Crossposted from Archive of Our Own. You can find me there at /users/Emmythos/works, as well as more detailed information regarding content. I will summarize here.
This story will make absolutely no sense if you haven't read Cold, But Not Dead by Counterfeit God, a sixty-one chapter unfinished opus from 2008/2009 that is still available to read on this website despite absolutely obliterating the TOS. I would recommend consulting the content warning I provide in the first chapter posted on AO3 if you are not already familiar with it. If you are familiar with it, please be aware that this is not an official continuation, but an alternate timeline of sorts, and that Chapter 61 has been retconned and no longer exists in the context of this story. It is also worth noting that this is pure self-indulgence, as I lack both the talent and vision to complete the original.
Thorough tagging is provided on AO3, although I will still include individual chapter warnings here. Explicit sexual content will be exclusive to AO3, as well as any commissioned artwork.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Non-explicit rape, depictions of abuse, some violence
The small room was laden with out-dated communications equipment. The large screen on the wall opposite the door was dusty and cracked in the right uppermost corner, and the radio underneath it beeped lazily, visibly damaged but presumably still capable of receiving incoming transmissions. Outgoing was another matter entirely. The microphone would no longer turn on, and the camera was shattered beyond repair, rendering the entire setup functionally useless. It was a far cry from Shinra's sophisticated technology.
Sephiroth was pacing in front of the screen. He had converted the space into what he had hoped would be a temporary office upon their arrival at the unassuming little cabin northeast of Icicle Inn almost a year ago, but it had become the only place—barring the frigid wilderness surrounding them—where he could think in relative peace. The overall mood of the residence was… tense, and Sephiroth himself had been growing more and more restless as the months dragged on.
His decision to abandon Shinra had not been well thought out, but had seemed at the time to be the only reasonable course of action. He had gone AWOL immediately following the call from Angeal informing him of the degradation, not even bothering to return to Midgar to pack, just making his way to Icicle Inn as swiftly and secretly as possible. They had left Gast's primary residence soon after. All cell phones and similar tech had been destroyed, but it made little difference to Sephiroth if Shinra had some idea of their whereabouts or not. They would be too fearful to confront him, and too reluctant to terminate him. If anything, they would be discussing how best to appease their prize commodity in order to seduce him back into their service. Sephiroth wasn't sure exactly, how he planned to deal with them, but would do so only when absolutely necessary.
He had taken it surprisingly well, he supposed, the reality of the experimentation that had made him. He had grown up an experiment in Hojo's lab, so it only made sense that it had preceded his birth as well, given how different he was… how different he had always been. He knew now, that Jenova was not his mother. But Gast had claimed no knowledge of his true parentage, stuttering on about how his research was only tangentially connected with Hojo's, about how secretive Hojo had been about it all before it was confirmed a success. That night, Sephiroth had caught him just as he'd shoved the last of a box full of old documents into the blazing furnace.
Nothing personal had been exchanged since. Sephiroth said only what was necessary to discuss if and how Angeal and Genesis might be cured. Gast seemed too fearful—or perhaps it was simply guilt—to push him. Sephiroth mostly ignored the old man, well aware of the grief-stricken looks he threw his way. He did not trust himself to maintain his detachment were they to speak of the more… intimate details of the past. What did it matter why Gast had left? He had done it. Let him wallow in his guilt. Let him look at the monster he'd left behind in that cold, dark hell and despair.
A tendril of thought squirmed into his brain, insistent and uncomfortable. It was something he had not been able to rid himself of for the past year.
Had he not left behind Vincent? Left him in the service of a wicked corporation, ignorant of the crimes that had driven Sephiroth to leave?
He crushed the thought immediately, a coldness settling over his insides that was almost comforting. There had been no other option. Telling him would have been a liability, and taking him with them out of the question. Vincent had never been a victim of Shinra's propaganda, more than aware of the company's numerous other misdeeds. It was his decision now… to stay with SOLDIER, or to pursue a future elsewhere. He was young; there was still time. Sephiroth had done his part.
There was no place for Vincent in his heart. There never had been. Running away with him would have only encouraged his childish attachment and worsened the fallout when the time came to set him aside. Vincent had no choice now, but to move forward. There was no longer any reason to think of him.
