The second part of this is specifically after the Good End chapter.

"Cloud. Wings out."

"I can't," Cloud repeats for the fiftieth time, unable to stop trembling or to calm his breath. Sephiroth kneels behind him, hands braced so that his thumbs are pressed over the point where Cloud's wings should be anchored, if they were out. He's not requesting that Cloud consciously summon them —he's demanding it. But Cloud just can't.

The bottomless patience in Sephiroth's voice is unnerving. "Yes, you can. You've done it before."

"Not me," Cloud denies immediately. The fingers on his skin dig in a little deeper. Not painfully, just...presently. As a reminder. A terrible, terrible reminder that there's nothing he can do to escape this.

And the thing is, Cloud does remember summoning wings, when he —or rather, his body —was an innocent child enamored with his caretaker. He remembers being fascinated, watching Sephiroth patently re-teach himself to manifest his dramatic extra limb with its coal-black feathers. He remembers wanting to be able to do that too. He remembers that moment where he trusted existence itself enough to find the new parts of him, the ones that Sephiroth had sewn into his DNA, and use them to bare his very soul.

He remembers. But he's not that trusting child anymore.

"It is your right," Sephiroth says. Asserts. "Your strength. I will not let such beauty lie fallow. Summon your wings, Cloud."

"I can't!" He's on the verge of a toddler meltdown, much to his humiliation. Tears are already running down his cheeks in unsteady intervals as he viciously suppresses the urge to scream and sob.

(He viciously suppresses the part of himself that wants to obey, to be good, to trust and take comfort —)

The hands on him loosen. "Stubborn," Sephiroth whispers in a voice like a ribbon of silk. "You insist you are incapable, when really you are afraid. You can. And you will. Perhaps I merely need to show you the way, hmm?"

Cloud doesn't even have a chance to feel dread at the implications of Sephiroth's words before a wave of warm darkness smothers his mind. He collapses, boneless, and is caught and lifted up into his enemy's arms. A hand splays over the span of his back. He screams and fights in the confines of his thoughts, desperately and ineffectually trying to stave off Sephiroth's violation as the man reaches out and grasps at the core of Cloud's being.

The hand on his back presses down. "You have nothing to hide," Sephiroth says in a croon that's mocking in its sincerity, "and nothing that can be hidden from me." He pulls, not on any part of Cloud's physical body, but on something that must be his very soul. "Wings out."

He has no choice in the matter but to bear the most vulnerable, sacred part of himself at his enemy's demand. Out burst the wings, accompanied by a spray of blood and tearing, seething pain —an equal manifestation of how deeply Cloud does not want this.

Even Sephiroth's control isn't strong enough to keep Cloud's despairing wail from echoing through the dead air of the empty lab.

The thing about the confrontation Cloud's family pulled off —the one where they made Zack sit on him until he 'fessed up —is that pulling it off once made them feel like they could do it again. In fact, they seem to feel so confident that they don't even make Zack sit on him. They just approach directly, sit him down, and spring it on him.

"Cloud —" Angeal starts, gentle, and it isn't until his voices takes on that specific tone that Cloud finally realizes what's about to happen.

"Oh, I uh, just remembered —" Cloud starts to get up off the couch and make a break for it. Genesis catches his wrist and pulls him back down.

"No, sit down," he says, and his voice, too, is unusually gentle, which is terrible. The things Cloud fears from Genesis come wrapped in a soft voice —the things he does not are hard, acerbic, and snapping. "I know for a fact you don't have anything urgent to attend to."

Dammit. "You don't —"

"Cloud." Angeal reaches out to gently touch the hand Genesis doesn't have trapped. "Please. How long have you had...wings?"

Cloud's stomach drops instantly. Not this. He turns his face down, hiding behind his bangs, and tries to think quickly. They won't accept no answer at all, but maybe they'll take a short one?

"I've uh…" he licks his lips nervously. "I've...always had them. Since you've known me."

"That long?" Genesis says, puzzled. "Why keep them hidden? There were many times I can think of that your wings would have saved you a great deal of trouble. And you seem very...adept with them."

