Abyssus

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for the reviews, to those who posted them ^^ . I don't know how much of a following this pairing has, but apparently a few people must like it! They're all very much appreciated, thank you!

...

Chapter Two – Return

Desolation. That was the feeling that was encompassing Snow as he sat amongst the remains of his former home. He could also feel disbelief, although the practical half of his mind that was, amazingly, still half-way functional, knew that this was no dream. He really was sat in the middle of a ruined city. Despair. That came, too, as his head filled once more with thoughts of his wife, buried goodness-knows how deep beneath the rubble. A dry sob. Serah. Looking around him, he could see very few signs of life. That same woman, still sobbing on the floor. A child crying somewhere to his left. Snow dimly registered that under any normal circumstance he would have gone to the child, whoever he or she was, but he didn't...he just...sat there. Processing. He was struggling to come to terms with the enormity of the destruction. Not a building in Oerba was still standing – he'd see it if it was, and great plumes of smoke still rose from the wrecked piles of rubble.

The rubble shifted behind him, and a thin cry joined that of the woman and child. Snow turned, hope springing up inside him. That would be Serah. It had to be. She could survive this, she could survive anything. He was certain that any second, his wife would fight her way out from under the rubble, Nora in hand. Maybe they would be scraped and bruised, but they'd be alive. Snow stood, and shakily scrambled over to where she was obviously trying to get out. He pulled back some of the rubble, only to recoil in horror when what he found was not his beautiful wife, but a man he didn't recognise, face half caved in on the left side, shoulder and arm mangled beyond recognition. Nausea welled up inside him and he staggered back, ignoring the man's thin, slurred cries for help. In a move he would regret for the rest of his life, he turned his back on the trapped man and stumbled off the pile of wreckage. Emotions welled up inside him, all hope for Serah's safe return dashed. Anger, that that man, whoever he was, had survived while his wife had not. That woman, that child...they were safe, but not Serah...not Serah. It was only then that he realised – he'd survived. Without her. He'd failed her, again. A howl of utter anguish caught in his throat, too dry now to scream properly. He suddenly found himself wishing he'd died with her and their daughter. "Why not me?" He cried hoarsely, turning his face towards the sky. "Why her? Why is it always her?" The last word petered out into a choking cry. He didn't know how long he stood there, agonised tears slipping down his cheeks, shoulders shaking silently, but it was the most normal, everyday occurrence that snapped him out of his daze.

His stomach rumbled.

Snow blinked. How could he be thinking about food at a time like this? He clenched his fists. His wife was dead, and yet...such a normal little thing could still happen. He finally opened his eyes, catching the faint light of dawn streaking the horizon. He'd been out all night, then. A sigh, and he swiped a hand over his face, streaking splotches of soot and blood across the back of his hand. He grimaced, knowing he looked absolutely terrible. All at once another wave of sorrow hit him, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Now wasn't the time to be losing it all over again. He knew shoving all thoughts of Serah and the explosion to the back of his head was a stupid plan, he knew already what happened when you repressed your memories, but right at that moment, he decided he didn't care. He brushed himself off as best he could, worrying a little when he remembered he was wearing nothing but loose cargo pants and a black shirt. Both items of clothing were torn to shreds, and filthy, covered in blood, soot, and goodness knows what else. He pulled off his black bandana, still mercifully in one piece, and wiped his face with it, before wrapping it back around his head. He didn't even want to think about the state his pale blond hair was in.

He scrabbled around in his pocket for his phone, hoping it wasn't broken. He had to find out it anyone was still alive. Where had Lightning been when the explosion had occurred? Sazh's apartment block was flattened, he could see that from here, but had he and Dajh been in? And Hope, in Vallis Media...he wondered if the blast had taken the new city there out, too. Certainly, the epicentre of the explosion had been in that direction, but how far? He scowled at the little piece of technology as he finally fished it out of his pocket. The tiny little screen was smashed, and the whole thing was looking a little beaten up, but it appeared to be working. The first number he tried was Sazh's cell. He walked towards what was left of the dark skinned man's home as it connected, shaking, still, and heart sinking. All he got was a long beep of a dial tone, and he cursed. "SAZH!" He called out. "SAZH!"Here, he could no longer hear the woman wailing, and he was grateful for that for about three seconds, before realising that the silence was much worse. All he could hear was the crackling of the flames. Not even the fire sirens were going off anymore.

