A/N: I know this is not at all the story you're all waiting for, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! This can be read as a prequel to Flowers of Spring, if one wishes. See you all as soon as I have a new update ready!
The Deaths of General Sephiroth
The first time Sephiroth died, Angeal was waiting above him. He had felt Sephiroth's death approaching. He'd been watching his friend for so long from his place in the in-between realm, unwilling to move on into the lifestream until he knew what had become of the ones he loved. He'd watched Sephiroth lose himself. Watched him destroy Zack and the trooper. Watched him plummet into the mako, still clinging to the calamity's head. And then he had watched him suffer.
Death in mako was not fast. It burned at your flesh, blinded and infiltrated every piece of you. Filled your lungs without drowning you. Mako didn't kill you. The stress of being immersed in it and the pain did. Sephiroth lasted longer in the raw life-blood of the planet than anyone Angeal had seen before, thrashing against the agony and baring his teeth in rage. He never released the head of Jenova.
When he finally succumbed, his physical body washed up in the middle of nowhere, his mouth gaping open, unseeing eyes wide, and flesh marred with burns. Angeal did not see this side of him long. He saw the soul within, still beautiful and alien. He watched Sephiroth's chest give a final spasm and then go still. Watched the last of the light leave his eyes. Then he reached down for his soul, knowing that now, on the edge of life and death, Sephiroth would see him.
The man's soul gazed up at him out of empty eyes. His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something. Angeal watched him mouth his name, and gave him a reassuring smile, reaching down to help him up. Sephiroth lifted his hand, slowly, a faint smile crossing his lips.
Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the expression fell. Sephiroth's face went back to blankness. Angeal saw a glimmer of anger in his eyes. He tried to grip Sephiroth's hand, but the once-general withdrew it, crossing the hand of his soul over the alien's head. Angeal could only watch in horror as Sephiroth made his choice, leaning back and confining his soul to his own corpse rather than accepting Angeal's hand up.
Just before Angeal was pulled back into his resting place, he could have sworn he saw a cold smile cross the lips of the alien's head.
Once again, Angeal was alone. Around him, the in-between was filled with trees, their leaves dropping quietly. It was always autumn where he was. Always caught in a moment of loss. Angeal could only watch as his puppy was tortured. Could only watch as Sephiroth's body started to heal itself, against all logic. Day by day he looked more like himself. The mako seeped from him as though trying to escape. Day by day, Zack was bathed in the substance as The Professor tried and failed to turn him into another Sephiroth.
When Zack died, it was as a hero. Angeal reached down to him only after the young man who accompanied him finally dragged himself away, the Buster Sword clenched in his too-small hands.
When Zack's spirit saw him, he was answered with an immediate weary smile. When he reached down to his puppy, Zack grabbed on as tight as he could. He looked so relieved as he was lifted out of his life. When they arrived together at the in between place, Angeal intended to be strong. To apologize. To beg for forgiveness. To look after Zack like the mentor he had once been.
But the moment he looked into those bright, teary eyes and saw the scar on his cheek, there was nothing Angeal could do but hold onto him as Zack forgave him without prompting, over and over.
When Sephiroth brutally murdered Aerith, Zack waited quietly at Angeal's side. They watched her head drop, the shock still clear on her face. They watched her final breath escape in a whisper of a sigh, and he green eyes close forever. They watched her hair fall from its braid, and Zack did not cry, but he looked like he ought to have.
Zack waited at Angeal's side rather than swooping down to her. He let the once-cadet carry her body to the water, and waited for her friends to say goodbye. Angeal didn't understand what Zack saw in Cloud. He saw a broken child who had taken on his friend's identity to save himself. He pitied the boy, but he did not see him as Zack's friend, or as a hero. He didn't bother telling Zack this. His puppy―though he would never call him that aloud again―had been through more than enough because of Angeal's selfishness. Angeal would never again try to make a decision for him.
They had both known for a long time that the last Cetra would die there in the temple. There was no doubt of it. The certainty of her demise rang through the lifestream around them as though the very planet was tolling her doom. It rang bell-like and bone-shaking, a sorrowful knowledge carried by the distant spirits of the Cetra race.
Zack had leaned against Angeal while they watched Aerith pray, and he'd accepted the touch, bracing the boy who had once been his student against what they knew was to come. They watched together as Sephiroth's stroke fell. By the time Aerith was beneath the water and the ill-chosen heroes of the planet had left her there, Zack was sitting devastated in the lush summer grass that seemed to follow wherever he was. Angeal could do nothing but rub his back and wait.
"Do you want me to bring her?" He asked his friend softly. "If it's hard for you-"
"I want to," Zack interrupted, shaking his head. "We'll be back soon."
"Alright."
Zack gave him a watery smile and sank through into the other world, flickering out of existence. Angeal sat down as the summer grass turned to fall leaves around him. He waited, watching the world below. Aerith's peacefully posed body stayed still at the bottom of the lake, even as her spirit's eyes opened. The look on her face when she saw Zack above her was so hopeful and sad and private that Angeal looked away. This was something between the two of them. He shouldn't have been watching.
He wasn't surprised that it only took her moments to rise with him.
"I always wondered," she said softly as she appeared, standing before Zack. "I'd always hoped you'd just left me."
"I'd never leave a girl like you." Zack said, grinning sorrowfully at her and squeezing her hands.
"I know," she replied, shaking her head softly, sending her loose hair swinging behind her. "But I always wished that you were the kind of man who would."
"Come meet my friend," Zack urged softly. "We have all the time in the world to talk now."
