A/N:
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Yes. Yet another one of Catsitta's time travel stories. Why? Because I'm having writers block and this is what happened to flow. Trust me, I'm not abandoning or neglecting Fourth Time's the Charm, Ghost of Wutai or my other stories. I simply do not wish to force myself to write when the idea is not fluid. Alas, to have a concept yet the words just seem to muck up and tangle together…
Anywho, I'm going for a different twist on the theme (I adore reading and writing time fics for some reason), as well as experimenting with my writing style. For readers of my other stories, you will likely notice significant differences in my voicing and styling of the narrative. Why? As I always say when I start these ventures, it is because I'm growing as a writer and an artist. By trying out new ideas, methods and whatnot, I can figure out what suits me best as well as what appeals to the reader the most.
Also, I have to thank my good buddy, MuffinLordLionsGate for joining me on this little expedition. Her ideas and criticism turned this random brainchild into a tangible storyline. It is amazing how someone who inspires so much Crack humor can also pave the way into darker territory.
But, enough of my jibber-jabber.
Onwards!
Summary: In a world defined by heroes and nightmares, is there such a thing as a second chance? Will the Planet's champion fall from grace when given a way to attain revenge? Dark. Time travel. AU. Multiple pairings.
Warning(s): This story will potentially (likely) include: Violence, gore, blood, torture, death, adult situations, abuse, both heterosexual and homosexual relationships, and of course, lots and lot of angst-driven mindfuckery. I will not be repeating this general warning statement.
Disclaimer: I, Catsitta, own nothing except an overactive imagination and a computer. To quote another writer: "These are not my characters, I'm just abusing them."
Pairings(s): CloudxTifa, CloudxSephiroth, ZackxAerith (more to come)
Rating (Story): M
Rating (Chapter): T
Word Count: 7,979
Author/Co-author: Catsitta & MuffinLordLionsGate
Chapter Beta: MuffinLordLionsGate
Never a Memory
Chapter One: Memories of Shadow
Whispered words chased him through the darkness of every sleepless night. Staring up into a polluted sky, the light of stars above barely piercing the tinted veil, he tried to forget. He tried so hard to escape the memories that haunted his every moment—waking or asleep—because in silence, at least, he did not have to hear his voice. Why was it so difficult to clear his mind of tainted dreams and living nightmares? After all this time, why could he not find peace?
Braced against the bitter cold of the mountain air, Cloud fought to empty his thoughts and for once admire the peace that so many now indulged in. The fight was over. He was safe, alive and well. There was no need to linger in the past for the future was shining brighter than the stars ever could. Yet…that single whispered promise kept him on edge, alert and ready for battle.
I will never be a memory.
After all these years, those words still plagued him. Sephiroth, the infamous one-winged angel, whose actions would forever scar the Planet and those who walk upon it, would never be just a memory. Cloud knew better than to let his guard down, to hope and believe that the man was finally dead.
Nightmares always linger, emerging when least expected and your defenses are down. The truth was unavoidable when so many times it had looked him in the eye. Sephiroth would always come back and haunt him, one day, he knew, the silver-haired swordsman would return. Why could no one else realize it? Why did he, Cloud Strife, have to bear the burden alone? Was it because he was the Planet's chosen hero, the Golden WEAPON? Did the people truly believe that he would be there forever to save them from the nightmare?
Heroes died. Unlike the malevolent shadows that they faced, heroes and their inner light faded. Everything said champions and saviors fought for and against, the common people always forgot, their journeys and tragedies but legends carried on through generations as fantastical stories—mere folklore. One day, he would join the ranks of these forsaken chosen and be just a memory passed on as a tale of fiction and the world would have to face Calamity's son alone.
Cloud shuddered at the thought. Why did things end up like this?
His eyes falling from the sky as dreadful images began to invade his almost peace, the savior of the Planet took in the scene around him. For the past year, he spent his time trying to forget the past, his travels taking him around the world. Yet, he always seemed to be drawn back to this place. Nibelheim. A town of beginnings and ends. The birthplace of heroes and nightmares. Every enigma that ever was is somehow connected to the turmoil of this hidden realm, the threads of Fate rooted in Nibelheim's soil.
All around him are strangers, each ignorant of the true nature of this place. They knew it was a reconstructed town— that it burned to the ground years ago. But to many, such were echoes from the past. The ashes of the once rampant blaze were nowhere to be found. Nothing remained of that dreadful past except the unforgettable pain in the hearts of the few survivors.
In returning to Nibelheim, Cloud never expected his soul to wrench as it did. He thought that this would be but a brief visit in which he at last forgave himself and banished the ghosts that bothered his conscience. But seeing the town again, almost an exact replica of what it used to be, it pushed up feelings and memories that left him staggering.
He rode into town on Fenrir, the sleek motorcycle announcing its presence with a roar and purr. Instead of swinging off the bike, delivering the package that he was here to send, and leaving, he remained. It was a mistake to linger, but the pain seemed to pin him down against the building on which he leaned. The package was delivered, but he could not quite force himself to leave. Perhaps it was because the ghosts that plagued him possessed an impossibly strong hold.
