Chapter Text
The ground is warm, padded by soft grass and sweet flowers. He’ll have to remember to apologize to Aerith for crushing her flowers again. Gaia, he hasn’t felt this peaceful in years.
Which means shit’s about to go down again.
A slender hand smooths hair from his forehead. Reluctantly, Cloud opens his eyes, squinting against the shafts of sunlight falling through the broken roof. Aerith smiles, green eyes bright. “It’s time to wake up, Cloud.”
“Why?” It’s a genuine question. He’s saved the world over and over again. Why can’t he just have a break? Forever, if possible.
“You know why,” a new voice says. Cloud lifts himself from the bed of flowers, eyes wide. Zack Fair beams, taking a seat in the grass. Aerith smacks his arm for crushing more than a few flowers. “Hey, Spike.”
“Zack.” Cloud’s not prepared for the way his voice wobbles. “Zack, I’m-”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he interrupts, still smiling. It turns into something gentle as he gently knocks a fist against Cloud’s shoulder. “You’ve come so far. You’re a true hero.”
“What kind of hero am I that I couldn’t even save you two,” he points out miserably. Cloud hangs his head. The guilt has eaten him alive for over a decade now.
Zack punches his shoulder. Hard.
Cloud grunts, one hand flying to his arm. It surprised him more than it did hurt. “What?”
“Sometimes, things happen,” Zack says, shrugging. “It was out of your hands.”
“And in any case,” Aerith chips in, “You’ll have a second chance again.”
“Second chance, how?”
He gets his answer in the tugging sensation in his navel. The sunlight turns cold, suffocating. Aerith leans forward to cradle his face with a hand. “This time around, it’s your turn to be taken care of.”
“What does that mean?” Cloud asks, desperately. The paradise is coming to ruins. The grass wilts, dies so fast, he gets whiplash. The air dips into something stale, acrid with the stench of potent mako. The ground, the dirt, crumbles beneath him, tearing him away from the ones he failed.
He falls.
***
It’s not a nightmare this time.
The mako sears his skin, making it crawl like it’s alive. He doesn’t even realize there’s hands on him until someone shouts in his ear.
“Cloud!”
Cloud shoves the offending hands away from him, retching nothing but bile and mako. He stands, nearly falling right back to the ground as he shakes his head.
It’s a lab. It’s the lab. Cloud shudders hard, using a desk to pull himself up. His vision stables quickly, centering his sight until it falls on a familiar face. He scowls, then spits residual mako and hair out of his mouth. His hair is too long. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t ask to be jolted in space and time,” Kadaj sneers. It doesn’t have the same effect, not when Kadaj looks like he’s tiny and shivering. He looks half the age when they fought. “Get out.”
“Get- Where are your…brothers?” Cloud asks, feeling an unwelcome sliver of pity worm into his heart. He pats himself down, noting he’s still in the same delivery uniform.
The other is stuck in a hospital gown, flapping open in the back from its undone ties. His hair, dripping with mako, tickles the small of his back. Kadaj, like Cloud, is also soaked.
Kadaj watches him with wary eyes and a sour face. “I said get out. Or did the mako rot your brain?”
“And I asked where your brothers were,” Cloud snaps back, crossing his arms. The movement pulls at his tangled hair.
Then what are you going to do?” Kadaj asks viciously. “Torture us? Hold one of us hostage? Torture while two watch? Hate to break it to you, but we have nothing.”
“I couldn’t care less about what you have,” Cloud says. “I’m breaking you out, that’s what I want to do.”
He also doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels a sense of kinship for them. After watching them be discarded by Jenova, they had fallen as nothing more than stepping stones.
Kadaj jolts like he’s been poked with a cattle prod. His green eyes are wide with surprise, little mouth dropped. Cloud can see the flash of tiny fangs before Kadaj snaps it shut with a suspicious look. “Why would you do that?”
“Because no one deserves to be stuck with Hojo,” Cloud admits, shuffling over to what looks like a locker. He forces it open easily, metal crumpling beneath his hand. Inside, on top of some shelves, lies some clothing in neatly folded piles. He grabs those and tosses them towards Kadaj, using some to dry himself off. “Move it. Before someone else comes in.”
