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year 5, quarter 3
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That was what bothered him the most. Not the pain. He’d managed to disconnect from it or maybe that was the shock, leading him in and out of consciousness in a sense of instinctive self-preservation. It wasn’t the blood loss though that, he knew, was not unrelated. His thoughts were dull and slow. That was not how it was meant to be.
At times he would notice the wide, cautious eyes they drew. He was vaguely aware of offers to help once they’d stumbled out of the field of debris and he was no longer choking on the pervasive smell of brick dust. Angeal kept moving forward at the behest of instructions that Sephiroth remembered giving as though in a dream.
Directions.
Genesis.
Where they were staying.
He’d muttered an address and a side of town. It was a rented place, more expensive than an inn but also more private. Sephiroth had a key. It was in his coat pocket. He'd told Angeal this, or he thought he’d told him, but that too might have been a dream.
Was he awake now? He didn’t know.
”Close,” he muttered. His voice was a rasp slurred by delirium. He felt a sudden sense of unease as though he’d forgotten something. ”My sword…?”
But he’d asked that already, hadn’t he? A few times. He remembered it clenched in his hand as he’d stirred in the rubble, reeling from the impact and shrapnel which had pierced him through the back. Then he’d faded into this half-dream. He wasn’t certain if he felt its weight at his side.
He was in bad shape. He didn’t need training in battlefield medicine to know that though he had it, and that knowledge didn’t put him at ease. He was suffering from shock and blood loss. Internal injuries. Those were two conditions not easily healed with cure materia. Which he didn’t have. Or did he?
Genesis did. Which was why they needed him. It wouldn’t fix his condition, but it would help.
His condition was deteriorating. He needed Genesis. Their friend had always been the best with materia while Angeal had specialized in the mastery of his sword. Sephiroth had mastered both. He’d always needed to be perfect.
The perfect monster.
He shuddered.
”Here.” His vision came and went like the tide, but he thought the street was right. It was a five story apartment building with rooms rented by the week. ”Third floor.”
The thought occurred that Genesis might not be there. It was possible that he might be gone for days or more. It was too late to second guess his fevered suggestions now. At least it was somewhere he could sleep.
Look even I can't coherently write the violent flux of emotions Angeal is about to go through
Time moved in a strange flux, the longer the seconds ticked by after their escape from the battlefield.
Each wing beat seemed to stretch on for eternity, and yet those muscles and appendages ached as if he’d been using them for ages. It felt like they’d just left the field of debris, and yet they were descending quite a distance away from the carnage. Each lungful of air, painful and burning, seemed to linger longer than the last, but he was out of breath. It had been too long, Sephiroth had lost too much blood -- maybe he had as well? -- yet, Sephiroth was mumbling coherent sentences.
They seemed to be of the same terribly beaten, aching mind. Angeal finally descended to a street, stumbling a bit as he caught his balance. People squeaked noises of surprise at the sight of them; bloody, dirty, torn, weak. Someone immediately reached for them, but Angeal pressed past them, his ears trained only to the words that weakly slipped from Sephiroth’s lips. It was directions. Street names, district names, buildings, landmarks.
Instructions to find Genesis.
Sephiroth clearly wasn’t aware of everything he was saying. He repeated some things twice, three times, his words slightly slurring. He asked for Masamune more than once, and each time Angeal quietly reminded him, “Don’t worry, I have it.” With each step came another thick drop of blood on the pavement underneath of them. The blood from Sephiroth’s wound had long since soaked it’s way through Angeal’s shirt, the sticky warmth a consistent reminder that time was limited and each second was more precious than the last.
Angeal was desperately burying the more panicked thoughts as they came. He was quite good at that -- always the level head in a terrible situation. However, even he had his limits, and the thought that Genesis might not be at the end of the road continued to turn over and over in his mind. Angeal hadn’t woken up in this world with any cure materia, nor did he have any curatives on his person. The best he could do, if Genesis wasn’t around, was stitch the wound closed … and that would only go so far, depending on the internal damage.