Or so he told himself.
His blood was a temporary salvation for Angeal and Genesis, but not a solution, the degradation eating away at it along with everything else despite its more harmonious properties. Gast tampered with the samples Sephiroth gave, trying to find some way to bind it to their own cells, to mimic his unique functions in their bodies, but nothing ever seemed to stick. So here they were, rotting away in the Northern Continent, grasping at straws. Sephiroth refused to consider the possibility that it was all nothing but an exercise in futility. That he had abandoned his life just to watch the only friends he had ever known slowly die. But yes… he was growing restless. He was not a saviour. He was a killer. And to put a killer in a cage of any kind was to invite destruction.
For once he was not alone in the room. Genesis—with whom he'd come to a reluctant, simmering, and likely short-lived truce out of necessity—was brooding in the corner closest to the door. His hair was almost completely auburn again, although wisps of white were a reminder that the danger was far from over. Angeal was seated on the worn couch across from him, along with Zack. Gast was busy with something in the basement.
The past year had been hard on Zack, and he wore the burden on his sleeve. He had been forced to abandon Shinra by association—they couldn't very well send him back without putting his life in jeopardy, not that he particularly wanted them to. He was loyal to Angeal, and he shared in their anger. But boredom, loneliness, and dread sat heavy on his shoulders. And he missed Vincent. Sephiroth knew this. He had asked about him, in the beginning. He didn't anymore.
Angeal, although fairing considerably better than Genesis, still looked drawn. The last failed injection had taken a toll on him. "I don't know how much longer we can stay here."
Sephiroth sighed, but stopped pacing to acknowledge his friend.
"We're not making any progress. We're underequipped. And we need to decide what to do about Shinra. I know you're not afraid of them, Seph, but they're not going to stall forever. I think we should consider relocating, at least for the time being."
"And where do you suggest we relocate to?" Sephiroth asked. "Where would we go that would grant us both asylum and sufficient equipment? Shinra have their claws deep into every corner of this planet. You and I both know this. You and I both helped do this."
Angeal frowned, looking away.
Sephiroth rubbed at his temple with one hand. "It's not that I disagree with you, Angeal," he said, more gently. "But I confess I cannot at present see a course of action that benefits us."
Genesis smirked, although it was an empty, bitter gesture. "What an unusual thing to witness. The great Sephiroth at a loss."
Angeal looked at his friend, clearly disappointed. "Don't, Genesis."
Sephiroth ignored him, continuing to speak to Angeal. "As loath as I am to admit it, it may be time to considering treating with Shinra. They were willing to terminate Genesis, but attempting such a thing on all three of us would be foolish. There is a good possibility they would be receptive to negotiations, and while I put little faith in them, they possess resources we currently lack."
"They were the ones who did this to us," Genesis spat, baring his teeth. "Maybe you're eager to work for them again, so you can go on as you always have, but don't think for a second we share your sentiments."
It wasn't for the first time that Sephiroth felt some semblance of regret over his decision to leave Shinra. It had been a rash thing to do—uncalculated, bred from anger. The influence he had possessed in Midgar had been significant. He could have stayed Shinra's hand, bought them time. Instead, he'd committed treason. If Gast could have been granted access to Shinra's technology...
It was Sephiroth's fault as well, that Hojo was dead. He had done it himself, in a foolish act of revenge after Vincent's experimentation, at Vincent's own behest. It left him with a feeling of bitterness towards the boy, bitterness he hardly deserved. But it was there all the same.
Genesis opened his mouth as if to say something more, but stopped short, looking past Sephiroth at what was behind him. Sephiroth turned.
A line of static flickered across the screen before promptly disappearing.
Angeal's brows knit together. "A malfunction?"
But it was humming to life. Sephiroth could hear it. There was more static—two slashes across the screen now, pulsating from top to bottom. The radio stuttered to life as well, muffled and scratchy. A computerized voice came through the speaker.
"Call requested. To accept call, press one."
Sephiroth didn't respond immediately, slowly checking over the outgoing equipment. He found it all to be as non-functioning as he had thought. Whoever was attempting contact—if someone was attempting contact—would be blind and deaf to him. Good.
