jukeboxhound_backup | fic: eir's tomorrow (ff7)

…

Even rationing couldn't make food last forever and supplies were running low into the red. This was the first day they'd been able to leave the Seventh Heaven in over two weeks and Cloud wasn't taking any chances. First Tsurugi lay heavy across his back, and alongside him walked several of the tougher slum-rats and a SOLDIER Third sergeant.

Edge lay in ruin, as though Meteor had hit all over again. Almost every building was missing walls or roofs, whole floors, or had simply been reduced to its foundations, and rubble made most of the roads either difficult or flat-out impossible. It was both a curse and a blessing: while all of the shadows and obstacles made it more difficult to be seen by enemies, it was just as difficult to see those enemies. But the refugees were scraping the bottoms of canned food and the children complaining more often of hunger, and so there was no choice but try to find a storage warehouse and hope it was still standing and still stocked with military rations.

"I don't like this," muttered one of the slum-rats for the fifth time.

"We know, Kert, shut the fuck up already," one of the others, Phillipa, growled. Cloud ignored them both, his eyes sweeping from one side of the street to the other and his ears strained for any sound other than his party's footsteps. For the most part the people were smart enough to keep their mouths shut, but nerves could affect the most seasoned of fighters, and the complete silence in what had once been a technological metropolis was unsettling.

They passed through Sector Three without incident. When they reached Sector Two, Cloud stopped abruptly, Kert nearly smacking into him. There was no movement in any of the empty windows or doorways, no bits of gravel tumbling from the rubble, but he said lowly, "We're going right."

"What's wrong with straight?" demanded Phillipa, then promptly ducked the SOLDIER Third's hand.

"Just do what he says," said Sergeant Barklee. He sounded distracted as he watched Cloud intently. Phillipa wisely fell silent, and after another long moment of staring at something none of the others could see Cloud turned right down an alley. At the end of it was a high wall that he easily jumped, then reached down to help up the three civilians. Barklee got up himself, and all of them huddled together.

"The warehouses in this sector are ten blocks to the northwest," Cloud murmured. "I wouldn't trust on having much cover in there. I'll take point. Barklee, take the rear. You three, shut up, keep an eye out, and don't question orders."

"We ain't SOLDIER," started Kert, but Cloud cut in with a sharp, "Exactly."

Barklee and the third civilian, Feris, just nodded. Cloud dropped down the other side of the wall like a cat, landing lightly with one hand on Tsurugi's hilt. When nothing happened he waved the others down.

"Well, shit," Kert muttered. The sector's warehouse district consisted of a long, wide road and a line of several squat buildings on either side of it. About the only cover was the square shadows cast by a midmorning sun.

"Move quickly and quietly. They aren't far from here," Cloud told them.

"How do you know that?" Phillipa whispered, but Barklee muttered something about curiosity and cats and hushed her. Not for the first time, Cloud was thankful for his presence.

"Single file, and for gods sakes keep your mouths shut," Barklee added.

Cloud was already moving forward, Tsurugi held out with both hands, its blade wrapped in old, thin linen to keep sunlight from reflecting off the metal. Feris was a former thief, quiet on his feet, but Kert and Phillipa's louder footsteps were enough to make him wince. When they came to the first alleyway between two warehouses, Cloud stopped and held up a gloved hand, cautiously peering around the corner. There was nothing but weather-warped cardboard boxes and a number of small skeletons that looked feline, the bones scored deep with tooth marks; most likely the result of an attack by Plague-infected, which hopefully meant they'd long since moved on from this area.

The sunlight that came down through the battered remains of the Plate was already hot and dry. Dust scuffed their shoes and caused a few sneezes as they passed a second, then a third warehouse. Cloud froze.

"They're here," he snapped and pushed Feris forward roughly. "Run. Get to the storage warehouse and bolt the door. Don't wait for Barklee or me!"

