Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What,” Hojo said flatly, “Are you doing?”

“He was fussy.” Vincent defended, curling tighter around the sleeping infant.

“You're too heavy for that crib.” Hojo remarked, shaking his head.

It had been perhaps two months ago now that Hojo realized that Sephiroth needed more physical contact. Hojo would have been perfectly content to carry the infant around all day, but his work meant that wasn't possible. There were too many things that required two hands. Even if he used a sling to carry Sephiroth, he did too much work with chemicals that would be dangerous to expose a one-month-old too at such a close range.

Around the same time, he had discovered a variety of books that he thought were Lucretia's, but turned out to have Vincent's cramped and crooked cursive in the margins. Lucretia had fled the manor, but the Turk had been in the coffin asleep still. It had taken some very pointed explanations about vaccinations and the care of human hybrids to ensure the fool didn't try running off with the baby, sure. But it had been around two months, as stated.

That stated, he was concerned that the Turk was starting to spoil Sephiroth, which would only serve to interfere with Hojo's work.

For example.

“Get out.” Hojo ordered.

Vincent didn't move.

“If you fall asleep there, you'll suffocate him. He isn't fussing right now, so get out.” he ordered, pushing the side of the crib down. When Vincent still didn't move, Hojo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We'll move a cot in here for you tomorrow. But for now you need to get out.”

After a long moment, the Turk unfurled and slid out of the crib. Sephiroth whimpered, squirming at the loss of contact. Hojo had to grab Vincent by the back of the neck to keep him from crawling back in. With his other hand, he pulled the crib-side back up and tucked the blanket around the infant. Sephiroth settled down with a quiet coo, having never woken in the first place.

“Out.” Hojo hissed, steering the Turk towards the door.

Vincent dug his heels in, eyes glittering gold.

“I'm not amused by empty threats, Valentine. If you cause too much trouble then I'll lock you up again and find a different assistant.” he warned. The threat proved effective, getting the man moving again.

While having Sephiroth revered as the god he would in time become was gratifying, spoiling the boy would be counterproductive. Babies age zero to five needed physical contact to survive, certainly, but Hojo was willing to bet he could find hundreds of potential wet nurses within Shinra alone. If Vincent wanted to ‘atone for his sins,’ whatever that meant, then he would behave. Lucretia may have performed the initial operation, but Hojo was the one who effectively made Vincent what he was now. He knew how to incapacitate the man and keep him from shapeshifting. For Hojo, Vincent presented absolutely no threat. It was of the goodness of his heart and in the name of effectiveness that he had even allowed the man to serve as a cloth mother for his son.

If Vincent could bring himself to behave and not interfere so much with Hojo's magnum opus, perhaps it would be worthwhile to keep him around. Should Sephiroth mature as predicted, he would be strong to an almost obscene degree. Given his not-quite-human status, Vincent would make for an excellent physical trainer and sparring partner.

Thankfully, the threat of taking away the baby seemed to be plenty to keep the man in line. And with time, Vincent would become conditioned and simply behave without threats.

For now, though, Hojo supposed he would have to make a habit of checking Sephiroth's crib to ensure the ridiculous moron hadn't crawled into it again.

Chapter Text

YEAR 1

     “You said he died!” Veld roared furiously, grabbing the professor by the lab coat.

     “His recovery from the accident was a delicate process,” Hojo sneered, slapping him away, “If I announced he was alive, I knew almost without a doubt that you would let your emotions get the better of you and come charging in, disrupting everything.”

     Veld ground his teeth in rage, looking from the professor to Vincent. Vincent hadn't moved from the helicopter, fussing over something in his arms— something being a baby, Veld realized as a tiny hand reached out and grabbed at the man's face. Vincent had yet to look up from the baby, completely enthralled. Growling, Veld shoved Hojo away and went to see his friend.

     At his approach, Vincent finally looked up. The man looked... exhausted. As if he'd been put through a battlefield and dragged back. There was something wary in the set of his jaw, something possessive in the way his arm shifted around the baby.

     “Welcome back, partner,” Veld greeted, stopping just out of arm's reach, “You ready to debrief?”

     To answer where he had been, what had happened, why was Hojo lying to their faces—

     “I'm still on-mission.” Vincent said quietly, shaking his head.

     “... What?” Veld asked, not quite believing what he heard.

