Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His angel arrived just as they were supposed to. On the darkest day, at the worst moment, in the middle of his agony. The angel was blonde, and blue eyed, and terrifying. Sephiroth shook where he was bound, gasping for breath. Deep inhale in, sharp, chuffing exhale. Then again. Tried to control himself. Tried not to cry.

He could barely speak. The tube down his nose hurt. His throat, and his lungs, and his body—

“Is it over?” He asked anyway, choking on the plastic, on the discomfort. “Am I dying?”

The angel stared at him with furious eyes, glowing. He carried a sword. It didn’t flame, though. Sephiroth had thought all angel’s swords were aflame.

“How old are you?” The angel asked.

Sephiroth shook his head, then wheezed and choked as it tugged on his broken body, on the line down his trachea, and the lines in his arms, and the hole in his chest and—

His breath hiccuped and stuttered. His eyes burned. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. Please, he wanted to say but couldn’t. Please let it be over.

The angel glared, then slung his sword over his back.

“It’s over.” He said, firm and angry and strong, and Sephiroth closed his eyes, waiting, hoping, for the pain to stop, for—

Gentle hands touched his shoulder. He sucked in a breath as those hands— the angel’s hands— carefully pulled his skin. Inspecting the lines.

“This will sting.” The angel warned.

Sephiroth whimpered when the angel started pulling the line free. It had been snaked down into his bloodstream, piping anything the professor wanted deep into his body, straight towards his heart.

“Easy.” The angel murmured. Voice so soft and kind, like— like Gast had used to—

“Yes sir.” Sephiroth whispered, his voice choking and halting.

“You can call me Cloud.” The angel said. “Slow breaths. I’ll get you out.”

“I’ll get in trouble.” Sephiroth whispered, his voice breaking in another gasping whine as the angel— Cloud— drew the line another few centimetres free. "You'll get—"

“No,” Cloud's voice was low and soft. “You don’t understand. I’ll get you out of here. The labs.”

Sephiroth opened his eyes. Stared up at Cloud's angry, beautiful, gentle face, almost obscured by the glaring surgical lights above him.

“What?” He whispered, his voice barely audible. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, he had to hear—

The angel looked up from his work. Met Sephiroth’s eyes. His face twisted in a way Sephiroth couldn’t understand. Sick, maybe. Maybe Cloud felt sick.

But one of those gentle hands left his shoulder. Touched Sephiroth’s hair. Stroked it in comfort.

“We’re leaving.” The angel promised.

Sephiroth couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Couldn’t seem to stop keening. He tried. He tried to hold still and be quiet. He didn’t complain. He didn’t scream. He held as still as he could, and he tried to do everything the angel said, though it was mostly ‘breathe’ and he couldn’t seem to— He couldn’t seem to breathe right.

It hurt, but he barely felt it.

When the angel finally pulled the tube out of his throat and pried the manacles off his wrists and ankles, Sephiroth tried to straighten, but his body failed him with a wheeze. He slumped back to the operating table. Get up, he ordered himself, hands clawing on the table. Get up, this is your only chance.

“Easy.” Said the angel, and suddenly there were those gentle hands again. This time sliding behind his knees and shoulders. Lifting.

It hurt. His body screamed. Sephiroth didn’t. He held his breath till he could control himself. Then he curled up closer. Pressed his face into the angel called Cloud’s shoulder, and clenched his hand in the soft knit fabric of his shirt.

Cloud was kind. Cloud was careful. Cloud had murdered everyone in the science department that hadn’t fled. Cloud had killed Hojo.

Cloud had killed his father.

“How does that make you feel?” Cloud asked, sitting by the fire, and his tone was calm, but Sephiroth knew a test when he heard one.

“I don’t know.” He answered, ashamed of himself that he wasn’t sure. Ashamed of himself because wasn’t sad. Ashamed of himself because he wasn’t glad.

“Tell me if you figure it out.” Said Cloud. Then he handed Sephiroth a mug full of warm water, stained darker by whatever it was Cloud had put inside it. “Let it cool down a little before you drink.”

Sephiroth watched Cloud. Emulated how he blew on the drink. Tried to copy him perfectly. Tried not to be afraid of what drugs might be included in the drink. Cloud had saved him. Cloud had bandaged his wounds. Cloud had carried him out of Midgar. Cloud hadn’t hurt him yet.

The drink was sweet, and warm, and he was so, so tired.

Cloud gave him a blanket.

Cloud didn’t meet his eyes.

“Where are we going?” Sephiroth asked, squinting against the sun.

He was trying not to ask too many questions. Cloud always answered them, always kept his voice calm and his posture relaxed, but Sephiroth saw that his questions weighed on him. Or maybe Cloud found it hard to speak to him. Maybe he was difficult to speak to.

So Sephiroth didn’t ask what he really wanted to. He was scared of the answers anyways. It had been two days, and he… He wasn’t sure yet. Maybe he just didn’t understand. But he thought—

“I’m still figuring that out.” Cloud replied, calm as ever. Not unkind, but not like Gast, and—

Sephiroth tucked his chin. Wrapped his arms around himself. Kept his eyes on the ground and kept walking. His feet were bare, but he was strong. Cloud had promised they’d find him clothes soon, and Cloud hadn’t lied to him yet. But he was pretty sure Cloud didn't like him.

Sephiroth made sure not to be more trouble than he already was. He had asked too many questions at first, and he knew it. What’s this, what’s that, why is it like that. Cloud had answered him as best he could, (‘the Midgar wastes’ and ‘sunset’ and ‘stars’) but Sephiroth could tell it tired him, so he’d said ‘I understand now’ and had stopped asking questions.

He kept his mouth shut when the rough ground tore at the soles of his feet. He didn’t complain about being tired. Cloud had already let him rest most of the first day. Had checked to make sure that his bruises and surgeries were healing. Had made sure they had shelter from the worst of the glaring sun in the wasteland around Midgar.

It was so much more than he could have asked or hoped. He didn’t dare ask for more.

Cloud stopped half an hour later. Looked back at Sephiroth like he was forcing himself to. Winced, then forced his face back to neutral. Sephiroth knew what it looked like. He did it himself all the time.

Cloud crouched before him. Sephiroth kept his eyes down. Cloud always looked away from his eyes, and Sephiroth didn’t want to make him. He didn't want to see Cloud's expression anyway. To see the disappointment and annoyance that must have been there…

“Are you tired?” Cloud asked, his voice so gentle and soft. Like a blanket.

Sephiroth shook his head. Swallowed.

“I can keep going.” He said, hating how small his voice sounded. He wanted to sound like Cloud. Strong and calm and—

“You don’t have to.” 

Cloud’s hand lifted. Sephiroth forced himself not to flinch away. Locked all his muscles and held still, chin tucked, frozen. Cloud’s glove was cool on his cheek. Resting there, so soft, encouraging Sephiroth’s face to lift. Sephiroth followed the touch obediently, and met Cloud’s patient gaze.

“Let’s stop for the day.” Cloud said. “I’ll hunt us up some dinner.”

“I can help.” Sephiroth offered.

“I’m sure you could.” Cloud said. “Let’s set up a camp first.”

Sephiroth watched Cloud light the fire. Cloud’s expression was grim.

“Can I learn?” Sephiroth asked.

“No.” Said Cloud sharply, and Sephiroth shrunk back. Cloud glanced up, then quickly looked back to the fire. “It’s dangerous.”

Sephiroth didn’t say anything to that, but he made a mental note not to ask again.

“You can come with me while I’m hunting,” Cloud said at last. “But let me handle it.”

Sephiroth did. He watched Cloud move slow and steady and quiet, hand on his sword. He saw the bird startle up from the underbrush. Watched Cloud take its head off in a clean sweep of his sword before it could fly too far.

“Sorry little guy,” Cloud murmured, lifting the dead animal by its feet.

Sephiroth understood it all except for that apology.

Cloud wouldn’t let him help gut the animal or pluck its feathers. Sephiroth hung back while Cloud spitted the meat. He lifted one of the bird's shiny, iridescent feathers off the ground. Turned it over and over in his hand. He hid it inside the pocket of his ragged scrubs, settling it carefully inside so it wouldn't bend or break.

He used to take things in the lab. A rag that was particularly soft. A bead that fell off of a woman’s necklace when she died. A small, broken piece of broken glass. His little treasures.

They were gone now. He couldn’t ever slide his fingers into the tiny gap between his bed and the wall and touch the rag again. He couldn't roll the bead between his fingers, or thumb the shard of safety glass...

He touched the slightly-bloody tip of the feather to his pointer finger inside his pocket, and shivered at the sensation. Then Cloud was calling him away, and Sephiroth hurried to join him, trying not to get the bird’s blood on his feet.

“You can have more.” Cloud said, eyes on his own dinner. “If you’re still hungry.”

“I don’t want you to have to hunt again. You didn’t like it.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Cloud said, looking up at Sephiroth with a very small smile. “Eat.”

Sephiroth ate.

There was a syringe, full of glowing green, and Hojo tapped it twice. Hojo squinted at the top of the syringe. Squirted just a little of the liquid out, removing the last air bubbles. Hojo turned to him.

“Please,” said Sephiroth, though he wasn’t supposed to talk. He couldn’t see out of his left eye, but he could feel it burning. Wet and pinned wide. “Please.”

“Now,” Hojo sighed. “You want to be better. Don’t you? You want to be perfect.”

Sephiroth didn’t answer. Hojo already knew. Sephiroth didn’t just want to be perfect. He had to be perfect.

He strangled the terror in his throat and chest as Hojo leaned over him and pressed the needle into his eye and—

“Hey,” Cloud’s voice said. “Hey.”

Sephiroth launched up. Jolted out of the blanket. Shook and stumbled, and pressed his hand over his eye, gasping for breath, staring down at the ground. His eyes were glowing so brightly that his uncovered one lit the grass beneath his feet. His breath choked out of him. Not a sob. He didn’t cry. He didn’t sob.

“It was just a dream.” Cloud said behind him.

Sephiroth glanced back over his shoulder, both hands pressed over his eye. Cloud was kneeling by where he’d slept. Hands in his lap, watching with that strange, empty expression. But as Sephiroth stared, Cloud hesitantly opened his arms to him. Held them open, waiting, and—

Sephiroth broke. Sprinted forward. Pressed up against him. Shoved his face into Cloud’s shoulder. Pressed in close before Cloud changed his mind. Before he—

Cloud’s arms closed around him. One of his hands ran up and down Sephiroth’s back, slow and steady.

“You’re safe.”

Sephiroth shook in his arms until he fell asleep again. He didn’t know how long it was.

Cloud never complained, and never let him go.

Sephiroth woke up early. Well before the sun lifted up over the horizon. He slipped away from the camp on bare feet, but not before carefully folding the blanket Cloud let him use.

He slid into the forest like he’d seen Cloud do. Quieted his breathing. His steps. His motion. He knew how to be quiet.

