tried to grab the counter for support.
His hands landed on the feet of an imp-like Heartless, and he pushed away sharply, sending the Heartless flying and himself falling to the floor again. He held up his arms as he saw another one of the small, humanoid Heartless perched on the counter, gritting his teeth as he prepared for an attack.
Braig came to his rescue, breaking a titration buret over the Heartless' head before hauling the smaller apprentice to his feet. "Run," he ordered, a yardstick in hand as he roughly pushed Ienzo's shoulder. "Even and Elaeus're already down the hall at least."
"Where's Dilan? And Xehanort?" He coughed and tossed his hair back, cursing under his breath as his fingers came back bloody.
"That damn bastard--" that was what Braig called Dilan when he was irritated "--went out the other exit to warn the castle attendants. Xehanort's gone."
Gone. Ienzo's eyes strayed towards the machine that the other apprentice had seated in, unable to see it past the rubble a large Heartless had created. He grunted as Braig shoved at him insistently, starting when the older man moved bodily and shielded him from a small Heartless; there was a bit of a squeak from the creature as Braig punted it across the lab.
"Go!"
Ienzo stumbled for the door, listening to the sounds of breaking glass as he hobbled farther and farther away from Braig. Some windows outside of the lab had been broken, and he felt a knot forming in his stomach as he spotted a flying Heartless descending on the town below.
He kept moving, entering another corridor that split off in two new directions. His attention was drawn to the one on his left by the sounds of shrieking, and he edged towards the hallway that was actually empty. Self-preservation was definitely at the forefront of his mind at the moment. Remembering that the Heartless could literally appear anywhere made him move for the stairs even faster.
"Ienzo!"
He looked down the staircase to find Elaeus standing on the middle landing with a decorative shield in hand, his usually- stoic expression replaced by one of horror.
"Behind you!"
The youth spun—difficult with an aching ankle—to see what the taller apprentice was warning him about. His gaze had to dip a little to meet glowing yellow eyes—too close—peering upward, and he tried to take a step backwards. Only empty air greeted him.
And the world faded as he felt his chest explode.
He awoke to pain in his arm and shoulder as he struck a hard surface—the floor, his mind belatedly processed. He relaxed his eyelids that he did not remember squeezing shut, blinking blearily even as he felt things moving against his fallen form. For a moment, he listened to the flurry of echoing steps in a dream-like state, so detached from his own wakefulness that the idea moving did not compute. But he did eventually fight off the feeling; shaking his head and quickly regretting it—why was breathing through his nose enhancing the headache?—he managed to sit up and look around.
A black and gold sea of creatures—Heartless—surrounded him, and he now could associate the sensations with the careless rakings of claws and antennae. The Heartless were not attacking him, and for a moment he was lost in how surreal the sight was.
Then he realized they were surging past him, over him, and through the air.
Turning and sitting up on his hands and knees, he found himself face to face with the sight of the Heartless attempting to keep down a giant of a man. To his credit, the man was doing an admirable job sweeping the small Heartless off left and right, but the Shadows relentlessly pounced back onto his frame to take him down.
The man, his memory supplied, was Elaeus. And Elaeus was fighting for his life—and losing.
Again, he felt detached from the situation; as if his arms were moving on their own and his legs were throttling him forward. His hands reached out, tearing at the Heartless that continued to dogpile on the apprentice, throwing them off one at a time. But the monsters ignored his desperate attempts to stop them, pushing him aside and latching once again on the other man.
The Heartless ignored his existence altogether.
And he was shouting and screaming—for them to leave Elaeus alone, for them to stop, for them to stop ignoring him—
and the newborn Nobody had no idea why.
Lexaeus opened his eyes as Zexion shot up in bed.
Wordlessly, he propped himself up on one shoulder, observing the faint twitches and shudders that played along the other's body. He had suspected that, with the frequency that they shared a bed, he would someday witness one of Zexion's 'episodes.' The smaller man's eyes were open but sightless, and Lexaeus mused over the irony of the Cloaked Schemer being trapped in an illusion. With his free arm, he took hold of Zexion's shoulder and eased him back to the bed.
"Elaeus."
The whisper was no more than a weak whine, lost and desperate and helpless.
Lexaeus did not remember the death throes of his Other and very rarely wondered how the apprentice had met his end; it was something that had little value in being remembered.
"I'm here."
As he gathered the smaller one in his arms, Lexaeus did not wonder why Zexion's shivers died down or why his body slowly relaxed.
"… I'm here."