"It will not be Shinra," he said. "They would not attempt to contact us this way."
"Gast told me none of this has been used in years," Angeal added.
It should have been nothing, but they all watched as if transfixed. Sephiroth considered shutting everything down, but curiosity could get the better of even him.
"Call requested. To accept call, press one. Call requested. To accept call, press one. Call reques—"
Sephiroth slowly took his finger off the button. There wasn't an immediate change, although the static had overtaken most of the screen now, and there were sounds coming from the radio that sounded distinctly like a human voice, albeit warped and incomprehensible. Sephiroth's gut began to clench, a rare show of unease, although it should not have had any reason to do so during this particular occurrence. Something was wrong. The clarity of the voice continued to improve, only adding to the sense of foreboding. There was something about it he felt he ought to know, but at the same time, he couldn't place it. Then he made out the first almost intelligible word through all the interference.
"Vi—ent."
No. He had misheard. The couch creaked, and Sephiroth looked over to see Zack sitting stock-still and upright. There was a terrible sound from the radio, like nails on a chalkboard, but deafening. Then there was nothing. And then the voice came through, clear as day, and Sephiroth's insides turned to ice.
"Ah, it seems as though we've finally got through, rabbit. Would you like to say hello?"
For a moment no one spoke, the radio crackling a little, picking up movement from the other side. Every part of Sephiroth was screaming at him to destroy it, to shatter the screen into tiny jagged pieces, but he couldn't move. It was as if he was being pulled from the waking world into some sort of living nightmare, where time stood still and the past caught up. Angeal stood, visibly concerned.
"Sephiroth, what's wrong?"
Sephiroth wasn't given the time to answer even had he wanted to. The static went white, and then black. Finally, the picture appeared on the screen.
"It's been a long time, Sephiroth."
The man was only visible from just below his eyes to about mid-torso, but was unmistakable nonetheless. He looked relaxed, his left arm draped over the back of the couch on which he was seated. His grey suit was pristine, and the slicked-back blonde hair stopping just above the nape of his neck appeared rough and unpleasant, as if fingers could not be pushed through it. The only sign he was truly there in front of Sephiroth, and not some twisted hallucination from what felt like a lifetime ago, were the lines etched into the tan skin of his face.
"Thank you for answering my call. I see your side hasn't come through, which is a shame, but it's no matter. I appear to have made a connection at least. Besides, I'm sure you wouldn't have very nice things to say to me."
Jade laughed a little, without humour. His right arm looked as if it were toying with something. "I hope you're actually there, or whoever is has it set to record. I would hate for you to miss this. The last I heard of your location was some time ago, but considering your situation I would say my chances are good. Gast was never particularly adept at hiding."
"Do you know this man?" Angeal whispered, despite the fact they could not be heard.
"So, you actually left Shinra, and for someone other than yourself no less. I must admit I'm surprised. It was an excellent fit for your, shall we say… unique proclivities. You left behind some wonderful things. One little thing in particular comes to mind."
Sephiroth's heart began to palpitate furiously at the implication, hatred pumping through his veins, settling heavy and unyielding in his stomach. The man was talking about something else. He had to be.
"It took him some time, to come to terms with his own insignificance. It's a difficult thing, to realize you have no more worth than those who came and went before you. And you didn't even have the decency to tell him you were leaving, poor thing. I think that hurt him very deeply. But don't worry. He wasn't alone for long."
Jade placed his right hand over his chest. "You know me, Sephiroth. I've never been able to resist a broken heart calling out to mine. I gave him a few months to grieve, of course, before I helped him move on. He needed a little convincing, but saw my side of things quickly enough. I will be much better to him than you were. He arouses a passion in me like no other." He smiled, and it would have looked frighteningly genuine had Sephiroth not known better. "Not even you."
It was Zack who spoke this time, voice high-pitched and wavering. "What is he talking about?"
Jade paused. "It's an impressive weapon. I'm shocked you went to such expense for one of your toys." He reached down and to his left, and when his hand re-emerged, what it was holding made Sephiroth's gorge rise. "I would say he must have been special if I didn't know you so well."