If he could even manage such a thing in his state. His own hands were shaky, his own injuries begging for attention. Even as he passed one glass window after another, Angeal hadn’t really taken in their appearances … both men covered in blood, some dry, some fresh, some hidden beneath a layer of grit and grime. He was only aware that his head wound had stopped bleeding at some point, as he’d stopped blinking blood out of his eye.
Genesis simply had to be there. He had to be. Angeal had to trust that he would be.
Trust that Genesis would help.
Angeal sucked in another painful breath and continued to press onward, a combination of his own scowl, bloodied appearance, and the large, crossed swords on his back keeping enough people at bay. He wished he had time to give any attention to the people who offered to help. To thank them for the offer. But, he knew what they could offer was not going to be near enough. Sephiroth needed magic, at this point.
Finally, the street name Sephiroth had uttered a few times came into view. Angeal hurriedly followed the path, careful not to jostle the man in his arms too much. Sephiroth stopped him as they came to a building, the cream colored stone rising five floors high. Third floor. Room 313. Key in his pocket. All things he’d been told, or had he made them up in vain?
Hewley climbed the stairs quickly, his heart beating faster with each step. In a matter of moments, he’d either be begging Genesis for help -- Genesis who he hadn’t seen since … since …
There was no time to think of that. Not when the other option was him stitching Sephiroth with whatever he could find.
“We’re here,” Angeal reassured the bleeding Soldier in his arms as he approached the door, every muscle somehow tensing yet harder than they already had been. He glanced down at Sephiroth, the man’s coat hanging every which way. It would be too hard to dig the key out without putting him down, and doing that would stretch his wound. With what little clearance he had, Angeal grasped the knob and turned.
Locked.
Frustrated, desperate, Angeal reared back and swiftly brought up one leg -- boot connecting with the door in an instant and breaking the inner padlock. It hadn’t stood a chance. He caught his balance and hurriedly managed to get all of his awkward burdens through the doorway as the door stilled against the back wall. Only a couple of moments had passed between the doorknob jingle and the door itself flying open -- Genesis wasn’t immediately in the sitting room, but if he was near he’d surely already be on his way to investigate.
“Genesis --!” Angeal called through the spacious apartment, his voice raspy, desperation lingering on the edges.
He had to be here. He just had to be. No, he was.
Angeal could feel it.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
“Pride is lost, wings stripped away, the end is nigh,” Genesis informed his half-filled wine bottle before he took a small swig of the red liquid. He thought that it might understand, for it too had a pitiable fate ahead of languishing in a landfill for the rest of time.
Genesis was currently in bed--or at least he was trying to be. It was the middle of the day, but he had just returned from a very off-putting trip to Torensten. He’d had the most unlucky date of his life, and that was saying something considering his history with men, so he thought that he might try to drown a few of his sorrows before he let sleep take him. Sephiroth didn’t seem to be in their rented space, but that wasn’t terribly unusual for him. He was probably still out searching for their mutual friend, but if Genesis let his thoughts drift to Angeal then he’d never get to sleep, so he mostly just rested his back against the headboard and let the calm buzz of the wine take him.
At least until the crash of something hitting the front door followed by the crack of wood forced his eyes open.
“What in the goddess’ name-?” He swore as he climbed out of bed, his bare feet hitting the carpet. Genesis was currently only wearing a pair of dark pajama bottoms, so his wing swung out freely behind him, but he tucked it securely against his back as he went to go listen carefully at his bedroom door. It wouldn’t do to run out half-dressed into an ambush after all.
A raspy voice called his name from the other side of the door, and the familiarity of it made the wine bottle slip through his fingers. The glass didn’t break against the carpet, but some of the red liquid sloshed out across the floor. Genesis was quick to stoop and right the bottle, feeling his heartbeat pick up despite the more logical side of his brain whispering that it was impossible.
Angeal was dead.
His eyes darted to the window, and Genesis contemplated jumping out of it. He wasn’t ready for this. He might have never been ready, and it was only the desperation in the voice that had called for him that finally made him steel himself and twist the door handle open.