Fenrir still hummed, waiting for his rider to straddle the seat and, yet again, race towards the darkening horizon. Cloud never stayed long. Nowhere felt right. With nightmares chasing him, he doubted anywhere would feel safe. Being the hero was not always what it was cracked up to be. Once you start down that path, the past always tries to come up from behind and swallow you whole. Fate plays with those who defy the odds and the end is never pretty. It was best for him never to settle in once place because at least then he was harder to find. But like nightmares, Fate is preserving, twisting her tendrils around the heroes until they faltered and were lost in the corroding sands of time.
A soft, dark chuckle escaped Cloud's barely parted lips.
Here he was, standing in a place he hated as a child and now could not seem to part away from it. Such wicked irony. The deep seeded loathing of the town would never fade completely, but it was a novel concept to feel nostalgia towards this reconstructed hellhole. Then again, home was still always home. Nibelheim was where he was born. As pathetic an excuse as that was, it appeared to be enough to trap him in old habits and dusty memories.
"I should leave," Cloud murmured as his laughter faded, the fleeting sensation of amusement practically worsening his already solemn mood. Dark days were hard to forget even when the times were jovial and bright. His hands were coated with too much blood, the same blood of those that turned him into what he was. They say heroes are supposed to have happy endings, but the truth was, they never did. Heroes were born or made to suffer and perish. Some could say their triumphs led to the happiness of others, but in the depths of their hearts, the sins they committed to gain success weighed heavy on their soul.
Shifting his weight, the hero of the Planet at last moved away from the building he leaned against. Slowly, he reached out and grasped Fenrir's handlebars, feeling the steady hum of the engine, before swinging his leg over and squeezing the throttle. On Cloud's face, he wore an expression that some might consider sad; when in truth, he felt nothing, merely emptiness and regret.
His purpose fulfilled, he began to ride out of the quiet town of his birth.
Nothing remained to keep him there except bad dreams and memories, none of which were worth saying to endure. Yet as the town disappeared behind him, something nagged at him, urged him to turn around. 'There is something you need to do' the sensation seemed to say in an almost begging fashion. What could there possibly be left for him to do in that dreadful place except wait for the nightmare to return when Sephiroth rose again?
Dismissing the bothersome thought, he squeezed harder on the throttle. Fenrir roared even louder, drowning any doubts in an almost all-consuming sound. The wind tugged at his clothing and wild blond hair—his leather jacket billowing out behind him like a cape of sorts. Caught in a familiar lull, Cloud did not notice when the world around him began to change until he experienced a sudden wash of vertigo, throwing his mind into a bewildered loop.
Next thing he knew, he was slowing down, Fenrir still purring and growling as normal, but the bike seemed to momentarily have a mind of its own. Frowning, Cloud toyed with the throttle and the brake, doing anything to either speed up or slow down the lazy pace it set. As he did so, he was blissfully unaware of where he was headed until the first shadow encompassed him. Blinking with confusion, knowing that at night there were no shadows during a new moon, Cloud glanced up towards the sky. Not only was it light outside, early morning at his best guess, but he was back in Nibeheim.
Never once could he recall ever turning around.
At last, Fenrir came to a stop, idling as its rider took in the scene, his observant blue gaze catching every detail. Cloud was not exactly certain what to think other than he must have fallen asleep while riding and was now dreaming. Knowing how dangerous it was for such to happen, the blond did what any other person would do: He pinched himself—hard.
Wincing from the sharp pain that only mako enhanced strength provided to the gesture, Cloud came to realize that he was still caught in the dream. Settling his hands back on the handlebars, he braced himself for whatever hellish nightmare would soon consume this peaceful recreation of his childhood home. Unlike the rebuilt Nibelheim of reality, this one created by his mind bore every detail accurately from before its destruction. From the sign at the outer limits that hung from rusted links, the weathered wood barely intact and the faded paint almost illegible, to the hail beaten houses with their dented tin roofs.
Cloud let one foot touch the ground, resting the mass of the bike against his outstretched leg, unbothered by the extraordinary weight of the machine that could potentially crush the normal man of his size. It was amazing what mako could do, especially when combined with Jenova cells. His strength was insurmountable; his bone structure lighter but more resilient; he could see in the dark; neither extreme heat nor cold bothered him to any extent; he was faster than any human could dream of being; and the list goes on and on. But like every blessing, there was a price. To become the perfect SOLDIER, he lost everything, including his identity, and even to this day he still struggled to piece together his past.
Using enhanced senses, of which enemies often manipulated against SOLDIERS, the hero of the Planet attempted to gain his bearing. It was startling and disturbing when the scents, sights and sounds were too real and familiar to be anything but reality. Cloud took in a steady breath, determined to break whatever illusion encompassed him. It really was dangerous to drive Fenrir when he was in any state other than completely alert. His friends often claimed the bike would be the death of him one day.
