Dark Voices
By S.J. Kohl
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cloud/Sephiroth
Summary: Cloud hears voices.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for Jessara40k. I hope you like it, strange as it is! pets Jessara for her lovely uke Sephiroth-ness
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It was loud. A commanding voice that didn't grate so much as cling, hanging in the mind like a skulking mist. A woman's voice. Cloud couldn't disobey her. But hers wasn't the only voice inside his head. There were others. A man's voice, dark and throbbing, a sleepy voice that called to him from a half-drugged haze, urging Cloud to come to him, to bring him something that might set him free. There was a friendly, laughing voice that somehow managed to mock him even as it brought him comfort. He didn't hear that voice often, and he wasn't sure whether that made him glad or sad. Last of all there was a young voice, the voice of a boy that felt like a memory when it washed over his mind.
They were always with him, one or the other of them, and they all wanted something from him. Strength, help, service, blood. It didn't matter. They all wanted something. Even the laughing voice wanted him to be something that he wasn't. The laughing voice was strong, but Cloud wasn't. He was a failure, just a failure, and he couldn't be strong like the laughing voice wanted. The woman's voice was the loudest, and she was always speaking. She never stopped, and she sounded so harsh inside his head, so harsh but so smooth, and the smoothness was tempting. It made him want to do everything she asked of him.
That was why he was here, wasn't it? In this place that looked like a forest made of glass. He was all alone in this place—except for her voice—but he had brought what she'd asked him to bring. But maybe he wasn't alone, after all. There was a man here, and he was inside one of the trees. Only it didn't look like a tree anymore, but like a tube, a glass tube filled with liquid, and Cloud thought he'd seen something like it before. He was a beautiful man, a naked man with silver hair. His eyes were closed, though, and Cloud didn't think he could speak from inside the glass. He was a pale man, almost white, and he didn't look complete. It was like he'd died and been brought back to life, only he wasn't quite alive yet. He was only half-formed. No legs, no hips, only a smoothly sculpted torso tapering down into nothingness.
Go.
It was the woman's voice. She wanted him to go closer, to finish what he'd started, but Cloud didn't want to. The laughing voice was back, a friendly voice whispering inside his mind that he needed to stay where he was, to go back, back, back to where he'd come from and forget he'd ever seen the silver-haired man. But how could Cloud do that? He knew the man, only he wasn't sure how or from where, but he couldn't just leave someone he knew alone like that. He knew how hard it was to be alone, and the silver man would be alone if Cloud left. The woman's voice was louder now. She was getting angry, and Cloud didn't like it when she was angry, but the laughing voice didn't want him to go to the pale man, and the little boy's voice—so quiet, so quiet—was telling him that the silver man was a hero and a demon.
Cloud could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't know what to do. Go or stay, go or stay. He didn't know, and they all wanted something different from him. He could feel his muscles tensing, ready to spring, to bolt, to run, ready to drop what he was carrying and just fly, fly, fly until he couldn't move anymore, couldn't hear anymore, couldn't think anymore.
But then the dark voice was back, the man's voice that pulsed and throbbed inside his head, and Cloud knew, he knew the voice belonged to the beautiful man in the glass. Cloud. The man's voice, deep and soothing and penetrating.
Cloud shivered. He took a step closer to the glass tree, one of many, but the other ones were empty. Only empty glass, but this one held a demon and a hero. Cloud licked his lips. "They won't stop."
I know. The voice was soft now, low and full of sympathy. I hear them too.
Another step, and Cloud's fingers clenched tightly around the small, glowing globe in his hands. "You do?"
I do. I hear a woman's voice, loud and shrill inside my head.
Cloud nodded, his eyes wide as the tears spilled over to run down his cheeks. His hands trembled as he took another step closer to the tree. "Can you make her go away?"
No. Sadness in the dark. I can't make the others go away either. But I can tell you you're not alone. I hear them too. Many voices, past and future voices.
Cloud swallowed. "The woman. She's the future, isn't she?"
She doesn't have to be. You just have to learn to let her go. Set me free, and I'll teach you.
A fragile hope blossomed in the mist that still clung, cold and hated, to Cloud's mind. He took another step. "You will?"