"But – "

"Run!" Barklee yelled, and the three slum-rats took off for the end of the road. Already the faint sounds of inhuman screeches and roars were growing louder, echoing off the metallic walls of the warehouses, underscored by the sounds of flesh scraping against asphalt. Cloud was roughly shaking off the linen wraps and pulling Vendetta away from Tsurugi's main sword when Barklee laughed quietly.

"You might not've been a proper SOLDIER, Strife, but it was an honor serving with you."

Cloud glanced at him, a long blade in each hand and his body poised lightly on the balls of his feet. "Take them as they come and make sure you get back to your girlfriend."

The horrible screeching was already starting to drown out their words. "Bold words for such a little guy," and Cloud barked in sudden laughter as the creatures fell onto the road. Thick black fluid oozed across the asphalt, dripping from limbs twisted out of joints, the faces that were once human now half-fleshed skulls, jaws gaping and long serpentine tongues lolling. Some had too many limbs, tentacle-like mutations that had once been trademark with Jenova. These things, these walking dead, were called a lot of things – corrupted, warps, infected, scions – but never 'human.'

"Makes you wonder," shouted Barklee with black humor, "what made you and Sephiroth so special!"

Cloud was already running at the corrupted dead, eyes narrowed intently as he watched jaws dislocate like serpents' and stretch open wide. They hit him as a wave, in front of him one moment and surrounding him the next, forcing him to slam to a stop before his throat was torn out by a tentacle. A sixteen-inch claw tried to rip out his lungs and he threw one of the swords, falling backwards from the force and using the other blade to take off the head of another monster that tried to slam down on him. Rotting blood spattered over him and wherever it touched skin he felt a crawling, stinging itch.

He leapt back to his feet and yanked Vendetta out of the dead clawed beast to spin around in place, both hands working independently of one another to slash and parry and stab and defend and –

Comet3, he wanted to say, but both he and Barklee were in the thick of the Plague and the falling stones could just as easily kill them as well, and Barrier was just a waste of strength when it didn't last more than a minute or two against these corrupted, these warps. So he whispered Firaga and the materia in his bangle responded reluctantly. Didn't work so well these days, the Planet dying, but it responded, and he made sure Barklee was at his back before releasing the spell.

Fire roared through the blackened, mutilated dead, making them scream so piercingly that Cloud's enhanced senses rang like bells, turning the warps into flailing, moving torches. Plumes of oily smoke billowed up into the air, casting a shifting shadow over the warehouses and road.

These things – once wild animals, pets, mothers and fathers and children – were already dead, were nothing but spare genetic material that Jenova-poisoned Lifestream had mutated, so the only way to stop them was to make it impossible for them to move. Hacking off limbs, in particular; Fire, Ice, Graviga, and little else. The Firaga consumed whole ranks of monsters but many of them kept moving forward, pulling themselves on charred limbs if their legs had given way, and Cloud back-flipped over the ones behind him to fist a hand into Barklee's collar.

"Move," he yelled over the cacophony, bodily throwing the man away from the thick of the horde. Barklee stumbled, managed to catch himself with his sword before he did a faceplant into the asphalt. Cloud landed next to him, knees bent and both swords held out wide.

"We need to lead them away from the others," Cloud said. "I'm going to head back to the alley – if I destroy that wall then the warps'll be bottle-necked. Get up on the roofs and keep an eye on the area without leading them right back here."

Barklee wanted to protest but Cloud was already sprinting across the road with a whooping cry, drawing the attention of the monsters. Dear gods but there must've been fifty or sixty of them still left, Barklee calculated bleakly, leaping aside when the nearest ones tried spitting that acidic black fluid at him. Twist right, jump and grab the edge of a metal roof and thank the gods for mako, pull himself up and roll onto his back just in time to block the ragged-toothed beak of what was once a condor.

Cloud was nearly back at the alley and the wall they'd all jumped to get to the warehouses. C'mon, c'mon, work for me, he silently chanted as he drew a weak Quake spell, and he grinned wolfishly as most of the wall crumbled without taking down the solid buildings on either side.

