Author's Note: Did you guys know that in Lightning Returns, Hope is going to be 14 again? Is anyone else completely confused? I mean, just- what? I see no logic there.
Anyway, so this chapter gives you a glimpse of what's going on with said person.
The pain pulsed from his wrist, sending white-hot needles of pain into his flesh, pounding at the back of his mind. Each pulse drove him closer to the edge, with no power to stop. He dimly wondered if this was how Snow felt hanging off that building, all those years ago. But another surge derailed that train of thought. It was constant. The pain was permanently etched into his nerves, there was no relief.
But he didn't deserve relief.
There was another kind of pain ripping at his heart, much like the wind and trees were ripping at his body. Vanille. Her blood was on his hands. The soul of the woman he loved no longer belonged to this world, and it was all his fault.
Had his legs not been moving of their own accord, he would have collapsed from the sheer amount of emotional and physical pain that flooded his body. It came in waves, each more powerful than the last.
Some remote part of his consciousness registered that his grip was weakening, he was losing control. That same part remembered, that if he lost control, it was game over. If he lost control, Lightning and the others would join Vanille. Himself as well, though he didn't care about that. So, he began to pull himself back up. He couldn't manage much, just a small tug between each beat of pain, akin to a mother redirecting her child at the store. He managed to collect himself a bit before a dark presence scattered him again, bringing with it not pain, but a lack. Of everything. It seemed to be saying, "If you simply let go, the pain will stop. The guilt will stop. You'll be free."
His head, his heart, and even his body screamed for him to give in, to just let go. And he nearly did. But that one part of himself that remembered Lightning and Fang. Remembered Snow and Serah, Sazh and Dajh. That piece of him said no. Said, "They are all that matters."
And his tired, broken self agreed.
The nothing that came with the darkness faded, and pain replaced it once more.
He managed to make it to the next town before he broke.
The town of Cidra was small compared to the others surrounding it. It wasn't tiny, but it was small enough that if you were a stranger, you stood out. So when a young silver-haired man began walking the streets, he drew attention.
Though, that in itself wasn't what drew attention to him. What made him worthy of a second glance was what he did: nothing. He would wander around for a while, then out of the blue just... stop. He would stop and sit on the edge of the road, or a nearby bench. He would sit and just stare at nothing for hours, before getting up and starting the process all over again.
This went on for about two days before someone decided to do something about him. One man who found the stranger extremely suspicious gathered up a few of his friends, and confronted him.
They approached the stranger just as he was coming out of his trance. The ringleader of the group said, "Starting again, huh?"
The stranger just gave him a cold look.
The man took a few steps forward, "What's your deal? How long are you gonna walk in circles?"
No reaction.
One of the other men in the group said, "You deaf?"
Nothing.
The stranger received a shove to the chest. "Hey buddy, we're talking to you."
Zilch.
One of the more timid men read the hostility in the stranger's eyes and said, "Let's just go."
The man who started this responded, but did not turn. "You're tellin' me you have no problem with some nut-" He didn't finish. He couldn't finish, because the hand around his neck wouldn't let him. He stared into the stranger's hard, unforgiving eyes, gaping for air. The stranger spoke, in a voice that didn't seem to fit him. "I am not just 'some nut.'" With one squeeze, he crushed the man's throat, breaking all the bones in his neck.
The man dropped, dead, to the ground.
The stranger smirked up at the others, "Anyone else have a problem with me?"
Hope leaned against the cold stone wall of his cell. His body ached all over. He'd regained control of his body only to find himself being beaten by a group of men. He let them. He was sure that he did something to deserve it.
He drew patterns on the dirty floor with his finger. He'd done so many things. Things that could not be forgiven. Things he would never forgive himself for. And as an image of Vanille formed in his mind, along with it came a wish that the men had beaten him to death. Life wasn't worth living, not anymore.
He glanced down at his wrist, studied his slightly blackened brand. If he broke his own wrist, would he die? He wasn't sure. He'd survived a broken wrist before. Maybe he would try. If he did die, he'd be able to be with her again. He could apologize for taking her life. Knowing her, she'd just hug him and say, "It's okay, it wasn't your fault." Oh, how he wanted to feel her arms around him again... But whether she blamed him or not, he blamed himself. It was his fault. If he believed anything else, he'd just be lying to himself. He killed her. And now she's dead.
"Hey, mister?"