Chapter Text
They’ve long known that Sephiroth and Cloud are warriors on a level far beyond them—beyond what the Science Department should have been able to give them, even—but this clash of titans is a rude wake-up call. For over two hours they watch the pair fight without pause, rattling the stones beneath their aerial battleground. The air screams, torn asunder by the incredible speed of their blades. The Firsts don’t even need to see them to know who's fighting. No one else on the planet is capable of such violence.
“They’re really trying to kill each other,” Zack whispers, stricken with the same disbelieving dread as Genesis and Angeal.
Must it always be their fate to stand by and watch, unable to intervene?
Genesis really should have been more forceful about keeping Cloud with him this morning. The boy was positively serene, his usual hollow and wary expression smoothed into a placid mask. The moment Genesis saw that expression, he’d remembered the PTSD support seminars Angeal had dragged him to in an effort to, ironically enough, help Cloud. The lecturer’s words were forever ingrained in him after so many repetitions: the sign of an impending suicide attempt is often a severe and sudden change in behavior or attitude, regardless of how good or bad that change seems.
Sudden and severe—two perfectly apt descriptors of Cloud’s newfound good humor. The boy had been a relentlessly grim little thing since he was six. Genesis really shouldn’t have taken no for an answer.
Distantly, Cloud screams a denial and there comes a sound like the striking of a bell, followed by a crack and a deep rumble. Even where they stand, nearly a mile away, the force of the impact kicks up the sand around their feet.
His breath catches. Was that Cloud who hit the ground?
The sounds of battle don’t pick back up. Genesis doesn’t think—he runs. Zack and Angeal follow hot on his heels. He’s paying for his mistake now. They all are.
Be alive, he prays, remembering the feeling of a broken six-year-old body in his arms. Oh Goddess, please let him be alive .
And he is alive. He stands over Sephiroth’s body, sword raised high, impossible wings bloodied and glinting in the sun. He doesn’t need their help. Not for this.
In the end, they watch Cloud put the monster down. Even as they run to him, they watch as he raises his blade and drives it down into Sephiroth’s heart, screaming in rage and anguish. They watch in stunned disbelief as the body dissolves into black mist and disappears.
“Cloud!” Zack slams into him and they stagger. Genesis and Angeal catch up shortly, fluttering over their wayward boy in a near-panic. He’s not in a good state.
“You did it,” Genesis breathes in awe, hands compressing a deep slash on Cloud’s arm, holding the edges together. He will have to be careful in closing this one, and as good at healing as Genesis is, they will need experienced help. Cloud is covered in so much damage it’s a wonder he’s still standing.
But Cloud doesn’t look victorious or satisfied. He doesn’t look relieved. His eyes are glassy and distant, wide with some unspoken horror. When his breath passes over his lips, it trembles. “I can—I can still feel him,” he whispers, bleak with despair. His head tips forward.
“What? That’s—” Angeal cuts himself off. “Nevermind. Later. Cloud, just, let’s get you back to the Tower.”
But Cloud shakes them off in a surprising burst of strength, spinning around and backing away until he’s on the other side of the crater he drove into the ground. He looks at them with a tumult of emotion, shaking his head in jerky, uneven motions. His breath grows ragged again.
“Sorry,” he blurts out, lips pressing together in a painful not-smile—he’s trying to smile, trying to reassure them, but he can’t. “Sorry.”
Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. Genesis takes a step forward, hands rising and voice gentling. “Cloud, it’s alright. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
And his boy laughs, just a little, but it sounds dangerously close to a sob as he takes another step back. “I do. I will. Sorry I’m not smart enough to think my way out of this.” The first of many tears streak down his face.
Angeal is picking up on the same wrongness Genesis is. Even Zack has taken notice, standing stiff and uncertain beside them. “Cloud,” Angeal says, slow and uneasy. For every step they take forward, he takes one back. “Why don’t you come here? Just for a second?”
Cloud laughs again, and then sobs. He shakes his head and smiles with so much love and anguish that Genesis casts a purely instinctive Sleepel at him. He bats it away. “I love you,” he says in a voice that cracks terribly. “He couldn’t even have gotten this far if I didn’t love you. I’m sorry. Just…just remember that I would do anything for you.”
“Cloud, come here,” Genesis commands, voice low and unyielding. He discards caution and begins closing the distance between them in earnest.
“I’m sorry!” Cloud sobs, and raises his sword. The wings he shouldn’t have but somehow does flare out in front of him. They don’t understand what he’s trying to do, but they do know he needs to be stopped. “I’m sorry!”
He brings the sword down.
For a moment, the whole world goes bright, and quiet, and still. Genesis blinks, tasting dust in his mouth, and his ears ring. He sits up, wondering when he fell. Then his dazed eyes land on Cloud’s crumpled form and the horror comes rushing back.
“Cloud!” He scrambles over and this time there’s no one to stop him. Bright gold something splashes across his pants, pooled from the leaking ends of his boy’s cleaved wings. When he turns Cloud onto his side, his cat-slit aquamarine eyes are half-lidded and his breath is shallow. “Shit. Shit! What did you do!”
