A/N:

I won't mince words - this chapter is very intense, and I apologize in advance for it. I realize that with everything that's happening now and with what happened back in January, that this might be especially sensitive for some people. But I've had this part of the plot worked out since December and decided to keep everything as I initially planned it.

There is a trigger warning below. If you don't think you're likely to be triggered and don't want any spoilers, feel free to skip it. However, if there's the slightest chance that you will be triggered (or if you just like spoilers), then please please please read the warning first

! ! ! TRIGGER WARNING ! ! !

There will be stalking, abduction, and the use of drugs to aid in said abduction in this chapter. I promise right now that there will be no sexual assault or sexual harassment, not even the threat of it, in this chapter or any of the following. I know all of these are very sensitive subjects, so please keep this in mind while reading.

Cloud knows he's being ridiculous – he can feel it in his bones (or perhaps the burning in his lungs) – but he doesn't stop running until he slides his way through the doors of the nearly departing train. And even then, it's just to power walk his way to the first empty car before slumping (quite dramatically) into the last seat on the right.

Honestly, it's a move painfully reminiscent of his time fleeing Johnson all those days ago (minus the hiding in the storage car, of course), but after his horrible display in front of Sephiroth, he couldn't stay in that Tower for another second. No, he needed some fresh air. Maybe then he'd have a better chance of sorting out this brain dump Reeve had sprung on him. Maybe then he could stop daydreaming about Sephiroth's arms wrapped around him, could stop craving the man's fingers carding through his hair, his laughter rumbling pleasantly through every inch of his body.

Cloud groans and drops his head into his hands. Gaia. He's so screwed. How the hell is he supposed to remedy this? How the hell is he supposed to save the world from Sephiroth when he can't even string together a complete sentence in front of him?

Aerith.

Aerith will know what to do. If anybody can help him come to terms with Sephiroth alive again, if anybody can help him make sense of his conflicting memories, it's definitely her. The question is, will he actually work up the courage to ask for her help? Or will he just pretend like everything's ok, that there's no ulterior motive behind his visit?

Knowing him, it will probably be the latter.

At least until Aerith wrings the truth out of him. Like she always does.

.

.

.

So lost in his worries is he, so focused on calming his pounding heart, that Cloud doesn't even notice the train jolting its way out of Sector 0 and starting its long descent down to the Sector 5 slums. Doesn't even realize that it's reached its destination until a loud, automated voice announces, "Now approaching the Sector 5 Undercity. Please stand clear of the doors.". To be completely frank, he was sure that he had just boarded the train, but he guesses time is relative when you've spent the entire ride down with your head in your hands, silently bemoaning your cursed fate.

From past experience, though, Cloud knows that at least an hour has passed. An hour in which he'd done an abysmally poor job of not thinking about Sephiroth, his skin still tingling from the man's imagined embrace as he steps out into the dry June heat.

And that's where he stops. That's where he stands – up there on that platform, out of the way of the other patrons, feeling like he had just run a marathon. Something that made absolutely no sense when he had been sitting on his ass for the past who-knows-how-long. He should get moving, really he should – each wasted second here was another opportunity for some Gaia-damned rumor to spread itself all over Sephiroth's fanclub. But he can't bring himself to care, can't convince himself to start the trek to the abandoned church. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to ground himself, wrapped in the warm scent of chocolate and cinnamon from the food stalls around the corner.

To be fair, after the shitshow that was this morning, Cloud might have stayed like that forever, dead to the rest of the world around him. But then a shrill whistling sounds throughout the station, announcing the train's departure – one that finally convinces him to open his eyes again. And yet, when he does, what he finds waiting for him on the other side is not what he had expected in the slightest. The train might be slowly chugga-chugga'ing away, but he's not the only one still there on that platform. Two other men stand up there with him, about three Sephiroth-lengths away (Gaia, stop thinking about him). But their proximity to him is not what catches his attention the most. No, that award goes to their hair – for while these two had ditched their rather ostentatious clothes for something far more drab, Cloud would recognize those dumbass hairdos anywhere. He just couldn't figure out why Corneo's thugs (Kotch and Scotch?) would be hanging out in Sector 5 when they probably had far more important things to worry about in Sector 6.

He wants to chalk it up to pure coincidence – nothing about Kotch's or Scotch's mannerisms seemed particularly life-threatening, not when they weren't even looking at him – but he had learned to trust his gut years ago. And his gut was telling him he was being watched. Why, though, he's not entirely sure – he hasn't exactly put those puzzle pieces together yet. But he still over-exaggerates the act of looking around the station aimlessly and stretching his arms high above his head, before starting his trek towards Sector 5. He doubts these two would put up that much of a fight, but he wasn't about to head to the church right now. Wasn't about to get Aerith involved in his problems again right now.

He could handle himself.

.

.

.

He tries to cling to pure coincidence even as the sound of footsteps follows him off of the train platform, around the corner, and further towards the slums. Tries to tell himself that Wall Market was on the other side of Sector 5, so of course Kotch and Scotch would be heading this way too. But his theory is promptly thrown out the window when he realizes that no matter how subtly he changes his pace, the two behind him never lose nor gain ground. They stay with him, adjusting their speed to match his.

Whatever it is these two are up to, he's a part of it.

But it's not until they're nearly to the gates of Sector 5 that Cloud realizes the depth of the trouble he's landed himself in. "Yeah, he's here," one of the men behind him says. "Yup. Sector 5 slums, headed your way."

Cloud startles to a stop, a shiver running down his spine. There were more of them. More of them after him. More of them waiting for him. Shit. Of course there were. He should have realized that, it wasn't exactly rocket science. But how many of them were there? Just the two he had run into on the plate yesterday, if he was lucky, or the entirety of Corneo's payroll?

