Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Are you suuuuureee you don't want to get something to eat?"

For perhaps the eighth time in the last ten minutes, Sephiroth was forced to shake his head in an apologetic display of rejection.

”Yes, Zack. I’m sure.”

"But..." He could hear Zack bite his lip, having surrendered the hope of persuading him with lunch—which, characteristically, was only after trying his luck with a movie, window shopping, and a trip across the continent to quote, unquote, “go nuts and bolts at the Gold Saucer.” Of course, it wasn't that his friend truly wanted to do such things (window shopping...?), but was simply grasping at different colorful straws to try to coax him away from his current destination. Sephiroth doubted he would ever forget the utter, unadulterated horror that had shot through Zack’s eyes after revealing where he was going, having been sitting in the office with a rather distracting headache, which consequently led to his friend’s insistence on joining him on his trek down to the sweat-scented labyrinth in which they navigated now.

Not that he would ever turn down his best friend's company.

"...What if I got you some aspirin?" Zack continued after a few moments, blue eyes blinking innocently against his side. "That's gotta do the trick, right? For a headache?"

"It's... not quite a 'headache’, truthfully." Sephiroth brought his hand to his temples at the thought, trying his best to puzzle out the strange sensation that had been plaguing him. While, yes, a headache was what he told Zack he was suffering from for days now, that was admittedly only because he wasn't sure how else to compartmentalize the feeling. A purgatorial buzz between a vague migraine and a strange floating sensation was more accurate, honestly—not exactly painful yet loud enough to make him feel slightly off-kilter; not exactly something that medicine could remedy, yet something he wanted a diagnosis of nonetheless.

And there was only one person who could help him with just that.

The name glistened darkly against the metal plaque in which it was carved, four rotten letters that came into brutal focus as he and Zack finally arrived at the laboratory's entrance. Invisible wisps of Mako and grease and Gaia knew what else bled through the steel door like tendrils of ooze, ballooning the surrounding hallway in a humid dome of obnoxious stench that some would call progress while others would rightfully call nothing short of diseased and disgusting.

Nonetheless, Sephiroth brought his keycard to the scanner.

"...You sure I can't come in?" Zack's voice grew small and anxious as the small bead of light turned green with affirmation. "You know... for moral support?"

“Unfortunately, I do not think Hojo believes in the act of moral support.”

“Yeah, well… who cares what he believes?”

Sephiroth turned to look at the earnest teen, emerald eyes softening considerably as a faint, touched smile budded on his lips.

"I understand your concern," he said genuinely, at last reaching out to place a hopefully assuaging hand on his friend's pauldron. "But I will be fine. Believe me."

"I know, I know..." Zack's gaze fell to the darkened stretch of tile below, swallowing quietly. "I just remember all the stories you told me, and how goddamn horrible that weasel treated you back then, and how he doesn't seem to care one nugget about..."

Sephiroth's expression softened even further, gazing fondly at the young First and the irreplaceable kindness in his heart. Zack’s sympathy truly did know no bounds, completely unbridled by the likes of things that should be completely beyond his heart’s understanding, always managing to throb and ache for others no matter how little or severe their pain may be. And the fact that it was aching for him right now filled Sephiroth with both an unbearable guilt and inexplicable affection.

"It's only a quick visit, Zack. A check-in. Nothing's going to happen."

Zack lifted his gaze back up from the floor, his eyes having grown even more concerned and doelike in the small swath of time, swallowing another quiet swallow as he looked at his best friend with a large, searching expression.

"...Promise?”

Amused, Sephiroth couldn't help but give way to a smile.

"Of course."

Like the simple assurance was made of balm, Zack's own expression soothed into a small grin, seeing that the man's visage was one of nothing but true and concrete honesty.

And in a matter of seconds, his arms were wrapping around him in a tight and loving embrace.

"Okay..." The First’s voice was muffled by his coat, mumbling tightly into his shoulder. "Just... be careful in there; don’t give me gray hairs, alright? You’re buying me spray if you do. I love you, pal."

Even if they were words Sephiroth had become well acquainted with, that didn’t stop his heart from blossoming with velvety warmth at his treasured friend’s words, lifting up his own arm to rest comfortably on the young First’s shoulder in a semi-embrace of his own. And it was in this way, standing in the core of the most fetid corridors running through ShinRa headquarters, that the two remained for several beats to come—chests pressed against one another, heartbeats drumming, the two songs beating in a harmonious rhythm that seemed to silence everything else in the world until it was nothing more than an islet to themselves.