     Vincent's eyes drifted from him to Hojo, where they stayed for several seconds, before going pointedly to the baby in his arms. “I was assigned to protect Project Sephiroth and it's overseer,” Vincent intoned, voice soft, “The project is still ongoing.”

YEAR 5

     The slap barely even made his head twitch to the side.

     “Did I give you permission to do that?!” Hojo hissed furiously, gesturing to the recording. It was footage of earlier, showing Vincent answering Sephiroth's question of who his mother was— honestly.

     “He deserves to know.” Vincent said stubbornly.

     Hojo shook his head with a huff. “I should have known better than to allow you unrestricted access after he started talking... You've completely undermined an entire portion of the project, Valentine.”

     “He's your son!” Vincent snarled, unable to keep from baring his teeth at the man. “I suppose I'm not supposed to tell him that, either?!”

     “Oh, by all means,” Hojo sneered back, arm gesturing to the door in invitation, “Tell him whatever you like— but bear in mind that if you cross any more lines, you will be sent away. He's old enough now that he no longer needs a cloth mother, after all, and I can find hundreds of caretakers in this building alone, all of whom are far less quarrelsome than you!”

     And there it was again, that same old threat. It shouldn't have been so effective— Vincent could kill Hojo, take Sephiroth, run away, maybe to Wutai— but the thought of being ripped away from the boy made his building growl stutter. Sephiroth didn't have anyone else, and the boy was still so young that if Vincent was forced to leave, it would damage his psyche for sure. Not to mention that no matter how strong Sephiroth was, the boy was only five years old— life on the run would be damaging in more ways than one. One only needed to look at some of the more ‘feral’ Turks for examples, children plucked from slums, warzones, or brothels masquerading as orphanages.

     He couldn't do that to Lucretia's boy.

     Vincent quietly bowed his head.

YEAR 7

     Sephiroth held completely still, so the professor wouldn't change his mind about today's treat. If he messed up even a bit, he knew the professor would say he hadn't earned it. And if that happened, then his handler would send him to his cell and stay behind to argue with the professor. And every time the two argued, it ended with his handler being extra quiet for several days, barely talking and folded into himself in a corner of the labs.

     Sephiroth still hadn't told anyone about the time he snuck out of his cell and heard one of their arguments, where the professor threatened to replace his handler for ‘spoiling the boy too much with your coddling, Valentine, he'll never grow to achieve anything with your persistent hand-holding!’ He had been careful to avoid holding his handler's hands for a week afterwards, which had made the man confused and maybe slightly sad, but Sephiroth didn't want a different handler. He liked Vincent.

     Finally, the professor finished drawing blood, smoothing a strip of gauze over Sephiroth's elbow, and turned away. “I expect him back by five, Valentine,” the professor warned, “We still have schedules to keep, after all.”

     Sephiroth very pointedly did not run to his handler. He kept his pace measured and his face blank. Vincent put a hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the examination room.

     Before long, Sephiroth had changed out of his usual scrubs and into his training uniform. He didn't have many other clothes, which he knew annoyed Vincent. But Sephiroth hadn't seen Vincent in much other than his suit, or the professor out of his lab coat, so he wasn't entirely clear what the problem was. Once he was dressed, he rejoined Vincent, who guided him out of the lab.

     That's what most treats were— days spent outside the lab, not doing lessons, tests, or training. Sometimes Vincent took him to an office full of people in suits just like his, and they had lunch with a man named Veld who never seemed to know what expression to make when he looked at Sephiroth. Sometimes they just walked around, watching people go about their day. Sometimes they went out into the city and watched construction. Sometimes they went to the archives and Vincent answered any questions Sephiroth asked about whatever pictures he found. Sometimes they met the professor's superior, a kind man named Gast— though they hadn't seen him for a while, now.

     Sephiroth didn't know what Vincent had to do to secure treats. He didn't know if he wanted to. Instead, he made sure to behave perfectly, so the professor would allow every treat without yelling at his handler.

YEAR 12

     “He must be the father.”

     Rufus perked up a bit at Heidegger's voice.

     “They don't look much alike, though, do they?” his father hummed in reply.

     Rufus left the cage full of strange dogs to see what the men were talking about. They were looking down through windows at a large room below. Peering through, Rufus saw someone dressed in black, a sword in hand, fighting monsters.

     “Perhaps not,” Heidegger snorted, “But he's never far from the boy, is he? And I've heard security say he gets into shouting matches over child welfare with the deputy of the science department.”

