Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy 8. That belongs to Square-Enix.
Getting to Home
Chapter One: Knight
Darkness. Empty. A sharp, unrelenting pain. Horrifying memories. He opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. All around him was a darkness so uncaring and empty that he feared he had died. Or perhaps he was hoping he died. Pain flowed through every part of his body. Was he dead, or was he alive? He tried to move his head but his body protested the movement with another wave of pain. Instead he used his eyes to observe his surroundings.
Above his eyes was a black expanse of nothing. There was not a single point of light to give him a bit of cheer in the dreary place. He could feel something hard supporting his back. He sniffed the air experimentally. Blood stung his nostrils thickly, along with the familiar staleness of metal. He wondered if the blood was his own or someone else's. Something warm and wet was on his cheek. The sticky wetness was on other parts of his body as well. He felt very weak, and this weakness became greater by the minute. He wasn't dead: he was dying.
He tried to call out but his throat was parched and wouldn't allow noise to escape. He laid there in the darkness and waited for his strength to completely give out. No one cared if he lived or died. Only two people would miss him; everyone else would be glad he was gone.
It was so quiet that the slightest noise startled him. A noise drew his attention, sounding ten times louder in the silence. Whatever was making the noise was too far away for him to see in his limited vision. The noise grew louder, making his ears ache. Two shapes appeared in his vision. He felt like he should know these shapes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything long enough to figure it out.
One shape was slender and a misty whiteness was visible. The other shape was much thicker. The two shapes stood over him, quietly observing his features. Was it possible they could see something in this darkness that he could not? To him they were nothing more than objects, shapes with no faces to give them depth. Again he tried to speak; this time a croaking sound emanated from his mouth. He tried to convey with his eyes that he wanted to know who these faceless shapes were. They apparently didn't understand his nonverbal communication.
The larger of the shapes bent down. There was still no face as far as he could tell, but he caught a whiff of the shape's scent. There was something calmingly familiar about the leathery, sweaty smell that wafted through his nostrils. The large shape somehow picked him up. He could feel two strong arms under his body. His back and legs screamed in pain at the contact. If he had the strength, he would've thrashed in the unknown thing's grasp. It must have been a human, but what did it want with him?
He felt as if he were hovering over the ground. The large shape was carrying him, strangely careful. The slender shape walked beside them quietly. The whiteness was strange to see in the darkness that surrounded the three of them. The whiteness was too pale; he could make nothing else out. There was a steady stream of sound that drifted through his ears. Two pairs of feet were walking on metallic ground. These two shapes were indeed human. What was it that they wanted with him? Had they no idea what he had done? Or were they rescuing him, only to kill him?
Something akin to fear began to stir in his heart. The feeling wasn't like him; in his whole life he could count the number of times he was afraid on one hand. His right arm hung helpless, swaying at the slightest movement. He wanted to scream, to tell the shapes to move his arm, to make any sort of noise at all. He could provoke no sound to come out, not even the croak that his throat allowed before. The slender shape seemed to sense his unspoken pain, for it gently put his arm on his chest. His other arm was cradled in the large shape's thick arms.
The touch of the slender shape was icy; the larger shape felt warm with the energy of lightning. He was sure, so certain he knew these two shapes. It hurt to think; it hurt to move; it hurt to speak; it was even beginning to hurt just watching with his eyes. His optical orbs needed light. He had gone too long without it. Where were these shapes taking him? He hadn't the strength to fight them. If they meant to kill him, they would have an easy time of it.
Something unfamiliar was in the distance. As if the shapes were eager to get to this thing, the speed they walked increased. His whole body protested the hurried movement. He heard something escape his throat. The shapes at once slowed down to the pace they were taking before. His head was pounding, his body was aching, his eyes were spinning and every nerve throbbed in pain. The unfamiliar thing grew bigger, flooding his senses. It hurt his eyes. Was it...?
Yes, it was light. Joy weaved its way into his heart. Light. His eyes eagerly took it in, adjusting to the absence of darkness quickly so they could fully enjoy the brightness. His head was protesting against the light, but every other part of him was glad to have it again. Waves of dizziness passed over him. He ignored it, gathering his mental strength to push it aside. He was so close, so close to the light now. He wanted to grasp it, to embrace its warmth.