A grisly sight met him in the front room, and for a moment Genesis couldn’t do anything but stare. Angeal. Angeal nearly exactly how he remembered him fresh from battle with a nasty cut and dried blood over one eye. The buster sword was slung over his back, which seemed impossible in itself given that he’d last seen Zack wield the blade, but the Masamune was crossed over it, which made Genesis’ eyes dart to Sephiroth. Angeal was almost carrying him, which was something that he would have thought beneath the silver-haired man’s dignity. It didn’t look like Sephiroth was in any mood to put up a fight though. Sephiroth was always pale, but his face looked ashen and unhealthy now, his hair was a tangled mess, and his coat was torn open and bloody. Even in the split second of Genesis darting his eyes around to take everything in, a few drops of blood oozed from his back and hit the carpet. Sephiroth was in a bad way.
Which just made the rage in Genesis flare up more.
“You think you can just!-” Resisting the urge to inarticulately scream, Genesis instead marched up and grabbed Angeal by the front of his bloody turtleneck sweater. “If you think that after everything that happened, I’ll just let you march right in here because Sephiroth’s dying then!-” His eyes darted to Sephiroth’s face again, and a scowl lit up his face as he slowly loosened his grip on Angeal.
“...Then you’re absolutely right and I hate you,” he muttered, stepping back and running both hands over his face. His thoughts were running at a mile a minute, but they didn’t exactly have time for that now. Or at least Sephiroth didn’t have time for that now. “Get him on the bed. Take his coat off,” Genesis ordered Angeal, finding that he had a hard time looking at his friend. Somehow this was much worse than just being able to scream everything at him. At least that would have been cathartic. This felt way too casual, and he hated every second of it.
Turning his back on them, Genesis went to retrieve his rapier from where it was stored on the dresser in his own bedroom. A few slots of materia were inlaid into the hilt, and he plucked one of the green ones from it, glancing down at the emerald shine of the Restore materia before he returned to find his friends. Somehow it was easier to watch Angeal from the back instead of having to look him in the eye as he entered Sephiroth’s bedroom after him, and it was the first time that he noticed just how injured the dark-haired man was. Angeal was moving gingerly, as if not all the blood seeped into both of their clothing had belonged to Sephiroth.
Idiot. Dragging someone along while he was hurt himself. Typical Angeal.
Scowling down at the Restore materia in his hand, Genesis gently tapped it against Angeal’s back. “Cure,” he muttered, feeling a small amount of magic flowing out of him before he pointed a finger accusingly at him. “That’s all you get though! I’m not done with you. Also you could have knocked. Now you’ve lost us our security deposit, you dolt.”
Genesis grabbed the desk chair from the other side of the room and rolled it up to the side of the bed. He had a feeling that he’d be working a while, and he hadn’t even seen the extent of Sephiroth’s wounds yet. “What even happened? Not that I care obviously.”
Lol just writing complete delirium. This is useful to everyone.
I knew mine was a special existence
Sephiroth was not overly aware of his surroundings. This was in itself unusual, and as he dipped in and out of a kind of delirious semi-consciousness, this caused him no small amount of unease. He was always vigilant, perceptive, independent. Now his life was in another’s hands, no matter how well trusted, and he hardly knew at any given moment where he even was.
Even through this, however, he recognized that Angeal had kicked open the door to his apartment.
Sephiroth made a noise of protest. He slurred something about Genesis and their deposit. It didn’t matter, another voice told him clearly, but that voice wasn’t currently in control. It was his logical voice. His generally dominant voice, and at the moment, it was helpless against the torturous fog.
There was the sound of shattering glass. Footsteps. Sephiroth blearily raised his head to see a familiar form standing before them. He sighed his relief. ”Genesis.”
He looked struck, perhaps more in shock than even Sephiroth. His face had lost some of its color. His striking blue eyes were unwavering. Sephiroth faded again, and then Genesis was in front of him, clutching Angeal tightly by the front of his sweater.
Oh.
Genesis was in a fury. Hurt. Offended. He had eyes only for Angeal.
Sephiroth felt his eyes drop and then he was on his back. His coat was missing as were the belts and plate beneath. He was in a bed, his mind unhelpfully provided. Had they left him here so they could talk? It must have been a shock for Genesis.
