Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s strange.

Strange how a frightened cat nestled in one of the many alleyways in Sector 8 reminds Sephiroth of himself; wild, slit eyes, backing away from the cold or pitiful stares of others, growling low when someone approaches too close without warning.

Though Sephiroth could never find himself growling and angered at others－his disposition sculpting him as more of an ice statue of a stray cat－he understands it all the same: the fear of fighting, struggling and existing every day… to survive when the odds are stacked tall, seemingly insurmountable.

It’s every day for him.

Judging by the look of this scared, wet cat drenched from late night rain, it’s every day for it as well.

Have any stopped, glanced inside, taken the moment to slow and ask ‘will you be alright’ to this creature? Have any attempted to extend an olive branch its way? Or did they decide the risk was not worth it? Getting scratched at or bit from fear would be too much for a poor soul’s salvation.

Sephiroth stopped. Glanced inside. Took a moment to slow. He does not ask, but he can see clear as day through the wet white fur, the old stains of blood and the tattered left ear that no, ‘you are not alright’.

He decides on an impulse to extend the olive branch. Just as his friends had once done for him, despite all of his cold distance and harsh stares. To deny this creature that reminds him so much of himself would be to deny the very same friends that extended their hands to him some time ago.

Perhaps, this cat simply needed an understanding friend or two, just like he has now.

Stepping forward, Sephiroth moves his mass of black clothes and clear umbrella towards the white, wet cat. It backs up, spine arching and fur bristling, a low growl testing his dedication. This does not deter him. He continues his approach, slow and cautious, as to not cause the poor thing to bolt away from his offer of peace.

The cat lets out a weak hiss; dulled by illness or further injury perhaps. But Sephiroth stays his course, slowing down just a tiny bit more. He stops a mere few feet away from the wet cat, the rain pelting off the creature’s fur and sliding down the clear skin of his umbrella. He crouches down slow, careful. Extends his olive branch in the form of his umbrella, and shelters the cat from the storm.

At the lack of rain, the cat glances up slowly, tenseness still nestled in every bone. But the hisses die away and the growls seem lest testy.

“How long have you been here?” Sephiroth asks as though the cat could respond back.

The cat’s piercing blue eyes jump back to him, but it remains silent. It does not cower further or approach closer. Merely stares, blue against a swirling green.

“I know your struggle, small thing.” Sephiroth speaks, hazy white breath blown into the October chill. “You must be very tired, keeping up this front for so long.”

The cat continues to stare.

“Have none shown you peace?”

Stares.

Is he really talking to this cat, or is he perhaps talking to a small, scared version of his childhood self? Desperately clinging to a coat of white, begging ‘no more, no more’ in a gown dappled with blood, praying for a glorious, divine salvation that would never come?

“Allow me to extend you a branch.” Sephiroth slowly, carefully reaches out his hand.

The cats ears pin back and a growl rumbles in its throat. Merely scared, merely wounded. Once warm, full and dry, most of that alkaline coat would strip. But in order to provide that, he’ll have to throw his hands into the crossfires and suffer those consequences.

No being should feel trapped and isolated no matter the situation. No being－no creature or man－should ever feel as he once did. If he must bleed to show another’s peace, he will gladly make that trade.

He takes hold of the cat by the scruff of its neck, to keep it from flailing and further wounding itself. It growls with flattened ears during transport, but remains stiff. When Sephiroth releases the scruff and holds the body of the beast against his chest, it retaliates in wounded fear and strikes at his bare hands.Though there is no sting, no chipped bite. A rough bap against his hands. This cat has been declawed. How awful; it’s once defense stripped away.

Using his thumb, he pets the top of the cat’s head gently. He does this until the batting, the growling, and the weak hisses stop. Then he continues until the meekest, softest of purrs barely rumbles from that throat.

This creature had once been loved, but been so cruelly discarded when no longer of any use. He knows of that struggle all too well himself; even if he is still of use, it is hardly shown. If not for his very few friends then… well, he’d end up just as this poor creature he supposes.

He stands back to full height and guides himself and the cat back home to his quarters, a gentle purring adding soft noise into the rain.

There is glory in salvation no matter how small the action, so long as one is willing to extend the olive branch.

Chapter Text

Sephiroth sits tall, eyes closed as the high breeze blows about his long silver hair. He breathes heavy, warm exhale ghosting the autumn cold swirling around him. Slowly, he parts his eyelids and stares up and up into a black sky of light pollution and Mako smog; the sky his eyes have called home their entire lives.

His gaze lowers and trails down, far down below 70 windowed stories where the flashy lights of Midgar shine brighter than stars; winking and blinking across his pupils. Whites, yellows, reds and greens all aflutter, a flickering like fireworks burning bright.

He heaves another heavy breath and shuts his eyes again. All the open air, space and lights amidst the nightfall still do nothing to ease away the earlier stress and strain of the day. The reminder makes his arm itch and sting. The injection site always burns, always nags against his skin. He hates the injections. The tests and trials he continues to endure. Even if he’s used to them, knows what to expect and experience, it never stops his mind from working overtime.

Reminds him of his bleak, sterile childhood, full of itching needles, beeping machines, torn muscles and broken bones. Even though his bones are sturdy, no longer break so easily, his muscles harder than steel with a cold, stern resolve to match; his mind never grows any more resilient. Inflicts him with the same pain, the same memories, the same thoughts every time. The sharp fear upon every new substance injected beneath his skin. The hollow dread of performing inadequately. The disgust of failure souring his tongue. The searing pain of every failed test lashed across his skin; correction abound.