The anxiety running through him threatens to suffocate him – anxiety that almost feels like unrefined mako ripping him apart again, if he closes his eyes just right – but he doesn't miss the way Kotch and Scotch stumble over themselves behind him. Doesn't miss how Scotch mumbles, "Hold up," into his phone or how Kotch breaks into an impromptu mambo, or whatever the hell his awkward boogie-woogie is supposed to be (probably squats, but he's doing an absolutely horrendous job of it).

And somehow that just makes him feel better. Somehow that just eases the tension inside of him until his heart is no longer pounding against his ribcage like the drums of war. He won't be closing his eyes again any time soon – if nothing more than to never see Hojo's greasy face again – but if these idiots could act like nothing was wrong, then so could he. He had far more practice, after all.

Not to mention that he was still trying to figure out what these guys were truly after.

Though to do that, Cloud admits it would probably be better if he armed himself. He really should have armed himself before leaving the Tower, but he was a little too flustered for that. So, he settles for leaning over the mound of scrap to his right and pretending to be unreasonably fascinated with a long, thin pipe he pulls from the middle of the junk, all while keeping the two thugs in his periphery. "Oh, Zack would love this," he play-acts for his two-man audience, tossing the pipe between his hands to test the weight of it.

Unfortunately, it doesn't have the same comfortable heft to it that Tsurugi did, doesn't even come close to that of the training swords he had grown accustomed to either. But it still shouldn't break after the first hit, and Cloud could live with that (well, hopefully would live with that).

Satisfied that he was at least as prepared as he could be, Cloud starts back up again, strolling through the open gates of Sector 5, his body deceptively loose. He can tell that he's spent too much time around Rhapsodos when the two thugs behind him not only start following him again, but seem to buy his overly theatrical display with all the fervor that Rhapsodos normally reserved for re-reading Loveless for the one-millionth time – "Nevermind, we're good."

The smugness in that tone nearly has him spinning around to break the pipe across their heads, but he knows he can't just yet, not without endangering the lives of the slum-dwellers around him. He still wants to, of course, but he swallows back the temptation and continues walking. Continues further into Sector 5, stepping around the children playing hopscotch on the left, ignoring the women giggling about who-knows-what on the right, and trying his darndest not to run into the baker crossing the street with his tray of bread and rolls to sell. The waiting is painful, but he knows it'll only take a few more minutes until they're far enough away from the crowd and any potential of causing a scene. And then Cloud could lay into their asses. Could knock them flat like they trash they are and then get the hell outta dodge.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself. That's what he tries to convince himself of, even as his gut rears its ugly head again, reminding him that he's still unenhanced, still technically child-sized. Taunts him that if he tries to handle everything by himself like usual, that he'll die.

"…promise me if you get into trouble, you'll let Sephiroth know."

Cloud huffs out a small, only slightly shaky breath. He had grumbled when Zack had asked him to rely on Sephiroth, had thought that he could take care of himself. But shit. Two grown men would have been child's play, especially when they thought he was still oblivious to their plot. Four would have been more difficult, but still potentially doable, even unenhanced as he is. But six? Ten? Twenty? He and Aerith had thought eight against two was unfair back at the colosseum, and he had his enhancements and the Buster Sword then. How would he manage now with only an old, rusting pipe to his name?

Maybe Zack was right. Maybe he was a little out of his depth here. Even if he hates to admit it.

All he knows is, if he does make it out of this, he would never be leaving the Tower empty-handed again. No matter how flustered Sephiroth made him.

The TV in the middle of the slums is visible when Cloud finally fishes his PHS out of his pocket as casually as he can manage. A fine tremor shoots its way through his hand at the contact, though he's not sure whether that has more to do with the rising fear at his unknown, but probably dire situation, or the large, televised image of Sephiroth hanging high above him like his own (terrifying?) guardian angel.

SOLDIER. Keeping Midgar – and you – safe.

Normally, Cloud would scoff at just how ridiculous that message was, at just how stupid people had to be to believe it (stupid like he was once), but he doesn't have it in him now. Doesn't have it in him to work up the scorn, not when he finds himself staring, almost obsessively, at the pixelated face in front of him. As if that would be enough to summon the man to him. As if Cloud could blink and find himself stuttering hopelessly in front of him again. Something that had seemed so unbearable only an hour or two ago, but would probably feel like his very own salvation now.

But Sephiroth doesn't move, doesn't look at him, his emotionless eyes fixed on a point high above Cloud's head. And somehow that hurts more than the panic already bubbling in him. A feeling he knows he should be aggravated by, if he was in his right mind, but what was the point now?

Sighing, Cloud drops his eyes to the screen of his PHS and tries to tamp down on the despair creeping up, his thumb hovering (longingly?) over the name Sephiroth. Would he care? Would he come after everything Cloud had said to him, everything he had yelled at him? Cloud had felt justified then – Sephiroth had taken everything from him, it was only fair – but now… now he's not so sure. Not so sure what makes him so special. Sephiroth said that he was the only one who could stop him, but surely that couldn't be entirely true. Surely there must be somebody better, especially when Cloud couldn't even handle a couple of thugs by himself.

With a final grunt, Cloud shakes his head and scrolls up through his contact list, pressing a number seemingly at random. He couldn't call Sephiroth now, not like this, not when he was all alone. What good would that do him in the long run? He'd lose not only the element of surprise, but also any ability to figure out what it is these thugs were really after. And then, of course, knowing them, they'd just drag him somewhere nobody would ever find him.

He couldn't do that. Couldn't lose whatever slim advantage he had right now. He'd just wait it out then, bide his time until he came up with a good plan of attack. He knows that whatever it is these thugs are planning, they're not about to do it in front of a crowd, not with the fear of Shinra's reprisal.

