Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Genesis was honestly at a loss.

He didn’t quite know what to expect when he arrived in the backwater village of Nibelheim, but a small, spiky-haired child swimming in a SOLDIER 1st uniform idly watching Phoenix burn the ShinRa mansion to the ground was not it. The boy didn’t notice him at first, seemingly content to watch the summon (how in the Goddess’s name had he managed to pull that off?) in its destruction. In fact, it wasn’t until Genesis stepped forward to stand almost abreast with him that the child turned his head and looked up at him. The boy’s eyes widened in shock for a moment before he grinned at the 1st.

“Oh, Genesis! I didn’t think you’d be here!”

What?

“Excuse me?” Genesis stuttered.

The kid’s smile faded slightly and his brow furrowed in thought before a panicked expression overtook the grin completely. It was then that Genesis registered the glowing mako-color of the child’s eyes. The SOLDIER reached out to grab the kid, but he bolted - or, at least tried to run. The boy had apparently forgotten that he was wearing clothing that was way too big for him and promptly tripped, face-planting into the snow. Genesis rushed to his side, helping the kid back up, only to jerk back when a small fist connected with his shoulder. The strike shoved him back enough for the child to get to his feet himself. Swearing, the 1st cast a Sleepel at the kid, cutting him off as he tried to shout something. The child’s face slammed into the snow for the second time in as many minutes and Genesis let out a long breath. What in Ifrit’s hell was he going to do now?

-_-_-_-

Cloud was annoyed.

He was tired, cold, achy, swimming in his clothing, and trekking through the Nibel wilderness in the middle of winter. He was stoically ignoring the bit of him that said, Just let Vincent carry you, he offered and you know he wouldn’t think less of you for it, because acknowledging it would be also acknowledging the fact that he was now probably under four feet tall. So, instead, he clomped through the snow and muttered swears that would make Cid proud under his breath as the unfairly tall man trailed him and watched on in concern.

Thankfully, their destination arose up from the rock in front of them: the Nibelheim reactor. Cloud let out a sigh of relief and picked up his pace, eager to get out of the wind.

“They don’t even have guards around their oh-so-precious reactor,” Cloud scoffed, wincing at how high his voice was.

Vincent merely hummed and readjusted Tsurugi on his back. Cloud had reluctantly given the man the sword - minus the two side blades that he and Zack were each wielding - to carry, seeing as his current height didn’t exactly lend itself to carrying a blade of its size. They ascended the stairs and pushed inside, leaving behind the howling wind for the silence of the interior. Cloud took a moment to shake the snow out of his hair and rub at his numb fingers, spying Vincent shaking out his cloak out of the corner of his eye.

“Come on, I don’t want to leave Zack waiting for too long.”

The man fell into step beside him as they pushed further in, his steps all but silent on the metal floor. Cloud could tell he had questions, more than the few they’d answered when they pulled him out of his coffin in the basement, but Cloud was content to wait until the man gathered his thoughts and asked them himself. Sure enough, Vincent spoke up as they entered the room full of Mako pods.

“Are you certain the other will be safe back at the mansion?” he settled on, voice echoing in the chamber.

“Of course,” Cloud answered, “Zack can take care of himself. Besides, wasn’t it you who was pushing for us to split up?”

Vincent fell silent, apparently not having a response to that. Cloud sighed and focused on making it up the stairs to the central chamber in his too-big boots. About half-way up, however, an arm snaked around his waist and hefted him up against a bony hip.

“Hey! What the fuck! Put me down!”

He flailed around, almost kicking one of his boots off as he tried to free himself from the hold. Unsuccessful, he tried to go for the blade in his harness, but couldn’t reach it with how he was being carried.

“Vincent, I swear to Odin if you don’t put me down right now-”

The man dropped him at the top of the stairs, cutting off his rant as he fell and barely managed to right himself to avoid face-planting into the metal. He whipped around, snarling as his hand clenched over the hilt of his blade, and barely manages to catch Vincent’s smirk before he dunks down behind his collar. The man moved forward and punched his access code into the keypad, the door swinging open after a soft beep. He stepped back and flourished at the entrance.

“After you,” he said, completely stoic.

Cloud snarled again and stomped forward, resisting the urge to flip his friend off (was Vincent still his friend?) as he passed. He continued until he reached the base of the pipe that snaked its way up to Hojo’s shrine. His emotions swirled into an ungodly mess in his chest, hate and anger and fear and contempt twisting around each other until they formed a heavy ball that threatened to choke him. His blood pounded in his ears and he took a deep breath to try and center himself. Vincent stepped up behind him, not quite hovering in reassurance.

Cloud straightened before speaking. “Let’s torch this bitch,” he said with a grin.

He heard Vincent’s huff of amusement as he raised his arm, summon materia glowing as he called on the entity sleeping within. Ifrit erupted into being with a roar before it launched itself at the effigy and into the tank hidden behind it, reducing everything to slag. Cloud turned, grabbing Vincent’s cloak and pulling the man back towards the entrance of the reactor.

“Come on! We don’t wanna be in here when this place comes down!”

They reached the top of the stairs just as the first explosion tore through the core, sending their clothes whipping in the generated wind and heat. Vincent didn’t waste any time, scooping Cloud up and leaping down the stairs before sprinting to the exit. The blond didn’t even bother to complain about the manhandling, too caught up in the thrill of the escape to think about what it meant for his current situation. The man moved through the door and cleared the stairs with a single leap, landing in the snow and continuing a few yards until they reached a safer distance.

Cloud continued to pump his mana down the connection between him and the summon, egging it on as it tore through the metal and caused the whole thing to collapse in a fiery show of power. He cheered and allowed Ifrit to create one final plume of flame to celebrate before it disappeared. Vincent sighed heavily but still didn’t put him back down.

“Uh, Vincent? You can put me down now.”

The man tightened his hold and struck out back down the path at a fast, but steady, pace.

“Vincent? I’m serious, I can walk. You don’t have to-”

“I thought you wanted to get back to your friend? It will take much less time if you allow me to carry you back down.”

Cloud seceded with a growl and crossed his arms, pointedly ignoring that he was pouting like the 7-year-old his body claimed him to be. Still, Vincent was right; he did want to get back to Zack as soon as possible. So, he shut up and tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position for the ride down.

