A/N: Oh hey guys. ;D 'Sup?

Sooo I got a bunch of nice reviews and as always, I caved and ended up writing more of this. XD I'm prooobably going to continue this, though it's not gonna be top priority. I also have very little of the plot figured out at the moment anyway. I also haven't played FFVII all the way through in quite a few years, so I think I'll have to go back and start a new game. It's not plot details I'm worried about, it's characterization. XD Lemme know if you see any OOC-ness.

Also, this fic takes place post-Advent Children, but I've never played Dirge of Cerberus. So uh...there probably won't be any references to that. I wouldn't want to get the facts wrong. D:

...And yes, you'll notice that 'Romance' is not one of the genres this story fits into. XD Sephiroth falling in love with my character? Psh, yeah right...it's hard enough to picture him romantically involved with anybody, never mind some smartass teenager. XD

Anyway, I'll shut up now. Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sephiroth or his pretty pretty hairrr D: Oh yeah, and I don't own FFVII in general. Or anything else of real value. Poor me.

It took me close to ten minutes just to haul the ex-SOLDIER up to the second floor of my house, where I laid him down in the middle of my living room floor. My progress was marked by a long trail of blood; the metallic scent only grew stronger as time passed, serving as a harsh reminder that the unconscious man could very well be on the verge of death.

No, that was crazy. This was Sephiroth; I just couldn't bring myself to believe that he would be able to die in a manner like this. I didn't want to entertain the thought that his life was in my hands—a burden like that was far more than I could stand to bear.

After finishing my first task, I paused to take a breather. The guy was heavy enough on his own, never mind the pauldrons and the coat. He was probably all muscle under those clothes. While under other, less dangerous circumstances I would be grinning at this idea, right now it just served to set me even more on edge. More evidence that this man was the warrior he claimed to be…great.

He still wasn't moving. All I could do for the next few minutes was watch him; I had never felt more conflicted in my entire life. Lying before me was the world's enemy, a man with a will so strong that he had been able to defy death. He was unimaginably powerful, highly unstable, and ruthless. The only logical thing to do right now was to let him bleed out, to end it all before he could cause any more suffering.

But I wasn't always a completely logical person. My throat was still sore where he had clutched it, and yet I couldn't stop myself from feeling panicked at the thought of him dying. I'd been raised with a pretty clear sense of right and wrong, and choosing to let someone bleed to death on my living room floor seemed inherently wrong.

Well aware that my actions might get me killed in the end, I let out a shuddering sigh and ran into the bathroom in search of first-aid supplies.

A thorough search of the cabinets revealed a package of band-aids, some gauze, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I set the items on the bathroom counter and stared at them for a moment, fighting the sudden irrational urge to laugh. Something told me that I wouldn't be able to save Sephiroth with a fucking band-aid.

Regardless, I picked up the supplies and carried them downstairs, setting them on the table next to my sketchbook before heading back over to where the silver haired man was. Before I could tend to the wound, I needed to assess the damage, right? One step at a time…anything to avoid thinking about how horribly unprepared I was for this.

I reached down with trembling hands and started undoing the coat buckle at his waist. It was now that I noticed the leather was torn in several places—no, not torn, but cut. Slashed…the marks of a sword? As I continued to work, I couldn't help but wonder.

Before I could open the coat further, I had to unbuckle the crisscrossed straps securing the pauldrons to his shoulders. The armor came off easily enough once I figured it out; I pushed it to the side after a brief moment of awed examination. It was hard not to look at all of the signs of wear and tear on the metal. This was definitely the equipment of a seasoned warrior.

The belt came next. After a bit of fiddling, I managed to take it off, observing the insignia on the leather as I did so. It was the same design I remembered seeing throughout Crisis Core, complete with its own degree of wear. This really wasn't a mere costume. That fact continued to amaze me.

Finally, I gripped the coat and parted the material, fully exposing the man's chest. Then I promptly gasped and turned away. Even though I'd averted my eyes, what I'd seen was already burned into my memory. Dammit…it was too late to turn back. I forced myself to look.

All I had been able to see earlier was blood, but now it was easy to tell that it was coming from more than one source. The main problem was the large gash on his left side, just above the hip. On his right side, another similar gash was partially visible—I imagined it continued on to his back. He had various other cuts that were oozing blood as well, though not in such an alarming rate as the other wounds.

His back. If that wound continued on to his back, then…

I gritted my teeth, moving over to Sephiroth's other side and lifting him into a sitting position so I could remove his coat. He was so goddamn heavy. My shoulders still ached from carrying him up here.