At which, he usually snorted.
Fenrir was his baby and the only person who would die riding her would be the moron who attempted such a feat. Cloud could handle the tumultuous mood swings of his precious motorcycle, and he alone. Often enough he warned his companions away from taking joy rides. Luckily, they were smart enough thus far to listen.
Realizing that he was thinking too much about a likely simple situation, Cloud sighed. The fact that this dream—or whatever the hell it was—stayed intact, told him enough about his state of mind. He was alive. Then again, it took a whole hell of a lot more than a simple crash to kill a SOLDIER or anything as pumped with as much mako as himself.
Deciding that there was no point in wasting even imaginary fuel, he cut the engine and Fenrir's purr wound to a halt. Once the bike fell silent, he swung his leg over the seat and guided it to the side of the dirt-paved road. Certain it would be safe where he left it, since no one would be stupid enough to try to steal the vehicle unless they wished a slow and painful death, Cloud walked away; but, not before he gathered his belongings from the side compartment. Even if no one would take the bike, someone might be idiotic enough to snatch his travel bag or even a piece of First Tsurugi.
As he walked, the spiky-haired blond, put together his trademark fusion sword. It was a comforting, familiar task that he could do in seconds. The slightest of smirks crossed his lips when the blade was complete; then, he hooked it between his shoulder blades, the crossing straps of leather less cumbersome than a sheath.
Cloud took perhaps a few dozen steps, his feet crunching the thin layer of frost covering the ground, when an all too familiar voice cut through the air.
"What's the likes of your kind doing here?" A blistering snarl came from behind him, the kind used by the chauvinistic occupants of an isolated town. The words cut through the frigid air like a heated knife, whistling and steaming; dislike and suspicion dripping from every poorly pronounced word. Cloud gritted his teeth as old anger bubbled to the surface. 'No, they are not worth it,' he told himself, quelling the tempered hatred formed, in what felt like, a lifetime ago.
Without even turning or batting a mako-bright eye, Cloud replied with indifference, "Merely passing through," before continuing to move onwards. This dream or hallucination was quite curious of a phenomenon. He barely remembered Nibelheim from his youth, in truth, the fragmented memories tainted with green were hardly enough to construct an image this clear. Most of what he could remember were faces and emotions, a broken phrase or scene. Yet this place, the further he walked and the more he saw, quickly struck him as being a flawless copy of his home before his entire life spiraled out of control. It was as if he were remembering everything in a fluid sequence that had yet to reach its conclusion.
A few more steps and he paused. Was the Planet doing this? Of all the memories of his lost youth to return, why images of Nibelheim and its surly inhabitants? True, he was feeling mildly homesick, but that was more of a desire actually to have a home again, one with family and warmth. He wanted a place where he could actually feel safe and reassured that Sephiroth was not going to return. This bizarre portrayal of his past was not desired, but then again, he was not exactly in control of what the Planet did. If She wanted to mess with his mind and muck about with his memories, well, there was not a thing Cloud could do to stop Her.
Deciding to resign to Her game or whosever's this was, Cloud willed himself to walk deeper into the town.
That was when another familiar fragment fell into place. Almost as if he were watching a strange movie or play, Tifa, looking to be perhaps fifteen, ran across the street, her face streaked with angry tears. The brunette clutched something to her rather developed chest, but when she tripped on something hidden in the snow, whatever it was went sailing from her grasp. Pale face blotchy from crying, sable eyes watery and bloodshot, Tifa mere lay there, collapsed in the snow.
Uncertain what to do, since, this was what he assumed to be a memory (but he appeared to be able to interact with people which was odd), Cloud continued to walk until he was perhaps a meter away. He tilted his head, blue eyes sweeping over his friend's younger form before settling onto the ground where her lost prize lay. Whatever it was presumably held significance to Tifa, so, he stepped towards the object buried in the snow, and knelt beside it. He could feel the scrutinizing gaze of the emotionally fragile teen.
So, rather than delay any action, Cloud reached forwards and plucked up the item. None too surprisingly, it was a materia orb. While Tifa never grew up to be a master at using the crystals, she knew which ones benefitted her and the team the best. An ignorant bumpkin would struggle ever to gain potency at their use, but a wealthy little girl with a penchant for exploring the mako rich mountains of Nibelheim had a chance.
Rolling the glassy-blue orb between his fingers for a moment, the blond determined that it was an unleveled Speed Boost. Support materia were a rare find even in Nibelheim. Mostly green Attack materia were all one could scrounge up easily while exploring. During his examination of the crystal, Cloud ignored Tifa's stare, but upon its conclusion, he returned the gesture. Guarded blue eyes of a war torn veteran met frightened sable of a distraught, albeit spoiled, teenager.
Rising to his feet, without breaking his gaze from Tifa's, Cloud wondered how this not-quite-a-memory felt so real and looked so vivid. Deciding not to hesitate, lest he incur the wrath of the younger version of his impatient friend, Cloud held out the materia at arm's length for her to take. The brunette scrambled to her feet, either recovered from her emotional ordeal or too surprised to do anything but react to the situation. Then, after flicking her gaze over Cloud a few times, she stepped forwards and reclaimed the orb.