Jade ran his fingers down the length of the gauntlet, marring the gold. "I might have done it just to hurt you, if you had a heart to hurt. But the reward in and of itself is more than enough."
Sephiroth finally acknowledged the others in the room. "Get Zack out of here," he said. "All of you leave now."
Angeal, although clearly distraught, refused to do as Sephiroth asked. "Genesis, take Zack." When Genesis didn't move, frozen as he continued to stare at the screen, Angeal turned on him sharply. "Now, Genesis."
Genesis grit his teeth, but for once in his life obeyed. He took Zack harshly by the arm and all but dragged him towards the door. Zack had started to cry, pulling fruitlessly against the powerful grip of the First.
"What does he mean, Sephiroth? What is he saying?" Zack was nearly hysterical, but Genesis did not relent, and the door closed behind them.
Jade's right arm was at his side, moving almost gently back and forth. "I imagine you may not want to believe me. Would you like to see him again? Would you even care to? I can hardly bear to look away myself. Such a lovely young man. Aren't you, rabbit?"
Jade was right; Sephiroth did not want to see. Seeing would make it real, all of it. Jade was alive. Jade knew things he should not, could not know. And this… but the camera was already being readjusted. It fell now to Jade's right, resting between his waist and his shins. Sephiroth wanted desperately to look away, but did not.
Vincent was lying on his stomach next to Jade, his head in his lap, turned to face the camera. One thin arm was curled loosely around Jade's knee, gripping the fabric of his pants, and the other was tucked tightly beneath his own chest. He was wearing what looked like hospital garb—loose-fitting pants and a short-sleeved shirt, the back of which had been completely removed, held together by two strips of fabric tied at his neck and mid-back. The outfit would have been white if not for the myriad of bloodstains overwhelming the fabric. He was badly bruised, some fresh and bluish-purple—stark against his pale skin—and others yellowing. His black hair, much longer than it had been the last time Sephiroth had seen him, fell thickly over his face.
Jade continued to stroke the side of his head, finally pushing his hair back. His red eyes were half-closed, dilated and looking at nothing in particular, as he obediently allowed the man to do what he wanted. His lip was split, and his breathing measured but trembling, as though every inhalation caused him pain. His left eye was blackened, and the cheek significantly bruised, suggesting that at some point he had been brutally struck.
Jade's fingers moved from Vincent's hair to trail down his cheek, over his lips. "Yes, you look very pretty."
Angeal approached Sephiroth, his hand over his mouth and his eyes confused, but stricken. Sephiroth shut his own briefly, and then looked back at Vincent. Months. Vincent had been with Jade for months.
And Sephiroth had been the one to abandon him to his fate.
His façade of apathy was crumbling, leaving him raw and enraged. "Leave, Angeal."
If Angeal had heard him, he made no show of it. His eyes remained on the screen.
Jade hadn't bothered to adjust the camera back to its original position, leaving it on Vincent. "I suppose my actions imply that I'm offering you an exchange." He was silent for a moment, fingers rubbing underneath Vincent's chin. "But no. No, I have no intention of giving him up." He laughed again, cruel. "I cherish him."
Sephiroth felt helpless, which humiliated him. He wanted to reach through the screen and rend Jade into a thousand pieces. He wanted to tear him apart until there was nothing left but gore. Something poisonous was awakening in him, something that had been buried a long time ago and left to fester. Something vulnerable, hurt. Something that made him weak.
Jade hadn't stopped talking, tilting Vincent's head back towards him. The red eyes flitted a little before becoming heavy again.
"I can see why you wanted him. Sweet and naïve and stubborn… and quite the little fighter, isn't he? Takes after his mentor. Is that why you saved him? Did he remind you of yourself? Or did you just want to fuck him? Tell me, Sephiroth, did he ever cry when you did it? It makes him feel so wonderful around you."
Angeal was looking at Sephiroth in disbelief. "Seph, what is he…"
Jade had Vincent by the hair suddenly, dragging him up and onto his lap. He pushed his hand underneath Vincent's shirt, palm flat against his stomach, petting. There was a whimper of pain, and then the wet sounds of kissing. Sephiroth could see now that the majority of the bloodstains were between Vincent's thighs. His fury swelled.