And he knew how to kill.

“What did you do?”

Cloud was screaming, and Sephiroth couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He locked up. Locked up, and his air stuck in his lungs, and— Cloud was angry, he was angry, he—

Sephiroth’s hand clasped around the feathers in his palm. Soft and sharp and pointy and beautiful and—

The dead birds at his feet didn’t move.

Cloud grabbed his shoulder. Hauled him around. Sephiroth stumbled. Fixed his eyes on the sky over Cloud’s shoulder, still barely pink with the dawn.

“What did you do?”

Cloud shook him as he spoke. Sephiroth’s jaw felt glued together. His throat was closed. Like there was plastic shoved down inside him, filling his nose— like his eyes were pinned open, and Cloud was going to hurt him, Cloud was going to hurt him, Cloud was going to hurt him, he’d done something wrong and C—

“Breathe.”

The order cut through him. He dragged in a breath, and it hurt like a lance through his body. He broke in a sob. No tears. He didn’t cry. His diaphragm spasmed, though. His chest clenched. His eyes burned. He kept them fixed on the sky.

Cloud’s released his shoulder. Lifted his hand towards Sephiroth's face.

Sephiroth flinched. Drew back. Grabbed control of himself immediately afterwards. Sucked in another breath. Another. The sky was strange and wild. The sky was pink and orange. The sky was bright. Cloud was looking at him. Cloud wasn’t screaming anymore.

“Did I hurt you?” Cloud asked, voice low and calm.

Sephiroth shook his head mechanically. His shoulder throbbed under the thin shirt— all that would hide the hand-shaped bruise from Cloud. He didn’t want Cloud to know he was that weak. He didn’t—

“I’m sorry.” Sephiroth gasped out at last, his voice strangled and too high. “I w- I wanted to help.”

“Help?” Cloud’s voice was sharper again. Harder. Sephiroth forced himself not to shy away. Forced himself to stand still. Take what was coming. Be perfect…

“P-p-pl-lease,” Sephiroth stuttered. The stutter, the stutter again, everyone hated the stutter, they— 

Cloud took a slow breath. Sank to one knee in front of Sephiroth instead of towering over him.

“You were trying to help?”

Sephiroth jerked a nod instead of trying to speak again. Kept his eyes on the sky. Watched the clouds shift, wispy and strange and new. They were never the same twice, and he didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand anything here outside the labs.

“Why?”

Sephiroth swallowed hard. Forced his eyes off the sky. Made himself look at Cloud.

“Y-you w-w-w— “ he couldn’t make his mouth work. Shame and terror filled him, twisted his stomach, made him—

“Breathe.” Cloud instructed. He carefully lifted his hands. Rested them on Sephiroth’s biceps. It hurt where Cloud had grabbed him before, but Sephiroth didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. Cloud wasn’t hurting him now.

Sephiroth sucked in a breath. Let it out in a slow, shaking hiss.

“Again.” Cloud instructed.

Sephiroth obeyed. And again. And again. Cloud’s grip didn’t get tighter. He didn’t shake him again. He knelt in front of him and waited.

“You were sorry.” Sephiroth finally whispered, eyes fixed on Cloud, waiting for the strike. For the pain. “It made you sad. But I didn’t mind.”

His fist fell open. Ruined feathers stuck to his palms.

“You don’t care?” Cloud asked. “Killing things doesn’t matter to you?”

“Is that wrong?” Sephiroth asked. “They’re only birds. Hojo said—”

“Don’t say that name.”

Sephiroth clicked his mouth shut. Bit his tongue. Swallowed the blood so Cloud wouldn’t notice.

“Just… Don’t hurt anything.” Cloud said, his voice pained and intense. “Never again. Do you understand?”

He nodded stiffly. Kept his mouth shut to hide the bleeding.

“Go sit down. I’ll… Butcher one or two of these to travel with. The rest will go bad before we could use them.”

Sephiroth followed Cloud’s orders. He went. He sat. He stared down at the crumpled feathers in his hand. He didn’t speak.

When Cloud finally returned, he was moving slower, and his eyes weren’t burning anymore. He crouched down in front of where Sephiroth was sitting. Slowly.

“Let me see your shoulder?” His angel requested.

Sephiroth obeyed. Cloud let out a slow breath at whatever he saw there.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, carefully lowering Sephiroth’s sleeve again. “I shouldn’t have hurt you. I shouldn’t have yelled. I believe you. That you wanted to help.”

Sephiroth didn’t answer. He was looking at the ashes of the fire. He was wringing his hands together. He was thinking of the feather in his pocket, and his soft rag back at home, and—

He wanted to go back. He wanted to go where things made sense. But the very thought filled him with terror. He was out in this strange world, with this stranger, and nothing made sense anymore. It was terrifying, and new, and he didn’t know the rules, but Cloud’s hands were gentle, except when he’d done wrong. Cloud had fed him. Cloud answered his questions. Cloud had saved him.

“Talk to me.” Cloud ordered.

“Yes, Cloud.” Sephiroth’s voice escaped him thin and hollow, but he didn’t stutter.

“About what you’re feeling.”

“I am very sorry. I did not mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t offend me. You—” Cloud took a deep breath. “You just shouldn’t have done that. Killing is bad. Especially killing more than you need. Do you understand?”

No, Sephiroth wanted to say. No, I don’t understand. You killed one yesterday. Hojo had me kill—

But he didn’t. He said “Yes, Cloud.”

“Say it to me.”

“I am not allowed to kill.”

“Why?”

“I—” He looked up at Cloud. “It is bad?”

He saw Cloud’s expression fall. Saw something like despair in his eyes. Something grim and awful and—

“I will not do it again!” He hurried to add. “I— I will be good, so—”

“It’s okay.” Cloud said, though he didn’t look like it was okay. “You didn’t know. You do now. So you’ll do better. Right?”

“Yes.” Sephiroth whispered, choking around the desire to scream.

“Okay. If you want to help, you can help me take the camp apart and hide our tracks. We’re heading to the coast.”

Sephiroth scattered the fire’s ashes as he was told to. He found a smooth, dark piece of charred wood. It stained his fingers black. He slid it into his pocket. A secret comfort in a world he did not recognize.

His legs locked up when he tried to turn back to join Cloud. He didn’t let himself hesitate for long. His feet hurt. His body hurt. His heart hurt. But Cloud…

Cloud had saved him.

Cloud was all he had.

Chapter Text

The nightmares got worse. It seemed like the further away they walked from the labs, the closer they got in his head. He dreamed about Hojo cutting him open. He dreamed about orderlies, and catheters, and monsters, and fire. He dreamed about Cloud. Cloud's face, grim and sad as he depressed the syringe and filled Sephiroth's blood with spikes. Cloud's face behind round glasses.

Sometimes the dreams turned to memory. Remembering how Cloud had walked into that room where they'd met, sword drawn.

He knew what he'd seen that day. He knew. He didn't want to think about it, but his dreams knew too. His dreams saw. His dreams remembered.

Cloud hadn't come into that room to save him. Cloud had been— Cloud would have— 

Cloud always woke him from his nightmares. Offered him touch. The hugs helped, a little. The steady pounding of Cloud's pulse drew him through the panic. Re-taught him how to breathe.

Sephiroth often found himself craving it. That touch. That affection. Cloud's soft voice, and his hands rubbing up and down Sephiroth's spine. He wanted it, and he hated himself for that selfishness. That was only for nightmares. Only for pain.

It hurt his heart, but Sephiroth was getting used to that kind of hurt. At least it gave him something to look forward to when he slept.

Their seventh night of travel, Sephiroth couldn't sleep. He lay in the dark, staring up at the stars, counting how many questions he had asked. He'd imposed a limit on himself after the third day. Cloud would never tell him to stop, but Sephiroth couldn't risk his ire. So he'd settled in a modest 4 questions per day. One in the morning, one during the course of the afternoon, and one before sleeping. The fourth he kept as a spare for a follow-up question when something confused him further.

He was trying to work up the nerve. To ask why Cloud had been upset when he killed the birds. To ask if Cloud was angry. To ask Cloud to explain what Sephiroth had done wrong.

Cloud had left the other twelve birds that Sephiroth had brought back to camp that night. He'd only butchered three to carry with them. Perhaps it was the lack of storage? Perhaps there was something about meat that Sephiroth did not understand? There was so, so much he did not understand.

But he'd wasted today's question asking 'who is Tifa?'

Cloud was always muttering about her. Always wishing she was there. Was she his leader? Or perhaps his professor? Someone he held in high esteem without a doubt. He always wished for her guidance when stress weighed heavy behind his eyes.

But his question hadn't gone well. Cloud hadn't answered. And worse, he'd gotten this look on his face. This awful, stressed, sad, miserable look. Sephiroth didn't recognize the emotion, but he felt it. Right down in his bones. It was the look of sitting in the corner in his room, knowing Gast wouldn't come back. Knowing he would never...

He'd apologized in a whisper, and Cloud had said 'it's fine,' but Sephiroth knew he didn't mean it. It wasn't fine.

Cloud didn't talk at all for the rest of the day.

So now he lay in place, looking up at the stars, wondering. Missing Gast. Missing the soft rag from the labs. Thinking about his stiff clothes. Any time Cloud had to look at him, he sighed and said 'we'll find a way to get you clothes soon,' but they hadn't yet. Cloud didn't have extra clothes either, and they often stopped at water sources to try to wash them.

Now Sephiroth's scrubs were starting to come apart at the seams. Cloud had taken his shirt earlier that evening, with a wordless gesture, and started mending it while Sephiroth curled in his blanket. Sephiroth had watched him work. Wondered if Cloud would permit him to help with this, at least. With sliding the needle through fabric like one would through skin. Hojo...

Hojo used to have him stitch his own wounds. Maybe that would be useful? Maybe Cloud wouldn't be angry?

But while Cloud had been looking down at the work, he'd looked calmer than he had all day. Sephiroth hadn't wanted to interrupt that. So he'd curled in his blanket, held his tongue, and watched the fire until Cloud passed the shirt back and told him to sleep.

Sephiroth hadn't slept, though. He couldn't. As he thought back over the evening once more, he snuck a hand up to his shoulder. Touched the thick seam that Cloud had stitched into the fabric. The criss-crossing lines of thread were rough. It gave the seam a new texture. Sephiroth rubbed his finger up and down it the stitches in slow, calming motions. Felt the thread shift and give beneath his fingertip.

The first gasp that caught in the air was so soft, so thready, that Sephiroth thought it was his own voice. That his emotions had escaped him again. They did that sometimes. Building silently where he couldn't see or hear or feel them, only to break out of him in a tiny noise, leaving him desperately trying to smother and drown the rest before anyone noticed.