…Connecte—

“Sephiroth! I know it’s you, boy. Are you coming in or wasting my time?”

Stiffening, the two Firsts reluctantly pulled away at the booming scraggle of a voice, snakelike eyes sharp and venomous as they cast a dangerous look at the door, then immediately softened again as he turned back to his friend. 

“Well…” he said dryly, the General’s voice laced with an underbelly of amusement. “Looks like ‘father’ is calling.”

“Bleh.” Zack gave a mock-shudder, shifting his own gaze towards the door. “Guess so. Prolly should get in there so you can get out sooner.”

“Ah… Now isn’t that something.”

“What? Your headache stopped, and you don’t have to go?!” Zack’s gaze flashed back towards him, imaginary ears bolting upright.

“…No.” Sephiroth shook his head, pocketing his keycard as he reached for the door. “It’s just that your logic actually makes sense.”

“Wha? Seph!”

Quiet, amused chuckles rippled in Sephiroth’s chest as he began pushing his weight against the metal, unspoken buddings of anxiety all but quelled with that simple reaction alone, the tidal stench of Mako and machinery crashing into his senses at double the force that it already was.

“Be careful…!” he heard Zack calling behind him, having started walking home.

“I will.”

“Swear?”

“Didn’t we already go through this?”

“Just swear!”

“Alright, alright. I swear.”

“Double sweater swear?”

“Yes…” Sephiroth shook his head, smirk hidden by the dancing sway of his bangs, remembering all the times the absurd saying had left his lips. “I ‘double sweater swear’.”

“Okay…! Love you, pal…!”

His heart blossoming, Sephiroth opened his mou—

“Sephiroth! I do not have all day, boy.”

And he closed it submissively, the buzzing in his head growing even more palpable as he fully crossed the threshold and let the door slam shut behind him.

Perhaps it really was a mistake coming back.

Chapter Text

It had been a long time, Sephiroth realized, since he had truly and utterly empathized with someone.

He couldn't remember the last time his heart had ached so rawly; he couldn't remember the last time he had looked at someone and realized that was the reason for its ache; he couldn't remember the last time he had looked at someone, his heart aching so very rawly, and knew exactly how they were feeling.

Maybe that was because it never actually happened before.

Standing in the corner of Zackary's apartment, Sephiroth's eyes had grown somber and dim, just barely aglow against all the extinguished lamps and moonlight, and that was the radiance in which they stayed as he gazed solemnly at the young First across the den. Little sound penetrated the sacred space barring the rise and fall of Zackary’s breath, the watery dirge that had been escaping his lips all but faded away, leaving him an almost trance-like state as his own gaze remained fixed to the sword he’d leaned against the wall.

Sephiroth continued to watch the saddening sight, gazing into a mirror.

It was all so wrong… so twistedly wrong. It was never supposed to end like this. Not when he had told Zackary, had told himself, had clung onto the fragile hope that they could bring both Genesis and Angeal back. He had clung on so tight that he hardly noticed when his lifeline snapped, and he was clinging onto air, making promises and vows to people—his men, Angeal’s men, Zackary—that they would be brought back safe and sound. Then they would go from there. They would have. He would have told them that it was alright and that they were still welcomed, that he forgave him. That they could forget it ever happened… become blind.

It was his plan; it was his naivety and longing that piloted the way he thought and made him think that there was a happily ever after to any of it. It was his… his fable.

And Zackary was the one to see how it ended.

Sephiroth slowly lifted his gaze, the single, jagged thought causing his throat to splinter. Zackary was still sitting on the floor, his legs folded, his hands detached from his body, staring into the blank and rusted mirror.

That is, Sephiroth saw it blank.

Zackary was watching the battle unfold, over and over again. He knew he was. And he knew that there were macabre, squelching details that Zackary and only Zackary could see.

Sephiroth‘s breath hitched.

This was his fault. It was his mission, his burden to carry and implode under. He was taught better. Raised better. He knew better than to let emotions hamper his judgment and sacrifice others in the aftermath, ignoring his orders in the ghostly-thin pursuit of something… something that had never been more than a chance.