“So…rry…” Cloud wheezes, pale as death. Zack and Angeal recover enough to join Genesis, hovering even more helplessly than before.
“What did you do?” Zack pleads, voice pitched up with desperation. He tries to apply pressure to the ends of the wings. His hands become covered in hissing, glowing gold.
“I’m…ending it,” Cloud answers, his breath finally evening out. Lucidity returns to his eyes. “Sorry I couldn’t do it better. Faster.”
“Do not speak as if you are going to die!” Genesis hisses, abandoning all caution and casting with his Cure—one, twice, thrice, until the open wounds close. They can fix misaligned tissue when they’re safe at home.
Cloud laughs a little, but the wild emotion from earlier is gone. Now he’s just tired and a sad. “I have to.”
Fury rips through Genesis with the force of an explosion. “I don’t care if you think you have to!” he snaps, getting his arms beneath Cloud’s shoulder and knees. “You will not die!” He stands, taking his boy with him. Then he snaps at Angeal “Call med evac now,” and starts walking.
“I already did,” Angeal says, face sheet-white.
Cloud blinks back tears. “Gen, I’m…” He stops. Then he laughs a little, fond and sad and stricken with grief. “Yeah. Okay.” He curls inward, resting his head on Genesis’s shoulder, and for some reason that makes the Commander’s throat so tight he can barely breathe through it.
“Cloud, buddy, you’re really freaking me out right now,” Zack says, keeping up with Genesis’s angry strides.
“Sorry, Zack,” Cloud says, reaching a shaking hand out until Zack takes it. “I’m sorry. Love you.”
“Okay, see, that’s kind of what’s freaking me out right now,” Zack replies, voice climbing another half octave. He holds on to Cloud’s hand, afraid to let go.
There’s no practical reason for them to walk when med evac is on the way. It just makes Genesis feel less powerless, so they do. And they keep walking, a little faster with each word from Cloud’s mouth.
“Love you. Love you.” He shifts his head, looking for Angeal, who draws in a sharp breath when he realizes that the teenager’s eyes aren’t slit anymore.They look like they did when he was young and calm. “Love you. So much.” He blinks, and more tears course down his face, but his expression is serene. Peaceful. Resigned.
Terror grips Angeal. Whatever Cloud did, he’s certain it will be fatal. “Tell me how to fix this,” he says. “Cloud, tell me how to fix this right now.”
Cloud smiles at him, and he hates the apology in it. “This is fixing it. You can—” he pauses to cough. “You can be mad at me. It’s okay.”
“Oh believe you me, I am positively livid, and we will be having words about self-harm,” Genesis promises, working past the lump in his throat.
“Worth it. For you, worth it.” His eyes shut. He leans back into Genesis, pressing close in such an obvious and uncharacteristic gesture of affection that Commander can’t quite hold back a panicked sob.
“No, no, no—” His boots are thoroughly spattered in gold fluid and there’s a solid trail behind them. His cures did nothing to stop the wings from ‘bleeding.’ Because that’s what this is, and he knows it.
“You all made it… worth it,” Cloud whispers. His breath is slowing down. His words are slurring. “Wouldn’ve gotten…this far without… you. Sorry. Love you.”
“Buddy, just, just hold on,” Zack begs, terrified. “Med evac’s coming, whatever’s wrong, we can fix it.”
“‘M fixing it,” Cloud promises, fervent but weak. “‘S okay…now. Forever. Promise.”
“Cloud—” Genesis’s voice breaks. He’s all but running now, running toward the medical chopper that might as well be lightyears away instead of a few miles.
“Love you,” Cloud repeats. He reaches his free hand across his body, searching for Angeal, who takes it. One last set of hot tears wets Genesis’s collar. “Love you. Love you. Love…”
“Cloud?”
He inhales. He exhales softly, breath warm against Genesis’s neck and the underside of his jaw. Every muscle goes limp. It’s a struggle to hold him like this, but Genesis manages. He holds his own breath, desperately searching for the heartbeat that should pound against his skin from where Cloud’s chest is pressed against his. He can’t find it.
Cloud doesn’t inhale again.
“NO!” Genesis skids to a stop, dropping to his knees fast enough to hurt, but when he lays Cloud down on the soil he’s gentle. “Cloud!” The wings have dissolved away, letting him lay flat. His chest isn’t moving, but it’s not too late. It can’t be too late.
Zack has tears streaking down his cheeks, but he holds himself together as he pulls a Phoenix Down from his gear. “Please,” he begs, voice strangled by the tightness in his throat. “Please.” The Down does nothing where it lays useless on Cloud’s chest. It doesn’t even activate, and Zack chokes on an anguished sob. They all know what that means.
Genesis can barely see through the film over his eyes. “You are not allowed—” he says as he fumbles for his Revive (this isn’t why he thought he would need it) and casts with every bit of mana he can gather up, ”—to sacrifice yourself for me! Do you understand!”
