Disclaimer: This was written for fun, not profit. KH doesn't belong to me, no matter how much I may want it to. This is inspired in part by the book "The Time Traveler's Wife", and in part by a Merlin fic called "The King and His Sorcerer".

Author's Notes: Poor Sora. Really, I feel bad for all that's happened to him, in the game and in this fic. I mean, he's the center of everything. Even things that he has no idea about, that happen before he's even old enough to DO anything about them. Everything happens merely for the fact that Sora exists.

Dedications: Everyone on my LiveJournal who was actually interested in this, and my LOVELY BETA Pixie!

Time is Stop-Motion

The first time it happened, he was five.

It was only for a second, and he didn't really know what was happening, but in the midst of running through the wheat fields by his house, he took a step –

And ended up in a stone hallway, sunset light pouring through the windows and lighting up the dust motes in beautiful, intricate patterns. Sora ran towards them, swirling the gold between his fingers and watching the dark lines cast from his hands, playing with the shadows and making drawings in the vortexes that resulted. His laughter echoed up the walls. He heard some startled words behind him, sharp and wondering. Turning around to see the people speaking, he whirled about, smile still on his lips.

Only to find himself back in the field, sun high in the sky above him. The bugs buzzed and trilled around him, and the wheat whispered with the wind's blows. Heat rose in heavy waves from the ground. There was no sign of the stone hallway. That afternoon, he had just kept running, pretending that if he ran fast enough, he could make it back to the cool dark of the stone.

At the time, none of it seemed odd.

"Sometimes I wonder if I have chronic amnesia, or if I'm the one who gives it to everyone else…."

"Why do you say that?"

Sora turned to his friend with a slightly sheepish smile. "I just…I remember things that never happened. Or other people will remember things that I don't. One of us is right, and one is wrong, but none of us know who."

"Well, why can't it be both? People remember things differently."

Sora leaned back, laughing. "That's true. They do."

His friend only smiled sadly.

By the time he was twelve, it was almost normal.

It would happen with no pattern. He would be sitting in his bed, reading a book, and then he would be swimming completely underwater, breathing the sea as easily as air. The colors would be bright, and he would find himself fascinated, as always, with the flow and shine of the sun on his hands. A friend would call over, challenge him to a race. For a few minutes, nothing else would matter except the slide of water over his fins and the clear eyes of the boy beside him.

It always ended.

He always found himself back on his bed, or in the fields, or in the bathroom at school with no recollection of what had happened to him while he was somewhere else. No one else noticed. They never gave any indication that he was ever gone. Carrying on, as they always did, they would joke and nudge him and tell him of something funny, and he would laugh along, though he had no idea why it would be funny.

And he didn't always go to fantastic, magical places, either. Sometimes, he just skipped a few minutes forward during his day, or went backwards an hour and was left with the lingering sense of dèjá vu for the rest of the day. Once, he skipped what seemed like years and spent an afternoon wandering around a college campus, not sure if he had anywhere to go, but enjoying the tall and grand architecture of the place and the way people called out to him and waved to him. He relived days where he was young, running haphazardly through the fields, or saw days where he was older, in places he didn't recognize and with people he didn't know.

He began to wonder if he was just dreaming. Falling asleep everywhere, or having vivid daydreams. But it was impossible. No one asked why he suddenly dozed off, or started staring out into space. His marks in school weren't failing. His friends never mentioned anything like him disappearing. Eventually, he convinced himself that it wasn't really happening at all.

(But the smell of salt water lingered on his skin for days, and the eyes of the boy were still familiar.)

The sunset through the palm trees was really quite lovely, and they stayed quiet for some time.

"So, how are you?"

Tilting his head, Sora looked out over the ocean. "I'm alright, I guess. Why?"

He could see a shrug out of the corner of his eye, and Sora grinned towards the empty expanse of water, enjoying his companion's easy body language. "Just asking. You don't…seem like yourself."

Sora tensed. "I'm just like I always am."

"I'm sure you are," his friend replied, softly melancholy.

He finally realized that it could be dangerous when he turned sixteen.

On the night of his sixteenth birthday, he was flung into a dark city, where shadows crawled like cockroaches across the ground, skittering and ever present. A strange weapon – Keyblade, he knew instinctively – hung heavy in his hands, and his muscles already ached from use. Someone, he didn't know who, yelled his name ad he whipped around fast enough to see a lightning bolt fall from the sky and hit the creeping shadow behind him. Without thinking about it, he swung the weapon into the steaming mass. The Keyblade gave off a strange light as he did, searing the creature and scouring its own surface clean and mirror smooth, free of the clinging fingers of darkness. The shadow disappeared in a cloud of black smog.