As her fingers enclosed around it, the hero of the Planet offered neither a smile nor a spoken phrase. What was the use in speaking to someone who was not actually there? All that proved was that he was more deeply lost in insanity than he claimed. Talking to something that did not exist ranked up with conversing with oneself. Even if one explained it away as a dream or spell woven by the very Planet herself, people never quite looked at you the same afterwards and in a way, Cloud doubted he would look at himself the same if he ever did.
Tifa shuffled backwards, a breathy thanks emerging from her lips as she continued to watch him with apparent interest. Cloud dismissed the thought and tried to continue his walk towards nowhere in particular but a certain brunette teen stood in his way. She was frowning at him, eyes narrowed and speculating. He could see the small town presumptions in her gaze.
"Who are you?" Tifa spoke in clipped tones—ungrateful as she always was in his fractured memories. The loss of her father and home during Nibelheim's burning did much to smooth the harsh edges of her biting personality. Cloud preferred the companionship of mature Tifa, the one who was stubborn and brave, not this bratty child that stood before him. It would be a waste of his time to bother saying even a word to her, but even if it made him crazy to reply, he could not help but give an unemotional response.
"No one," he stated, blinking lazily. Why was this memory or dream, or whatever it was supposed to be, so uneventful and boring, anyway? There had to be a purpose, a deeper meaning he was not seeing. Otherwise, it was pointless and nothing irritated Cloud Strife more than aimless, uneventful adventures, even if said ventures were only in his rather unstable mind.
It made no sense.
"That's not an answer," Tifa's retort was filled with barbs; "You have to have a name or something." It was not any of her business to know his name. He could happily live his life without most of the people who already knew his name, knowing it. A private and socially distant person by both necessity and nature, Cloud hated it when someone cornered him and demanded information that he already expressly told he was not willing to share. Fighting back the scowl that wanted to twist into his features, the blond allowed his eyes to narrow some and his chin to lift.
He still had his pride and a verbal lashing only provoked to show itself. With snort of disinterest, Cloud crossed his arms. "I have a name, yes, but name is none of your business." For a moment, he wondered exactly when he became so cold. Was it when he watched his home burn, or when he went through a thousand different torments in Hojo's lab? Or, was it when he thrust First Tsurugi through Sephiroth's chest that final time and watched as the silver-haired swordsman melted into shadows?
Did it matter when or how he lost his ability to actually care about others? Monsters did not have true emotions—they did not feel aside from anger and hate. Hojo made it rather clear to Cloud that he was but a clone, a puppet, a monster playing human. For a long time, he fought against the scientist's wicked truth and claimed that he was human, like any other SOLDIER. Laughable how naïve he was then. After a while, growing numb and cold was a natural reaction to his fading grip on the concept of humanity. It was best not to care when the world around you is trying to kill itself.
Even when the chaos died and Cloud emerged a hero from the wreckage, there was little anyone could do to bring back his inner warmth and light. That beacon that all heroes carried within them, that blazing determination to protect what they cherish most, was dimming with every passing year.
'There is nothing I don't cherish.'
He said it himself when Sephiroth and he fought last. The man had asked that Cloud tell him what he cherished most so that he could take it away. Then, those words rang with truth. Even if his heart was closing, then, there was a lingering ember of fragile youth. How he maintained even a glimmer of innocence up until that battle was anyone's guess, but that was ripped away easily enough. Broken, cold and weary of all the fighting—Cloud walked away alive but unable to truly thrive.
Now, it seemed his only purpose was to wait until the miserable inhabitants of the Planet needed him to save the day again. They did not care if he was haunted every moment by shadows and nightmares. They did not care if he was slowly spiraling into insanity. They did not care as long as he charged into battle like a good little hero of the light and slew the evil darkness that hunted them like wild game. Cloud, like a loyal pet, knew that he would always answer the call to fight. It was in his nature to fight against nightmares and monsters, but the double-edged blade also forced him to straddle the line that defined humanity.
Never fair, the game Fate plays.
"Hey! Are you listening, featherhead?" Tifa's taunt broke Cloud from his musings. Tilting his head, he wondered exactly how much of the conversation he missed when he was lost in thought.
Not caring enough to inquire, he offered nothing more than a shrug and callous retort, "No."
Offended, the brunette squeezed the blue materia in her hand and began cursing in the Nibel dialect. It took Cloud up until this point to realize that they were speaking a more common form of the trade language. Every child who grew up in Nibelheim knew the common tongue, but they also lived surrounded by adults who spoke the native dialect, which sounded vaguely like common but it was butchered to point that it should have been considered a different language entirely.
Annoyed, Cloud found himself slipping into his native accent, his words slurred, curled and garbled,"I would advise you to cease with your tantrum immediately. If you do not, I will haul you back to your father's house and inform him of your foul mouth. Even if I am a stranger, that does not excuse you to speak to me with such disrespect and it is likely he will agree." His low tone was bordering threatening. Gaia, when did this foolishness end?