”I’m not done with you. Also you could have knocked. Now you’ve lost us our security deposit, you dolt.”
Wheels rolled against a wooden floor. Genesis hovered over him. Sephiroth looked at him, confused. He made a noise to match, half-questioning, half-concerned. Two pairs of eyes were on him. Worried eyes.
Oh.
”Genesis,” he muttered. ”Don’t fight.”
Like that had ever stopped him before. Still, that side of him was gone. Sleeping with only a half-hearted protest floating towards the surface. Sephiroth felt his head fall to the side as he slurred, ”Angeal saved me.”
When Genesis rounded the corner, it felt as though time itself had stopped in its tracks.
What was the longest amount of time they’d ever spent apart? Months, maybe? Ever since the two of them had become friends in Banora, they’d been a near inseparable pair. Almost never one without the other, back in those days. They took somewhat different paths in the Soldier program, where Angeal spent more time with recruits, yet still, they lived together, they worked together. Angeal had been on this strange planet for over a year without seeing Genesis -- the longest he’d ever gone without seeing him.
The rush of emotions was complicated. Elation. Worry. Fear. Anguish. Angeal knew his eyes were wide, knew his mouth had barely slipped open, though no sound had come out. He’d startled the red-head, clearly, as his best friend stared back at him in shock. Taking in the blood and debris, Sephiroth’s state, no doubt. But, there was no doubt in Hewley’s mind that Genesis was struggling the same way he was, to think of something to say.
There were so many things that could be said. None of them good, from Genesis to Angeal.
If it weren’t for the pressing matter of Sephiroth’s life, it’s likely Genesis would have slapped him. Attacked him on sight. Screamed at him. As the other former Soldier marched angrily toward him, Angeal prepared for the worst. Genesis’s hand reached out and grabbed him harshly by the front of his filthy sweater, and Angeal’s labored breath caught in his throat.
“If you think that after everything that happened, I’ll just let you march right in here because Sephiroth’s dying then!-”
Angeal voiced nothing, his glowing eyes silently pleading. The grip around his shirt slowly loosened as Genesis glimpsed at Sephiroth.
“...Then you’re absolutely right and I hate you.”
An invisible, icy grip relaxed it’s hold on Angeal’s heart, and he let loose a quiet, relieved sigh. However, it barely put a dent in the weight on his shoulders, and it certainly didn’t help any of the massive aches and pains scattered throughout his body. The adrenaline he’d been running on to get Sephiroth to safety was beginning to run low, his exhausted body unable to keep pushing past its limits. “Okay,” was his only, near-silent response to Genesis’s orders, boots shuffling against the floor to where he’d been directed.
If it weren’t for Sephiroth’s near life-or-death state, Angeal would have loosened his laser focus to take in the room around him. Plain and simple, orderly, neat. Very Sephiroth. Instead, he gently laid his friend on the bed, best that he could, and got to work undoing the various belts and straps that held Sephiroth’s coat and pauldron in place. Sephiroth’s skin was so dirtied, slick with blood around much of his abdomen, even the skin under his coat hadn’t been safe from the mess. Removing the leather coat felt like less taking it off as much as it was peeling it. The only piece that Angeal left on Sephiroth was his own belt, that was holding a blood soaked bundle of his own shirt in place, against the largest wound. Crimson rivulets still dribbled from underneath the tight, makeshift tourniquet.
Angeal moved the dirtied, ruined coat aside, placing it on top of a nearby dresser. He could clean it and fix it. Probably.
The hazy thought was tossed away as steps approached him from behind. Instinctually, Angeal felt his shoulders tense. Genesis wasn’t one to be subtle when he was upset, and even though the situation was dire, he wouldn’t pull punches if he didn’t want to.
So, when instead, Angeal felt a tap against his back and a muttered cure, he turned to look at Genesis, genuinely surprised.
“That’s all you get though! I’m not done with you. Also you could have knocked. Now you’ve lost us our security deposit, you dolt.”