Reluctantly, Kadaj dresses. Cloud stifles a chuckle at the boy drowning in oversized clothing. He has to roll the shirt and pants up more than a dozen times, and even then, it’s still a little too big. Kadaj clicks his tongue, annoyed.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Cloud reminds him, as he rummages around. If he’s dressed like this, Tsurugi must have come with him.
He doesn’t quite understand where they are, but the ground beneath him tells a story. Cloud just can’t understand it wholly, but he feels the gist. If this is what Aerith feels all the time, he’s glad he’s not a Cetra.
Not that he’s happy about all of this.
He doesn’t find Tsurugi, but he does find the other Remnants. For whatever reason, the labs are empty of any personnel, not that he’s complaining. He doesn’t see anything that would indicate recent activity, like food or a drink, but the piles of dust on the desk are telling.
Loz and Yazoo are stuck in mako tanks, oxygen masks clasped to their lower face. Cloud winces once, hard, and fumbles for the release latch. The mako drains and the tanks pop open with a gaseous hiss.
Kadaj flits over to his brothers, hands passing over their chests as he lays them on the floor gently. He sighs, barely audible even to his ears. “They’re alive.”
“No point in keeping corpses in mako tanks,” Cloud explains awkwardly, busying himself with the papers atop the desks. The jargon is out of his comprehension, but what he’s looking for are dates.
The year is set almost a decade back from where it should be, but that’s not even the most concerning part. Nothing is going as he remembers, hazy memories set aside.
He sets the papers back down in favor of approaching Loz and Yazoo. They’re soaking wet and unconscious, but their heartbeats are strong. Cloud stands and darts back to the other room, pulling two other sets of clothes. He brings more to be used as towels.
“Dry Loz,” Cloud orders, tossing him an extra shirt. Without waiting for Kadaj to listen, he dries Yazoo and starts to dress him. They’re all so small, it’s hard not to feel sorry for them, even after all the trouble they’ve given him.
“Why are you doing this?” Kadaj asks quietly, but he sounds more defeated than angry. “You could just leave us here.”
“I already told you,” Cloud says, rolling the pants so Yazoo’s not swimming in them. “No one deserves to be with Hojo or any quack for that matter. I’m not gonna leave anyone in his hands, enemies or not.”
Kadaj stays quiet then, lost in his thoughts as he does the same to Loz’s clothes. Cloud stands, startling him out his thoughts. “I’m going to search for a friend. I’ll be back.”
The other doesn’t give him a response, but he turns his head back to Loz. He’s done all he can in the moment, but his little hands brush over his brothers’ body, busy with their hair and positioning their clothes. He’ll be fine.
Cloud pads down the hall with his wet boots. The squishy sounds echo throughout the lab, even as he enters a room with a rug. It’s familiar in the way he feels a sense of deja vu.
“Vincent Valentine,” he calls out as he approaches the coffin. It doesn’t move, so he raps his knuckles against the lid. “You should wake up.”
No one answers. Cloud frowns, knocking harder. The sound echoes in the room, but that’s all there is. He knows Vincent is silent, but this is a new level for the Turk.
Finally, Cloud shoves the lid off, letting it clatter to the floor with a tumultuous crash. The padded coffin is empty.
Nothing is going the way it should be. Cloud sucks in a breath and breathes out, closing his eyes. “It’s fine,” he tells himself. “It could be worse.”
Cloud treks through the house to collect what he can. He finds three summons—Leviathan, Odin, and Bahamut Zero—sitting and collecting dust on a shelf. He also finds two firearms, slim and silver. He knows who those belong to. Cloud switches the safety on and sticks the barrel through one of his belts.
He makes his way back to the Remnants. Kadaj is still the only one conscious, but it looks like he might be close to passing out. He snaps to attention when he hears Cloud’s footsteps. “Where’s your…friend?”
“Wasn’t there,” Cloud says gruffly. “We have to leave before someone finds us.”
“And go where,” Kadaj sneers. “We have no transportation and my brothers are unconscious.”
“I’ll carry them out.” Cloud kneels and gently slings Loz and Yazoo over his shoulder and waist respectively. With Tsurugi angled across his back, it makes sense to do so. “Come on.”
