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Chapter Text

It had been ten weeks since the procedure, and Sephiroth was seriously going to lose his mind.

There had been nothing out of the ordinary when Hojo called him down to the labs for a pre-mission checkup. Pre-gaming , Zack had jokingly called it, which was the last semi-normal memory Sephiroth had of him. Since then, it had been non-stop action, adventure, torment, and everything under the sun. It was hard to explain, but, after two months and change, Sephiroth had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

It started in the day following, the night before the mission. The excursion itself sounded droll as they come, a deployment to ‘fix the reactor’ at some middle-of-nowhere mountain town by the name of Nibelheim. But Sephiroth and Zack had never had the chance to be bored in the sticks. No, whatever the professor had done put those plans on ice… seemingly forever.

See, Sephiroth went to sleep just as he always did. Right on time, no fuss, no mess. Out like a light, and tonight, there hadn’t even been any night terrors or weird demonic whispering in his head. That was a relief. It was always irritating when he woke up at oh-three-hundred with an unknown woman telling him to ‘claim his birthright’ and ‘join the reunion’, whatever that was supposed to mean. What reunion? He hadn’t gone to college…

No, it was smooth sailing until his alarm failed to wake him up on time. Sephiroth had jolted out of complete unconsciousness to the sensation that he was going to be late, even though he knew for a fact his alarm was set, and, even if it wasn’t, his body knew when it was time to wake up. Something was wrong.

The arm Hojo had operated on ached fiercely. He was not in his bedroom.

Sephiroth was hundreds of storeys in the air, Masamune in hand, with the idea in mind to slice this giant light-ball in two, making a cool entrance as he did.

Maybe he was dreaming. It was unprecedented for him to dream like his, but it was possible. However, he could count his fingers, and, when he got the chance, he’d try to read a clock. For now… to arms! Sephiroth sliced through the sky-ball like it was butter, drifting down to earth on the notes of some bombastic orchestral arrangement, seemingly being produced by the air itself. It was… admittedly, catchy.

From the ground, he fought against countless enemies, blade gleaming in the afternoon light, the thrill of the fight pounding through his veins with every heartbeat. He tried not to let it show on his face, but something about this strange atmosphere made him feel… mischievous.

He encountered a blond man dressed as a SOLDIER, and, though he did not recall his name, the face seemed familiar. A friend of Zack’s? In any case, their battle was fierce. Sephiroth got in a good hit, knocked the SOLDIER off-balance, and he speared the man on Masamune, pinning him up for the world to see. It felt like deja-vu, but he could not place why.

Their duel continued until the sun had set under the horizon. The blond SOLDIER eventually got the upper hand, lacing Sephiroth with countless cuts from his magnificent splitting blade. “Stay where you belong,” he spat, “in my memories.”

“I will never be a memory…” the words came easily, as if they’d always been there. Still in that strange, giddy headspace, Sephiroth found he did not mind their cheesiness at all. He cackled and shot off into the sky like a firework with his newfound wing. (What was he, Genesis? …he was having too much fun to care.)

Some time was spent in this place, constantly battling a wide array of opponents, often the blond man, but usually other people and creatures. At the end of the week, Sephiroth finally ceded that this couldn’t be a dream. Not unless Hojo had given him some serious drugs and he was actually in a coma. (He was going to miss poker night with Zack at this rate.)

Sephiroth was hacking and slashing his way through what looked to him like a group of sentient plants when it happened.

He’d been lost in thought about Midgar, and what he’d be missing if he were truly gone and not still passed out in his bed, and his blade had torn a hole through the fabric of reality.

The tear hummed softly, bright at the edges with spectral energy. Inky blackness was all he could see within, but he knew in his gut it led somewhere. It could be a vacuum and he’d suffocate before managing to escape. But maybe it led to Midgar? It was worth a shot.

After cutting down the last of the creatures, Sephiroth stepped through the portal.

It sealed behind him as soon as he’d exited. He took a look around, weapon at the ready.

First things first: he wasn’t in Midgar.

Second things second: there was a clown. Sephiroth hated clowns.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I suppose you're wondering why I’ve gathered you here today…” boomed a voice from the front of the room. Sephiroth’s portal finally slipped shut, just as he found himself behind the only empty seat in the hall.

The demonic creature at the front, huge and red, with arms enough to be considered an arachnid, was addressing them as ‘his warriors’. He introduced them in turn, from heavily-armored juggernauts, to a literal cloud, to a half-naked man dressed for a round of beach volleyball if there were beaches (or volleyball) in Hell.