He slapped his hand over his mouth, foregoing the comforting rhythm of the stitches under his finger. He held his breath, feeling his expression twist. Not again. Not again. Sephiroth was supposed to be sleeping, and Cloud didn’t like it when Sephiroth didn't follow orders and— 

Another, sharper gasp. But Sephiroth was holding his breath. It wasn't him.

He sat up, eyes tracing over the landscape. Was there someone there? Had Shinra found him already? Were they going to drag him back? Lock him up? Punish him? Tear him apart and start over?

There was no one outside their camp.

Another hollow gasp. Sephiroth turned his head in a slow, disbelieving sweep.

Cloud's hand was clawed in his blanket. His face was as bloodless as a corpse's, but he was sweating. Sweating, and shaking, and gasping and— 

Having a nightmare, Sephiroth realized.

The thought made his chest hurt. It ached, watching Cloud dream. What was he dreaming of? Did he remember growing up in his labs, wherever they had been? In Cloud's dreams was it Sephiroth behind bright glasses and sharp scalpels and syringes?

Was Tifa the one who saved him, maybe? Like Cloud had saved Sephiroth? Was that why he missed her so much? Sephiroth would miss Cloud, if he was gone. No. More than that. He would die if Cloud was gone. He didn't know how to make a fire, or set up the camp, or hunt right, or 'clean' the kills or— 

Cloud gasped again. Choked out a sob. His eyelashes were wet.

He can cry, Sephiroth realized, and felt like he'd swallowed a stone. He didn't know why.

Sephiroth stood up in a rush, then froze. Hesitated, with his blanket clasped around his shoulders in one hand. He forced his fingers to release his own mouth, now that he was sure he wasn't making the sound. Rubbed the pad of his finger over Cloud's thick steady stitching on his shirt's shoulder.

"Cloud." Sephiroth breathed, trying to be brave.

Cloud always woke him from his nightmares. Cloud always hugged him. It was better if someone woke you, and held you. He wanted to be better. He wanted to make things better.

"Wake up." Sephiroth tried again, hovering, watching.

Cloud gave a full-body shudder. Sobbed in his sleep. Twisted, like he was trying to escape something. His hand was starting to tear his blanket. Clenched over the center of his diaphragm. Like something was hurting him there.

Sephiroth took a bracing breath and raised his voice.

"Cloud!"

Sephiroth had seen glimpses of it over the last few days.

There had been monsters, and Cloud had—

He was fast, and strong, and his eyes glowed like Sephiroth's did and—

Cloud was fast.

Cloud was much faster than Sephiroth was. Sephiroth barely had time to dodge. To tuck and roll like he'd been taught as the sword slammed into the ground where he'd stood seconds ago with an awful crunching devastation, and the tearing of soil and grass and Cloud's battle cry.

Sephiroth rolled to his feet, hands lifted, blood screaming, mako burning, ready to fight and— 

Cloud swung, and Sephiroth watched the sword with wide, horrified eyes. He should have reacted, but his legs locked. His fear screamed for him to run. Crashed into his training, which punished cowardice more severely than failure. Froze him in place. He clenched his eyes shut and braced for the death blow with a choked sound.

The blow didn't come.

He pried his eyes open. His vision was blurry at the edges. He couldn't seem to get enough air. Something dark dripped onto the grass. He dragged his eyes up from the ground.

There was a thin stream of blood sliding down from where Cloud's sword had stopped, half an inch deep in the meat of Sephiroth's left palm.

Sephiroth couldn't even feel it.

"I'm sorry." Sephiroth whispered through numb lips.

He lifted his eyes to Cloud, ready to beg for his forgiveness. He'd misunderstood again. He'd done something wrong again. Cloud only hurt him when he did something wrong.

Cloud was still grey-white, but his wide, staring eyes were red with crying. His irises glowed painfully in the dark, and he was— 

He was shaking. The tremble reached Sephiroth's bleeding hand through the sword still in his skin. Sephiroth swallowed.

"I'm sorry," Sephiroth repeated, throat dry with fear. "It was a mistake, I thought—"

"Gods." Cloud breathed.

He pulled his sword away and out of Sephiroth's hand. Dropped it with a clatter. Then Cloud followed it to the ground, dropping to his knees, his head hanging, one hand lifting to cover his mouth.

Sephiroth pulled his bleeding hand back towards his chest, then realized it would stain his shirt. The shirt that Cloud had mended for him. He quickly held the bleeding hand away from himself again. Glanced down. He was surprised to see his own chest rising and falling like a hunted creature's. Like the rabbit he'd watched Cloud kill two nights ago. There was only one drop of blood on his shirt, but it felt like too much. It felt like a failure.

"I'm sorry." He said again.

"I could have killed you." 

Cloud’s voice was broken and hazy. Like the thought bothered him. Sephiroth stared at him, holding his bloody arm to the side, trying to make sure he bled away from camp, away from Cloud.

“I—” Sephiroth didn’t know what to say. What to do. He bit his lip. Tried to calm his breathing down. Tried to stop shaking.

Cloud stared down at the ground. Stayed there a long, long time. Then lifted his hand, slowly.

“Let me see your arm.”

“It’s fine.” Sephiroth shifted to hide his arm behind his back, hoping Cloud couldn’t see the dark spatters of his blood in the grass.

“Sephiroth.”

That was a command. He didn’t dare disobey. He held his hand out. It was shaking.

He expected pain, or anger, or punishment. He didn’t expect Cloud’s hands to be shaking too. Didn’t expect Cloud to delicately cup both his hands beneath Sephiroth's bleeding palm. To lift it, as if it were something fragile. Didn’t expect the soft hiss of pained sympathy that escaped Cloud as he looked at the mark.

“I heal fast.” Sephiroth promised.

“I could have killed you.” Cloud repeated, his voice a haunted whisper. He took Sephiroth’s wrist in his hand. Turned his hand over to get a better look at the wound. Sephiroth fought the urge to withdraw.

“I should have dodged.” Sephiroth murmured in apology. He tucked his chin, trying to stop his hand from shaking and twitching while Cloud inspected the damage. “I was slow.”

“No.” Cloud replied, sharper than he’d been speaking before.

Sephiroth straightened his back. Snapped his eyes over Cloud’s left shoulder. Went stock still, awning reprimand, or punishment or—

“No.” Cloud murmured again, softer this time.

Sephiroth blinked at the dark horizon. Felt Cloud’s hands on his wounded one. Felt his breath hitch as Cloud carefully touched the skin beside the wound. He thought, for a moment, that Cloud’s fingers would dig into the injury. That Cloud would press in to feel out whether his bone had been scratched, like Hojo would. Or would just pry it apart to hurt him. To show him how bad it was. How weak he was.

Instead Cloud said “You don’t ever have to apologize for being hurt. This was my fault, Sephiroth.”

Sephiroth bit the inside of his lip. Tried to maintain his composure. The blank-faced stoicism that Hojo praised. That had kept the pain at bay.

“Come sit down.” Cloud urged, voice low. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Cloud’s hand was light on his back, leading him past his abandoned sword and the deep scar in the earth, back towards the fire. Cloud urged him to sit, and stayed by him till Sephiroth made his legs obey the command. Cloud hesitated only for a moment, then picked up the blanket he'd been clutching in his sleep. It was in shreds.

Cloud must have torn it bolting out of bed. Because of Sephiroth.

“I’m sorry.” Sephiroth repeated dully.

“Shh.” Cloud murmured, glancing up towards him. “It’s okay.”

Cloud ripped a section off the ruined blanket. Sephiroth flinched from the sound. His eyes found the embers of the fire. Cloud had said he would patch the wound. Would he cauterize it shut? If Sephiroth asked him not to, would he listen? If he promised it would heal? If he stitched it shut himself?

Cloud was rooting inside his pack. He was muttering 'really need to get supplies soon,' but it sounded like he was talking to himself. Sephiroth worked his mouth. Tried to swallow. Tried to work up the nerve to ask. Please just let me stitch it or burn it closed myself.

Please don’t hurt me .

But Cloud was back before he was ready. Sephiroth blinked in surprise at Cloud's presence suddenly blocking the firelight. He wasn’t processing well. Foolish , he scolded himself. Weak, stupid, slow—

“This will sting a little.” Cloud said, and his low, calm voice broke through the panic.

“Please,” Sephiroth whispered, keeping his eyes off Cloud’s face. Staring out at the empty too-wide world. “I can stitch it closed if it bothers you, don’t—”

“Sephiroth.”

He flinched. Swallowed. Forced himself to look at Cloud. Cloud was kneeling in front of him. Cloud was holding out his hand. Cloud had a piece of the torn blanket in one hand, and gauze and a disinfectant spray in the other. Sephiroth recognized it. Cloud must have taken it from the labs.

“It will sting a little, but it will help.” Cloud said, his voice patient and soothing.

Sephiroth stared at him. Trying to understand. Trying to get a read on Cloud’s bright eyes. On his blank facial expression, just too tight at the corners of his mouth and eyes to be neutral. Disappointment? Anger? Frustration? Annoyance?

Worry?

Cloud was waiting. Cloud wasn’t touching his cut. Cloud was holding out his hand, and waiting for him. So Sephiroth offered his hand, not sure if he was asking for help or giving a sacrifice.

Cloud cleaned the wound. It stung, but no more. Then Cloud settled the gauze on top of the torn skin. Wound the shred of his blanket back and forth in steady figure eights over Sephiroth’s wounded hand as a bandage.

“How’s that?” Cloud asked.

“Your blanket, though.” Sephiroth replied, his voice sounding distant and dull to his own ears.

“You don’t need to worry about my blanket. How’s your hand?”

“The bandage feels secure.”

“Does it hurt?”

Yes .

“No. It’s fine. It’s healing.”

“Hm… Sephiroth, look at me?”

He hadn’t realized he’d looked away. He blinked. Turned his gaze back to Cloud. Found the expression on his face clearer to read now. Worry and sorrow. Sephiroth didn’t understand.

Cloud spoke, clear and low. “I am so sorry.”

Cloud said each word like a statement of its own. Separated and precise and inescapable. Sephiroth blinked at him. Shook his head. Breathed in to argue.

“No, listen.” Cloud said before he could speak. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I should have moved.” Sephiroth couldn't get his voice steady. It shook under his words.

“It is not your fault that I attacked you.”

“I woke you up.”

“You did. Tell me why.”

“I—” Sephiroth swallowed. Closed his eyes. Tucked his chin. He didn't want to answer, but he couldn't disobey. “I thought you were having a bad dream.”

“I was." Cloud didn't sound angry. He sounded— "You wanted to help?”

“You wake me up when I have bad dreams. I didn’t want you to— to…”

“It was kind of you.” Cloud said when Sephiroth couldn’t continue. “It was good of you. You had no way of knowing I would react like that. It’s not your fault.”

“It was good?” Sephiroth asked in a raw whisper.