“You will not be able to carry them for long,” Kadaj mutters darkly, but he pulls himself to his feet to follow. His shoes make a sopping wet noise. Chocobos would be useful.”
“There aren’t any chocobos in Nibelheim,” Cloud remarks idly as he treks through the hall, shifting Loz so his hip isn’t digging into his shoulder. He’d have to find food for them. They’re too skinny.
“We are not in Nibelheim,” Kadaj utters nonchalantly, but he still sounds mystified. “We are somewhere in Mideel.”
Cloud stops. “What? No, the Shinra Manor is in Nibelheim. What makes you think we’re in Mideel?”
“I read the records while you were gone,” Kadaj says flatly. “We are in Mideel.”
That can’t be. But also, nothing makes sense here and now. Until they get out of the manor, they won’t truly know.
“Fine, let’s go find some chocobos,” Cloud relents, resuming his walk. The dank air becomes fresher, warmer, as they approach the surface. The interior is the same as he remembers (fuzzy as it was), but the scent isn’t the same.
It smells sweet and warm, like apples. Nothing like the harsh scent of snow and pine.
The patched windows allow slats of sunlight to shutter through, another significant difference in surroundings. Cloud kicks through the door with a damp boot and is almost immediately blinded by the sun.
When his vision returns to normal, green is the first thing that he registers. Not the acid green of mako, but the warm green of growth and shrubbery. The scent of sweet fruit blooms before him, the result of the strange purple fruits hanging on dozens of curved trees before them.
“Where are we?”
“Mideel,” Kadaj repeats as he takes a look around. He doesn’t leave Cloud’s space, however, choosing to turn his head like a wary bird. “The records mentioned Banora.”
The name triggers a memory, but it’s a hazy one. He vaguely remembers someone mentioning Banora, but he wasn’t sure where or what it was at the time.
“I think I’ve heard of it.” Cloud approaches a tree, leaning Loz and Yazoo against a twisted trunk. He palms a fruit, plucking it from the stem. It’s dark purple and firm, smooth to the touch. Using the base of his thumbs, he cracks the apple open right down the middle.
The fruit breaks with a single crisp noise. The inside is white and looks to be something edible. Cloud takes a solid bite, rolls it around in his mouth, and swallows. As a mountain boy, he knew the signs of poisonous plants and this was nothing. So, he offers the half to Kadaj. “Seems to be safe.”
Kadaj takes the fruit with slow hands. Cloud thinks he might protest or whine at being treated like an invalid, but he surprises him. The boy takes a nibble, then a second hurried bite. “Sweet.”
It feels like an idyllic moment, something out of a soft afternoon from working. Cloud is tired of fighting. Kadaj is also tired of fighting.
They sit down and share another fruit.
***
They do manage to find a chocobo flock, which is useless because Mideel is essentially on an island. They need a boat to get to Edge.
A part of Cloud wonders if Edge exists anymore. Perhaps it has reverted back to Midgar, or some other alternate form of it.
Cloud, to the best of his pitiful ability, scrounges for enough money from Banora’s errand board to convince a cargo boat going from Mideel to Fort Condor to ferry them along. Coincidently, Loz and Yazoo wake up and try to scratch his eyes out like two scrawny feral cats, but Kadaj explains the situation.
After they attempt their feeble fight, of course. Because Kadaj just can’t help but make life a little more miserable for Cloud.
While Cloud takes care of monster fighting, they handle simple errands like chocobo care or herb picking. Half of him expects them to ditch him and do whatever they wish, but he’s surprised when they wait for him at the errand board.
Cloud takes it in stride and buys three used hooded jackets to cover their hair. He doesn’t know what the SOLDIER situation is here, but three kids with white hair isn’t exactly common.
Before they head out to the boat, Yazoo tells him to bend down. Cloud pops a squat, one hand tilting Tsurugi so the blunt edge rests on the ground, and looks at him. “What?”
“We must do something about your hair,” Yazoo says, contemplative instead of annoyed. He reaches his little hands up to card spindly fingers through the mess. “We can use this to our advantage.”
“How so?” Cloud asks warily.
Yazoo puts him through two rounds of pain as he yanks and pulls at Cloud’s tangles. It takes half an hour to de-tangle and straighten the mess, and even still the front half sticks up like the back of a chocobo. Another half hour is spent between the Remnants on how they should put it.
