Wounded

Chapter One:

Injuries Unknown

If I am wounded

Alone and Lost

My final breath draws nearer

Please don't save me

Don't come near

I am a wounded thing

Worthless, unneeded

Do not help

Do not come to me

Please, I beg of you

I need you to back away

To stay away

Or I fear for your life

Please I beg, don't come near

I am a monster, a thing

A creature not worth living

Keep away with your kind touch

Your words that seem to be so kind

And yet so cruel

Stay away

I am a wounded creature

My heart

Body

Mind

And Soul

All of it taken under your care

As my mind races, trying to escape

Please leave me

Leave me wounded

Just please, I beg, leave me alone

Let me die.

He laid there, his crimson eyes closed as ragged breaths tore from his pained lungs. In, out, in, out. That's what he concentrated on, trying not to notice the excruciating pain that cycled through his broken form. It was as if someone had ripped him apart limb from limb, tearing his form, ripping his skin, and then leaving him to die. Which, it was not entirely untrue, but he knew one thing. He was dying. Vincent was lost, in the middle of a forest without anyone near to save him; he needed to be saved. The gunman would never admit how desperately he needed help now, but it was true.

Without someone's help he was going to die. That was what haunted him now, the thought of death was ever so alluring to the man, a peacefully oblivion to escape from the sins that tormented him so badly he couldn't explain it. Yet he feared death, death would mean he could never atone for the sins that still chained his soul to this world. He was tied to a demon; no, a WEAPON by the name of Chaos. One that tormented his mind, body, soul, and heart every moment he lived. For now he could tell his life was finally ending; Chaos was silent.

It was so ironically blissful to not hear the chatter of his demons within his mind. Instead he found that it was a blissful silence he hadn't heard in about thirty one years. Those past years had been filled with nightmares, threats, or coos of the sins he had committed. He admitted to himself that he had sinned, and believed the words spoken by those horrible creatures.

He didn't deny those words.

A particular deep breath sent his whole form screaming in an agonizing pain that he couldn't block, a scream tore from his throat, echoing in the empty woods as he couldn't believe this. This pain was like that from when he was in the hands of a madman by the name of Hojo. Oh how he loathed that man and what had been done; the man turned him into a loathsome monster. He realized one thing, back then he knew what Hojo had done. The man had turned him into the monster he had—and always will see the man was. He was just as despicable, just as evil. But; Vincent knew he was different from the man, the sniper was atoning for his sins the best he could.

Even if it led him to death, his life was worthless since the death of his beloved Lucrecia. She was the one woman he loved, he would always love her. Forever and ever and ever, of course he knew he would be alive for that long, being a WEAPON, a servant of the planet he despised at this very moment within his shortly disappearing life. It was the damned Planet he had helped save four years ago, two years ago, and even a year ago once more he had rose to defend the Planet.

It was his duty; as a WEAPON that is.

And he loathed it with everything of his eternal being. He was a tool; he had always been a tool to something! From Shinra, to Hojo, and even his so called 'friends' had used him as some sort of plaything for amusement, no, maybe not his friends, yet at times it felt that way to him. The Ex-Turk felt the use; it wore his spirit, his soul down to twigs when he felt this feeling. A heavier burden than his sins weighed up him, consuming him until he was a useless shell.

His life, in the end, didn't matter. There was nothing Vincent could do about it anymore. The life he had lived was finally coming to an end, he didn't have much longer until he finally lost his will to live and died. His heart would stop beating, his lungs stop taking in air as his mind shut down. Then, everything would go dark and he would enter the life stream, finally in a dark oblivion of rest, an eternal slumber he prayed to never wake from.

There was hope—a soft, tiny light that shined so dimly within the darkness of his gloomy thoughts that continued to plague his mind. Of course there was some sort of hope for him, in all aspects of this situation, someone could come to him and use some sort of cure spell—saving his life. Yet, he doubted such a thing would happen, if anything, someone would find his body and at least do him the favor of giving him a grave to sleep in for his eternal rest. But there was a doubtful thought for even that.

He was in an abandoned woods; one near the city of Edge that was rarely used—no matter what anyone said that was how it was. The man knew of what his fate was to be, and accepted it. Slowly he felt himself perish, his breathing was slowing, it was becoming harder and harder to draw in breaths, his heart was beating slower by the minute. His vision blurred on the edges, slowly it would grow dark, and he would know nothing more.