Cloud shrugs uncomfortably. "Don't...like to bring them out, you know? Too...much." Too much sensation, too much vulnerability, too many memories. Too much.

"They were rather eye-catching," Angeal concedes. He takes back his hand, apparently satisfied. Cloud feels colder for its absence.

"Right, so if that's all," Cloud says, starting to get up —

"No, hold on," Genesis interrupts, grip still firm on his wrist, keeping him from bolting out the door and away from this conversation. When Cloud dares to glance over and meet the redhead's eyes, they have a shrewd gleam to them. "That's not all there is to this, is it?"

Cloud tries to keep his expression even. "I uh —"

Almost immediately, Genesis's eyes blaze. "Don't lie to me."

Again, Cloud ducks his head, hesitating. When his silence stretches too long, Angeal says, tentative, "Cloud…?"

"I just...don't like them. That's all," he tries.

"That is not all ," Genesis starts to say, but Angeal cuts him off.

"Gen. Hush. Alright, you don't like them. Why?"

"I —" He doesn't want to explain this. He really, really doesn't want to, even though he knows he probably should. Because he can explain now, safely. He can ask them for help —with preening, with working knots out of the flight muscles he can't reach when he overstrains them, with finding space to just let them breathe. He can ask.

Gods above, he still can't bear to ask.

He knows his breathing is picking up, and his face is burning with shame. The longer the silence stretches, the more alarmed Genesis and Angeal are going to become. Even when he'd explained the past sixteen years of his life to them, he hadn't been this bad. The only thing could come close —would be worse —would be telling them exactly where he came from. And he's not going to do that.

Ever.

"Hey, hey —Cloud? Love, look at me."

Cloud realizes he's fully freaking them out when Angeal carefully reaches out to turn his face up. "I don't know what's going on in your head, but it's okay. It's okay." His eyes are painfully earnest, tinged with alarm and concern. "Whatever it is, you're safe now. I know you've spent your whole life trying to keep these things secret. I know it's so hard to make yourself vulnerable, but I promise you, you can tell us. And if you can't tell us right now...okay." His thumb traces along the edge of Cloud's jaw in a soothing sweep. "We can wait until you're ready. It's okay."

This isn't Sephiroth. Sephiroth is miles away, skulking faintly in the back of his head, a mere smudge of darkness. It's not Sephiroth demanding —it's Angeal asking. And, as if he can hear Cloud's thoughts, Genesis switches his grasp from Cloud's wrist to his hand, squeezing in gentle encouragement.

Cloud's waving hesitation crumbles entirely.

"I hate them," he blurts out in something dangerously close to a sob, curling into himself. "I hate —I shouldn't have them! They don't belong —he made me like him, he made me have —it's, it shouldn't look like his —!" He free hand grips at his hair, searching for anything to ground himself as he gets swept up in the unexpected flood of emotions. It's so much —so much that's never been safe to express.

So much that's never been safe to feel, until now.

"I hate them! I want them gone!"

He loses his grip on everything, just for a moment. What a dangerous thing it is, finally having the safety to acknowledge what he's been ignoring for so long. Loss and shame and disgust howl through him until he realizes with a sharp jolt that he's betrayed himself.

His wings emerged without conscious permission.

They brush the ceiling, pointed straight up from his arched back as he bows pathetically over his knees. His shirt is torn. He gasps, choking on his startlement, and it's only the years of training that Sephiroth forced on him that keeps him from losing control and flailing around. He holds utterly still, hardly daring to breathe.

"Okay, shh...breathe, Cloud. Come on, breathe with me." Genesis still has a grip on his hand, and now on his elbow too.

His throat feels raw and tight with emotion. "I'm s —"

"Don't apologize. Just breathe. In...out. In...out." Genesis keeps his grip firm. Angeal takes hold of his other elbow, holding him upright, and settles his free hand between Cloud's shoulder blades.

Cloud shuts his eyes and breathes shuddering breaths, disgusted with himself as tears leak steadily down his cheeks. Gods, what is wrong with him today? This is just pathetic. He shouldn't —

"Cloud," Genesis says sharply, squeezing his hand. "Stop thinking and breathe, do you understand me?"