“Leave it,” Kadaj suggests.
“Chop it off,” Loz shouts excitedly, brandishing a stick like a knife as he slices through the air.
“No, we should braid it,” Yazoo says, threading through his hair. His hands are gentle this time, almost careful. “He can pass as a woman.”
As a mother goes unsaid. It’s something none of them are willing to say quite yet. The word itself probably does more damage than being stabbed does.
He thinks the braid is bad enough, but then Yazoo suggests he also dress the part. At first, he puts his foot down. Even the mention of a dress is giving him flashbacks and they haven’t even entered a store.
Then Kadaj points out that people are more likely to underestimate him if he looks like a woman. Would make fighting easier.
Grudgingly, emphasis on grudgingly, Cloud buys the simplest dress he can find, one that will allow for a harness from his original clothing. He paints an odd picture, but it’ll work for now.
He leaves his own clothing somewhere in an alley, carefully folded. A part of him wants to bring it, for more reasons than just masculinity. It was a part of him, a part of Edge, and his journey to who he became. Leaving it behind felt wrong.
But the more pragmatic side of him knew the less things to carry, the better. Clothes could be regained. Lives could not. Or they usually couldn’t be anyways.
Cloud braids his hair as best as he can, leaving it to drape down his chest. A dirty checkered cloth is wrapped around his head, the closest they can get to taming his wild hair.
When they go to convince the captain to let them on the ship, he gives them a mournful look and takes half the money he had advertised earlier. Cloud makes sure to keep his eyes down and half-lidded to try and hide the mako shine.
“Best of luck to you, miss,” he says forlornly, before waving them ahead.
Cloud struggles to right himself as Kadaj says thank you for him and reaches to grab his hand. With an innocent look, he says, “Let's go, mother” and tugs him onto the boat. Loz reaches for his other hand which seals the act in both charming the captain and aging Cloud by ten years.
“I’m not built for this,” Cloud mutters, closing his eyes.
“You are, actually,” Kadaj, the little shit, points out. “Slim figure, soft face, long hair. You-”
“I’ll throw you off the boat if you finish that sentence,” Cloud threatens.
None of them take the threat seriously, including Cloud. He’s only really been with them for a little under two weeks, but he’ll kill anyone that looks at them wrong.
His motion sickness has lessened greatly since his unwilling enhancements, but the sensation has not gone away entirely. While Cloud’s not going to blow chunks over the rail, he finds himself uneasy with light nausea.
The Remnants haven’t seen him with motion sickness before and it shows in the way they stare.
“You look bad,” Loz says. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You’re not poisoned, are you?” Yazoo asks carefully, trying to appear unconcerned.
“Enhanced people can’t get poisoned, stupid,” Kadaj hisses.
“Don’t call Yazoo stupid, Kadaj,” Cloud chides, leaning against the rail. The waves roll and crash against the side of the boat ferrying cargo. “And I used to have motion sickness. Doesn’t bother me too much now.”
“You get sick from vehicles?” Kadaj asks skeptically. Cloud gets it. Seeing him uneasy now when he could fight the three of them (or one Sephiroth), was probably a bit jarring. “That’s…unfortunate.”
“You should’ve seen me when I was in Infantry,” Cloud mutters, tilting his head towards the sky. The smell of brine isn’t helping the nausea, but the cool wind certainly is.
The boat sails smoothly for a little under a week, docking at Fort Condor on the fifth day. The sun is just setting in the horizon, a sliver of gold in the dark sea.
“Good luck to you, ma’am,” the captain says once more, tipping his cap in his direction. Cloud doesn’t correct him. Better for him to make assumptions if it works in their favor. He tilts his head back and ushers his three “kids” off the boat.
Fort Condor is a dry place, one with metal structures and industrial works. It’s a vastly different place from Banora, which was rustic and green.
It’s also vastly different from the Fort Condor he knows of. Last he remembered it, it consisted of a small village and underground caves, not whatever this is. Still, the inn holds hope for rest.
As hardy as they are, they are all still weak from lack of nourishment and the lack of rest. From the moment they woke up, they’ve been working around the clock for survival. Cloud finds a rundown patchy inn and uses some gil to negotiate for the cheapest room they have.