Ah, and, third things third: Sephiroth was wearing his dress uniform. This was turning out more and more like that one nightmare he'd had before his first Annual ShinRa Ball…

He looked further down. Excellent. He was at least still wearing his pants.

The red man continued to drone, and Sephiroth figured he should take a seat. Gods knew he could use some shut-eye, after a week of nonstop battle. Just for a little while…

He was in a field, surrounded by chocobos. The sunny-plumed creatures warked happily up to him, nibbling at the greens in his hand with absolute trust in their vacant little eyes. He stroked a nearby bird with his free hand, its soft feathers a balm on his tortured soul. These chocobos knew naught but to wark, and to eat their greens. They led such simple lives. Peaceful ones. Sephiroth did not envy them, but he did enjoy the feeling of their fuzz on his hand. Another bird started to nuzzle under his chin, and he huffed at the tickling sensation. So eager. He reached into his pocket for more greens for the creature, shoving it off, but it continued to tickle him.

Stop this! Sephiroth thought fiercely. My goal is to feed you, irritating creature! You’re in the way!

The chocobo did not mind the delay, however. It continued to wark and stick its feathers into the bare skin beneath Sephiroth’s chin. It was mocking him! This idyllic dream was turning out to be another trial of patience!

“Tickle-tickle… hee-hee-hee!” someone sang directly into his left ear.

Sephiroth was instantly awake. Masamune sang into existence just a second too late to slice the intruder’s head off.

“Ooh, testy-testy! Don’t go slicing ol’ Keffers a new one! That’d make an awful introduction, dontcha think?”

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. He was still at the table. Most of its occupants were now elsewhere. Key word: most . The clown was still here, as was another half-naked man Sephiroth hadn’t noticed before. (The cut of the man’s chin made him think ‘monkey’, and he wasn’t sure why.) 

“Your well-being is low on my list of priorities, clown.”

“So harsh!” the brightly-colored harlequin gasped. His gaudy makeup stretched hideously. “We’re all stuck here together, yannow. It’ll be boring if we don’t—”

Sephiroth leveled his sword to the man’s neck. One last chance before this became an all-out fight. “Leave me be.”

“Enough with the theatrics,” the scantily-dressed man stood theatrically. It made the feather in his hair bob dangerously. How much would it take for it to fall off? …and wow. Nice… codpiece? “I am Kuja, destroyer of worlds. This hot mess is Kefka, destroyer of fashion laws. Apparently, we're all stuck here until we defeat some goddess or another. So are you in?”

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. “I still don't see why we need to party up for this.” As much as it might be entertaining to watch the clown torment people, he wasn't keen on being ‘people’ in this scenario.

“It's more fun that way!” Kefka chimed in. Then, he leaned in. “Plus,” he said under his breath. He smelled like burnt flesh and candy corn. Sephiroth wanted to vomit. “I know you’ve got a nemesis to torture, same as I do…”

“Get away from me.” Masamune finally drew blood from the buffoon's neck, a thin line of red across sickly-pale skin.

“Zowie!” The clown darted away, using his magic to heal the wound instantaneously. Kefka began to rise… and he was now floating like the world’s most annoying dirigible. Fantastic.

Even if all that awaited him was a somber morrow (and damn Genesis for making him memorize LOVELESS against his will), he had to get back.

Three weeks he spent in the clown’s company, half-naked pretty boy in tow. He watched from the shadows as the blond harlequin strung together scheme after scheme to mess with the world's other occupants (though, Sephiroth was beginning to feel more like a prisoner). The massive amounts of property damage and ample opportunity for arson should have made him smile. Usually, they did. It was why he and Genesis so often had loved tearing up training rooms. It was stupid, clean fun. ( Mostly clean. Some soot was involved.) So far, his time in this limbo had been stupid, but it hadn't been clean or fun. It was, frankly, miserable.

There was only so long he could tolerate not showering, for instance. In the midst of battle, it was pointless, even dangerous, to worry about the state of one's hair, or what one is stepping in. But this stretch of constant... adventuring, save for a better word, was grating on him something special.

