A prediction of this would have been simply impossible.

Although the idea of seeing one the dead in spirit was justifiable, perhaps even touching an estranged cheek, kissing cold lips.
However, to die a thousand times and still keep the memories of previous sins was certainly something of a unique, maybe even celebrated event.
Yet for someone who had been known as Sephiroth, the unusual nature of this memory retention was just a cruel coincidence.
Anyone else would have gone mad a thousand times, if they had even survived all he had known. But not him. Not Sephiroth.

This was another inhumane twist to his fate, forcing him to drown in these broken memories, when all he wanted was death.

Sephiroth only wanted to die...

All he ever wished for now was not the destruction of the world. Sephiroth only wanted death for himself, to finally rest and lose himself amongst the other faceless souls in the lifestream. He wanted to dissolve, and to fall apart...

He hated the memories most of all.

Although the former general did not necessarily feel guilt for his sins, since he still had a thorough belief that what he was searching for was right, his already shattered heart burned with traitorous rejections from his mother.

Jenova.

She, who broke him and made him feel alive over and over.
Yet she abandoned him. She left him all alone to fight, all alone without her tender voice speaking to him, comforting him.
She was a traitor.

So Sephiroth buried himself in the icy caves of the Northern Crater. He struggled in-between the restricting icy blanket that buried him for decades, fighting with the backstabbing tone of his precious mother feeding her insane ideas into him again and again.
He had his own battles, Sephiroth would insist. He had his own manacles to break from, and she returned, whispering to him what he had to do.
But Sephiroth only wanted to die, now.

Eventually his ice blanket would melt.
And eventually, due to natural and unnatural causes, those who he once called enemies would die. Disasters spent through Shin-Ra and AVALANCHE, the disasters of death and time.
Sephiroth wasn't aware that the only survivors of the original Avalanche rebels now were the knowledgeable wolf, and the former Turk who obsessed so desperately with his birth mother.
Sephiroth gave their memories no thought. The idea of them ever being a part of his life again was incomprehensible, so as the silver haired general dug his fingers deeply into his cold skin, and continued his journey through familiar but unidentifiable ground, he did not even think of seeing any who still knew of his legend first hand.

He did not think of anything but the pain that enclosed around him. His mind, mostly, hurt so much more than any physical disaster could.
The silver haired man, once branded a monster, did not note the blood seeping quickly, aggressively, from his arms. Nor did he feel himself falling, his cheeks cut by the sharp stones that threw his body around like the weakest rag doll.

Sephiroth, the great general was no more.
Sephiroth, the destroyer was no more.

At the base of Mountain Nibel lay Sephiroth, defeated and weak, with absolutely no hope or wish to live, let alone attempt his horrid reign again.

Sephiroth the great, had fallen.

"Sephiroth." Yet despite the fall, the silver haired general could swear he still heard a voice whisper his name. A voice that was somewhat familiar, but not familiar enough to be mother's.
Was this further insanity? Would he hear other calamities now, ordering him, controlling him and forcing him further into his broken reality?

"Sephiroth." Yet the voice seemed tender.
Why?
If the general had any sort of desire to lift his bruised and cut features from the grass they were imbedded in, he would of seen confusion, as well as a slight hint of concern in the face of the one who called his name.

"Sephiroth... It can't be..."
The general laughed.
Or tried to, his body shaking as no sound came out. Mother's voice was never so tender. It had been soft, yet so cruel. This voice was gentle, without order behind it. Without any hidden facades. The concern was almost genuine. As was the bemusement.
Sephiroth lay, attempting to predict when his name would be called again.
Much to his surprise however, it wasn't. Instead his body was encouraged to turn, lay on it's back. Moist grass touched his exposed skin, the fabric of his clothes torn many years ago, ruined by his aimless wanderings.

"Leave me," the mako eyed one finally hissed, his eyes shut tight in defence from the sun that played over his fallen form. The other figure crouched, yet seemed to refuse to touch him.
Was this an enemy? Would he have to suffer more torture, torture that would never actually kill him? Or was this a foolish child who had heard the tales of Sephiroth?
The general didn't care.

At least not until the soft leather of a black glove traced his face. His arm. His body.
And then he was whisked into a pair of strong arms without any particular trouble.
He didn't attempt to struggle, not because he felt incapable, but because he was defeated. His will to live was defeated years ago, and his mystery companion seemed to realise this.
Perhaps it was this that resulted in the silver haired man finally opening his eyes, instantly greeted by a form he had no true personal quarrels with, but he knew this man as one of his former opponents.

"...Vincent Valentine."