"I already know your friend," Aerith laughed, turning to Angeal with a warm smile. "After all, a piece of him protected me for a very long time."
And even though he'd never met her before that moment, Angeal gave her a fond, familiar smile in return. He couldn't help but think that the in-between world had never felt as warm and comfortable.
"Did it work?" She asked, turning to Zack after a moment a moment of holding eye contact with Angeal. "Will the planet help?"
"I don't know," Zack replied, shaking his head. "She doesn't talk to us much."
"Only once that I know of," Angeal replied, shaking his head. "Just to tell me to stay here and wait."
"Well then," Aerith said with a confident nod and a calm smile that should not have been worn by someone who had just been murdered. "I suppose we'll just have to hope."
Even as she spoke, flowers blossomed from the ground where she stood. Angeal could only watch as Zack grinned down at the flowers like old friends, the summertime grass that sprouted where he stood blending nicely with Aerith's springtime. Angeal took a slow breath, and refuse to allow himself to feel alone in the decay of the fall that followed where he stayed for too long.
Meteor's unrelenting presence weighed on the three of them like a sickness. Zack had watched its weight bow Angeal's prideful posture, and dim Aerith's joy. He had felt it wearing away at his own internal pool of joy and had struggled to hold onto it, just as he had when that joy was all that kept him fighting in Hojo's lab. They watched Cloud—sweet, fragile, broken Cloud—and his strange band of misfits struggle to stop the impending doom. They watched them fail.
When Meteor finally struck, it tore through every plane of existence. Though the planet fought it off, the whole world was left in shambles in the wake of Meteor's power. The in-between world was no different. The lifestream had all but fallen apart in the wake of the disaster―fractured and segmented from using so much of its power. It had taken days for Zack to manage more than simply keeping his soul in existence.
The lifestream had needed them. He, Angeal, and Aerith had given it all the strength they could muster, though strength was a strange and ephemeral thing in the in-between realm. They'd held hands as they did, in case it was their last chance to. Angeal had been holding on tight to his left hand, and Aerith had squeezed his right. As different as their strength might have been in life, in death their grips felt equally powerful. It had filled Zack with determination, even when it felt like the world would end.
Then, between one moment and the next, it was over. Just like that.
In the wake of the disaster, he knew the world below them would be in chaos. He knew Meteorfall had not been victimless, even though it had not destroyed their world. The planet hadn't had enough power. It had needed to reap more souls to save those it could. It made Zack sick to think of such sudden and unwarranted death, but he understood. The planet had to survive. Otherwise all of it would have been for nothing.
Aerith was the first of them to recover. She tended to him and Angeal, even though there was nothing physically wounding them. She had hummed as though she were tending her garden while her petal-soft fingers stroked his face. Her face was the first thing he saw when he'd finally opened his eyes. When he'd turned to look for Angeal, his mentor was lying on a ground that was grey like ash. Flower blossoms were beginning to poke up through the ground, slowly blossoming, even as Zack's fuzzy vision began to focus.
Angeal shifted as he watched, and Aerith rose from his side to go to him. Where she stepped, flowers bloomed, seeming to glow softly against the ruined grey ground.
He listened distantly as she spoke soft and encouraging words to Angeal when he roused. His once-mentor sat up stiffly, and she braced his shoulders with hands that looked too small to carry the force they held. Zack loved her more than ever, watching her smile and comfort their friend. But the one thing he truly wanted, he would not ask her to do.
He gave it time. He lay still, smiling warmly when he felt Aerith sit at his side again. For a long while, he lay still, breathing. A memory of lying on his back like this before rose. He pushed it away, turning into Aerith's hand. He was not alone this time. He was still breathing. Moment by moment, he felt his strength return rather than bleeding away. He may not have been whole, but he was no longer in pieces. He could feel grass re-growing around him, soft and comforting beneath his resting body.
"How long has it been?" He asked when he felt he'd given it an appropriately long while, and the fierce memories had faded back into the smouldering past.
"Weeks," she replied, her fingers playing through his hair lightly. He squinted his eyes open and was met with a warm smile. "Cloud is alright. They all made it through. In case you didn't remember that."
"I remember," Zack said, lifting a hand slowly out of the ash to rub the ache in his chest, directly over where his heart should have been beating. "There's someone I need to check on. Someone who might need a hand."
"You want to bring Sephiroth," she said, her eyes soft and understanding. "Right?"
"I know what he's done," Zack closed his eyes as he spoke. "I'm not going to pretend he didn't do monsterous things. I know he hurt you, and I won't ever let that happen again. I know he tried to destroy everything…" He trailed off, swallowing hard. "But he never stood a chance, Aerith. I could have helped him in Nibelheim before it was too late, and I let him push me away."
"At least you didn't abandon him," Angeal rasped from nearby. "He was always afraid we would leave him, and we did..."
"You two," Aerith said, a laugh coloring her voice. "You're acting like you need to convince me."
"Don't we?" Zack asked, a smile quirking his lips. He forced his eyes open again to look at her, just in time to watch her drop a kiss on his forehead.
"Silly," her braid dropped over her shoulder as she tilted her head, landing over Zack's chest. "He's your friend. Of course I expect you to go save him. And when he gets here, he'll get a lecture."
"I love you so much." Zack sighed happily.
"Be careful," Angeal warned, shifting over on his side to face them from where he was lying, the blossoming flowers shifting out of his way rather than being crushed by his weight. "The last time I tried, he turned me down. He trapped himself in his corpse, and let Jenova drag him back from death over months rather than coming here and resting. It might not be easy."