He hates the labs with a quiet, icy passion. Hates the effect they still have on him even to this day. The fear it instills, the memories it brings back, the unease after… all of it.

He tilts his head back as the breeze picks up ever so slightly, adding a cold bite where there wasn’t before. Maybe he should just go back in and sleep these feelings off.

The stairwell door creaks open loudly, mousy hinges squeaking out an arrival on the rooftop. Steps shuffle faintly.

“Thought we’d find you up here.”

A voice that’s strong and firm yet gentle carries its way to Sephiroth’s ears by the cold wind. A voice distinct and familiar that he can recognize without need for sight at all, the pleasant spring night of Angeal moving in.

“He’s always up here after a day in the labs.”

A voice of smoke and cinders fans hot against the spring presence, adding humid summer hues by voice alone. A powerful, proud and ambitious voice both welcoming and distant at the same time, the desert summer of Genesis chasing after the spring.

Both seasons close in and envelop Sephiroth’s autumn on either side. Feeling their differing warmth manually opens Sephiroth’s eyes and he can’t fight the small smile cracking the corners of his lips wider. His friends always know where to find him after a bad day. That alone takes some of the unease from the day away.

Angeal bends down and perches his bear-like body next to Sephiroth’s on his right, taking in the same sights as he with deep, midnight eyes. Genesis stands tall on his left, arms folded across his chest with ocean eyes contrasting against the winking TV tower lights, red duster ruffled by the breeze.

“Here.”

Jut out into his line of sight, Genesis holds out a small container of a dark purple liquid. There’s a faint sweet smell around the rim of the glass; crisp and flowery. A wider grin blooms across his face and there’s no hiding it.

“Take it,” Genesis lightly shakes the glass container, the liquid inside sloshing. “I don’t make this stuff for just anyone.”

It’s his signature Banora White juice. A rare pleasure indeed.

Sephiroth takes the container in his hands, feeling the cool of the glass even through his gloves. He must have chilled this in the fridge. It always did taste better chilled.

“To go with it.” Angeal says.

Then, in his minty sights is a concoction of his other friend’s own; homemade behemoth jerky, dried and seasoned just the way Sephiroth likes it best. Also a rare pleasure to indulge.

“Peppercorn and rosemary－” Angeal smiles. “－your favorite blend.”

“Thank you, Genesis, Angeal.” Sephiroth acknowledges with a lukewarm fondness in his voice.

Genesis shifts his weight and huffs out a quick laugh from his nose and Angeal hums something warm and calming with a half-moon smile on his lips.

It’s not much, but it means the world to him. They always come find him after a bad day, always gift him with homemade luxuries hand-crafted with thought and care, are always there even if they join him in nightfall silence without saying much. Having them here with him is enough. Having his warm friends by his side is more than enough.

Even though the days are hard, painful and even unnerving, he can always count on these nights to lift his spirits. To calm and quell him in ways he cannot soothe himself. Betwixt the varying seasons warmth of his friends is where he makes his home.

Their friendship is all Sephiroth needs.

Chapter Text

Cricket violins echo through the still air as fireflies wink to their songs, dancing around them in the full moonlight. Dry grass and loose dirt scrape under his boots, faint puffs of debris following his every firm, slow steps. There’s a sweetness to the air, a fragrant aroma nestled in his nose; woodsy and fruity like the pungency of juice this sleepy hollow is known for.

Was known for.

Sephiroth walks slow and tall through the scattered remnants of what used to be Banora. There’s not much left after Shin-Ra bombed the earth and leveled the village atop it. Some scattered planks of wood and shingles that used to be houses clutter up where they can, but most of it has been lost to the swamp of Mako swallowing all it can. Translucent strands of green and white lazily floating into the air like smoke, brushing their wispy fingers across the sky jeweled with thousands of stars.

Sephiroth’s low mint eyes catch the sight of the biggest tree in the village, barely standing after all of the destruction and flame. It bows, wilting down pitifully with a spine made of rubber. No longer do dumbapples grow upon those weeping branches. Merely a husk of what it was.

He walks further, boots snapping over splinters of wood and tinkling shards of glass like a sad, broken wind-chime. He steps firm but lightly, watching his footing so it does not give way and send him tumbling into the large, hungry Mako pools.

He swears he can hear laughter coming from the pools and swears if he gazes at them long enough they’ll start to show memories of this sleepy, secret town. Of he and his friends, much smaller, more naive, both of them grabbing him by the hand and pulling him away from his assignments. Climbing the once mighty Banora White tree in one friend’s yard, hiding in the childhood home of the other while Turks and grunts scratched their heads and aimlessly searched for them.

So long ago but yet not that far behind; yesterday’s breath caught on today’s tongue. Though for his two friends, their today’s never reached the exhale of tomorrow, held in their lungs indefinitely while his comes out cold and quivered.

Sephiroth stops walking, the soles of his feet linked to the soul in his chest as he pauses in the former heart of the village square. All around him Mako devours, save for the thin path he walked. His eyes so similar to the Lifestream green stay on those free-flowing strands. He watches them take to the sky like a calm ocean current.

He hears laughter in his ears.

“Bet’cha 5 Gil I can throw this rock straight into that bucket!”

