Disclaimer: I asked Sandy Claws for the rights to Kingdom Hearts. Instead, I got a pony. Damn Jack.

Author’s Notes: Alright, guys. This is it. Finally. After ten months, I have finished revising. Everything you read from here until chapter sixteen has been taken through the grinder. It's imperfect. It'll never be anywhere close. But I've edited a great deal, and I hope that, if you choose to re-read it, or if you're a new reader to SGW, you enjoy. Some scenes were left mostly intact, others were all but re-written. And...well. There's a lot I could say about this. About the whole revising process, actually. But that would take pages upon pages, and would probably be filled with all-caps, and might just annoy the lot of you, so I'll leave it unsaid. All I can say is that I hope this version outstrips the first and, as always, that you enjoy.

I've left most of the authors notes and disclaimers intact. Other than that, though...well. I hope you enjoy the changes that have been made, and if not, I would love any concrit that can be given.

Most importantly, however, I would like to profusely thank Aindel, who helped me beta over half of these chapters. You have no idea how huge a help you were, dear. I really don't think I would have been able to complete this without you. Your insight was absolutely invaluable. Thank you so, so much for all the time you put into this.

Warnings: I’ve got yaoi, het, and Final Fantasy characters. Heed the rating, of course, but nothing here is exceedingly explicit.

Revised: June, 2008

Surgeon General’s Warning

AKA

Don’t Choke My Chocobo!

Prologue: Enter the Players

So.

If I was one of those new-age mumbo-jumbo freaks who play on the idea of fate and karma and all that sort of crap, I’d probably be a little more at ease with the situation my brothers have wholeheartedly thrown themselves into. Not that I don’t believe in higher-powers and stuff like that; I guess I just figure that people should live like the world's their own personal show. Life’s too short, you know?

Unfortunately, the startling lack of anything resembling the occult in my life illustratesperfectly my irritation with our family’s current state of affairs. I am not happy. I am not happy at all.

I mean, I guess if you wanna look at this objectively, the whole ruckus we-the-Strife-family have found ourselves in might be considered kinda-sorta…humorous. You could probably even call it funny, in an ironic sort of way.

…don’t call it funny. Seriously. I’m not joking. Look at this face. Do you see this face? Does this look like a happy face?

God, now you’re laughing at me.

Whatever. I don’t even care. But for the record? We're pretty offended at the gambling pools that have erupted across town as to who will reign supreme in our private little war with the Leonharts. To those involved: if procreation is on your list of Things I Must Do - stop it. Stop it right now. Because seriously, this has gone too far, dammit, and we're about ready to fuck your shit up.

My boyfriend is one of those afore-mentioned individuals who find our unfortunate crusade against tyranny and oppression funny. Well, that’s easy for him to say. He’s an outsider. He’s above it all. He can afford to remain neutral.

Oh yeah? Well, he’s not being blackmailed by his conniving little brothers into crusading alongside them. So he and his prissy little smirks can go suck it. (And not in the fun, sexual way. I'm saving it, dammit.)

(Or at least, I'm saving it until he lets me top.)

Anyway. I guess I should be grateful. After all, Zexion’s idea of neutrality is akin to America’s adoption of the Lend-Lease Act during the first half of World War II. In other words, if I beg prettily enough, he’ll pat me on the head and supply me with a backpack full of ammunition before he shoves me out the front door to my doom.

God, I love my life.

Yes, that was sarcasm.

As you’ve most likely surmised, I don’t quite enjoy the same amount of fervor my brothers do when it comes to walkin' the war-path. Quite frankly, if they really wanted hardcore ninja-skills and crazy kamikaze tactics, they should have picked someone else. Yuffie, maybe. Honestly, they chose the wrong guy for this. But does that dissuade them? Does my tactlessness, ignorance, and all-around klutziness discourage 'em from dragging me along in the slightest? Nope, the filial bonds of blood will prevail! Cry havoc and let loose the hounds of war!

God, I love my life.

In the interest of keeping my audience, I should probably explain. As a very wise lady once said, it’s always best to start at the beginning. So I’ll take you all down the metaphorical yellow brick road, back to before any of this began.

The way I see it, our troubles actually stem from one cataclysmic event two years ago, way before we ever even met the Leonharts. Can I have a drumroll, please?

Our parents got divorced.

Oh, shut up, it was traumatic. Now, seriously, I really don’t know why they bothered with it. I mean, they’d been putting up with each other for twenty years; what’s forty more? I guess they figured that their kids were old enough to be able to handle life with a single parent. Or they probably figured they should cut their losses and run. Whatever.

Honestly? All joking aside, I don’t think it affected any of us as much as it probably should have. Our dad's the 'Work 70 Hours a Week, kind of guy. I mean, he’s nice enough; he’s not abusive or cruel or anything. He just never spent that much time with us, “us” being his wife and three bouncing baby brats (more on my two younger brothers later. Hell, an entire novel on my two younger brothers later).