"That doesn't mean I shouldn't try," Zack replied, nodding to himself. "This weird old teacher I had told me that. He also told me this bizarre story about dumbapples, though, so I wouldn't pay attention to everything he has to say."
Angeal's chuckle and Aerith's delighted laugh followed Zack as he slid through into the other reality. The sounds faded away, replaced by howling wind and the stinging feeling of a world almost torn apart. Within a moment, Zack went from being surrounded by the two people he loved most to feeling utterly alone.
It was cold where Sephiroth's body had fallen. Though Zack couldn't physically experience the cold, he felt its mood. He didn't bother flying down to Sephiroth to lift him up in outstretched arms. If this was going to work, he was going to have to talk it out with his friend's spirit.
He found Sephiroth sitting amid the destruction and carnage. His spirit was completely separate from his form. Which, Zack thought, was a good thing. His body―or what it had become―was scattered and in pieces.
"Wow," Zack said softly as he approached. "What a mess."
"It can still be salvaged." Sephiroth said, his voice blank.
"Why?" Zack walked closer as he spoke, waiting for Sephiroth to look at him. The man wouldn't turn—wouldn't face him—hadn't acknowledged his presence.
"I haven't won yet." Was his only reply.
"You must be so tired, though." Zack whispered. "It's time to give this up, Sephiroth. Come rest with us."
"Look around you," Sephiroth's voice was thin and low. "Look."
Zack looked. He saw the old blood staining the ground―the pieces of flesh kept from rotting by the cold―the black stains in the snow. He froze, watching them. Were they moving?
"It is not over yet." Sephiroth's voice was an intense whisper.
"You're dead," Zack reminded him.
"I have some strength yet," the man said, shaking his head. "It is not necessary that I be in one piece."
"You're going to destroy yourself," Zack warned, pacing forward to rest his hand lightly on Sephiroth's shoulder. "You're destroying yourself now. Right along with this world."
"I have no care for either," Sephiroth replied, still not lifting his gaze. "This world... It has taken all that I loved from me."
"Angeal's still waiting for you," Zack squeezed the strong shoulder under his hand. "So am I."
"Continue waiting if it pleases you," Sephiroth said dryly. "You were both stolen from me. I will take my revenge."
"It's you that hurt me, Sephiroth," Zack said softly. "Not the planet."
"I know." the silver-haired ghost replied.
Green eyes lifted, and for just a moment Zack could see his friend in their depths. For just a moment, that gaze was the curious, hesitant look that he knew so well. Then the green in his eyes frosted over with a distant, alien look.
Zack did not get to question him further. Sephiroth's spirit faded into smoke. Zack could only watch as he slid back into the dark fluid crawling across the ground. It was inching its way over the scattered remains of his body, possessing and changing them.
Zack let himself be drawn back up into the lifestream. He was greeted with worried looks by his friends. His heart ached at the look on Angeal's face. He shook his head.
"It will take a while," he said, his head lowered, "but I hope Cloud's up for one more fight."
"He will be," Aerith assured him. "And we'll be there to help when we can."
Angeal's hand clamped over his shoulder in support and affection. Zack let himself be drawn forward into a comforting half-hug. But even as he held onto his friend in return, he couldn't help but think about what had become at Sephiroth. He felt his stomach twist in fear and sorrow, and quietly mourned for the General he'd known.
After a year passed without movement, Zack went back.
Things were calmer now, at least in the in-between. They'd started helping some lost souls through, and that felt good. It was good to be the planet's backup―to pick up the lost and missing while the world was still trying so desperately to keep herself from falling apart. But something still wasn't right.
In their little world, they had each created, almost without thought, their own 'worlds.' Though most of their time was spent together, when they were working for the planet they had to be where they were most stable.
Where Zack lived, summer followed. Eventually, he found that if he concentrated, he could control how it appeared. So he decided he might as well make it a home. He built his own summer by hand, with a little log cabin and a lake to swim in, and grassy fields and bright forests. He felt at home there, safe and protected by the walls he'd built himself.
He also loved Aerith's spring time with its vibrant flowers and rolling hills. She had never made a home, but after a long time she made herself something like a gazebo where they could sit and share tea and try all the pies she could imagine. Her realm was always filled with a soft, contented warmth, and a gentle breeze that played around its visitors like a delighted pet.
He held almost as much fondness for Angeal's autumn. It was beautiful in its solemnity, always richly colored by the falling leaves. It would have been just as welcoming to him as Aerith's springtime if it weren't for the uneasy memories awakened by the arching trees hidden within the forest that, whenever they cared to, bore strange, bittersweet fruit.
There was no winter. Though they hadn't spoken of it, they knew that was wrong. It meant that they were still waiting for someone. Zack found himself silently praying that the someone they were waiting for was not the redhead with whom he had so violently clashed so many times, though he wished Genesis all the best in a vague, distant way.
When a year passed with no resurrections and no news of Sephiroth, even though a whisper of 'geostigma' had started in the world below, Zack went back to the place of Sephiroth's death. He hoped to find some change—some hope for the soul of the man he'd called friend.
He found three bodies. None of them were Sephiroth.
"What the fuck." He whispered, staring down at what had to be the pieces of Sephiroth's body, twisted and shaped into new beings. They looked like relatives―cousins or sons or brothers. He looked for Sephiroth's soul within them, but if they had souls they were certainly not Sephiroth's. Zack couldn't see more than a glimmer of existence within them.
Sephiroth seemed to be nowhere. Zack turned, searching. Surely he hadn't just ceased to be. Surely he wasn't already on the move. Angeal had said it took years for Jenova to rebuild his form after his death in the mako. One year couldn't have been enough time. Even the smaller bodies on the ground weren't quite right―not entirely formed yet. And stark naked, though Zack didn't want to think too hard about that.