"Boggles the mind, really, you leaving him behind so easily after all that effort, but I suppose it worked out well enough for me. After all, one man's trash is another man's treasure."
He moved his hand further up Vincent's body, pulling his shirt with it, revealing prominent ribs and more bruising.
"But let me get to the point," Jade's voice grew serious, all traces of mocking gone. "The world is changing, is going to change, very soon. A shift in power is coming on a scale you cannot even begin to comprehend, one that goes far beyond just Shinra. As for who will attempt to pick up the mantle of that power… well, I can't imagine you will be very pleased to find out. They offered you an exchange yourself, some time ago. You were a fool to even consider it. While I'm disappointed you were never truly given the chance to fall into that little trap, I suppose I should be pleased I didn't train a complete imbecile. But it's of no importance now. The have moved on to a much more ambitious plan of attack, one that means you and your friends are running out of time. I care little for the grand designs of my former compatriots, but I look forward to watching this all play out. Yes, this will be interesting."
There was quiet for a moment, the only sound Vincent's laboured breathing.
"Be careful, Sephiroth."
The camera was moved back up, so Vincent's face could be seen, Jade holding him in place with a strong hand around his jaw. "If I've been speaking to Gast or one of Sephiroth's so-called friends, do pass this message along to him."
He pressed his lips to Vincent's hair. "Is there anything you would like to say to Sephiroth before we go, rabbit? No? At least do him the courtesy of saying goodbye. He didn't do the same for you, but… this is the last time he will see you, I think."
When Vincent didn't speak, Jade's voice grew threatening. "Don't be rude, Vincent. Look at him."
Vincent did look, directly into the camera, and Sephiroth felt something inside himself break. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
"Goodbye, Sephiroth."
The screen went dark.
"Private Valentine."
It was late, almost curfew. Vincent had been walking slowly back to his dorm, head down, gauntlet impossibly heavy on his arm. He didn't know why he even bothered with it anymore. His classmates hated him enough as it was, and his superiors had no interest in wasting their time on specialized training now that he had no connections. The weapon might as well be left to gather dust underneath his bed alongside Cerberus, forgotten and unused in its case. His keycard no longer granted him access to the private training rooms, and there was no one left to train with anyway.
Vincent had experienced grief before. For his father, and his broken body made host to monsters. But this… this made him feel numb. It was like moving through a fog—he could see the shapes of everything that had been there before, but nothing was quite real anymore. Nothing would ever be real again, unless…
It was coming up on six months since everything had fallen apart. Shinra had not only lost its prized general, but another of its highest-ranking Firsts. Vincent had lost his best friend, a trusted teacher, and a mentor… more than a mentor.
Everything had been lies and secrets and rumours for a long time, Shinra scrambling to pick up the pieces, but transparency could not be avoided forever. Order had to be maintained in the wake of such a disaster. The unthinkable was announced, and soon after Director Lazard Deusericus was appointed acting general. The shock at what had seemed impossible settled over Midgar like a collective nightmare.
Vincent had chosen denial at first, refusing to believe that the man who had risked so much to save his life would abandon him so easily, without even a word of goodbye. So he waited. He called the number on his cell phone—the only number—over and over again, but it had been disconnected. The days stretched into months, and with the passage of time the truth became palpable, more and more difficult to deny. In his heart, Vincent began to understand… Sephiroth, the person he cared for the most, was gone. He wasn't coming back.
Vincent had been alone for so long before SOLDIER, but now that loneliness ate away at him. The food would turn cold on his tray as he looked at where Zack should have been. There was nothing to fill the time between classes and scheduled training, so he would retreat to his dorm and sleep to avoid crushing boredom and the smug looks of everyone who hated him. His future with SOLDIER was greying, but there was no future at all anywhere else, so he moved through the days on autopilot.
He couldn't even bring himself to cry.
Vincent looked up when he heard his name. He didn't know this man… he certainly wasn't a First. He was impeccably dressed, almost elegant. His sharp grey suit seemed to imply he was some sort of Shinra professional, but there was something about him that made Vincent doubt that conclusion.
"Sir?"