Sephiroth turns on his heel, slowly spinning as his eyes catch the sight of where Angeal’s childhood home used to be. Even though splinters and shingles remain, he can see the ghostly memory against his eyes clear as day; the house standing tall and sturdy with the three of them outside.

Genesis, stubby and round-faced, smirks proudly as he points at the water pail right in front of Angeal’s house, tossing a small rock into the air and catching it with his other hand.

“Are you kidding? That’s like a twenty gazillion foot throw!”

Angeal, bulky yet soft, gasps at his fiery friend. He doesn’t retain as much baby fat in his cheeks as Genesis, but it’s smattered across his chest and gut.

“Just admit it－you’re scared to be out of 5 measly Gil!” Genesis snickers as he turns his pointing finger onto his friend. “What about you, Seph? You game?” He turns fiery eyes on him.

Even though he stands where he once did when he was caught between childhood and adolescence, he can see that form of his just as clear as the rest of this memory. His hair only down to his shoulders donned in a 3^rd Class uniform.

“Game?” Young Sephiroth tilts his head as choppy bangs fall into his face, veneering his bright green eyes.

“Yeah, like, you wanna bet 5 Gil I can make that shot?”

“I don’t have any Gil on me.”

“...Eh, I’m just gonna make the shot anyway!”

“No, no! Gen don’t － !”

The rock misses the bucket and goes through the window with a loud crash!

Sephiroth finds himself chuckling at the memory. But when he makes sound the vision is quick to disrupt itself and he stares at the broken remains of that small, warm house. Uneven microwave warmth fills his chest and he turns his eyes away from the rubble before that warmth can develop more cold spots than it already has.

His eyes take to the skies washed with bright stars; not a cloud in sight. Watches their twinkling lights blinking at him from so far away, as if beckoning him to fly up and join them. He wonders. He wonders if he sprouted wings and flew up into space how far he could go.

Wonders if there are other worlds and life growing in the cosmos beyond the sphere he calls home. Wonders if he flew long and far enough he would eventually loop back to the start of time, like the edge of a virtual map programmed to repeat itself. If he could… if he could… would he eventually loop his way back to his friends again? If not, if he flew long and far enough, would he be able to find a galaxy with them in it?

Could he merely be with them again, against all odds, sailing through the boundless universe together?

He can see it clearer than day; supernovas exploding around him, colorful galaxies alight in pastels and rich deep hues, meteors trailing across the boundless expanse. In the distance, gleaming like suns themselves, his friends smile comets at him and reach out with their hands, pulling him along with them forever; as it should have been. As it was. Until… Until…

Diamond moisture solidifies in Sephiroth’s eyes and it sparkles down the pale slide of his cheeks. There are no clouds in the sky, not one dust bunny speck above, but somehow he finds a drizzle beginning. He reaches up with a shaky hand, sights blurred by those kaleidoscope diamonds and he begs,

“Let me sail through the cosmos… and find them again.”

Chapter Text

“I know of this really good Costa place in Sector 6, we should stop there for a bite.” Zack smiles brightly.

“We are nowhere near Sector 6, Zack. It would take us the entire lunch break just to get there from here.” Sephiroth reminds.

“Ah that’s okay, I know a shortcut!”

Sephiroth readies himself to follow after his fellow First class friend, but that slips into confusion when he sees Zack scrunch his eyes shut tightly and clench his hands into balled-up fists. With an oddly airy noise that Sephiroth swears to the Goddess above is a fart, a black, bushy tail rips out from the seat of Zack’s pants and the strain leaves his face.

“Grab my tail and we’ll be there in a jiff!”

There’s a lot of things Sephiroth could have asked in that moment:

‘How did you do that?’

‘Where did the tail come from, have you possessed one this entire time?’

‘Did you just fart?’

But he does not say any of these things. In fact, for reasons he doesn’t understand he grabs onto that black tail and blinks. Almost immediately after, Zack’s form begins to change. His arms turn into wings, but not the wings of a bird no, they turn into the wings of a jet-plane. Then his body grows, skin warping into steel and suddenly Sephiroth finds himself sucked into a nice jet-plane, fastened into a lavish seat flying first-class.

Out of all the things he could have said, thought or done, he finds himself upset that there aren’t any good in-flight movies playing and his snacks of soda and chips are flat and stale.

“There’s never any good service when you need it most.” He grumbles.

“Oh man, this isn’t good.” Zack’s voice echos all around.

Sephiroth’s curiosity grabs hold of his body and he unlatches himself from the seat, walking to the front of the Zack-jet-plane and into the cockpit. A corn maze no bigger than a backyard shack blocks their flight, which is only suspended off the ground by 3 feet.

“I’m good, but even I can’t fly through all this corn.” Plane-Zack whines.

Angeal suddenly materializes in the captain’s seat. “Don’t worry,” He says firmly, as though he were about to unveil the cure-all for Mako Addiction, “I got this.”

He pulls out a comically large magnifying glass from his pocket, the thing bigger than the Buster sword itself, and causally walks through the windshield. Sephiroth finds himself following, ending up standing on the ground and watching as Angeal holds up the magnifying glass just right to reflect the sun and cook the corn into popcorn.

The kernels pop, pop, pop until the entire maze is a small sea of buttery popcorn. Once victorious, Angeal does a victory pose reminiscent to a cutesy cartoon heroine (complete with peace signs and his tongue sticking out).