Of course. A smile in the voice, though the face behind the glass didn't move. The eyes didn't open. We're brothers, after all. And you hear them too. The laughing voice that used to be our friend. The small voices, the children's voices that we used to know, used to be. You can hear them, can't you?
Cloud nodded. "I knew you too, didn't I?"
The voice was sad again. You knew the hero.
Cloud held out his hands and opened them, revealing a black materia in the ghostly light of the glass forest. He pressed it to the glass. The woman's voice was silent. Cloud murmured, "Who are you now?"
A small smile, a wicked smile as the globe whispered its way through the glass, slipping inside to hang suspended in the liquid that surrounded the silver-haired man's body. The eyes opened now, green eyes that looked even greener in the faintly colored liquid. Not the hero.
"No," Cloud whispered. He didn't like this voice. It was harsh now. It was loud and mixed with the woman's voice, and Cloud didn't like it at all. No. No, because, if the silver man wasn't the hero anymore, he must be the demon, and Cloud didn't want him to be the demon. He missed the old voice, the dark voice that tasted like silver and shadows on his tongue. He shook his head, frustration calling up new tears to join the old. "No," he whispered again. The voices weren't supposed to blend like that. He didn't want them to join together, didn't want the throbbing voice and the woman's voice to become the same. "You promised."
The only promises I have to keep are the ones I make to her. The dark was almost gone now, replaced by loud and shrill and clinging. Only a hint of the hero left now.
Cloud dropped to his knees, his fingers clutching at the smooth glass, reaching for a body—a now complete body—he could never touch. He was alone, even in this place with this man, he was alone. Even the quiet voice and the laughing voice were silent now. Even they had abandoned him, leaving him alone with the woman. He really was a failure. He couldn't even keep the voices alive inside him. He stared up into a pair of icy green eyes, and he trembled. "But you promised. You promised you'd show me how to let her go."
The glass shattered, sliced him in a dozen places, but Cloud didn't care. He didn't even notice the blood running down his skin with the green liquid from the tube. He was too busy staring at the silver man as he walked away on new-made legs, as he took the materia with him and left Cloud alone and voiceless, choking on his own sobs. He didn't want the silver man to leave. He wanted him to stay, to touch him and caress him and speak inside him, to make him strong so the laughing voice would come back and keep him from being alone. "You promised."
The silver man stopped, and Cloud just stared as he turned around, fingers outstretched, and then the voice was back, loud and dark and wet and throbbing as it consumed him. It stripped away the fog and left him shivering on the ground, and suddenly Cloud knew, he knew who it was that was standing before him. Sephiroth was back, and it was his fault. He'd brought the black materia and returned Sephiroth to life because she'd told him to, and it was his fault, his fault. Anger welled up inside Cloud, and his eyes grew dark and cold. They were gone now, the dark voice of Sephiroth and the cloying voice of Jenova, but he could still feel the other voices inside of him. They'd never left him, but he wished they had. He didn't deserve to hear them anymore. He hated Sephiroth.
But Sephiroth had helped him. He'd made her go away so Cloud could think again, and Cloud could still see the shadow of the old hero behind the cold mask of the demon. The anger drained away, drowned out by sadness and desperation. He would never have Sephiroth, never, never, never, and now he would have to kill him again. But not today, not today. He couldn't fight today, but he wanted to know why. Why. But he was afraid to know. He was too scared, too scared, and too much of a failure. Why save a failure and a pawn? Cloud wiped the blood from his cheek and stared at Sephiroth. He only needed to say one word, just one word. He took a deep breath, and his voice came out as a whisper. He really was voiceless, voiceless and alone. "Why?"
Sephiroth turned away, but his voice was dark, dark, dark like it always used to be, like it was supposed to be. "Because I hear them too."
Cloud laughed. He wasn't alone. He remembered now. He wasn't alone; they were brothers. Sephiroth was his brother, and they would always be together. Even when Cloud had to kill him, they would be together and they would die together. Because I hear them too. I hear them too. He said it to himself over and over as Sephiroth walked away, taking Jenova with him and leaving Cloud alone with the laughing voice and the quiet voice, leaving the good voices behind with Cloud and taking the bad one with him.
I hear them too.