It gave him comfort, in death he would finally be reunited with his beloved Lucrecia. It wasn't long now, not long now until he could hold her within his arms. Such a blissful thing breaking through the gloomy thoughts coming from his mind, it was such a relief to find something good about death. Yet, what if he was immediately cast away and turned into something else? Would he ever be able to meet that woman he cared so dearly for? Would he be able to touch Lucrecia and confess his deepest feelings for her in death? With his luck, a bitter thought entered his mind, he knew that the Planet; a sick and twisted creature, would never let him have such joy.

No, he was to be cast away, ripped from his beloved for all eternity. That was the way it had always been, such a tragic tale that tore him apart every time he remembered how he caused this. It was too much.

He shed the first tear in thirty two years that had fallen from his eyes, that tear showed the true sadness—the true pain that had lingered in his heart for so long. He couldn't deny this ache, this empty darkness that consumed his emotions. It was where he knew that he could never see his beloved. He could never hold her, touch her, and kiss her as he longed so very much to do. Even with these thoughts he longed for death… Even now… He wished for an eternal peace only death could grant him. To let his weathered and beaten soul finally rest.

Even that wish was shattered as he heard something—something roaring loudly coming his way. A grim smile crossed his features as he heard what is it was—a motorcycle of all things. Oh, how he knew his death was going to be even more painful. In this blackened night he couldn't be seen, that damned contraption would run over him, crushing him. If not killing him instantly his death would be even more painful, even slower than it already was, tearing, teasing him so much as if dancing right before his eye and yet he couldn't reach something he longed for so.

The roaring came closer and closer, he couldn't deny it as it was in his direction. How perfect! The man/woman/child that road the thing would run over him and continue on its path without noticing his beaten form on the ground.

Of course—he couldn't stand the waiting, his mind buzzed, fuzzy now with the pain, so much, it could've made him faint. But sadly he wasn't even allowed to die in unconsciousness. No, he had to remain awake for however long it took for his life to finally end. Ha! He cursed the Planet and how it wished for him to suffer. He had experienced so much pain, so much torture within his life. Why wasn't he allowed to at least DIE painlessly?

It made him realize how much he and Sephiroth were alike. Yet, he hated to admit being similar to a foe he had assisted in the defeat of time and time again. The silver haired warrior was under Hojo's torture for years, and each time the man died it was a rather slow death, full of pain. But of course the man probably was sadistic enough to enjoy the pain that was given unto him; sadly Vincent had no such luck. Yet that pang of sympathy—of pity remained for the thankfully dead man.

Yet he knew the man would never lay in his grave forever, he had come back twice before, a third was to be expected. Especially with the words last spoke to Cloud: I will not remain a memory.

His thoughts continued to drift from one subject to another, dark, bitter, ever so haunting they were. Floating throughout his mind as if it was a torrent of the sea swishing within. Yet he had to note as the bike's roar became louder, that it was such a familiar sound. He had heard it before—yet could not recall where.

It dawned on him, almost in an instant of what roar that was. It was of the bike named Fenir, a motorcycle owned by the man named Cloud Strife. A blonde headed man with chocobo hair that seemed to stand up without the use of hair gel—surprisingly he found out not long ago that it did in fact stay that way.

A bemused smile came to his lips at the thought of his old companion finding him here, struggling to live, to breathe. It was almost too perfect to imagine someone he KNEW finding his broken and torn form lying here near death. It was as if staged by the Planet itself; which of course there was no doubt in the gunman's mind that it had been planned by the sick and twisted humor of the Planet.

It came closer and closer, until he could see out of the corner of his eyes something he didn't like; light. The light shown brightly as headlights consumed him and his had to close his pained eyes to hide from the sudden brightness.

There was a stop, one quickly made as he heard feet—booted feet touched the ground and ran over to him, he could hear the panicked breathing, the pounding of the other man's chest as he was approached. No doubt that the other man was worried about him. Yet he didn't see why.

Cloud rushed over to Vincent, his blue eyes wide in disbelief as he kneeled down next to the man, running a hand through his own blonde hair he tried to calm himself and think clearly on what he should do. He could tell Vincent was badly beaten; of course he could smell the copper scent of blood around him and hastily picked up the shallow breathing form carrying him back to his bike.

"Vincent? Can you hear me?" He found that Vincent was surprisingly light for his size, something that unsettled him. Why was Vincent lighter than probably Yuffie was?

His conclusion was that the man was not taking care of himself. It was something he didn't doubt as he sat down, hearing a sort of strangled noise come from the gunman that he took as a yes. Setting the man gently before him on the bike he make sure not to touch any of the opened and bleeding wounds on the man, carefully kicking the stand and the bike flared to life.