He still has time.

So, he focuses on keeping his gait (and his breathing) normal as he passed through the hole in the wall that separates Sector 5 from Sector 6. In doing so, though, he nearly misses the voice on the other end of the call. "Cloud? Where are you?"

"Oh, u-uh…" He takes a breath to calm his jittery nerves – now was not the time to lose his cool – and starts again. "H-Heya, Biggs. I know we were supposed to meet up, but I think I'm gonna have to take a raincheck this time."

"Cloud…"

But the rest of the man's words are almost lost to Cloud, the snapping of a twig behind him startling him more than it had reason to. "Y-Yeah, I know. But I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"…"

The weighted silence is a good indication that his answer is not one the man likes, but he can't focus on that right now. Can't focus on the surprisingly comforting sound of the man's baritone right now. "It would seem so, yes. I thought I only had two errands to run, which would have been fine, but I just remembered there's more and I don't think I'll be able to get everything done in time." He hates that they're even having this conversation, but at least the thought of the other man gives him the courage to do what he needs to do. "I was going to buy some flowers, but it doesn't seem worth it now." The rusting pipe in his hands feels like little more than a plaything, but he clutches it tight, afraid to lose the only lifeline he has left. "I'll probably just head back to Seventh Heaven and call it a night."

"Cloud, wait."

But that's when Cloud rounds the cliff-face and spots what's waiting for him at the entrance to the collapsed expressway. Or rather, who's waiting for him. "H-Hey, Biggs… I just want you to know I'm really glad I got to know you better this time around."

"Cloud…?"

"…The real you."

"Clou–!"

As reluctant as he is to do it, as reluctant as he is to be completely alone again, Cloud cuts the rest of the man's words off, ending the call and shoving his PHS back into his pocket. He doesn't have time for that right now. Not when there were five more thugs waiting for him.

A numbness spreads throughout his body at the realization of just how screwed he is. Just how unprepared he is. His feet keep moving, though, towards the thugs and his impending doom, and he's not really sure how he manages to keep the terror and recognition off of his face. But he guesses that that's just another thing he had picked up from Vincent.

My friends, the fates are cruel.

That's probably what Rhapsodos would say, if he were right there with him. That's probably what he would do, even in the heat of battle – throw out a hand dramatically, confusing friend and foe alike, and recite to his heart's content, each word spoken with a passion that Cloud hadn't felt in a long, long time. "There are no dreams, no honor remains…" Cloud mumbles to himself, the words the only admission that he'll miss Rhapsodos and his obsessive love for poetry.

Oh Gaia. He must really be freaking out if he was getting sentimental over Loveless.

But wait.

Rhapsodos.

That's it. He had harnessed his inner-Rhapsodos once already, what was once more?

And with that thought, he continues his unassuming stroll forward, his resolve hardening with each step. It doesn't exactly take care of the panic, but it does make it easier to think clearly. Does make it easier for Cloud to draw up all his residual horror from the Sector 7 plate drop, stumble dramatically away from the thugs, and point a shaking finger above them. "The plate! It's gonna fall!"

All seven of the men after him turn as one to gawk at the (still intact) plate, something Cloud finds he couldn't be more relieved by, even if he actually had any real passion for theater. He feels a somewhat hysterical laugh bubble up in him at the absurdity of it all, but he swallows it back down, taking full advantage of his distraction to barrel past the pre-occupied thugs and vault himself up onto the low-standing rocks behind them.

A good 10-second lag follows before the thugs notice his flight – "What…? Get him!" – but that's all the time Cloud needs to work his way up the cliff, racing over rock and plate alike. It feels strange to be using the collapsed Sector 6 plate as his means of escape, especially when it was just a symbol of destruction to those who were around when it fell, but it definitely serves his purpose now.

It's not the safest route to take, he'll admit – one wrong step and he would probably break his neck – but it was lightyears better than trying to make his escape through the canyon below. He knows for a fact that there's another entrance to the expressway down that way, another entrance to the thugs' hideout down that way. He wasn't about to play into their hands that easily. Wasn't about to serve himself up to them on a golden plate. He'd much rather break his neck himself and get it over with – at least then he could take some small satisfaction in foiling whatever plans they had for him.

And it's the right choice to make, he can tell, when he hazards a glance to his right and sees more of Corneo's lackeys searching the skies (searching for him) from the entrance to their hideout. The pieces of collapsed plate don't so much as creak as he darts across them, but that doesn't stop the others from noting his presence. "There he is!" one of them – a massive brute that looks like he lives at the gym – yells, a grubby finger pointed Cloud's way.

Cloud doesn't stop, though, the shouting only spurring him on faster. He may have the high road, but he isn't in the clear yet – the methodic thumping of boots from the canyon below (boots of the other seven men after him) is sign enough of that. He can't slow down now, can't give up, not when Wall Market is so close. Wall Market, where, even as unsafe as it is, he'll no doubt find some nook and cranny to hole himself up in until the thugs are long gone. He just needs a good enough lead to lose them first.

But, as is his luck, the thugs don't stop either, one of the leaner ones foregoing all concerns of his own safety to hurl himself up onto one of the many abandoned pieces of machinery down in the slums – a crane-turned-brace holding the plate up. "Don't think you'll get away from me!" the creep warns, the slight incline of the crane arm proving to be little deterrent as he charges up it, straight towards Cloud.

Shit.

Cloud almost turns around to whack the asshole right off of the plate. Almost swats him over the head with the rusting pipe so he could use the resulting disorientation to hip check him back down to the ground below. But he can't. Can't lose his lead just yet, not when it was the only thing keeping him alive. Can't leave himself open and potentially be pulled off the plate too. No. He keeps running, pushing his already aching legs to go faster, dammit.