“Maybe not wise,” Cloud admitted, inclining his head, “but it's nice that you wanted to help. That was kind of you. And I’m sorry that I’m…”

He took a slow breath. Seemed to be fighting against something. Sephiroth hesitated, then reached out with his other hand. The one that wasn’t hurt. That Cloud wasn’t holding.

He touched Cloud’s cheek and patted it. Gast had done that to him once. Gast had smiled at him while he did it, and then messed up his hair a little in a way that felt good and then—

“I know it’s hard.” Sephiroth said, just like Cloud always told him after his own nightmares.

Cloud didn’t look happy or comforted, though. He looked like he’d been stabbed in the heart.

“You’re a good kid.” Cloud said, though it came out sounding strangled and raw. “I’m— I’m glad you’re okay. My nightmares… They’re not your fault. But best to let them run their course. Okay?”

Sephiroth let his hand fall from Cloud’s cheek. Nodded silently. Swallowed.

“I can’t tell.” He whispered in shameful admission. “If something is good or bad. If I'm supposed to help. I can’t tell what’s nice and what's cruel.”

Cloud’s expression fell serious and grim. But he nodded, as if in approval.

“I’m sure it’s hard.” He said. “You weren't raised to know. If you’re not sure, you can ask me, alright? I’ll try to help.”

Sephiroth watched him. Tried to understand him.

Tried to believe him.

“Will you teach me this?” Sephiroth asked at last, lifting his hand to touch the stitching on his shirt. “I can do sutures, but this is different.”

And Cloud looked sick, for some reason. But he nodded.

“Tomorrow.” He promised. “We should reach the coast. I’ll teach you then. For now, you should sleep. I know you must be tired.”

Sephiroth wasn’t, but he didn’t want to look at Cloud’s eyes anymore either. He had too much to think about. Too much to feel about. There was just... too much.

So he nodded, and curled up on his bedding, and Cloud draped the blanket over him. Sephiroth held his stinging, healing hand close to his chest. He spent the rest of the night trying to breathe without letting his breath hitch, and pretending that he couldn't hear Cloud's smothered crying.

“What is it?” Sephiroth asked, spending his afternoon question out of sheer desperate enthusiasm, his eyes fixed on the water.

“The ocean.” Cloud answered, and there was no annoyance on his face this time. He was smiling. Actually smiling! Even if it was small, it made Sephiroth’s heart go tight in his chest, and a burst of warmth slide through his body and—

“You can go take a look if you’d like." Cloud offered, generous and kind. "You can wade in, but try not to get your clothes wet. The salt will damage them.”

Sephiroth nodded sagely, taking every one of Cloud’s words as law. He moved closer to the water. 

The ‘ocean’ was endless. Sephiroth hesitated at its edge, watching the strange, living motion of its surface. The way it rolled in and in, out and out, a steady rhythm, almost too perfect to be natural. He stepped closer, then backed quickly away as a new line of water rolled in. Cloud had told him not to get his clothes wet.

He considered the problem, then pulled off his fragile shirt. Folded it. Set it aside. Pulled off his pants as well, and folded them with extra care. He didn’t want to damage his feather. His charcoal. He set them aside. Glanced up to where Cloud was setting up a camp, further from the water. Where the ground wasn’t soft and strange. Cloud appeared busy carrying a fallen tree to cut for their evening fire.

Sephiroth let his attention turn back to the ocean. The wind was cool, and fresh, and it felt… It felt good to be out of the stiff, dirty clothes. It felt good to stand before the ocean, and see its movement, and feel the wind tug his hair like a banner.

He moved forward with steady, confident steps. This time when the water crested and approached, he held still. It washed up around his ankles with surprising force and surprising cold. He almost laughed. The smile caught him before he could stop it, but he choked the sound before it could escape him. He glanced back to Cloud to make sure he hadn’t seen that shameful lapse of control. But no, Cloud was busy still. Good.

Sephiroth took another step forward, then another. Followed the water back as it slid down the strange, shifting ground as if it was being dragged. The next crest of water brushed up to his knees. He inhaled deeply. Testing the air. Salty, like Cloud had said. The water? He crouched. Slid his fingers through it. Inspected the liquid with narrowed eyes. Rubbed his fingers together. Perhaps it was just the grit of the soft ground? He licked one of his fingers curiously, and almost laughed again. Yes. Salty.

Why? He wanted to ask. How? Who had salted it? When? How big was it? Where did it stop?

He didn’t ask. He stepped deeper and deeper in, feeling the way the water moved him. The way it tried to lift him, the way it made space for him as he moved inside it. The rush of it filled his ears. He went deeper. His hair was caught in the next rise of the water, and tangled over his back as the wave receded. Cold, yes, but good. Good, and—

“Sephiroth!”

He flinched. Whirled. Almost lost his footing in the waist-deep water.

Cloud looked— He didn’t understand how Cloud looked. He understood that he watched Cloud sprint to the water's edge. He understood the hands held out to him. He understood the order Cloud gave.

“Come back!”

Sephiroth hesitated. Looked back out over the ocean. He didn’t know why. He should go right back. He should follow orders. But he was— Cloud was—

He clenched his eyes shut. Turned to Cloud. Slunk back, pushing through the suddenly dragging water. Cloud let out a breath. Took a half step into the water to take his Sephiroth's wrists and lead him the rest of the way out of the water.

“You’re freezing.” Cloud muttered, halfway to himself, before snapping. “What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t get my clothes wet.” Sephiroth objected. I hate this , he wanted to say. I hate the way you look at me, I hate doing everything wrong, just tell me what you want from me and I’ll do it for you!

But Cloud didn’t tell him what he wanted, and Cloud didn’t hurt him. Cloud pulled him away from the water towards camp.

“I can’t tell if you’re sassing me or not.” Cloud muttered, apparently to himself.

“I don’t know what that is.” Sephiroth said, starting to shiver in the wind. He didn't care. The cold on his skin was nothing compared to the cold inside him.

“Come on,” Cloud said. “Let’s warm you up.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Cloud.”

“Cloud.” Sephiroth repeated.

Cloud pulled him towards camp. His hand was loose on Sephiroth’s wrist, but— What did you do? — he could tighten his grip at any moment. Cloud was strong. He could break Sephiroth’s wrist if he wanted.

He glanced at the fire Cloud had going. Would Cloud burn him? Would Cloud hit him? Would Cloud tie him down and… No, Cloud didn’t have any scalpels. Didn’t have any syringes…

Cloud never hurt him unless he’d done wrong. But he didn’t know if he’d done wrong or not. He couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry.” Sephiroth ventured, hoping to head off any punishment as Cloud went to crouch by their meager supplies.

“I know.” Cloud said, standing with his torn blanket in his hands. “Let’s get you dried off.”

Sephiroth backed away, shaking his head.

"I'll get it wet." He objected. "And salty."

"It's ruined anyway." Cloud said, with a strange tone to his voice. It was weirdly playful on the surface, but it was... fake? wrong. It didn't sound real.

"You said you'd teach me how to sew." Sephiroth reminded him.

"I— Yeah. Is that important?"

"I can fix it."

Cloud paused. Stared at him. Then shook his head, moving forward and wrapping the blanket around Sephiroth's shoulders. It stuck to him. The blanket, and the soft ground from closer to the ocean, and the grit of salt. It felt bad. He liked how the water had felt better.

"Your priorities are all shades of messed up." Cloud said, as if he was informing him of a reality. The same way he said things like 'those are stars' or 'we'll make for the coast.'

"Is it bad?" Sephiroth asked, trying not to sound desperate. He was considering making that a special designation of question, since Cloud clearly wanted him to know what was bad.

"Not... Bad, really." Cloud said, rubbing Sephiroth's arms through the blanket. "Dry off, okay?"

"I need to get my clothes."

"I'll bring them."

"Cloud?"

Cloud paused. Looked down at him. That little frown on his face. As always, after only a moment of looking into his eyes, Cloud looked away.

Why do you hate me, Sephiroth wanted to say.

"Why was it wrong?" Sephiroth asked instead. "I didn't get my clothes wet."

Cloud hesitated, then let out a slow breath. Turned back towards him instead of walking down to get his clothes from the soft ground. He didn't meet Sephiroth's eyes again, but he crossed his arms and cocked his hip in his thinking pose. Frowned and considered for a while. Then he took a slow breath before answering. Sephiroth braced himself for what was to come.

"I didn't give you a good warning." Cloud said after a moment. Serious and low. “The ocean is dangerous. The water’s heavier and stronger than it looks. I was…”

Cloud broke off, frowning at himself, looking down. Sephiroth held his tongue. Held still. Hoped it didn’t mean anger.

“I was worried.” Cloud said at last, so softly Sephiroth almost didn’t hear. “I thought you might… Get hurt. I thought I might lose you.”

“Oh.” Sephiroth whispered, staring up at him, feeling something new happen inside him. Like something unfolding.

Cloud…

“You want me here?” Sephiroth asked, desperate for clarification. For assurance. For… Anything.

Cloud took a deep breath. Too deep. Too slow. And when he answered, it was stiff and uncertain.

“I want you safe.” He said, and it stung worse than the cut on Sephiroth’s palm ever had.

Cloud brought his clothes. Cloud didn’t seem to notice the feather or the smooth charcoal. Sephiroth huddled under the torn blanket 'getting dry' until Cloud told him it was okay not to. Then he dressed as fast as he could. He hated the feeling of putting the filthy clothes on over his salt-coated skin.

He had no right to complain. He had no right to be unhappy. Cloud had saved him. Cloud had forgiven him for not understanding his orders. Cloud was kind.

"How are your injuries?" Cloud asked from across the fire a while later, as if to prove Sephiroth’s internal reminders right.

"I'm healed." Sephiroth replied quickly, hoping to smooth over his mistake with the ocean.

"Hm. Shall we get those bandages off you then?"

"Oh," Sephiroth hesitated. "Yes. Of course."

Cloud looked up at him, brows furrowed. Sephiroth was aware of Cloud's eyes on him, studying him. Waiting.

Sephiroth reached up to fumble with the bandages at his neck. Cloud had removed a tube and gently stopped the bleeding there. Sephiroth removed the adhesive bandages on his arms. Cloud had used them to covered the scabs from the smaller tubes Hojo had left in his skin. Sephiroth pulled off the sodden, ruined wraps of bandages on his leg. Even his bruises from the surgical table were gone now.

He only hesitated when he came to the wrapped fabric over his hand. The torn strip of Cloud's blanket. He just couldn't make himself...

"Is something wrong?" Cloud asked. "Let me see."

"Nothing's wrong." Sephiroth whispered, but he obeyed the order anyway, before he could think better of it.

He held his hand out. Let Cloud unwrap the fabric. The gauze fell away, blood-stained, from his healed palm.

And from the number tattooed there. "1."

Before it had been too dark, too bloody, to see it well. Cloud had wiped at the tattoo as if he thought it were a stubborn blood stain. Now he could see it. Plain and clear. The sky was still bright.