He rarely laughed but in that moment he wanted to laugh as hard as he could. His body shook with quiet laughter. This only made his pain increase. He ignored this and allowed the laughter to ripple through his veins. They were fully in the sunlight now, and the dizziness was attacking him mercilessly. The trees and grass, which he thought he would never see again, moved in his unbalanced vision. The earth spun faster and faster until he could take it no more. He closed his eyes reluctantly; after seeing light, he was unwilling to go back to darkness. Only the constant pain kept him from falling asleep. After a while, he did doze off. He was too weak. Not even pain could keep him from sleep.
He was haunted by nightmares that reminded him of what he did. His eyes snapped open in defiance. This time what was above him was not darkness. White tiles now greeted his vision. He could feel a soft pillow under him, and a comfortable bed supported his aching body. His eyes adjusted to the light slowly, his frame once again rejoicing at this simple pleasure. He was in a clean room. Something was attached to his left arm, but he couldn't move his head to see what it was.
A sterile smell greeted his senses. A small table was at the foot of his bed; on the table was a tray, which held metal instruments. At once he knew that he was in an infirmary. Fear again threatened him. Had those shapes brought him to the place he knew he was least wanted? That place was hostile to him and his two friends for a long time, but after what he did, it would be even more unwelcome. He hadn't the strength to fight off anyone that would want to harm him. He was helpless for the first time in his memory.
He glanced around. There was no one there with him: no doctors or nurses, or even another patient. The shapes brought him here, most likely, but why? To lie here and be forgotten? Or to allow those who hated him revenge? They should have left him. He had no desire to continue living. Only two people would miss him. Everyone would be better off if he died. Why did those shapes saved him? And where were they now? For whatever reason, he was left alone again. If he had the strength, he would get up and walk out. Except that he couldn't even move his head, so leaving was out of the question.
"Are you awake yet?" A voice, feminine if he wasn't mistaken. It felt like an eternity since he heard a human voice. He heard heels clicking on the floor. "Oh, good. I was afraid we were going to lose you." He wanted to speak but his vocal chords refused to obey him. "I finally convinced your friends to leave you alone. Would you like to see them?" Friends? Wasn't this woman aware that he had no friends? The voice was unfamiliar. Perhaps she didn't know who he was. No, that was impossible. Everyone knew who he was. The heels clicked again and he could see the female. She had long black hair that brushed against her waist. She wore a white doctor's coat and her skin was dark. She looked a few years older than he. Wire-rimmed glasses framed her brown eyes.
"Are you not able to speak?" she questioned him gently. "My apologies. Here, let me get you some water." She disappeared out of his vision for a moment and returned with a glass of water in her hand. "Drink this." She put the glass on his lips and tilted it towards him. His jaw didn't seem to be working. Just trying to open his mouth was painful. The water dribbled uselessly down his chin. The doctor pursed her lips and stared at him as if it was his fault he couldn't make his body work. Didn't she know how badly it hurt to do even the smallest task? She clicked her tongue in annoyance and wiped up the water with a towel. She walked down to the table at the end of his bed and rummaged through the metal instruments.
He never liked being in the infirmary. He didn't trust doctors and this one was no exception. She came back wearing gloves. If he could speak, he would ask her what she was going to do. As it was he was helpless. One gloved hand pressed down on his upper lip. The other gently held his jaw and slowly pried it open. He couldn't manage a single noise but he felt the urge to scream. The pain was so excruciating. If he could only move, he would throttle her for making him suffer. His mouth was open now and his throat was getting drier.
Again she picked up the glass and tried to make him drink. The water trickled down his throat but got stuck on the way down. He coughed and sputtered but he couldn't get the water away from his throat. They were going to kill him; they wanted to choke him to death. The doctor suddenly forced him into a sitting position, which made the pain shoot up so drastically he thought he might black out. She patted him on the back roughly. His brain screamed in agony. Didn't she know how much pain he was in? He spat something out, but it was too red to be water. Blood. They were trying to kill him.
He wanted to collapse and die right there. If he had the strength, he would take Hyperion and put himself out of his misery. The pain was so great he longed for it to be over. The shapes should've killed him instead of saving him. The doctor guided him back down to the bed. Some droplets of water made their way down his throat. He was still in great pain, but at least his throat was a little less parched. Every fiber in his body screamed in agony. His back was still throbbing from the punishment it was forced to endure. His jaw was still open. He hadn't the strength to move it. Saliva trickled down the sides of his mouth. The doctor closed his mouth again. The pain was shorter but it still hurt.
