Written during my days down with a cold. Don't ask, it's insane and sick and err... just slightly weird? Chaos gives some good advice, that's for sure. Please R&R and tell me what's wrong with it. Thank you in advance.
And I do not own.

He had caught a cold.

Correction: the Awesome Vincent Valentine had caught a cold.

And his position, sitting on a rusty old pipe, drenched in foul smelling water and what looked like neon-green remains of... food, a couple of hundred meters away from the stair leading to the Hell Hole called the Cellar-of-the-Shinra-Manor-located-in-Nibelheim, didn't make either his mood, the cold, or the fact that beneath him a bunch of Sahagins patrolled any better.
As it was, this still wasn't the worst.

'Arooohoo~!' the Galian Beast howled, bored out of his (Vincent's) mind.
'Aw, jeez. Can't you make 'im shut up.' Hell Masker grumbled, scratching whatever hid behind the mask. Somewhere in the background, Death Gigas rumbled approvingly.
The high pitched yip when Galian... ran for his life inside the host's mind startled the man.

Chaos, who pouted while looking out through the Vincent's red-rimmed eyes and felt as though his nose would start overflowing with snot too, sighed and scratched around inside of a pointy purple ear. 'You seriously dropped the Cerberus.'

"Sweet Shiva! I already told you thrice that yes, I dvopped my gun. And the reason as to why it's curr'ntly buried under a thick layer of mucus is that I fell asleep." The ex-Turk tried to dry his nose on his cape and absent-mindedly wondered why exactly he had had to use his limit breakers on nothing more than a bunch of sahagins. Along with all his potions and a pack of some budget variant of said potions. Something he had been given during his first fucked up mission to stop the DeepGround invasion.

'You fell asleep' Chaos grinned. 'With three daemons and a mini-version of the motorsaw psychopath arguing inside your head.'

"I was tired." A fair enough reason for the gunman at the moment, even though his gun probably held more bacteria than any of the turtle-like monsters would do during their whole lifetime.
One of the mentioned monsters looked up towards Vincents' pipe to see but a red rag and some ruffled black hair. The gunman watched it walk away.

'We're all tired once in a while, dear, even I.' Chaos pointed the finger he had been using to dig through his ear at Vincent. 'You're not only tired. You've caught a cold.'

"I'm aware of that."

'Do you know that your chance of catching a cold is... One out of something astronomically big?'

The sound of the Galian beast howling again pierced his head. "Yes, yes I know that." Vincent checked his phone: no signal. "... If this drags on for much longer, I'll simply jump down there. A graceful suicide. Don't you agree?"

Chaos snorted, looked down to the green water and pursed his lips. 'Do you call that a graceful way to die? More like slippery and gross. The last thing you'll smell will be....' the daemon sniffed and made a face. 'Seriously, Valentine. At least try to get the crap out of your nose.'

"My nose is plugged up at the moment."

'Ah, and the gun is a couple five meters beneath us. Because you fell asleep.'

"Yes, yes..."

'So whaddya say, we jump down, grab the gun, and run for our life.'

"Mmh..." Vincent shifted and looked down at the water again. "How do you expect me to run through water with a gun and a cold without passing out?"

'Would the great Vincent Valentine really pass out?'

"I thought I'd choose the worst result which this little plan of yours could give."

'Ah why I'm flattered, Valentine. And I think you can fire that gun even if the gunpowder gets wet?'

"That's nothing but a myth."

'So what's the problem!'

"It's probably all icky to hold now."

A day later: Aboard the Shera.

Cid walked down the corridors leading from the bridge, heading for the captains quarters as he had been given a quick break before their assault on the remains of Midgar and their current enemy: the Tsviets.

He hadn't seen Vincent since the man had left the bridge a few hours earlier, looking worn with his hair standing on edge and several new holes in his already tattered cape. There had even been greasy green spots on his usually almost clinically clean gun.
He took a turn around the machinery and noticed how the pressure in the water tank had fallen with around thirty liters since their last stop by the WRO Headquarters. A Very Pissed Yuffie soon found Cid and complained about how someone had taken her box of painkillers.

The two of them soon found their old, mysterious friend in the Captains quarters. He was dressed in a simple bathrobe, had a weird blush spreading over his face and was arguing loudly with someone non-existing over how and why those pills he had taken a few minutes ago made 'them' feel groggy.

Vincent Valentine was quickly locked up in a box and set in the hangar until the assault was to be executed.