Plus, there was the issue of the blond man. Their duels were becoming a familiar fixture in Sephiroth’s current normal. He’d learned things about this man – his name was Cloud, for instance. He had a girlfriend called Tifa. He fought with a sword that split into multiple pieces. He enjoyed motorbikes and collecting stamps. What was strange was the absolute vehemence in the diminutive man’s attitude. He couldn’t imagine what Cloud could be holding against him other than his multitudinous Shinra-approved war crimes. So what was his problem? He seemed to think Sephiroth was stalking him, but their continued meetings were purely by chance. The clown and the naked wizard both had ties to the warriors in Cloud’s company, so of course Sephiroth was along for the ride.

That wasn’t even mentioning the issue of killing a god. How can you kill a god ?

Sephiroth could not stay here. He needed a portal as soon as possible.

Now that he’d done it once (albeit accidentally), he had a feel for it. Sephiroth just needed to concentrate on Midgar, and he’d (hopefully) find his way there with this strange new ability. His arm burned every time he tried, but a little pain had never stopped him before. Sephiroth practiced opening these rifts purposefully, and, sure enough, little by little, he was able to sustain larger and larger ones.

It was slow progress, however. Several weeks in, and he could now reliably rip a hole large enough to pass his arm through. It was a start. Sephiroth kept at it.

As much as he did not wish to return to ShinRa’s clutches, or the Science Department’s, none of these strange realities offered him anything he could not find on Gaia. And, his companions were missing, every single time. It had felt like an escape from his problems at first. But at this point, he honest-to-Ramuh yearned for Zack to show him to another cheap underplate food truck, or for Zack’s strange flower-growing friend to ‘accidentally’ dump dirt on him, or for the firetruck-hair Turk to string together a brand-new string of profanities no one else Sephiroth knew could cook up. He even wished to see Hojo, if only to show the greasy man how very thin his patience had been stretched… with Masamune. It felt like it had been so long since he’d seen anyone from Gaia.

Well. Save for Zack’s little friend.

“Not you again…” the blond SOLDER grumbled.

Inwardly, Sephiroth corroborated this statement with all his heart. He was too well-trained to admit such weakness, however.

“Cloud…” he greeted with a smile, hoping to unnerve the little bastard into leaving him alone. It didn’t work. Curses, it seemed to make him even more agitated. Why, oh why hadn’t Sephiroth paid attention when Genesis tried to give him those ‘charm school’ lessons?! 

(He knew it was because those lessons were boring, useless, and borderline insulting… but what he wouldn’t give to throw Genesis at this problem instead of having to deal with it himself. Even Zack would do. He could charm the horn off a behemoth with his handsome face and funny jokes… and deep, blue eyes… why was he thinking about this?)

“Still following me around, I see,” Cloud glared. His eyes were like mako-powered icicles spearing into the soul. “Why don’t you stay where you belong…”

“In your memories? Ha-ha-ha…” Sephiroth laughed. This was getting ridiculous. His mental state deteriorated by the day. “Foolish child.”

They, of course, ended up having another duel. Cloud lost. Sephiroth spirited away with his wing (he still didn’t understand how that worked, physics-wise, but flying was fun, so he wasn’t going to question it) to get back to their plans to kill the goddess. Things had settled into a routine of sorts. Sephiroth hated it.

The next day, while in another fight with his blond nemesis, Sephiroth accidentally sliced a rift large enough to pass through. It may have been unstable, but he took the chance as soon as it appeared. Whatever awaited beyond was surely better than this fresh hell.

***

The penultimate world Sephiroth found himself in had no clowns (thank Minerva), but it certainly wasn’t home either. It felt almost like a reprieve, blessedly silent, until he was accosted by what looked like… a child and his pets?

They walked up the path towards the outcropping of rock Sephiroth had unwittingly portaled himself onto, their determined steps echoing off the surrounding cliffside. It was sunset. The sky was beautiful.

“Sora, it’s Sephiroth!” quacked the duck.

It was at this moment that Sephiroth’s soul left his body. It meandered back after he’d defeated… urgh… the literal child, dog, and duck… in battle, just in time for… the blond SOLDIER, Cloud, because of course he was here too, to challenge him to a duel. Sephiroth was about to take him up on it, if only to get it out of the way, when Cloud’s girlfriend, who Sephiroth had never personally met and now had a face to the name, convinced him that Sephiroth was merely an apparition, and Cloud should not fight him like an insane person would. Feeling entirely out of place, Sephiroth watched the encounter with dead eyes, heard Cloud swear his revenge, said something cheeky back (he didn’t really remember), before he was alone again on the cliffside.

Nothing to bother him but the breeze.

Ten weeks since he’d last seen Midgar. Ten weeks since he’d last seen Zack. Ten weeks since he’d fallen asleep in his bed and woken up in the midst of battle.