There was no sign of the man who had been his friend. Then he spotted something out of place. It wasn't much―just a small rock that looked different from the others, even from a distance. He walked over slowly, and groaned as his eyes managed to parse what the shape was.
Sephiroth's head was discolored from sitting out in the snow―his long silver hair had frozen into the ice as though it belonged there. His eyes had long since frosted over, and his open mouth was full of snow. It was an ugly sight. Zack started to turn away from it, but something held him. The barest glimmer of uneasiness tickled at his awareness. He stared at the macabre head, waiting for his brain to catch up to what it was. Then he realized that he could see something inside it.
An image of bright green eyes looked up to him.
Zack couldn't breathe. He stared down at the fragment of a corpse and the soul trapped within it. Then he knelt slowly, pressing a hand to the frozen cheek. He could feel the being inside. Feel all its pain and sorrow.
"Reach back," he urged softly. "I know you can. Reach back. With whatever you have. I'll take you home, Seph."
"What could have happened to him?"
The voice seemed to be far away. It was the first voice he'd heard in a very long time. The first voice that wasn't her's. It was so familiar.
"I don't know."
This voice was light―female. He'd have tensed if he could, preparing for pain, but he couldn't move. He felt weightless and confined at once.
"I've been talking with the other Cetra. They say he must have been hurt at his very core. Straight down to his soul. Whatever she did to him, it would have damaged every aspect of him."
"I should have dragged him up when I had the chance."
That voice was familiar too. It made him ache. Ache as he hadn't for years and years.
"I swear to the goddess, Angeal, if you start blaming yourself for this I'm going to pull your hair out," threatened the first voice. "Sephiroth chose this. Just like you chose your fate and I chose mine."
"Enough with the arguing," the woman said―Sephiroth could hear her better now. She did not sound like Mother. "He needs peace and rest, not bickering."
Sephiroth tried to move and failed. A soft sound escaped him, and the voices conversing nearby went silent.
"Hey, Seph," said the warm, familiar voice―the first one he heard. "Take it easy. Just relax. Float a while longer."
"Gast?" Breathed Sephiroth, lost as to who could be speaking so sweetly to him, so affectionately.
A soft, light laugh greeted his words. "So there. For once it wasn't me getting called mom." The woman sing-songed, teasing in her voice.
"Be nice," the lowest voice said―the one that was still making him ache in strange ways. "Gast was important to him. It's an honor to be compared."
A wide hand rested lightly on Sephiroth's chest, over his heartbeat. Only Sephiroth couldn't feel his heartbeat. He couldn't even hear it. He could feel the warmth of the other man's touch, though. It was as distant and familiar as his voice.
"You'll be all right, my friend," the man said. "Rest."
Sephiroth let himself drift. Something deep inside him screamed at the very thought of trusting this person, but he could not help himself. He trusted that voice implicitly, right down to his very bones. He felt other hands on him, supporting him. They didn't frighten him. He'd been poked and prodded all his life. He knew what it felt like. That was not what these hands were doing. They stroked over his face and held his hands. They rested on his back, as though keeping him from falling. He still felt weightless, but it made him feel secure, knowing that someone was there to catch him.
A soft snowfall started above them, and none of them were terribly surprised. They'd felt it coming—that something strange and beyond them had clicked into place when this latest presence had joined them. They stayed nearby, watching and waiting, while Sephiroth lay on the grass. He was pale and unnatural lying on the flowers of Aerith's springtime. The snow blanketed the ground around him speck by speck as they watched. He looked strangely more at home laying in it. It did not settle on him, or on the wing stretching out beside him.
When his piercing green eyes opened again, Angeal was sitting at his side, his hand on his chest, waiting. Aerith had expected the look in his once-friend's eyes to be cold and distant. Instead, the look Sephiroth gave Angeal was one she'd never imagined on his marble-perfect face. He looked tired. He looked miserable. The so-called monster gazed up at Angeal silently for a long while before he gathered himself enough to speak.
"All those things," the calamity's son said. "I remember doing them. How could I?"
Angeal didn't have an answer. He just pressed down a little on Sephiroth's chest, as though his touch was holding him together.
"The same way Angeal could ask me to kill him, Seph," Zack said with the barest touch of a joking note in his voice. He stepped away from Aerith's side to join his friends. "You were sick."
"I was so certain," Sephiroth whispered. "It felt right… For the first time, everything felt right…"
Aerith watched quietly from a distance, her brows twisted. She looked away when Sephiroth's eyes closed again and tears traced down his cheeks. She knew this moment was private—something to be shared between the men who had needed and lost one another.
She looked back when Zack spoke again.
"What happened?" The dark haired man asked, sliding a hand through the snow beside him as Sephiroth sat up slowly.
"She cut me out," Sephiroth murmured, his eyes distant and dull. "She has what she needs of me. My intelligence. My strength. My insanity. What need would she have of my soul?"
"I'm glad you're here," Angeal said instead of commenting, after a moment of silence passed.
Sephiroth's eyes slid over to Angeal for a moment, then looked back to the hands in his lap. "I thought she wanted me. For everything I was. I thought finally someone…"
He shook his head and stood up, his wing shaking itself out behind him and folding at his back. "I would like to be alone," he murmured to the three watching spirits. "If I am free to do so."
"You are." Aerith murmured, giving him a small smile, trying not to let her sadness show.