But there were more.

For every enemy he struck down, infinitely more appeared and he tapped into a well of power he didn't know he had, wielding fire as deftly as the strange blade in his hands. Hours seemed to pass, and he kept fighting, working past the painful burn in his arms and legs and lungs, certain that the enemies were more dangerous than anything he had ever seen or known before.

The city grew silent, save for the buzzing of electronics and the panting of his breath. He stood straight warily, searching the dark corners for more shadows, limbs trembling. He never wanted to know that shadows could come alive with mindless malicious intent, blood searing and boiling away off the surface of a glowing metal key.

And he awoke back in his bed, shivering with exhaustion and fear.

(For two weeks, he slept with the lights on.)

"Are you hungry?"

Sora jumped slightly, then flushed. "Ah, yeah, a little bit."

A yellow fruit was offered to him, and he smiled, taking it. His friend laughed a little bit, and Sora could only imagine the headshake he was getting. "Hey now, let's share! I'm hungry too."

Sora grinned at his companion, passing the fruit back. As his friend took a bite, he felt an odd twinge in his chest, like some knot had just been tied there. He pressed on his chest curiously, fingers searching for something different.

As he did, he thought he heard the other say, "And now you will find me again."

The problems started when he realized that he didn't know when he was anymore.

He didn't know where he was, or how old he was, or what the rules of this world were, or anything aside from his own name. And even that was beginning to slip away, falling underneath the noises that others used to call him. Some people revered him. Some hated him. Some ran in fear and others ran with love, and he never knew what was going on until it had already happened. He was in college, in middle school, at a job, retired, leading an army, dead (and hadn't that been a strange one).

But he couldn't figure out where he was supposed to be. Or where he had started this all. The memory of a field came to him, followed and overwritten by a stone corridor, followed by a beach, sunset lit cities, constant-night cities. None of it made sense anymore. He was always moving, barely in a certain place for more than a day before he was gone again.

He had come from somewhere, hadn't he? There was a place that was his, wasn't there? Why couldn't he find it again?

(The most jarring place to leave had been the one where he had woken up and found himself pressed into the mattress by a warm, insistent mouth. He hadn't even been able to open his eyes long enough to get a look at the person's face, as tied up as he was in simply kissing and touching for the first time. He had shivered and arched into warm hands, moaning loudly. Only to wake up again. In a cold, lonesome bed.)

The crash of the waves reigned briefly, and the two of them just sat, kicking their legs comfortably into the wind.

"What'll you do if you can't get back?"

Sora blinked, turning to his friend again. "What do you mean?"

A sigh. "What'll you do if you can't get back?" At Sora's silence, his friend continued, "To your real time?"

For an instant, Sora was frozen. "Wh-what do you mean?" he finally asked.

"You don't belong here." A pale mouth bowed upwards into a melancholy smile. "You're stuck without a home, aren't you? Because you haven't found it yet."

"Found what?" Sora asked desperately, not even attempting to deny his friend's claims. "What haven't I found? What am I missing?"

Clear, aquamarine eyes looked straight at him, and pale lashes dipped down briefly. The world slipped sideways, and Sora scrabbled for a hold in this reality as the boy answered calmly, silver hair hanging straight around his face, blown only by the ocean breeze.

But the noise was lost in the ripping of change, the beach and trees dissolving into formless white around him.

When he was seventeen, he'd had enough.

(Unfortunately, the universe didn't seem to be listening.)

It was getting worse.

Sora stared morosely at his hands, watching them flicker and stall like old moving pictures, grainy and ill-lit. He was going to move again soon. With a sigh, he looked up from his fading hands, kicking his feet idly over the edge of a cliff. How long had he been here? Three, four minutes, maybe? Longer than the last few places.

At least he had clothes this time, he thought, casting an amused glance at the sand-colored robes covering him from shoulders to knees, though they hung only over a single shoulder, leaving half of his chest bare. He had already skipped worlds once today and ended up nude. (And he could never tell what caused it or when it was going to happen. It just did.)

This makes the…fourteenth world I've been to today? he wondered silently, staring over the expanse of water before him as though it could tell him the answers. The sunlight glinting off the water was actually quite beautiful (though it made him think of another beach in another place and the boy that he knew there) and he had a moment where he was just grateful that the world seemed normal, instead of having a green sky and three suns, and hadn't that been an adventure.

Just then, it was like the world tilted a little, only enough to send him off-balance and slipping. And the fabric of the universe tore unfeelingly.