Upon removal of the coat, my fears were confirmed. His back had two more long cuts aside from the one I'd already known about, and they were also bleeding freely. The fact that Sephiroth was still breathing despite all of these injuries was a testament to just how tough he really was. Jesus, how did he even have any blood left to lose?

I took a deep breath, gently setting the man down on his coat. At least the wounds on his back wouldn't bleed so much in that position. After a thought, I reached over and brushed his silver hair over to one side, where it wouldn't be stained. It was a silly thing to do, but I desperately needed to feel like I was helping somehow. Not that Sephiroth would be too worried about his hair in this state.

By now, I was shaking almost uncontrollably. What could I do? He needed stitches or something, and all I had was a box of band-aids and gauze that was meant more to cover up a scrape than to patch up near-fatal wounds. I couldn't just grab a needle and thread and pretend to be a doctor. He was already going to kill me when he woke up, but if he woke up to that, he just might rip me limb from limb.

The clock was ticking. I needed to stop being so indecisive and do something. The necessary medical supplies weren't here; there was only one option I had left. A drive to the hospital was out of the question—it was too dangerous, and not just because of the weather. I would have to brave the storm and drive to the nearest store and find something better. That would mean leaving Sephiroth here…alone.

Whatever. There was no time to think. I walked over to the counter, digging through my purse and making sure I had cash on me. Then I shoved my cell phone into the purse, pulling out my car keys and heading downstairs. An ominous rumble of thunder met my ears as I opened the front door, tugging my coat on to cover up the bloodstained shirt beneath. I was instantly pelted with rain.

In the next moment I was pulling the door to my car shut, starting the engine. I looked up at the picture window to my living room before backing out of the driveway. The soft glow of the candles was just barely visible, making the house look innocent and peaceful, a haven in the midst of the storm. In reality…I was already terrified at the thought of going back in.

The wipers could scarcely keep up with the amount of rain coming down. A flash of lightning lit up the sky. Somewhere, I could hear the wailing of sirens. Fire engines. Maybe my house would burn down while I was gone and solve this whole dilemma. But that thought just brought up the all-too-familiar image of a maddened Sephiroth walking through the flames of Nibelheim, and I shuddered.

Yeah, it was definitely going to be a long night.


"Heck of a storm, huh?"

The words of the cashier jerked me out of my troubled thoughts, and I smiled weakly. It seemed almost surreal to be going through the Wal-Mart Supercenter express checkout line after everything I'd just been through; the entire situation almost made me want to laugh. Brittany Furness, last seen at Wal-Mart buying conspicuous amounts of medical supplies. I could practically see this cashier's face on the news, chatting away about how nervous I'd looked and how she'd just known something was wrong, oh that poor dear girl. The woman would probably shed a tear or two for me—with the cameras rolling, of course—and then go home and excitedly tell her husband how she'd been on TV.

My smile probably looked forced at this point. "Yeah. Raining like crazy."

"I bet," she replied, typing a few things into the register. "Your total comes to $23.75."

I handed the money over to her, wincing a little at the damage. I had been able to find some larger gauze pads as well as some rolls of cloth bandages. They were relatively cheap, but I didn't know how much I'd need, so I made sure to buy a lot.

The woman handed me my change. Her smile faltered a little, and I saw the inevitable question coming. "Did something happen?"

"My mom was doing dishes by hand because of the power outage," I lied as smoothly as I could. "A glass broke and she cut her hand pretty bad." That was actually something that had happened, though that event had taken place about ten years ago. Until today, that had been the most blood I'd ever seen at once.

"Oh," the cashier said, raising her eyebrows. "That's terrible. Sorry to hear that. Make sure you take her to the hospital the minute this storm dies down!"

"That's the plan," I affirmed. After putting away my change, I took the bag she'd placed on the counter and offered another smile. "Thanks a lot."

"Have a good night," she said. "Be safe."

And then I walked away and she moved on to the next person in line. She'd probably think about what I said for a few minutes, but by the next customer she'd have forgotten me. Until she saw my face in the paper, that is.

I pushed the thought out of my mind before I started coming up with headlines. My future wasn't looking too bright, but thinking about this was just making me nervous to the point of nausea.

The plastic bag hooked on my arm crinkled quietly as I headed for the doors. If I tried hard enough, I could almost pretend I was carrying groceries. I smiled mechanically as I passed the greeter, and then paused, looking over my shoulder at the brightly lit store. For all I knew, this could be my last glimpse of what sanity looked like. I already felt like I was no longer a part of this calm atmosphere that was everyday life. This was practically the only place in town that was still open thanks to its backup generator; everyone here was suffering their own dilemma due to the storm, but tomorrow morning it would be back to business as usual. I wished I could say the same for myself.