They made good progress back down the mountain, Vincent seemingly having no trouble with the large drifts of snow and winding pathways. They were crossing the bridge when Cloud caught sight of smoke rising from the direction of town. He frowned and shoved his knee into Vincent’s side.

“Hurry up, we wanna get back to him and get out of town before the civilians get over their fear and investigate the fire,” he said.

Vincent gave him a look, but picked up the pace anyway. They were practically flying now, and Cloud was kinda enjoying the wind on his face. It reminded him of long deliveries when it was just him, the road, and Fenrir, which then just made him angry all over again. He gripped the hilt of his blade, the leather creaking under his hand and he took a deep breath, trying to settle himself. It took longer than it should have. Why did it take so long? Was it his younger body? He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Now that he wasn’t so worried about the immediate demise of everything he had failed to save before, he was able to focus on his current bodily situation.

He was a child, physically, even though his mind was unchanged from his 25-year-old self. He had his enhancements, but what was that worth when he couldn’t wear his own clothing, couldn’t wield his own Odin-damned sword? No one would take him - them, Zack was here too - seriously. He’d have to convince Vincent to stay around to travel with them to avoid attracting the attention a couple of kids would get for traveling alone and armed. It was the reminder that he wasn’t alone in his plight, that Zack was waiting for him back down at the mansion, that pulled him back from the rising panic attack. He could have a breakdown later, after they’d reunited and gotten the fuck out of this damn village.

They arrived at the burning mansion right as the roof finally caved in, sending a flurry of smoke and sparks swirling into the sky. Cloud wiggled in Vincent’s grip, wanting to be let down to go look for his friend, and the man obliged. The moment his feet hit the ground, he was moving, eyes peeled for a head of spiky black hair.

“Zack? I thought you were gonna wait for us to get back to set the thing on fire?” he called.

There was no answer other than the crackling of the flames. Cloud bit his lip. Zack was probably just on the other side of the mansion. It made sense; being behind the building meant that the people coming up from the village wouldn’t run right into him when they came to investigate. He started walking around, feeling Vincent fall into step behind him.

They reached the other side of the building, and there was still no sign of Zack. Cloud tried to shove down the building panic as he walked, stumbling more in his oversized shoes as he kept moving. They reached the front again. No Zack.

“Zack! I’m serious, this isn’t funny!” His voice cracked on the last word, his throat closing up. “You can prank me again later but we have to get moving! We, we have to…”

His breaths were coming in heaving gasps now. His vision swam and it was an effort to keep his feet underneath him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he tried to shake it off, only for his balance to finally fail him. He landed hard in the partially-melted snow, gasping at the sudden cold on his arms and hands.

“Zack…”

He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. His head felt too light and too heavy at the same time. He should have been worried by how easily the panic overwhelmed him, how tears poured down his face and how he cried heaving sobs into the snow. But all he could think about was the glaring absence. Zack was gone.

-_-_-_-

Vincent was decidedly, thoroughly, and completely out of his depth.

He’d felt that way since two children tore the lid off of his coffin and declared their intentions to burn down the mansion, with or without his help. He had been justifiably skeptical until the smaller child had opened his mouth and started talking about Hojo and Lucrecia, how they planned to destroy everything the hated man had ever worked towards and save the woman’s son. He hadn’t believed them, not really, but the very knowledge of those people, of his own desires, had been enough to get him up and moving.

He’d gotten a better look at the two after that - noting their oversized clothing and the way-too-big sword that the blond was toting around - and had grown suspicious. The way they attacked the equipment in the lab proper and their eerie, glowing eyes had only cemented his conclusion: these two boys had been lab experiments of Hojo’s. There was no way the clear rage in their motions as they wrecked the lab was anything but personal. However, that meant that these two boys had been here, been suffering while Vincent was sleeping the time away in a gods-damned coffin only a hundred yards away. The self-loathing and anger that had filled him made his hands shake, tore his focus from his current task (he was already trying very hard not to think about the howling of voices not his own in the back of his head) so he’d shoved those thoughts into a mental box to be fully considered later.

He’d also been surprised that the reactor held a target of theirs, but considering the troubles the Jenova specimen had caused even back before his long sleep (how long has it truly been?) and the importance of it to Hojo, he was willing to humor the children and help them. His trek up to the reactor had gone on much too long, the blond child’s - Cloud, the other had introduced him as - refusal to be carried or to locate proper clothing hampering their pace. Their actual time in the reactor was negligible with the boy’s summon making quick work of the specimen and reactor both, and the trek down was significantly faster once he’d allowed Vincent to carry him.

Now, he stood there trying to decide if it would be appropriate for him to offer comfort to Cloud as he kneeled there sobbing in the snow. This was decidedly not in his skill set; being a Turk and then a science experiment didn’t require him to know how to comfort a crying child. Still, he had to try. The boy had risked his life waking him, going against the man who had hurt him so much, then making the trek up a treacherous mountain just to spend a few minutes destroying a dead body in revenge only to have his world ripped out from under him. He deserved to be comforted. Didn’t mean Vincent had any idea how to, though.

He shifted on his feet and flexed his hands before coming to a decision. Vincent knelt down next to Cloud, his cloak pooling around him, and set his gloved hand on the child’s back. The boy’s form twitches under his hand, tensing up before relaxing.

So far, so good.

Vincent starts rubbing his thumb in circles and shifts to get a bit more comfortable. “He could not have gotten far. Most likely, someone from the village came up to investigate and took him back with them.”

Cloud’s sobs have started to die off, the hitching of his breath calming down. “Yeah…” he mumbles, sniffing. He straightens from his hunched-over position and rubs at his face with his too-big shirt. “I’m a fucking mess.”

Vincent can’t help but chuckle a bit at the boy’s blunt words. “I would say it is perfectly justified, considering the circumstances.”

Cloud sniffled again, then growled and shrugged off the hand still rubbing circles into his back. Vincent took the hint and removed his hand, standing back up. “Let’s head into the village and see what we can find.”

“No, no I can’t.” Cloud was shaking his head, his whole body a bundle of tension. “You can go check it out but I can’t. I’ll just stay here.”

That was strange. The child knew that the village was the best bet to finding his friend. He should be charging ahead, barely waiting for Vincent to follow, not pushing the man to go alone.

“Are you certain? I assumed you would want to find your friend as fast as possible?”