Tifa froze. Either the accent only a native born of Nibelheim could possess or the threat of being handed over to her likely angry father broke the brunette from her fury. She squeaked with disbelief and inched backwards, her eyes wide. "Y-you…are you from here?"
"Was I born here, you mean?" Cloud slipped easily back into the less mangled version of the language, of which, he was more familiar with. He uncrossed his arms. Tifa stepped backwards, obviously thinking that he would actually do her physical harm. Even he was not as heartless as to attack the bratty teen, but knowing her older self and having limited patience led to his snappish behavior. It had been a while since he had to deal with this particular brand of idiocy. "Again, that is none of your business."
"You have to be." Tifa murmured, "There is too much resemblance between you and Cloud…and the accent!"
The corner of his mouth twitched upon hearing his own name. How amusing.
"Alright, you caught me. I am from here, but no one will remember my presence. As for the resemblance to this 'Cloud', I can come to the assumption that you are referring to the Strife family. If you must call me anything, Strife will suffice, because yes, we are of relation." Believing that would be enough to end their conversation, Cloud once again attempted to move past the annoying teenager.
"That I'm finding rather hard to believe…Strife." Again, why was Tifa challenging what he was saying? Did she never give up even pointless arguments? "Cloud can't possibly be related to the likes of your type, even if you two look alike."
"You do realize that you are contradicting yourself, Miss Lockheart?"
THAT shut her up.
"I presumed since you came running from that mansion over there," Cloud pointed at her father's home, "that you are his daughter. Am I incorrect?" Tifa, of course, shook her head. "Good, now, unless you would like to be returned to your father in a rather undignified fashion, do please get out of my way." She shuffled to the side, her obstinate nature subdued for the time being. "Thank you. Now, I must be off."
As he walked by, Tifa did speak up once more, but in a soft tone,"If you're here to visit family, Cloud's mother is all who is here. Gale did not marry so she's been alone in her house since her only son ran off to join the army. Cloud wants to be a SOLDIER, like you are."
"Foolish young dreams," Cloud murmured, "wanting to prove one's self a hero. Prove that you are not weak…" His gaze again met that of Tifa's, "Go home, girl. My business is my own."
"I-I…I can't…" The brunette looked down trodden and tears make her eyes watery. It was upon hearing this that a fractured memory flicked through his mind.
"Tifa!" Young Cloud cried; he was perhaps twelve then. "What happened?" Kneeling in the snow, her arms wrapped around her slender waist, the brunette continued to sob. They were not the closest of friends, but the girl was obviously in pain. Scuttling closer, the blond could see flecks of red staining the white. Blood. "Tifa?" he reached forwards and tried to touch her, but the brunette flinched and snarled that he and his 'spiky-ass' should leave her alone.
Uncaring of the consequences, Cloud grabbed Tifa's wrist and pulled the arm away from her belly, his eyes widening when he drew his hand back and found it coated in crimson. Sable eyes looked up at him, wide with a mixture of chaotic emotions. A dark stain was forming on Tifa's stomach. Cloud looked a little closer at the girl's arms and wrists.
Thin, mostly clotted cuts encircled her wrists, and bruises were forming along her arms. Tifa was silent as she gently placed an open palm over the darkening stain on her belly.
"Who did this to you?" Cloud demanded.
Tifa looked away and said nothing. She would never say anything about her abuser but the betrayal on her face spoke volumes. Together, they kneeled in the snow, silently accepting each other's presence as something needed. They were not friends, but at least for the time being, they were not rivals either.
The memory misted away in a cloud of green. Strange…but that still did not explain why she had a support materia and not something to heal her wounds. Cloud frowned.
"Why did you not take a Potion or a Cure?" He asked.
"I-I…I couldn't find one." Tifa was looking at him peculiarly. "Why…how…?"
Cloud pulled back the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a dual-slotted bracer,"Your tone and posturing suggests that you are running away from an abusive situation." He held his arm out and cast a low-level Cure, causing Tifa to shift backwards. "There. Now, if there is nothing else, I would like to continue on with my day."
"T-thanks. I guess." She murmured before clutching the blue materia close and running past him. Sable eyes peered over her shoulder but they quickly looked away, obviously conflicted about the scenario. Cloud shook his head and pulled his sleeve back over the bracer. Why had he done that?
'Because you care. Herald yourself a monster, but you still feel emotions. You still cherish the lives of others, even the lives of those who have wronged you.' Cloud frowned at the thought. 'It is why Gaia made you Her hero. The Planet needed someone who was willing to lie their life down for the sake of something greater than himself.' Hero. Again, that word. No one ever asked him if he wanted to be a hero. No, they simply realized that he was capable of doing the job so people threw him at their problems. No one ever considered his happiness as long as the world was saved yet again.
'No, that isn't quite true…'
The thought came quietly, but the memory with it was like a slap.
"Cloud?"