-hot air slammed against him and he was there for a second before-

-wet and cold and miserable and concrete (what's concrete?) under his feet and lines and laughing children, crying complaining, what's going on-

-and for a moment, long enough for once to realize what was happening, he stood underneath an oak tree, limbs wide and expansive, turning the sunlight green-gold beneath it, and something clicked in him.

Only the world didn't stop there to let him rest and bask in the sunshade and effortless age that the tree provided. Just tore him from it yet again and slammed him into another place and he hated it and wanted it to fucking stop already because it just wasn't fair.

-and now he was crying in every-

-single-

-body that-

-he found himself in-

-stone hallways-

-pools, water cool around his hips, and his lips were twisted in a smile even as he screamed and cried-

-make it stop-

-fire blasting from his fingertips-

-make it stop make it stop-

-loud music blaring and throbbing through his breastbone, lights everywhere and the smell of sweat and desperation and joy as fierce as knives-

- make it stopmakeitstopmakeitstop -

-and he couldn't think, couldn't even fucking breathe because he was crying and it just wouldn't stop, like a punch to the gut every time he took a gulp of air in-

-please-

"MAKE IT STOP!"

Around him, the words echoed in book-scented air and Sora fell heavily to his knees, ignoring the sudden bolt of pain in his limbs. His breathing was harsh and stuttering, tears welling and sliding over his cheeks. But the world seemed stable for the moment, no flickering at the edges. (A first, in a very long time.) Stone was beneath his knees and feet and hands, and he watched tears turn it darker grey in small spots, forming domes of clear liquid in spattered arrangements. Sora looked up, further up, and saw bookcases, filled to the brim with old books and aged documents, and against them, a man, cloaked and hooded all in black (why was he wearing his hood up indoors?), still in the straight-edged moonlight shuttering through the windows.

Sora stared at the man, quick shuddering breaths turning to slower hiccupping ones, and his lungs couldn't seem to get enough air. His head felt too heavy and his ears were ringing, and he let his head fall back down again, gasping to stay conscious.

The man turned towards him, but made no other move, forwards nor backwards. Something about the way he stood was calm and knowing, and it made Sora angry. He struggled to even see the other and focused on him determinedly, breaths harsh and rasping.

"… why me?" he finally gasped out.

Light glinting off of chains, the man only tilted his head.

"Why does it have to be me that does this? What did I do?" Sora reached up and threaded one hand into his hair, pulling until it hurt.

Silence, broken only by his breathing. The man remained motionless and soundless, watching and waiting, but Sora didn't know what for.

Bowing his head again, Sora uttered brokenly, "I-I keep jumping around everywhere! There are worlds out there, whole worlds, and all of them know me, and all of them have pasts that I'm part of, but I know NONE of them! I see futures that will never happen, worlds that don't exist!" Sora slammed a fist against the floor, the sharp, aching pain cutting through the fog of grief around him. "I can't remember how to live in my time anymore! I barely even remember what my time originally is!"

The hooded black figure in front of him didn't move, standing still and perfect as a statue, and Sora dropped his eyes to the floor, tears dripping down his face.

"It's just not fair…," he whispered hoarsely, voice breaking halfway through, squeezing his eyes shut. "Damn it, it's not fair."

There was a soft sigh, and a cool voice –oh that voice, Sora swayed against it, loved it, knew that voice- murmured compassionately, "Your life, no… your lives," the man corrected himself, "have never been fair, Sora. None of them."

"Then why don't you help me?" Sora asked, pleaded, voice gone, lost somewhere in his tears and confusion.

"Because you are not mine to save." And there was the slide of fabric before gentle, calloused fingers caught his chin, tilting his face up and urging his eyes open again. The brunette blinked to clear his tears from his eyelashes. Clear aquamarine eyes, so intense that Sora had to close his own for a second, gazed at him from the shadows under the hood. "But you are another's. And he will be with you soon enough. Give him time."

Sora shook in his hands, drinking in the unspoken promise the stranger –no stranger, no stranger, his soul sung- had given him. A thumb swiped along his lips briefly, and Sora looked up in time to see a fleeting, fond smile cross the hooded man's face.

Even as the world began to slip in the way that meant he was travelling again, more words fell from the man's mouth, and Sora clung tightly to them, needing their reassurance. "Always have I followed you, Sora.

"And always, I will remain by your side."

The world turned white.

Sora was sobbing by the time he reformed, forehead pressed against rough brick, hands clenched on either side of his face and digging into the wall. It wasn't fair. He found someone who cared about him, and he wasn't allowed to stay. His head was spinning. Gasping for air, he leaned harder into the uneven surface of the wall, seeing light spots dance in front of his eyes.