It wouldn't be enough, he fears. He had spent long enough with Yuffie that he was just as fast in the air as on the ground, but between his shortened stature and his general unenhanced-ness, the thug behind him was gaining ground. "I've got you now!"

He can feel breath on the back of his neck and fingers grazing the collar of his uniform top. And he almost gives in to the temptation to kill the man right then and there, even if it gave the thugs all the more excuse to do the same to him if they ever caught up. But luckily for him, that's when he notices the drop between the slab of plate he's on and the next one. The very sizeable drop.

He jumps without thinking (not that he had many options to begin with), ducking into a roll as he lands, and pushing himself back to his feet all in one fluid (and only slightly jarring) motion. He might not be enhanced anymore, but he still knows how to fall.

The thug, however, does not. Or at least the absence of footsteps disconcertingly close behind him seems rather telling. As does the heated cursing – "Dammit! Slippery fucker!" And, honestly, Cloud wishes that was the end of it, wishes that he was finally safe, but the continued sound of boots from the canyon below would suggest otherwise. A sound that only seems to grow louder as he comes to the end of his makeshift path and finally lands in the outskirts of Wall Market.

Dammit.

He was originally planning to duck into Madam M's parlor and beg her to let him hide out there – well, bribe her with money and the promise of Sephiroth as a future client, really (even if the thought of her touching Sephiroth was one he strangely couldn't tolerate at all). But, no, that idea was out the window with the realization that he wouldn't be losing his pursuers any time soon. As was the alternative of ducking down some random alleyway or trying to hightail it to the Honeybee Inn to find Andrea. Even in death, Wall Market was still very much in Don Corneo's grasp, and venturing too far into the heart of the entertainment district by himself could be suicide. There were ten thugs after him already, if he had counted right. He couldn't rule out the possibility that there were more lurking around any corner at this point. Especially not in Wall Market where Shinra's presence was close to non-existent.

No, he was on his own.

He still can't say that he likes the idea of hurrying along the edge of town any better – Wall Market looks unfathomably sinister without any of its large neon signs all lit up, and the general dearth of people in the streets just makes Cloud all the more afraid that something's going to jump out from the shadows to grab him. And yet, nothing does and Cloud's able to make it through town and out the back exit before anybody can say "Ho-hee!".

As he rounds the bend, he can see Sam's Delivery Service out of the corner of his eye. He's somewhat tempted to grab one of the hanging bags of gyashl greens and steal the Chocobo out front, regardless of the jokes that would no doubt come about a Chocobo riding a Chocobo. But unfortunately, the gentle creature is already strapped up to the same garish carriage that had taken Tifa to Corneo's audition. So that plan's out.

There's also the option of diving head-first through Sam's front door and hunkering down there – he was far enough away now (and had turned a few corners along the way) that the thugs probably wouldn't see him. But well… he doesn't exactly trust Sam. Not after everything they had been through together. Sure, he doubts the man is in league with any of Corneo's rather fanatical followers, but he knows the man's self-serving personality well-enough. And he knows he can't count on him to keep him safe. Especially not now when the man doesn't even remember him.

So, Cloud continues his frenzied flight, barely even noticing the man in question standing there behind his Chocobo. Sam, though, doesn't miss him, the sound of his southern drawl doing little to calm Cloud's already frayed nerves. "Wait… You! Hey, kiddo! Get back here!"

Cloud doesn't listen, though. He keeps running, trying to ignore the pitiful lurch his heart makes. He never really cared for Sam in the first place, but it hurt to know that he was wrong about him. Hurt to know that Sam really was far more interested in money and his status than anything else.

Damn Corneo.

Though perhaps more concerning right now was the way the walls of rock and scrap on either side of him start to close in, pressing in tight until he's certain he'll be squashed between them. Until he's left gasping for breath, black spots dotting their way around his vision. He's smart enough and familiar enough with panic attacks to realize that that's what's happening to him right now. But for the life of him, he can't figure out how to stop it. Can't remember how Tifa normally calmed him down when the voices in his head were so loud, they drowned everything else out.

He just knows that he has to get out of there. Now.

But it's not until he's barreled his way through the Sector 7 gate, startling the two troopers on guard duty, that he realizes it. Realizes just how out of breath he is. Just how badly his legs burn. And just how excessively his sweat-soaked clothes stick to him.

He wants to collapse. He really does. Wants to fall into his cheap-ass bed back in the Tower and sleep for the rest of eternity. Or take a long shower, whichever he had the energy for first. But he can't stop now – he's not safe yet. He wouldn't last long enough to make it back to the Tower, much less find out whether his scratchy blankets felt like the most luxurious things in the world if he lost himself to his daydreams now.

There would be time for all of that later.

…Hopefully.

But in a moment of true weakness, Cloud nearly convinces himself to go find Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge – they would hide him for sure. They would turn Midgar inside-out all by themselves just to keep him safe. And that was the biggest problem. All it would take would be one loose tongue for the thugs to find them. One blabbermouth for his friends to be put on the chopping block, too. He couldn't do that to them. Couldn't get them involved when they were finally alive again.

So, with one last sentimental glance in the direction he knows Seventh Heaven will one day be, he rounds the corner to his right and keeps running straight to the train station. He hates all of this, he really does. Curses it to hell and back – his short legs, his overall unenhanced-ness, the thugs who just. wouldn't. leave. him. alone. But perhaps most of all, he hates the bitter reminder that he was nothing without his friends, hates the frustrating thought that he never would have even made it this far without all of the training that Sephiroth had forced him through.