He took a step closer to the boy, creeping almost, unwilling to do anything more but inch towards the toxic numbness bubbled around Zackary; nudging it, a delicate gesture with scared fingertips.

Zackary turned around then. He heard his coat shifting, that was what startled him. Sephiroth didn’t move any closer; he only held the young boy’s gaze, forcing himself to remain anchored to the ground, no matter how loud his eyes screamed, no matter how many spears it sent into his own.

But, beyond all the poison, Sephiroth saw the drought in his eyes most of all.

Zackary was struggling to hold it in. Hiding it, because he probably thought it was the only thing to do now. To move on. To not waste a single drop of energy mourning what was the past. Sephiroth knew… he recognized it so well; they were the same visceral ideals carved deep inside him.

Zackary narrowed his eyes, but he wasn’t scowling. It was too hard when his lips had begun to quiver.

Sephiroth took in another slow, loud breath. “Don’t fight yourself,” he said. “It’s alright…”

And it was.

Zackary’s visage crumpled all at once, the dams in his eyes splintering and the drought overtaken by pouring rainfall, stifled streams bursting free, riding down his pale cheeks and making his scar glisten.

And then he launched himself into his coat.

Sephiroth nearly stumbled from the sheer, unrelenting impact, his footing lost from… surprise if nothing else. It was as if he had been torn from his body, floating above time, a numb husk of himself being clutched by his subordinate. Zackary, whom he had misled. Zackary, whom he lied to. Zackary, whose burdens he poured onto his shoulder.

Zackary… who was just lost… and whose mentor had been taken away from him.

Sephiroth returned to his body, where his arms still remained half-raised. He was able to move his chin, however, so that is what he did, lowering his gaze to see Zackary burrowed into his coat, sobbing hysterically into the gradually-swamping leather, bleeding darker with tears. He burrowed away from the world; away from the sword; two thick, parting bangs buried deep in the crook of his neck.

“Sephi… Sephir…” he waded through his words. “Se… roth…”

Slowly, carefully, gingerly, as if handling a glass statue, Sephiroth brought his arms to wrap around the boy. He had control of his limbs again, and they knew what to do, even if he had never… embraced anyone before. He wasn’t to cling and hook his nails like Zackary.

"I know..." Sephiroth solaced, a shaky but zephyrous whisper rustling Zack’s hair. And he did know…. He felt the pain. He felt the absence gouged out of his heart too. He felt it all, every bit of it, every droplet of acid that was burning his friend from the inside out.

"I know how you feel."

"Take a seat, boy. You know where."

Sephiroth's expression had schooled into nothing but stoic, unfeeling neutrality by the time he was seating himself atop the operating table, catlike slits tight and vigilant as he eyed the professor's back, their slitted shapes vaguely pulsing in adjustment to the laboratory's sterile gloom. Everything was just as it always was: dingy, mechanical, the entire enclosure aglow with Mako tanks he had once bathed in as a child...

Ah, yes. Home sweet home.

"What was this drivel you were spewing in the doorway?" Hojo finally turned around to glare at him, eyebrow arched, miry hair trickling down his forehead and glasses as he capped the pen in his hands. "Double sweater what?"

"Don't fret about it," Sephiroth grunted.

"Oh, but I will. I will fret about it very much. Don't pretend I didn't recognize that whelp's voice in the corridor. Really, Sephiroth..." He began approaching from across the lab, a spattered ghost shuffling against cold tile, the man's countenance wrinkled and contorted with disdain. "Did you need someone to escort you down here? To hold your hand? Is that what you're telling me, boy? Is that what you're really telling me now...?"

The extra venom did nothing to subdue the weight of Sephiroth's scoff, serpentine slits drifting away in boredom.

"He insisted on joining me on the walk down here. It's as simple as that."

"And you obliged?"

"Of course."

Amusing, how he could practically hear the professor's teeth gnash in irritation. Nothing seemed to push his buttons more than clear and utter nonchalance.

"I just don't understand you boy. I just don't understand. Please, help me understand. Because I just cannot wrap my head around the notion that someone with so much strength and will can be so unabashedly foolish..."

Ah, yes. "Foolish." His most favorite word in the dictionary. Perhaps right next to spineless, pathetic, imperfect... Sephiroth's gaze remained averted as he shook his head sardonically.

"The same old wisdom as always, I see."