The blonde didn't give a damn about any deliveries he had to do; his one goal was to get Vincent the medical attention needed. The only thing he could do was rush back to the bar and have Tifa and himself help Vincent in any way they could, trying to save the man's life. Even if he didn't want it, as his friend he was going to do it.

He fretted on the journey, making sure the bike was going as fast as if possibly could. He couldn't deny he was worried—he feared for Vincent's ever dimming life that he had to make it in time. If Vincent died now he swore he would never forgive himself. This time he COULD do something about it. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice in a lifetime, he wouldn't.

Cloud had already let one person die, even he knew he couldn't have done anything for Aeris, a small tinge of guilt would well up when he had those nightmares. The chocobo-head had been forgiven, of course he had. Yet he knew that this time wasn't the same, there was no Sephiroth to blame for this. It would be solely his responsibility if Vincent died on him. He wasn't about to let that happen.

It seemed to take an eternity before Cloud hoped off his bike with the crimson caped man within his arms. He ran as fast as he could up the steps to the bar known as Seventh Heaven. Everyone was taken by shock and surprise as he came in, holding the injured man within his arms.

"Help! Tifa! Please! Vincent… We need to help Vincent now! Or he'll DIE!" He sounded serious, fretful even at the barely conscious man in his arms stirred, his crimson eyes gazing around.

Tifa was already on it as she rushed Cloud to the room behind the bar, instructing Cloud on the bed he obeyed quickly without a single word Tifa and Cloud removed the headband Vincent wore, the cape and tossed those two aside. Almost ripping off the belts and forcing off the man's shirt rather quickly they even removed his boots and pants. All of these garments tossed aside…

"Get me some water, rags, towels, bandages, and something to clean out these wounds!" She ordered as Cloud rushed off in a hurry to obey the woman.

It took Cloud only a few seconds to get all of the supplies they needed to help the semi-conscious man. All Cloud could do was watch and hand Tifa things as she tended to his wounds, removing the bullet even from Vincent's thigh by method of tweezers. That was when they found out the gunman was at least partly aware of what was going on as a hiss came from his pale lips.

He was scared, almost horrified at the several scars adorning Vincent's flesh. He even noticed the patterns made on a dead body when cut open. Cloud didn't know much of what had happened to Vincent within Hojo's labs, but he figured out that the majority of the scars along the man's torso, on his legs, arms, and the one on his forehead, a few on the neck, and on along his jaw line were probably cause by Hojo… Especially the bullet wound where Vincent's heart was located. And a slash mark, it made Cloud wonder what exact cruelty had been preformed upon the man.

What seemed to be hours was a few minutes, almost, as soon Cloud was asked to turn Cloud, who did quickly and gently to the man as Tifa cleaned the remaining wounds located—several of them located on his back. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as Tifa started to bandage all of his wounds. On his hip, his whole torso was covered, and a few on his arms. That was where these bandages were located on the once red-caped man.

Finally the tedious work of cleaning and bandaging his wounds was over as Cloud put everything away and threw out the bloody water and towels; they would just buy new ones of course. Saving Vincent was worth it.

Cloud walked back into the room as Tifa sat there, finishing sanitizing her hands and looked up at Cloud with a relieved look on her face.

"As long as his wounds don't get infected, I think he'll live." She nodded and stood, leaving the room. But before she left a smile crossed her features as she turned back to Cloud. "Cloud, how about you stay with him?"

Cloud just nodded his head and Tifa left, rushing back to the bar to serve costumers…

The blonde took the chair Tifa had occupied and turned it around, sitting he rested his arms on the back and his chin on his hands watching the man breathe; making sure that each breath was the same. So he knew that thankfully Vincent was either sleeping or unconscious. It was a relief to know that his friend now had a rather good chance of living.

But it was odd to see Vincent lying there, in his boxers and socks without anything else on. Sure, he had never seen Vincent without his usual garbs cloaking his form. And it made him realize, even though the crimson eyed form was tall, he was so thin. Almost fragile looking, as if he could be so easily broken if someone touched him with more than a feather light touch. It was scary to think that one of his friends, one that had saved his life more times than he could count could be so fragile looking.

He had always seen Vincent as the strongest of their group, the steady tall mountain that would never quake, that could never be toppled over. And yet here he was, on the brink of death and lying so exposed to the world.