From Sephiroth's photographic memory, the man hadn't changed. His hair was long and black, and a similar outfit consisting of red and black was perfect around his body.
The metal claw provided good support for carrying the general, who was an inch or two taller than Valentine in height, and somewhat heavier.
The general's nose seemed to wrinkle in curiosity.
Valentine, and his memories, also brought back the memories of Nibelheim. Sephiroth knew he was there, and his suspicions were proven correct as he, in the arms of the former Turk, approached the Shinra mansion through the tall, rusty gates.

"This is where it all began, didn't it, Valentine?" A hoarse laugh, yet no sound came out again. Just whispers and violent coughing.
Vincent's red orbs never once looked to him even as be brought the silver haired frame into the mansion. No words had passed the former Turk's lips after he'd whispered the other's name.
Not a single word.

The silence was kept between the two of them until Sephiroth had been lain on the large bed that Vincent himself never used. The bed was dusty, quite like the rest of the room, and provided evidence that Vincent Valentine was not particularly ecstatic about cleaning the mansion.
The mattress squeaked and dented as Sephiroth was placed down with a surprisingly graceful care, and Vincent stood above him. He watched him for a moment without saying a word.

The disbelief that Sephiroth had earlier traced wasn't there anymore and Vincent's eyes held a strange acceptance, perhaps even approval.
Mako green eyes closed, the other's gaze too intense for him at that moment.

"Don't move," Vincent ordered in his gentle voice, and the sound of his footsteps slowly going further away seemed to hypnotise the silver haired man sprawled carelessly on the bed.
He could feel his joints beginning to ache now, and his body recognised pain.
His mind however, seemed to become more focused on reality, and the voice of Jenova grew quieter, and quieter, sounding like a persistent yet tolerable buzzing when Vincent Valentine returned.
The black haired one seemed somewhat pleased that Sephiroth hadn't moved. He sat by the bed without any caution, and took out several cure materia.
He could feel the other's deep, mako eyes watching him with disbelief as he pressed the materia into Sephiroth's more obvious wounds. The others were left to heal alone, but Vincent didn't doubt that they would be gone in the maximum of seven days.
However, he was still well aware of infection, so the little washcloth he had brought with him was dipped in anaesthetic, before he proceeded to slowly run it over Sephiroth's exposed wounds, collecting and cleaning off blood and dirt. Eventually, Vincent would encourage a bath but he doubted it was appropriate now.

"Why aren't you dead?" The direct question did not take the silver haired man by surprise at all. Instead he simply tilted his head an inch to the side, his vision directed and focused on a dark stain on the wall. He couldn't quite figure out what it was, perhaps it was simply the age of the Shinra Mansion and Vincent Valentine's dislike for cleaning. His lips pursed into a pout momentarily, before parting again as his moist tongue darted out to wet them slightly.

"Why didn't you try to kill me?" Sephiroth's response, the answering of a question with a question, was not particularly annoying to Vincent. In fact, Sephiroth almost swore that he detected a faint trace of a smile over the other's pale lips.
Just then, Sephiroth turned his gaze towards the former Turk, noting for the first time that the handsome black haired man had removed his one glove, and now eased the wounds with his hand. His fingers occasionally brushed Sephiroth's skin.

"I cannot die," Vincent said softly. His fingertips touched Sephiroth's chest, a cut just above his stomach. He answered the question Sephiroth had asked him, and the question that he had asked Sephiroth in three simple words. The former Turk had a sense of desperation about him, loneliness that meant he could have accepted into his company, for even a moment, a man that was supposed to be his enemy.
And Sephiroth would accept anyone that would keep him from his insanity.

"I cannot die either."

So Vincent nodded, and they remained in silence as the crimson eyed man continued to clean and add antiseptic to the wounds. Vincent Valentine knew all too well that he should of been a thousand times more cautious, he should have tried to restrain the former general, to take his life, yet he saw no threat in the collapsed form of Sephiroth.
He only saw in Sephiroth what he felt in himself.
"Do you eat at all?" Vincent asked, raising a curious eyebrow as he dropped the cloth into a bowl of blood stained water. He seemed almost reluctant to leave Sephiroth, as if fearing that the one winged angel would disappear.

"Do you? Do you have food? What for?"
Vincent almost laughed at the questions fired at him as he rose to his feet. Sephiroth still eyed him as he worked on removing the rest of his torn upper body clothing without putting himself through unnecessary pain. The clothes were tossed to pool on the floor as the general lay back and sighed, somewhat suspicious of Vincent eyeing him now.
Vincent Valentine however, was having a deep staring contest with Sephiroth's messy, uncombed locks. He desperately wanted to return it to the old state, and would sooner rather than later, when Sephiroth was a little more physically capable.