Sephiroth had spent longer in the field, deployed to deplorable conditions, asked to commit heinous war crimes most people couldn’t even conceive of, let alone be responsible for. This was different, however. This time, there was no promise of a return home. There was nothing to go back to. No nice-smelling shampoo to wash the grit out of his hair, no comrades to share his stories with, and, most of all, he had no explanation for what was happening to him, none that he could find in any of these worlds’s assortments of literature. It was torture. It was torment. It was quickly becoming more than he could bear.

…which brought him to the here and now. He needed to figure out how to get back, because if he kept doing this any longer, even his lifetime of military discipline was going to give out under the weight of sheer insanity. Sephiroth was going to crack, and, the idea of losing control, more than anything, filled him with an intense dread.

Hoping it’d be the last time, Sephiroth raised the Masamune, and sliced.

Chapter Text

These days, Dante often found himself with nothing to do. It wasn't so different from a couple years ago – before Mallet Island, before his duel with Mundus – but now that he had company, it was less a depressed nothing-to-do and more a content, lazy weekend-type nothing-to-do. His very soul felt content as he lay on the couch with a magazine over his face (better than any sleeping mask), his brother practicing katas in the wide open space of the shop (better than any sound machine). It was on days like these, when the phone didn't ring, and the door didn't open to more trouble, that Dante felt like his life was finally falling into place.

Vrmmm, vrmmm, vrmmm…

“Vergil!” Dante snuffled out of his nap. His magazine remained in place, the result of years of practice. “No portals in the house!”

“As much as I’d love to berate you for scolding me like some pet, this was not my doing.”

Sure enough, Vergil’s waspish response was further away than Dante expected. The swish-swoosh of Yamato had definitely sounded like it was coming from nearby… was he practicing his Judgment Cuts in the house? A discussion for another time. As good as it was to see Vergil getting back in his groove after the whole Nelo Angelo incident, this spelled trouble.

Dante finally removed the magazine from his face, tossing it down on the coffee table and grabbing Rebellion from the back of the couch in one fluid motion. “All right, then. Let’s see what kinda creepies are gonna bother us this time.”

Dante took up a casual stance in front of the couch. He saw Vergil fall into a battle-ready pose on the opposite end of the room. Whatever came through that portal was gonna have both sons of Sparda to contend with. They’d better be ready for the fight of their life.

“C’mon…” Dante watched the inky blackness of the rip, so similar to Vergil’s creations, yet, only a singular, vertical slice on this one. His bad for not seeing that before. Maybe he should’ve taken his sleep-mask off sooner.

He gripped Rebellion eagerly, despite his relaxed pose. What would it be? Mundus’s minions? Sparda’s enemies? Vergil’s enemies?

Or… just some guy?

Just some guy worked, too. His silver hair was long and unbound, and he was dressed for battle in his pauldrons and thick leather coat. He gripped a massive sword in his left hand, evidently after using it to tear the hole in reality. Funny. Dante hadn’t thought about it that hard, but usually, demons came from little hell gates when they appeared in the human world. As far as he knew, only Vergil was able to just… rip and tear like that. Vergil with Yamato.

Dante’s eyes snapped to his brother. Vergil was already looking at him, a silent message in those eyes so similar to Dante’s own. Shoot first, ask questions later? Sounded like Dante’s kinda plan!

“Let’s party!” Dante exclaimed, rushing the guy with a few rounds from Ebony and Ivory before crowding into his space with Rebellion. The long-haired man immediately sprung into action, raising his sword to parry, clearly tired after tearing that portal open, but still willing to put up one hell of a fight. Dante on his own may have had trouble. But, he wasn't on his own anymore , Dante thought with a cheesy smile.

Vergil flanked the man, his summoned swords surrounding him like a halo. He exchanged several glancing blows with the newcomer, before back-flipping away to the other side of the room.

“No Judgment Cuts in the–” Dante cried.

But it was too late. Rest in peace, pool table . At least it diced up their new friend to the point where it staggered him. The poor guy hadn't even dodged, too busy fending off Dante and his bum-rush strategy.

The long-haired man continued to fight like a devil, and the brothers held him off with minimal (additional) damage to the Devil May Cry shop. After a few minutes of this, Dante started to reconsider their strategy. Maybe they should've asked questions before shooting? The man in the black coat refused to let up, even as he was shredded like a block of cheese by Yamato and sliced like a tomato by Rebellion. (Dante had woken up hungry, what can he say!)