"Don't give me lip, boy. You think I don't remember? You think I don't remember your ceaseless whining? You think I don't remember how utterly shattered your resolve was when Hollander's little playthings abandoned you? One after the othe—"

"Enough." Sephiroth's eyes snapped back to the professor. "I did not come to here to discuss this."

"Ah, yes. And there it is. The denial. Each and every time I remind you of your previous blunders, you insist on being so petulant and mulish. So stubborn. Why is that? Why is it that you are so insistent, boy on repeating your past mistakes?" And he injected more venom into his voice, posing the question with poison, far more viciously potent than the last strain.

Far more personal.

Playthings, blunders, mistakes... Sephiroth's shoulders briefly tensed at the serrated words, muscles tightening, an old and tender wound of the past being so callously scraped by uncaring hands...—

I love you, pal!

Be careful, okay?

Well, who care what he thinks?!

—But a wound too scabbed over to open up and bleed.

"Because..." Sephiroth started, gazing into the sneer of those shadowed lenses with cold conviction, emerald waters unruffled and unwavering. "Zack is not a mistake."

There was more gnashing, the man's lips pulling back into a visible snarl, yellow teeth caged in their rotten cells as he met the unyielding steel of those Mako eyes. "Fine. Be that way, boy. Let yourself be brainwashed; what do I care?" He began fishing through his coat with a taut expression. "Nonetheless... what is the problem? Why did you message me?"

As if suddenly awakening from its dormancy, Sephiroth kneaded his temple, the faint buzzing having resurfaced all again. "...Headaches," Sephiroth explained as neutrally as possible. "Faint ones. But bothersome. I was wondering if it perhaps it was Mako imbalance, or..."

He half-expected Hojo to interrupt him, expecting the man to sever his sentence in favor of telling him that he was being whiny. Pathetic. He expected the man to walk away mid-explanation, point toward the door, and tell him and his "brainwashed" self to get out of his sight until he could stop being so imperfectly spineless.

Really, boy? Really?! You came to me for a "headache?" Are you a child? Do I need to give you another test of endurance..?—

He did not expect the man's eyes to light up behind his lenses.

"A headache...?" The irritated scowl had melted off of Hojo's face in favor of piqued curiosity, head canting slightly, raising a calloused hand to his chin. "Do continue."

...

Heh?

Confused, but partially grateful for the lack of apathy, Sephiroth elaborated:

"Yes... a headache. One that has been going on for quite a while now, particularly worsening during the day as opposed to night. Though it feels more akin to... vibrations as opposed to a throb. Almost buzz-like. It's frankly very unnerving."

By now, Hojo had migrated over to his side, debatable if he was even fully listening, the predatory gleam of a syringe winking under artificial light as it was withdrawn.

"Yes, yes... wonderful. Wonderful."

...

Heh?

Confusion whetted into suspicion as Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, feline slits scrutinizing, the professor's lips having curled into a faint but unmistakable smile. He was no stranger to Hojo being rather calloused about his discomfort, but even this appeared to be a bit more joyous than usual.

"Is there something you would like to tell me?"

"Mmn?" Hojo was already rolling up his coat sleeve. "Oh, no. Not at all. I'm just surprised it's occurring so soon."

...

Heh?!

"Pardon me...?" Sephiroth scowled. "What is—"

"Ah. Don't fret about it, boy. Don't fret. Forget I said anything." And then there was a needle in his skin, the sharp prick of metal biting into flesh as it leeched away his blood. "We are just going to take a sample..."

Sephiroth watched the slender tube grow rich with crimson, the bubbling confusion in his eyes momentarily eclipsed by something pained and bittersweet. Why couldn't I be the donor...?  echoed pensive, unanswered words from months and months ago. He'd always wanted to pose the question to Hojo. Why couldn't he donate his blood to the injured Genesis? Why did Hollander give him such a disgusted look upon asking? Why was he not viable...? Of course, the moment he did present his qualms to the professor, Sephiroth received nothing but a cryptic and indifferent response as a reward, hardly even spared genuine thought and attention given to him.

Because you're not a failure, boy. That is why. Now sit still... the Mako has to go into the right vein!

Letting out a silent sigh, Sephiroth turned his gaze away from the syringe.

...He could use some moral support right now.

What if Seph needed some moral support right now?

