A/N: This is a test chapter to see if anyone is interested in this idea. Please, let me know what you think.
The plot is based off a film I saw and if you can guess which one I'll shower you with cookies and feels. I won't say which one for now, but as this story goes on; it will become more and more obvious. I've made some changes here and there but the basic idea is still the same.
I hope you enjoy this, I'm not the best at multi chapter fics, but I'm rather excited about this so I'm going to give it a bloody good go!
The title of this story and the title of the chapter are by The National.
I hope you guys enjoy this.
Much love and happy reading. xxx
About Today
There's no saving anything
Now we're swallowing the shine of the summer
There's no saving anything
How we swallow the sun
But I won't be no runaway
Cause I won't run
No I won't be no runaway
What makes you think I'm enjoying being led to the flood?
We got another thing coming undone
And it's taking us over
We don't bleed when we don't fight
Go ahead, go ahead
Throw your arms in the air tonight
We don't bleed when we don't fight
Go ahead, go ahead
Lose our shirts in the fire tonight
What makes you think I'm enjoying being led to the flood?
We got another thing coming undone
But I won't be no runaway
Cause I won't run
No I won't be no runaway
Cause I won't run
- Runaway - The National -
Runaway
"What the hell are you doing here?" Leon asked darkly as he ascended the last flight of stairs. He fished his keys out of his jacket pocket as he made to step around the older, gruff looking man stood in front of his apartment, looking like he had been there all day. The old man said nothing; chewing instead on the dog end of a half-finished cigar, he levelled Leon with a steely glare that the Gunblader would have been proud of.
After a few more moments of awkward silence, Leon shook his wet bangs from his face and sighed deeply.
"Look Cid, tell me what the fuck you want or get out. I'm not in the mood." The raging storm outside seemed to agree with Leon as another clap of thunder sounded, making the stairwell light up and flash ominous shadows.
Cid folded his arms, taking another long appraising look at the young man he hadn't seen in well over eight years, before he finally took the chewed up cigar from his mouth. "Just came to tell ya; he's back." Cid's voice was dark and deep, scratched and gravely from years of smoking and drinking; a legacy that Leon knew about all too well. Cid and Leon's foster father… they had been friends.
For a moment Leon was confused. He hadn't seen Cid since he was seventeen, back then Leon had been Squall, a whole lot younger and a whole lot stupider. Leon hadn't seen anyone from his old life since that day. He had to take a moment to recall who Cid could have possibly meant.
"Cloud." Cid confirmed for him.
For a split second, Leon was overcome with memories. Flashes of a childhood spent together with his foster brother flittered across his mind's eye all blurred into one distinct emotion: pain.
Thinking about Cloud caused him terrible, heart crushing pain. It was the main reason he hadn't thought about Cloud in a very very long time; the man's name filed under the same category as his bastard of a foster father. Warning, do not open! The very last time he had thought or even heard about his younger sibling was the day Cloud went off to be a SOLDIER. A postcard with nothing but a forwarding address and a name had come for Leon in the post, a just-in-case, should Leon ever feel like contacting the younger man. Leon snorted at the memory.
"Why the fuck would I care if he's back or not?" Leon snarled lowly, stepping up to his front door and all but pushing Cid out of his way. The older man stepped back, fists curling but remaining by his sides.
"He went missing, Squall."
The Gunblader looked over his shoulder, distain on his handsome features. "It's Leon." He snapped.
"besides, like I said, why the fuck should I care? He went missing, now he's back. Big whoop." He had unlocked his apartment and was just about to step in side, slamming the door on a thoroughly shitty day when Cid replied.
"He would see you," Leon stopped, half in and half out of his home. "If you would agree?" Cid offered this last morsel of hope.
Leon considered it. He was a mad, crazy, masochistic bastard, but he considered it. And then, almost as quickly, he rejected it.
"He's known for years where I am, this doesn't change anything." Leon replied, his voice sounding hollow and defeated and not at all like he wanted it to. "I left all that behind years ago and I'm never going back." He ended, finally stepping over the threshold of his home and closing the door on the ghost from his past.
Cid merely shook his head and began the long journey home to Twilight Town.
Being inside his home didn't change Leon's mood any. He felt neither safer, nor more relaxed as he shrugged off his soaking jacket and boots, hating how his socks had been saturated and the hem of his trousers stuck to his legs as he trudged through his apartment to his bedroom.
"Yuffie?" he called out as he passed, not really expecting an answer. If Yuffie had been home, Leon wouldn't have found Cid sat outside.
For a street kid, Leon mused, Yuffie was incredibly trusting and naive. It had only just been three years since Leon had found the young girl in the back alley of his building, scrabbling around for something to eat. He supposed it had been her trusting nature that had convinced her to accept Leon's offer.
As Leon stripped the rest of his soggy clothes off, he mused darkly about the source of his terrible mood. He stalked into the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping in without bothering to let it warm up; he couldn't possibly any colder than he already was.