Cloud was still looking down and he rubbed at his arms, the skin finally starting to redden from the cold. He took a deep breath, seemingly settling himself, and looked up at the man. His eyes shone with resolve.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want you getting chased out of town for child neglect if you walked in with me dressed like this.” He gestured at his unexplained, oversized clothing. “Besides, they’ll be talking to you about stuff anyways; you’re the adult.”

There was something bitter in his tone that Vincent chose to ignore for the time being. He resisted the urge to put his hand on the child’s shoulder, choosing to nod instead.

“I shall head into town, then. I will inquire about unusual happenings beyond the burning of the mansion and see what I can find.”

The boy nodded but furrowed his brow as well. “Why not just ask about Zack?”

“Considering you do not wish to enter the village, I am assuming that you wish to avoid as much attention as you can. By asking about a child fitting your friend’s description in town, it would be drawing attention to him. However, the village is small enough that anyone finding a child by a burning mansion would be news and I, a traveling hunter, would be able to learn of it by inquiring about any interesting happenings.”

Cloud blinked at him before he laughed, something close to fondness on his face. “I didn’t even think of that. Thanks, Vincent.”

Vincent found himself ducking his face behind his collar, unused to such warm reception of his ideas. Cloud laughed at him again, so he turned around, sending his cloak whipping around his body. He pulled the sword off his back and stabbed it into the ground before making to leave.

“Wait!” Cloud went digging through one of his pockets. “Get some supplies while you’re there. I’m getting cold and don’t really want to wait until we hit another town to get fitting clothing.” He pulled out a wallet and held it out to the man. “Don’t lose this.”

Vincent took the item and slid it into one of his own pockets, nodding to the boy. “I shall return posthaste. Please find some shelter; I do not want to have to treat you for frostbite.”

He set out towards the village, catching the child’s “Yeah, yeah” as he left. The wind sent his cloak flapping but failed to penetrate his layers of clothing. Not for the first time since waking up, Vincent wondered why Hojo had bothered to dress him before throwing him in that coffin. Of course, that thought started him down a long train of things he was purposely avoiding thinking about, so he strangled the vein before it could send him into a rage or fuel the things rattling the bars of their cages in his head.

Arriving in the village, he immediately spied a group of people clustered around the base of the water town talking in hushed tones. The moment he recognized their conversation, he found he could hear their words.

“-hope ShinRa won’t blame us for the mansion.”

“Why would they? That SOLDIER was here to investigate the monster attacks and he told us that the monsters were the ones to set the building alight.”

“He’s still ShinRa though. Those types are all the same.”

“Why do you think he was asking about a kid though?”

“Oh, I hope he didn’t find-”

Vincent tore his attention away from the conversation, walking quickly to the building with the worn sign proclaiming it the inn. He could still hear the people talking like he was right next to them.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

Luckily, the sound cut out mostly when he entered the building and he could refocus on the task at hand. He walked right up to the counter and knocked his knuckles on the wood, waiting for someone to help him.

“I’ll be right with you!” A voice called out from what Vincent assumed was the kitchen. It was a few more seconds before a woman poked her head out. “Oh, what can I do for you, sir? A room?”

Vincent waved her off. “I’m just passing through. I was wondering about the best place to pick up some trail rations and maybe some camping supplies? I lost my gear and I’m in a sort of a rush.”

She nodded and smiled at him. “Not the first time this has happened. The store next door should have gear and trail rations. If you need something warmer, I’d check there as well, though he might send you over to the Strife woman.”

He blinked. “The ‘Strife woman’?”

The innkeeper sneered. “The only seamstress in town. She does good work, but don’t let that fool you! She’s a witch and she’s passing it down to that little, troublemaking bastard of hers.”

The woman all but growled the last few words, Vincent recoiling a bit at the intensity of her opinion.

“Well, I thank you for your advice. I think I’ll be on my way now.”

Vincent left quickly, unwilling to get involved in small-town politics and suddenly starting to understand Cloud’s avoidance of the village. He walked next door to the store and began glancing over the shelves, looking for what they’d need to get to the next town. As he did so, he pulled out the borrowed wallet and opened it to check how much gil he was working with. To his surprise, there was more than enough for some basic supplies. He also spied what looked like an ID with a very familiar face on it, and decided to ask the child about it when he returned.

Unfortunately, the store did not stock clothing, which meant another stop for him. He sighed and began to gather up what he could find. When he was done, he brought his purchases to the counter, and the clerk only eyed him for a second before ringing him up.

“So… in town for a while?” He asked.

Vincent hummed before responding. “Nope, just passing through.”

The clerk grumbled under his breath, but Vincent was able to catch him say “No one stayin’ in this town these days.”

“A lot of travelers recently?” he asked, sensing his opportunity.

“Huh?” The clerk looked up, surprised, before he shrugged and continued. “You’re the second one passing through today. First was a bonafide SOLDIER 1st Class, on his way to and from a ‘monster elimination mission’, his words, not mine.”

Gotcha.

“A SOLDIER? That must have caused quite the stir.”

The clerk snorted. “You betcha. Handsome fellow, with that red hair and crimson jacket. I don’t remember his name, but he sure worried the lot of us with his asking about some missing kid.”

“Missing kid?”

“Yeah, he came back into town after the mansion had been burnin’ for a while. Was right frantic, in fact. He asked if anyone had a missing kid with ‘spiky’ black hair and a scar on his face, and, well, that certainly don’t sound like no kid ‘round here, so he got a few things from here and skedaddled.” The clerk narrowed his eyes at Vincent. “You wouldn’t know anythin’ ‘bout that, now would ya?”

Vincent raised his hands in a placating gesture, then quickly lowered his left hand when he remembered the gauntlet adorning it. “I’m afraid not. I’ve been out hunting on my way down south.”

The clerk hummed and finished wrapping his items up. Vincent passed over the required amount of gil and picked up the parcel. He went to leave but remembered he had one more thing to do in town. He turned back around.

“Would you know where to acquire clothing suited for this weather? My companion was not expecting how cold it would be.”

The clerk blinked at him, before getting a look on his face like he’d just smelled something foul.

“I don’t have any stock at the moment, so ya’ best bet is seeing if Claudia Strife has anything she’s willing to part with on short notice. You’ll find her house down main street to the left. It’s quite a small place and looks a tad rundown. You can’t miss it.”