He was kneeling at Zack's grave, his eyes locked on the rusted Buster sword lodged into the soil. The speaker wrapped her arms around his neck. Tifa. Cloud shuddered as old pain resurfaced. His best friend died trying to save him. What irony!
"Cloud, you've been here for two hours. The gang is getting worried." The sable-eyed brunette spoke softly; she understood the grief of losing someone she loved. Her father was not a nice man but Tifa still regarded him with love only a daughter could hold; his death shook her to the point of shattering. Not a day went by where she did not think about Nibelheim, Cloud knew because his friend would seek him out at night and curl by his side, whispering nonsense and crying until the hurt went away.
Some people called them lovers and, perhaps they were. They held each other when everything became too much and neither of them wanted to be alone. Sometimes this would lead to a kiss and all of maybe a handful of times did it go any further. Tifa would murmur 'I love you' after every time he cradled her against his chest and stroked her long hair. He never said it back. Monsters did not know how to love; they especially did not fall in love with beautiful women.
On occasion, the haphazard man or woman would see them together and notice how easily they got along. They would interpret every brush of the shoulder or shy laugh as a sign of blossoming love. A few asked him why he had not proposed already, a woman like Tifa did not come around all that often. True, they were friends; at times, the best of friends. Tifa grew up into a beautiful, strong and independent creature that he could like and respect. And, often enough she would stare after him with adoration in her sable eyes; her touches would last just a second longer than anyone else's.
But, Cloud knew better. He knew that she needed someone who was not falling to pieces inside his own mind. She needed someone who was stable and smart, capable of keeping her interest and withstanding her temper when it reared its ugly head. She needed someone who was not a plaything of fate, his strings tugged along by the silver-haired swordsman out to destroy the world. What she did not need was him. He knew that. He accepted that. He was not supposed to be happy and find a beautiful lover to marry and raise a family with. That he did not question. It was not his place to pursue such human pleasures, even if he wanted nothing more to lose himself in said pleasures.
In moments like this, when Cloud attempted to reconcile with his past, he wanted nothing more than to be human in every way again. There were so many things he once cherished and yet with each passing day he felt himself grow numb. Few things brought him back to the edge of feeling everything again: each moment of pain, sadness, joy, grief and anger. Visiting Zack's grave was one.
Emotions raw, Cloud allowed Tifa to kiss his cheek and comfort him with her presence. The supple shape of a woman's body pressed against his back would normally take his thoughts elsewhere, but even desire was snuffed out by the intensity of his grief.
"Cloud?"
"I'm fine, Teef." The blond murmured, closing his eyes. "Just thinking."
"Come home, Cloud."
"Home…Is there really such a place for us anymore?"
Cloud did not realize he was walking until the memory faded and he noticed that he stood outside an all too familiar place. The ShinRa Mansion. Hate and anger filled him with burning intensity. This place…this nightmarish place. If it were not for the secrets and lies hidden within its walls, Sephiroth would have never gone insane, preaching about Jenova being an ancient and his mother and how he planned to get revenge on all the humans who did her wrong. Anger prompted him to yank open the door and stride inside.
Dust coated everything in an ethereal sheen of gray. From the dual staircase that led to the empty rooms above, to the serene and innocent furnishings that littered the floor. This place was a rich man's home and a crazy man's dynasty. Without thinking, knowing only that this dream was of the past; Cloud unsheathed his sword and began to trash everything.
000X000
SOLDIER strength and speed could do an astounding amount of damage in a relatively short amount of time. Within ten minutes, the mansion was barely standing on its framework since every inner wall was in ruin. Everything inside the mansion, from the unsuspecting sofas, to the beds to the very books in the bookcases: Cloud tore apart with First Tsurugi.
Beneath the mansion, the blindly destructive swordsman continued his rampage, smashing the underground laboratory of his nightmares into smithereens. Computers, mako tanks, surgical equipment—all of it was smashed to bits, only pausing in his fury to grab a handful of research papers.
Angrily, Cloud read the very words that sent Sephiroth into insanity. Unsure how it was possible, since, he had never actually seen the documents himself previously, the blond continued to scan the documents. Anything that said the word 'Jenova' or 'Project S', he ripped apart. Lies. All of it was Gaia forsaken lies! If it was not for Hojo and his insane desire to recreate the Ancients, to make a god among men, then maybe, Cloud might have grown up a normal kid. Sephiroth may have never been in the picture, and if he was, well, there was a chance he might have grown up normal, always believing he was human.
Soon, he was panting, his anger exhausting him. But the bitter taste in his mouth reminded him that his purpose here was not over yet. The Planet must have granted him this dream so that he could come to terms with the past; taking his frustration out on the place he hated the most. Cloud suspected that this would not be over until the mansion burned to the ground, its lies and nightmares turned into ash.
Even if it was but a fragile illusion of sorts, it was a nice thought to believe he was actually changing the past. Laughable, but comforting in a strange way. Cloud grinned in slightly crazed manner before leaving the mutilated laboratory. He could think of one person who would enjoy the mansion burning as much himself: Vincent Valentine. The ex-Turk was likely in the same place in this dream as he was in real life.