That makes Cloud laugh, just a little, though it sounds like a sob. He ducks his head, pressing his forehead to the crook of his elbow, over Genesis's fingers. He breathes, and trembles. Angeal's hand is a steady, warm weight on his back.

Slowly, his stupid wings fold down into a more relaxed position, though they quiver unsteadily. He can't make that stop until he either truly calms or masters himself enough to enter a state of battle-focus. He knows from experience.

"Good," Genesis says once his breath has mostly evened out. "Come here, dear one." He pulls Cloud sideways, releasing his arm to draw him into a tight embrace. One arm slides beneath the base of his wings. The other cradles the back of his head. Cloud grimaces into Genesis's shoulder, but slumps into him anyway. Genesis, hugging ? Oh, he definitely freaked them out.

"Sorry," he rasps.

"What did I say about apologizing?" Genesis says, mostly amused.

"Too late now," Cloud murmurs in response.

"Always so contrary," Genesis sighs.

"Always."

Angeal's hand on his back moves, pressing lightly up against the base of his wings. He flinches, burying his face a little beeper in Genesis's shoulder as the stupid things flex and settle again reflexively.

"I'm sorry," Angeal says, his hand yanked back momentarily at the motion, "did that hurt?"

Cloud swallows hard. "...no. It's...really hard to hurt them."

"Okay." His hand returns, pressing lightly in different spots. It takes Cloud an embarrassing amount of time to realize he's assessing it like he'd assess a potentially injured site. And that Genesis is helping by not letting Cloud free from his rare hug.

He doesn't like it, except that he sort of does. It's...he doesn't want to think about the wings, and he really doesn't want them to see the stupid things considering what they mean and who gave them to him. The spiritual vulnerability —that's fine. Mostly. He trusts them. He loves them. But the wings are proof. Proof of what Sephiroth made him into.

He hates them so much.

Cloud doesn't even realize he's sobbing again until Genesis pulls, drawing him into a deeper and more secure embrace. "It's okay," he croons, chin tucked over Cloud's wild hair. "It's okay, darling. We've got you. We love you."

Angeal's hands never stop moving, as if he's following some deep instinct. Cloud doesn't understand. He's never felt so much as an impulse toward the wings, except to tear them to shreds. But Angeal seems to just know how to get them to relax down, and how to get the supporting muscles to stop aching with tension. It's so different from Sephiroth's "care."

Unlike when Sephiroth does it, Cloud finds himself actually relaxing, from the tip of his wings to the tip of his toes. The pathetic sobbing peters off, until he's just laying quietly. The sound of Angeal's fingers carding rhythmically through his feathers fills the apartment, echoed by the quiet sound of Genesis stroking Cloud's hair.

Eventually, Angeal breaks the silence. "Cloud," he says, quiet, and Cloud offers a tired hum in response, face still pressed up against Genesis. "We love you," he says, echoing Genesis from earlier. "Every part of you, no matter what." He leans forward to press a kiss against Cloud's temple, startling Cloud into opening his eyes and shifting enough to look at the SOLDIER from the corner of his eye.

Angeal's eyes are rimmed in red, suspiciously shiny, and so earnest that it hurts to look at. "Even the parts that you think you'll never be able to bear telling us about," he says. "Okay?"

Shit. Cloud's sight abruptly blurs. Like a coward, he turns his face again, hiding in the fabric of Genesis's shirt, and chokes on a shuddering breath. The lump in his throat aches fiercely.

"Okay?" Genesis insists. His palm is warm against the back of Cloud's head. He's not about to take silence for an answer.

"'Kay," Cloud says eventually. His voice wobbles pathetically, but he manages.

"Good." He sets his chin back on top of Cloud's head, apparently not willing to break the hug yet.

Okay. It's okay.

It's okay now.

It's really okay.

"Love you too," he says, so soft and muffled and choked that he's not even sure they hear him.

They hear him.

And for once, Cloud's words are nothing but entirely true.