Sephiroth tried to breathe in time with the sounds of the ocean.

"Right." Cloud said, as if he'd known it was there. "Your number."

Sephiroth's hand twitched without his consent. His fingers curled. He held them still, trying not to touch Cloud's hand more than he'd been permitted to. But he wanted to. He wanted to hide the number. He wanted to grab Cloud. He—

"Do you want it covered?"

Sephiroth looked up at Cloud. Studied his face. The look of quiet understanding in his eyes. Like he knew...

Sephiroth bit his lip. Nodded very, very slowly even as his heart raced. He wanted to cover it. He didn’t like it. The admission felt like...

It felt like the sky did. Breathtaking. Frightening. Impossible. Wonderful. Terrifying. Strong.

“Okay.” Cloud said, his hand still gentle on Sephiroth's, holding his hand open, staring down at the number on his palm. "Okay. This will do for now?"

He held up the shred of his brown blanket. Sephiroth nodded again. He didn't trust his voice.

Cloud wrapped the fabric in smooth, steady motions. Figure eights around his palm, back and forth.

"May I learn to sew now?" Sephiroth asked when he was done, staring as his now-covered hand.

"Okay." Cloud said, tucking the trailing end of the blanket shred beneath another securely. "Be sure to take that off sometimes so your skin can breathe. I'll teach you how to re-wrap it until we can get you gloves."

Sephiroth swallowed. He'd spent all his questions already. He couldn't ask when that would be. His scrubs felt all wrong on his body. He wanted to go back in the ocean. He wanted to ask Cloud to please let him wrap up in the blanket, or to find new clothes now .

Instead he whispered 'yes Cloud.'

Sephiroth wasn't very good at sewing, but Cloud was careful when he corrected him. He helped guide the needle in and out. He watched Sephiroth's stitches. Corrected him when he needed to. Winced in sympathy when Sephiroth slipped. Took his hand to inspect the bead of blood, then carefully wiped it away.

"I'm sorry." Sephiroth said, hours later, removing his messy stitches once more.

"You're doing fine." Cloud said, shaking his head. "I was ready to give the blanket up for lost, but you're trying to fix it. That's a good thing, Sephiroth. It's a good impulse. And if you decide it's too much work, or you're tired, I'll take over."

"I want to do it." Sephiroth insisted, starting over once more.

"Okay." Cloud replied. "Then take your time."

It took two days, but Sephiroth mended the blanket. Stitch by stitch, often undoing his work and beginning again. Cloud had slept through another nightmare on that second night after the ocean. Sephiroth had laid in place, and watched him suffer. He had held very, very still and stayed very, very quiet.

Cloud had not woken up, and he had not hurt him, and he had not torn his blanket any more. So Sephiroth knew it had been his fault that awful night, no matter what Cloud had said to comfort him.

Finally all that remained torn was the piece of blanket wrapped around Sephiroth’s hand. Sephiroth bit his lip when he realized it, then stiffly moved to remove the cloth.

"Wait." Cloud said. "We'll reach town tomorrow. I should be able to get you something to replace it. Then we can finish patching the blanket together. Okay?"

Sephiroth stared at Cloud. A smile broke out on his face before it could stop it. Relieved, and grateful, and so happy. He hurried to smother it, and hide it, but Cloud didn't scold him for his lapse. Cloud just smiled back.

It looked a little less fake than most of his smiles, and Sephiroth made an internal note to do better. To be better. Cloud could be pleased. Sephiroth just had to figure out what he’d done to earn it.

Chapter Text

"Are you going to actually put them on?" Cloud asked, his voice soft and just a little warm.

Sephiroth nodded, still hugging the new clothes to his chest, his face pressed down into the bundle of fabric. It smelled good. New. Clean. He was hiding his face in them as much as anything. He didn't want Cloud to see his expression.

"You okay?" Cloud added.

Sephiroth nodded again, quickly, face still buried in the fabric. Masking his shaking breaths. The way he couldn't control his shaking smile.

"Okay." Cloud said.

There was silence after that. Cloud waited patiently, while Sephiroth tried to calm himself down. Once he could control his facial expression, he straightened. Took a slow breath. Looked to Cloud.

"May I bathe before I put them on?" He asked. "Is there a river nearby?"

"Not yet." Cloud said. "I got us a place in town. There's a shower. But you need real clothes first. And I got you a hat too."

Sephiroth nodded quietly. Hesitated, casting about for somewhere clean to put the clothes down at their campsite. Settled for gently laying them on Cloud's pack, glancing to him for permission. Cloud was carefully looking away, studying the sky. Tacit approval in his inattention. Hopefully.

Sephiroth was desperate enough to risk it. He stripped out of his scrubs and pulled on the new shirt. The new pants. They were too big on him, loose around his waist. He’d already been a little smaller than Hojo wanted, and he hadn’t been on the special diet for the past week. Despite Cloud’s kindness it had made things harder. He was tired often, and hungry often.

But he didn’t mind. He hurt far less than he ever had before, and Cloud had gotten him real clothes, and he knew how to sew, so he could make the new clothes fit better, given time. Once they had the blanket fixed the rest of the way.

“You decent?” Cloud asked.

“I... “ Sephiroth frowned at Cloud’s turned back. “At what in particular, Cloud?”

“No, I meant, uh… Are you dressed?”

“Yes sir.”

“Cloud.” Cloud reminded him.

“Cloud.” Sephiroth repeated obediently. “May we go?”

“Soon.” Cloud said, looking at him. “Huh. Misjudged your size a little. Sorry. I got the ones that said they were for about 10 year olds...”

“They are very comfortable.” Sephiroth offered hopefully. He didn’t want them to be taken away again, even if they weren’t quite the right size. “Am I presentable?”

“Almost. Hat—” he offered a fabric cap to Sephiroth. “In case Shinra’s got a bounty out for you.”

Sephiroth took it, trying not to look disappointed. He hated covering his head. Hated how it felt… Warm and constricting and strange. He wanted his hair to touch the sides of his face. To settle against his back. He liked the feel of it… But he pulled it on, and hesitantly started tucking his hair inside it. Cloud nodded his approval.

“Perfect.” He said, and Sephiroth sucked in a breath. No one had ever— “Then these.”

Cloud held out his hand again. In his palm were a pair of black gloves. Sephiroth gasped at the sight of them, forgetting all about his hair’s discomfort. Almost abandoned his task to take them, but Cloud had complimented him for hiding his hair, and he would not leave the job half-done. He hurried through it. Shoved his hair into the cap, and tugged it down more firmly, and then held his hands out, trying not to look too eager.

But instead of just handing the gloves over, Cloud smiled that little indulgent smile he got sometimes, and took the first glove, sliding it over Sephiroth’s unadorned right hand. Checked the fit and chuckled softly as he found the gloves were loose.

“I should be able to get you another pair soon.” He offered. “Sorry for guessing wrong.”

“They’re beautiful.” Sephiroth objected.

They were. Black and lovely, and they met the bottoms of the long sleeved shirt Cloud had brought him, and he felt—

He felt hidden away. He felt safer.

“Left too, okay?” Cloud said, holding his hand out expectantly.

Sephiroth offered it up. Watched Cloud unwind the bandage. Reveal the last dried flakes of blood and the tattoo on his palm.

Cloud was halfway through pulling the glove over it when he hesitated. Slowed. Glanced up at Sephiroth, then quickly back down.

“You’ll do as I say.” Cloud said, not quite a question, but not quite an order either.

“Yes.” Sephiroth offered immediately.

“You remember the rule?” Cloud asked.

Sephiroth remembered many rules. He racked his brain.

“I… Am not to do harm?” He guessed. “Or engage inappropriately with fire. Or kill. Especially not more than I need. And I must not get my clothes wet, or enter the ocean.”

Cloud laughed, soft and startled, and placed his hand on top of Sephiroth’s head.

Sephiroth froze, but Cloud only moved his hand over the top of the hat. Like he was ruffling his hair. It tugged a little, and pulled, with his hair tangled under the hat, but it felt so—

“Good.” He praised, and Sephiroth thought his heart might explode from the praise. First ‘perfect’ and now ‘good.’ He’d done nothing but hide his hair and recite the rules he’d been given. Not even a full list. He had many more he’d discovered, lining up inside himself ‘do not wake you during nightmares,’ ‘do not mention Tifa,’ ‘do not ask too many questions,’ ‘request what is necessary for comfort or be reprimanded, though gently.’

‘You will only hurt me if I am bad.’

“May we go to the shower?” Sephiroth asked softly, spending his afternoon question at last.

“Yeah.” Cloud murmured. “Keep your gloves on, and let me do the talking. If anyone asks, you’re my nephew. Okay?”

Sephiroth didn’t know what that meant. He nodded anyway.

Cloud should not have worried about either Sephiroth speaking or anyone asking. Sephiroth had never been in a town before, and he found it… Unpleasant. He did not know what the buildings were for. He did not recognize the people, or their clothing. No one wore lab coats or sterile gloves. No one had notepads. Many were dirty. Many stared. None asked him if he was Cloud’s nephew.

Sephiroth felt no desire to speak. He walked as close to Cloud’s side as he dared and tried to keep his eyes on the ground.

Cloud said he had ‘gotten them a room.’ Sephiroth did not fully know what that meant, but Cloud led them to a building, and took him upstairs inside it. There were other people, but they did not speak to them, and they only looked briefly.

Cloud locked the door of the room they entered behind them, then took a chair from a nearby table and wedged it beneath the door handle securely. He tugged the door, then nodded to himself.

“Okay.” He said.

“Should we check for wiretaps?” Sephiroth asked, barely more than a whisper, trusting Cloud’s augmented ears to hear him. “In my training—”

“It’s okay.” Cloud said, shaking his head. “This is the middle of nowhere. Not even Shinra’s that thorough.”

Sephiroth nodded his assent, glancing around the room. Heavy curtains covered what must have been windows. There was a bed, and a sitting area, and the table Cloud had taken the chair from. One more door adorned the other side of the room, but Cloud did not seem concerned with locking it.

“Ready for that shower?” Cloud offered, and Sephiroth abandoned all thoughts of wire taps and locked doors for eagerly nodding again.

Cloud walked over to the other door, and opened it into a tiled room. Some sort of sanitation area? Sephiroth recognized the scent of soap, though not the unfamiliar artificial smells that accompanied it. They reminded him of some of the employees in the labs, who had masked the scent of blood by wearing delicate perfumes. He had always wanted—

“I don’t remember much, but if I remember right there weren’t warm showers.” Cloud muttered, mostly to himself it appeared. “So I had better walk you through this.”

Sephiroth considered. He still had his spare question…

“Is your memory defective?” He asked.

“What?” Cloud snapped, whipping his head around to him.

Sephiroth shrank back immediately, lifting his hands between them. If the sword came again, he wanted it to meet his hands.

Cloud took a slow breath, but his eyes were glowing with anger.