And that makes the sight of the train platform all the more relieving for Cloud's weary body. So relieved that he nearly trips as he scampers up the stairs. If he can just slip onto the train before those thugs catch up, then he'd be in the clear.

But as he looks up, he realizes that the station is not busy because the train is there, but because it's not. And from how aggravated some of the wayfarers have gotten, it hasn't been there in quite some time. "Technical difficulties? Whaddya mean technical difficulties? We've been waiting for over an hour!"

Cloud feels his heart drop to the very pit of his stomach. Over an hour? That was about the same amount of time it had taken him to run this far. What was going on? He didn't have another hour to wait, or however long it took for the train to get there. He needed to leave now.

"You have my sincerest apologies," the station attendant in red says, bowing his head to emphasize his apology, though his submissive gesture does little to appease any of the slum dwellers huddled around him. "They're having issues topside and service has been suspended for the time being." A collective groan echoes throughout the crowd. "But I swear that the entirety of Shinra's railway division is working their hardest to have service restored as soon as possible."

"Yeah, right!"

"Cut the crap!"

"How am I supposed to get to work now?"

And that's when one of the attendant's hecklers – an otherwise sweet-looking old lady – decides to turn to commiserate with Cloud. "Can you believe this…" But that's as far as she gets before recognition dawns in her eyes. "Wait… aren't you – "

"No, no, I'm not," Cloud rushes to say, ignoring the voice in the back of his head – his mother's probably – that tells him it's rude to interrupt his elders.

"No need to be shy, dear." She smiles sweetly at him, though after everything he's been through already, it just feels predatory. "I just want to know when the train will be running again. My son lives up on the plate and I wanted to surprise him."

"But I – "

"Well, apologize really…" The old lady sighs, a sad look in her eyes. "I said some really nasty things to him when he first came out to me, things I never should have said."

"Oh, I – "

"Oh, don't worry, young man. I have nothing against… well, you know – " she waves a hand in his general direction, something he feels he should be insulted by, but doesn't have it in him right now – "I just… I miss my boy so much."

"But I'm not – " Cloud tries to explain, but finds himself interrupted again when another of the slum-dwellers turns their way and just makes everything a thousand times worse.

"Hey, I know you! You're with Sephiroth!"

"No, no, I'm really not!"

But his complaint falls on deaf ears, the rest of the hecklers turning as one frenzied mob at the slightest sound of Sephiroth's name. Like starving Moogles at the very mention of Kupo Nuts.

Fuck.

"What the hell's going on with the trains?"

"Why are there extra patrols in the slums? We haven't done anything!"

"I'm late for my job!"

And not for the first time that day (and probably not the last, either), Cloud beats a hasty retreat. Tucks his proverbial tail between his legs and books it straight to the train graveyard. As far as as threats go, regular civilians do come in pretty low, even a somewhat homophobic old lady. But Cloud doesn't have the time to deal with that now. Doesn't want to deal with that now. Not when he has far more important things to worry about.

Like whether or not he would live through the night.

"Shake a move on it! Don't just stand there watching the grass dry!"

The last thing Cloud was ready to hear as he stopped to catch his breath was the heavy thumping of boots following him into the clearing he and his friends had fought that wraith in (the one Aerith had dubbed 'Wraithman of the Apocalypse'). And the last thing he was ready to see as he whirled around to face the incoming threat were the two troopers he had passed on his mad dash into the Sector 7 slums.

"Stay back!" he growls, raising the rusting pipe threateningly in front of him. Perhaps he's overreacting right now, but enough's enough.

"Whoa now, Cadet…" one of the troopers soothes, holding his hands out in front of him as if Cloud was some sort of jittery Chocobo. Something that just pisses Cloud off even more. Cause even if he's not in his right mind, he already knows Shinra can't be trusted – the explosions and gunfire he can almost hear coming from the pillar behind them was proof enough. The destruction of Sector 7, both above and below the plate, was proof enough. "We saw you racing through the slums like a demon was hot on your heels – " the other trooper nods amicably – "and, well, we wanted to make sure you were ok."

Cloud blinks, uncomprehending, as the words process, his hackles lowering unconsciously. What was going on? Shinra's troopers weren't usually this considerate, were they? It was always mission this and hostiles that. He should know, he used to be one of them.

But maybe that's where he was wrong. These guys are only as good as their orders, and their orders come from the top. The Sector 7 plate, Zack's death, Nibelheim… That was all President Shinra, Heidegger, and Hojo. These two had nothing to do with it. So, what right did he have to blame them?

Maybe they deserved a chance. Like Avalanche had given him.

Though, perhaps more importantly, maybe he shouldn't turn down Shinra's help this time. Especially not with who all was after him. "Sorry, it's just…" Cloud says, his voice coming out a little more ragged than he was going for. "I'm being chased, sir."

"I was afraid of that," the same trooper responds, shaking his head glumly. "Well, come with us – " he waves Cloud towards them – "and we'll keep you safe."

Cloud doesn't move, doesn't lower the pipe in his hand, though he doesn't growl at them again, so he guesses that's a move in the right direction – he doesn't need another lecture on his trust issues. But he can't shake the feeling that something's wrong here. That something's off about this man's voice. Something that just sets his already tense body further on edge. But why?

"C'mon," the man says again, gentler. "We've got orders to keep an eye on you until Rhapsodos gets here."

"R-Rhapsodos?" Cloud croaks out, the words 'Not Sephiroth?' locked deep down in his heart where no-one else could find them. Of course, Sephiroth wouldn't come, not after how cruel he had been to him. He shouldn't be surprised.

But he is. Though, perhaps it's actually disappointment (distress?) that he's feeling as he slowly lowers the pipe back to his side and takes the first, few (sad) steps towards his protectors.