Then I finally turned and exited back out into the pouring rain. The wind changed direction abruptly, whipping my hood back and sending stinging cold droplets of water into my face. By the time I got to my car, I was even more soaked than I had been before.

The short drive back home was as tedious and nerve wracking as it had been on the way up. Aside from that, it wasn't very eventful. I did note on the way that my sister's Jeep was still parked safely in front of her apartment building, and I was forced to ignore a sharp pang of longing.

I won't blame you if you change your mind.

No. Too late to turn back. Besides, hadn't he said I was the only one he could get through to? The thought of running away brought a sick feeling to my stomach. It might be the easiest thing to do now, but there would be consequences. I could count on that.

The soft glow of candlelight was still visible in my living room's window. I hesitated after parking my car in the driveway. Then I made up my mind, grabbed the bag of supplies, and got out.

To my immense relief, Sephiroth was still lying where I had left him. I had been almost expecting to find him gone; with how my luck had been going tonight, it wouldn't have been much of a surprise. But he remained unconscious and unmoving, so I hurried to his side and pulled out all of the medical supplies I had bought.

The pool of blood around him had grown, and yet his breathing remained even and deep. His pulse was regular, his heartbeats almost in time with my own. Any normal person would be long dead by now. His resilience impressed and frightened me at the same time.

Regardless, I still didn't know just how long he could hold up. Rather than waiting to see, I reached for a clean cloth I had found in the kitchen so that I could use it to clear some of the blood away from the wounds. I felt lost and uncertain, like I wasn't doing any of this right, but I forced myself to keep going. It was either this or leave him to die…at least this way I was making an effort.

While unconscious, Sephiroth's face looked almost serene. I wondered how long it would remain so.


The sound of footsteps echoed through the old church as a blond man strode in. Sunlight shined in through the partially destroyed roof, bathing the inside of the building in a peaceful glow. Many of the pews on either side of the aisle were destroyed and there was still a lot of debris scattered around, but to Cloud Strife, nothing had changed; this was still her church, and just being here calmed him.

Balanced on one shoulder was an enormous blade, about one foot wide and tall as the man himself. Despite its size, Cloud grasped the hilt with a single gloved hand. The blade itself was worn, covered in rust and various scratches.

The blond walked deeper into the building, finally coming to a halt near the flowers—he was careful not to step on them, of course—and heaving the burden from his shoulder. He sat down on one of the intact pews and laid the Buster Sword across his lap. The sunlight shining in glared off the blade and lit up every single flaw etched into its surface; it almost seemed to be mocking him.

Cloud smiled a little, remembering something that Zack had told him about this sword's original owner. "Angeal would be turning over in his grave, huh."

He wasn't graced with an answer; not that he'd expected one in the first place. The dead could never reply, but sometimes those few words said in solitude were enough.

Running one hand over the metal, the man glanced around the church. Geostigma was cured, but there was still so much to be done. He was going to start by cleaning up the haven he'd come to call home…and by restoring the blade that carried the weight of three generations' honor and dreams. It was the least he could do after all that had happened.

The sound of his cell phone ringing pulled him out of his thoughts. For the first time in what felt like ages, he flipped it open and answered without even checking to see who it was. He had a pretty good idea already.

"Cloud?" Tifa's voice came, sounding genuinely surprised. "You picked up."

"Yeah," the blond affirmed. He wasn't going to make any promises to do it more often; he knew he'd just break them.

"Well, I'm glad you did," she said. Her tone of voice suggested that she knew this was a fluke. "Are you coming home soon? Marlene's got it into her head that she has to learn how to ride a chocobo."

Cloud blinked. "A chocobo?"

"We passed the old ranch on our way back to Edge." Tifa laughed. "You've always had a knack for them, so I said you'd teach her. Today seems like a good day for it."

He just shook his head, though he knew Tifa couldn't see it. These plans always seemed to pop up in his absence, no matter how brief it was. Though she was right; he did have a knack for the birds, but that didn't mean he particularly cared for them. He preferred his motorcycle…at least that didn't try to preen his hair when he wasn't looking.

"I'll be back soon," he replied. "Tell her to be patient."

"He says 'be patient'." Tifa's amused voice sounded farther away for a moment, and Cloud realized Marlene was probably doing her best to listen in.

"We're always waiting for Cloud!" He heard the girl's voice in the background, confirming his suspicions.

"You'd better hurry," Tifa said. Cloud could hear the smile in her tone.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," the blond said; he couldn't help but smile himself. The smiles seemed to be coming a lot easier lately.