Finally, the stranger had his moment. After a particularly stylish flip, Dante expected his feet to slam into the ground beside his brother. However, he found himself instead suspended several feet in the air, his chest suddenly pierced by a long, thin sword. And it wasn't Yamato this time, but it felt weirdly similar (and not just because they were in the same sword family, there was something else…). Dante coughed, and blood splattered his chin and chest.

“Dante!” he heard Vergil yell. Psh . As if he hadn't sustained more grievous injuries, especially at his brother’s own hand. He’d be fine… just as soon as tall, dark, and handsome here put him down.

Which, he did. Spontaneously. Dante crashed to the ground, the stranger’s sword still embedded in his chest. He quickly backed out of it, watching the wound stitch through the brand-new hole in his favorite turtleneck. Why had he been dropped? Dante looked up just in time to watch Vergil twist Yamato in the stranger’s abdomen, then rip it out the back, red blood gushing so fiercely from the wound it made a slapping noise as it hit Dante’s newly-cleaned floor. That is, before the stranger collapsed face-first into it.

The man wheezed, struggling to rise with the grievous wound still pouring blood onto the floor.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Vergil demanded.

The figure remained prone. Dante winced. “Verge…”

The stranger was strong enough to hold the both of them off for a significant portion of time. Only his unfamiliarity with his environment and opponents, and seemingly his fatigue, had led to his defeat. But, was he like them? Dante hadn’t sensed anything demonic about the man… except, now that he concentrated, there was something strange about that right arm of his…

Anyway, Vergil had always been better at demon stuff. Did he know something Dante didn't?

“He's human, isn't he?” Dante asked.

Vergil hummed, already flicking the blood off his weapon and sheathing it. The long-haired man had stilled on their floor. Vergil was giving him a weird look. “It would seem so.”

“You don't think he was a customer…?”

“He should have used the door,” Vergil remarked, gesturing towards the front doors. They were still closed up tight.

“True.”

The twins stared at each other for a second, then the man on the floor.

Dante scratched his head sheepishly. “I'll take his legs, you take his arms?”

*~*~*~*

Voices carried through Sephiroth's uneasy sleep.

“His hair… he kinda looks like us, doesn't he, Verge?”

A long pause. He couldn't move, and his chest was on fire. His SOLDIER healing was kicking in especially slowly. He knew it was going to start itching soon…

“…think we should…”

“Vergil, what are you…”

Sudden, bright pain flashed to life in Sephiroth's forearm. He was awake, and the latest destination’s occupants were attacking him. Again! Was there no end to this pointless fight? Even Wutai had been a show of force! This was ridiculous!

“Cripes, he's awake!” yelped one of the men.

The other one looked Sephiroth right in the eye, told him, “I'm taking this back,” and plunged his claws into the soft flesh of Sephiroth's right arm.

He did not scream. The one in red kept him from thrashing, simultaneously yelling at his brother for “doing something like that all of a sudden,” and inquiring as to whether or not he’d “absorbed all the stupid in the womb”, despite he himself assisting with zero hesitation.

“Get… off!” Sephiroth grunted. He got a foot free and kicked the man in red as hard as he could. Ordinarily, a kick of his caliber would have gone right through someone’s skull, but instead it felt like kicking solid concrete. Figures, after the two were enough to best him in battle… it would be interesting to see what they could do once he was back to his full strength. ( If he was even here that long.)

In the meantime, the man in blue had finished digging through Sephiroth’s arm like the world’s least sanitary ice cream scooper. In his claws, he held a bloodied fragment of… metal?

The procedure…

“Materia fusion…?” Sephiroth remembered himself mumbling.

The Professor had grinned maniacally. “Yes, my boy. I've finally perfected the science behind it – prepare yourself for limitless power!”

“Power…” Sephiroth had breathed, and he remembered only pain after that.

…it hadn't been a materia, had it?

No wonder he was never able to parse which spells he could now supposedly perform without the use of a stone. All his life, he’d always known he was participating in an experiment, but for the Professor to lie to him to this extent was…

“Thank you,” the man (monster?) said sincerely, again holding Sephiroth's gaze with zero fear. What a strange creature he was.

“What is that shard?” Sephiroth asked. His arm was already healed up, albeit covered with blood. And… they’d removed his coat. He quickly spotted it draped over the back of the tattered couch he was sitting on.