"Seph," Zack shifted forward, an uncertain look on his face. "You don't have to be alone, though…"
"I know." The silver-haired man reply was as succinct as it was cold.
He walked away silently, not sparing a glance for the men behind him. Aerith caught his gaze just for a moment, and saw the deepest confusion and sorrow in his inhuman green eyes. Then he was gone, swallowed by a swirl of snow as the lifestream around them grew to include a final season.
"He'll come back, right?" Zack asked the silence that followed, lifting a fallen feather off the ground.
"I hope so," Angeal murmured. "I don't think he'll leave, at any rate… He belongs here. He just has to understand that."
"It will be alright," Aerith assured them both softly. "He has a lot to process. After all, he's been with Jenova constantly for so many years now while she put him back together and tore him apart again… It must be a relief for him to be alone. You always did tell me he was a solitary man."
Zack and Angeal nodded quietly. They stayed for a while, as the snow vanished from the springtime, replaced by perfect flowers. Angeal left first, with a solemn nod to them both. Zack stayed a while longer, twirling the feather slowly between his fingers and looking painfully alone. Aerith let him be, though she stayed nearby, ready and willing to offer support if he needed her to.
"I thought he'd be okay if we just got him here, you know?" Zack said softly. "I guess some things don't heal that easy."
"He has good friends," Aerith walked closer, laying a soft hand on Zack's back and tilting her head to catch his eye. "Give him time."
Zack gave her a fragile smile, bending and kissing her softly. But even he had lots to think about. In time, he left to go back to his summertime.
"Come visit soon," he said with a grin that was only partially true. "We can go skinny dipping."
Aerith laughed more for his sake than anything, knowing that Zack didn't want her to feel bad. She watched him walk away, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilting in thought and concern. She watched until he vanished, then she closed her eyes, feeling the shifting of the world around her.
Aerith stood in her silent springtime and breathed slowly and deeply the scent of her flowers.
"It's a beautiful forest."
The young woman's voice was a delicate sound in the otherwise-silent woods. The snow swallowed most noise. As soon as she spoke, though, he became aware of her footsteps crunching ever closer. Sephiroth kept his eyes on the snow filtering down from above through the dark corpses of trees. He did not want to see this woman. He did not want to have to remember what he had done.
"Zack and Angeal are getting worried," Aerith murmured. "They understand you wanting to be alone, but they've been waiting such a long time to see you."
"I never asked them to come," Sephiroth kept his voice low and calm without taking his gaze off the storm clouds above him. "I never asked for their help."
"You didn't have to," Aerith was close to him. He tensed, sensing her reach out to touch him. The touch never connected. Her hand hovered over his arm, and she withdrew it slowly. "They wanted to help."
"They shouldn't."
"Why didn't you take Angeal's hand the first time?" Aerith walked around from behind him, her feet crunching through the thick snow on the ground. Sephiroth himself was standing on top of the crust. The snow was his. It never gave underneath his feet. "I've never understood. All that pain, all that exhaustion, but you didn't take his hand."
"Angeal left me behind." Sephiroth said blankly, slowly letting his gaze drift off the sky to rest on painfully sweet green eyes and the worried look on Aerith's face. "Mother had been waiting patiently for me all that time. I wanted that."
"To be important?"
"No," Sephiroth murmured, shaking his head slowly. "To have family. To have purpose. To belong."
"I understand," Aerith said, smiling sweetly. "When I heard the Cetra for the first time, it was like finding my home."
Sephiroth blinked, tilting his head as he watched her. The young woman's smile deepened when she realized she had his attention, and she gave a small shrug.
"It's a pity we met the way we did," She said softly. "We have a lot in common. Including at least part of our history."
"Do we really?" Sephiroth asked dryly.
"Years spent living in labs instead of a home?" Aerith offered, her body language still calm but with a challenging look in her eye. "Always knowing you were different, but being unable to pinpoint how? Struggling to make connections because you know other people will never understand? Losing the people who you love without ever hearing why they left?"
Sephiroth stared at her a long moment, then lowered his eyes to the snow, giving a slight shrug of assent. His feathers ruffled softly as he moved.
"But I know a wish that we'd met differently doesn't change anything." Aerith sighed after a moment. "Pain and suffering don't just go away."
"Neither does knowledge," Sephiroth rumbled. "I am not who I was. The man they called friend died a very long time ago."
"I know," Aerith shook her head, her bangs swaying around her face. "That doesn't mean they won't still want to be your friends."
"I'm not human." Sephiroth glanced back to the young woman in time to see her smile at the statement. "Not even as human as Angeal was."
"None of us are now." She was shifting her feet, drawing patterns in the snow with her feet to avoid staring at him. "You don't have to be human, Sephiroth."
"Look at what this place does around me." Sephiroth gestured to the snow. "This place that is supposed to be peace and beauty and joy. And for me it is a wasteland."
"It's winter," Aerith said firmly, shifting her stance to move a little closer to him and lifting a scolding finger at him. "Winter is just as beautiful and valuable as any other season. There was no winter here before because something was broken. Something was wrong. You coming here after all this time fixed that."
She lowered her hands to clasp before her, her tone gentling again. "You haven't damaged the lifestream by coming here, Sephiroth. You're like Zack and Angeal and I. You're one of its guardians. And maybe you're not the piece of the puzzle you wanted to be, but you are absolutely needed and absolutely wanted. You can't tell me that you don't think this place is at least a little beautiful."
"It is cold." Sephiroth narrowed his eyes at her.
"But peaceful." The young woman pressed, turning her back idly and wandering away a little, looking into the snow covered trees. "And beautiful, like I said."
"I let them both down."