The spell worked it’s basic magic, stemming the flow of blood from his worst wounds, stitching the flesh. It was still tender, and everything still hurt to a degree, but much less than the freight train of pain he’d been slowly beginning to feel the more the seconds pass. Angeal’s hand rose to cover the spot around his hip where he’d been previously impaled, his head hanging low as he kept his eyes on Sephiroth.
“I can fix the door,” Angeal muttered as Genesis grabbed a chair and rolled it over toward the other side of the bed, “It wasn't my top concern in the moment."
Sephiroth managed to groan from his spot on the bed, asking Genesis not to cause a fight. Angeal couldn’t help the brief smirk that passed over his face; taking in the bit of dry humor in the otherwise perilous and terrifying situation they’d found themselves in. Sephiroth’s weak protest would, no doubt, be ignored. Genesis didn’t simply not fight. It was a language of his. One that Angeal understood deeply, and didn’t fuss over.
Not to mention that, well, he deserved every bit of it coming to him.
Sephiroth murmured a reply to Genesis, that Angeal had saved him. Knowing Genesis would likely just roll his eyes with an obvious duh at their bleeding friend’s response, Angeal filled in the gaps there -- with what little he knew.
“It looked like Sephiroth had been engaged in a fight for some time before I arrived,” Angeal explained quietly, hoping that his silver-haired friend would simply rest and allow Genesis to heal him, rather than trying to fill in the details, “Against a blonde-haired man. He was wielding a large sword, very adept at battle, with powerful materia on him. He definitely had Soldier strength, but I didn't recognize him.”
It sounded stupid now, saying out loud that one man had caused the damage done to the both of them. Angeal frowned deeply, thinking back over the crucial seconds of that battle. His own hesitation to land a killing blow had landed them in this situation.
“The man was suicidal. He skewered himself on Masamune just to get close enough to Sephiroth to launch a powerful spell. I don’t believe he survived.”
We underestimated him, a small voice in the back of his head filled in, You underestimated him.
Angeal was too tired to think of the rest of the details in that moment. He’d stored away some other information quickly during the fight, but none of it seemed to be bubbling to the surface of his mind, now. He was too focused on Sephiroth’s wounds, on keeping up a mental barrier to protect himself from the potential venom Genesis may strike him with. Failure was piling up on his shoulders so quickly, and he wasn’t fit to face it yet. The two men he’d failed the most when he died, and now … again ...
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Angeal muttered that he could fix the door, and Genesis just scowled down at the Restore materia clutched between his hands. He forgot sometimes just how many practical skills his friend had picked up during their childhoods in Banora. Genesis certainly hadn’t had the same education in hard labor. His “parents” had owned quite a few orchards in the area, so they were wealthy enough that he’d never had to learn anything about how to use tools. Sephiroth likely hadn’t either, having grown up within Shinra. Angeal not so much.
From where he had been placed on the bed, Sephiroth stirred feebly and muttered something about how they shouldn’t fight. Genesis turned his glare to the silver-haired man instead. “Shut up, Sephiroth. I don’t take orders from you.” He never had, really. Even when their friend had been a General and technically his commanding officer, but then issues with authority had always been what had held him up in the Soldier program.
Sephiroth went on to point out that Angeal had saved him, and Genesis gave the dark-haired man a side eye before he pursed his lips in response. “Well that’s your own fault. Since when does the Great General Sephiroth need rescuing?” Despite his words, Genesis scanned Sephiroth a little worriedly. He really was in bad shape. Now that his coat was off, Genesis could tabulate the various wounds he’d sustained, the worst one currently having the bleeding stemmed with what appeared to be someone's shirt. Leaning over their friend, Genesis cautiously unhooked the belt and lifted away the blood-soaked fabric, biting his tongue as he got a good look at it.
“Shit,” he offered elegantly as he held the materia directly over the wound. “Curaga.” Genesis wasn’t a white magic specialist by any means, but he’d always prided himself on how he integrated materia usage with sword skills. A leveled Restore materia could go a long way on a mission without medics when you were surrounded by Soldiers who barely knew how to do anything more than swing a sword around.
