EDIT: For anyone interested in getting your very own FF7 story, just like this one, I am offering an FF7 fanfiction in a charity auction for Japan at http:/ / helpjapan. deviantart .com/ (remove spaces in link). If you're interested, come check it out! All of the bids we get go directly to charity - artists and writers don't make any of the money, because we're all donating our time and talent to the cause. You can bid on my offer, or anyone else's, and if you have a DeviantArt account, you can join the group and offer your own fanart, or even original art!
Author's Note: This is the prize for LycanthropicCloud, the Second Place winner on my Kiriban contest over at Deviant Art! She gave me a few prompts, and the one I chose to run with was Zack and Cloud out on the battlefield, with Cloud getting his first taste of war and Zack helping him to deal with it. I wanted to try to keep it within the canon Crisis Core timeline, though, so it was interesting attempting to figure out when Cloud's first taste of war would be, and when Zack might have actually known him and been there to help out. I also wanted to have it be distinctly different from what I've seen done before. So this is what I came up with, and I think I got a bit carried away! Oh well. Another prompt mentioned a request for werewolves, and though there are no werewolves here, I did work in a little something for it as a bonus. ;)
The emotions here were very interesting and challenging to portray, but I think I like the way they came out. The title comes from the song of the same name, from the movie Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.
Thanks to LuckyLadybug for all the help! Hope you enjoy!
Dang errors at FF(dot)Net keeping me from posting! There's a workaround here: forum(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/topic/20103/40031188/1/.
Brothers Under the Sun
By
Kazaam
For LycanthropicCloud
The creatures swarmed around him, black and ugly, grotesquely deformed. But he couldn't see them, never quite got a good look – they moved too fast, struck from hidden angles, morphed away from his blade whenever he lashed out. A limb here, a claw there, a tentacle, a tail, a wing – all pulled away, into the surrounding darkness, just before he turned, taunting him with not-quite shapes, and almost-familiar figures.
But he did see one thing, deathly pale in the gloom.
They all had Angeal's face.
"No!" The cry of raw frustration, anger, denial, anguish was ripped from his throat, barely comprehensible. He swung the blade, slicing through the unbearable phantoms, even as claws and teeth ripped into his side, his arm, his leg, his soul … but he would not stop, not until they were all dead.
They were lies. All of them! He hated them, loathed them with every fiber of his being, and the way their very existence ridiculed him, laughed in the face of his dreams and honor, and made a mockery of everything Angeal had been.
"That's not your face! You're not Angeal! You have no right …!"
The heavy sword carved through the ghosts; each one shattered into a million white feathers as it died. But they would not stop coming – the viscous, inky blackness roiled around him.
Eventually, his sword grew heavier, each swing more laborious, until he finally glanced down to see that the standard-issue blade he'd been expecting had become a wide, solid thing of steel: the Buster Sword. He stared in dread. This wasn't his. It was Angeal's! He shouldn't have it. He didn't deserve it!
Take it back, Angeal. Gaia, take it back!
The heavy weight pulled him downward, even as dark blood seeped from the wrappings on the hilt. Horrified, he dropped it; it hit the ground with a loud, and very final, clang. Blood continued to drip from it, pooling beneath the blade and creeping up the metal to stain it red. He backed away.
But the creatures around him had no intention of stopping the fight. They suddenly swarmed inward.
With a startled yell, he was nearly overcome. He leapt back toward his only weapon once more, seized the hilt and made to haul it around. But it refused to budge. The weight was too much!
He was swamped by the hoard. Desperate now, he fought back, punching, kicking, elbowing …
This was too much. They were too much, those monstrosities, pretending to be Angeal. They could not be! They shouldn't exist! They couldn't be real, they couldn't be Angeal, they had no right to be here, not when Angeal was …
Pushed beyond limits, he let out a roar, almost inhuman, and drove into the thick of the beasts. His strikes became stronger, faster; the monsters weaker, slower. He plowed through them, ripped them apart with bare hands. They fell before him.
When the last one finally gave its gurgling cry of death, he stood, chest heaving. The copper scent of blood was strong in his nose, his heart beating a rapid staccato, deafening in the silence. Everything hurt. His fists clenched.
When a handful of knives bit into his palms, he jerked, gasping, and looked down at them. His eyes fell upon massive paws, curved talons jutting from each finger. He jumped, imagining that some other monster was there, about to rip into him. But the claws moved with him, followed, even as he tried to escape, to deny what he saw.