Upon seeing the Remnants’ little bodies, the hostess tries to push for a room with two beds, but Cloud remains on one. He lets it slip that he doesn’t have the gil to pay for any more than a single-bed room and attempts for the best pitiful look he can muster.
Her eyes soften like butter. Initially, upon seeing the massive sword slung across his back, her eyes had been wary. When his three tagalongs filed in beside him, they made themselves useful by clutching the skirt of his dress. Of course, they kept their hoods on and their faces down. It was then that her eyes softened with empathy. She sighs.
“I can offer you a double for the same price,” she says, gazing at what she believes is his children. “I can’t spare much, but I also can’t turn away from a mother in need.”
“Thank you,” Cloud says, purposefully drawing his voice into a soft murmur. “You’re very kind.”
Cloud accepts the key and sends the Remnants up the wooden stairs first. He tells them he’ll be back with food and water.
He buys a large skin of water—an investment worth for the road—and some bread and chocobo drumsticks. They also sell jerky, catered to the travelers, and he buys some as well.
Cloud steps up the stairs, silently cursing the skirt as he does, and approaches their floor when he stops. Just around the corner, someone speaks. The familiar drawl makes him grimace.
“Jeez, all I want to do is hit the sack, and here we are-”
Cloud rounds the corner, hands tight on his tray. He stops short. Even knowing it may not be his Reno and Rude, the similarity is jarring. They both stare at him. Not unusually, Rude’s eyes barely widen behind his ever-present sunglasses, but Reno’s eyes go comically wide.
However, Cloud doesn’t expect Reno to stiffen and back away, his hand darting to his Mag-Rod. “Hey, whoa, hold on. You’re-”
“Hungry and tired,” Cloud snaps, crossing his arms. “You’re blocking the hallway.”
Reno’s eyebrows, red as his atrocious rat-tail hair, shoot into his hairline. Reno takes one look at his eyes and they nearly fly right off his face. “You’re…?”
Reno takes another step back, masking it as a slouching shuffle. Cloud watches his hands in case he calls for backup. Rude doesn’t move at all.
Why so scared of him? Reno’s little laugh of disbelief almost makes Cloud crack a smile. It’s been a while since he’s seen Reno so lost. “You’re dead. There's no way you’re here.”
“I’m Cloud,” he corrects him. “And I am here, so budge off. Don't know who you are to me, but I don’t care.”
“We’re sorry about that,” Rude says suddenly, surprising both of them. He tilts his head forward. “You looked like someone we knew.”
Cloud clicks his tongue. “Well, it doesn’t sound like you were on friendly terms with them. Have a good night.”
He’s not sure why Reno and Rude had such a reaction towards him, but they need to leave before something happens. He feels a trickle of irritation at having paid upfront, but he waves it away. Gil can be earned, but lives cannot.
He shuts the door in Reno’s flabbergasted face. No doubt they’ll try to listen in, but they’re all enhanced and he is not.
“I don’t know what’s his problem, but we’ll have to leave now,” Cloud murmurs as soft as the wind. “Don’t want to risk anything. Did he see you?”
“Neither of them did,” Kadaj mutters just as quietly. “We can kill him.”
“No.” Cloud thwaps a hand behind Kadaj’s head gently. “No killing.” He pauses and adds, “Unless it’s the only choice you have left in protecting yourself.”
Kadaj mutters something unsavory, too dark for a six year old’s vocabulary.
“I’m hungry,” Loz exclaims, eyeing the food he had set on the bed.
“Eat up,” Cloud says, dividing the bread and meat between them three.
Kadaj throws him a look. “And what are you eating? You're still weak.”
“I’ll eat later.” Cloud waves a hand dismissing him. “Focus on yourselves. Your bodies are young and growing, mine is not.”
“You are recovering.” Yazoo picks up the drumstick and hands it to him. “I require the least amount of food to function.”
“Don’t care, eat it.” Cloud pats Yazoo on the head without thinking. “I bought food for the road. I’ll eat later.”
He doesn’t take off Tsurugi as he eyes the Remnants eating. Reno isn’t a threat in a physical sense, but enough Turks can cause more problems than he would ever care for.