He was nearing the pile of broken brick when a searing pain went through his body. He'd been caught by a monster's tentacles, longer and thinner than any sea-creature's, that went straight through his upper chest and abdomen. Missed the lung, he began automatically as he fell and sprawled over the monster, starting to cough over the blood welling up in his throat, clipped something else, could go septic, Tifa's going to be pissed.

The long hollow blade of Vendetta skittered away from him. Fingers slick with blood, Cloud managed to detach Ascalon from Tsurugi and slice through the limbs holding him down, gritting his teeth through the fire of the tentacles being ripped back through his body as roughly as they'd entered. As soon as his back hit the ground he was rolling to his feet, crouched down with the blood starting to run into the shorter sword's distinctive gears. It felt like Hojo had poured raw mako into his belly – broken organs and the corrupted acid-blood was a really bad mix – and the world was starting to spin. They were flickers of vacuums where life should be and he could sense them like a nightmare behind his thoughts, a rotting foulness in the back of his throat. He was very good at what he did but sometimes he wished he wasn't.

Sephiroth's done worse, he told himself as he yanked the severed tentacles out of his flesh and tossed them aside. His chest and abdomen screamed in protest as he ducked sharply to one side, avoiding the claws that raked the stone where he'd been standing, but he managed to scramble over the remains of the wall into the narrow alley with Tsurugi and Ascalon still in each hand.

Here they come and he snapped Ascalon back into the main weapon now that he was in a narrow alley. The first monster to breach the rubble was once a woman, but the left side of her face had been cleaved off and a second too-long tongue had burst through her throat to lash about like a snake. Her flesh was mottled grey and black as though it couldn't decide if it was a dead thing or a shadow, and the sound she made wavered between the two extremes of screeching sheet-metal and the low, rumbling roar of a wildcat. Tsurugi took off her head and sliced her torso in half, but the pieces continued flailing in place as more creatures crawled over them. Cloud was slowly being forced back, but he did so as slowly as he could, trying to draw it out so that he could get as many warps as possible into the alley before he came out the other side.

He gritted his teeth as more blackened blood spattered across him. If he closed his eyes he'd still be able to see them as holes of empty darkness where green Lifestream should have been.

From his peripheral vision Cloud caught the end of the alley coming up behind him. He threw himself just that little bit more into the fight, ripping apart several more before he rolled backwards out into the next street and came back up with an arm outstretched, hand splayed wide as he drew on another Firaga.

Flames poured down the narrow alleyway, licking up the walls of the buildings and consuming the wriggling, shrieking monsters. Cloud was nearly thrown head-over-heels by the blowback of heat, but he found his footing and took off down another alley. He jumped another wall, backtracked a bit to find Vendetta lying in a pool of blood, and took off once more in the direction of the warehouses. He'd only taken a portion of the monsters and there was only one other SOLDIER to deal with them – civilians could handle one or two on their own but never a horde, and warehouses were hardly fortresses.

He was just in time to see Barklee have his ribcage torn out in a spray of blood and soft tissue and intestines. Snarling, he pounded up the road to the farthest warehouse, suddenly feeling cold when he saw that the corrupted had already begun to swarm the place. Or maybe that was shock.

He vaulted up the side of the building onto the roof without breaking stride and skidded across the corrugated metal. When he was roughly halfway across he dug in Tsurugi and sliced open a hole large enough for him to slip through, falling a rough twenty feet to the ground and ignoring the blood starting to seep more heavily through his shirt. None of the monsters had managed to break in yet, but he could see the panic in all three of the civilians as they rifled through boxes.

"There's nothing here!" Phillipa shouted. "It's all spare mechanic parts! Those blueprints, they weren't right!"

"Shit," Cloud swore, quietly but fervently.

"Where's Barklee?" Feris demanded, and all three blanched when Cloud said flatly, "Dead."

"Now what?" Kert cried, too panicked and wild-eyed to help search the boxes.

"All the warps are on the road. You three go through the back while I deal with them."

As he spoke he was striding forward, absently spitting out the blood that was still trying to well up in his mouth. Internal bleeding. Tifa was going to be very pissed.