Their separation was unexpected, but, well. Not entirely unwelcome. Mom and Dad never really argued; they just didn’t talk much. It made for awkward school luncheons, let me tell you that. You know, when one parent’s over on the east, and the other parent’s on the west, and they’re both surreptitiously checking out Mr. and Mrs. Johnson…it gets a little strange. So when they announced their upcoming divorce to us one winter evening at the dinner table, none of us freaked.

Well, not entirely. That is to say, we didn’t die choking on our meatloaf. It was uncomfortable, obviously. You know, having to sit through dinner while the parents happily chat about lawyers and division of assets an' all that sorta stuff. But hey, we're good kids; we accepted the news with a minimum amount of screaming and swearing, and waited patiently for night to fall, whereupon my two brothers crawled into my bed at midnight for explanations and comfort.

Now, I’m not trying to make this sound like I’m the big-brother type. Hell (and I never said this!) I’m probably the most immature out of any of us. I guess it’s just that kids like seeking out a warmer and larger body for comfort. It feels nice. God knows I wish I’d had one.

So that night, the night our lives fragmented and crumbled upon themselves...well, I made a sleepover of it. Popcorn, movies, porn, whatever the hell we wanted. I figured we deserved it.

I think that, of the three of us, the news hit Roxas the hardest. It's not that he was particularly close to our father; the whole workaholic shtick kind of places a damper on most sorts of parental devotion, after all. Roxas just broods over everything. Which isn't to say that he’s one of those emo slash-my-wrists-while-I-cry-a-river types. He just thinks a lot. I think he realized before any of us how much our lives were about to change.

I wasn’t that surprised when Roxas crawled under the covers; he and I argue a lot, but I’m pleased to say that I enjoy a healthy share of adoration from my little underling. I was shocked, though, when Sora joined him. He was a surprise. He’s...

Well, I don't know many synonyms for 'incorrigible optimist.'

Sora’s the type of person who has a smile ready for anyone, no matter what. He’s loud and bright and really, really stubborn, in all the right sort of ways. More importantly, though, Sora's never admitted to being afraid. He's one of those people, you know? The kind who always seem to happily bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. He takes the problems of everyone around him and makes them his own. He’s…God. Not to sound cheesy or whatever, but the kid is made out of light. For Sora to humble himself and…and admit that maybe he was a little scared…I've gotta admit, the thought threw me more than the news of my parent’s impending divorce did.

But hell, I wasn’t about to turn them away. I know I screw up plenty. I know that I can be flighty and selfish at times, and I know that I talk without thinking and that every now an' then I hurt people without even realizing it. But, hey. These two are my brothers. They’re my - cheesy, cheesy, cheesy - whole life. So when they looked up at me with their big blue eyes…well, if I maybe got a little emotional and hugged the dorks, you didn’t hear it from me.

That night was fun. We played video games for hours, and when we got tired of video games we snuck out to the play island and pretended we were knights, just like we did when we were little. And as dumb as it may sound, we knew that as long as we all stuck together, it would be okay.

And it was. It really was.

At least until the Leonharts came.

But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

After the finalization of the divorce between my parents, my mother decided that a change of scenery would be good for her precious little toddlers. Now, this news was taken with a bit less good-will than the previous was. I think Sora’s exact words were “I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU AND I’M RUNNING AWAY.” He used all-caps and everything. Roxas alternated between stealing the car keys and petty sabotage.

Of course, being the eldest brother, I was mature about it all. I could have slashed the tires or pinched the ferry tickets or maybe gone on a hunger strike. But I didn’t. I was cool. I was calm. Totally.

And if my mothers wardrobe maybe underwent a slightly…morbid…change, it definitely wasn’t my fault. I thought she liked black lace petticoats.

Unfortunately, it was all for naught, and after a week of tears, threats, and curses (by which, obviously, I mean to imply that we maybe sort of made a voodoo doll and flushed it down the toilet), my mother tore her three children away from their perfect lives on Destiny Island and shipped us all to the smoky, industrialized suburbs of Hollow Bastion.

Okay, so maybe I exaggerate. A bit. There were trees. It’s just that they were all labeled Made in China.

But otherwise?

Alright, it was nice. Factory-manufactured flora aside, the houses were large, and the lawns were sprawling, and everywhere we looked there were kids running around, skimming their knees and tumbling off merry-go-rounds and wailing to high heaven about their lack of a cell phone.

Yeah, it was…nice. Really nice. Not as nice as Destiny Islands, of course! But…well, it wasn’t bad. And I wouldn’t be overstating it if I say that we fell in love with the little suburb called Radiant Garden on sight.