     Rufus didn't know who they were talking about. The monster-slayer, perhaps? It was mesnerizing to watch, a whirlwind of black and silver amidst blood and bone. It sounded like something out of one of the fairy-tales his father scoffed at— a noble knight conquering evil beasts in order to protect his child.

     “Please,” his father scoffed, “Just the other day, someone without children of their own attempted to lecture me on how to raise Rufus. People without any of their own always think they know best. On the subject of Hojo, though, I'm thinking we should promote him to director. Gast has been completely absent for several years now, and Hojo has been delivering consistent results in his stead— case in point, the boy.”

     Rufus had almost begun to ignore the men gossiping next to him, fixated on the fighter below. As he watched, the last monster fell, leaving the slayer alone in a graveyard of beasts—

     Someone stepped out from under where Rufus, his father, and Heidegger were standing. With a jolt, Rufus realized the monster-slayer was only a little bigger than him, the newcomer standing over them. The newcomer wore what looked like the General Affairs uniform of a dark suit, and they seemed to address the fighter as they produced something to wipe away the blood.

     A bitter taste in his mouth, Rufus turned away from the sight. His father didn't see it, but he thought Heidegger was right— those two were father and son.

YEAR 15

     “You have to ask permission to hang out?” Genesis scoffed.

     Sephiroth dipped his head. “If I misbehave, the professor will blame Vincent.”

     Genesis paused, exchanging a look with Angeal. That sounded... wrong, in a way he wasn't sure he knew how to explain.

     “Is... Vincent your father?” Angeal asked, tone hesitant. Their parents had certainly been accused of letting them run wild, when Hollander first came for them. Was it a similar situation?

     “I don't have a father.” Sephiroth said bluntly. As both of them cringed, the younger soldier informed them, “I used to have two mothers, but neither is around any more.”

     Well now Genesis felt like an ass.

     Clearing his throat, he declared, “Well, let's go ask your professor, then. Can't have your precious Vincent getting in hot water, can we?”

     Sephiroth dipped his head again, turning away and striding off without so much as a word. Genesis rolled his eyes, earning him a shoulder-check from Angeal, as they followed after the silver soldier.

     It had been a shock when Hollander told them that the up and coming hero of Midgar was their age. It had been an even bigger shock to learn that Sephiroth was actually a year younger than Angeal, making him almost three younger than Genesis. But he didn't act like it, which was... infuriating. He didn't laugh, or yell, or roughhouse, or even seem to have any hobbies! Sephiroth was more like a robot than anything else!

     But if Sephiroth misbehaved, someone called Vincent got the blame for it.

     Which sounded wrong on so many levels, but Genesis hesitated to put any words on it, because what if he was just reading into it too much? What if Sephiroth was just weird?

     The two of them followed the younger soldier into the Science Department, winding through various hallways until they came to a door deep within. Sephiroth knocked once, then stood back with his hands folded neatly behind his back, eyes riveted on the door. After long enough that Genesis was tempted to bang on the door, it swung open, revealing none other than the department head, Professor Hojo.

     “What is it?” the man demanded impatiently. His gaze swept over Genesis and Angeal, and a sneer promptly took over his face. Genesis bristled as the man asked, “What business do Hollander's failures have here?”

     Before Genesis could snap back, Angeal stepped on his foot and very diplomatically said, “We wanted to know if Sephiroth could show us around the city, sir, but he insisted we needed your permission first.”

     Hojo didn't stop sneering as he replied, “Sephiroth gains nothing from your presence—”

     “Let him.” a hoarse voice decreed from further in the room, Sephiroth twitching at the sound. It would be much later before Genesis realized the voice was likely hoarse from screaming.

     The professor made a displeased noise, closing the door. Despite straining his ears, Genesis couldn't hear anything. But Sephiroth didn't leave or apologize or anything of the sort, just watched the door intently. So Genesis crossed his arms over his chest with a huff and glared at the door as well. Angeal looked between Sephiroth and the door with a worried expression. Finally, though, the door opened, and Hojo decreed that Sephiroth had to return to the lab no later than seven, because even if their schedule allowed for leisure time, he demanded nothing short of excellence. With that, the door slammed shut. Sephiroth lingered a moment longer before turning expectantly to them.

     “Uh... who was... the other person? You... seemed to know their voice.” Angeal asked awkwardly as Genesis led the way back out of the lab.

     “Vincent,” Sephiroth replied, the faintest trace of grimness in his tone, “He agreed to help the professor develop an anesthetic that would work on me, since I kept waking up during surgery.”