Before Sephiroth even has a chance to react, a small clown car decked out in painted pink flowers speeds through the sea of popcorn from the left, screeching to a dead stop right in front of them. The black tinted windows slowly roll down to reveal Genesis as the driver wearing three pairs of sunglasses on his face.

“Get in loser we’re taking down Shin-Ra.”

He honks the horn of the car, but instead of the standard shrill honk of a car, a squeaky clown nose noise resounds instead. Before Sephiroth can even ask who ‘we’ is, slowly, the back window rolls down. There, he sees cadet Cloud Strife making french toast on a portable stove-top burner.

“Why is Cadet Strife making french toast?” Sephiroth vaguely gestures as he asks.

Cloud glances up from the backseat. “A clown’s diet consists of french toast and overthrowing the patriarchy－obviously I’m the french toast provider.”

Yeah, that checks out.

Just as Sephiroth begins to approach the tiny car that smells of cinnamon and cheap vanilla extract, Zack materializes right next to him (no longer a jet-plane).

“Wait, wait before we go I have to show you this funny video on MakoTube!”

He already has his PHS pulled up and held out in front of Sephiroth’s face. A very poor intro that looks like a 3^rd grader half-assed a slideshow swipes across the screen before the actual video begins.

A plain, ordinary man stands in front of a table with a pair of old loafers on top of said table, a look on his face mixed between ‘end me’ and ‘I’ll do anything for money’. There’s a long pause of silence as though no one told him they started filming yet.

“Today I will be teaching you how to put shoes on in 36 simple steps.” He says monotonously, like a robot pretending to be a human. “First, make sure there are no werewolves around. Once you have determined there are no werewolves around, you can put your shoes on safely.”

The man takes the shoes from the table and slips the right one on his left foot, but then something yellow and mushy squishes out of the shoe. The video pauses and a record scratches. Then a loud, powerful voice narrates over so loudly and verbosely Sephiroth thought his eardrums would burst.

“Are you tired of of always finding bananas in your shoes?? Or how about when you turn on the tap to wash your hands and whoops－bananas! Well look no further than the BananaRamaPro! Guaranteed to remove all those pesky bananas where you don’t need them!”

The product in question is simply a banana rack with a remote controller for a race car toy crappily glued to the back.

“Just one flick of the switch and blamo! No more bananas! But don’t take my word for it! Here are some reviews from very real, very satisfied customers!”

It pans over and lo and behold Hojo is sitting in a faded leather recliner with bananas squishing out of his shoes.

“I actually like bananas in my shoes, I don’t know why they interviewed me.”

Sephiroth glances at Zack with an appalled look on his face. “Zack, what the fu－”

With a faint snort, Sephiroth comes to.

His eyes quickly dart around, dazed and confused (and weirded out if he’s being honest). He’s laying down in a bed- his bed. The room is dark- the room to his quarters. His head hurts. His muscles feel achy and…

Ohh…

He’s trying to sleep off a bad fever, that’s right. He glances over to the right, where on an end table an entire empty bottle of flu medicine sits. He downed the whole thing before going to bed for the night, hoping he could just sleep his way through the sickness.

He brings his hands to his face with a tired groan and trails them down, pulling his eyelids down as he goes.

He is never taking that much medicine before bed ever again.

Chapter Text

He can’t think straight. His brain is all clogged. What is real? What isn’t? What is the truth? What is a lie? Is everything the truth or is everything a lie? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. He should know, but he doesn’t.

Hands tangled in his hair he squeezes his head tight, as though trying to squeeze all of the knowledge, reports, questions, and theories out of his head like making lemonade. His frantic green eyes shake, darting over all of the books, files, and papers scattered all over the floor; all of the things he knocked to the floor in his distress. He wants to get out. He wants to stay. He’s scared. He’s sure.

He wants to burn it all to the ground. All of the truth, all of the lies－everything. Burn burn burn burn burn－

Suddenly the basement door flies open, steel smacking into the wall with a loud bang!

“Get out!!” Sephiroth screeches.

His haggard eyes jolt up where the door slammed open only to find Zack standing there with confusion and sadness gleaming in his eyes.

“Seph…?” He meekly asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get away… get away…” Sephiroth croaks, a horrified frog quaking in his throat. He moves his hands from his hair and hides his face behind them, blocking everything out. Everything but his thoughts, that is.

footfalls tread careful, stepping over books, shuffling loose papers, crunching the casing of thin binders under thick, worn grooves. Sephiroth refuses to look. He curls his gloved hands into his face tighter, nails biting past the fabric and stinging his pale skin.

“What happened, Seph?” Zack’s voice is in front of him, so soft and concerned. He asks as though Sephiroth had only been a mere child woken up from a terrible nightmare, himself playing the dutiful, loving parent here to ease the fear.

He refuses to budge. He keeps his hands glued to his face and shakes his head; tangled, messy bangs brushing over his gloves. The moment he feels hands on his own he recoils with a strangled cry, throwing himself into the bookshelf behind him entirely.

“Get back!!”

“Sephiroth…” Zack’s voice brews hot water, makes his throat thick and warbles the tone. “…Talk to me, please…” he pleads with a small, sad voice, hands finding his own regardless.

“I’m a monster!!” Sephiroth cries, gloved fingers dug so firmly into his face that his nails leave crescent-shaped divots behind, even beyond the leather.