"I do not need it. It tastes nice though, doesn't it? I like to eat nice things. I'll get you some food and a drink. Make yourself comfortable, and try to pull the covers over yourself. I'll be back in a minute."
Before Vincent left though, Sephiroth actually laughed. A magnificent laugh that made Vincent shiver like he wasn't quite expecting.

"I'm not going to get cold, Vincent Valentine," Sephiroth argued as he gazed at the ceiling with sleepy eyes. He was still in disbelief of this situation, but he didn't want to question it.
"But I'll make myself comfortable."

Although the silver haired man would still find Vincent Valentine particularly peculiar, he found that he agreed with Vincent especially regarding the food. Although he ate only soup and drank only tea, he found his passion for the sweet tastes of anything but rain and mud quickly rekindled.
"This is good," the rather fervent general was complimenting Vincent now as the Turk collected the second empty bowl. He looked down at Sephiroth and gave him a rare smile, recalling that it had been a while since he'd smiled.

"You think so? I'll make you something better tomorrow. It's more inspiring to cook for others, you know. So does it feel better? It's comforting, isn't it?"
He set the tray aside for a moment, before sitting on the bed by Sephiroth. Neither seemed particularly defensive, they felt a similarity that made the unexplained worries between people make sense.
Vincent opened the drawer and began to eye Sephiroth's messy mane again. No doubt, when the silver haired man was back to a more positive state, his hair would be a number one priority.

"I forgot how it all tasted," Sephiroth said softly, his voice coming back quicker than he expected. He sat up a little when Vincent suddenly presented him with a hairbrush. He didn't say anything, unsure whether he was meant to thank Vincent or not.

"Just... brush your hair please, Sephiroth," Vincent almost huffed as he rose, before smiling in return to the silver haired man's fantastic grin.
"And get some rest. I'm in the other room."

Although Sephiroth almost came close to begging Vincent to stay, fearing that just maybe the persistent little nagging in his heart and brain would grow bigger and bigger with the black haired man gone, he managed to compose himself a little as he sighed into the pillows.
Sephiroth only slept when he wished to. In his search for death, the idea of sleep never occurred. It seemed almost foolish now, and he would of laughed at himself if he didn't feel so comfortable on the bed. It looked horrid, but was surprisingly pleasant.
The silver haired man sighed, and finally closed his eyes, his fingers touching the sheets beneath the covers. Vincent had asked him to sleep, so he would. After all, Jenova wasn't screaming at him now. Still there, as always, but the fact that Vincent Valentine, a former enemy, was in the next room, was far more overpowering.
Eventually Sephiroth achieved sleep, and found himself in a comfortable trance, in a state that he hadn't felt for a very long time. If ever.

The silver haired warrior did not dream, as dreams were sometimes considered curses, and Sephiroth did not wish any more troubled thoughts upon himself, especially when he was desperately trying to escape his sin.
So he didn't dream, yet for twelve hours found himself quite content, lying still as his mind would rest for the first time in decades.
Like any human, however, and Sephiroth was a broken human in the end, he woke when his mind decided that it had enough REM sleep, and the silver haired man began to turn under the heavy blankets, his nose wrinkling a little and his lips parting to release an uncharacteristic yawn.

By the time he got the enthusiasm to roll from the bed, Vincent Valentine had made his way to the entrance of the room, and was leaning surprisingly casually on the wall, a peculiar expression on his otherwise handsome face.
With the covers now around his waist and exposing his pale white skin, Sephiroth was sat up, silver strands of hair falling over his eyes, which focused on Vincent nonetheless. He managed a smile, which the black haired man did not return but there was a sincerity in his eyes which the other took for affection of some sort.
"How long was I sleeping?" Sephiroth asked, first to break the silence.

Vincent tilted his head to the side in response, before taking a step into the large room. The morning made the bedroom seem less aggressive, especially since Vincent Valentine had eliminated all of the monsters in Shinra mansion.
Instead there was a neglected house, with a man in a red cape floating about. Except now, the man had company.
He managed to force a smile, curving the corners of his lips. He stopped several metres from the bed, a respectable distance that would certainly not intimidate Sephiroth.
And the man on the bed was far from intimidated. Instead he smiled in return, feeling himself draw back a little on the bed, as if offering it to Vincent, whom Sephiroth knew wouldn't sit beside him just yet.