"They forgave you for that a long long time ago," She whispered. "Sephiroth, it's your choice now. They're both waiting for you. You have to decide whether you're ready to forgive too."
"Jenova's still out there," Sephiroth said softly. "That is my fault. No matter how much everything fights and tries, she exists in the world, and that is my responsibility."
"Even if we were to pretend that was true, is your answer really to hide here?" Aerith asked, tilting her head. "Wouldn't you rather face it?"
"Face it?" He asked suspiciously.
"If you'll let us help," Aerith said, "I know we can help solve this problem from our side while the people on Gaia fight on theirs."
"What did you have in mind?"
"She used pieces of your body to make her new forms, right?" Aerith had an eager look in her eyes, like she hadn't expected him to respond. "Pieces of you."
"Yes." Sephiroth said dryly, trying not to think of the tearing sensation of having her pick and choose the necessarily parts of his self. "And?"
"And that means you should have some influence of them."
"What good would that do? The world already has its hero." He turned away, frowning at the sky.
"Cloud's got Geostigma." Her words were clear and low, like the tolling of a bell. Hearing them made something tighten inside Sephiroth's chest. "He's hurting and he can't save the people dying around him. He doesn't feel like a hero, so he can't be one right now. So we'll have to remind him."
"How?"
"I'm not sure yet," Aerith said, holding a hand out to Sephiroth. "But between the four of us, I know we can figure something out. After all, we've got the two best strategic minds Soldier ever had and the two most empathetic people to ever exist. With Zack and I working on how to help Cloud and you and Angeal working on strategy against Jenova, I know we can plan something."
Sephiroth looked at her hand. It was soft and uncalloused, but then, so were his in this place. She waited patiently, her arm outstretched to him in silent welcome. He remembered the feeling of his blade piercing her flesh all the way through as though she were only slightly more than air. He remembered the look in the young blond's eyes as he cradled her body, and the broken pain hidden in inside them. He remembered laughing at their sorrow.
He reached out slowly. If he was to continue existing, he would have to face what he had wrought. The touch of her hand tingled against his palm, and he let out a slow breath. The winter didn't feel as cold as it had a moment ago.
"To discuss strategy," Sephiroth said after a moment. "I promise no more than that."
"Alright." Aerith agreed, smiling a knowing smile as she towed him through the snow and ice. "But I make no promises that Zack and Angeal won't just follow you home once they realize what you've been moping about."
"I do not mope." Sephiroth growled.
"You talk just like I always imagined a cat would," Aerith commented with a tentative chuckle in her voice. "So aloof…"
She led them out of Sephiroth's forest and into a sunny place that hadn't been there a moment ago with a broad lake and a wooden cabin. Zack waved at them from the porch, a look of pure enthusiasm on his face, and Angeal shifted off of the wall where he'd been leaning, watching them approach. Sephiroth steeled himself against the wash of emotions pouring over him, and tried to focus.
"How much longer do we have?" Aerith asked in a rushed whisper.
"Moments," Sephiroth replied. His wing was tense behind him, held at the ready, as though he were about to take off. "She's calling to him. She wants to merge with him. To make him another me."
Angeal kept a grounding hand on Sephiroth's shoulder while the silver-haired man connected with his living remains. The man was trembling with tension and anxiety. He hadn't spoken a word of it aloud, but the closer they came to this final confrontation, the more they'd all felt it in him. Connecting again with his own body—with the shell Jenova would control—it was obviously weighing heavy on his friend.
Nearby Zack was pacing back and forth. Supporting Cloud in the fight that would come was his task. Sephiroth would do everything he could from his end, to keep Jenova from killing Cloud and to motivate the man to fight back.
"Is Kadaj going to do it?" Aerith asked uncertainly.
"He will." Sephiroth said, resignation heavy in the words. "When she calls, you either answer or she makes you answer."
"Shit," Zack whispered, watching as the sylph of a remnant threw the capsule containing Jenova at Cloud, making the jumpy blond slice it open. "It's go time. Sephiroth, don't lose yourself in there!"
"I won't." Sephiroth said firmly.
His eyes narrowed with determination as he gazed at the falling boy who shared so many of his features and was so very broken. Black veins worked their way through the screaming remnant, pure Jenova cells twining through his blood vessels as she merged with him. Then swords clashed and Kadaj changed. The time for talk and promises was over.
Angeal and Aerith had no role in this final battle. They stood by their friends and watched, hoping their plans and their work would be enough. Aerith was still tired from summoning the rain in her church that had cured Cloud, but she was alert and focused as she stood by Zack's side. Sephiroth went still as stone, and his image flickered. Angeal tightened his grip on the man's shoulder, grounding him to their world.
"She's strong," Sephiroth whispered as in the other world swords clashed. "A much more even match for him than Kadaj was, especially considering that he is already worn thin from fighting this day. I'm not sure how much I can do."
"Just try," Zack pleaded as he paused in pacing. "Try. Cloud's so close to beating this, Sephiroth. He's so close. Just be a villain for him one more time, and then all of this can be over."
Sephiroth lifted bright green eyes to Zack, his face strained and tired. He stared a moment, then nodded slowly, closing his eyes.
"I don't think I can stop her from fighting," he whispered. "But I might be able to influence her choices. Just like she did mine."
He grit his teeth, and vanished from their sides. Angeal tensed up as his hand passed through air that had been his friend moments ago. He turned his gaze to the battle, watching the vicious exchange of sword play. Nothing seemed to change at all, despite the fact that suddenly his friend's soul was back in that body with the monster who had changed him.