The man approached him, a little too quickly, and Vincent had to resist the urge to flinch and step back. "You know this part of the base well, yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I have some business in the upper wing of loading bay seven, and as I am unfamiliar with the area beyond the Third Class dorms, you've been assigned to me as my guide. If you would." He gestured for Vincent to move in front of him.
The way he spoke instantly reminded Vincent of Sephiroth, which made his chest ache, although the entire situation sounded wrong. It was dark outside, minutes away from curfew for Vincent, which his superiors must have known. What business did a Shinra suit have at some remote end of base, particularly at this hour, and why would anyone assign Vincent the task of taking him there? Didn't Shinra have people for this sort of thing? It seemed strange that they would send the man after him instead of summoning him from his dorm.
"Um… it's…" Vincent looked around him, biting at his lip. "I…"
"Ah, where are my manners," the man chided himself. He held out a black-gloved hand, which Vincent tentatively shook. His grasp was firm and warm. "I've been acquainted with Shinra for some time. Freelance work, mostly." He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, and that was warm too. "Never did like being tied down to one specific employer. Still, I'm good at what I do, although clearly not so much as to roll out the red carpet."
He laughed, and it was a deep, pleasant sound. Vincent couldn't help but offer a small smile himself. He was an older man, late forties maybe, and he had a relaxing air about him. Vincent was a bit surprised when he realized he actually found him handsome. He never really thought about that with anyone, barring Sephiroth.
"Your superior… oh, what was his name." He snapped his fingers a few time. "Staff Sergeant Castle? Beast of a man with the haircut of a ninety-year-old woman." Vincent bit back a laugh of his own, and the man's smile broadened. "He said I might catch you on the way back to your dorms. There's no need to worry about curfew if that's your concern."
"Okay," Vincent said, still shy despite how disarming the man was. He hadn't been spoken to by anyone this friendly in months. "Do you have a name, sir?"
"Oh, many. As I said, I get around. But why don't you keep calling me sir? Makes me feel much more important than I am."
"Alright… sir." Vincent felt the blush creeping up towards his face, so he hid behind his hair, embarrassed. "It's this way."
The man fell in beside him, keeping pace just a little back from where Vincent was. "Thank you, private. Much appreciated."
They walked in silence for a while, Vincent cursing his own shyness. He wasn't timid, or he didn't used to be… He just hadn't talked to anyone in so long. His superiors instructed him or gave him orders, and his classmates ignored him. He hadn't seen Cloud in months. It was a small shock to be treated like a person.
"So, um… what work do you do, sir?"
"Oh, this and that. Technical nonsense. Things the Turks might be bothered to take care of if it all weren't so boring." He was right next to Vincent now, shoulder to shoulder. "Takes me all over base, but I can never seem to remember my way around."
Vincent's lips twitched into a half-smile. "It took me a while too."
"How long have you been with SOLDIER?"
"Almost a year," Vincent said, and his heart felt a little heavier again. "Feels like longer… a lot has happened."
The man hummed. "Yes, I imagine it does." He looked down at Vincent. "Why the long face, private," he asked gently.
Vincent chewed on his bottom lip, trying to keep it from quivering. "I'm sorry, sir. It's nothing."
"There's no need to be shy. I'm sure things have been difficult for SOLDIER these past months. It must have seemed unfathomable to you all, to lose your general in such a way."
"Yeah," Vincent breathed, feeling worn down and small. "It wasn't… what I expected."
The man put his hand on Vincent's shoulder—the far one, so Vincent ended up tucked underneath his arm. "It will take time, Private Valentine. Do not lose heart."
He was warm, and Vincent half-consciously moved a little closer to him, the cool night air tingling on his bare arms. The hand stayed where it was, firm and comforting and probably inappropriate, but Vincent couldn't bring himself to refuse the human kindness. He was only ever touched when someone managed to land a hit on him during training. Being touched now, without the intent to harm…
"Thank you, sir," he whispered.
The man smiled at him again, and Vincent returned it, no longer hiding. Most days he felt so tired, as if he were stuck in a mire and it was taking all the strength he had left to not just sink down and let it take him. He felt a little lighter now. He was actually a bit sad they were almost there.