Money! It was the reason he was wet, the reason he was worrying and the reason he couldn't afford to start thinking about anything else right now, least of all his troublesome past. He needed to find a way to stop the bank taking his home.
Leon had sold nearly everything that he owned, his bike included, months ago. Still, it hadn't been enough. Losing his job as a mechanic had tossed a metaphorical spanner in the works nearly three months ago, and he was finding it incredibly difficult to keep his head above water. After all, it wasn't just his head that needed to be kept afloat. Yuffie depended on him. He had promised her, he would take care of her.
Just as the shower began to warm up, the steam beginning to mist up the tiles, the showerhead spluttered and gave a little shake, before the steady stream of steaming water fizzled and turned tepid and then freezing. Leon stood under the spray, knowing full well that he hadn't paid his heating bill in over two months. This was going to happen sooner or later.
He rested his head against the freezing tiles in defeat, letting the ice water run down his back. His shoulders slumping as he recalled his meeting with the bank earlier in the day.
Over and above everything else that had happened to Leon in his life this felt like the worst; his biggest failure, his inability to care for himself or for anyone else. What was Yuffie going to think?
Leon climbed out of the shower dejectedly, wrapping a towel round his waist and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His image shivered and wobbled with the steam from the shower distorting the glass but he could still plainly see the scar that cut across his nose, cleaving his face into two; a memento from the past… his foster father.
For years he had looked at his face in the exact same mirror, successfully keeping his memories at bay, refusing to remember his life before Radiant Garden. But now, after just a few short minutes with a spectre from his childhood, those memories and images came flooding back, thickly and without order. They crowded his mind, clamouring and baying, the noise they made making Leon's shoulders clench and snap under the weight of them. He bent forward, resting his ruined, scarred forehead against the cool glass hoping the contact would stop the swirl of sickening images.
It didn't.
His reflection was only broken by the slam of the front door and Yuffie's loud cheerful greeting as she whipped through their apartment.
"Leon?!" she called, tearing down the hallway to her own bedroom; she was stopped dead in her tracks as Leon stepped out of the bathroom.
"Hey there you are, any luck with the job search today?" she asked, bouncing up to give the taller man a brief hug.
"No, not today." Was Leon's soft reply. He tentatively returned her affectionate gesture, cautiously putting his arms around her waist to hug her back before awkwardly stepping back. Yuffie had no idea how lucky she was in that respect, Leon thought. He would never have allowed the contact had it been anyone else, but he saw a lot of his own plight in Yuffie. She was his second chance. Leon's own start in life had been abysmal. The very least he could do was make sure Yuffie's was half decent.
Because of Leon and his offer of a home, Yuffie had been able to finish school. She had a job, she had friends, and she had a life. Leon had to allow himself a small smile at that knowledge. However, Yuffie's success was based solely on Leon's ability to provide her a home, and in that task he was failing miserably. Yuffie's wages helped, but ultimately, Leon was going to lose his home; their home, very soon if he didn't come up with the money within twenty one days. How could he tell Yuffie that?
"Don't worry Leon, you'll find one soon." Came Yuffie usual reply as she bounded off into her own room, leaving Leon to worry silently in the hallway.
Cid's Chevrolet rolled up the weed strewn driveway, grumbling like an old man as the engine shuddered and cut out. The hinge on the door cracked and gave a loud pop as Cid climbed out, wrappers and half eaten junk food falling out onto the cracked concrete. He slammed the rusted car door loudly, stretching and scratching at himself as he walked up his porch steps. He flipped the busted mesh door aside and coughed a loud hacking cough as he fumbled in his worn jeans for his keys.
The day had been warm; they always were in Twilight Town and even though his neighborhood was one of the shittiest, rundown most deprived areas around, the warmth almost made him feel like he was somewhere nice. Almost.
The old man spat out the cigar he had been working on all day, the tattered, soggy butt landing in the pathetic patch of grass that passed for a front garden, and he looked across at the house next door. It had been empty for years. Just over eight of them.
Cid didn't know whether it had been a sad day when Paddy Conlon had died. He supposed it must have been, for someone, somewhere. Not here though, and not for him. It hadn't been easy living next to them, hearing what he heard and seeing what he had seen. Cid felt what he assumed to be something close to guilt. Maybe he should have done something? If he could have gone back, would he? He supposed not. He had been a drunk too. Just as useless and pathetic as his friend. None of it was his fault, he told himself. None of it was his responsibility.
He shoved open the rickety door with his shoulder, grunting with the effort on his weary worn out body. Slamming the door behind him he looked up to see a young man stood in the kitchen doorway, bright, intense mako eyes glaring at him.
"I'm back." Cid stated his voice gravelly and thick.
Cloud merely stared back in silence.
Cid pointedly ignored the awkwardness and threw his keys into the bowl on the sideboard before flinging his coat onto the bannister and making his way into the tatty living room, his feet crunching on old pizza boxes and drinks cans. He sat himself in his well-worn chair, facing the TV. Flipping it on he pulled out another cigar and started to chew on it. He didn't bother lighting it just yet.