He felt the magic drain out of him, but the edges of the wound remained a raw red, so he cast the spell twice more before the skin closed enough that he thought they could rebandage the wound. “Regen,” he murmured so that something would keep working on Sephiroth as he rolled the chair back a few feet to dig through Sephiroth’s drawers for a fresh shirt. He certainly wasn’t going to sacrifice any of his clothes to the cause.
Slapping a clean cotton shirt over the new, raw skin, he gave Angeal a slight look from where his friend was standing awkwardly by the door. “You can clean them up after I’m finished. If you want.” He scooted his chair half a foot up the bed in an invitation for Angeal to help before he turned his attention back to Sephiroth.
Genesis listened to Angeal’s story as he cast Cure spells over various wounds on Sephiroth’s body, but his eyebrows rose in disbelief the more he heard. “One man took both of you? One Soldier?” There hadn’t been anyone to rival Sephiroth in the program--much to Genesis’ chagrin--and to defeat Angeal alongside him was just insanity.
“Well of course you didn’t know him,” Genesis dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Seeing as you’ve both just returned from the dead.” Terribly blunt perhaps, but Genesis wasn’t one to beat around the bush, particularly not when he’d been without either of them for four years. The Soldier program had been through quite a few changes since Angeal’s suicide and Sephiroth’s mental break. “There wasn’t anyone like that in First class though. At least no blondes. The strongest Soldier left was-...” Genesis paused before giving Angeal a slightly bitter smile. “Well. You should know. You taught him enough, didn’t you?”
It was painful to finally admit out loud that Zack was stronger than him in the end. Scowling down at a particularly ragged wound of Sephiroth’s, Genesis offered a brief “Legend shall speak of sacrifice at world’s end,” before he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
“Ethers,” he explained, before turning away and stalking back to his bedroom. He needed a moment. Being forced to talk to Angeal so casually was more than he’d bargained for.
Lol just writing complete delirium. This is useful to everyone.
I knew mine was a special existence
Sephiroth wasn’t particularly aware of his surroundings. Most of the voices drifted in then out with the same uneasy cadence. He tried to grasp them, turning them over slowly in his hands. He couldn’t quite keep it steady, and yet, one thing was perfectly clear.
Genesis was not happy.
”I’m sorry.” It was hardly more than a mutter, and Sephiroth knew even in this state that it was unlike him. He knew that it drifted out of its own accord, not unlike their voices and the rest of his thoughts. He could stop it no better than he could the wax and wane of the tides. ”I made a mistake.”
He felt as though that wasn’t the best word, but no better came to him. He felt a renewed round of pain as something was removed from him where his injuries were worst. He’d forgotten why. All he knew was that pain then left him in a kind of sharp hiss.
Then it was gone. No, not gone, dulled from the fire it had once been. He could still feel it throbbing.
Sleep. He needed sleep.
It took him like the tide. First in then out to sea. He knew this feeling, this ebbing semi-consciousness. Drugs were usually involved.
The hum of machinery. An undercurrent glow of mako. Needle pricks and whirring vials.
Sephiroth stirred fitfully. He wished he could slip farther away.
Far beyond him, words were spoken. Spells were cast. It might as well have been on a distant island, a mere pinprick on the horizon. He could not reach their shores.
Sephiroth’s strained apology hung in the air as it managed to slip through his teeth, but Angeal merely shook his head at the injured man. A silent, don’t, don’t even worry about it, neither of us could have known that would happen.
Genesis, at least, had the grace to be surprised by the mention of a blonde Soldier that managed to mangle two of Shinra’s finest -- if only for a moment. Angeal released a held sigh through his nose as the red-head then waved off the information as if it were yesterday’s news. It wasn’t a surprise that there may have been a Soldier out there that Angeal was unaware of; there was no telling what happened after he died. However, a particular piece of Genesis’ reply immediately shoved an icy dagger into his chest.
Both returned from the dead?
Sephiroth … had died?
It was by some small miracle that Angeal held his tongue, resisted the urge for his jaw to drop at the news Genesis had dropped so casually. It took all the Soldier had to snap his jaw shut tight and not to pry -- now wasn’t the time, after all. However, as his eyes flitted over Sephiroth’s bleeding, prone form, Angeal couldn’t keep himself from wondering with sad, cautious eyes … What had happened? What happened, after he died, that he failed to prevent?
