Yeah, well...there are all those 'one or more of the remnants survives and he...yaddayadda...usually culminating in some form of romance.' I did my own take on 'em. I've got two, and an unsuspecting guardian to play with. Ciao!
When Yazoo woke up, it was to pain. Fierce, burning, acid pain worse than anything, even the explosion he seemed to have survived. His eyes opened to ashes and metal; he was still on a roof, though what roof and how long he'd been there were questionable. There was a steady sound, like tiny feet pattering over everything, and then he felt the drops hitting his back, and he knew it was raining. He also knew that, somehow, the rain was the source of the burning.

He rolled onto his back, wincing as the pressure exerted on various injuries changed. Raindrops fell onto his unprotected face, burning where they hit. Why? Of course. The LifeStream was purging the geostigma from the Planet. This, in turn, meant that it was also trying to purge him as well, an impossible task. His very being could not be purified without killing him. Which was what it felt like. He managed to tuck one hand underneath his body, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Now he could see the effect of the rain, patches and drops of glowing green that were slowly burning through the leather covering him. In places, the caustic purity had already eaten its way through the leather, and was now working on the ultimate goal of 'cleansing' him. The only thing the rain did not affect was his hair; while the long silver tresses were soaking wet and stained with blood, they showed no sign of actual damage.

"Y-Yazoo." Someone near him spoke. It was a deep voice, rough with pain. It was also as familiar as his own.

"Loz?"

"I can't see you brother. Where are you?"

"Right here. Loz, can you see?"

"Yes."

"Can you stand?" There was a long pause, followed by a grunt and the soft squeaking of wet leather on metal. Then Loz's shadow fell across Yazoo. He looked even worse than Yazoo did, probably because he'd shoved his younger brother behind him when Cloud attacked.

"Can you?" Loz asked. His voice shook with almost desperate laughter. Yazoo smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think so. Help me?" Loz nodded, and bent to take Yazoo's outstretched hand. Pulling him to his feet was another matter. Loz's strength was practically nothing now, and Yazoo's weight was almost enough to take them both back down onto the roof. Once standing, Yazoo had to support Loz, because he hadn't broken any bones in his legs, and Loz certainly had.

"Now what?"

"We get out of this cursed rain. Come on." They made their slow, careful way across the roof, avoiding places that looked weak. Loz stumbled often, and bit back cries of pain, but he couldn't keep the tears from running down his cheeks and mixing with the rain. Then they fell, right through the roof when a shadow concealed the hole. Yazoo went first, and pulled Loz down after him.

Either they were blessed with the most obstinate luck in the history of it, or someone had other plans for them, assuming the shock of falling didn't kill them first. Whatever had broken the hole in the roof had continued all the way down to the basement, most of which was full of water. Thankfully, it wasn't tainted by the LifeStream, but it was deep, and Loz couldn't swim. To make matters worse, Yazoo had hit something on the way down, leaving him with a nasty gash in his right side and what he knew were broken ribs. This made dragging a soggy Loz out of the water and onto a pile of what seemed to be bolts of fabric- their hiding place must have housed a tailor or something- even harder.

Yazoo shrugged his jacket off and draped it over Loz, then burrowed down under what might have been corduroy and fell asleep.

Tseng was out, patrolling. Nothing much was going on in the city at the moment, the scare of three days before keeping most people inside unless leaving was necessary. His route took him into the ruins that the majority of the heavy fighting had taken place in. Although he doubted there was anything bigger than a rat living here at the moment, he checked the monitor he carried measure heat. He was right. Rats there were, and…what was that? He checked the battery, only to find that it was almost fully charged. Again, Tseng looked at the screen. It showed two readings, one apparently a more-or-less normal human, and the other seemingly human, but with a body temperature that didn't seem right. According to the monitor, they were in the building to his left.

The door was locked, so Tseng kicked it down. Inside were the remains of a tailor's shop. Tseng checked the screen again. Assuming that it wasn't on the fritz, the pair was several yards beneath his feet, probably a basement. The stairs were hidden in the room behind the counter. As soon as he was halfway down them, the smell of a flooded basement hit him like a slap in the face. He hadn't been enthusiastic about this in the first place, but now he really didn't want to do it.

"Duty calls." He sighed, and took the remaining stairs two at a time.

Most of the basement was under one to four feet of water. While carefully navigating the floor, Tseng discovered that part of the back of the basement dropped down quite suddenly; he went totally under and came up spluttering.

The spot he was looking for was near the south wall, and getting to it did not require crossing the deep part of the basement. It seemed to be on the high end of a slope caused by something –probably debris from the fighting- hitting the floor and making the concrete buckle. There was a pile of fabric bolts there, and here also was his target. When Tseng flipped on the flashlight he always carried, he nearly fell back into the water. Lying on the pile were two of the last people he'd ever expected to see alive again.