It was a brutal fight. If the real Sephiroth was doing anything, it was hard to tell. Zack felt his stomach twist as Cloud started to wear down. He'd been fighting all day. It was too much to expect him to defeat Sephiroth after besting the Bahamut Sin, after the chase on the highway, after beating Kadaj. The exhaustion was clear on his face. He couldn't catch his breath anymore.
Zack looked away when Sephiroth skewered Cloud, lifting him into the air and forcing him to cling to the blade through his chest to keep his own weight from bisecting him.
"Is this the pain you felt before?" Sephiroth asked in a low, cruel tone.
And then Cloud was tossed into the air, and Sephiroth started playing. Aerith covered her mouth with a hand, looking sick as Cloud was stabbed over and over, the sword never striking home—never killing—but aiming to pain, exhaust, and destroy his spirit before he was killed. Angeal clenched his jaw as Sephiroth flug Cloud to the ground. The young man hit the roof hard enough to leave a massive dent, his blood splattering around him. He couldn't catch his breath. Blood poured.
"Shit," Zack whispered as Cloud struggled to rise. "I'm going."
He vanished from their sides and the world they were viewing slowed. They couldn't see exactly what Cloud saw, but they knew what was happening. They watched Sephiroth, hovering above him, frozen by the time distortion of what Zack was doing. The cold smile on his face was unchanged—grim, beautiful, and victorious.
"He can still do this." Aerith whispered in a small voice, her hand clamped over her face.
"I know." Angeal asserted firmly.
And then Zack was back with them, and Cloud's face shifted. He went in a moment from on the ground trembling to standing with a determined look. His eyes narrowed on the plummeting Sephiroth. He crouched, feet digging into the roof, and rocketed upwards.
"What did you say?" Angeal asked.
"I offered to step in," Zack replied. "But Spike's gotten stronger. He doesn't need to be me to win anymore."
"What about Sephiroth?" Angeal asked.
They turned their attention to the silver-haired man as Cloud leapt towards him. They saw the amusement in his eyes as the battered young blond lifted his sword. Then they saw shock register as that blade fell to pieces, flying up around him. Cat-like eyes widened, flicking to each blade in turn as Cloud blurred into motion.
Zack flinched as the first hit struck home, and he pressed back into Aerith's arms as his weary lover held him. His friend was in that body, no matter how little of it he was holding. Zack felt sick to his stomach, watching Cloud rise. Sephiroth's sounds of pain were soft, but palpable. Angeal hunched in on himself as he watched, his brows furrowing in concern. Then Cloud flew into the air, catching the final blade.
"Too long." Zack whispered, realizing that Cloud's move took too much time to build up.
But Sephiroth didn't move. All that supernatural speed, all that skill and power, and the calamity's son held dead still in the air. His eyes widened in true fear as Cloud descended, and Zack covered his mouth, realizing what their true Sephiroth had done with the strength he had.
Cloud struck hard and fast. In the span of time the entirety of that move had taken, he struck thrice more. They were death blows. There was no doubt of it.
Before Angeal, Sephiroth flickered back into existence. He gave a hollow gasp, trembling and falling forward onto his hands and knees. Angeal crouched by him, placing a hand on his back. They were silent as they watched Jenova perish. Until Sephiroth moaned and collapsed weakly. Angeal caught him without question and lifted him into his arms.
"Is it over?" He asked Aerith and Zack.
"She's finished." Aerith whispered. "Take him to get some rest. Zack and I will make sure it all ends how it should."
"What happens to the remnants?" Angeal asked, glancing between them.
Zack looked to Aerith, then nodded at the look she gave him in return.
"If they'll take a hand up," the young man said slowly. "Then we'll bring them."
Angeal nodded his understanding. He turned away from them as the trembling boy collapsed in Cloud's arms. He carried Sephiroth carefully, his friend's head pillowed against his shoulder and his body trembling in exhaustion from the effort of what he'd just done. He tried not to think about the fact that this was the most intimate touch Sephiroth had ever allowed.
"My guardians." A soft voice called, ringing through the air.
Angeal paused, turning back to look at the other two. Aerith looked up, Kadaj draped in her arms as he had been in Cloud's. Zack stood at her back, scanning the air with a faint smile on his face.
"There will be one last trauma." The voice of the goddess whispered. "But in this moment, I grant you reprieve from the passage of time. recover. Heal. And then be prepared to channel your strength once more."
"We understand." Aerith said softly, smiling.
Angeal closed his eyes. He felt it the moment the in-between world closed off from the passage of time in reality. He took a slow breath, and turned back to walking towards his home. He had felt what the planet meant just before the timeline shut down. The other two remnants would kill Cloud Strife. They would have to bring him back.
But for now, there was no rush. He looked down at Sephiroth's pale, weary face, and hoped the reprieve would be enough.
Whatever had happened to Sephiroth's soul when he reentered the body manifested by Jenova, it manifested as a sickness. Angeal stayed close by his side while Aerith and Zack stuck close to the remnant they'd taken in. The boy was not what they had expected. They'd expected fragments of a soul, created from shards of Sephiroth. Instead they'd ended up with a fully-formed young man. He was still too weak and distant to explain how that was possible, but Aerith and Zack were rightly reluctant to let him out of their sights until they understood.
Angeal, for his part, stayed by Sephiroth's side. He was thorough in his attention to his friend's exhausted form. He'd always wished that Sephiroth would allow such tenderness and care when they were alive together, but Sephiroth had always violently rejected any offers of assistance. It had always worried Angeal that Sephiroth's body healed so fast that he was ready to fight again before his mind had been given a chance to recover. It reminded him of his father's wisdom, and made him wonder what Sephiroth had been told that differed so fiercely from his own family's doctrine.