Instead of answering, the man in blue stood, unsheathed his sword, and let the bloodied fragment fly to it as if drawn by a magnet. For a moment, the room was awash with blinding light. Then it subsided, and the man in red whistled.

“You think that’s the last one?” he asked.

Ignoring Sephiroth’s look of utter confusion, the blue one hummed and replied, “I think there’s at least one more. Perhaps two.”

“Damn!” the red one swore.

“Excuse me,” Sephiroth interrupted, in his scare-the-cadets voice.

Both stopped what they were doing to stare at him in perfect unison. Creepy.

“You’re excused,” the blue one told him haughtily.

The red one burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” he got out between wheezing breaths. “I’m sorry about my brother. I’m Dante, this is Vergil. We don’t know how you ended up with a shard of his sword, but tell us where you came from and we can send you back, okay?” He paused, then added, as an afterthought, “Sorry for stabbing you.”

Vergil placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. “Dante,” he said fondly, “ I stabbed him.”

Meanwhile, Sephiroth's mind was racing. They could send him back? It seemed too good to be true after the ‘vacation’ he’d just taken. What if it was another mistake?

…it was worth a shot.

“Midgar.” Sephiroth said plainly.

“Mid… wha?” Dante scratched his head. “Where’s that?”

So they didn’t know about Midgar? He wasn’t on Gaia, after all. These two seemed confident in their ability to send Sephiroth home, however. Even after attacking him for no reason… well… he had been trespassing… and Dante, at least, had apologized (superfluously).

Even if this wasn't Gaia, it was worth trying to explain. “It's a large city on the East Continent.”

“East Continent? Like, Australia?”

Curses. So this wasn't Gaia. There was no way they wouldn't have heard of ShinRa’s massive 'marvel of mako energy’ by now. How to explain this without seeming insane… Sephiroth realized he'd been fighting so long, he’d never taken the time to rationalize this to anyone, save himself. Hmm…

“I came from the planet Gaia. I assume that is not currently where we are?”

“You're on Earth, dude.”

Sephiroth frowned. Wasn't that Zack’s friend’s name…? It didn't matter. He had to get home, and he told them as much. ShinRa was going to have hell to pay when he got back…

"Well, this is awkward..." Dante scratched his head, glancing between Sephiroth and his brother. "Verge, any ideas?"

Vergil hummed. "Maybe… I will need some time, though."

"Awesome!" Dante slapped his knees and got up. "So, we've got time to kill, and I've got a new friend to introduce to Capulet City!"

"Dante, what..." Vergil started, before seeing the gleam in his twin's eyes. "No."

"Come on! What's the harm? I'll protect him if any demons come knocking, I swear.”

Vergil sighed. "Fine," he ceded. "Go nuts."

"Sick!" Dante exclaimed. "All right, let's hit up–”

"...just don't get arrested like last time.'

Dante stopped and blinked. He seemed to change track quickly. (There was a story there.) "Yeah, you bet! Okay, we'll be over by Fredi's. Good luck, Verge!"

"See you soon."

Dante led Sephiroth out into the dusky city. Some time had passed since their battle. He wondered how much. He wondered, not for the first time, if time was passing back on Gaia. Maybe they thought he was dead. It would be funny to see their faces when he finally made it back. If he made it back, that is.

"What's on your mind, big fella?" Dante asked from his right.

Sephiroth glanced over. The red-clad man was walking with his hands behind his head and a smirk on his face. He seemed completely carefree. Perhaps otherworldly creatures bursting into his home was an everyday occurrence. In any case, Sephiroth wasn't about to spill his worries onto a random person, even if he wasn't likely to ever return here.

"Where are we going?" he asked. (A good question. They seemed to be wandering aimlessly, judging by Dante's meandering steps.)

"I told you before; we're going to Fredi's. Best strawberry sundaes in town."

"Okay," Sephiroth accepted this, still a little baffled.

The next few minutes were spent in near-silence, apart from Dante's jaunty whistling. He sure was in a good mood.

They rounded a corner, and the air changed. It was similar to how it always felt when Genesis copies were nearby, but not quite. Several scythe-wielding monsters (demons?) were dancing in a circle. They rounded on the two men as soon as they were within range.

"Aw, you guys were having a party and you didn't invite me?" Dante tutted. "So rude!" He blew the nearest one's head off with a single gunshot. "C'mere!" He beckoned the rest with his second, yet-unused gun. "Lemme teach ya some manners!"

***

“Ahh… finally!” Dante threw his arms up. “Fredi’s! They're still open another hour. We're lucky those demons didn't take too long.”