"Twelve hours," Vincent spoke now, standing by the bed. His eyes shot away from Sephiroth's mako green ones when they met again, a light colour in his usual death white cheeks.

"Wow, I don't think I ever slept twelve hours. Not even when I thought I was human," the slightly taller man snorted, before moving his leather clad legs, so the tips of his toes touched the floor almost cautiously.The wood was cold against his feet, which had warmed during his twelve hour sleep. Sephiroth flinched, his eyebrows furrowing together in obvious irritation. It was unusual for him to be started by something which was too cold, or too warm.
He could almost feel Vincent's smile hover in the air though, and it made him sigh a little, before tilting his head up to meet the crimson eyes of the black haired man, neither man finding it particularly necessary to talk.

"You are human, Sephiroth."
However, Vincent was the first to break the silence. His hand stretched out, free of that glove still, and offered itself to the silver haired general, who took it without hesitation.
Vincent pulled him up with a single tug of his arm, and they faced one another suddenly, mako green eyes reflecting in crimson red ones, a smirk tainting Sephiroth's lips as Vincent's remained in a thin line.
"Your mother and father were human," Vincent continued, letting his hand loosen it's grip on the other's, before eventually falling apart. He took a step back, too, and moved slowly towards the exit of the room, his slow movements a silent hint for the other to follow, and indeed Sephiroth traced his steps obediently.

Although Vincent's words concerning his biological family may have effected him once upon a time, the silver haired man simply smiled now as he shook his wild mane, and moved behind Vincent on the creaking wooden steps.
His hatred for Lucrecia, for Hojo, for all of them had taken many forms in his lifetime. Vincent speaking of them didn't result in pain, or anger. No emotion whatsoever. So he remained silent in order to avoid argument, only parting his lips when Vincent Valentine had apparently brought him to the kitchen.
Sephiroth smiled, staying close to Vincent. He quite liked how close he was to another person, without the desire to quarrel, or cause complications. Jenova's voice was distant now, and the closer to Vincent he got, the further she went.
"Are you cooking for me again? What would Cloud say," he smirked, surprised when Vincent responded with a smile of his own.

"I am. I went out to shop when you were sleeping. There's something pleasant about cooking for someone other than yourself," the former Turk nodded, before turning around and facing Sephiroth.
They were face to face again, and Vincent was suddenly a little overwhelmed by how quickly Sephiroth was regaining his strength. His mako eyes were bright, his skin no longer deathly pale, and his entire physique seemed so much stronger, so much more pleasant as Vincent Valentine surprised himself and Sephiroth both by pressing his fingers to the other's chiselled chest.
"Please sit down," he said calmly, and continued to push his fingers until they were stretched out completely and Sephiroth was backing away towards a chair. "Cloud's opinion is hardly one I can take into account, since he hasn't been...alive for a long time." Vincent raised an eyebrow, unaware that the silver haired man watched him as he began to rummage through the drawers. Sephiroth felt himself smiling unusually at the unimpressed expression on Vincent's usually calm features when apparently, a spider was discovered in one of the pans.

"I still don't understand," the biologically younger of the two persistently pursued the topic, even as Vincent struggled with his spider. "Why you're doing this for me."

Once the spider lost it's battle, and the black haired man crushed it rather mercilessly beneath his metal claw, he half turned his head to the other, merely to be polite, as his hands rummaged through the cupboards in search for flour.
"I don't understand why you haven't tried to kill me yet. I don't suppose you're one for trickery," Vincent continued as Sephiroth leant back, sighing as his bruised back touched the cold wall. "So I guess we're both confused."
He smirked a little at Vincent's words, and took them as a hint to be silent. He was relatively content with watching Vincent for the time being anyway, figuring that the red eyed man simply wasn't going to answer his questions.
Because maybe, he just didn't know the answers.
Maybe he was just as fragile to the answers and the truth as Sephiroth was, yet wanted Sephiroth to stay despite the confusion, because loneliness had finally broken two proud warriors down.

"Eat, please."
Sephiroth tilted his head up suddenly, when an overwhelming smell of delicious food hit his senses. His eyes widened from their natural state and he looked down, unable to stop a look of utter surprise changing his features when he saw what he recognised as being pancakes.
Sephiroth had never eaten pancakes, so he poked at them a little cautiously with his fork, watching Vincent as Vincent watched him.
The food, as predicted, was delicious and the green eyed man expressed his gratitude verbally with a surprisingly loud 'mmm!' which took even Vincent by surprise. "There are really good," he spoke with a slight smile as Vincent Valentine cleared his plate, and pointed to the oven.

"I made extra, in case you wanted any."