In fifteen minutes, they’re done and even had to refresh themselves. Cloud keeps an ear out for Reno, but to his surprise, they’re still left alone. Could it be that they're surrounded? Wouldn’t surprise him.
“Here’s the plan,” Cloud says after he’s turned on the shower. While he knows Turks can’t hear through walls, he doesn’t know if there are SOLDIERS stationed with them. “I’ll leave first. If they don’t know you’re here, then that works in our favor. I’ll try to make a racket big enough for you three to slip off.”
Cloud scribbles down an address. He’d been planning while they were eating, having slipped a map from the ground floor. “We’ll meet here, alright?”
Finally, he hands Yazoo the firearms he’d found in the Manor. “Hide in the closet until you feel everyone has arrived at the window. I know it’s hard, but try not to kill anyone.”
Maybe he should be concerned about handing a former enemy a weapon, but it’s the way they’ve handled themselves with him that makes him feel better.
The last thing he hands out is a piece of paper, which he holds out to Kadaj. Kadaj takes it, eyeing him warily. He scans the address before looking up. His green eyes are piercing, but hold no malice. “Don’t die.”
Cloud laughs without humor. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
He peeks through a curtain to catch the tail of a Turk suit slipping through the dark alleys and swears silently. They are being watched. Cloud lets the curtains fall. “Get ready.”
While the Remnants get ready to run, Cloud pulls out Odin and says a silent apology to the innkeeper for the chaos he’s about to sow.
Five seconds is all it takes for lightning to strike the dirt road, sending a tidal wave of debris flying as Odin’s figure cuts through the night on Sleipnir. He’s summoned Odin before, but it still makes a terrific sight every time Cloud sees him.
Unfortunately, there’s no time to admire the sight. It takes two seconds for Cloud to fling himself from the window and take off down the street like a bat out of Hel.
He gains the attention of the locals, SOLDIERS, and Turks, all running down after him like he’s a loose dog. Perfect.
Further down the street, a man dressed in a crimson leather coat stops right in front of him, one hand flaming with a readied Firaga.
“I can’t believe they called me in for-” Then he really takes Cloud in. “I- You!”
“Me,” Cloud says bluntly, one hand on Tsurugi’s handle. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who am I?” he splutters incredulously. “Who am I? How do you not remember your own soulmate?”
“What are you talking about?” Cloud shakes his head. “Nevermind, out of my way.”
Odin returns to Cloud’s side, thundering down the street. Lightning strikes off his body like sparks flying from the hearth. The other man darts out of the way before he can get run off and whirls around, ready to engage; but Cloud’s already streaking down the street after Odin.
He kind of hates to admit it, but a skirt makes running easier than when he had his blacksmith apron. It’s lighter material, but it’s stiff enough that it doesn’t hinder his legs. Not that his blacksmith apron did much against his enhancements.
Cloud leads his pursuers in circles, purposefully losing them little by little all over Fort Condor. Seeing as he has done no (little) harm to property or people, many of the locals have started watching him run circles around Shinra personnel.
In fact, he spots some of the younger ones cheering him on (much to their elders’ chagrin) as he passes them. It seems Shinra isn’t exactly welcome everywhere in this world as well.
“Cloud!”
Cloud nearly trips over his feet as a painfully familiar voice calls out to him, but the gaining footsteps keep him from slowing down. He takes a sharp turn, spinning his weight on the ball of his foot.
It takes one devastating second to recognize Zack Fair streaking down the street at mach fucking one.
Cloud’s base instinct is to flee. The guilt and the shame and the why is he running so fast sinks down into his muscles and brings him to run in the opposite direction. One more anguished cry comes from Zack and he stumbles again, one hand outreached in the dirt.
Why is he here?
Before Zack can reach him, a gunshot flies from the roof and nestles itself in the sandy dirt.
“Cloud!”
Yazoo’s face pokes from the top of the rooftop. Cloud can still see the smoke rising from the barrel of his firearm.
“Get out of here,” Cloud shouts, bemoaning over how stubborn these little brats are. He’s got bigger things to worry about, but the urge to turn around and see Zack is overwhelming.
This isn’t his Zack. His Zack is dead. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but right now, he understands he has three people to take care of.
Cloud makes a decision and runs towards Yazoo.
He misses the face Zack makes.