"Don't worry, kid – " the other trooper is all twisted smile and crooked teeth – "we won't let any of those nasty thugs get ya."

Cloud screeches to a halt, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the men in front of him. "I never said anything about thugs."

"Yeah, well…" The first trooper tries to smile reassuringly, but it just looks all wrong in Cloud's eyes now. "Those thugs are always causing problems for everybody, so we figured they must be the ones bothering you."

It could be considered a smooth lie, Cloud supposes, if he were blind and deaf. Unfortunately for these two, he's neither. "Oh?" he says, trying to ignore how much he sounds like Rufus with just that one syllable. "So, nobody told you about the thugs?"

"Of course not."

It rolls off the man's tongue easily enough, but Cloud had spent enough time with Vincent to know what signs to look for. The slight cocking of the man's head before he answered, the subtle glance at his partner, and the tension that ran through his rigid body were all telling enough. But the smile on the man's face, the same one that doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes, is perhaps the last straw for Cloud. Does this idiot honestly think Cloud is that naïve? Well, ok, he might have believed him about Rhapsodos – something he was already kicking himself for, cause really Cloud? Rhapsodos is coming to pick you up? What are you, 5? – but now they're just laying it on thick. "And nobody told you I was being chased?"

"Other than you, no." The second trooper's tone is cheerful, amiable, as if he's trying to make friends.

Cloud just wants to punch him in the face.

"Then why would you have orders to protect me?"

"Uh…" The smile on the man's face falters, and Cloud swears he can hear the cogs creaking in his head. "Because you called for help."

"No, I didn't."

"You didn't, huh…" the first trooper, the one who had tried to lure Cloud over to their side, hums, the surprise on his face morphing quickly into smug satisfaction. "Good." His fingers twitch by his side, and that's all the sign Cloud needs to know that something was about to happen. "Get him!"

Their charade dropped, the two lunge forward to grab him. But Cloud's no less prepared for it. No less prepared by the stunt these two imbeciles had tried to pull. If anything, he's more prepared, more pissed off because of it. It was one thing to try to abduct him, but to use Rhapsodos (and by extension Sephiroth) to toy with his emotions? Oh, he was so going to hurt them.

And faster than the two can blink, Cloud pivots on his heel, swinging the rusting pipe underneath the first trooper's outstretched arm and into his unprotected side. It's an attack that would have killed the man if Cloud was using Tsurugi, but he guesses he'll just have to settle for the ominous cracking of the man's ribs as he's sent crashing to the ground. Even unenhanced and trapped in a child's body, Cloud was perfectly capable of fucking them up. Besides, he had been looking for an outlet for all the rage that had been building inside of him ever since he had first remembered.

Win, win.

"Stevens!"

But Cloud doesn't give the other trooper time to finish his sentence, or really decide whether attacking Cloud was the best decision he had made that day. No, he uses his built-up momentum to spin in place (he's not thinking of Andrea's hands on him or his breath on his face, thank you very much, not that Andrea ever had silver hair…) and brings the pipe up in an underhanded arc, aiming for the one body part Cloud knows this man treasures most.

The man howls as he topples over – should have worn a cup, dumbass – his hands shooting up to cradle his smashed jewels. He tries to hide his face, and his tears, in the concrete, but Cloud's not having any of that. He kicks the jerk over and pressed his foot into the other one's damaged side. "Now." He growls, pointing the pipe in their faces (it would probably be more threatening if it was the tip of Tsurugi, but he'll take what he can get). "Who. sent. you?"

Contempt is his response, his first attacker sneering up at him – he's sure the man would spit at him if he wasn't currently lying flat on his back. "We ain't no snitches."

Cloud raises an eyebrow and applies more weight to the man's fractured ribs, reveling in the pained grunt the man makes – he doesn't normally like inflicting pain, not even on Sephiroth, but he can make an exception in this case. An exception for the assholes who had gotten his hopes up, only for them to be dashed with the realization that help really wasn't on the way. "I don't think you realize the situation you're in right now – " he lifts his foot and digs the end of the pipe into the man's sternum – "I. call the shots here. So, you better start talking."

"And if we don't?" The second trooper's voice is almost comically high-pitched, but that doesn't detract from the amount of vitriol in his tone.

"I'll kill you."

Something like alarm passes over both of their faces, but then the first trooper tilts his head back to laugh, quite mockingly. "No, I don't think you will."

Cloud grits his teeth and gets ready to strike again – how dare they still underestimate him when he'd already wiped the floor with their asses. "You wanna bet?" he says. But that's when he hears it, hears the stomping of more feet. Sees the three additional troopers coming their way.

"Stevens! Marshall!" one of the new arrivals yells.

And, oh.

Cloud remembers.

He's the one who knocked me out!

These are the two officers who had caught him sneaking off of the SOLDIER floor with Yuffie. The same ones who had tried to punish him and his 9-year-old friend in front of Zack. And who had seemed to be far more disturbed by the news of Heidegger's death than anything else.

Did they blame her for the creep's death then? Had they really sunk so low as to team up with Corneo's thugs just to get their revenge?

Wait.

What was it those people at the station had said? Extra patrols in the slums, technical difficulties with the trains? And now these officers were gallivanting around in the blue uniforms of the regular infantry rather than the usual red that denoted their standing. What the hell was going on?

Fear spikes through Cloud as the answer hits him with all the force of a rampaging Behemoth. It was all a trap. Just some clever ruse to isolate him down here in the slums without any backup. Without any protection. And now that they had him, they could do whatever they wanted and no one would be the wiser. The thugs might get in trouble – being dregs of society was part of their job description – but the troopers would probably get off scot-free. They had an excuse – they were on patrol to keep Midgar safe. Heck, they might even claim to have found his body once everything was over.