His arms, too, he realized, were beastly, covered with thick black fur – fur that was slathered in crimson. He lashed out, attempting to swipe it away, only to rake razor-sharp talons across his skin.
What? What's happening?
Desperately, he scrambled over to the Buster Sword, stumbling, something about him moving differently, wrongly. His shoulders and back hunched, and he dimly recognized something that might be a heavy, furred tail following behind him.
Crashing to his knees beside the blade, he gazed into the bloody surface. With a frantic swipe, he attempted to wipe the blood away, but it was stuck there, having seeped into the metal. Even so, the reflective surface showed his face. But it wasn't his face.
A beast gazed back at him. His mouth opened in what was supposed to be horror, but was instead a toothy, wolfish grin. Sharp, canine teeth glimmered redly in the blade's surface, while alert, beastly ears flicked back and forth at the top of his head. Black, rocky spines protruded from the crown of his skull and ran down his neck and backbone, joining those stiffening his shoulders. His eyes glowed, like hot coals. There was no trace of himself, or anything human, in that visage.
No.
He gripped the edge of the blade, claws screeching harshly against the metal, and yelled in denial, horrified disbelief. But the sound was no longer human either, instead coming out as a strangled, animalistic yelp.
No!
Zack the Puppy. ShinRa dog.
He was a monster. Just like Angeal.
Zack Fair awoke with a start, heart thudding, a raw, agonized howl echoing in his ears. Immediately, he bolted upright, hands flying to his face.
It was … smooth. Skin, no fur. No wolfish muzzle. No ears. And … his teeth were dull, not sharp.
He let out a shaky breath, one he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He slumped, completely human hands falling into his lap. Idly, he rubbed the palm of one with the thumb of the other, some part of him still seeking reassurance that he had not become some kind of fearsome beast.
It had felt so real.
He shuddered, and reached up to rub stiff shoulders – stiff, but not because of horrible, deformed spines, nonono – curious fingers seeking, searching, just to be sure. His heart slowed, his breathing calmed.
It had only been a dream.
Angeal …
Exhausted, he flopped back onto the bedroll to gaze at the dark fabric of the tent above him. Modeoheim had been …
Last night.
Unexpectedly, his breath hitched in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting he knew would follow.
Don't think about it. Don't think about it! Not with the others here, not Tseng, you gotta keep it together, at least until you get back, just one more day and then …
Abruptly, he rocked back upward, let the blanket fall away.
I need some air.
Hand moving on autopilot, he reached for the sword always kept beside him; it closed around a familiar, yet unfamiliar, hilt. He stiffened, jerked away as if burned.
Angeal's sword.
It lay there in the gloom, blood-red wrappings betraying its innocence.
… No. He didn't need it. He could handle himself just fine without it.
With claws and teeth and brute force, ripping and tearing and slashing, but they weren't a monster's, they were his …
He gave his head a violent shake. Just a dream! Just a dream.
Quickly, feeling like he'd suffocate if he didn't get out fast enough, he stepped through the tent flap, letting the cold, northern air slap the remnants of the nightmare away.
The night was frigid, much more so than things had been during the day. The temperature had dropped quickly with the setting of the sun, and as the relative warmth of the tent's air evaporated, Zack found himself rubbing bare arms, recalling Tseng's words about the cold sapping body heat if he didn't keep moving. He supposed he should throw on the winter coat he was issued – he'd been running around without it during the day, just to show off his Mako-endowed abilities, even as his inner Gongagan yelped at the freezing temperatures – but he didn't want to bother with going back inside and rummaging around. Mentally shrugging it off, he stepped further away from the shelter.
The camp had been erected on the lee side of a rocky outcropping, the fire pit, now dead, placed against the barrier to help shield the precious flames from the wind, and the two tents arranged around it. Tseng and the other trooper had taken one tent, while Zack and Cloud had shared the other.
Thankfully, the storm from earlier had quieted, leaving them with a clear sky and brilliant stars. Zack had no doubt it would probably pick up again later, if the thick clouds on the distant horizon were any indication. Though the moon was not yet out, the star shine was enough to illuminate the snow blanketing the ground, making it easy for him to see where he was going. Crystals crunched beneath his boots as he made his way a short distance out from the camp, over a few hard-packed drifts, and to the cliff overlooking the valley below, where the tiny lights of Icicle Inn glittered in the distance.