They finished up their conversation, and Cloud pocketed his phone once more. It looked like he wouldn't be able to start on his project today, but that was all right. He had all the time in the world.

Standing up, he walked to one wall and leaned the Buster Sword against it. All it would take was a bit of cleaning up, and the blade would be looking proud as ever. Then he could finally put his past behind him and make peace with the events of the past few years.

Sephiroth was gone. It hadn't been an easy battle, and he'd come dangerously close to losing, but the outcome was what mattered. His old enemy's last words—that he'd never become a memory—echoed through his mind, but he wouldn't allow himself to dwell on it. For the past few days, he'd been feeling a sense of…of liberation; it was almost as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Somehow he knew Sephiroth was now in a place that he couldn't return from through sheer force of will. That thought alone was enough to lift some of the depression that had plagued him while Geostigma had run its course.

Cloud turned his gaze skyward. He finally had peace…and now it was time to go back to his real home, to his family.

"Thank you," he murmured to his old friends. Then he made his way back down the aisle, onward to a future that was looking considerably brighter.


Roughly two and a half hours later, Sephiroth was still very much out cold. At least I had made plenty of progress, if you could call what I had done progress.

His wounds had been cleaned and they were all bandaged up; the bandages covered most of his torso. Even now, blood was beginning to seep through in some spots. I was glad that I had bought a lot of supplies. Still, though, I had the feeling I would be buying more in the morning. At least now he wasn't bleeding all over the place.

I had moved Sephiroth to my couch (lifting him was once again a bit of a struggle) where he'd be a little more comfortable, and then I had started on another monstrous task: cleaning up the mess. There had been large pools of blood down in the foyer and in my living room, and streaks leading up the stairs and through my kitchen. A mop and lots of warm, soapy water had worked nicely, though I still couldn't seem to get rid of the lingering smell. Hopefully the storm would end soon so I could air the house out.

Then I had taken Sephiroth's coat into the bathroom, cleaning the blood off with a sponge and some hot water. There was nothing I could do about the tears in the leather, but this was good enough for now. By the time I had finished showering and changing into clean clothes, the coat was dry. I had carried it downstairs with me.

So here I was. It was just after midnight and the storm had died down, but only a little. I suspected the power probably wouldn't be back on until noon at the earliest. The candles I had set out were starting to burn pretty low; I was grateful that my mom owned a lot of them. I lit a scented candle, and soon the room smelled of bloody hyacinths. Beautiful.

"Sleep as long as you want," I told Sephiroth wearily, sitting down on the loveseat next to the couch. As long as he wasn't dead and he wasn't trying to kill me, I was happy.

He didn't even so much as twitch, his chest rising and sinking slowly with each breath. His coat was neatly folded, placed beside him on the floor. His boots, gloves, pauldrons and belt were all set next to the coat. Everything was as sorted out as it was going to get.

"He's really out of it, isn't he…" I muttered to myself, finally allowing myself to take a really good look at the man. This whole experience still felt surreal.

Sephiroth was about as well-built as he'd always been depicted. When he was unconscious like this and his face wasn't tense with barely suppressed rage, I could safely say that he was quite handsome. He had an almost otherworldly quality to him—though now that I thought about it, that was pretty fitting. He was from another world.

He was no cosplayer, that was for sure. I mean, his hair was silver. Not grey, but silver, and it actually looked natural, crazy as that sounds. It was always blatantly obvious with cosplayers that they were wearing a wig. His hair was silky, too; I wondered how he ever found time to take such good care of it when he was busy with one evil plot or another.

I shook my head; what the hell was I thinking? This day had really taken its toll on me. Now that I didn't have anything to busy myself with, I felt pretty useless.

Lightning flashed outside, the sound of thunder coming a few seconds later. It was quieter…the storm was beginning to pass.

Sighing, I took one last glance at Sephiroth before leaning back in my seat. Maybe I'd just close my eyes for a second; there was no way I was going to fall asleep with all of this going on. Just…just a short rest…


The man on the couch had long since risen from the darkness of unconsciousness; he now remained in a deep slumber, having dreams of his own. He dreamt of the Lifestream, of fields of flowers, of the Cetra girl he'd cut down…his sleep was peaceful.

But then he began to dream of Mother.

Sephiroth's hand twitched.


A/N: Relatively uneventful chapter followed by a cliffhanger? I'm a terrible person. XD

Sorry I'm taking it so slow. Like I said, I really don't have much of a plot laid out yet, so I didn't want to jump into anything right away. I just thought I'd post the rest of what I've got at the moment to let you guys know that I will most likely be continuing. Now I've got to go work on my other neglected fics! Yay!

Pleeeease review. I really appreciate all the helpful input. ;D