“What…? No, Seph you’re not a－”

“Look at me!!” Sephiroth cries out, rips his hands away from his face, speedily yanking Zack’s hands with as he refuses to let them go. “…humans don’t look like this…” He whines. “So, what else could I be? A monster is all that remains…”

Zack squeezes his hands tightly, and while the water in his eyes trickles down his cheeks, there’s a fire burning oh so brightly in his Mako blue eyes.

“You’re not a monster, Sephiroth. You’re not.” His eyes break away, glancing at the books and reports all over the floor for a moment, his eyes working out an explanation. “I don’t know what you’ve read in here to make you think like that, but you’re not a monster.” He affirms.

“I am!” Sephiroth argues as the frog brews hot water in his own throat. “Jenova is my mother! Jenova is an ancient being that wasn’t even from this planet! And that… that makes me the son of a 2,000-year-old life-form excavated from a crater!”

Zack’s eyes widen, but he does not lose the water, fire, or his hold on Sephiroth’s hands. He softens the surprise. “So?” He asks.

That stuns Sephiroth into silence. So. A simple word. A simple question. Phrased with such a tone that made it seem so trivial and insignificant. Made it seem like it could have passed for common knowledge. He said so as if Sephiroth had said the sky was green－something undeniably wrong and false.

So.

“Sounds like horseshit to me, but if that is the truth then so be it, you know? Who cares if you’re really the son of an old space rock lady? All I care about is you, Sephiroth－you. Who you are is all that matters to me.”

Sephiroth attempts to rebuttal that, to deny it, something, but instead all his voice does is produce a sad, pitiful squeak; the frog inside turned into a dog toy.

“You could have been a 2,000-year-old rock lady yourself and I still wouldn’t care. You’re my friend, Sephiroth. You are so near and dear to me. Nothing that you do or don’t learn about yourself will change that. Whether it’s true or false, fact or fiction, whatever it may be, all that matters to me is you.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes and tears squeeze out of them, despite his ragged will begging he not spill them.

“But I… I’m not normal… A child SOLDIER… this silver hair and these strange, green eyes… so strong… stronger than I should be… stronger than anyone else I’ve ever known… bred for knowledge and power, not born from love… I… How does that not make me a monster?”

“Sephiroth, Seph…” Zack breathlessly chuckles. “Nobody is normal.”

That response silences the thoughts and questions in Sephiroth’s head. How could that be true?

“I’ll admit, your start is definitely… odd, but that doesn’t make you a monster.” Zack shakes his head. “Just look at me, I look normal, yeah? Probably had a normal life and a normal childhood, right?”

Sephiroth starts to nod his head.

“Wrong!” Zack interrupts his motion with an incorrect game show buzzer noise.
“I was born out of societal pressure to parents that never wanted to be parents or even stay together in the first place, spent most of my childhood playing outside or hanging out at friends houses so they didn’t have to deal with me, and spent my nights crying with my ears covered to block out their screaming and fighting.
My enthusiasm and jokes are a cover because I was so desperate to please someone, anyone, I resorted to being the happy, helpful, funny guy and stuffed my own problems and feelings deep down in my gut until they were so bottled up the only way I could get them out was to hurt myself, and then ran away at 13 without so much as a word or note to join SOLDIER to get out of that town and away from my parents pushing that same societal pressure on me!”

So many things… that Sephiroth didn’t know. Would have never known had he never heard it from Zack himself.

“But this isn’t about me, I know.” Zack shakes his head. “Look, I guess what I’m trying to say here is yeah, we’ve all had pasts, and we can’t change those pasts or who we’re tied to. But living, breathing, learning, being us, despite those pasts and what we learn about them… that past doesn’t make us monsters.”

Sephiroth finally takes a moment to breath, Zack’s words grounding him and halting the racing thoughts and questions in his head.

“And to be honest… I couldn’t picture you with anything but silver hair.” Zack smiles.

A weak, but full chuckle puffs out behind his lips. “I suppose I couldn’t picture you being any less of a puppy either.”

Zack pouts at him for that.

But the two are able to leave the Nibel basement behind, along with all of the strange information and equipment inside, and head back to the inn just as dusk settles across the sky. Sephiroth thinks, once inside the hotel, he’s very lucky Zack found him and talked him down when he did. Otherwise he’s not sure what he might have done… what would have happened.

He doesn’t entertain the what if’s. He turns away from the window and heads back to his room, ready to sleep and depart this quiet town first thing in the morning.

Chapter Text

So, this is it. This is what it comes to.

He’s tried every trick up his sleeve, dispatched every arsenal at his disposal, went over countless strategies and angles and reevaluated them all twice. But all his planning, wits, speed and strength could not prepare him for such a foe as this.

It was persistent, cunning, and bold. It countered every one of Sephiroth’s movements so easily. Every plan foiled, every attempt to quell the beast silenced. At every crossroad it intercepted. No matter how he moved, positioned, or lunged, the beast always had an answer, though silent it was.

And now, now he must exhaust his only hope, his desperate plea, his final idea. Stepping away from the beast, Sephiroth whips out his PHS and dials a number he knows by heart now.

It rings…

And rings…

And rings…

The tension is stifling. He can still feel the beast at his neck, practically breathing on him, yet it makes no move.

Ring…

Ring…

“...Seph?” Zack’s voice cuts through the silence, like a light in the dark.

“Good, you answered.” Sephiroth sighs into the receiver.

“What’s going on? You hardly ever call me unless it’s urgent.”

“I need your assistance immediately. This foe has proven too much for me to handle.”