Vincent nodded his thanks and left the store, tucking his chin down into his collar against the wind. He followed the directions, soon coming across a cottage that met the description. He approached carefully and knocked at the door. There was light shining through the windows, flickering in a way that meant lanterns or a fire. The door opened and revealed a woman with light blonde hair, something about her seeming very familiar.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Vincent cleared his throat. “Claudia Strife, I presume?”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I am traveling with my… nephew and I’m afraid he doesn’t have anything suitable for this weather. I was told you would be the best bet for acquiring children’s clothing?”

Claudia smiled. “Yes, you heard correctly. Come in, come in. I’ll see if I can find anything.”

She backed away from the door, waving him in behind her. He stepped into the cottage, wiping off his boots on the entrance mat, and took in the interior. It was small but cozy; a kitchen area to the right with a small dining area and a seating area in front of the fire to the left. A set of stairs was set into the wall all the way to the left, leading to what Vincent assumed was the bedrooms. Claudia had moved into the kitchen and was bustling around.

“Feel free to sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll make you some tea for you to drink while I’m looking for things for you.”

Vincent blinked. “That is quite hospitable of you, ma’am, but unnecessary.”

“Nonsense. It’s cold as Shiva’s scorn out there; you must be freezing. I sure hope this nephew of yours is out of the chill.”

The man moved further into the cottage, taking a cautious seat in one of the chairs by the fire to wait.

“How big is your nephew? If he’s the right size, I might have something of my son’s lying around that he’s too big for.”

Vincent thought for a second. “He’s about waist high on me… maybe around four feet tall?”

Claudia hummed and picked up the kettle just as it started whistling. “I think I have something lying around then. Speaking of my son, Cloud!” She directed the call towards the stairs. “Come down! And bring down some of your old winter stuff, please!”

What?

“Sure thing, Ma!” a familiar-sounding, young voice shouted back.

Vincent found himself reeling. When Claudia came around with a cup of steaming tea, he managed to pull himself back enough to thank her and blow on the hot drink before sipping it. He tried not to think about how this was the first thing he’d had to drink in years (perhaps decades). He almost choked on it, however, when a child bounded down the stairs with his arms full of clothing.

“I grabbed everything I still had, Ma. I hope this is enough.”

Claudia smiled at him. “It’s plenty, Stormcloud. I’m sure Mr…. I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?”

Vincent realized she was asking him a question, but his eyes were focused on the boy. His hair was the same, if a little longer than that of the boy he’d left by the mansion. He was taller too, older, but without that old, worn look to him. In addition, when this “Cloud” turned to look at him, his eyes were blue, but absent of the familiar mako glow. The kid was looking at him, head tilted in confusion and Vincent realized he’d been silent for too long. He tore his eyes away from the look-alike and back to the woman. He could see the resemblance now; the color of their hair was the same, and they shared their nose and face shape. He took a breath to steady himself and answered the question.

“Valentine, Ma’am.”

She smiled and nodded. “Mr. Valentine.”

The boy-who-might-be-Cloud stopped looking at him and smiled at his mother. “Where do you want these?”

“Oh, just set them down here on the ground, Cloud. We’ll go through them and decide what Mr. Valentine wants to take.”

The boy nodded and stepped forward, setting the pile down where his mother indicated, and stepped back. “Do I need to stay around, Ma?”

“No, sweetie, you can head back to your room. I’ll call you again if we need anything.”

The child nodded at her then turned back to Vincent. “It was nice to meet you, Sir,” he said.

Vincent swallowed before answering, “Nice to meet you as well, Cloud.”

The boy smiled at him - it was wide and open, not at all like the soft one of the smaller boy waiting by the mansion - and went bounding back up the stairs. Vincent refocused on the pile of clothing and the woman sitting next to him.

“Now, why don’t we sort through this mess?” she asked.

The man nodded in answer and picked up the first item to investigate.

It didn’t take long for them to work their way through the small pile, most of the items being deemed unnecessary for such a short time being spent in the current climate. He did take a couple pairs of pants and shirts, along with a jacket that would probably be just a bit too big. At his request, Claudia also produced a pair of socks and old boots for him to take. Vincent thanked her profusely and insisted on paying her, despite her argument that the clothing was old and would probably be given away anyways. He bundled the clothing up with his other purchases and made for the door.

“Thank you again, Ms. Strife. It was incredibly generous of you to give me these.”

“Oh, it was no problem at all, Mr. Valentine. Anything to help a man concerned for his nephew. Give the boy my well-wishes, will you?”

Vincent smiled at her and nodded before exiting the cottage. He spotted yet another group of people gathered by the water tower and looking at him, but he ignored their stares as he walked out of town, leaving them behind to whisper about his visit.

He mulled over what he learned as he walked, trying to order it in his head. A SOLDIER 1st Class showed up to town on a “monster elimination mission” and had returned after the mansion burned down, frantic and asking about a missing child matching Zack’s description. This SOLDIER had red hair and was wearing a bright red jacket. He was also most likely the one behind Zack’s disappearance, having found the boy at the site of the burning building and taking him. In addition, he had found a family in town with a young boy who looked remarkably like the enhanced boy he’d left behind at the mansion, going as far as sharing his name. This reminded him of the ID he’d seen inside the borrowed wallet, and he maneuvered his packages around until he could get the item out of his pocket.

He opened the wallet and stared at the ID. The picture looked like Cloud - both of them - but it was a man depicted there. He was wearing black clothing that greatly resembled the oversized outfit his Cloud was wearing, and his haircut also matched almost perfectly. In addition, his eyes had that strange glint that indicated mako glow in pictures. The name on the ID: “Cloud Strife”.

What have you gotten yourself into, Vincent?

He put the wallet away, taking a breath to settle himself before picking up his pace. Half-formed ideas and conclusions filled his thoughts. He felt his pulse rising as certain “less than savory” conclusions formed, his rage building and the things in his head growling and pushing at him to rip and tear the accursed man limb from limb. He has to wrench his thoughts away, toss his demons back in their cages with promises of later before he could continue moving.

He reaches the mansion relatively quickly and casts a look around to try and find Cloud. He finds the boy sitting in the partially collapsed stable by a crackling fire. He looks up at the man’s approach and waves.

“Took you long enough! I was starting to get worried!”

His smile faded as Vincent got closer and didn’t respond, a wary look overtaking the relief.