“Why do you ask?” He asked, each word crisply controlled.

“You said—” Sephiroth started, his voice breaking as he spoke. He swallowed hard. Shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Cloud was staring at him. Fixedly.

“Sometimes you sound so much like him.” Cloud said, his voice grim and pained.

Sephiroth didn’t know who he meant. He only apologized again.

“I meant no offense.” He promised, hoping Cloud would believe him this time. Sometimes Cloud seemed to think that he was hiding something from him. That he had a secret motive...

“Then why did you ask?” There it was. That suspicion. That anger. Sephiroth couldn’t tell if it was really directed at him or not. It was so hard to tell. You sound so much like him.

“I have— I have a photographic memory.” Sephiroth whispered. “Hoj— It was considered an asset. I only wanted to offer assistance. If required.”

Cloud let out his breath in a hiss. Looked back into the shower room. Into the mirror. Lifted a hand to the corner of his eye, as if looking for something in his reflection.

“It’s not a kind thing to ask.” Cloud said after a long moment. “People aren’t defective.”

Yes they are , Sephiroth wanted to say. Even I am .

Instead he said “Yes, Cloud.” and then “I’m sorry, Cloud.”

“I know you are.” Cloud muttered. “It’s okay. Come over here. I’m not going to hurt you, kid.”

Sephiroth would never say it, but he did like it when Cloud called him ‘kid.’ He approached. Watched Cloud explain the knobs, and explain the different soaps, and then explain, with a firm sincerity, that it should feel pleasant. That if it didn’t, he could change the temperature. That if he found it pleasant, he could continue to wash as long as he liked.

“But I was offensive.” Sephiroth objected. “I angered you.”

“Not… Really you.” Cloud said. “You just reminded me of someone who… Someone who hurt me, once.”

Sephiroth nodded his understanding again. Sometimes Cloud reminded him of people who had hurt him as well.

“Get washed up.” Cloud said. “Take all the time you want. I’ll be just outside the door.”

Sephiroth carefully adjusted the silver knobs as Cloud had shown him. Mimicked Cloud’s hand under the spray of water. Warm. Drumming. Sufficient water pressure, certainly, but light. Soft. Very different from the showers he was used to.

He scrubbed himself efficiently. Internally checked the time. Ten minutes. ‘All the time you want.’

It felt… Good. Warm and almost…

He started over. Sank slowly to scrub his feet. No amount of scrubbing would rid them entirely of the dirt stains from a week of walking. But thus far Cloud had not been over bothered by them, so Sephiroth stopped scrubbing when it started to hurt.

The water was warm, and it fell softly on him, and he felt—

He washed his hair, and rinsed it, and washed it again. He scrubbed under his fingernails. He washed his feet again.

He didn’t need to wash anymore, but he didn’t want to get out yet. The spray was warm, and the shower was dark, and he was—

He was very tired and it felt—

Safe, he realized at last, letting his eyes fall closed, letting the water pour over him. It felt safe…

He didn’t let himself dwell in the illusion for much longer. Past the rush of the water he could hear Cloud in the other room. Pacing. Speaking softly to himself now and then. Fits and bursts of thought and silence. He wished—

He turned off the water. Shivered at the sudden touch of air on his warm skin.

“Hey,” Cloud said when he walked out, smiling with his eyes fixed over Sephiroth’s left shoulder. “I was starting to think you’d drowned in there.”

A similar fear to the one he had expressed at the Ocean.

“I have been trained in swimming techniques.” Sephiroth said, hoping to reassure him. “And it is unlikely I would drown in a controlled environment such as a shower.”

Cloud let out a single breath of laughter, his face relaxing, his eyes actually meeting Sephiroth’s for a moment.

“Good to know.” He said.

Sephiroth relaxed a touch. Cloud had been reassured by his words, even though he so often seemed to fail in his assurances. It was good. It was nice.

“Come on.” Cloud said. “Take the bed. I’ll keep an eye out. If I remember— That is, I’m guessing you didn’t sleep in beds much.”

Sephiroth glanced to the bed. The cloth on it was very colorful. It looked well cushioned.

“My hair is wet.” He objected, but even he could hear that it came out a little sad.

“Hm.” Cloud cocked a hip. Stood arms akimbo, considering.

“How sensitive is your hearing?”

Sephiroth’s hearing was very sensitive.

He liked the blow dryer anyway.

He especially liked that Cloud did it for him. Letting Sephiroth keep his hands over his ears. Cloud controlled the hot air, and drew the brush through his silver hair. Sometimes Cloud would direct the nozzle beneath Sephiroth’s hair, and send strands wiggling into the air the brush passed.

Sephiroth kept catching himself smiling. Kept catching himself leaning into the touch of the brush against his scalp. The almost-too-hot air from the machine.

Cloud spoke to him sometimes. Loud enough to be heard. Though at first Cloud had seemed deeply uneasy, he had relaxed while he worked. Once, he caught Sephiroth smiling, and instead of scolding him, he gave this… This sweet, soft little laugh and turned back to his work. Like he wasn’t angry at all.

Out of curiosity, Sephiroth let the smile stay. When Cloud glanced up the next time, fear sank through Sephiroth like swallowing acid. But Cloud smiled in return, and it looked… It looked brighter than usual.

It looked real.

His hair felt strange after. He kept touching it. Warm and almost… Puffed.

“Bed.” Cloud said, a steady hand on Sephiroth’s back.

“What about you?” Sephiroth asked. “I am much younger. And I do not mind the floor.”

“I wouldn’t take the chance to sleep on a bed from you.”

“You have before?”

“Most people do.” Cloud said, that too-kind way he did when Sephiroth didn’t understand something simple. Sephiroth did not need it spelled out any clearer. He already knew he was not like most people.

But when Cloud pulled back the blankets, Sephiroth crawled up into the bed, and let his savior tuck the pillowy, thick fabric around him. It was cool, but already starting to warm.

“Where will we go after?” Sephiroth asked, trying to keep his eyes propped open.

“Hopefully we’ll stay here a few days.” Cloud said. “There’s some work for me. We could use more equipment. And you could use more clothes.”

“Will I be permitted to assist?”

Cloud sighed. Disappointed? Hard to tell. Could just be tired. He sighed more when he was tired. Sephiroth realized too late that he’d used more than his daily allotment of questions. Bit the inside of his cheek. Foolish. Foolish to have relaxed so deeply under Cloud’s touch. To have forgotten his self-assigned task. He had only barely begun to win Cloud’s favor…

“Maybe.” Cloud said, apparently unaware of his failings. “For now, you need sleep.”

Sephiroth nodded quickly. Burrowed down into the bed. Took slow, deep breaths, trying to encourage himself into silence. But Cloud spoke again.

“Is it nice?”

Sephiroth blinked his eyes open. Looked up at Cloud. Nice… Oh. He had said he wanted Sephiroth to ‘have the bed.’ that he didn’t want to ‘deprive’ him. He considered. Took stock of his body. He had been avoiding it as best he could. His feet had ached, and his body too sometimes. But now…

Now after the warmth of the shower, and the quiet night, with no walking, or hunting, or fear…

The bed held him from behind. The blanket weighed on him. It was like… It was like the stone in his pocket. It was like—

“My shirt.” He gasped, sitting up, looking to Cloud.

“Your shirt?” Cloud asked. “Not comfortable?”

“No, I—” he hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to ask for anything. He wasn’t supposed to be trouble. Cloud had been so, so kind to him tonight… But his eyes searched the room. The filthy top, horrible, disgusting, and his tattered pants, and Cloud had probably--

“Breathe.” Cloud said. He sat on the side of the bed and put his hands on Sephiroth’s shoulders. It moved the entire surface of the soft fabric. Cloud's eyebrows were pinched in the center, and his bright blue eyes were shining with earnest worry and—  “What do you need?”

“Please.” Sephiroth whispered, because Cloud had said ‘need,’ and he was supposed to request what he needed, but he was also supposed to say ‘please.’ “My pocket. My shirt.”

“Oh.” Cloud said. “Did you… Need something from them? I was going to toss them.”

But he stood up, and he said ‘going to’ so—

Cloud pulled his pack closer. Removed the wrinkled, folded set of Sephiroth’s filthy clothes. Offered them to him. Sephiroth took them too quickly. Yanked them closer. Stared down at them, feeling shame crawl through him. Stupid, stupid, stu—

“What is it?” Cloud asked. “You’re… You’re freaking me out, kid. Talk to me.”

Sephiroth glanced up. Cloud looked afraid. That was… That was worse than shame. When Cloud was afraid, sometimes he—

So Sephiroth dug with shaking hands in the pocket. Held out his treasures for Cloud in a shaking hand. The feather was rumpled beyond repair. The dark, smooth piece of wood from the fire had dyed the white parts of it coal grey, along with his fingers and the inside of the pocket.

Cloud stared at them without understanding.

“Is it bad?” Sephiroth asked. The only question he should have permitted himself outside his count.

“I… don’t know.” Cloud replied after a moment. “What are they?”

“Nothing.” Sephiroth said quickly. But it wasn’t true, and he flinched when he realized he’d lied. Looked down at the stupid nothings in his palm. Idiot. He should have hidden them. He should have— 

“Sephiroth?”

“They feel nice.” Sephiroth confessed. “I used to take things. In the labs. If they felt nice. I had a rag, and a piece of glass, and a bead. I kept them safe, and they felt good. And I wanted…”

Cloud stared at him. He looked sick.

“Like toys.” He said.

“No.” Sephiroth said. “Toys are not an appropriate use of my— “

“Stop.”

Sephiroth snapped his mouth closed. Bit his tongue. Swallowed blood rather than let the pain show.

“You like them?” Cloud asked.

Sephiroth nodded.

“You want to keep them?”

Sephiroth’s eyes hurt. His ears were ringing. He nodded.

Cloud reached forward, and he was going to— he was—

Cloud touched his fingers. Cloud curled his fingers over his treasures.

“Then keep them.” Cloud said. “It’s not hurting anyone, so it’s okay.”

Sephiroth found himself unable to breathe right. His breath choked out of him, and he dragged it back in, but it just kept happening. He made these awful, strangled, keening noises, and his eyes burned, and his body was shaking and—

Cloud wrapped his arms around him, and it was better than anything. Better than the shower. Better than the ocean. Better than the bed.

“You were scared, huh.” Cloud asked.

Sephiroth didn’t reply. He wasn’t supposed to be scared, but he wasn’t supposed to lie, and… Cloud didn’t seem to mind. Cloud stayed there, and held him until Sephiroth stopped shaking.

When he woke up, Cloud was gone. His treasures sat beside the folded ruins of his scrubs, along with a note. It said ‘job hunting, if you wake up, don’t move.’

So Sephiroth stayed in the bed, and he looked at the ceiling until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He slipped to the bathroom quietly, and hoped it wouldn’t get him in trouble. When he returned to the bed, he dragged the scrubs top into the covers with him, and traced the line of stitches with his finger, over and over, trying not to let his mind wander into any of its dark corners.