All it took to find him was remembering which coffin he was kept trapped within.
Not bothering to find the key, Cloud released Vincent in a little more convenient way. Using First Tsurugi as a lever, he pried open the stone coffin's lid. He recalled his first time here, when he was stumbling about. It was shocking then to see a darkened room filled with half empty tombs and vicious monsters. Finding Vincent, (back) then, had been a stroke of luck.
Now, he was freeing the ex-Turk on purpose.
As the stone lid slid away, golden eyes flashed open and a growl escaped his lips.
"Chaos, I would really appreciate speaking to your host, Vincent ." Cloud said with a smirk, knowing that he had to look as delirious as he felt now, with his face flushed with exertion and his eyes bright with mako shine.
Those golden eyes considered him with disbelief. "How do you know my host and me?" Chaos purred, rising from where he lay and lifting his golden arm, clicking the clawed fingers together with malicious implication. Strange how realistic the Planet made this memory-dream thing—he could sense the familiar hunger of the demon as he watched him with interest. He could hear the strange mesh of voices of the hybrid demon, where it was impossible to tell if it was an overlay of two speakers or a thousand. Those elongated canines gleaming in the shadows were enough to make the blond pause for a moment to think. Quirking his head to the side, Cloud let out a ragged sigh, this not-dream was turning into a time-consuming affair.
"Long story, Chaos, of which I would prefer to share with your host." The hero of the Planet tossed the words about carelessly, knowing that unless he irked the ex-Turk, the man would do his best to ignore him. Cold and aloof gained Cloud Vincent's company over the years, but it was in the moments of reckless and sarcastic thoughts or actions that earned the other man's attention, "So unless you would like to go back to sleeping for another thirty years as Vincent repents for his sins, you might wish to cooperate."
Chaos curled Vincent's lip back into that of a snarl. The fine-boned features, olive-toned skin, and shoulder-length black hair of the ex-Turk were typical of Wutain descendants. He was likely not one hundred percent Wutain, but the bloodline was there. And Chaos's anger morphed the attractive face of his host into something disturbing.
"Insolent human—" The demon snarled, flaring his folded wings and leaping from the coffin. Cloud, honestly, was surprised that Chaos let him say anything before attacking. Burning gold eyes flashed with familiar fury, the hunger for souls and precious lifeblood driving him into a feral state. Had Cloud been anyone else, or any less mako-enchanced, he would be dead right now.
Lightning quick strikes came from every angle as Chaos ripped through the air, the clawed-arm nearly connecting with the young hero every time. The blond expected attack—though his choice of words was careless—he knew that the demon was prone to violent fits, 'twas his primal nature to fight, slay and devour. But, his objective was not to clash with Chaos; it was to talk to Vincent. Injuring the man now—without rendering him unconscious in doing so—would only incite the demon to fall into a lustful rage, in which he would stop at nothing short of making the kill.
A howl of outrage filled the room as Cloud danced around Chaos, leaping this way and that, performing graceful acrobatic maneuvers over the unopened tombs. One would think that First Tsurugi would get in the way, but after all these years, doing most everything with the sword was second nature. Its weight was familiar. Its length and bulk no longer a hazard. It felt right.
Though, the lithe blond did make a critical error in his maneuvers eventually. Landing on top of a stone coffin, Cloud found his balance shifted a degree too far back. His foot slipped; he felt himself waver. Chaos lunged, the agile body of his host colliding with him before he could regain his balance. Pain flared through his arms and chest as the deadly golden-claw pierced Cloud's flesh, slicing deep into the muscle and tissue.
The blond choke down a shout of surprise and watched with horror as the demon hovered over him, gazing hungrily at the crimson that bubbled from the wounds. A smirk crossed Chaos's features and fanged teeth lowered to dig into the column of his throat and end the blond's life. Only, Cloud was not going to let this dream turn into a nightmare. Growling, the swordsman regained his composure and kicked, landing a heavy blow to the demon's gut, throwing him off and a few meters backwards.
Chaos hissed, furious that his meal was still fighting back.
Cloud rose to his feet and felt his injuries begin to close and heal. He could go all morning, noon and night like this: He was not even tired! His heart beating rapidly from the thrill of it all, the blond drew his sword at last and held it at ready. Chaos did not need prompting and charged back into the fray, beating his wings to send him aloft.
Twisting his body and flicking his wrists, Cloud separated First Tsurugi into two blades and deflected the demon's aerial attack. The golden claw wrapped around the left-hand sword as Chaos attempted to disarm his prey. It was a foolish move. Recognition flashed in the depths of his eyes. Of course the soul-gatherer for Omega would realize when he was facing a weapon made from the Planet's WEAPONs. He hesitated for just a moment, allowing Cloud to regain the upper hand.