What they didn't realize was that Cloud wasn't about to go down without a fight. And, boy, did he know how to fight. But would it be enough? He had taken down two of them no problem, but they had underestimated him. That wouldn't be the case now – the element of surprise was already gone. And he had no enhancements, no real weapon, and he still struggled with his smaller, teenage-sized body from time to time.

"What the hell happened to you?"

And to top it all off, he has no idea how many people are after him. He could probably handle these three extra troopers, but he knows deep down in his gut that this isn't it. For starters, there are those ten thugs he had been running from – he might not have heard from them since he had crashed through the gates of Sector 7, but they couldn't be that far behind, couldn't have given up that easily. Especially not if these troopers were working with them – they would have been tipped off by now.

Something about that does it for him – makes him drop the pipe in his hand and tear off through the train graveyard like a Zolom out of hell. He can't deny his surprise at it, though, even as his feet carry him blindly up and over the forgotten trains and as far away from those troopers as possible. He didn't think he was still afraid of death, still afraid of pain, not after everything that had happened to him. Not after all of those fights with Sephiroth, or after being shot at and blown up by Sephiroth's own spawn. But as frustrating as it was to admit, he seemed to be far more excitable now as a 14-year-old than when he was full-grown both in body and memory.

It was rather depressing.

Cloud had assumed that things would be similar to his first dash through this same graveyard – disembodied laughter, graffiti popping up out of nowhere, entire train cars being lobbed at him. Had figured that he would have ghosts to avoid as well as the thugs and troopers already after him.

And that just makes the complete absence of it all all the more noticeable.

Unfortunately, that doesn't make any of the movements around him any less unnerving – each flash of a shadow, each flickering of the still-illuminated lamps only turning him into more and more of a panicking mess. But the worst of all comes in the form of the wind whispering across his neck, which in his addled state feels more like the hot breath of the thug who had followed him up onto the collapsed plate than anything else. He jolts from the unwanted sensation, and nearly sends himself toppling over the side of the train he's running across. He's sure he'll actually break his neck this time, but somehow manages to latch onto the ladder attached to the outside of the cabin at the last second. One he clings to for dear life and only descends once he can no longer hear his heart pounding in his ears.

With his feet on solid ground again, Cloud allows himself the tiniest fraction of a second to lean his forehead against the cool metal of the train and sigh out his frustrations – this so wasn't fair – before he finally convinces himself to keep moving. He turns and can't describe his relief when he sees the large, looming building in front of him. The place had seemed unsettling the first time around, especially with all of the ghosts playing tricks on them, but at least now he had reached level ground. At least now he didn't have to worry about face-planting from the top of another train.

The maintenance facility is eerily quiet once he squeezes his way through the half-opened doors, his knee only a little worse for the wear after that near tumble earlier. He's not sure whether there aren't any ghosts around this time or if they just don't consider him as much of a threat. But he supposes he's in no condition to handle them either way (emotionally or physically).

Luckily, there are no overturned train cars, crates, or any other form of obstacle to block his way, and he makes it across the main floor of the building in record time. He's not entirely sure what his end goal is yet, but he knows that the sewers are on the other side of this building. If he could just make it that far, he could hide out down there until a better solution came up.

He just doesn't realize that the doors leading outside are closed until he's slammed straight into them. Pain flares up in his further-abused knee, but he ignores it in favor of clawing at the large metal doors – "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" What he's not prepared for, though, is the doors flying open with little to no effort from him, the thugs he hadn't seen since Sector 6 now directly in front of him.

He'd been routed.

"Shit." He stumbles back, horrified, realizing that he was mako-less and weapon-less now that he no longer had that rusting pipe on him.

"We got 'im now, boys!" The one in front jeers, smug eyes set on Cloud. "You'll pay for that little stunt you pulled yesterday," he promises, and Cloud finally recognizes him as the same thug who had harassed him yesterday. The same one who now slowly prowls forward, Cloud nearly tripping over himself to maintain the distance between them. "And, would ya lookie here. No more SOLDIERs to protect ya."

Cloud nearly laments that very same fact, but the mention of Rhapsodos reminds him that he still has Sephiroth's materia on him. Still has Sleep and Confuse on him – it wasn't much, but he could still salvage this. He might not be SOL after all. So, as the thug steps forward again, a smug little smirk growing on his face, Cloud stands his ground and casts Sleep without a second thought.

It doesn't work.

Cloud's breathing stutters to a stop and he slaps the arm that houses the materia – c'mon, c'mon, c'mon – before casting Confuse and Sleep again in quick succession. He ignores the tingling in his hands – whether it's from oxygen deprivation or another panic attack, he doesn't care – and watches desperately as a cloud of purple fog engulfs all of the thugs this time. Watches as time itself seems to slow to a stop as he waits for the fog to clear. But when it does, he can't help the small little sob that rips its way out of him when he sees the thugs still standing, still alert, still advancing on him. "No…" he breathes, feeling like he had accidentally cast Slow on himself as he lumbers sluggishly away.

"Oh, yes." The thug from yesterday corrects, the smirk on his face downright predatory as he draws attention to the accessories that he and each of the thugs behind him were wearing. The ones Cloud knew guarded against Sleep and Confuse. "Like 'em? Our new friends lent 'em to us. Said you have a nasty little habit of using magic to worm your way outta trouble." He throws a cursory look at the men behind him and laughs unkindly. "Yeah, well, not this time."

Cloud turns to run again, but is stopped by the troopers who had snuck in behind him. The same ones he had run into before – Marshall, Stevens, and the other three that had come to their aid.

He was trapped.

"Good thing we didn't trust ya to get the job done!" the thug who had been taunting him yells across the building.