Zack couldn't help himself from biting his cheek, a bad habit he'd developed as a child as a means of bridling his nerves, turning around every few steps to glance back toward the elevator from which he just exited.

Sure... okay, maybe he was being a little stupid. Maybe he was being a little childish. But he really just couldn't help it: he'd heard way too many horror stories about that hellhole to not be scared sockless about Seph! Too many times had fear flashed through Seph's eyes when mentions of the lab were uttered; too many times had he seen Seph grow tense when they walked by the weasel in the hall; too many times had he had sleepovers with his friend, sleeping on his couch, and waking up in the middle of the night to see Seph tossing and turning in the throes of a nightmare, murmuring the man's infected name like it was the plague.

Zack whipped his head around again, worried eyes staring over his shoulder as he made his way down the bustling SOLDIER floor.

He... he just couldn't stand the thought of that rotten excuse of a scientist being anywhere near his friend. Had he really made the right decision in leaving Seph in there...? Was he a bad pal for skedaddling? Should he be standing outside that door right now, waiting for him if anything went wrong? No... no that was just silly. Seph promised everything would be just fine. He double sweater swore. And Seph would never break a sweater swear... right? Yeah—yeah of course. He would be just fine... Probably. Maybe. Yes. He had to be. Seph could handle anythi—

SLAM!

"Oww!"

In a matter of nanoseconds, the cold metal of a water fountain was jabbing right smack into his thigh, earning itself a startled yelp from the distracted SOLDIER as Zack whirled back around to clutch his leg.

And the pain pulsed under his fingers, a blossom of pink already beginning to form, pulsing from nerve cell to brain in a rapid jolt of transmission.

And the pain pulsed.

And pulsed.

And pulsed.

And pulsed.

And puls—

—ed

"Hnnn."

Sephiroth's face scrunched briefly with a wince as, suddenly, sitting atop that operating table, nothing but a stretch of cold metal touching his clothed skin, a deep and painful something jabbed into his... his thigh? His hand flew to the afflicted area in instinct, the shock of pain prisoned behind his locked jaw, confusion more than evident in his wide open eyes. And the the buzzing... The buzzing in his head had turned into an angry swarm, almost seeming to clog his ears with its cerebral wingbeats. Almost like a flurry of rapid pulses in his psyche.

Teeth caged, Sephiroth padded around his upper thigh, trying to search for exact spot where he must have had some kind of spasm. Or maybe a muscle pulled? No... no it felt much more like a bruise. A slam. Perhaps he had just mindlessly rammed it into the side of the table...? Most likely. But how? He wasn't one to let himself be so distracted!

"What is it now?" Hojo turned over his shoulder upon hearing him grimace, reddened syringe still in hand, having only made it about halfway across the lab before the sudden assault on his limb. "Please do not tell me you're having a delayed reaction to the needle."

Sephiroth shook his head, a low growl escaping, forcing himself to remove his hand from the achy stretch of cotton. "No..." he bit through his words, the buzzing already beginning to thankfully subside. "It's... it's something else."

"Like what?"

"I... I'm not certain. Perhaps a bruise...?"

"A bruise?"

"Or... or perhaps n—"

"Oh, for the love of..." Hojo didn't even allow him to finish his sentence before he was shuffling back over to his side, bending down, and reaching out to aggressively roll up the cuff of his pants. "Boy... If you have a burst vessel now, we are going to have—"

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Ivory, untainted, and perfect skin was all there was waiting for them under the material, completely unblemished and unreddened.

...

...Heh?

Hojo slowly lifted his gaze, lips pulled into a taut scowl, all the previous joy having drained away in favor of whatever the level below "unimpressed with his pathetic and spineless son who whined about meaningless trivialities" could possibly be.

Sephiroth swallowed in silence, his throat beginning to burn.

"I... I felt something."

"Please. Get out, boy."

"I did feel something."

"I'll send you the results when I get them."

"I can endure—"

"Out, Sephiroth. Now." And a greasy finger was pointing toward the door, curled and bony as it gestured callously for him to leave. "I have much work to do."

Swallowing audibly, Sephiroth let his bangs spill over his unneutral visage as he slid off the operating table—hobbling slightly on his left leg—and making his way toward the exit, a quiet and bitter breath of acquiescence dripping from his lips all the while.

"...Yes, father."