Swinging the unencumbered blade, the blond connected the hilt to Chaos's temple. The demon's eyes went glassy—had he been human, the blow was potentially lethal –before rolling up into his skull. He collapsed in a heap. Cloud realized then how heavily he was breathing. Chaos was quick and abnormally strong. Had the demon been allowed to feed on any soul energy before the battle began, there was a good chance that the victor likely would have been him rather than Cloud.
Slowly, the hero of the Planet reassembled his sword and sheathed it between his shoulder blades. No sweat beaded on his brow and his muscles did not ache, but his breathing remained quick and shallow. Perhaps it was not fatigue that brought his heart to its racing tempo, but rather the thrill of battle with a worthy and challenging foe. Ever since Sephiroth's death, nothing came close to posing a true test of his limits and skill.
With a great deal of gentleness, Cloud picked up the unconscious hybrid and laid him back in the coffin, not knowing quite where else to put him. It was always strange to watch the evidence of his demonhood recede and disappear—the wings folded and melted away; fangs withdrew back into his jaw. A twitch and a sharp gasp a few minutes later signaled the ex-Turk's awakening. The blond leaned a little closer, hoping that Chaos would not be the one who emerged. It would be hard enough to explain to Vincent about the egg-sized knot forming on the side of his skull without needing to add additional injuries to control a rampaging demon.
When the man opened his eyes, Cloud saw the ruby-red gaze of Vincent Valentine.
"Hello Vincent," said addressed hybrid winced and brought a hand up to his temple as he rose from where he lay prone. For a moment, he said nothing, ignoring Cloud's presence entirely as he absorbed the situation and evaluated his injury. Seeming to realize that he himself was in no danger and that the other figure in the room only did what was needed to defend himself—Vincent at last let his hand fall to his side and glanced at the blond who spoke of Lucrecia. He had his doubts, but…
"Why did you release me?"The ex-Turk swept his gaze over Cloud with suspicion, "And how do you know my name?" An honest question. Few people would know that he was alive, much less know his name or how to find him.
"Simple." Cloud said, taking a step back, confident that he was in no danger,"This is all an illusion cast into my mind by the Planet, because, in reality, we know each other. I and my friends rescued you from here and you followed with reluctance because of sin you wished to repent for. Which, after five years, I finally coaxed you into admitting were things that were out of your control."
Vincent snorted,"Leave me be." Cloud could see distrust in the ruby gaze. Telling someone that they are part of an illusion inside your head is not the best way to gain favor, but out of all his companions, Vincent was least likely to dismiss him entirely. The ex-Turk, while reluctant ever to believe what he heard, always listened and considered. It was part of his long standing with ShinRa. Turk's gathered information in mass and sorted out what was true, what was blatantly false, and to what extent the public needed to know of it.
"I'd rather not, seeing as I'm going to burn this fucking place to the ground. So if you would just follow me, we can destroy this mansion together and I'll tell you all about Lucrecia and her son."
The ex-Turk's eyes widened; Cloud knew the ex-Turk heard his exchange with Chaos and wondered if the man had chosen to ignore the painful subject, "You know of—"
"Yes. Now hurry up, Vincent. I've waited too long for this moment and I have no qualms about letting you stay here and suffer the consequences, since, you are not real and are but a portrayal of a past reality inside my mind." Cloud had not felt so brimming with emotional energy in years. For the longest time, he slogged along in life, desperation driving him to defy the odds. Now, he was physically exhausted but every inch of his being cheered him on in his desire to burn the mansion into a pile of ash. It was…almost as if Zack's spirit had returned— filling the hollowness Cloud felt when he realized that he was living a dead man's life.
In fact, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation, quite out of character, but Cloud did not care. He just wanted Vincent to hurry up and make up his mind.
"You are completely insane," said afore mentioned Turk stated after a long pause. "I am as real as you are. This is not some hallucination."
"Hn. If you wish to stay and question my sanity, feel free. If you want to know more about Lucrecia, then do stop lingering in your remorse because remaining here will not change a thing, nor ease the guilt." That said, Cloud turned on his heel and headed towards the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he added,"Also, I do believe you will find that destroying this Gaia-forsaken place there is much satisfaction. Hojo did you wrong, Vincent, took everything away. Don't you want to see his life's work go up in smoke?"
Vincent said nothing. Ruby eyes watched as mako-tainted blue turned away. The blond disappeared up the stairs, a foreign song humming in his chest, the sound barely audible even in the deadened silence.
000TBC000
A/N: Did yah enjoy? Do you have ideas/opinions/thoughts? Then please share. I look forwards to any and all feedback, from the simplest "I like this" to the detailed paragraphs that go in depth to as why you enjoy/dislike/would like to see more or less of.
And while I know this is a marker set likely far off into the future, but it is a goal of mine nonetheless. For the milestones of 50, 100, 200…etc reviews (should they be reached), I will write a one shot for the reviewer. It makes me happy to write, especially for the enjoyment of others and it would make my day all the better to be able to write someone's dream fic.
Anywho, whether or not I reach my goals, I'll keep writing, because, hey, I love to do so.