Nothing happens.
“NO! No, get up damn you! Get up!” He goes to cast again, but Angeal moves him to the side and begins chest compressions in some vain hope that physical intervention will work where magic can’t.
“Come on, Cloud,” Angeal says—Angeal, who’s been invested the longest out of all of them, who loves Cloud with every fiber of his being and isn’t a damned coward about expressing it—as he breathes raggedly and keeps the compressions perfectly timed. “Come on. Not like this.”
How long he keeps trying, no one could say. Long enough for med evac to get there. Long enough for Zack to crawl over to Genesis’s side so they can hold each other and pray for a miracle that won’t come. Long enough for Genesis to cast with his Revive again and again, until Zack has to pull him back because he’s gray from overdrawing his mana.
The EMTs swarm, trying what Genesis knows won’t work before they swap to physical medicine. The materia handler casts with an Ice, cooling Cloud’s body to buy them more time as they rush him onto the chopper, measuring and delivering so many syringes of medicine that he can’t keep track. Genesis even gets a bit of attention himself, but he waves them off. Mana recovery is just a matter of time.
“Come on, Stormcloud,” one of the EMTs whispers, holding a thick syringe with a needle half the length of his arm. It’s full of mako, glowing an unmistakable green. Genesis wonders if this EMT was in Wutai, or if she just knows the legends of ShinRa’s Little General. “Come on!” They’re in the air now and she has to steady her hand across his bare chest, needle scaffolded between her fingers before she pushes down, straight into his heart, and presses the plunger.
Every person in the back of the chopper waits, breathless, fingers on veins or eyes on monitor readouts. A prayer is on every pair of lips. Zack sits crammed in between Genesis and Angeal, held by and holding onto both. “Please. Please. Please.”
When nothing changes, the lead EMT draws in a sharp and decisive breath. “One more,” he says to the woman holding the empty mako syringe.
“But it’s never—”
“He’s not a normal SOLDIER. One more.”
She nods, handing the empty syringe off to another for disposal before she pulls a full one from the cooler. “Please work,” she whispers, bracing her hand in the same place again. “Please.” She pushes it into his chest and depresses the plunger, one last time. They wait, but Genesis knows in his heart what’s going to happen. What’s not going to happen. He turns away from the sight of dying hope and his tears fall onto Zack’s hair, glimmering like stars.
The lead EMT slowly shakes his head, and the woman makes a wounded noise. “We can—we can try a tank. Dr. Hollander—”
“No,” Genesis interrupts. His voice is wrecked. “No. Hollander is not getting anywhere near him. It’s—he’s gone.” He knew what he was doing. He knew. He knew he had to make sure we knew he loved us.
Honestly, Genesis isn’t sure what happens after that point. He’s exhausted. The admission that he failed, that his boy is gone, is just too much. All he knows is that the next time he looks up, Zack is the only reason he’s upright and moving. Angeal has Cloud in his arms, and the teenager looks so small. They’re walking the halls. He doesn’t know where to.
SOLDIERs stop, parting and making way with expressions that turn from surprise to confusion to devastation. This, too, is more than he can handle. He lets his head drop, watching his boots with a detached awareness. One step after another, until Zack lowers him into a chair and he looks up to see that they’re in Angeal’s apartment. Cloud’s room. His real room, not that farce in the monster’s apartment. Angeal laid him on the bed, like he’s just asleep again. He’s even taking off his boots and setting them neatly to the side. As if he’s going to need them again.
Genesis reaches over, taking Cloud’s hand. It’s still cold from the spell. Still cold from their efforts to buy him more time. He raises it to his lips, trying to breathe just a little warmth into the knuckles. “I’m sorry, Cloud,” he says, even though he knows it won’t reach him. Not anymore. “I failed you.”
Angeal sits on the bed and tidies Cloud’s hair with his fingers. He needs something to do, some way to help, even though there’s nothing left. “Gen…”
“I did,” Genesis insists. “I should have…done something. Killed the bastard. Run away with him. Noticed he was fucking suicidal! Something!”
“I knew.” Angeal’s voice breaks. Genesis looks up in shock. “I knew he was willing to—to go this far. When he was six…” He has to stop and put his face in one hand. “I hoped—I hoped he’d found something worth living for.”
Zack hugs Angeal, voice muffled into his shoulder. “He did, ‘Geal. He just…found something worth dying for, too.”
Genesis is the one who knows most about what Cloud endured. He knows about the injuries. He knows about the self-sacrifice. He remembers Cloud’s insistence that no one should care for him. That it was too dangerous. He knows more about what Sephiroth did to Cloud than anyone else. And he knows he failed his boy. It strikes him suddenly that he never said I love you aloud. Not even once. Not even at the end.
“I’m sorry, Cloud,” he repeats, voice breaking. “I wasn’t smart enough to think my way out of this either.” He presses his boy’s cold hand to his face, wetting it with tears he doesn’t even deserve to cry. “I love you too.”
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
I hope you knew.
