Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

What a wonderful character, Cecil... anyways. Here's where I decided a little AU would be nice. So to prevent confusion, let me state that in this story, FFI Garland and FFIX Garland are the same individual ( and in case you're wondering, he has the appearance of FFI Garland, because he looks better that way). And with that, please enjoy and review!

Chapter Three: Hating/Help

Who was I?

Ambivalent. At best.

There was a gentle wind that day, when I woke up. I couldn't remember sleeping that well since I'd come here to the Zero World, and I was in something that might have been an obviously good mood. I think I freaked out Cecil.

But he was the only one awake. The sun was just beginning to rise.

"Cloud, I know it's not safe to go anywhere by myself, but I have a feeling about something and I need to go after it now," he told me.

"I could come with," I volunteered hesitantly.

But he shook his head. "Zidane… didn't come back last night. And everyone else is so exhausted, I couldn't bear to wake them. I'm going looking for him, but I'd like you to stay here, if you don't mind, and if he comes back…"

I nodded. "Don't worry. Be more careful than Bartz," I said. He smiled, but it was only half-hearted.

"I will be. I promise," Cecil said, and then turned and left.

Time passed. I didn't know how long. But there was a knock at the door and I opened it with one hand, my sword in the other. And I looked out, since the person who had knocked had already retreated to the bottom of the steps.

"Hey Zidane, next time leave a note," I said when I saw his familiar dandelion-yellow head. Which reminded me that it had been a long time since I had seen a flower of any kind.

Then I saw him.

At first, all I saw was silver hair. Silver hair and slick leather boots. But…

It wasn't him. Too much sickly-white skin.

The fact that I first thought I saw Sephiroth, lying there broken against the wall with Zidane hunched over him, trying to hide him almost, only delayed my brain. For a minute, it froze me in place. Then I figured out what was going on, and I decided that the proper reaction was to freak anyways.

No, not freak. That was Tidus's job. Squall's job. Not mine.

"Zidane, is that who I think it is?" I said very, very quietly. I'd heard his name before. It was important for all of us to know their names. Maybe if I kept my voice down, I could keep down the confusion. Maybe, too, a bit of the anger.

I didn't say immediately that I recognized him too. He was the one I had seen in the street, the one that had smirked and indirectly mentioned Sephiroth.

"What's he doing here?" I said a little louder. I looked closer, and saw that those diamond eyes were closed. And that he was breathing steadily, slowly.

"He's going to be staying with us from now on. Come on, help me move him, he's like two feet taller than me and he weighs more than you'd think," Zidane said casually.

Hell no.

"Zidane, are you crazy?" I demanded.

He looked straight up at me. Damn that kid. "Cloud, he's my brother."

"No shit," I told him. "In case you forgot, I've got myself a 'family' too. But that doesn't mean anything."

"All right," Zidane told me, and then he stood up. Wasn't expecting that. "We know about you, Cloud. We know all about you. Well, guess what, Kuja doesn't want to play god like Sephiroth—he just wants to live past twenty-five. I'd say that's a pretty modest goal, right?"

But he wasn't done. "To him, fighting's the way out. It's the only thing he's known, war and bloodshed and death, no matter what he tried otherwise. Comes with being an Angel of Death for some half-dead shell of a planet, you know. We're just like you, Cloud, except that we weren't even alive before some scientist thought it would be cool to play soldiers. How would you like to fight alongside your creator, your destroyer, Cloud?"

"Because that's what Kuja was doing. And he couldn't take it. Today he provoked a fight between us in hopes that I'd kill him, because he couldn't bear the fact that if this fighting goes on for much longer, then Garland would get the pleasure of watching his 'failure' finally die, choking on his own poisoned DNA. So are you going to help me move him, or what?"

I helped.