Vincent could see all the trucks lined up in front of the large concrete building across the road. The doors were hanging open on one of them, which was odd. There didn't seem to be anyone around.
He came to a stop in front of a smaller building on their side of the road. "If you go through here and cross the pedestrian overpass, you should end up just below the upper wing." He offered one last smile. "Goodnight, sir."
Vincent tried to turn back, but the man's hand tightened on his shoulder. He was strong, and Vincent winced. "Um… is there something else you needed, sir?"
"I was enjoying our chat. Seems a shame to cut it short." He pulled Vincent towards him and then back, so he was trapped between the wall and the man's larger body. "If all the SOLDIERs were as sweet-looking as you I might come around more often."
Vincent's stomach dropped, and the claws of his gauntlet dug into the building. "I… I need to get back to my dorm, sir. It's past curfew, and—"
"Didn't I tell you already, that you wouldn't get in trouble for that?" He had a piece of Vincent's hair between his fingers, toying with the strands. "Stay."
Any comfort Vincent had felt was rapidly evaporating. "Sir, I can't. I—"
"You flirt with me shamelessly and then try to run away? How unkind." The man moved a little closer, and Vincent's heart stuttered.
"I didn't—I think there's been a misunderstanding."
"You felt good, under my arm," the man mused. The hand that had been playing with his hair stroked its way down to his neck. "You seemed to enjoy it too."
Vincent was beginning to panic. He was scared that hurting the man in a serious attempt to escape would get him in trouble, but all he wanted was to run. "I didn't mean to lead you on. Please, just let me go. I have to—"
The man sighed. "Oh, Vincent… such a lonely, vulnerable boy. No one has shown you kindness in a long time. That made this very easy." He rubbed at Vincent's jaw with his thumb. "Don't misunderstand. This would have happened even if you hadn't come with me. But it was a lovely walk."
Their eyes locked for less than a second, Vincent's dilating rapidly, before he tore himself away from the man, rolling under his arm to avoid being grabbed again. He was back on his feet in an instant, prepared to run as fast as he could back to his dorm, to anywhere where he wasn't alone with this stranger. He barely made it two strides before an iron grip closed around his ankle, pulling his feet out from under him. His jaw struck the pavement with a sickening thud. He tried to get on his hands and knees—tasting blood, seeing it fall from his lips in a disgusting, viscous string—but hands as frighteningly strong as they were fast were dragging him backwards, moving up his legs. He attempted to strike the man with his gauntlet, grasping desperately behind his back, but the man caught it and ripped it off his arm with such violence Vincent thought his shoulder might dislocate. It was thrown off to the side somewhere, and Vincent was flipped onto his back in a movement so deft it made him dizzy. The back of his head cracked against the ground as he was left staring up at his attacker with wide, watery eyes. A large hand forced itself over his nose and mouth so firmly he couldn't breathe, holding him down.
"Don't be difficult. You'll only get yourself hurt, and trust me, there will be plenty of time for that."
Vincent was weakly trying to push him away, one hand on the arm holding him down and the other on the man's face, but the hard body above his felt immovable, impossibly strong. The man just laughed. He mouthed at Vincent's wrist, tongue swiping at the skin as he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket with his free hand. He pulled out a syringe, and Vincent let out a muffled sound of panic. The man hushed him, placing the needle almost tenderly at his neck.
He held Vincent down for several more seconds after it was done, until his vision began to wink in and out as his lungs struggled to take in air. Finally, the hand pulled away. Vincent inhaled desperately, too out of breath to even consider screaming before the man pulled him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. He picked Vincent up easily, one arm encircling his waist to grip his wrist. A gloved hand covered his mouth again. Vincent tried to bite at it, but the man was so strong he could barely open his jaw at all.
He smelled like Sephiroth, Vincent realized, held as tightly against him as he was. Almost minty… almost like cloves. Vincent remembered hating that smell, when Sephiroth had left him crying and alone in a bed saturated with it. He remembered hating himself for loving it when Sephiroth had stayed. But all he could feel now was intense, stomach-curdling nausea. He fought not to gag, suffocated by the wrongness of it all.
"Don't fuss," the man said. He buried his face in Vincent's hair, breathing in. "This part is almost over."