Distracted as he was by the dream, he didn't realize that there was another figure out there, too, perched on a drift, and gazing into the night. He paused.
"… Cloud?" Zack had thought the other was still asleep in the tent. Had he been that out of it that he hadn't noticed?
The figure turned to glance up at him. "Oh, hey, Zack … uh, sir," his voice was quiet, but clear. He seemed quite at ease in the snowy landscape; had even thought ahead and brought out a wool blanket to stave off the night chill.
"Just Zack's fine." The young SOLDIER approached to stand near his friend and gaze down into the valley. The town's lights twinkled in a rather comforting way, complementing the stars, the faint, silvery glow of the vast mantle of snow, and the velvet night. It was picturesque, peaceful, like an image on a Winter Solstice card. They would reach the town sometime tomorrow, where they would acquire transport back to Midgar.
"… Did I wake you?"
"Nah …" Zack plunked down into the snow beside him, stretching his legs out. Out here, they lost some of the benefits of the sheltering rock, and a light wind tugged at their clothing, setting two sets of spiky hair astir. Zack felt goose bumps appear on his skin, and fought the urge to shiver. He leaned back, propping himself up with his arms. Gloves at least protected his hands from the snow, but a few stray crystals tickled his wrists. "… Can't sleep?" It was both an answer and a question.
Cloud had returned to the view. He shrugged in response. "Not that tired, I guess."
"Ah." Zack nodded, flicking his violet gaze from the pale face beside him back to the lights below.
A silence followed, during which they listened to the wind and the hush of the night. So different from Midgar, so quiet, and so vast, both the sky and the expanse of snow … It was almost easy to forget that the bustle of the city existed, out here, at the top of the world. None of that mattered. It was a distant dream, an old man's ambition. Even ShinRa had been unable to keep much of a foothold in this wilderness, chased away from Modeoheim by the awesome, unyielding presence of this frigid, untamed land. It was almost a wonder that the small town below still persisted, such a small, delicate thing in this emptiness.
Modeoheim …
Cloud cleared his throat, pulling Zack from his thoughts. "It's, uh … a lot like home." He waved a hand, indicating nothing in particular. "This, I mean. It's nice, after so long in Midgar."
"… Nibelheim?" That's your home, right?
"Yeah."
Zack found himself nodding. So different from Gongaga, too, but he appreciated the wilderness. Gongaga had its own fair share of sweeping landscapes, in a different way, of course. Rolling, jungle covered hills, emerald plateaus spilling sparkling waterfalls into basins thousands of feet below … Truthfully, the stark absence of trees here left him feeling a little lost. The uninterrupted distance tugged at him, seeming to leave him exposed before its immensity. At least in Midgar and the surrounding area, there were buildings or craggy rocks to break it up.
The silence stretched longer this time, the night swallowing up their attempt at idle conversation, confronting each with their reluctance to say what had really brought them out here, so late. The awareness of unspoken words lay heavy between them, neither one quite willing to touch it.
"Um … Zack?" Finally, the quiet was broken, but lingered on the edge of their hearing, ready to return.
"Yeah?" He replied almost too quickly, part of him not wanting to give the silence a chance to return, though he was almost afraid of the absence of its protective embrace, and the other part not wanting to be the one to speak first.
The silence almost regained its foothold as Cloud debated how to begin, resolutely avoiding Zack's eyes, but it was not quite successful. "At Modeoheim …" Zack couldn't suppress a flinch at the name. " … Did you have to …" Kill anyone? Of course he did, you idiot, Cloud mentally kicked himself. "I mean, I don't mean …" Angeal, I meant the other soldiers. He tried another track. "Um … how do you, you know …" Cope with killing someone, and no, I don't mean your mentor, because of course that's horrible, I just meant people in general … Cloud groaned. There was no way he could possibly say this without seeming horribly insensitive. He buried his face in his hands. "… Nevermind." He let out a deep sigh, stemming from an aching heart. I'll just give up.
Zack frowned. "Cloud … if you have a question, you can just ask me. I don't mind." He watched his friend, concerned. "… Is it about … Angeal?" He fought to keep his voice steady. Keep it together, keep it together, just until you get back, can't show them how much you feel, but Gaia, it was just yesterday …!