“Vincent…? Are you okay?”

The man took another breath, realizing that his anger was still boiling through his veins.

“I’m fine, Cloud.” He separated the bundle of clothing from his package of supplies and passed it to the boy. “Here, I found these for you.”

Cloud took the bundle, his brow furrowed in concern, and began going through the clothing. “I hope you had enough gil. I don’t remember how much I had on me.”

“It was more than sufficient,” Vincent answered, still standing.

The boy cast another look at him, then shrugged. “Where’d you get all of this, by the way? I don’t remember Nibelheim having that much in the way of clothing stores, and this all looks used.” He stopped at the boots, staring at them with a contemplative look on his face.

“They didn’t. I was directed to the house of the local seamstress and she was kind enough to sell some of her son’s old things to me.”

Cloud tensed up, his fists clenching, and reached for his sword. “Vincent…”

“Who are you, Cloud?” Vincent couldn’t contain his questions anymore. “I met a young boy who looks exactly like you, minus the scars and mako eyes, and shares your name. There’s an ID in that wallet that has a picture of a man on it, sharing his name with that boy and I assume you as well. He looks like you, wearing what you’re wearing, has equivalent enhancements.”

Cloud has gotten to his feet, his sword out in a ready position and eyes wild. His breathing has picked up, borderline hyperventilating, and his whole body a line of tension.

“Vincent-”

“Are you a clone? Did Hojo kidnap some poor SOLDIER and clone him to make you? Did he steal you from that village? Is that boy in danger of getting stolen now that you’ve escaped? Who is Cloud Strife?” He’s shouting now, all the anger and trepidation and revulsion he’s been feeling for the past few hours coalescing into something else in his chest. The things in his head snarl and scrape at their cages.

“I am Cloud Strife!” Cloud shouts back, tears gathering and falling from his eyes. Vincent stops, lets some of his emotions go as he observes the boy. The tension runs out of Cloud’s body and he slumps over, dropping the sword from its position. “I’m Cloud Strife,” he repeats softly. “But so is that boy in the village.”

Vincent stares at him, uncomprehending. Cloud scrubs at his face, snarling at the wetness he finds there. “Damn this fucking body,” he mutters, sitting back down.

“I don’t understand…” Vincent says weakly, all the fight having gone out from him.

“I’m from the future, Vincent. I’m supposed to be 25.”

Vincent stares at him more, processing what he’s hearing before something occurs to him. “...Zack?” he asks.

Cloud lets out a weak chuckle. “Him too, though he’d be 27 if he’d lived. Was probably supposed to turn up physically 23, considering that’s when he died.”

That… didn’t clear anything up. Still, there was one question forming in his mind that he was almost afraid to ask. “So… why did you two come back in time? Why are you children?”

Cloud heaved a world-weary sigh that wouldn’t be out of place on a man twenty years his senior. “That… is a long story. Might as well sit down, Vincent Valentine. If you want to hear all of it, we’ll be here for a while.”

Chapter Text

Zack wakes to the smell of apples and cinnamon. He wrinkles his nose at the offending scent and wiggles in place, suddenly aware of the bed beneath him and the blankets tucked around him.

Wait. Blankets?

His eyes shoot open and he sits up, panicked. The last thing he remembered-

“Awake at last, are we?” The familiar voice comes from his right, faintly amused, and Zack launches himself off the opposite side of the bed, tucking into a roll and turning around to press his back against the wall. He raises his hands into the ready position Angeal had drilled into his head and glares in full force at the SOLDIER blinking at him from his seat.

“Now, now, there’s no need for hostility. I-”

“You’re the one who kidnapped me,” Zack says, crouching down further into his stance. “I think I’m entitled to a little ‘hostility’.”

Genesis balks, apparently not expecting that kind of response, before he returns the glare and stands up. “Now, you listen here, you cretin. You were alone, outside, in the middle of winter on that Goddess-forsaken mountain with ill-fitting clothing.”

The man stalks around the bed, not breaking eye contact. His hand twitches and flexes in a motion that Zack recognizes as him trying to suppress the urge to launch a firaga at something. “Not to mention that I caught you burning down ShinRa property. Proper procedure would be to bring you in for such crimes, regardless of your apparent age.”

Zack scoffs and sets his shoulders back, rolling his eyes at the man. Genesis’s eyes blaze and he throws himself forward, shouting “You ungrateful brat!” as he does so.

It’s simple enough for Zack to roll forward once more, diving between the man’s legs and popping up behind him (he was honestly impressed that Genesis had enough restraint to not toss a firaga at him). He runs to the door, opens it, and throws a quick look back into the room. Genesis was picking himself up from the ungraceful sprawl he’d ended up in, turning around as he did so to find the boy he’d just been trying to strangle. Zack waits until the man spots him to leave, giving him a cheeky grin before darting out the door and into the unknown beyond. He skids down a hallway and finds a set of stairs, then throws himself down them. He arrives in a living room with a kitchen and dining area on the far side of the room. However, he doesn’t have more time to examine the layout, as two figures were suddenly moving towards him, talking.

Zack was moving to evade even as he cataloged who exactly he was looking at. He sees black, but a shock of silver draws his eyes away from the second figure and he finds himself staring down Sephiroth. He feels his breathing pick up as he tries to process what he’s seeing.

Of course Sephiroth would be here. Cloud and he had figured out approximately when they'd popped up; the presence of a pre-teen Cloud in Nibelheim had put their arrival smack in the middle of the Wutai War. Seeing Genesis, alive, whole, and not stark-raving mad cemented the fact in his head. Still, he'd forgotten that the redhead had been kind of friends with the General, and he snarls out a curse as he positions himself in the corner he determines as the most easily defensible position in the room. Zack could have kicked himself; there was no way Genesis wouldn't have involved his fellows in a situation like this.

Wait. But that means…

He peels his gaze from the Demon - the man was saying something to him, his familiar baritone sending spikes of dread through him even as he crept forwards ever so slowly - and lets his eyes fully settle on the other person in the room. He takes in the uniform, the sword hilt poking out over his shoulder, before allowing his gaze to land on the man's face. Angeal Hewley stares back at him, eyes soft in sympathy as he mirrors Sephiroth's movements on the other side of the room while speaking in smooth, soothing tones.