"Where did you go?" Cloud asked from his position in the door way, his arms folded defensively in front of him.
Cid turned to regard his house guest, eyebrows low in annoyance.
"What's it to you?" He asked, turning back to his TV programme. "Though you didn't wanna talk bout anything 'cept training?"
The old man turned the volume up, flipping through the stations until he came across the sports channel. He settled further into his chair, finally pulling out a box of matches.
"So you're agreeing?" Cloud asked him, pushing off the door frame. "You'll do it?"
There was a long stretch of silence from Cid with nothing but the blare from the TV. Cloud had almost given up on him answering.
"We use the old routine. No short cuts, no slacking." He finally replied, striking a match against the side of the box. "You get up when I say you get up, you start when I say you start and you don't stop till I god damn tell you to stop. You get me?" Cid took a large drag of his smoke, pulling the flame from the match and making the end glow red, his eyes never leaving the fight on the screen.
Cloud nodded, not caring if Cid saw or not. He turned to leave, stopped only by the harsh growl of the old man in his chair.
"And one more thing…" Cid turned to regard the young man, scanning eyes over broad shoulders. "No more of them god damned pills. I know what you've been taking, don't give me that shit." He warned as he saw Cloud was about to open his mouth to deny it. "I can hear you rattling from a fucking mile away, now if we're going to do this you give them here right now. No bullshit Cloud." Cid tapped the arm of his chair, stretching the silence out expectantly.
After a few more moments Cloud gave in, reaching into the deep pockets of his hoodie and throwing the bottle of pills at the old man.
Cid caught it, setting them down on the small table beside his chair. "And the other one." He said darkly.
Cloud glowered angrily at him, fists clenching at his sides. Eventually, Cloud reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second bottle, throwing it the same way. Cid caught it, setting it down next to the other bottle.
"We start at 5am. Make sure you're ready."
Cloud said nothing as he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Cid to watch his telly in peace.
The young SOLDIER slammed the backdoor heavily behind him, his breath coming from him in angry puffs and pants as he fought to regain his temper. It was a good thing Cid had taken his pills, Cloud knew. Those things weren't good for him. Still, this was going to make things harder.
Cloud ran a shaky hand through his soft blond spikes, turning about in the small, weed strewn yard he tried to calm himself. His eyes landed on the house that stood next door. It's boarded up windows black and dismal in the twilight of the night. Most had been smashed and broken, the back door had been torn off its hinges by squatters ages ago and the flimsy fence separating his childhood garden from Cid's was full of holes and missing slats. Cloud chose the one closest to him and stepped through.
He was immediately transported back, a whole life time ago as he gazed up at the building that didn't look quite as tall and imposing as it had done all those years ago. He looked about himself at the strewn rubbish in the garden, the broken crumbling porch and the red dust brickwork, cracked and weathered and falling to pieces bit by bit.
Unbidden, like ghosts from a damn children's cartoon, he saw an image of himself stood outside not too far from where he was planted now. It was raining and his hair was plastered to his face. His fists were wrapped up tightly and he remembered the feel of bandages around his knuckles as he flexed his fists, bringing them up to his face to protect himself as a fist came flying towards him.
He remembered ducking and weaving, his chest tight with the effort of doing this same exercise for two hours straight as his foster father yelled at him again and again.
"Again, Cloud. Move your feet you fucking useless piece of shit!"
The sound of that voice would stay with him. Cloud knew; there was no running from that. He had tried after all.
And through the driving rain and the pain of over exhaustion he remembered a face; a face just as tired and pale and twisted in anger as his own.
He remembered Squall, his fists raised to defend himself as Cloud pushed back, giving as good as he got if not better. Cloud always had been the better fighter despite being three years younger. He always had been the favourite, if Paddy Conlon had ever had a favourite.
He remembered the look on his older siblings face when he had finally given up, his bandaged hands flying up in surrender as Cloud had pushed him down into the sopping ground and beaten the shit out of him to the urgent shouts of his laughing drunken father.
Cloud hated remembering that face. He hated that memory and he hated his foster father. He hated that he had been made to fight his brother, the only person who had been with him through everything. He hated that he had been so good at it. Cloud hated a lot.
He moved towards the house, being careful not to step in anything he made his way inside, memories like a swarm of locusts, descending on him. It had been so long and yet still the pain of this house seemed so fresh.
Cloud made it as far as the kitchen before the storm of memories became too much. He turned sharply on his heel, crashing out of the backdoor and into the yard. A discarded fridge-freezer lay in the dirt, half covered in an old molding carpet and as Cloud passed he kicked it. He didn't stop kicking it until he was out of breath, his legs like jelly from the effort and the tears in his eyes were spent.
Not for the first time, he wondered if coming back to his childhood home had been a good idea. But like everything, that thought passed and he remembered why he was there.
Cloud became calm again. He had made a promise, and he would never ever break it.
-tbc-