"And how is that going to work? They'll hear us, and we all know that you're the only one who can deal with them now," Feris pointed out cynically.

"It's either stand here and die for certain, or run away and have a chance of survival." You can't save everyone.

Without waiting for an answer he stood by the main doors, fifteen feet high and fifteen feet wide. Claws shrieked on the other side of the metal.

"You asshole," Kert was shrieking, "I can't believe people thought you were a hero!"

"Shut up and get moving!" Feris yelled, and then Cloud lost track of who was doing what because the first of the broken limbs and gaping mouths were pushing through.

…

After an hour or two Zack was able to sit up without the laws of physics playing havoc with his head. Both Aeris and Fenrir stayed with him the entire time, the latter curled up close to Zack's side. He wondered if Fenrir had done that with Cloud, too.

"When can I see Cloud?"

"He's still asleep," but Aeris seemed to understand that that wasn't the point as she started to get up from her chair. "I'll go check on him and speak with Sephiroth – "

Except fate, naturally, chose that moment to throw more wrenches into their plans. A hoarse cry suddenly echoed down the hallway and Zack was out of bed before he could think about it, nearly stumbling into the wall before catching himself and bursting out into the hallway. He didn't notice the sliding rice-paper panels or graceful ink paintings, only the distance between his room and what must've been Cloud's, and with Aeris right behind him he came in on Sephiroth trying to keep Cloud from rolling off the bed. The latter was vomiting over the side onto the tatami, but the fluid coming up was bile and blood and black.

The noise had attracted what must have been servants. One hand pressed against his pounding head, Zack barked, "Get a bucket, some towels and fresh water!"

They scurried off. Sephiroth held back the blond's hair as Cloud shook and dry-heaved, eventually falling back into a little ball of cold sweat and a staring, half-lidded gaze.

"What's wrong with him?" Zack asked desperately, but Sephiroth just shook his head and said quietly, "I don't know. This is the first time he's moved or even made a sound."

Aeris held a hand loosely over her mouth as she leaned over him. "I can feel the Calamity. No. Something similar to it."

The servants returned and Zack took one of the towels, laying it across the mess on the floor and passing another to Aeris. "We're not leaving here until we figure out what Hojo's done to Cloud," he said, even though he knew that ShinRa was on the verge of facing a full-out civil war, that there was a WEAPON heading straight for Midgar and others across the globe that were probably starting to wake up. But Cloud was his best friend, and with Genesis dead, one of only three people powerful enough to take on those WEAPONs.

Sephiroth's wing was spread wide into the air, the single outward sign of his agitation, and Zack suddenly realized that the general was only wearing his leather pants. Boots and coat were gone and what had Aeris said? That Cloud had called him?

"Cloud is not Jenova," Sephiroth hissed, but Aeris just stayed quiet and didn't argue as she wiped the sweat from Cloud's face. There was something off in Sephiroth's expression, almost irrational or wild.

"Sephiroth," he said slowly, "why hasn't Cloud been cleaned up?" Those wings were still bloodied, and while Zack couldn't see much because of the long pinions and the sheets that had gotten twisted around Cloud's body, the memory of bruises and lacerations was burned on the inside of his skull.

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. Zack hesitated, decided that the matter could be dropped for now. "You said Elena's here?" he asked Aeris, and she nodded. "When she wakes up, will you tell me? She was in the library when Vincent and I went into the lab. Maybe she found something before the fire.

"And you," he continued, poking his head out into the hallway and addressing one of the nervously milling servants, "go find Nanaki and see if he's got a working PHS."

The servant bowed shortly and hurried away.

"What about Angeal?" Aeris' voice was gentle, and Zack bit his lip briefly before shaking his head. Immediately he regretted the motion.

"No, he's too distracted right now. I think he needs some time. I also think one of us should stay here."

Sephiroth's eyes were still slit as he looked at him. "You think I can't protect him?" came the mild question.