Vincent wanted to struggle, and he did at first, but his limbs were becoming increasingly leaden, more and more difficult to control. The man carried him as if he were a ragdoll, not burdened in the slightest. In his desperation he tried to call on Chaos, a secret he never wanted to tell—not to this man, not to anyone—but nothing happened. Fire flickered briefly in the palm of his hand, and was just as promptly extinguished. Whatever he had been injected with was suppressing his magic. Vincent's heart sank.
The man crossed the street in sure, confident strides—past the dark, empty buildings, towards the truck with the open doors. Vincent's legs gave one last pathetic kick before he was roughly deposited on the floor with his back against the cold, harsh metal. He could barely even lift his head now, let alone move his arms, but he could hear the man closing the doors behind them, trapping Vincent in the dark with a man he did not know, who somehow knew him.
The man turned and looked at him for a long moment. Vincent was beginning to register how much pain he was in, head spinning and mouth coppery. He could feel his legs being kicked apart and knelt between. He could feel hands running down his sides, removing his SOLDIER belt. His armour.
"Please don't do this. Please. I—"
The man smiled, and it looked sinister now, lit only by the glow of Vincent's eyes. "Tell me," he said, voice thick with lust. "Did you ever beg for Sephiroth like that?"
Vincent's heart stopped. "What?"
The man didn't answer, pushing the pauldrons off Vincent's shoulders, sliding the gloves from his hands. He ran his lips over Vincent's wrists before placing them on either side of his head, limp and helpless.
"Who are you?" Vincent whispered.
"An old friend of your beloved mentor."
He curled his fingers under Vincent's collar, and ripped the front of his uniform shirt in two as if it were paper. He didn't bother pulling it from Vincent's arms, instead just pushing it aside to expose his torso. Vincent's breath was coming in stuttered little pants now. The man leaned down and kissed him, slimy and hard, and Vincent finally realized that what he had known was going to happen the entire time was inevitable now. He couldn't move his head away from that awful mouth. He couldn't do anything. Tears fell thick and hot from the corners of his eyes. The man pushed Vincent's hair back to watch.
"That's good, Vincent," he said. "You look very, very good."
"Stop," he pleaded, barely able to force the word out.
The man ignored him, moving down his body to undo his pants. Revulsion rose like bile in Vincent's throat, and the acid burned away any prior attraction he'd felt towards this stranger. The man only bothered to remove one boot, pulling all that remained of Vincent's uniform down over his hips, and then forcing the bootless leg up and out of the garment. He pushed his knees under Vincent's thighs, keeping Vincent's legs up and apart, and unzipped his own pants.
"I'm going to enjoy taking this from him," he said. "I'm going to enjoy taking this from you."
Vincent stared past the man's head as it moved in and out of his vision, his body scraping harshly back and forth over the studded floor of the truck. The wetness in his glowing, Mako eyes made kaleidoscope patterns in the ceiling as he listened to the man above him grunt, forcing Vincent's own breath out of his lungs every time he moved inside him. He wondered if he would ever be with someone who didn't want to hurt him this way. He wondered if he would ever be with Sephiroth again.
It ended, eventually. The man kissed his stomach, then his chest, and then his neck. He squeezed Vincent's jaw until his mouth opened, and slowly and deliberately spat into it. Then the body was gone from his.
The man stood, fastened his pants, and exited the truck, not bothering to close the doors behind him. Vincent thought that perhaps that was it now. That the man had got what he wanted, that he would be left for some grunt to find in the morning. But the man came back, having retrieved the gauntlet from the site of their earlier struggle. He threw it carelessly into the truck next to Vincent.
Vincent wondered if his bunkmates would care when the quiet boy in the corner didn't come home that night. Would his drill sergeants notice his absence and send men to look for him? Would there be a missing persons report, or just a warrant for desertion? If Sephiroth were still here, how long would it have taken him to realize his student was missing?
Would Sephiroth ever even know he was gone?
The man's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Now that we know each other in the biblical sense, I suppose I owe you a name."
He was silent for a moment. Vincent could hear his fingers drumming against the metal. There was a breath of amusement, and then he spoke again.
"You can call me Jade."
The doors slammed shut.