Cloud shook his head. "No, it's not that." Sky blue eyes flicked over to meet violet, saw the hidden pain there, and flicked away. Gaia, what an insensitive cad he was for bringing this up. His own problems were nothing compared to Zack's. He could deal with them on his own. "… Look, it's not a big deal." He started to get up. "I don't want to bother you, it's nothing, really."
He was halted by a firm grip on his arm. "Cloud, I can see it's bothering you. I don't mind, it's not a problem. Go ahead and tell me. Please."
Cloud hesitated, followed the arm up to see the pleading in Zack's eyes. Let me help you, let me help somebody, let me be useful, show me that someone still needs me, let me be strong for someone because if I'm not I'm afraid I'll collapse …
Slowly, he nodded, and sat back down. It was another moment while he stared at his hands, examining the leather gloves, still relatively new. Finally, he began, his voice hesitant, quiet.
"I … killed someone yesterday. At Modeoheim." Another soldier. "… For the first time."
Zack blinked. "Oh. Ohhh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I … didn't realize that that was your first … real mission."
"… First mission where I had to actually kill someone," he replied, softly.
"… I'm sorry, Spike." Cloud shifted in surprise at the unexpected nickname, while Zack reached over to set a comforting hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met. "… Why did you wait so long to say anything?"
Cloud looked away. "I didn't know what else I was supposed to do." A note of anguish crept into the calm voice. He and Tseng had been ambushed in one of the facilities at Modeoheim by a squad of soldiers from Genesis' army. It had devolved into a firefight. Tseng was a skilled marksman, so there was no real difficulty, but Cloud had been there too, spraying round after round of bullets. One of the attackers had surprised him; he'd reacted a split second before the other, nailing him at point blank range. He remembered hearing a scream … was still not sure whether it had been his, or the other man's. Time hesitated, and he saw the man crumple to the floor, all too real at that close distance, riddled with bullet holes, and a crimson pool began to leak out beneath him. The upper part of the man's face had been hidden by a helmet, but the lines of pain, shock, and horror had been etched around his mouth as he gasped his last breaths. He had clutched at the floor, stretching his hand out for something – pleading for mercy, for life, for relief from the agony, Cloud imagined … and then Tseng had appeared, kicking the man's rifle away before the hand reached it.
The clack of the weapon skittering across the floor returned time to its normal flow. Tseng said something to him, lost in the buzzing in his ears, and continued across the room, firing his gun. Suddenly, so evident in the commotion, and what he'd been unable to distinguish a moment ago, were the individual deaths of the enemy soldiers – a man over there, head jerking back from a deadly blow; a solder over there, suddenly encased by an icy crystal, which shattered to drive shards of lethal cold deep; another over there getting legs shot out from under him, and screaming … screaming …
Cloud had found himself moving and shooting, driven by hard training and endless practice, taking down more of them, because it was him or them, and there was no time to wait, no time to think, no time to feel; he had to just keep moving, keep his head down, keep firing, because to stop was death.
It had been just like the training scenarios, and yet not, because this was real. There was no undo, no repeat, no second chances, no score report. The only score was life or death, and only one of those counted in the end. And yet, it was not real, because it couldn't be, there was no time for it to be … not until it was over, and frozen emotions thawed, and reality caught up with a battle-numbed mind.
And even then, Cloud hadn't known what to think. What am I supposed to do? I killed someone. Several someones … They're dead, and so are their friends and families – they had friends and families, just like we do, right? – and their likes and dislikes, and favorite foods, and nights spent out with the guys, and hobbies, and hopes and dreams … And it's so big and so final, I didn't know it was so … And Tseng and the other infantryman, do they know? They have to know, but they're just going, so I better follow, I better keep up. Is this the way it's supposed to be? I have to keep going …
"I … don't know what I'm supposed to feel." His hand began to shake, and he clenched it, shaking his head. "It's horrible, Zack. I know, I know, you're just gonna say it was me or them, but … I hate it." The control in his voice trembled.
Zack blew out a heavy puff of air, watched the tiny crystals form and float to the stars. What could he say to that? He was no mentor. He didn't know how to make someone feel better, not for something like that. It was … you just kept going. That was it. There was no secret to it. You just didn't think about it, didn't let it get to you. People sometimes asked him why he could stay so cheerful all the time. And the answer was, he didn't. Not all the time. There were nights he got back home, and he just hated the things he'd done, and didn't know why things had to be the way they were, and the world was a horrible, awful place, and he just wanted to cry his heart out.