Zack feels his breath hitch. His vision goes blurry and he can’t tear his eyes from his old mentor's face, not even to keep an eye on the other approaching man. His throat closes up and he’s dimly aware of Genesis finally reaching the room, swearing up a storm, but he can’t look away. Tears streaming down his face, he launches himself at Angeal, desperate to make sure the man was real. He catches Zack easily, letting out a grunt, but quickly wraps his arms around his too-small form.

The hug feels like coming home. It's been years since he's felt the sturdy breadth of his mentor pressed against him, had his arms holding him tightly, smelled his subtle cologne. Tears flowing freely, Zack finally allows himself to break down and he lets out a heaving sob. Large hands rub at his back and the body shifts beneath him as Angeal stands up. The man's deep voice continues to murmur soothing tones into his ear, but all Zack can focus on is the fact that his mentor is here.

Dimly, he hears the other two in the room talking, probably about him and his strange behavior. Zack lets out a wet laugh and grips the man tighter.

"Now, now, let's go sit down. It's okay. I know this all is probably a lot for you," Angeal says, his voice rumbling in his chest. They move, the man's steps sending small shocks through him as he walks. They stop, and Zack feels himself tilt a bit as the man lowers them down onto what must be the couch.

It takes a while for Zack's tears to start to run out, but Angeal comforts him the whole time, rubbing his back and humming something that tickles his memory. When he finally quiets, the man loosens his hold and Zack allows himself to release the death grip he had on his shirt. He avoids his mentor's gaze, looking down at the wet patch he'd left on the man’s shirt and sniffling.

"Are you feeling better?" Angeal asks softly.

Zack lets out a wet chuckle before answering, "Yeah…" and looking up to meet the man's eyes.

Angeal smiles, though there’s something off about the way he makes eye contact. Zack looks away quickly and ducks his head.

"Why were you upset? Was Genesis mean to you?"

The aforementioned man sputters somewhere in front of him even as Zack laughs a bit. He’s suddenly aware that they’re seated on the couch in the living room and he spots Genesis and an intrigued-looking Sephiroth seated at a dining table by the kitchen.

"I… I missed you," he finally says, too focused on eyeing the men at the table for signs of imminent insanity to really pay attention to what he was saying. The way Angeal tenses under him tips him off that he'd said something wrong, though.

"What do you mean, kiddo?"

Zack can hear the note of worry, of tension, in his voice and he suddenly realizes something. He was in the past. He was in the past as a child and, despite his own memories, these people don't know him. He shouldn't know them. The thought shakes something loose in his head and suddenly he’s hyperventilating. He can't do this, can't be here with these people he once knew but don't know him.

Memories flash by: fire and burning apples, wings, the cold, talk of angels and monsters. The scar on his face stings like it had when he first got it and he rips himself away from the man he'd just been crying on. He’s dimly aware of their shouts of surprise, of grasping hands trying to reach him, hold him, but he ignores them. He’s back in his earlier corner, trying desperately to pull air into his lungs through his closing throat. Words echo in his head, Angeal’s voice, rasping out his final words.

“Protect your honor, always…”

He lets out a choked sob, new tears somehow springing from his eyes despite how many he had just shed. There’s motion in front of him, a smudged figure speaking in concerned tones, and he strikes out with a foot, hitting something soft. There’s a familiar grunt and a new wave of panic washes over him. He lets out a cry and bolts past the form, his vision blurred into a mess of colors. Voices crash over him, overlapping so he can barely track the words.

“-keep him from running-”

“-did you do now?”

“-I don’t know what happened he just-”

Zack almost trips over something and, as his hand shoots out to stabilize him, he realizes he’s made his way back to the stairs. He senses people closing in on him and bolts back up, feeling like he’s flying - the thought drags another sob out of him - as he dodges the reaching hands. There’s only one open door in the hallway and he runs towards it, throwing the door closed behind him and diving underneath the bed. He pulls himself as far underneath as he can, pressing himself up against the wall and curling up into a ball.

Within moments, the door flings open and he sees three pairs of boots enter the room. Zack tries to muffle his breathing, suddenly very aware of the way his heart is pounding in his ears. One pair of boots stays at the door - non-standard issue and heeled - and the other two pairs separate to approach him on either side of the bed. He can’t keep both of them in view and he loses the battle to his lungs, his breaths coming back in full, shuttering force. They stop, and, for a moment, it seems like he might be left alone, then the pair to his right shifts and the man kneels, revealing canvas pants. The concerned face of Angeal enters his view and his heart climbs into his throat.

“It’s alright, kiddo. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“STOP!” Zack shouts, unable to keep the outburst in.

The hand that’s reaching out freezes and pity fills his mentor’s - not his mentor, not his - face. Zack snarls and pushes further back into the wall.

“Just, go away! Let me go! Let me go back to Cloud!”

Angeal’s eyes flick over towards the door, communicating something with the man still standing there, before he looks back at Zack. He scoots closer, reaching out again.

“I’m sorry, we really can’t let you go. Not until we know more about why you were there.”

A motion out of the corner of his eye has him turning his head a bit, seeing leather-clad knees and then silver, and his breath hitches as he realizes that Sephiroth is on the other side of the bed, boxing him in. His panic rises further, his vision tunneling and focusing on those green, slit eyes as soon as they drop down into view. He whips his head back to see the reaching hand and the image of a different time - a different place where his mentor lies there, color washed out and dying by his hand - imposes itself over his vision. He can’t stop the shout that escapes him.

“NO! Stop! Go away! I don’t want to kill you again!”

-_-_-_-

Sephiroth still isn’t quite sure what happened.

One minute, he and Angeal are examining the strange blade that the enhanced child had on him when Genesis found him, and the next he’s attempting to calm said enhanced child down from what appears to be a panic attack. The boy had rocketed down the stairs at an alarming speed only to screech to a halt upon seeing them in the living room and dart into a corner. Sephiroth crouched down a bit, trying not to loom over the child, and the wide, mako-blue eyes immediately met his. The boy’s breathing was picking up in his sudden panic, his heart beating out of his chest and Sephiroth suddenly realized that this child was terrified of him.

“You’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, slowly working his way towards the child, trying not to make any sudden movements.

“I’m sorry we scared you-” Angeal adds, mirroring Sephiroth’s movements on the other side of the room, “-but we really just want to help you.”