“Ahh, I see.” Zack drawls in understanding. “I’ll bring my detangling spray. Be there in 5.”

As the line disconnects, Sephiroth’s eyes right back to the mirror; namely, the giant wad of hair tangled up right under his ear. He pitifully scowls at it.

To think there is a foe that not even the Great General Sephiroth can conquer; his own hair－his greatest nemesis.

“Seph, you have to stop pulling away.” Zack endearingly chides as his hands center Sephiroth’s head again.

“...” He doesn’t respond, merely glances at himself in the mirror with the expression of a wet kitten.

“I know your head is very tender, but it’s a really big tangle and if you keep pulling away with every little snag I’ll never get it brushed!”

“...I cannot control how tender my scalp is…” Sephiroth mutters, as though it were something he could do but simply forgot how to.

“I know, I know.” Zack appeases as he spritzes more of the fruity spray into the wadded tangle of silver. “If it wasn’t so close to your skin I’d just curl it around my finger and brush it all out without you feeling a thing.” He says as he paws at the bottom of the puffy tangle, working it out from the bottom up. “But unfortunately we can’t do it the easy way this time.”

The brush snags the tangle and tugs Sephiroth’s head. He curls his hands into fists, closing his eyes out of reflex while fighting off the near irresistible urge to pull away.

“Perhaps we could cut the beast out?”

“Absolutely not!” Zack admonishes, trying to be a little easier with the neon blue brush, changing the pawing motions to petting. “It would be so noticeable if you cut your hair that blunt and that high up.”

“I merely suggest the idea as it would be entirely painless as well as the swiftest course of action.” Sephiroth says around clenched fists and closed eyes.

“And I merely suggest that the idea is a bad one.” Zack stands his ground. “Didn’t I tell you last time to braid your hair before bed so we wouldn’t have a repeat of this?” He asks. Spritz, spritz.

“I watched the instructional video you linked me but I found the method used to be rather… difficult to perform on myself.”

He sees Zack in the reflection of his bathroom mirror nod. “I gotcha. It definitely takes a lot of work to be able to french braid your hair by yourself. But you do it enough times and you won’t even need a mirror!”

“Oh?”

Zack nods and smiles. “Yup! I actually braid my hair every night before I sleep so it doesn’t tangle－I’ve got a tender head too.”

For some reason, the thought of any part of Zack－loud, bouncy, wiggly, hard-headed and excitable Zack－being tender in terms of pain? It almost sounds ludicrous in Sephiroth’s ears. But the amusing thought dies away when a particularly ratty part of the tangle snags in the brush and tugs at his head, making him stifle a pained grunt.

“Sorry!” Zack hisses an apologetic inhale. Spritz, spritz, spritz.

He’s used almost half the bottle of detangler. But, he’s had this done before without it and it is much, much worse.

If anything, despite the head pain and the annoyance of the tangle, it’s nice. He and Zack don’t get much time with each other as they’re always so busy on the clock. Often times working harder and later than necessary.

Not to mention the fact that Sephiroth is very possessive about his hair. It was almost like a safety blanket for him as a child; something to hide behind, to soothe when stressed. He doesn’t like it when it’s messed with or touched or joked about or anything about anything with it. There’s something about his hair that connects with his vulnerability, and to let others poke and prod at it would be directly messing with a very sensitive, secure side of himself.

But it’s different with Zack. With how close they’ve become over the years, the words they’ve shared late at night, the missions they’ve been on together, the life-or-death battles they fought together back-to-back, the trust and companionship they built… they’ve seen each others vulnerability first hand, consoled the other, cried with the other.

Zack earned that trust of being able to touch his hair; his security blanket. In fact, he quite likes it when he messes with it, plays with it, braids or bats at it. Even though brushing out the mats when it tangles hurts, he somehow likes that too. Because he knows Zack will always be kind, gentle, and attentive.

Just as he is on the field, off the field, Zack is someone Sephiroth would be willing to lay his life on the line for. He’s earned that. He hopes Zack thinks the same.

Though his musing is abruptly ended when a secret puff of tangle is caught in the brush and tugged.

“Sorry, sorry! I really thought I got it all!” Zack pacifies.

“It’s fine, just get it over with as soon as possible.” Sephiroth dismisses.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Zack goofily smiles. “Once I finish with this I’ll be sure to give you the Zack Special－one hair braiding free of charge!”

“I look forward to it.” He smiles softly.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could technically braid his own hair easily… he just likes it more when Zack does it.

Chapter Text

“Was it worth it?”

A hollow expanse of black and cold engulfs them. There isn’t anything left anymore other than them－the Goddess and the Corroder. Everything else is gone, swallowed by greed, vengeance and hate under the guise of a need to prove, to fight, to dream.

But now that Jenova has used him to get what she wanted, she has left him behind. All of her promises and reassurances, her praise and love, taken and thrown away when he was no longer of any use; just as Shin-Ra and everyone else had done to him before.

And what does he have to show for his work? Nothing. Just the end of all creation with no one left. No one to support him, care for him, ease his worries. Just a hollow in his chest and in his head, misty eyes staring straight into the Goddess of Gaia herself wishing it wouldn’t have gone his way after all.

“...No…” Sephiroth’s voice softly echoes into the void, just as hollow as the void that swarms them. “…it wasn’t…” He clarifies, as if she had spoken thousands of questions before the first.