It was a though that frightened Cloud as he stood and pulled a blanket over the man, thinking that he might be cold being so… underdressed. But now a new curiosity overtook him as he looked at the golden claw attached to his arm. He leaned down, grabbing it gently and looking at the flesh where the claw and arm met. To his absolute horror he realized that the thing was welded into the man's flesh! Welded! Metal was… It… the arm… Cloud couldn't think strait for a moment or two in his surprise and shock. But it made him realize that he shouldn't have expected anything less from a madman such as Hojo. There was no doubt that was the cause for such an arm.

Closing his blue eyes as he sat back down the blonde pushed his fearful thoughts away for a moment and then opened them looking back at the caped man. Of course he worried more and more for his condition, watching him sleep…

At least now he was safe, but he wanted to ask Vincent what had happened to him, but he realized he would have to wait until the man was conscious, wondering how long it would take him to wake up.

Anything from days, week, months, to maybe even years if the man went into a coma, something he prayed didn't happen. But of course with the luck that happened with them. He bet that was the case. Vincent would be lost to them, forever… But he hoped not. Vincent was a friend he trusted more than others. He had gone to the man and confessed his fears, his woes to time and time again. And yet the man would only listen, but sometimes, rarely, gave invaluable advice that he always took to heart. No matter what it was, of course.

With all of these thoughts bouncing through his troubled mind, Cloud soon fell asleep.

Only too be woken by the sound of a pained voice, calling his name. His cerulean eyes opened as he glanced at Vincent, who he could see was still in tremendous pain. Standing, he took the few steps to walk over to the man and looked down at him, hearing once more a raspy deep voice that came from Vincent, asking for him.

"Vincent? Are… Are…" He wasn't going to say 'are you alright' since in total obviousness the man was in severe pain. "Do you need anything?"

The man answered with a weak no, but Cloud doubted that as he told Vincent he would be right back and rushed into the bar, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, without saying anything else he ran back and then realized that the crimson hued man couldn't drink the water like that… He was going to have to push him up to do something like that.

"Vince, this is going to hurt like hell—but you need to sit up so you can breathe easier, and drink. Later I'll get you some soup alright?"

He heard a sort of yes come from Vincent and gingerly placed his hand on the back of his friend, lifting the man up enough so he was sitting and snatched a few pillows, tucking them behind him before lowering him down once again. Slipping his arm away he gave the man the water, putting the glass up to his lips and slowly, but surely the man drank all of it, thankful for the cool water rushing down his throat.

Softly smiling, he put the glass down and heard a faint thank you come from Vincent. There was a first time for anything, and hearing thanks from the man was it. Sure, Vincent was polite and all but he never let anyone do anything for him, ever. So those two words together were never used from him. Yet now things were different. He knew that Vincent's life was completely and totally dependant on what Cloud did for him, it would probably take a few weeks for his recovery till he could do things for himself again, but he didn't mind.

But for now he had to watch over Vincent, like a hawk. Soon the man's bandages were going to need to be changed. Not that he mind doing the task, it was just that Vincent was fully conscious now, and it was going to be painful when he used salve and cleaned out whatever had formed in the wounds. It would probably be the first time he would ever see Vincent like that.

Still, it wasn't going to be the last.

Vincent was awake, fully awake and aware of his surroundings. Not that he minded this, yes, he truly hated this. The crimson eyes of the man glanced around the room. Sure, he was thankful for what had been done for him; of course he had to thank Cloud, and possibly Tifa for saving his life. But he hated being defenseless, vulnerable, and exposed. All three things were happening now. And around friends no less of people helping him.

It wasn't that he didn't trust them; he truly did with all of his heart and soul. But there were things he didn't wish for other people to see that they were seeing now. His scars, each one held a painful and horrible memory to it; he remembered the exact details of what had happened when he received such marks. Yet he couldn't stop his mind from cringing. Would they ask questions? That past was something he couldn't relive, not now… Of all things he couldn't bear the thought of revisiting such a past that kept him from sleeping. It kept him from making sure he was alright.

That portion of his life was a direct result of his sins. The pain and torture he had endured then was because of that. He had deserved it; he would never deny that, no matter who decided differently.

Yet even with these thoughts his mind was still fogged by pain, and slowly that fog led him into the blissful thing called sleep. Even if he didn't need it, such wounds needed recovery. That was why he slept, to pass the time where his wounds would be healed and he could once more be the independent grown man that he was.

He was awoken hours later by a terrible sting, his eyes flew open and a grunt of pain escaped his throat, realizing that slave, painful slave was being put onto his wounds.

And the one doing such a thing was Cloud Strife… The man had saved his life.