Outside, the world sounded different. Strange. Too loud, but the wrong kind of loudness. He ran his finger over the stitching, and he closed his eyes, and he listened as closely as he could. Tried to piece it together. Tried to find the sound of Cloud. Of anything familiar out there outside the walls of ‘their room.’

Eventually he found a sound he knew. His body went hot and cold at once. Like someone had threaded wires through his veins, and they had just been pulled. Like he was being strangled by a zolom, ready to be devoured.

Maybe he was. Shinra had been squeezing him all his life. Putting threads in him. Strangling him. Pulling on his strings. Making him still to be swallowed.

He heard helicopters outside, and could not even work up the strength to scream.

They would take him. It was over. Hojo was dead, but how many people had worked in the labs? How many people had funded Hojo’s research? How many people had expectations for him? Plans for him?

How many rules had he broken? Not Cloud’s rules. The real ones. Be silent, be still, be calm, be above it all, be perfect, be perfect—

“Sephiroth!”

He jolted up. Twitched, cowered— stupid, foolish useless—

Cloud stood in the doorway, eyes wild and burning.

“Sir,” Sephiroth gasped out, his voice strained and thin and small. “I—”

“No time.” Cloud said. “On your feet. Get your shoes.”

“But sir— Cloud— They were never going to let me go, I shouldn’t have—”

“Shoes, Sephiroth!”

“They’ll shoot you!”

Cloud looked at him. Eyes burning. Steady and sure and not shaking, or fumbling, or afraid like Sephiroth. Not afraid at all.

“They’ll try.” Cloud’s voice was iron. Sturdy and dangerous, like his sword. He walked over to him with sure, strong steps and dropped to one knee before him. “I’ll win. But you need to go.”

“Where?”

“Northeast. Follow the river.”

“You’re not coming?”

Cloud pressed the gloves into his hands. Sephiroth fumbled them on, even as Cloud picked up the hat. Stuck it over his silver hair.

“I’ll be right behind you.” Cloud said, his voice was gentler again. “I have to stay and make sure the people here are safe. I don’t want them to get hurt. I should have been more careful.”

“I can…” Sephiroth trailed off without even finishing. Cloud’s hand was still on his head. Over his cap. Warm and heavy.

“You can help by getting clear.” Cloud said softly. “I’m going to head them off towards the Southwest. I’m trusting you to run. Don’t let them catch you. Got it?”

Sephiroth stared at him. His hands inched forward without his full consent. Locked in the front of Cloud’s shirt. A silent plea. One that Cloud removed, carefully, with hands on his wrists. He didn’t hurt him, so it hadn’t been too wrong. But Sephiroth knew the answer was ‘no.’ He didn’t even have to ask.

Please don’t leave me.

“Give me five minutes, then run.” Cloud said. “Got it?”

Sephiroth’s voice was failing him. He nodded. A stiff, jerky motion. He could count out five minutes without fail.

Cloud was gone before he could fight his way out of his mind to speak again. And for just a second, it made him so angry. So angry. His blood boiled, and burned, and he clenched his fists in their gloves. Why did people keep leaving him? Why wasn’t he ever good enough? He knew he was. He was perfect. He was supposed to be…

Cloud would come back, though. Cloud wanted to keep him safe. Cloud wouldn’t…

But hadn’t he thought Gast wouldn’t?

The thought hurt. Like being punched in the heart by his sparring instructor. Worse, because it didn’t heal. Hadn’t healed. Wouldn’t—

Two minutes. Keep your count.

The helicopters had megaphones. They were shouting warnings. Threats. That the town was harboring dangerous fugitives. Sephiroth cast his eyes around the room. Tried to focus past the noise. Pulled the vent off the heater. Yanked the desk away from the wall. Flipped the bed. Found the bug he should have looked for. The one Cloud had said wouldn’t be there.

He crushed it, feeling his blood pounding too-hot. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. Fear was so easy to mold into anger.

Four minutes. He checked the laces on his shoes. He gathered his hair and forced it under the cap. He put his treasures in his pants pocket. Ripped the tattered scrubs top around where it was stitched. He'd hem the pieces later.

Outside there was gunfire, and shouting, and he thought of Cloud.

But he wasn’t supposed to help. Cloud didn’t want his help. He was supposed to run.

Five minutes.

He ran.

The sound of battle at his back. Of gunfire. People were screaming. Cloud was silent, but the crashing of metal, and the drowning fire of machine guns spoke to his work.

A helicopter went down. Sephiroth could tell by the churning noise of the rotor blades hitting the soft earth. Tearing through unpaved roads before snapping free.

He was listening so intently that he nearly missed—

There. Yes. A second detachment of Troopers, flanking the town. Light in their hands. Materia. Sephiroth fell deeper into a crouch. Slipped past the last line of buildings, back out into the forest Cloud had come from with him, towards the river he was to follow. He needed to keep running.

“Right, start the fires here, and we’ll catch ‘em on the other side.”

“Do you hear that? What’s happening over there?”

“B Group’s problem. Our problem’s lighting fires. Get your materia ready and form up.”

Sephiroth hesitated.

‘I have to stay and make sure the people are safe.’

It wasn’t his problem. He was supposed to run. Cloud was going to make the people safe.

But Cloud was busy, and there were more. They were going to burn it.

“Hey!” A man. A stranger. Good, Sephiroth thought, crouched in shadow, watching him approach. Good, he is holding an ax, and he will take care of it, and I will leave.

The trooper in command lifted his gun.

Sephiroth watched it happen. 

There had been no need for a full burst. The first bullet was enough. 

Someone inside the house screamed. There was a face in the window. A child, maybe. Sephiroth saw their shadow slip away from the window. Heard their quick footsteps. Saw the trooper angle his gun.

‘Make sure the people are safe.’

It was easy to do. The first one, at least. And the second. And the third.

It was like the birds.

They squawked, and they snapped, and they sank, and he moved to the next.

They did not have time. Not at first.

But he was small, and imperfect, and his gloves were too big, and he needed a weapon.

The troopers would not stay like birds. They fell at his feet the same— they would keep falling— but they would answer with bullets, and he would only stand so long.

The man had an ax, though. So Sephiroth took it. Made eye contact, only for a second, with the little girl rounding the corner of the building. Coming for the man’s corpse.

Sephiroth hoped that he had been her Hojo and not her Cloud.

The ax made it faster. They were screaming now, but Sephiroth didn’t bother listening to them. The ax wasn’t exactly like the swords he’d held before. It was heavier and balanced differently. He adjusted on the fly.

It was the first time since killing the birds for Cloud that he felt real. This was what he was made for. Not sewing tears in clothing and blankets. Not learning to roast meat over fires. Not tiptoeing to avoid doing harm.

The seventh Trooper fell. One of them got off a shot with their materia. The building behind him caught fire. Sephiroth glanced to the girl and huffed out an annoyed breath. She was not fleeing. She was just kneeling by the corpse. Stupid.

He turned and walked back to her, only moderately regretful that it gave the troopers a moment to retreat. He would deal with them in time. It was only a matter of time.

The flames ate into the wooden houses. Roared. It had been a powerful spell. They should have shot it at him and not at their assigned target.

“Up.” Sephiroth said, standing before the body and the girl, the heat and strength of the fire moving his hair in waves. His hat had come off at some point. He’d shucked his gloves as well. His clothes were bloody. He was bloody.

The child looked at him with fear in her eyes. Her hands were bloody too. From trying to wake the dead man on the ground. She must have been only a year or two younger than Sephiroth was...

There was no time.

‘Make the people safe.’

“Up.” Sephiroth repeated.

When she didn’t move, he reached down, gripping her arm. She screamed, and he hesitated— Her arm was softer than he’d thought it would be. Weaker. Someone cocked a gun behind them. He glanced back. No time. Dragged her towards the gap between burning houses, the dead man’s ax held tightly in his other hand.

“Stop, stop!” She begged, struggling against his grip, even though he was helping her.

“They will kill you.” Sephiroth said dully in explanation.

“My arm!” She screamed, clawing at his hand.

“It will heal.” Sephiroth replied.

Sound behind them. A gunman. There, in the forest, nearly invisible. A longer range weapon than the others. He lifted the ax. A good throw would—

“Sephiroth!”

He jerked his head towards the voice. The—

He—

The sheer rage in Cloud’s voice and—

He had to—

Cloud was—

“Let go,” the girl sobbed.

Cloud was charging, Cloud had his sword, Cloud’s eyes were angry, Cloud—

“Drop the ax!” Cloud screamed, his voice burning and cracking and furious and the girl writhed under his hand and the gunman sighted down his rifle and—

Sephiroth didn’t even think. He dropped the ax. He couldn’t take his eyes off Cloud. He couldn’t move. He was broken. He was broken, and wrong again and Cloud—

The bullet was almost a blessing.

It made everything quiet.

Finally.

No, no, no, no no— 

He was so far away.

Oh— Oh, gods, you’re still— 

Was he supposed to know that voice?

Stay with me. Sephiroth?

It was nice. Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it a kind voice?

It’s okay. It’s okay. I know it hurts— 

Why did it hurt?

Please. Please…

Please what? What am I supposed to do? I’ll do whatever you want. What do you want?

Slowly, by degrees, Sephiroth became aware that he was looking at a fire. That his eyes were open. That he was breathing. Nothing came in order. The air was cool. The fire was bright. The blanket was wrapped warm around his shoulders. He couldn’t move.

He didn’t want to anyway.

Memory came with a heartbeat. Of Cloud’s fury, and Cloud’s angry voice, and the ax and the blood and the child.

“Sephiroth?”

He blinked heavily at the fire. His eyes stayed closed.

There was something cool and wet. Something against his lips.

A hand at the join of his skull and neck, holding him.

“You have to drink.”

Sephiroth fought to obey. It was hard. He swallowed the trickle of liquid, and someone gave a hollow, broken gasp.

“Good job.” That voice was whispering. “Good job. Again. Just like that, Sephiroth.”

So he did it again. But it took all he had. He went under again.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Sephiroth managed to whisper the plea before he’d fully realized what he wanted to say. What he needed to say. To beg…

“Sephiroth.” Cloud’s voice answered in a breath. And then Cloud was there. His body blocking some of the light from the fire. Sephiroth hadn’t realized he was looking at the fire. “Don’t fall asleep. You need to drink.”

“Please don’t leave me.” Sephiroth repeated. His mouth felt numb. His tongue slow and swollen. His words jammed together. Slurred into nothing.

Cloud heard them anyway. 

“I’m not leaving.”

Sephiroth didn’t understand the way he said it. But he clung with desperate hope to the words. Perhaps not too bad. Perhaps…

Cloud’s hand slid under his neck. Cradled the back of his skull. Cloud put the wet cloth to his lips. Sephiroth swallowed obediently. Blinked his eyes open.