The big, burly one –Loz, wasn't it? - was curled protectively around his brother, the lean, willowy one who gave off an air of distinct feminism. This one was rolled up tightly and shaking, despite the two jackets that were covering him. Loz's eyes widened when he saw Tseng, and he pulled himself to his knees, serving as a protective barrier between Tseng and Yazoo.

"Don't touch him." Loz growled. Tseng noted the myriad of scabbed-over cuts and fading bruises scattered over his skin, accompanied by a handful of more serious injuries; the way he dragged his right leg had to be a break of some kind. The he noticed something else. These…well, the only word was boys… they couldn't have been older than Reno, if that. Yazoo couldn't have been older than 17 or so.

"How long have you been down here?" Tseng asked gently. He surprised himself. Why did he care? They were dangerous, had tried to kill the President, had tried to kill his Turks, had tried to kill him…but now, seeing them weak and confused and alone…his heart went out to them.

"Why do you care?" Loz asked, curious in spite of himself.

"I have no idea. Answer the question."

"Three days." Three days? Then they'd been here since the fight…

Behind Loz, Yazoo whimpered. Loz turned to him, giving Tseng time to think. The youngest one had been the real problem, and he obviously wasn't here… there was room in his apartment –was this his own personal version of insanity?- and his medical abilities should be enough to treat them…

"What's wrong with him?" Loz spun back around, eyes blazing.

"Stay away from my brother!" he yelled. Tseng didn't move. "Don't…please." Loz started to cry, and Tseng didn't know how to handle it.

"I want to help." He said softly, not wanting to initiate a fight.

"Why?" The youth sniffled, rubbing furiously at the tears.

"I really don't know, kid, I just do. I can't just leave you two down here. Now, I'll ask again: what's wrong with him?" Loz eyed him for a moment, then moved to one side, allowing Tseng to scramble onto the pile and get a better look at Yazoo.

"I don't know. He's hot, but he says he's cold, and he has a cough, and…he won't wake up now." Loz whimpered. Tseng leaned over Yazoo, examining him carefully. He definitely had a fever. Cautious lifting of the jackets covering Yazoo revealed a nasty, infected mess that might have been a slash of some sort when it was inflicted. It was likely that it and the spectacular soaking they had no doubt received upon arriving in the basement had coupled to result in Yazoo's present condition.

"Your name?"

"Huh?"

"Your name. What are you called?"

"Oh. My brothers call me Loz, and that's Yazoo. Who are you?"

"Tseng. Loz, I need to move Yazoo, okay?" Loz flinched, and Tseng prayed there wouldn't be an argument.

"W-why?"

"He's very sick, Loz. I'm going to take him home with me and care for him."

"Can I come?"

"I wouldn't be so cruel as to separate you two. Come on, you first."

It was an interesting trip up the stairs with about six feet of solid muscle leaning heavily on him, but Tseng was a Turk, so he didn't complain. Once Loz was sitting in the passenger seat of Tseng's car, Tseng returned to Yazoo. Moving him was easier. Once Yazoo was in his arms, he clung to Tseng's jacket. Tseng carried him up the stair and to the car, then wrapped Yazoo in the blanket he kept in the trunk, laid the teenager across the back seats, and headed home. Loz fell asleep. Tseng had a feeling that he'd been trying not to sleep so he could watch over his brother. Yippee. Another body to haul up to his apartment.

Tseng was right. Getting Yazoo inside was easy, but wrestling Loz up the stairs was an adventure. He could have taken the elevator, but explaining the reason he was carrying a pair of young men into his apartment would have been difficult, should he be seen. Loz, who was more or less dry, seemed perfectly happy to be deposited in an armchair, where he curled up with a soft sigh. Yazoo, on the other hand, needed care. Now. Tseng carried him into the bathroom and stripped him down. That wound needed seeing to.

Nearly an hour later, Tseng settled Yazoo carefully on the couch and draped a blanket over him. Everything he could fix had been fixed, and everything else had been given a forceful shove in the general direction of fixing itself. He stretched, relishing the pops the movement worked out of his spine. The next item on the agenda was Loz. Namely, his leg.

"Loz?"

"Mmnn?" Loz mumbled, blinking sleepily.

"Wake up. I need to set your leg."

"'m leg's fine."

"No, it's not. Come on."

"Wanna sleep." Tseng sighed. Getting to Loz to cooperate looked like it was going to be harder than he'd thought.

Right again. What should have been less than a twenty-minute procedure became an hour-and-a-half long ordeal. When it was over, Loz was hopping around with a spray-on cast, and Tseng was nursing a headache in the kitchen.

This, he thought venomously, is why I don't have children.