Mornings weren't often much better – in fact, they were usually worse because they cemented the reality of things. But he had friends, and people who loved him – you have one less tonight – and the world didn't revolve around the awful things that he sometimes had to do, and they were his strength. His reason for going.
And really, there wasn't anything that couldn't become routine, after a while.
"I …" Zack hesitated. Maybe his ways of coping weren't for everyone. He was cheerful at heart, outgoing, so he let those natural tendencies pull him out of the dark places in his mind. It worked, most times. Even if it ended up being a mask, it was a very good one; he could even fool himself. It was becoming very comfortable too, especially these days.
But like any exquisite work of art, it was delicate, fragile, and it was cracking.
Can't let anyone see the cracks.
He decided to try a different track. "… The … first time I ever killed someone … it was stupid. I shouldn't've been there. It shouldn't've happened," he began quietly, speaking to the night air. "It should have been in a training mission, or some low-level Third Class mission to put down some rebels. Something in a squad, you know, with someone else, with someone guiding the mission and telling us what to do and what to think. Would've been easier that way. Probably."
Zack had been down in the slums, exploring. It was late at night, and he was still relatively new to Midgar – barely a year since he'd gotten there, so it was still fresh and different, and fascinating to a country boy. He'd been in the slums a handful of times before, so he was feeling pretty confident – had taken out a few monsters, run down a petty thief or two … Plus, he'd just made Third Class a week ago, and suffered through his first Mako injection – a minor affair compared to that given the Seconds, but it didn't matter – and fourteen-year-old Zack Fair was on top of the world. To make matters even more awesome, he'd found out he was being considered for the mentor program. It would probably be some time yet before the selections were made for this year, but he was as excited as he could be. One SOLDIER in particular he found himself looking up to – First Class Angeal Hewley, who he'd met in person for the first time at the Third Class promotion banquet last week.
General Hewley was just … awesome. There was no other word for it! Zack tried not to hope that Angeal would pick him – he wasn't even sure that the First was participating in the mentor program – but he secretly had his fingers crossed.
And tonight, he was just out to take in the sights, maybe find something cool to write home about in the letters that he never managed to get around to sending. He heard some of the Seconds talking about the Train Graveyard, so he thought he'd check it out. Feeling pretty sure of himself, and thinking it would be a good idea to "blend with the locals," as he was often told, he'd left his SOLDIER-issue uniform and sword back at the barracks.
He'd gotten a kick out of exploring the old, dilapidated and broken-down trains. It was wonderfully eerie, dark and spooky with occasional, flickering patches of light from beat-up old streetlamps, and shining out of broken windows from dying, battery-powered lighting inside the odd train car. He hadn't even had to break into the cars – years of vandalism had left everything wide open. Even rickety, cobbled-together ladders could be found that led to the tops of the warped metal containers. It would've been more fun with Kunsel, of course, but the other SOLDIER had an early mission the next day and couldn't make it.
He'd heard reports that the graveyard was haunted … that there was supposedly even a demon, a pale spectre with a single red eye riding a skeletal horse, or commanding a dark chariot. He'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of it, to find out if it was true … but had so far only run into a few, weak cripshays – freaky, pinkish creatures with large pincers that were easily scared off by a few well-placed kicks – and the occasional guard hound pack, which he wisely avoided.
Nope, no ghosts so far, and it was getting late enough that he was thinking of heading back. He still had training tomorrow, after all, and he didn't want to end up sleeping through the alarm. Again.
He'd been on his way back when it happened. Walking past a dark alley between one train and the next, made even darker by a dim streetlight that failed to extend its circle of light into the crevice, he was stopped by a figure stepping directly in front of him. He jumped, heart skipping a beat. But when he saw it was just a person and not a ghost, he chuckled.
"Man, ya startled me! Thought ya was a ghost or somethin'."
Zack couldn't see the man's face for the hood shadowing his features, but there was a dark chuckle. "Thought ya was a ghost or somethin'?" he mimicked, derisively. "What kind of hick way of talking is that?"