Of course, being a ditzy, malicious wench at heart, my mother decided to plant her final surprise on us when it was already too late to throw ourselves off a cliff in protest. See, when she told us we’d be moving to Radiant Garden, we all assumed that we’d be living in, you know, our own house.

Nope. No separate living dwelling for us. Instead, we’d all be rooming with some obscure cousin we may have met once at a Christmas party twelve years ago, back in the day when we were still slurring our 'r's and punching each other over who got to play with G.I. Joe first.

Mom lectured us for hours. About how nice he was to offer us a home, how sweet, and, of course: “No fist fights, no loud noises, and if I catch any of you playing a single practical joke on the poor boy, it’ll be Discovery Channel for a week!”

Naturally, none of us had any intention of heeding her (orders) advice. I mean, hello: teenage boys. Asking us to behave would be like asking a burger not to grease. But, for the sake of our poor mother’s nerves, we agreed to tone down the horse play. For a few days, at least.

And then finally, after what must have been an eternity of no-no-no, my mother pulled into a large driveway paved with white flowers - real flowers! - trees - real trees! - and, like, a million chocobos.

It should be noted that by a million, I actually mean six, but who’s counting?

I had maybe five seconds to stare wide-eyed at the fact that a honking huge bird was taking a crap while staring right at us when the front door of the house swung wide, and our prodigal cousin emerged.

That was the first time any of us ever laid eyes on Cloud Strife.

He was young. Around 23, I think, but like hell I was ever crazy enough to ask him his age. A bit shorter than me, a few inches taller than both Sora and Roxas, and sporting a stocky sort of build - much more muscled than any of us, that’s for sure. Bright - almost fluorescent - blue eyes, light blond hair, broad shoulders, and a grim set to his mouth that made him look an awful lot like the fish in that one Disney movie. You know, Mr. Grumpy Gills.

He stood there a bit stiffly as my mother threw her arms around him, laughing about how handsome he was, how many years it had been since she'd last seen him, and more of that bubbly touchy-feely Mom stuff that always makes everything awkward. It was maybe two minutes before he finally managed to extricate himself from my mother’s clutches, but the moment he had, he turned to face us.

Now, the thing about Cloud is, you always sort of wonder whether or not he’s been in the military. I mean, he’s not the gruff, barking sort of guy you see in movies; he’s too quiet for that. But there’s a sternness to him - a calm sort of self-possession laced with sadness and anger and a lot of angsty emo stuff that makes him a real downer at parties.

Sora stood up a little straighter under his scrutiny. Roxas shifted like he might follow suit, then settled for crossing his arms. I, uh, might have made an embarrassing sort of noise, but that’s just between you and me. Heh.

I-in case you haven't gathered, I'm not exactly one for confrontation.

Note this. It's important later.

Anyway, embarrassing sort of noises aside, our first meeting unraveled pretty much the way one would expect it to. Cloud stared at each of us, nodded towards the house, then spun on his heel and walked back in. We all followed him. And that was that for the day. He just kind of disintegrated into his room, and left us all to unpack.

Oddly enough, though, it only took Roxas a day to form an uneasy camaraderie with Cloud. To be honest, this had less to do with their dubious social skills and more to do with the fact that they’re both quiet sons of bitches and probably had a grand old time bonding over their lack of discernible enthusiasm for life.

Point is, by nightfall of the second day, Cloud was nodding at Roxas in respect before he disappeared back into his room. Naturally, Sora and I reacted to this development exactly how any decent brothers would: we jumped the little punk and grilled him for details. What was Cloud like? Why wouldn’t he speak? Was he angry? Was he depressed? Was he going to slash our throats during the night? And why the hell was his backyard teeming with chocobos?

Roxas, being Roxas, shrugged, said he knew as little as we did, and tucked himself under the covers of the bunk bed he and Sora shared. Sora sighed, swore he’d extract the information somehow, and climbed into his comforter. I retreated to my own bedroom a few minutes later and locked my door. Then, for good measure, I moved the dresser to block it.

Sora was the second to worm his way into Cloud’s heart. No one was really surprised about that. The kid's a freak. He once took a trip to a prison for a sociology class his freshman year of high school. Next day, the prison called.

Somehow, in the space of, like, three hours, he'd single-handedly converted twelve convicts to Christianity, drawn multiple confessions out of nine criminals, taught four embroidery (strange, taking into account that Sora’s never held a needle in his life), and had by some means brought the entire prison refectory to tears.

(We questioned him about it later. He just shrugged and said something about 'finding the light.' We figure it amounts to about the same thing as all of Tidus's blabber about 'the toxin.')