He did his best to hide his miserable surprise as Genesis turned his glowing gaze back toward him, a bitter smile on his face as he indicated toward Zack. Alongside the worry and shame bloomed some relief. Zack Fair … the strongest Soldier. If the situation were any different, Angeal would smirk proudly and attest to Zack’s skills, mention how he knew what Zack would become. But, now wasn’t the time, nor the place. The knowledge that Zack managed to climb to the top of Soldier and make it would have to be the lone, warm feeling tucked deep in his miserable heart.
Angeal made some quiet noise to acknowledge Genesis leaving the room for the moment, finding himself constantly adrift in his own maddening thoughts. The sound of a door clicking in the distance brought Hewley out of his funk, running a hand through his grimy hair. Knowing there was little he could do to help, Angeal quietly stepped out of the room, quickly finding himself in the kitchen in search of a large bowl. The place wasn’t well stocked with much -- Genesis and Sephiroth likely hadn’t stayed there long -- so Angeal took the largest container he could find.
He was, admittedly, going through the motions in a daze. Genesis’ words had rocked and unsettled him, and just as it had been long ago now, Angeal found it difficult to pull himself out of his misery. The Soldier grabbed a rag from a drawer and ran warm water under the tap, sighing as he washed the blood and dirt from his hands. He pictured a box, and attempted to shove all of his questions and feelings inside of it. It worked, for all of a second. Angeal filled the bowl with warm water and tossed the rag inside of it, shutting the tap off with a little more force than he intended to.
Sephiroth was completely out cold by the time Angeal returned to his room. He set his bowl down on the bedside table, pulling out the rag and ringing the excess moisture out. Genesis would likely be back any moment, but in the meantime, Angeal could at least clean away the dirt and excess blood from Sephiroth’s more superficial wounds. It’d take a while to do, but perhaps a mechanical task was just what Hewley needed to keep his head above water.
The fresh blood and grit wiped away easily, despite Angeal’s gentle strokes. The water quickly turned a murky color as he worked, cleaning the battle away from Sephiroth’s fair skin. Instead of stealing the one chair in the room, Angeal had gingerly perched himself on the opposite side of the bed, making sure the combined weight didn’t jostle Sephiroth’s body. The longer he kept his eyes on his friend, unconscious, bleeding, in pain -- the more the thoughts Angeal tried to shove away crept to the surface.
Both. Dead.
Sephiroth would never have done something as shameful as Angeal had. So, what had happened to Sephiroth, after Angeal was gone? What possibly could have happened to cause Sephiroth’s death, leaving Genesis alone? How could such a thing have happened? Who could have… What could have …
If I had been there … would he have suffered that fate?
Angeal clenched the wet, dirty rag in his hand, as he found his fingers trembling. “I’m sorry,” the apology was barely audible, whispered through gritted teeth, quietly and filled with misery, “I’m so sorry.”
Sephiroth, and Genesis, deserved better than Angeal could ever give them. An apology would never make up for leaving them, back then. And though he swore to himself that he would move on, that he would simply take the second chance and do better … He still had a lot of atoning to do.
More than he knew.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
[attr=class,lyric1]infinite in mystery is the gift of
[attr=class,lyric2]the goddess
[attr=class,bulk] Genesis stayed in his bedroom for longer than he should have given Sephiroth’s condition, but he couldn’t bring himself to return. He didn’t like to lose his composure in front of other people, but it was all a bit much. Sephiroth had apologized for the goddess’ sake! Genesis had always thought it would be satisfying to hear the perfect SOLDIER admit that he’d made a mistake, but there was something about it that had left a bitter taste in his mouth after all.
As for Angeal...well, Genesis had intended for his words to cut him a little--the man deserved some of that--but he’d forgotten that his oldest friend was the only person who had ever managed to make him feel the tiniest sliver of guilt for his actions. The look on Angeal’s face after Genesis had casually mentioned both of their deaths had been downright painful, as if Genesis had sliced him open instead. It made him nearly regret saying it, and he resented that. He really did. In other circumstances, he might have screamed back at his friend. What right did Angeal have to look like that when it was all hypothetical for him? Genesis was the one who had learned of their deaths for real.