Zack frowned. He hadn't yet lost his Gongagan accent, but this was the first time anyone had really made fun of it. "Oi, not my problem if ya don' like it, pal. I'm not gonna stick around t' argue with ya." He began to move around the other.
The man stepped in front of him again. "Did I say you could go?" Suddenly, there was a knife in his hand, gleaming in the lamplight. "Give me your wallet and empty your pockets."
Zack stared at the weapon apprehensively. He'd thought the man might pull something like this, but was hoping his show of confidence would deter him. He didn't really own much of value, but he kind of needed the cash he had in order to get back. He scowled. This man was picking a fight with the wrong guy!
"Man, you serious? D'ya even know who you're dealin' with?" He puffed out his chest and raised his head. "I'm a SOLDIER! You don' wanna mess with me."
The man regarded him skeptically. "SOLDIER? A runt like you? Give me a break, kid. Even if you are, it don't matter. I've killed SOLDIERs before. Nothing but rats, infesting the city – you all think you're so high and mighty and righteous. You're just a bunch of murdering scum." He grinned, and the whiteness of his teeth caught the light. "Like me." The smile dropped. "Now hand it over before you become another decomposing feature of this junk heap."
A small thread of nervousness wove itself around Zack's heart. Was this guy for real? "… Look, maybe I didn't make m'self clear. I'm SOLDIER. I can take you apart. Now go home, an' leave me alone b'fore ShinRa comes lookin'."
"Ha! I ain't stupid, kid, but apparently you are. ShinRa don't care about what happens down here. When you're dead down here, they just write you off and throw a party." He brandished the weapon now, suddenly impatient and deadly serious. "Last chance."
Still unsure whether the guy would really use the knife, Zack shook his head and stepped away. "Nothin' doin'."
Quick as a flash, the man dove forward, driving the knife towards Zack's stomach. The SOLDIER yelped, twisted to the side, throwing out his hands to grab the man's arm. Not a stranger to fights, the man was ready, bringing up his elbow to strike Zack hard in the jaw. His head jerked sharply back; the man followed up with a haymaker straight to the side of his skull. His vision flashed, and Zack was sent reeling, losing his grip on the man's weapon arm.
Bringing the knife back into play, the man sliced downward. Zack stumbled back, but not before he suffered a good nick to the top of his left shoulder. The man advanced, slashing at him. Desperate, feeling himself about to be boxed in by a train car, Zack dropped and swung a leg through the other's, cutting his feet out from under him. The man fell with a curse. Zack rose, but the man used a similar trick, catching Zack up. He hit the ground hard.
He quickly fought to stand again, but before he realized what had happened, the man had him from behind, wrapping one arm around his throat. The other hand came around with the knife, bringing it in for the kill.
Frantically, Zack grabbed the wrist with the blade and yanked hard, desperate to keep the deadly steel from getting any closer. At the same time, he got his feet under him and drove upward, getting a shoulder into the man's gut and pulling him into a throw – just like in training, please work, please work, please work! The man tumbled over his shoulder and hit the ground; with his grip on the blade weakened, Zack twisted it away.
"Ha! You wanna give up now-"
With a roar, the man scrambled up and tackled him, sending him once more to the ground. This time, he was pinned. The man went for the knife. Quickly, Zack brought his other hand to it to try to maintain control; knuckles went white, and it wavered there between the two of them, inches from their faces. The blade glimmered sharply in their eyes.
It happened quickly. With one last effort, Zack finally managed to tap into the Mako he'd barely begun to learn to use – wasn't this supposed to be easy? The desperate surge of strength drove the blade away and into a slash. Then another. A jab, a slash, another jab – just like training, follow through, disable him, keep moving, hurry before he gets his hands on it …!
A bare minute later saw their positions reversed. Zack clutched the weapon so tightly in his fist that his whole arm ached, and stared down at the man gurgling his last breath beneath him. Then the man went limp, still staring at the young SOLDIER with sightless eyes.
He was dead.
It took another two minutes before Zack realized what he'd done. Ragged breathing tore from his throat, loud in the silence of the night, trying to catch up to the rapid beating of the heart still running from adrenaline.
Fingers went numb, and the knife clanged to the pavement.
Suddenly, everything that was so good in his life was so wrong.
Blood … there was blood everywhere … sticking to his fingers, sprayed across his chest, dripping from his arm … he didn't know which was his, but knew that most of it wasn't. It was … it was …
He'd just killed a man.