But the Goddess of Gaia, Minerva herself, does not hold scorn or rage in her eyes. Even at the death and end of her entire creation she does not hold him in disregard.

“You were used.” She states. “For your whole life, you were nothing except what others wanted you to be: A tool. A weapon. A plague. Something to hate. Something to blame.”

Makes his chest itch.

“All you wanted… what was it really? Surely it was not the end of all life?” She asks earnestly.

“I wanted…”

Does he even have the right to say that? What he wants? What he’s always wanted? After everything, is he even worthy of redemption? A second chance? He thinks not. But, at the end of all creation, what else can he possibly lose?

“I wanted a life that was all mine.” He bleeds cold warmth into the void, a raw voice and powerful tears. “A life I could be who I wanted to be, to do what I wanted, not at the whims of another… a life full of warmth and care, kindness and stability… a normal life. I just wanted normality…” He cries into the black, the silence, and the hollow echo of his own cries nearly shatters him.

“What would you do… if you were given this－this warmth and normality?”

A flash of blond streaks through his vision.

‘There’s not a thing I don’t cherish.’

“...I would cherish it.” Sephiroth says, practically hears that wispy, powerful voice in his ears. “With every fibre of my being, I would cherish it, wholly, completely.”

“Gaia, though gone… She loves all of her children.” Minerva warmly recalls. “No matter how they have hurt and wounded her, she always believes they deserve a second chance…”

Sephiroth looks at her, really looks at her, past her large intimidating armor, mighty weaponry and right into her eyes; they shine with Gaia’s will even though Gaia herself has crumbled to planetary dust. Is she… no, she couldn’t be…

“Gaia wants to give you a second chance.” She affirms his suspicions. “Her will flows through me, and thus, I can make this chance corporeal.”

He is… worthy of another chance? After everything he’s done; the friends he’s lost, the people he’s hurt, the enemies he’s created, the worlds he destroyed… even after all of that… there is still hope for him?

“But before I make this be, Sephiroth, I ask of you: will this warmth and comfort truly satisfy you? Will a small amount of peace keep you from ever reaching this pivot again? While Gaia shows mercy I am harder to persuade－for I could not bear to see Her crumble again.”

“Minerva, of this I am certain. I would want for nothing more, ever again. For warmth, kindness, peace, and to be surrounded by those I care for, that care for me as I am, I would never feel the need to listen to Mo－Jenova’s lies again.”

The Goddess narrows her eyes, stares hard, as though scanning his eyes for any source of trickery or deceit. But when she finds not even a trace, she relaxes a little, breathes a sigh into the hollow and it suddenly feels less empty.

“Then I will grant you a second chance on Her behalf. Do not take this for granted, for if I find you here again as we are now, Gaia’s love will not save you from eternal purgatory.”

Sephiroth nods. He will not waste this chance, will not look this horse in the mouth, will take it however it comes. He will do anything for a chance at warm, peaceful normality.

Anything.

Sephiroth’s eyes flutter open as he awakens in a large bedroom washed in the golden glow of morning. From outside the warm window, birds sing into the air, calling out their own version of ‘good morning’ to each other.

He shifts slightly, feels a weight by his side. He turns his head to find a stretched out form with mussy auburn hair and a small speck of dried drool at the corner of their mouth. Blue-green eyes are barely cracked open, squinting against the soft sunlight.

Sephiroth can’t stop himself from smiling at the sight－Genesis never was a dignified morning person.

“Good morning.” He greets.

“Mhmnnn…” Genesis groans, burying his face into the pillow he lays on. Though his hand does nudge at him. “Ev’ry’n else’s up. I sleep s’m’re.” His voice is eaten by the fluffy pillow, muffling it.

But Sephiroth knows what he means. He pets those auburn locks gently.

“Get your beauty sleep, Princess.” He warmly jests.

“Shu’dup.” He grumbles through the pillow.

Sephiroth removes himself from the king-sized bed, escaping the drowsy pull of the warm blankets to see what everyone else is up to this morning. He stretches as he walks out of the bedroom, the sleep slowly leaving his body as he moves.

The scent of something sweet catches in Sephiroth’s nose, leading him right into the kitchen like a siren’s call. There, cooking pancakes on a flattop griddle, is Angeal. Batter sizzles as it’s poured onto the hot top and the scent of cinnamon and vanilla extract hits tenfold.

Angeal must have heard him shuffle in, for he glances over his shoulder then smiles heartily. “Good morning.” He greets with a voice warmer than the morning sun.

Sephiroth slides up behind him, gently resting his chin on that broad shoulder of his. He sees some pancakes already done and sitting off to the side on a large plate; an assortment of buttermilk, chocolate-chip, and strawberry steaming the glass gently.

“Any preferences on pancake flavors this morning?” Angeal asks, his deep voice purring against Sephiroth’s ear.

“Blueberry… if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I figured you’d say that, but I wanted to make sure just in case you changed your mind this time.” Angeal huffs out a gentle laugh.

“You know I never change it.”

“Never hurts to be prepared.”

Sephiroth pulls his face away from Angeal’s shoulder, but not escaping entirely without the other man placing a quick peck on his cheek. “Zack and Cloud are doing some training in the backyard before breakfast, if you want to say your good mornings to them.” Angeal mentions as he opens the fridge to grab some blueberries.

“I was wondering why it was so quiet in here.” Sephiroth coolly jests as he makes his way to the sliding glass door.