"It's not a matter of protection so much as making sure that he doesn't slip into a worse condition. Remember, we don't know what he went through."

"Data discs."

"What?"

"There are data discs in my inner coat pocket," the general clarified with as much impatience as Zack had ever seen from him. "Elena found them in Cloud's possessions, though I don't know how he got them. They have information on the methods involved in producing myself and Valentine, and I have little doubt that Hojo would have used them on Cloud."

"Stop it," Aeris said firmly, eyes hard. "Stop talking about yourself like you're just a specimen. You're more than that."

There was a silent battle of wills. Raising his hands peaceably, Zack said, "We'll compromise. Sephiroth, if you want to stay with Cloud, that's fine, but one of us will check in every hour, all right?"

After a long moment, Sephiroth nodded once, and Zack breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Babe, do you mind staying here a little longer? I want to talk with Nanaki, see if we can get a hold of Reeve. He might have an idea of what to do, and if a WEAPON has already reached Midgar…"

"Of course," she smiled, and Zack returned the gesture before going off to do what no one else seemed capable of at the moment. Maybe someone around here would have some painkillers.

…

After Aeris left, Sephiroth had finally managed to fall into a doze when he was abruptly woken by a weight settling over him. Reflexively reaching for a weapon, it took a moment to realize that it was Cloud straddling him, as naked now as he'd been when Aeris had managed to get him onto the Highwind. Sephiroth didn't speak and there was no real awareness in Cloud's eyes, just a green-blue glow that nearly swallowed up black pinpricks of pupil. Lying on his back was uncomfortable with his dark wing still outstretched, but Sephiroth hardly noticed because the space in the back of his thoughts that had always missed motherjenova was filling with whispers. Desperate whispers and angry ones, terrified and suicidal ones because it never ended. The Planet could bring him back over and over again and it would never end as long as there was the Lifestream.

wecoulddestroyitall

angelsmakethepaingoaway

Sephiroth could taste it: Nibelheim burning, Midgar splitting under the force of a meteor, the Black Materia setting off the chain of events that would eventually destroy the Planet. It would be so easy. It would make the pain go away. They were too strong to be killed, not by the WEAPONs or AVALANCHE, not by the Calamity. Except.

humans were never meant to be angels

Cloud's hands were braced on Sephiroth's chest, and they slid up over his shoulders to the mattress on either side of his head. Cloud leaned forward until they were nose-to-nose, his hips angling forwards, his face as inhumanly blank as a statue. The wings that rose were still blood-spattered and the muscles still torn. Couldn't let anyone else touch what was his, not even to clean away the gore. The Ancient hadn't been pleased, but she couldn't even begin to rival their strength.

we'renothumananymore

There was something broken in the whispers, something that had cracked under the weight of the world. Cloud tasted like blood and oil, and he shifted his weight to one arm to run his other hand down Sephiroth's skin. Sephiroth sat up, tried to throw Cloud onto the bed but the blond fought back, tangled his hand in long hair, pulled harshly and forced his head back. Teeth bit down on the curve of his neck as Cloud's free hand worked uselessly at Sephiroth's pants.

notright

but it's a human thing to do

The voice of reason in Sephiroth's head was being drowned out by the others that wanted him to destroy something, and why not the one responsible for all this disaster? Wouldn't be difficult, Cloud was already hollowed-out and a breath away from screaming.

And Cloud was already a breath away from ripping apart the fucking zipper and Sephiroth sat up, forcing Cloud to shift his balance and let Sephiroth feel the strength in his thighs, bony hips pinning his lower body to the mattress. The wings instinctively curling around them made the bare distance between them hot and close, as though shutting out the rest of the world, the rest of the Planet, the rest of reason. Sephiroth couldn't resist moving his hands along the line of ribs and up to Cloud's shoulders, wrapping long fingers around the delicate bird bones that curved into human scapulae and pulling down. Pulled Cloud down as he pushed up, digging his teeth into the muscle over Cloud's heart, hissing mindlessly as the blond's weight rubbed against his cock. Can't leave ever again.

thisisn'tright

Cloud threw his head back and Sephiroth looked up, wanted to see his features twisted with arousal, but his expression was unnaturally blank as though his body was just going through the motions.