"You lost him first!" is Stevens's aggravated response, his face as red now as it had been when Cloud first ran into him a week ago.

"Hey! Don't you go takin' that tone with me! We may be after the same thing, but don't think I won't shove a shiv – "

But whatever it is the creep of a thug is about to say, Cloud doesn't care. He takes a deep breath to ground himself (and hopefully calm his racing heart), and then uses the momentary distraction to lunge forward at the closest trooper. From the way the man recoils, he's pretty sure it's Marshall, but that doesn't interest him either. Instead, he ignores the almost frenzied "Stop him!" from he-doesn't-know-where, disregards the ache from his probably bruised knee, and knocks Marshall clean off his feet, plucking the nightstick clean from the strap on the man's leg.

Stevens is the next closest, and Cloud takes advantage of the opportunity (and the confusion) to get his own revenge for Zack and Yuffie. Being partially responsible for Zack's death the first time around was one thing, but going after his 9-year-old friend? That was something Cloud would never forgive. So, he ducks under Stevens's reaching hand again (some guys never learn), and cracks the nightstick, hard, across the man's knees.

He wants to attack more of them now, wants to pick them off one-by-one until he's the last one standing. But he knows that that's not how this works. And as Stevens falls, groaning, to the floor, Cloud jumps back towards relative safety, Marshall's nightstick at home in his hand.

The rest of his assailants watch him warily, probably realizing that he was more of a threat than they had initially accounted for. Which honestly works in Cloud's favor. Fifteen against one wasn't fair odds, especially now that Cloud was unenhanced and a teenager, but he couldn't let them know that. Couldn't let them know just how terrified he was. Instead, he makes a show of casting Shield on himself and raising the nightstick threateningly in front of him, a little disappointed that none of these guys had guns on them. "I can do this all day."

It's false bravado, really. He knows he probably can't do this for five minutes more, let alone all day. Not with his aching body, his injured knee, and the sheer number of enemies he has to fight. But all he can do is hope that they'll take him at his word and keep their distance until he can figure out something useful.

But he's never that lucky.

"No, I don't think you can," a new voice startles Cloud from his frantic preparations, and he turns to find Kotch sauntering forward. "I think you'd get pretty overwhelmed if we all attacked at once, now wouldn't you?"

A shudder wracks Cloud's body, one he can't entirely control, but one he hopes the others don't notice all the same. "If you think you won't trip over each other, then sure, go for it," Cloud lies, trying to cling to whatever was left of his cool, confident act.

Kotch smirks and calls his bluff. "Get him."

The resulting battle cry is deafening, and Cloud only has a fraction of a second to brace himself before the first attackers are on him. He tries to hold his ground, he really does – each punch thrown met with a harsh thwack of his stolen nightstick. And at first, it seems like he has the upper hand. The Shield he had cast works its magic (figuratively and literally), and the men around him are the only ones that show any sign of wear and tear from the battle.

But that's when the big meathead from earlier joins the ranks, surprising Cloud by not only not flinching when he's hit, but by lifting Cloud clean off his feet and tossing him like a ragdoll across the floor. No, no, no, echoes through Cloud's head as his back connects, hard, with one of the yellow freight cars, his breath knocked from his lungs as easily as the nightstick from his hand.

He tries to get up, tries to defend himself, but while the Shield had protected him from the damage of the attack (and the coal sent toppling onto his head), it apparently hadn't protected him from the force of it, and he finds he can do little more than prop himself up onto one knee before he's sent crumbling to the floor again.

He tries again, reaching blindly for the nightstick to support him, but that's when he hears it. Hears the terrifying words "Grab him" through the ringing in his ears. He knows he should do something, knows he should jerk away or claw at whoever was coming to get him – whatever made theirs lives more difficult – but he doesn't get the chance. Doesn't have the time to react, much less regain his bearings, before he's hauled roughly from the floor and restrained to a hard chest behind him, his arms pinned to his sides. Doesn't have the time to break free from the iron grip before a sweet-smelling rag is shoved in his face, another hand twisting into his hair to hold him still.

He flails, panic taking over at the realization of what was happening. Tries to break free, but the hand in his hair only tightens, immobilizing him further. Screams, but that has the opposite effect, the drug getting into his system that much quicker. And as his eyes grow heavy and his world turns black, only one thought manages to beat out all the rest.

Sephiroth, please!

A/N:

- I originally wanted to have the next chapter ready so there wasn't that large of a gap between this chapter and the next, but unfortunately this chapter just took so long to write that that didn't happen. I'll do my best to have the next chapter ready as soon as possible, but I don't really know when that will be :(

- "Please stand clear of the doors" - I phrased it like this on purpose, and now I can't get Disney World's monorail out of my head...

- "chocolate and cinnamon" - I was thinking of Once Upon a Time when writing this, so this is a bit of a nod towards Emma Swan's love for hot chocolate with cinnamon.

- "baker crossing the street with his tray of bread and rolls to sell" - ok, this was a little less subtle reference to Beauty and the Beast. I was originally going to put "there goes the baker" in there, but couldn't find a good way to fit it in, and it seemed to be more of a slap in the face than what I went with.

- "I can do this all day" - this was a direct pull from Marvel/Captain America. I thought it fit well with Cloud being the underdog in this situation.

- For those who've never played the Remake or just don't remember - Aerith mentions that back when they were still building Midgar, there was an accident, and part of the Sector 6 plate fell. There weren't that many people around at the time, so it wasn't nearly as bad as the Sector 7 drop (especially since that one was intentional), but Aerith still doesn't like that part of Midgar.

- I used the phrase "sweet-smelling" because that's how Aerith describes the knock-out gas in the Remake.

- Oh, and for those who don't know, "SOL" stands for "shit outta luck".