From beyond the long white blinds, standing in the grass of their quaint backyard, Zack shows Cloud proper stances when holding a blade; the right forms to stand in, how to lean, and how to extend the weapon without straining the body; the basics. But as Cloud is the youngest in their group and hasn’t made First-Class like the rest of them yet, he still has a lot more ground to cover, more to learn.

Sephiroth grabs the handle of the sliding door and pulls it open, a faint rattle as he does. He steps out into the cool morning tinted with dew and closes the door behind him, standing by the porch as he watches them, a soft smile on his face.

“－You don’t want to lean too much, that’s gonna offset your balance and make you easier to disarm and knock down.” Zack guides Cloud’s body into a proper stance, adjusting his arms to the proper position for broadsword wielding.

Cloud blushes faintly at Zack’s touch, but nods his head and attunes his body to the manually made adjustments to his form.

How lucky Sephiroth is to not only love all the people he’s loved before, but that they all love him and each other back as well. Truly, this second chance is all he wanted before; love, warmth, care and understanding.

Zack’s head perks when he catches sight of him watching their lesson. “Oh, hey, good morning, Seph!” He beams. If he had a tail it’d be wagging at mach 1.

Cloud glances up with a bit of a ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look, probably a little embarrassed about having extra eyes on his form correction, but there’s a smile on his face as well, albeit small and thin.

“Form practice?” Sephiroth asks as he peels himself off the porch and into the dew-dropped grass, pausing right in front of Zack and dropping a hand to his hair, ruffling it gently

“Yeah,” Zack nods with a bright smile, metaphorical tail picking up to mach 2 speed. “First-Class assessments are coming up soon and Cloud really wanted to go over the basics again.”

Cloud’s eyes dart elsewhere, definitely a little embarrassed. “You make it sound like I begged you to help me with the basics, Zack.” He finds himself muttering.

Zack leans a little closer to Sephiroth and whispers, “He practically begged me.”

Sephiroth chuckles. He removes his hand from Zack’s hair and steps closer to Cloud, his hand seeking out that blond hair next. Though he doesn’t ruffle Cloud’s hair, (that’s more Zack’s thing) rather simply pets it.

“There’s nothing wrong with making sure you’ve mastered the basics.” Sephiroth affirms. “I’ve seen countless men fail just from not having a good grasp on their basics alone.”

That pulls Cloud’s sky blue eyes onto him and the blush lessens a little and a small grin sneaks into the corners of his mouth.

“Well, the pancakes were almost done before I came out here. Who wants to go wake Genesis up from his beauty sleep?” Sephiroth smirks.

“Oh! Me! Totally me!” Zack practically jumps in the air with excitement. “I’m gonna wake him up with so many sloppy kisses~!” He giddily laughs as he bounds his way back into the house.

When Zack’s whirlwind energy twists into the house, Cloud looks up at Sephiroth. “Did you sleep good?” He asks.

“I did.” Sephiroth turns his grin into a soft smile, like that of melted butter. “And yourself?”

“I slept alright. Though I did wake up a few times with your hair in my mouth and Angeal wrapping me up like a teddy bear in his sleep.”

Sephiroth chuckles, brushing some stray bangs out of Cloud’s face at the mention of hair. “Angeal is quite the cuddler in his sleep.” He agrees.

Cloud laughs at that, gently nestling his head against him. “Even more so than Zack, which is quite the feat if you ask me.”

“Quite the feat indeed.” Sephiroth joins the laugh, knowing just how cuddly Zack could be. “Though Zack is more daytime cuddly than he is nighttime cuddly.”

“That’s true.”

“Mhmm.” A noise of agreement. “Well, why don’t we head inside? Not very partial to cold pancakes.”

“Same.” Cloud nods.

They step out of the grass, walk across the porch and head back inside through the sliding door.

When they enter, Zack is dragging a half-asleep, fully annoyed Genesis into the kitchen and Angeal is setting everyone’s pancake preferences in their usual spots. Cloud does break away and stands next to Angeal, reaching up with his long-sleeved sweatshirt to wipe some flour off his cheek. Genesis comes awake at that and tells Cloud to wipe the sleep out of his face for him, which he does so with a roll of his eyes, humoring him anyway.
Then Zack says he wants good vibes rubbed into his head and Cloud obliges with that too, calling them all ‘spoiled as fuck’. Angeal then makes a face at Cloud’s language, which just makes Genesis laugh himself fully awake and has Zack complaining about how Angeal always lets Cloud off the hook when he cusses, and how come he can’t be let off the hook when he says cuss words.

Sephiroth smiles warmer than an oven at the sight of them all laughing and joking and loving together. Yes, this is the second chance- no, this rebirth is the life he’s always wanted for himself. Something warm and full, a place to come home to, to feel welcomed, loved, and accepted. To be able to drift off to sleep at night without worrying of what tomorrow will bring, who he will have to hurt, or what he will have to destroy.
To be able to wake up on his own in warm sunlight, living and loving with those he’s lived and loved with before, but much closer than he ever had them originally; all of them under the same roof, sharing the same meals, under the same stars in the same bed at night, all together.

Here, there is only love and acceptance, and for that, he could never be more grateful.

“Hey, are you just going to stare at us all day or are you going to join us for breakfast?” Genesis huffs.

“I’m coming.” Sephiroth smiles, joining them at the table.

His loves, his lives, all here, together. Cherished.

Yes. This is all he’s ever wanted.