The words don’t seem to reach the boy, his breaths quick and shuddering as he stares Sephiroth down. Then, something changes, his eyes turning to Angeal. His breath hitches and the fear on his face twists into a mix of sadness and pain that could only be grief. Tears start gathering and falling from his eyes.

There’s a swear from the stairs and Sephiroth risks a glance back, seeing Genesis descending them in a flurry of motion, spewing obscenities all the while. At the sound of a sob, Sephiroth turns his gaze back to the boy just in time to watch him throw himself at Angeal, the man stumbling back a bit and letting out a grunt at the sheer force of the child’s impact. He wraps his arms around the kid as he sobs into his shoulder.

The man casts a panicked look at the other two in the room before he starts to soothe the sobbing child, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words into his ear. He stands up, adjusting his hold on the boy. Sephiroth exchanges a look with a confused Genesis and the two make their way to the large table in the dining area, sitting down.

“What did you do to him?” Genesis asks, a slight snarl in his voice.

Sephiroth sighs and rubs at his brow. “Nothing that I can think of. He came down the stairs and froze at the sight of us, then put himself into that corner. He was… scared of me, I think, and on the verge of a panic attack.”

Genesis scowls and presses a hand to his chin. “So… what? Is Angeal protecting him from the big bad Silver General?”

“No… maybe, I don't know. I don’t think it registered that there was someone else down here at first. Then, when he saw Angeal, he just…” Sephiroth waved a hand at the other 1st, the man carrying the boy to the couch and sitting down.

“Hmmm,” Genesis hums, furrowing his brow in thought. “Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess.”

“It, well, from where I was it looked like the boy knew him.”

The other man cocks his head in question.

“Before he launched himself at him, I could have sworn I saw grief on his face.”

Genesis lets out a puff of air and sits back in his chair. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

The boy’s cries were dying out now, mere sniffles as opposed to the heaving sobs they’d been a few minutes prior.

“You saw how bright his eyes were, didn’t you,” Genesis asks quietly.

Sephiroth nods. “Yes. I don’t like what it implies, either.”

“Why were you upset? Was Genesis mean to you?” Angeal asks suddenly, and the two realize that the boy has stopped crying and removed himself from the man’s shoulder.

Genesis sputters in outrage and the child lets out a few quiet laughs. He blinks and turns his gaze to the two SOLDIERs sitting at the table, apparently just then realizing they were there.

“I… I missed you,” the boy says, still focused on the other two.

Sephiroth is 98 percent certain that none of them have ever seen the child, let alone met him before. And yet…

“What do you mean, kiddo?” Angeal asks, tension filling his voice.

The boy freezes as if realizing his slip-up and his breathing picks up again. They watch as he tears himself from Angeal’s arms and leaps back to the same corner of the room. Angeal shouts in surprise and stands up, already trying to calm the child back down. Sephiroth stands up, Genesis mirroring his actions and all three begin trying to get closer to the now-hyperventilating boy.

He’s crying again, new tears dripping down his red face as he lets out heaving, gasping sobs, pressing himself further into the corner. Angeal reaches him and attempts to lay a calming hand on the boy’s arm, but the child lashes out with his foot, landing a solid blow on the man and darting back towards the stairs.

“What did you do now?” “Why didn’t you keep him from running?” Genesis and Sephiroth speak in unison, already moving to chase after the boy.

“I don’t know what happened, he just started freaking out again,” Angeal answers, running with them.

They follow the child up the stairs and down the hallway, seeing the one open door slam shut just before they reach it. Angeal flings the door open and they move into the room. Sephiroth hears the boy’s shallow breaths under the bed, as well as his attempt to muffle them upon their entrance. He shares a look with the other two and Angeal and he split off to work their way on either side of the bed, Genesis remaining at the door to catch him if he tries to run again. Angeal crouches down first, kneeling all the way over to see the child under the bed.

“It’s alright, kiddo,” he says, voice calm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“STOP!” the boy yells, cutting Angeal off. Sephiroth can’t see his friend’s face, but he can imagine the expression on it.

The child snarls and says, “Just, go away! Let me go! Let me go back to Cloud!”

Sephiroth stops, struck by the image of the blond man from his dreams and the memory of his name on his lips, dripping with contempt and sadistic pleasure.

That name, how does he know that name?

He’s able to tear himself out of his head in time to realize Angeal had responded to the boy. He catches a look from Genesis and kneels down to get a look under the bed. The child has pushed himself as far back as he can go, pressing up against the wall. He’s already looking at Sephiroth, the glow of his eyes only even more pronounced in the shadows. That same terrified expression fills his face. He can hear the boy’s heart beating far too fast. Angeal shifts on the other side of the bed and the child swings his gaze back over. Something seems to come over him, if the way his breath hitches is any indication.

“NO! Stop! Go away! I don’t want to kill you again!” the boy shouts, his eyes squeezing shut as he curls up even further.

A ringing silence fills the room, the three SOLDIERs struggling to process what they’ve just heard. Genesis apparently recovers first, if the way the boy suddenly collapses into sleep - the work of a well-cast sleepel - is any indication. All three of them remain in place, the boy’s last words still running through their heads, before Angeal finally moves. He reaches out and carefully pulls the child from under the bed, gathering him in his arms and setting him back on top of it. Sephiroth himself takes a few seconds to settle before standing up. He looks at the boy sleeping peacefully on the bed, tear tracks staining his still-red face. Angeal runs a hand through his spiky black hair before giving Sephiroth a look. He’s sure that his usual mask is cracked enough for the other to see how shaken he is.

“Well, that was certainly something,” says Genesis. “How about we let him sleep up here and go over what we know downstairs.”

Sephiroth just nods, not trusting his voice at the moment, and follows his friends out of the room. He casts one last look at the sleeping boy, something about his hair and the scar on his face causing a spark of recognition in his head. He frowns but resolves to pull on that particular thread later, and exits the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He makes his way back down the hallway and descends the stairs. Angeal sits at the table, head in his hands, and Genesis bustles around in the kitchen. Sephiroth sits down heavily next to his friend, slumping forward in a rare showing of improper posture. He startles a bit when Genesis sets a glass of water down in front of him, a pinched look on his face. He does the same for Angeal before collapsing into his own chair and wrapping his hands around his glass.

“That was… something,” Genesis repeats.