No sign of Sahz. He let out a moan. What the hell had happened? What was that explosion? Was someone responsible? The second that thought crossed his mind, a burning need for vengeance welled up inside him. Someone had to be responsible for it, it was by no stretch of the imagination a natural occurrence. He would find them, and they would pay. He was suddenly struck that he now felt like he knew exactly how Hope had felt after his mother died, and he had subsequently chosen to blame Snow for it. That thought made him glance at his phone again. He squinted past the cracks in the screen, scrolling down the contact menu to find Hope, and hitting 'call'. He could have danced when the thing actually connected him, and he heard the teenager's phone ringing on the other end. "Come on kid. Pick up. For the love of Pulse, pick up."

...

His phone was ringing. How irritating, he was tired, was it really time to get up, already? Hope groaned and went to roll over. As he did so, his entire body seared with sudden pain, and he gasped, eyes flying open. As he breathed raggedly for several seconds, slowly everything clicked into place. Explosion. House collapsing. Big steel pole – holy shit. How was he even still alive? Was he still alive? He had to be, his phone was ringing, which was taking him several seconds to process and understand. His head felt fuzzy, and his vision wasn't working properly, although he couldn't quite figure out why. Several seconds of confusion later, and his mind began to clear as desperation set in. Someone was calling him. If he answered, he could get them to come and help him. He forced his head sideways, ignoring the shooting pain that went up his spine as he did so. Where was his phone? He squinted; it lay on the floor next to him. It must have slipped out of his pocket when he landed, he was bloody lucky it was still in one piece. He tried to persuade his fingers to crawl towards it. He knew there was no chance he could bring it to his ear, his arm felt heavy, and was probably useless, but he could try and hit the 'connect call' button.

He willed whoever it was on the other end to hold on as he twisted his hand and pressed his thumb onto the familiar pad, crying out with relief as it stopped ringing and connected. After a few seconds of trying to persuade the words in his head to come out of his mouth, the disembodied voice on the other end called his name. "Hope? Hope! Are you there?" The deep, smooth voice was cracked and a little shaky, and the line was bad, but the sound was instantly recognisable.

"...S...Snow..." He forced out, hoping his pathetic attempt at speech could be heard on the other end.

"Thank the maker you picked up, kid, I was about to have an aneurism...are you okay?"

Hope felt like laughing at the tiny piece of plastic, metal and clever tech lying on the floor. He wasn't entirely sure he could rely on his mouth to spit out all the words he wanted to say, so he settled on something short and to the point. "Help...I...I can't...move..." The effort of saying that simple sentence had worn him out, and his vision swam again. "Snow...help..." He could feel panic rising up again as the enormity of his situation hit him. Snow was in Oerba, did the call mean that it had been hit, too? Oerba...it was miles away. Even if Snow did come to find him, would he even still be alive when he got here? He had no way of knowing how long the metal spike had been in him, he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. What if something vital had been torn? He'd die. He didn't want to die! He let out a slightly hysterical sob, before he remembered he was supposed to be on the phone. He just caught the last part of Snow's reply to his plea for help. "...to get you. Hold on, okay? I'll be as fast as I can..." He felt himself blacking out again, and hastily shook his head from side to side, hissing at the agony this caused. He couldn't let himself fall asleep again. He might not wake up a second time.

...

Snow stared at his phone for a very long time as he cut off the call to Hope. He'd had to press the phone to his ear to hear what the boy had been saying, which told him that either he could hardly speak, or that his phone wasn't next to his ear. Maybe both. He worried his lower lip, turning back to where he knew Serah and Nora were buried. He should stay and dig them out. Give them a proper burial, and just...be certain. Then he shook himself with a snarl. No. He was a hero. Serah was dead, but Hope, Hope was alive. He was the one needing help. He knew exactly what his wife would say if she was stood next to him, and it wouldn't be 'scratch around in the rubble for bodies'. He began to head for the nearest hangar, where hopefully he could pick up a light aircraft. Hope was in Vallis, a day's drive in a fast truck, or a few hours to fly. The question was, was there a vehicle in Oerba left standing?