As he lay a hand on his friend's forehead, checking on the fever burning hot under his skin, he couldn't help thinking of all the times Sephiroth must have been torn apart on the inside and gone on fighting none the less.
"You should have taken more time," He sighed, running his hand to the side and finger-combing the arch of Sephiroth's bangs. "Your body healed, but minds need time to heal too."
"Quoting your father again," Sephiroth rasped, his feverish eyes opening just an inch. "Tell me. Was my fall brought on from overuse? Was it wear, tear, and rust that was my undoing?"
Angeal cast a glance upwards at the soft flakes of snow that had started filtering down into his autumn. They alighted delicately in the fallen leaves around Sephiroth's limp form. He took a deep breath, then forced himself to meet Sephiroth's expectant, fever-bright eyes.
"It couldn't have helped." Angeal didn't let himself avert his gaze from Sephiroth's judgemental look. "You were careless with your heart."
"You're right," Sephiroth stiffened as his voice caught in his raw throat, but he fought off the coughing fit that so obviously wanted to overcome him. "I trusted it to you and Genesis."
He spat the words in fury before whatever sickness plagued him stole his breath, leaving him wheezing and grey on the bright autumnal leaves. Snow speckled the ground around him, starting to cover the soft, thick bed of leaves he rested on. Angeal could not feel the snow's chill, but he felt cold none the less. The aching numbness of it slid through his chest as he sat helpless and silent at Sephiroth's side.
"I know it was a betrayal," Angeal murmured into the silence. "I know I let you down. All I can offer you as explanation is that I was sick. I wasn't thinking clearly. Not about any of it."
"You left me," Sephiroth whispered. "You left me alone with an entire army to lead and a crumbling company. You even took Lazard."
Angeal's chest tightened at the betrayal in Sephiroth's weak voice. He bowed his head, grimacing in shame. He nodded weakly in agreement.
"You're right," he whispered. "I did that and worse. I killed my own mother. Forced Zack to murder me when I knew it would destroy his happiness. Left you and Genesis both behind."
"Why isn't he here?" Sephiroth asked weakly, giving a soft sigh that was almost like sorrow.
"Genesis? The world has other plans for him," Angeal crossed his arms, his brows twisting. "Our journeys end here, but Genesis isn't done yet."
"Then I will wait for him." Sephiroth said blankly, staring up at the sky.
"We all will," Angeal forced himself calm again, knowing letting himself become overly emotional would do nothing to calm or sway Sephiroth. "You don't have to accept our company, Sephiroth. But if you want to, you don't have to be alone."
"I'm a monster." Sephiroth murmured, as though reminding Angeal of that.
"You were," Angeal said, his voice grim, "because you did monstrous things. But now you have another chance. You can chose not to be a monster. I did. And you just held the enemy of the planet down while her champion destroyed her. I think you're well on your way to redemption, if that's what you're looking for."
"I don't care for redemption." Sephiroth sat up slowly and stiffly. His wing flared at his side, stretching before draping across the ground behind him wearily.
"I see," Angeal shifted, his brows twisting as he felt the in-between world adjusting to re-include Sephiroth's winter, completing the quartet once more.
"But I have had enough of isolation as well." The silver-haired man whispered, his voice suddenly painfully lost. "And of pain."
Angeal took a slow breath, watching Sephiroth's soul a long moment before reaching out and laying a hand on his chest, over his heartbeat. Sephiroth went still, but he didn't lift his head or pull away from the touch. He stayed still, looking wounded and tired.
"I am glad you are here, my friend." Angeal said softly. "Despite all that happened. All that I did, and all that you became. I am glad you are here now."
Sephiroth's eyes lifted and he regarded Angeal silently for a long while, then he let out a slow breath. He shifted in the soft snow surrounding him, and for a moment Angeal thought he would stand and walk into the winter that now had now appeared bordering on his fall, the two of them mixing dead leaves and snowfall.
Then Sephiroth moved forward stiffly, his motions uncertain and awkward. Angeal's eyes widened as the man leaned against him, his hands slowly settling into place to embrace him. Angeal held perfectly still for a long while, afraid to move in case he broke the moment. Sephiroth was tense as a board against him, but he didn't seem inclined to bolt. Angeal lifted his arms to encircle his silver-haired friend, and slowly strengthened the hold, till he was hugging him tightly, as he'd always wanted to. Sephiroth let out a slow, shaking breath, his wing sweeping through the snow to curl around Angeal's back.
"It's going to be okay now," Angeal whispered to his friend. "You'll never have to feel alone again if you don't want to."
"I believe you." Sephiroth said, pressing his face into Angeal's shoulder, shuddering and uncertain in the awkward embrace.
Winter in the in-between world was peaceful. He was so very quiet that he often seemed lonesome. The trees held their burdens of snow silently, never creeking in complaint. But as quiet and lonely as it could be, there were always Fall, Summer, and Spring to visit. And even when all seemed at its darkest and coldest, there were friends who would come to the snowy forest with hot chocolate and warm companionship.
Some days, young ghosts followed him—quiet sylphs who almost but not quite bore his face. They spoke to him rarely, and when they did it was with a solemn reverence, like children in church. He accepted their presences, and sometimes he enjoyed their company.
Winter was patient. Winter stayed calm in the cold, taking solace in the silence that let him hear the snow falling on the powder-covered ground, and hear approaching footsteps from far away.
Winter was not happy—He was not made to be happy—But winter was learning to be content as he waited.