Angeal lets out a snort and rubs at his eyes before letting his hands drop to the table and slumping back bonelessly. “I don’t even know where to start with all that,” he says.

They all look down at the table, trying to make sense of the boy’s words. Sephiroth takes a sip of his water and clears his throat. The other two look up at him.

“Maybe we should start at the beginning, go through all of our information in order and get on the same page,” he says. The other two nod in confirmation and Angeal turns his eyes to Genesis, waiting for the man to start.

“Well, I was given a mission to eliminate some monsters giving the local hunters trouble around Nibelheim. I’d never heard of the place before, but it’s apparently of quite importance to ShinRa. It’s the site of the very first reactor, did you know?” He pauses, taking a sip of water, then continues. “There’s also a mansion there, very old and supposedly abandoned. It belongs to ShinRa as well.”

Angeal opens his mouth, clearly going to tell his friend to “get on with it”, but Genesis cuts him off before he can get the words out.

“This is relevant. I had gone up the mountain towards the reactor to look for signs of the supposed monsters, only to find nothing but tracks of passing people. I started to return to the village when I saw smoke rising from the mansion and rushed to check. I found the boy standing in front of the building, watching Phoenix burn it to the ground. He was wearing an oversized SOLDIER 1st uniform and had that strange blade slung over his back.

“He noticed me and called me by name, said something along the lines of ‘didn’t expect to see you here’ and then seemed to realize something and tried to run. I sleepeled him and dragged him back to the truck. When I asked around the village, no one was missing a black-haired child, so I decided to bring him here. That’s when I called you.”

They sat in silence when Genesis finished, ruminating on his story.

“You said he recognized you?” Angeal asks.

Genesis nods. “Called me by my name, like we were familiar with each other already. Of course, I’ve never seen him before in my life. I think I’d remember a haircut like that, as well as that strange sword of his.”

They all turn to look at the blade where it’s sitting on the coffee table in the living room. There’s something familiar about it, and Sephiroth prods at the feeling, trying to puzzle it out.

Sephiroth hums. “What’s strange about it, other than the shape, of course.”

“There’s some kind of mechanism in it, allowing the hilt to fold up. I don’t have the slightest idea of why it would do that-”

“I do.” Sephiroth cuts him off, causing the two to turn and look at him. He holds their eyes for a second before looking down at his hands clasped around his half-empty glass. “I mean, I think I do.”

He risks a glance up. Angeal looks worried, and Genesis intrigued.

“Is this related to your dreams?” Angeal asks.

Sephiroth lets out a breath and nods. “I… It looks like part of that man’s sword, the blond.”

“Part of his sword?” Genesis huffs.

“It’s a large blade, buster class, but it also breaks apart into six pieces. That blade looks like one of the two smallest ones.”

Angeal lets out a swear as Genesis whistles. “What use could someone possibly have for six blades?”

“He wielded them all together as one, or broke off one and fought with two. But his final limit break used every single one.”

He shudders, vividly remembering the sensation of every one of those blades tearing into him. There’s a touch on his arm and he refocuses to see Angeal had reached out.

“So, does this mean that the kid knows the man? I know you don’t like to think about the dreams, but have you seen him anywhere? Know anything about his relationship to the swordsman?”

Sephiroth huffs in amusement. “I’m fairly certain they know each other and are quite close.”

“So you have seen him,” says Genesis.

“I… I don’t think so.” Sephiroth shakes his head. “The name he called out, when he was under the bed. He asked for us to ‘let him go back to Cloud’. That’s the man’s name.”

He falls silent and lets his friends digest the new information. Still, something was bugging him about the boy, something was so very familiar about him, if he could just pin it down… His gaze wanders, and he sees Angeal’s buster sword leaning up against the wall where he’d placed it upon entering the house. Suddenly it all clicks into place.

In the reactor, where he impales an infantryman and gets thrown into the mako below, there’d been a fight before that against another SOLDIER 1st wielding Angeal’s blade. The boy upstairs is his spitting image. He can see their swords clashing, see how skilled the man is and how much it doesn’t matter because Sephiroth is that much better (I'm above everyone, above all humans because I’m better). He feels the bite of the buster and watches himself land a slamming blow, launching the man back towards the entrance of the reactor and sending him sliding painfully down the stairs (he betrayed me, he was my only friend, he deserves to die).

“-phiroth, Sephiroth. Can you hear me?”

He lets out a gasping breath, suddenly realizing that he’s struggling to pull in air and that he’s broken his glass. He opens his fists, letting pieces fall to the now-wet table, and watches his hands shake like they don’t belong to him. There are small pinpricks of pain where the glass had pierced through his gloves. Angeal has moved directly next to him and pressed himself against his side.

“Are you back?” he asks again. Sephiroth takes a shuddering breath and swallows around the lump in his throat before nodding. Genesis is up and working on cleaning up the mess. A sudden manic energy fills him.

“I-the mess, I can’t-”

“Let Genesis handle it,” Angeal soothes, putting a hand on the underside of his arm and guiding him out of the chair. “Let’s move you somewhere more comfortable. The glass didn’t cut you, did it?”

Sephiroth bites his lip, ignoring his inner Hojo-voice that scolds him for such an obvious sign of weakness, and shakes his head. Angeal hums, but doesn’t question him and moves him to the couch.

“Let’s get that coat off of you,” he says, already moving to undo the straps across his chest.

Sephiroth moves to help him but has his hand batted away. He doesn’t really put up a fight. His head is fuzzy and full of fog, his throat filled with cotton. He can’t tell if the ringing in his ears is real or just his imagination. There’s a tugging on his arm and he looks down to see that Angeal has managed to get his coat mostly off and is pulling it down over the arm he’s still holding. He looks down and sees his pauldrons resting on the table next to the small sword. He fights down nausea as the memory of his dreams plays back in his head.

“Let’s sit down, Seph.” Angeal’s voice cuts through, giving him an anchor to pull free of the thick fog blanketing his mind. They sit together and his friend leans him back against the cushions. “I want you to focus on my breathing and try to match it, okay?”

Sephiroth nods and closes his eyes, narrowing his world to just the sound of Angeal’s lungs expanding and contracting, struggling to match their steady rhythm. It takes longer than it should, but he manages it, sinking into the cushions and allowing the gentle pressure of his friend pressed against him and the soothing pattern of their synched breathing lull him to sleep.