The haze of instinct from (jenovacloud) the whispers became sudden crystal-clear sanity, washed away the urge to crawl inside Cloud in any way possible and left behind sickness. He gripped one of Cloud's wrists and twisted his hips sharply. Through the roaring in his ears he heard something snap in one of the wings – too fragile – as the blond hit the bed and he held Cloud down, snarled, "No."

("I want you to listen to me, Sephiroth. If anyone ever tries to make you do something…then don't.")

Cloud didn't fight him. He lay on his back, not reacting to a bone breaking or the hands that held his wrists down, and stared up at Sephiroth with as much emotion as a stone.

angels were never meant to be human

Sephiroth fell on his side and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Cloud's stillness.

…

There was a siren blaring when Sephiroth opened his eyes.

He didn't recognize where he was. It looked like a bar, if someone had turned it into a refugee safehouse, boards nailed over windows and all but two doors, the greasy tables pushed aside to make room for sleeping bags and blankets. It was full of thin, hollow-eyed people of all ages, some of them repairing torn clothing and others turning what looked like household implements into makeshift weapons and explosives. Preparations for a last stand, he realized, recognizing the air of desperation and hopelessness.

In the kitchen was a group of children in stained, ragged clothes and a woman that was undoubtedly Tifa Lockhart. He didn't know how he knew, since he'd only heard Zack mention her once or twice, but this felt like the kind of dream where one could simply know. She was pure muscle and sinew, all the normal softness of a female body worn away by hunger and stress, and she was splitting what looked like the last bits of food rations into carefully equal proportions.

From the front door came a hard knock, twice and a pause and another knock. One of the refugees leapt up, glanced through a small hole in the reinforced door, and yanked it open. Cloud stalked in covered in what looked like the same fluid he'd been vomiting before, an enormous sword that looked like a modified Buster strapped to his back, with a sobbing woman stumbling in after him.

"Cloud?" cried Tifa, moving quickly around the bar, but the woman (Phillipa, a little voice provided) was hysterically yelling a litany of why couldn't you save them, you're a monster, why. The other people were watching this drama silently.

"People die, Phillipa," Cloud said suddenly, breaking into her tirade. "Whether now or later, people always die."

"Then why do you bother fighting?" she demanded, tear-streaked. "Why do you go out and try to keep everyone else alive? Why do you bother going through the motions? Is this some martyr complex you've got going on in that fucked-up head? Do you think you don't deserve to live like everyone else?" When Cloud didn't respond, she snarled, "Fine, you know what? Fuck you. Act like one of those warps for all I care, but at least have the decency to treat the rest of us like you aren't a gods-damned hypocrite!"

Tifa slapped her soundly across the face.

Cloud just continued walking into the back. After a pause, Sephiroth followed him down a dim hallway and out a rear door that opened onto a narrow alley. There was a barrel of filthy, undrinkable water just to the left, and Cloud unceremoniously started to strip off his blood- and gore-streaked clothing to dunk them in. The smell that came up was sickly-sweet, reminiscent of a battlefield's aftermath, and the near-black mess that streaked his bare skin had left reddened, irritated welts. (If it's not washed off as soon as possible, said that dream's voice, then it starts to eat through the skin.)

Unwillingly Sephiroth hissed when he saw what looked like enormous puncture wounds through the man's upper right chest and abdomen. They were too slick with blood, too deep, and Sephiroth's immediate reaction was to reach for the FullCure he wasn't wearing. Cloud didn't bother wasting his time trying to clean the clothes and brushed unknowingly past the general back inside the bar, heading up a set of narrow stairs with bare sword in hand. They came out into a white-walled bedroom that had an army cot in one corner, a desk in the other, and little else. He sat on the edge of the cot in his underwear, so unattractively thin and pale that Sephiroth cynically wondered how many of his rations had been slipped to the kids.