So when I spotted Sora ordering Cloud around two days after our arrival, instructing him as to where exactly he should place the oven (“I said to the left, Cloud, c’mon!”) like the slave driver we all know he secretly is, I just rolled my eyes and continued unpacking. That night, Cloud ruffled Sora’s hair and offered him a rare smile before nodding at Roxas and heading up to bed.

In case you’re interested, I was gifted with a glare. N-needless to say, I added a desk to the barricade blocking my bedroom door.

This lasted for so long I started contemplating writing a will. Then out of no where, things (as they are wont to do) changed. It began like this:

I’d been outside washing the car, flicking soapsuds at random passer-bys and most definitely not aiming the hose nozzle at every car that drove by (and by ‘most definitely not,’ I mean ‘so totally was’). Now, the thing about RG is that most everyone’s pretty laidback; it’s something in the water, me and Roxas figure. So despite their impromptu soakage, most of the drivers and joggers just grinned and waved.

I stood, pondering this phenomenon while absentmindedly soaking myself in the spray, when I heard one of Cloud’s chocobos wailing. Now, let me tell you, there’s not much worse on the ears than hearing one of those birds screeching its gizzard off. Sounds like some femme on one of those soap operas Sora likes to laugh at (which means watch).

After stemming the flow of blood from my ears, I looked around to see which one of those birds was crying this time. It only took a few minutes before I spotted the big black thing tangled in the chrysanthemums. Naturally, being a good citizen, I took it upon myself to extricate the poor creature. I didn’t even spray it. That deserves a medal.

I glanced it over for a few seconds, pondering the best method to employ in order to neatly extract it from its flowery prison, before I figured 'screw it,' grabbed it by the neck, and yanked.

Let it never be said that I am not subtle.

It took a minute for the poor thing to dislodge itself from the garden, but the moment it was free it settled into my arms like a good sport and kind of wrapped his big old wings around my shoulders. It was precious.

Or at least, it was until Cloud came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

Let the jury note that I did not jump. I didn’t even flinch. I stood my ground and took it like a man.

“Took what?” the jury may ask. And to that I answer: shut up and let me tell the stupid story.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I turned around, willing the person behind me to be anyone other than my cold, cruel, murderous fiend of a cousin. This went over about as well as could be expected. Which is not at all.

Cloud stared at me. I stared back, by which I mean, I gulped slightly and edged backwards. I mean, nope, there was no way I was going to be in this psycho’s presence for more than a minute, especially while one of his precious chocobos had me in a choke-hold. He’d probably cut me open and string me up by the intestines. Slam me into the windshield and wipe it clean with my blood. Shove the hose I was cradling down my throat and fill me to the brim with water. Or something.

This, as my continued existence in this world can attest, is not what happened.

“Thank you,” he said. “Vinnie’s got a bad habit of playing with the flowers.” He closed his mouth, paused, and opened it again.

“Oh. And by the way. Your desk, drawers, chairs, couches, and shelves were all blocking your bedroom door. I took the liberty of rearranging them for you.”

And then he turned around and strode back through the house door.

I stood there, stock-still, for what must have been an hour. When a bright red car drove by five minutes later, I almost forgot to hose it.

That night, after Cloud finished ruffling Sora’s hair and nodding companionably at Roxas, he turned to look at me. He took a step forward.

If my life were a movie, the music would've risen in a dramatic crescendo. Violins would be playing. A babe would be sobbing in the background. Far away, you’d hear gunshots, and the subtitles would read Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.

He took a step toward me.

I thought solemn thoughts.

Another step.

I wished my family a fond farewell-

And then a hand rested itself upon my shoulder for a split second before a warm body pushed past me on its way up the stairs.

When I again became aware of my surroundings, I could hear Sora and Roxas whispering to each other. Something along the lines of “He looks like he’s gone into shock,” and “I think Cloud’s killed him.”

I blinked the hazy darkness from my eyes, and looked at the two little jerks I call brothers. They were staring at me with twin expressions of supreme amusement. It would've been funnier if they weren't at my expense.

“Nice one, Demyx,” Sora said.

I sniffed. Bastards.

But I really couldn’t hide the relieved grin that split my face a second afterwards.

The next year and a half passed in relative peace. By 'relative,' I mean that I only flooded the house twice, Sora broke a paltry six articles of furniture, and Roxas had yet to succeed in paint-balling a single chocobo. I’d just been accepted to Hollow Bastion University - the leading research uni in the field of marine biology, and home to the best program in music this side of Atlantica. Sora was a rising high school senior, and already had a thousand and one Struggle scouts prostrating themselves at his feet in supplication. Roxas, as a junior, still had another year to go before he would really start thinking of college, but that kid’s always turned heads, and he had the class Valedictorian as a best friend; skateboarding plus a high GPA plus good looks (so inherited from my side of the family) equaled a pretty mellow Roxas.

Yes, all was right in the world.

And then the Leonharts came.