A short party that had been. This world's denizens were woefully unprepared for Masamune's strike.

The building was relatively nondescript, situated between a gas station on the right and a shady-looking antiques shop on the left. A buzzing neon sign out front labeled it "Fredi's Diner". They pushed through the doors, a short whine from the ungreased hinges heralding their approach. Despite the hour, the diner was bustling. Dante was obviously a regular if the speed at which they were seated was anything to go by.

"Who's your friend, Dante?" the waitress asked as she rollerbladed over to a booth at the back.

"Oh, this is." Dante stopped and stared. Right, their introductions had been unconventional at best.

"Sephiroth," Sephiroth finished for him. No one should know his name here. No harm in it.

She smiled. "Well, it's good to see another devil hunter in town. Demons've been going wild lately, I tell ya.”

Dante laughed and agreed, both of them ignoring the slight mistake. Though, if slaying wayward mako mutants counted as being a 'devil hunter', Sephiroth fit the bill nicely.

“So, anything to start?”

"One large pepperoni pie and two strawberry sundaes, please," Dante ordered with a wink.

They settled down at the table for a while after that. Conversation was mild, but it wasn't an awkward atmosphere. The diner was filled with sound, from the other patrons, and from the jukebox in the corner. That wasn't what made it so relaxed, at least, not entirely. Sephiroth was simply unused to his public appearances being so low-key. Typically, he had to either disguise himself somehow or risk being mobbed. (Various reasons.) He was enjoying his anonymity while it lasted.

That is... until he saw a familiar face among the other patrons.

No… Sephiroth thought, just shy of desperately, it can’t be…

But the blond man didn’t notice him. He continued to walk by without a care in the world. What Sephiroth had done to deserve such vengeance, it was hard to say. Many a crime had been committed under orders from ShinRa. But this grudge seemed personal, and Sephiroth couldn’t help but wonder if it was something he’d done blackout drunk at the last ShinRa Annual Ball…

(The last thing he remembered was reciting LOVELESS in front of a crowd of ShinRa employees. He never wanted to be that wasted ever again.)

Sephiroth let out a relieved breath, then turned back to see Dante examining him.

“So what's with the getup? No shirt?” Dante gestured to the straps holding up his SOLDIER belt.

“I overheat easily,” Sephiroth replied. Zack had once told him he had ‘a body like a mako reactor’. Now Sephiroth wondered if he’d been flirting. Thankfully, Dante did not seem to catch the way his ears practically glowed with embarrassment at the thought. He hadn't actually been loopy a few worlds back thinking about how roguishly handsome Zack was, had he? This was…

“Dude, can't relate,” Dante plowed on. Thank the gods . “My hands get super cold. ‘s why I wear gloves all the time. But my devil powers make me warm! It's really useful in the winter. Vergil says it makes for a good survival tactic, too. He lived in the sticks for years! Did you know that? You wouldn't guess it from his fancy-pants look, but he’s spent more time camping than I have!”

Certainly, Sephiroth could relate to this. Wutai had been the muddiest years of his life, both physically and morally. “I have some experience as well. It is important to be able to survive outdoors.”

“You're tellin’ me! Anyways, when I was a teenager, I hadn't seen my brother for a long time. And he came knocking on my door all of a sudden– no, actually, he sent the world’s ugliest girl scout with the world’s least-edible girl scout cookies– not actually cookies, a letter– the point is, I went running out the door without a shirt on!” Dante went somber at the memory. “Ahh, but enough about me,” he trailed off, looking at some point behind Sephiroth.

He turned around. The waitress was coming with their food.

“You're about to have the ultimate flavor experience.”

Zack had said something similar right before giving him banana-crème jell-o shots. Sephiroth did not have high expectations.

Though… surprisingly enough, the salty-and-sweet combination of the cheesy pizza with the fruity ice cream was delicious. When he told Dante as much, the man beamed wide enough to flash some truly terrifying teeth. 

Alas, Sephiroth's good fortune could not last. As they were getting up to leave, the blond SOLDIER looked up from the bar counter and spotted them. Spotted him .

“You go on ahead,” Sephiroth advised quietly. This may be embarrassing…

“Okay, dude,” Dante waved over his shoulder. “I'll be outside.”

True to his name, Cloud was approaching with a figurative stormcloud over his head. Sephiroth decided to nip this one in the bud. He was tired as it stood, and constantly fighting with this man was starting to get annoying.

