Chapter Text
The town was burning.
People were burning.
The smell of cooked flesh and ash was heavy in the air as timber creaked and scaffolding collapsed in on itself, weakened by the heat. Screams were distorted by roaring flames, and haunting shadows of neighbors writhed in their midst. The shadows were barely recognizable in the intense flame, and the screams made them sound inhuman. Like a dying wolf, or the howl of wind through the mountain peaks during a snow storm.
Cloud realized that, at some point or another, he had wished each and every one of these people ill for their cruelty to him as a child... but he had never meant it like this. He wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy.
An enemy that was now standing not five yards from him, blade impaled in the stomach of his mother as she begged Cloud to run, or she tried. Blood garbled from her lips in place of words as her eyes implored him in a way her voice no longer could.
Then, with a twist of the infamously long blade, her eyes widened. They still look toward him unblinkingly in urgent hope that he would just leave, but as her body jostled and fell to the ground he knew she was no longer able to see him. She now looked desperately up at the stars in the same fashion, almost like she hoped they would run too.
Cloud could hardly comprehend the notion that she might be dead, and he hadn't been able to do a thing to save her.
The only person that cared for him in the world was dead. And the only person he admired more than her was holding the blade stained with her own blood.
It took everything in Cloud's terror filled mind to calm himself as the great General rounded on him with a maniac laugh and an insane glint in his eyes.
After all, it was just a dream, and soon enough he would wake to the sound of his drill Sargent shouting them out of bed with rude words and crass insults.
For once in Cloud's life that rude awakening couldn't come soon enough.
XoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoX
The sound of the slowly ticking clock was all that could be heard in the room, other than the superficial scratching of a pen on paper. Cloud often wondered what Dr. Powell was writing about in these sessions, because Cloud gave the squat, toad-like man very little to write about. They generally just sat there like an awkward couple on their first date. When the hour was up, Cloud would stand and leave without a glance backwards. Then they would meet again the next week, if not sooner depending on the severity of his all too frequent dreams.
Perhaps the man liked to draw, Cloud thought. Then, he wondered what kind of sick things the clearly unhinged therapist would draw, and shivered, wanting desperately to gag over the imagery supplied by his wandering mind.
"One of your bunk mates told me you were screaming again last night." The man said in his creaky voice with a smirk as he pushed the gold framed glasses up his bulbous, wide-nostrilled nose. When they slid too far down his fat snout it sounded like the man was snoring, which unnerved Cloud more than the ticking of the clock.
Cloud had a feeling that the sick man joined ShinRa's medical staff as a therapist because he got off on things like mental trauma, and the sight of a once strong soldier being brought to his knees by ghosts of war. Cloud personally wondered if the company placed him there in hopes that he would drive some of their soldiers over the edge, just so they wouldn't have to pay for 'damaged goods.'
Not that Cloud saw anyone as damaged goods, except maybe himself, but the other day he heard about a soldier returning from Wutai because he was emotionally unable to continue. A day after talking to Doctor Powell he was found in his apartment, suicide note written neatly in his own scrawl, and his personal blade imbedded in the wall behind his broken body.
Cloud shook himself from those dark rumors and responded with a lazy shrug. "I wouldn't know," He countered, feigning boredom as he looked up at the clock. Only forty more minutes left in the session.
"Was it a nightmare?" The man asked, his leer deepening. He seemed to feed off of any of the details Cloud gave him, like some kind of demon.
"I don't remember." Cloud lied. They sat silently, the man's eyes bored down on him expectantly, and Cloud fidgeted under the scrutiny. He unconsciously twitched his hand, but stopped himself from reaching up and running it through his spikes. It was a tell Cloud had, and he knew it would give himself away if he gave into the sudden urge in front of the obnoxiously observant man. Unfortunately enough the therapist noticed it anyway and beamed.
"I heard you were screaming the General's name." The man gloated with sadistic glee. "An wet dream, maybe? You are of the age that-"
"Stop!" Cloud bellowed, his face bright red, with anger and embarrassment at the subject at hand. He was fifteen, but very…sheltered when it came to certain subjects. Like any small town country boy with no friends might be. He grew up with a single mother who was too busy working and providing for them to ever broach the subject with her son, and he never learned about it in the small town school... but he knew what the term 'wet dream' meant from the way the other boys in his rooms talked about the scantily clad women in magazines, and he learned more than he ever wanted to when he walked in on Mike (one of his dorm mates) watching what Cloud had thought was a horror vid till he got a closer look. Oh, how wrong he was. No amount of mind bleach would purge that sight from his virgin mind.