He didn't know, but what he was sure of was that he now had a purpose – he had to save Hope. If he hadn't been so obscenely worried about the boy, and how faint and lifeless his voice had sounded, he might have taken the time to enjoy the thought of being the hero again. His heart sank as he located the hangar, flattened like the rest of Oerba. What had he expected? He picked his way through the rubble, ignoring the now pounding ache in his shoulder and arm. Focus on Hope. That was all he had to do. Don't think about Serah. That became increasingly more difficult as he continued through the hangar and could make out pieces of various air machines, like the one he'd taken her to the fireworks on an age ago, back on Cocoon. Flashes of memory kept appearing, unwanted, in his head, and he had to remind himself again and again to stop thinking about her, about them. About little Nora. He almost threw up again just imagining what had happened when the building had collapsed. That train of thought had been a bad idea, as, suddenly, he was back there again, trapped in a memory of a crumbling building. He remembered stumbling and toppling over, and then nothing. He could hear Serah screaming. Had that happened? Had he heard her in his last waking moments before he'd been hurled from the building? Had she called his name, as this memory was so convincingly telling him?

When he snapped back to reality, he was on his hands and knees, breathing hard and fast. Unstoppable tears drizzled once more down his cheeks, and Snow wanted nothing more than to just curl up right there and forget it all. His memories were hazy. He wanted so badly to remember their last evening together, but all he could piece together was some blonde woman on the television, a flash of his wife's smile...and then the explosion and subsequent blackout. He shook himself with a growl of impatience. Get a grip. Hope needs you. He pushed himself wearily to his feet, and continued on, until he got to the very back of the hangar. There, blissfully, were several machines like the one he and Gadot had utilised when rescuing the group doomed to exile, of which, of course, Hope and Vanille had been a part. They must have been salvaged from Cocoon before the planet fell from the sky and was crystallised. They weren't in brilliant shape, and several had pieces blown off, or open wires, but as long as he could get one in the air, he didn't care. With clinical efficiency and as much haste as he could afford himself, he determined which one he felt was most likely to get him airborne, and let him stay there. He had to fiddle with the steering, slightly, as debris had at some point fallen on the controls and mashed them up a little.

It was only when he'd started the thing up and begun to hover did he realise how badly it was going to handle. Regardless, he'd picked it now, and Hope probably didn't have time for him to land and select another. At any rate, it would likely be just as bad. Determination obscuring almost every emotion he had, he directed the vehicle upwards and away from Oerba, pushing it until he was flying flat out. He knew where to head, he could see the silver sliver of road beneath him that wound away into the distance. If he hadn't been so tense, and aware that if the machine suddenly swung to the left, his arm would not be able to counteract it, and he would fall, he would have been able to relax. He'd always been good at flying.

The next hour passed by without much incident, save a sudden urge to veer away and hunt for the source of the explosion that Snow quickly squashed. He was hyperaware of the cold creeping into his bare forearms, at this height, and this time of year, he was freezing. His legs were cold, too, the rips in his cargo pants allowing the chilly wind to tear at his bare skin. He swore when he felt the stirrings of a slight squall, rain spattering down on him. The wind was driving it sideways into him, and he struggled to keep the machine flying forward.

He was so intent on the weather and the cold that he didn't see the projectile speeding towards him until it was almost too late. With a startled cry he hauled the steering and forced the vehicle to veer to the left, ignoring the stabbing pain in his wrist at the jerking movement. Whatever had been coming at him zoomed past, and Snow almost fell out of the transporter when he realised it had been a missile. Someone was firing at him? He scanned the ground, forcing the machine into a hover. He didn't need this, what on Pulse could be firing at a civilian transporter? He had to drop the vehicle several feet when a second missile flew towards him. This time, he stared down at where it had come from, and his heart constricted when he spotted several figures running across the plains. They were just visible through the rain, and were so obviously not Pulsian, he knew instinctively that whoever these people were, they had to have been responsible for the explosion. Not only that, they looked like they had the heavy machinery that might be capable of such a feat. Rage boiled up inside him, and he was tempted to fly straight at them and take as many out as possible, before going down fighting. The sensible voice in his head (which always sounded like one of the Farron sisters – which one it resembled most was variable.) told him that would be a stupendously bad plan.