"Is he awake, doc?" Another voice, this one masculine. He knew the voice. Two pairs of feet struck the tiled floor. A dark man with bulging muscles and a big smile entered his vision, followed by a slender female with pale skin. Seeing these two made him feel very relieved. These two were the only people he called friends in the whole world. Then he realized that they were the ones who rescued him. They brought him here to be healed. The man continued smiling. "You're awake! We were worried, ya know?" Such simple words, yet they filled him with gratitude. At least someone out there cared. The pale female drew closer to him.
"BETTER?" she asked. He cringed at her voice. She possessed a much softer voice, but she wouldn't use that around a stranger. She turned to the doctor. "PLEASE LEAVE." The doctor looked offended but did as she was told. His two friends watched the doctor to make sure she was gone from the room. They sat on either side of him in such a way that he could see them both. "You don't have to say anything," his female friend assured him gently. "We'll take care of you."
"You're going to be good as new, ya know!" the other agreed. He wished his vocal chords would obey him; he longed to speak to his friends, to tell them how wrong it was for them to have saved them, how much he wanted to die. "You're gonna be in here for a while, ya know. It's all because of that..." The female held up her hand, shaking her head sternly. The man grinned sheepishly and apologized. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't wanna, ya know."
"Just get better. We'll be watching over you." He felt dizzy and tired again. He closed his eyes against the now-unkind glare of light and fell into a dreamless sleep.
His friends were true to their word. They stayed faithfully by his side until he was completely healed. The healing process was long and painful. Every joint, every bone in his body was battered so badly they were rendered almost unusable. The doctor in charge of him concentrated on one area at a time. Time was meaningless. It went on quietly, hardly giving any indication it was moving at all.
Soon he was able to turn his head without pain shooting through his neck. His next great feat was sitting up by himself. Walking took a lot longer to master. It was like he was a child again, forced to relearn all the things he took for granted in the past. His friends encouraged him daily by telling him how much he was improving. He regained the ability to speak but chose to use it sparingly. He and his friends bonded so closely while he was rehabilitating that he hardly had a need to converse with them verbally. Finally, after patiently relearning how to work all his muscles, the doctor gave him a clean bill of health. He and his two friends celebrated his release by going out on the dock.
He never fished in his entire life. His male friend knew something of the sport and was explaining it as they walked. He didn't have any money on him, and if he did his friends wouldn't have made him pay. Raijin rented the proper equipment from a bait store near the dock. Fujin opted to watch the other two, uninterested in the sport. They sat on the dock with their lines in the water tempting the fish, basking in the life-giving radiance of the sun. It was a boring task to wait for something to nibble, but he didn't mind. He simply enjoyed being with his friends again. He was even glad he was alive.
He still had nightmares but he was learning to ignore those. If they stayed out of everyone's way, he would have a fresh start on things. He was given a second chance on life. This time would be different. He would stay away from that place and be content with wandering the earth with his two friends. Everyone would be much happier that way. Those who lived in that place would assume he was dead and go on living. He and his friends would be forgotten in time, and that was how everyone wanted it. He jiggled his line impatiently. The fish weren't very active.
"I got one! I got one!" He looked up to see his jovial friend bouncing around like a child, holding up his catch. Anger rushed into him and he kicked his pole in a rage. Seeing this, Fujin tried to get their celebrating companion to shut up. He ignored her and continued to dance gleefully, oblivious to how his actions made both of his friends agitated. Finally Fujin was fed up and promptly pushed the loudmouth into the water with her foot. He couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. Fujin stared at him in awe, her single eye wide in astonishment.
A large shadow suddenly passed over the three friends. He glanced up and saw a very familiar object flying over them. Seeing this object made him feel homesick. The idiot pulled himself out of the water, coughing up some of the liquid. Home. He hadn't thought about it for a long time, mostly because the pain had distracted him from anything else. Home. A place where he was not welcome. Yet, seeing that object flying above his head, he wanted to go back. He wanted to go back where he wasn't wanted. He knew it was a ridiculous notion, but he couldn't convince himself out of it. He wanted to go home.