Just like in training, but oh no, it wasn't anything like in training at all.
Oh, Gaia.
Abruptly, he stumbled back. He was shaking, but he didn't know why, and couldn't make it stop. Frantic eyes searched the flickering street – was anyone else there, did anyone see? – but it was dead, just like the man before him.
Dead.
No … What have I done? Gaia … It wasn't my fault, but look, he's dead, you did it, you're the one that killed him, but it wasn't supposed to be that way, and it's all your fault, you did it!
He had to get out of here.
In the next instant, Zack had spun, running blindly away.
"… I don't really know how I did it, but somehow I ended up back at the complex. It was late, after curfew, and I was terrified … of everything. Of what I'd done, of getting back late, of someone finding out, of going to the infirmary …" Zack paused. "… But even then, I didn't really pay attention to what I was doing or where I was going. I ran into a … another SOLDIER. A First." Zack shrugged.
"He thought I'd been attacked … which, well, I was, but most of the blood wasn't mine … but I was a bit … hysterical, I suppose." He chuckled. "I couldn't go to medical, I couldn't let anyone see me, see what I'd done. Finally, he just took me back to his apartment. Fixed me up. Just a minor shoulder wound and a scratch," he drew a line across the side of his neck, below his ear, "here. And one heck of a bruise that made it painful just to blink. … It took him a while to get me to talk, but he was patient. Finally told him what I'd done."
"But, Zack … it wasn't your fault. The guy attacked you."
"Yeah, I know. But it doesn't matter much, does it? Not back then, not when you don't expect something like that. Not when it's the first time, and you're just a naïve kid. The result's still the same." Horror, fear, what have I done, what did I do, someone help me, please …
Cloud was silent for a few minutes. "… So, what happened? Did you get in trouble?"
Zack shook his head. "Nah, though I was scared stiff that I would." He smirked. "… After he got me talking, and I spilled it all, the, uh … the numbness and fear that had kept me going just faded away." His voice became subdued. "All that was left was this awful, ugly feeling … and the knowledge that I was responsible for ending someone's life. Somehow, even though I knew it was coming at some point, being a SOLDIER and all, I never really knew it, you know? Especially not coming like that, right outta the blue.
"I … broke down, then," he continued, softly. "Cried my heart out. Yeah, I know, 'SOLDIER First Zack Fair, crying? I don't believe it!' Right?" He tried lightening his tone, grinning up at the stars. But both voice and smile faltered. "… But I did. … The other First stayed with me all night, held me until I was too exhausted to continue. I ended up crashing on his sofa.
"Morning was … miserable. But he made me breakfast, and … things got better."
Cloud mused over Zack's story for several minutes. Then he cracked a bit of a grin. "You're a food junkie then, huh?"
Despite himself, Zack chuckled. "You better believe it! Food's the best. And that SOLDIER was one heck of a cook." His voice cracked, and he sniffed.
The light humor lingered between them for a moment or two, then dissipated into the night, following their frozen breath.
"… Does it ever get easy?"
"… Sort of. But sort of … not. You always know what you've done. But you just don't dwell on it. And you just keep going."
Cloud nodded. Keep going. Memories returned, and he took a long, shaky breath. He wiped at his eyes, not looking at the other.
"… You shouldn't be afraid to cry, Cloud, you know, if you want to," Zack said, quietly. "Even the Great Zack Fair cries. There's no shame in it."
There was a quiet, humorless chuckle, wavering with suppressed emotion. "… I know. … I just don't think I'm ready yet."
Zack nodded, staring into the emptiness.
After a moment, Cloud spoke up again. "Who was he? That SOLDIER you ran into?"
Zack hesitated. Then his lips moved to form the name, but his voice finally failed him.
Cloud must've heard the hitch in his breath, however, for he suddenly understood. There was a moment of hesitation, then he awkwardly adjusted the blanket, wrapping one half of it around Zack's shoulders.
Zack made a strangled noise, which might have been a note of thanks, or a sob, and realized he was shaking, had been for a while. He wasn't sure whether it was from the cold, or something else.
"… You can cry, too, Zack. If you want." The words were quiet.
Zack nodded, glancing up to the stars. "I know." His throat was raw, and his voice quavered. "… I don't think I'm ready yet, either."
Pale starlight shone down on twin paths of dampness lining his face.
End.