Whoever these people were, they were armed, and firing shit at him. He could find out more about them at a later date, right now, he was a man on a mission. They could all go and screw themselves. He slammed on the engine again, and flew upwards, dodging another two projectiles shot at him by the figures gathered a hundred feet below by clinging on for dear life as he forced his machine into a barrel roll. The adrenalin rush he got from the rolling and hard turning he had to do to avoid being shot out of the sky was powering him forward, eclipsing the burning pain in his arm and shoulder, and the emotional trauma he knew he was suffering from following his wife's death. What might have been a grin passed over his face as he rolled to dodge yet another missile, and left the group in the dust. As he finally made it out of firing range, he turned back to look once more, and locked eyes with a tall man who'd just emerged from one of the newcomer's huge machines. He could just make him out: long dark hair and icy blue eyes, currently narrowed on him. He scowled right back. Yeah, you'd better remember my face, bastard. He crowed and turned once more, speeding on towards Vallis Media, swearing that when he'd picked up Hope, he'd return and find out who these people were, and what they thought they were doing blowing up half of Pulse.

...

"Guess the world just can't manage without us..."

She knew that voice. Vanille's eyes fluttered open, and her face broke into a manic grin when she realised who was bent over her, characteristic half smile in place. "Fang!" She cried, scrambling to her feet and throwing herself into her friend's arms. "We're back!" She could feel rain on her skin – a wonderful, tingling feeling after being asleep so long. As she and Fang embraced, she wondered how long they'd slept this time. Was this what their eternity together would be like, forever? Face buried in her friend's shoulder, she found herself hoping so. Vaguely, she wondered Lightning and the other ex l'Cie were still around. It would be nice to see them again, if they were. Fang finally let her go, and the pair took the time to look around. It was dawn, and Vanille recalled how much she'd always loved this time of day, the Pulsian sky shot through with different colours as the warm sun came up. Today, the horizon was dotted with clouds, and the drizzle tinted everything grey. It didn't matter, Pulse would always be beautiful to Oerba Dia Vanille. She looked up at Fang, whose eyes were on the still crystallised form of Cocoon rising behind them. The fallen planet was still magnificent in its stasis, held up by towering spires of crystal. Her hand found that of her older companion as they stood in silence.

"There's no brand." Fang murmured after a while, rubbing her bare right arm. "There's no fal'Cie...so what brought us back?"

"Who cares?" Vanille began to laugh, dancing off away from Cocoon. "Let's look around!"

"Vanille, wait! We should stay put until we figure out what's going on!" Fang dragged the younger girl back, hooking two fingers under her collar. She looked thoughtful as she looked herself up and down, and then did the same with Vanille. The younger, for her part, smiled crazily back at her counterpart, vaguely and carelessly noting that they had come back wearing the same clothes they had crystallised in. She couldn't quite bring herself to call what had happened outright death, despite the fact that both had known they were giving up their freedom, it was, after all, just a long sleep that followed a vicious transformation into Ragnarok, the destroyer. Fang finally spoke again, her voice coming across a little troubled. "I still feel like a l'Cie..."

"How do you mean?" Vanille cocked her head, frowing a little. She asked, but she thought she knew what Fang meant. She still felt the power she'd had before she and Fang had crystallised along with Cocoon pulsing through her body; the looming yet comforting presence of her eidolon Hecatoncheir and the faint buzz of her l'Cie magic. Her older companion was now staring into the distance, and didn't reply. Vanille poked her arm. "Pulse to Fang..." When the woman didn't respond, the younger followed her gaze. She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Between her and the oncoming dawn was the wreckage of Oerba. That shouldn't have been a new sight, except that bright columns of flame and a haze of smoke lingered over the top of the flattened city. Her first thoughts were of Hope, who she knew she had been closest to out of all the ex l'Cie she'd given her freedom, and that of Fang, to save. Then her mind wandered to Sazh, and she wondered if this was too far into the future for them to still be around. She felt just as confused and helpless as the first time they were reincarnated on Cocoon, what felt like an age ago. Her heart sank as she surveyed the wreckage of what had to be the latest incarnation of her home city. "Do you think...that this is why we're back?" She murmured in a soft voice.

"Like I said, Vanille...the world just can't manage without us."

...

Another Author's Note: I listened to a LOT of Two Steps from Hell writing this chapter. In fact, I could go as far to suggest that their music (which is awesome) has been a major inspiration for a lot of my work, including this. It's largely instrumental, atmospheric music, so it's very, VERY good to write to! I would recommend it to anyone :)

Next time: Snow finds Hope. That's...really spoiler enough. XD