But what confused Cloud was what the man was inferring. It just didn't make sense. Because everyone knew you couldn't do THAT with two men. Could you? None of his roommates talked about it, anyway, and they talked about a lot of things of that… ahem… nature.
However, Cloud decided he might not want to point that out to the already unhinged man and shifted in his chair, face starting to colorin embarrassment, shock and even a little bit of anger.
Sadly, the man saw how uncomfortable this conversation was making Cloud and decided to latch onto the subject.
"Come on, don't be coy. A lot of boys your age join ShinRa in hopes they might get to see the little Silver General standing at attention." The man leaned forward in his seat, his face like the devil as he leered down at the small blonde who was chewing his lip. Another nervous habit he had when he was extremely uncomfortable. Which he very much was.
"Tell me, Cloud, have you ever wondered how big his blade really is beneath all that leather?" He purred in a way that would have gotten him fired for sexual harassment towards a minor if Cloud actually understood what was being suggested.
However, with how Cloud's mind was currently working, the question did little more than stump him. Because everyone knew Sephiroth's blade was an exact six foot, zero. It was in all the magazines and interviews about the man.
He furrowed his brow as Doctor Powell leaned forward, eyeing him up and down. "Have you ever wondered what it might feel like having that blade pushed inside you, sliding back and fourth, back and fourth?"
Cloud's mind snapped. His eyes widened as he was pulled back into the nightmare of the night before.
The blade impaling itself into his mother's unprotected abdomen. Imbedded there till it was shifted and gravity took hold, drawing her body down the long, glistening blade with a grotesque slurp till her lifeless body fell onto the bloody dirt path she use to walk daily for so many years.
Cloud stood, breathing heavily and clutching his head in pain as the memory – no, it had to be a dream – surfaced to the front of his mind. Cloud ignored the perverse jibes coming from the sick doctor as he ran from the room. He needed air. He needed to breath.
So he ran and didn't stop till his mind caught up with him. Which was when he reached the edge of the compound.
When he stopped just outside of the main Shinra building, he realized that he forgot his ID card in his room, his coat in the therapist's rooms, and he was out of uniform. And it was raining.
It was required for him to be out of uniform for those little sessions, but Cloud had little to his name, especially with his roommates ruining what remained of his wardrobe. He looked down to see that he was wearing one of his only outfits, which happened to be what was left of his formal wear. The black, long sleeved turtleneck did little against the heavy rain, and his white pants were so wet that if one looked close enough they would be able to see what color his briefs were. Which were embarrassingly enough, blue.
Cloud sighed and began walking to the main building, hoping he could convince one of the secretaries to help him. The girl that was normally working at this time of the evening was a little sweet on him, so hopefully he could catch her before she was due home.
Cloud ran a nervous hand through his hair, finally giving in to the habit that gave him his notorious spikes when his many chocobo-licks were ruffled. It was so wet out, though, that it plastered itself to his head in a slicked back manner instead of it's usual messy blond nest.
He rounded the corner and picked up his pace when he saw Sarah packing her things up to head home.
He waved at her trying to get her attention, but the night was too dark, and the glare on the inside of the window was too bright for her to see him through.
He was running so fast, and he was so distracted, that he didn't hear the tires squeal to life behind him, nor did he hear the roar of an old engine till it nearly collided with him.
Cloud ran into the side of the vehicle when it came to a stop, dazed at its sudden appearance. For a second he thought that maybe he ran into the incoming traffic, but then he realized that he was standing on a sidewalk.
Just as he took a step away from what he suspected may be a drunken driver, the doors of the white van slid open and numerous men grabbed at him, wrenching him inside as he flailed at the sudden manhandling. Dead weight did little to stop them, as he was severely underweight. Biting and scratching at the wave of hands only got him boxed in the ears before he was completely ensconced in the darkness of the windowless van when the door slid shut with a click behind him.
Cloud continued to struggle as several men pounced on him, forcing him to the floor of the van with little to no effort.
The man driving just laughed at him as he looked at the scene through the rear view mirror.
"We have the Shinra brat subdued, boss. What now?" One of the goons asked, his hands a little further up Cloud's thigh than he was comfortable with.
"You evaded us for far too long, Rufus." The driver laughed.
Cloud frowned. ShinRa brat? Rufus? What was going on?
Cloud tried to voice his confusion, but the moment he opened his mouth a sock was stuffed in it. Unfortunately, it was a used sock that smelled worse than Drill Sargent Davidson's breath.
Cloud gagged and almost asphyxiated on the bile that threatened to come up. He was actually thankful for the fist that struck him into unconsciousness, if only for him to escape that taste.