The general felt he may be in a bit of shock.

Now that he was out of sight of the others, Cloud gave in to body-wracking coughs that brought fresh blood on his lips and hands. Sephiroth automatically tried to reach out for him, panic seizing his heart, but his hands passed right through Cloud's shoulders. Cloud didn't notice a thing. He held his hand over the hole in his abdomen and cast what should've been a Cure3, but the spell came out so weak that it did little more than weave some of the internal tissue back together. Gritting his teeth until the muscles on his jaw stood out, he cast again, and again, until the filth that had infected the wound oozed out over his belly and down his legs and the gaping wound was no longer life-threatening.

At least he wasn't so stupid that he forgot to take a Remedy before getting back to the bar.

A bare amount of gauze and mostly-clean bandages went around his middle and then diagonally over his chest, the latter done with a lot of wincing and hissed curses. Sephiroth could only watch helplessly and wonder where the hell Lockhart was.

The general blinked.

He stood in what he immediately recognized as his bedroom in the Nibelheim labs, an advanced biology text lined up neatly with his handwritten notes on the desk and the security camera set near the ceiling humming in its electronic little voice. He blinked again when he saw his child self lying on the bed with his head on Cloud's lap. Cloud himself, ever so slightly translucent and once again winged, sat with his back against the wall, a hand on the crown of Sephiroth's head and his eyes staring intently at the desk. Sephiroth looked again and saw two scribbled stick figures on the biology notes, one with spikes on its lopsided head, the other with long graphite hair.

As a child, he'd never noticed the edge of insanity in Cloud's eyes, nor the unusually fierce protectiveness of gestures as little as a hand on the head. Sephiroth tried to take a step closer.

Sephiroth glanced to side for just an instant.

And he felt sudden heat on his face, not the heat of a Fire materia but the gentle one of a fireplace. The walls around him were thick stone and plaster, the few windows small but enough to let in weak winter sunlight. Where am I, he wanted to ask, what is all this, but no one answered.

A woman in worn but clean clothing sat in a chair near the fireplace, sewing, looking like someone that had walked straight out of those old stories that Gast had once told him about. At her feet sat Cloud, all of eight or nine years old and grinning over the puppy (gods, that was a Nibel wolf) rolling about on the floor. His hair was spikier than ever, worse than Zack's on a bad day, and though there were shadows in his expression there was no madness or desperation.

So he remembered everything after he was…reincarnated. The word still sounded ridiculous to him. But he'd been raised to observe the empirical facts and he couldn't deny it. It seemed that a few years in this relatively stable home unable to worry about anything more than finding enough firewood had softened the beginnings of madness.

Some part of Sephiroth was fascinated. This is what a mother is. This is what a home is like.

Envy, and so much of it. Then guilt. Protectiveness. Sorrow. Sephiroth wanted so badly to take off his coat and kick off his boots, to sit on the floor with Cloud and laugh over the antics of the roly-poly wolf pup while Missus Strife went on in her half-crazy ways about gods that no one else but she and her son remembered. Or he could destroy it all, just rip apart so that he didn't have to look at what he couldn't have. It would be so easy.

He shook his head sharply.

And found himself sitting in a plain wooden chair in a field of flowers. The sky above him was completely white from one horizon to the other. The flowers were white and yellow and looked vaguely familiar.

"Hello," Cloud said to him. He sat in an identical chair facing Sephiroth, one leg drawn up to his chest with an arm wrapped around it, wingless and wearing a white shirt and a pair of jeans. He looked like a man. Just a young man that wasn't particularly special in any way.

"…Hello." The general prayed that all of this was truly a dream, or else he was far more cracked in the head than he'd thought. Perhaps he was still in shock. Guilt. Anger. Helplessness.

"I don't know what to think anymore," said Cloud. "What do you think?"

"I…don't know either."

Cloud shifted on his chair, gaze flickering to the flowers, then Sephiroth, and back again.

"Um. Now what happens?"

chapter 14 || main post || chapter 16