Fuck, what was he going to do?

He couldn't stop going everywhere. It wasn't exactly something he could control.

His lungs heaved for breath, and he listed to one side, supporting himself with one hand as he slowly, painfully turned himself so his side was leaning against the wall. Nausea rose in waves in him and he swallowed heavily, trying to keep from vomiting.

What the fuck was he going to do?

He didn't even know.

He had no idea what to do.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed again, trying to quell the rising panic in him. There was nothing he could really do, if he was going to be honest. It wasn't like he could just tell the world to quit messing with him and his own personal timeline and set everything back the way it had been. And to be honest, he had done it so much that losing the ability to shift worlds would be terrible. (He just wanted to be able to control it.)

The world was spinning so much now; Sora couldn't tell if he was upright anymore or not, his face and hands and everything on him feeling only prickles of sensation before falling dead to touch. His blood rushed in his ears, blocking all sound save a hollow rushing. He struggled for breath, black spots dancing lazily in front of his eyes.

He was going to die.

There was nothing he could do.

(He was going to die, and no one would know where he had gone.)

Noise, sucking away the dull blood-rush, began to reappear in spots and holes, and Sora found himself with his hands clapped over his ears, with someone else's hands on him, grounding him, shaking him. He heard his own stuttering breaths and a high, lost whimpering that came from somewhere in the back of his throat and then- words, echoing and warping into their proper forms.

"-ey, hey! Are you alright? Hey!"

And the world just-

…stopped.

It was like everything froze. Became unimportant His own heartbeat faded to insignificance, and he slowly, oh so slowly, lowered his hands, ignoring their aching as he unclenched them. Painfully, he blinked, and he hissed a little at the burn of salt on abraded skin. Gradually, the world around him began to crawl into focus. The hands on his arms shook him gently once more, as though calling him back to wakefulness.

"Hey."

That voice.

That voice!

"Are you alright?"

Looking up, Sora met the intense aquamarine eyes of a silver-haired young man, and he let out a soft, unbelieving whine, almost silent behind his still-panting breaths. He jerkily nodded, and his hands, shaking and trembling, started to brush off the tears that were still falling.

The man shook his head with a worried smile. "I don't believe you. Can you stand?"

Sora examined himself carefully and shook his head. "N-" he licked his lips, voice cracking before he tried again. "No. I don't think so."

"Well, that's okay. Give me your hand." After doing as he was directed, he was gingerly lifted to his feet, and Sora swayed a little as the stranger moved a step away. A strong hand still held his elbow, supporting him. "So, what's your name?"

Sora was silent for a moment. The world wasn't disintegrating around him. Nothing was static-y or jumping. Everything was remarkably…quiet. Unchanging. And there were no slips or tilts to let him know that it was going to start soon.

With a small, relieved smile on his face, he answered, "Sora. My name's Sora."

"Nice to meet you, Sora. My name's Riku."

Riku.

The knowledge slotted into his mind as though it had always been there. Knowing his name was nothing new. He had always known it. It had always been there, in every world he went to, because everywhere, there was always that boy with aquamarine eyes.

"Thanks, Riku."

Riku flashed a quick grin at him, let his elbow go. (Sora was surprised when the world didn't immediately go all tilted and strange.) "Not a problem," he said easily. "Just take more care of yourself, alright?" And he waved briefly at Sora and began walking away.

"Right." Sora bit his lip. Then he ran up to Riku, thumping him gently on the shoulder. "Hey, wanna grab some coffee or something? Since you helped me out? My treat," he wheedled.

Laughing, Riku agreed, and they turned down half-familiar streets, side-by-side and together.

"What haven't I found? What am I missing?"

Clear, aquamarine eyes looked straight at him, and pale lashes dipped down briefly.

"Me."

Woo, just under the clock! Not much in the way of notes for this one. If I think of any, I'll be sure to let you know.

Beta'd by: Evil-Pixie-Dust, because she is wonderful and amazing!

So, this is for the monthly challenge that I'm putting forth on myself, because I felt bad for my lack of updating all last year. What the challenge entails is that I write a one-shot every month until December, as well as writing TTB. This is the January one-shot! First RiSo that I've written! Hope you like it!

Also, if you want to check out what other fics I'll be doing for the next couple of months (and even maybe vote on it), go look at my LiveJournal! I keep regular updates there, especially for fics! A link can be found at the bottom of my profile on here!

Reviews and faves are appreciated, and I try to respond to all reviews, even if it's just with a "Thank you"!