Cloud was painted in red and orange by the fire.

The moon was over them. It was so bright. He’d thought—

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, when Cloud took the cloth away. “I wanted to help.”

Cloud’s hand was shaking when he put the wet cloth back to his lips.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Cloud whispered.

His eyes were glowing. Almost as bright as the moon.

“You deserve so much better than this.”

Something hot and wet fell on Sephiroth’s cheek. He blinked up at the dark. At Cloud’s glowing eyes. Tried to get himself to focus. To figure out what he’d done. To do— Do anything.

He lifted his hand. It felt so heavy. He lifted it anyway. He touched Cloud’s cheek. It felt wet.

“Get some rest.” Cloud whispered. “You’re finally healing so… So get some rest. I’ll have something to eat when you wake up again, okay? You’re going to be alright Se—”

It was dark, and warm. His hand was too heavy.

Sephiroth slid back down.

“What happened to the girl?”

“You’re up again.” Cloud sighed. He didn’t sound like he had last time. He didn’t sound frayed and broken. His voice was lighter. “Eating first. Then we’ll talk if you’re still awake.”

“Did she die?” Sephiroth asked.

“No.” Cloud answered. “Now no more questions till you’ve eaten.”

Sephiroth blinked. Inhaled deeply. The sun was up. He was under something to give him shade. A patchwork of stitches ran through it. Cloud’s blanket. He could pick out the weak spots in his sewing from where the sun streamed through. Cloud had propped it up over him. To give him a place to rest.

Sephiroth’s eyes burned a little.

Cloud knelt at his side. Put a hand on his shoulder.

“Want to try to sit up?”

Sephiroth nodded. Pushed his elbows back into the ground. Fought against gravity. Against himself. Stuck. Held. Strained.

“Easy.”

Cloud’s hand was warm and broad on his back. He pushed slowly and steadily, and Sephiroth dragged in a slow breath as he finally pushed up to sitting.

He looked down. His chest was wrapped in bandages. Crisp and white and clean.

He remembered the gunshot, like a kick from one of Scarlet’s battle machines. Straight in the center of his chest. The trooper had been trained well.

Cloud’s hand didn’t leave his back for a long moment.

“Okay?” Cloud asked.

“What?” Sephiroth replied dumbly. Stupid, he told himself. He told you not to ask questions until after. You won’t find out about the girl now. His head felt like he was swimming. Like he was—

“Are you okay like that?” Cloud added. “So I can bring you something to eat?”

“Oh. Yes.”

Cloud patted his back very gently. The ping of pain from between his shoulder blades told Sephiroth all he needed to know about where the bullet had ended up. Had it gone straight through him? Or had his body forced it out the other side after? It had done both before…

“Here.”

Cloud crouched before him, and Sephiroth lifted his eyes to look at him. He was wavering slightly. No, wait, Sephiroth was wavering. Unsteady. How long had he been out? How bad had it been?

He was out of questions. He didn’t know if he wanted to know. He tried to lift his hands to take the bowl from Cloud. But they were heavy, and he was so—

“It’s okay.” Cloud said. “I’ve got you. Just drink.”

Cloud shifted closer. One hand on Sephiroth's back, one holding the bowl to his lips. Some sort of broth. Still warm. Sephiroth glanced to the fire. There was a pot of some kind suspended over it. He’d been keeping it warm.

He drank. It felt good. Like the warmth was crawling out through him from that radiating point of comfort and taste. He hadn’t noticed how hungry he was. How starving…

When Cloud lowered the bowl to let him take a breath, Sephiroth almost sobbed from the relief. From the desire for more. He held himself together with the last shreds of his iron will.

He emptied the bowl, and still wanted more. But Cloud had said…

“May I ask questions now?” He asked, trying to hold himself upright. Trying not to sway and slump against Cloud like he wanted to. 

“A few. But you need to rest.”

“The girl is alive?”

“Yes. You broke her arm. But you probably saved her life.”

“I didn’t know.” Sephiroth said. “That arms were… That she would—”

“It’s okay.”

“You were angry.”

“I…” Cloud hesitated. Took a slow breath. Settled slowly at Sephiroth’s side, facing him. Kept one hand on his back. Tilted his head. Forced himself to meet Sephiroth’s eyes.

Sephiroth wished he could focus on the expression on Cloud’s face.

“I was.” He said. “But it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t understand what I was seeing. I thought you had hurt people.”

“I did. I killed a total of seven troopers. And I broke the girl’s arm.”

“The troopers were trying to hurt her?”

“Yes. They shot her you— That is, her person. Her adult. She was upset and acting irrationally. They would have shot her too.”

Sephiroth took a breath. Glanced down. “But I knew you would not like me killing them. It is a waste. Like the birds. I did it anyway. I broke your rule.”

Cloud hissed out a slow breath from between his teeth. Controlling the flow of air.

“I wasn’t angry with you for breaking a rule, Sephiroth. I thought… I didn’t understand the situation. I was wrong. I just saw you, and fire, and blood and… I was thinking of someone who isn’t you.”

Sephiroth didn’t reply. He did not know who the not-him person was. The one he reminded Cloud of. He only knew there was a person, and he was like that person, and that person did bad things and hurt Cloud. It wasn’t enough information. He didn’t dare ask more.

Then, suddenly, Cloud was moving. But not pulling away, or hurting. He was leaning in. Wrapping his arms around Sephiroth. Holding him carefully. It barely even hurt.

“I thought you were dead.” Cloud whispered, cradling Sephiroth to his chest. “I thought I’d gotten you killed.”

“I reacted badly. My instincts—”

“Stop. Sephiroth. I messed up. It’s my fault. You don’t have to blame yourself for it. I promise. You would have taken the shooter out before he could fire, right? If I hadn’t interrupted you?”

Sephiroth hesitated. Took a slow breath. It made his chest hurt. It made his lungs tight. It made his body scream.

He nodded against Cloud’s chest. Cloud held him closer.

“You deserve more than this.” Cloud whispered. “More than me being afraid of you. But I don’t know what to do. The only dad I know… Barret would still be about your age. Oh, gods, and his wife… His home, and Marlene's dad... If I don’t do something—”

Sephiroth lifted one of his leaden hands. Tangled it in Cloud’s sleeve.

“Don’t leave me?”

Cloud fell silent. Tilted his head till his nose was in Sephiroth’s hair. 

“Please.” Sephiroth whispered, closing his eyes tightly, pressing his face into Cloud’s shirt. “Don’t leave me.”

Cloud took a slow breath.

“You need to rest, Sephi—”

“No!” Sephiroth clenched his fist in Cloud’s shirt. Held on tighter. Grimaced as the shout spiked pain through him. It felt like blood would pour out of his mouth. It felt like he’d rip himself open.

“Sephiroth.” Cloud said, soft and alarmed.

“Please,” Sephiroth gasped. “Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not.” Cloud said, though he sounded unsure. Uneasy. “I won’t. I won’t leave you alone.”

“But you will leave, won’t you.” Sephiroth gasped, choking back the strained sounds of pain trying to escape him.

“I’m… Not the best person to be taking care of you.” Cloud whispered. “I’m sure of that.”

“But you’re the only one.” Sephiroth objected. No more yelling. No more blood. It was wrung out of him. All that was left was this. This helpless pus, from an infection inside him. “You’re the only one.”

There was silence for a moment. Complete silence and stillness. Then Cloud’s hand found Sephiroth’s hair, and he started rubbing his scalp.

It felt so good, even as Sephiroth’s world broke open under him.

“Get some rest.” Cloud whispered. “I won’t leave you behind. I might… I might have an idea. But I have to do some math. We’ll figure it out together. Okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay.” Sephiroth whispered, because there was nothing else he could do.

Cloud had done a lot of math. It stretched out around the campfire. Where he’d kept running out of space to draw the numbers and names in the dirt. Sephiroth stared down at them with a frown. He was feeling more himself this morning. He’d gotten up and gone to pee and he hadn’t realized until he was walking back to camp that he was only wavering a little bit.

He thought of the broth from the night before, and felt warm. Like the shower had felt warm.

Safe.

“Morning.” Cloud said when he came back, smiling at him over the fire. “Better?”

“Yes, Cloud.” Sephiroth stepped closer, trying not to waver. “I am sorry for my unusual behavior.”

“Don’t be.” Cloud said. “Come sit down.”

“Will… I’ll disturb your work.” Sephiroth warned, looking down at the words scrawled in the ground. He froze when he saw what Cloud had settled on. The years scrawled out around it, as if Cloud had been trying to figure out not just an age, but something else as well. The circled names.

Gast & A’s Mom said the writing in the dirt.

Sephiroth didn’t know what A’s mom was. But he knew—

“What do you think?” Cloud asked, a small smile on his face. “I remember he—”

“You know where Gast is?” Sephiroth interrupted, snapping his head up to stare at Cloud. “I— That is— My apologies, I—”

“It’s okay.” Cloud chuckled. “Yes. I know where he is. And I think we might still make it in time. Would you be willing to stay with him, then? The woman he’s with… I can't remember her name, but I can vouch for her.”

Sephiroth swallowed. Sat slowly. Next to the names. Looked down at them.

“Do you want to see him?” Cloud asked, his voice gentle. “I know he left. It must have hurt. But it might be about the closest we can get to… To a safe place for you.”

“But…” Sephiroth hesitated. He wanted . How long he’d wanted. But now… “What about you?”

“Me?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

Cloud’s expression went sad and soft. He sat slowly near Sephiroth. Let out a breath.

“Let’s go see.” Cloud offered. “Before anything else. Let’s make sure he’s where I think he is. It's a long trip up there anyway. Then we’ll—”

“Then you’ll leave.” Sephiroth interrupted again, too hurt, and worried and hopeful to think of anything else.

“I have a lot to do.” Cloud reached out. Touched Sephiroth's shoulder. So careful. So kind. “There are people who need my help. People who are in trouble. Like you were.”

Sephiroth looked away. Down at the ground. At the dirt. At the name that was an offering from Cloud. The best he would get…

“How about a trial run?” Cloud offered at last into the silence. “We’ll make our way up there. If it’s no good, we’ll… We’ll figure it out together. But if it’s safe, you’ll stay.”

“I—”

“ And I’ll come visit. As often as I can. So that I can make sure they’re taking care of you.”

Sephiroth stared down at the earth. Lifted a hand to his chest. Where the bullet had nearly killed him. Thought of cold nights. Of the ocean. Of nightmares, and stars, and birds, and the hardest, best weeks of his life. Of Cloud’s eyes, which had softened so much as time passed, except for...

Except for the burning village. Cloud charging at him through the fire, sword low. His murderous expression. The fury in his voice, screaming Sephiroth’s name.

Worse than any gunshot.

“Yes.” Sephiroth whispered, aching all the way through. "Thank you, Cloud."