“If it's about something I did at last year’s ShinRa Annual Ball, I don't remember anything past nine,” Sephiroth informed him matter-of-factly.

Cloud balked. “What?! No!” Then, in a lower tone he said, “now I want to hear that story…” before raising his voice again, pointing at him for good measure. “Don't mess with me! This is about everything you've done!”

“Again. I don't remember anything past–”

“No! Not at some ShinRa party! In… in Nibelheim! And just in general!”

Oh no… had he somehow flown to Nibelheim and back during his blackout? It seemed impossible, but there had been a few Turks and rocket scientists at the Ball…

At Sephiroth's silence, Cloud continued. “You're really not screwing with me? You have no idea what I'm talking about?”

“There was tequila at that party,” he explained. It was the reason he didn't know what had happened. There were stories, but still.

“No, shut up, I don't wanna hear about your alcoholism. You're saying you haven't been to Nibelheim?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Oh.” Cloud looked lost in thought. Then he smiled. It was the first time Sephiroth had seen him do such a thing, and it was honestly a little creepy. “Sorry about that, then. If you ever do go there, though, mind the pit.”

The pit…? “What?”

But Cloud was already walking away. What a strange little SOLDIER.

Sephiroth joined Dante without a word, and together they made their way back to the shop.

***

“Knock knock!” Dante called without actually knocking. He unceremoniously pushed open the door to Vergil’s study. “How’s it going in here?”

“I’ve almost got it. It has something to do with Yamato’s portaling ability, and this man’s unique energy signature…” Vergil muttered to his books. He smoothed a hand through his hair before turning to face them. “I think we could try something tonight.”

“Awesome! That okay with you?” Dante asked, looking up at Sephiroth, who inclined his head in agreement. “‘Kay, let’s get this show on the road. What do you need?”

“Just Yamato. And some space.”

“Let’s do this out back, then.” Dante proposed.

“That is acceptable.”

It worked. Sweet Goddess, it worked.

“Catch ya on the flip side!” Dante gave a lazy two-finger salute. He wandered all of two steps back to the door before seeming to remember something. He rummaged for a second, producing a small piece of cardstock from his coat pocket. “Oh, and, here’s our card. Give us a call if you ever have any demon problems, ‘kay?”

Sephiroth took the card. It was black with red letters, matching the neon sign out front. Stylish .

“Thank you for your help,” he told them sincerely. “Farewell.”

Dante waved. Vergil nodded. Sephiroth stepped through the portal.

.

.

.

~*~*~*~

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.

.

Sephiroth woke up in his bed.

The room was dark, save for the light of his PHS. It was silent, save for the soft chime of his PHS going off. For a moment, he was disoriented. For a moment, the last ten weeks seemed like a dream… that is, until he reached over to turn off the alarm, and something fell out of his hand.

A business card.

‘Devil May Cry’, it told him in embossed letters. There was a phone number and an address, and, most of all, it was real, and paper, and in his hand. Sweat beading on his forehead, Sephiroth dialed the number on his PHS.

One ring. Two rings. Three. A click.

“Devil May Cry.”

Chapter Text

A little over a week passed in relative peace. Dante went out on several jobs, bringing Vergil along on half just because it wasn't a good idea for his big brother to get bored. Demons came calling and the money came flowing (for the most part). Dante managed to pay off a chunk of his debt to Lady, which had only grown since that mess on Mallet and the time after. He wasn't going to pay it all off, mind you, or she may never contact him again. There's something romantic about keeping a lady on her toes, after all.

Things were never boring around the sons of Sparda, especially not these days.

So it was to no one’s surprise when they received a frantic call from a potential customer just as they were about to close up shop.

“Devil May Cry,” Dante greeted. He saw Vergil put his head in his hands out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, is this uhh… Dante? ” The voice on the other end greeted. A young man, and was that screaming in the background? He heard a loud crackling which might have been an explosion.

“Speaking.”

“Cool, cool, Seph told me to call this number if anything weird happened, and, uh. Um. I think this counts as ‘weird’. Can I ask you for some advice? ”

Vergil had wandered over to the desk at this point, having heard every word. “Who is it?” he hissed.

Dante covered the receiver and hissed back. “I dunno! Friend of the guy from last week, I think.” Back to the client. “Shoot.”

“What should I do if, hypothetically, my best friend were to turn into a demon, burn down a town, and try to kill me…? ”

Dante grinned. Vergil unsheathed Yamato.

“We're on our way.”