     It would be years before Genesis realized exactly what that meant, too caught up in the horror of the idea of waking up while under the knife.

YEAR 20

     “So,” Genesis said, tone cautious in that way it always got when he was uncertain about something, “Back when we first met, you said something about having two moms?”

     Sephiroth nodded. “Jenova and Lucretia. Jenova died in childbirth, and Lucretia went mad from heartbreak not long after. I don't know much about either of them, aside from Vincent says I look like Lucretia, and the professor seemed to love Jenova.”

     “And you don't...” Genesis trailed off, fidgeting.

     “I don't what?” Sephiroth asked, blinking. It wasn't like the redhead to be lost for words.

     “You don't mind? Or... think it's wrong? That they were... both women?”

     Sephiroth didn't answer immediately, sensing that this was, in a way, a test. In his experience, failing tests was never pleasant— privileges would be rescinded, outings cancelled, Vincent would be barred from seeing him... and logically, he knew Genesis had no power over that. But the fact that this was a test...

     “... Why would it be wrong?” he evaded.

     Genesis seemed to flounder, waving a hand dismissively. “Because— because that's not how... Everyone knows it's supposed to be a man and a woman, right?”

     “... You mean for reproduction?”

     “Oh my— you're impossible!” Genesis yelled, storming away with his hands in the air. Sephiroth got the sinking feeling that he'd failed whatever test that had been.

     His nerves admittedly getting the best of him, he returned to the Science Department to look for Vincent. His handler was rarely allowed far from the place when not accompanying him. Before long, he'd found the man and explained what had happened.

     After a moment spent staring into space, Vincent asked, “Does Genesis like you?”

     “We're friends.” Sephiroth pointed out.

     “Yes,” Vincent nodded, “But does Genesis like you as more than a friend?”

     He paused.

     The redhead had been asking about his mothers, and men and women. Had Genesis been trying to lead him to the subject of men?

     “But why would he ask if it's wrong?” he frowned, still not understanding.

     “Because some people think it is,” Vincent explained patiently, “Some people think that men should only love women and vice versa. They don't approve of women loving women or men loving men, because they think it's unnatural. And some of those people can be very cruel in their expression of that opinion.”

     Cautiously, Sephiroth asked, “What do you think?”

     His handler shrugged. “It doesn't hurt me either way.”

     Sephiroth thought that was a bit of a lie, since Vincent always seemed angry whenever Jenova and Lucretia were brought up, but maybe it was the people themselves? Not that they had been wives? Instead of addressing that, though, he nodded quietly. After leaving his handler, he sent Genesis a message asking if the redhead liked him.

     The message was never answered, and Genesis never brought the subject up ever again, leaving Sephiroth feeling like he had definitely failed a test.

YEAR 22

     “You could have treated him.”

     Hojo looked up in annoyance at Valentine's voice. The Turk stood half in the shadows, eyes glittering amber. “You mean Hollander's failed experiment? And why, pray tell, would I bother with such things?” he acknowledged.

     “Because it would have made Sephiroth happy.”

     Rolling his eyes, Hojo turned back to his work.

     “Hojo.”

     “What exactly does he gain from the failure's presence?” he sneered. “Socialization? Isn't that why I keep you around, Valentine? A sparring partner? We've seen time and time again that Sephiroth is peerless in combat, no matter how much the failure struggles against him. There is no benefit to it. Nothing to gain.”

     A gun cocked. Sighing as he rolled his eyes, Hojo turned back to the Turk. “Do you really want to do this again, Valentine?”

     “You told me once that he was destined to be a god,” the Turk said, sides heaving and hand shaking as he resisted the years of conditioning to fall in line, “But gods have no need of wire mothers any more than cloth— there is no benefit to you.”

     Hojo blinked, raising an eyebrow and saying nothing. But Valentine didn't waver. In fact, the man seemed to be getting impressively steadier, the barrel of the gun no longer wavering, his breathing evening out.

     “... Explain your reasoning.” Hojo proposed, curious. The man had talked himself out of his conditioned avoidance of irritating Hojo— which meant the conditioned loyalty to Sephiroth had won out. And if that was the case, then he genuinely was curious. Did Sephiroth's most devoted acolyte see him as an obstacle to godhood? Or was some sliver of romantic still unquashed in Valentine's psyche?

     Either way, perhaps this was an experiment worth investigating...