...What right did Angeal have to feel responsible for Sephiroth’s death when Genesis was the one who had failed him?
Sweeping his hair back from his face angrily, Genesis dug through his dresser drawer, eventually emerging with two tiny bottles of greenish-yellow liquid. He was a little low on ethers at the moment, but it would have to do.
Sephiroth’s bedroom was straight back across the hall, but Genesis paused to look inside first. He wasn’t really surprised to see that Angeal had managed to procure better first aid supplies and was currently dabbing at Sephiroth’s wounds to clean them. He had never been one to sit still and do nothing, even if materia usage wasn’t his area of mastery. Still, their silver-haired friend appeared to have slipped into unconsciousness, which alarmed Genesis until Angeal’s shoulders suddenly hunched forward. He gripped the rag tighter between his fingers as he whispered an apology, and Genesis desperately wished that he had arrived 30 seconds later. He didn’t want to witness that.
“My friend, do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I?” He quoted as he swept back into the room. Falling back into the chair from before, he pointed one of the ethers accusingly at Angeal. “Stop that. If you make me cry, I will throw a bottle at your face.” With that promise out of the way, he downed one of the ethers, grimacing at the sickly-sweet taste as he set the other one on top of the dresser for safe-keeping.
With his magic returned, Genesis picked up the Restore materia again and leaned over Sephiroth to check on the progress of his wounds. Regen had gone to work while he had been away, and Angeal had done a good job with cleaning them, so they looked far less alarming than they had when the pair had first stumbled their way in the door.
“How long has it been for you anyway?” Genesis muttered, casting another spell on Sephiroth’s worst wound before looking up at his friend’s tired face. “To me, I haven’t seen you in four years.” He laughed shortly before glancing away. "You'd think I'd have prepared more what to say."
I wasn't sure where this was gonna go and then BOOM
His silent apology to Sephiroth was still hanging heavy in the room when Genesis returned. Angeal wished that his back didn’t tense as he heard the familiar line from Loveless, glancing over to his oldest friend as he fell back into his assigned chair. A bottle of glowing liquid was gestured toward him threateningly, as Genesis commanded him to stop with his apologies. Angeal, usually the one to listen, held his gaze steady for a moment before looking away with a sigh.
Even with the small cure spell he’d received earlier, the glass bottle would likely be the finishing blow. Angeal had been ignoring the aches and pains he still had; mostly in favor of making sure they fixed Sephiroth up first, but also because he was so wrapped up in his own head that the pain had found itself second chair to his emotional turmoil.
Me? Make you cry? he wanted to say, but couldn’t get the words past his throat, Would that be a first?
Preferring to keep his hands busy with Genesis back in the room, Angeal turned his careful attention back to Sephiroth. Though he’d managed to clean up the more major injuries first, there were still more cuts and scrapes to be washed. He dunked the rag back into his bowl of water, already discolored, before wringing most of the moisture out of it and getting back to work.
He’d returned to cleaning a particularly rough patch on Sephiroth’s arm, relieved to see it was more dried blood than actual injury, when the subtle glow of magic stilled his hand.
“How long has it been for you anyway?”
Angeal glanced back to Genesis, the question in his tired eyes. “To me, I haven’t seen you in four years.” A small, pained laugh. "You'd think I'd have prepared more what to say."
Four years? Angeal tried to turn the number over in his head, but it hardly seemed comprehensible. To Genesis, Angeal had been dead for four long years. Had he spent all of those years alone and suffering? Cursing Angeal’s name for leaving him behind? Hewley drew himself out of his thoughts only when he realized that he was squeezing the rag too-tightly in his hand, a wet spot having formed on the bed underneath Sephiroth’s wrist.
“I … don’t really know,” Angeal answered honestly, dabbing at another scrape on Sephiroth’s arm so he wouldn’t have to face Genesis just yet, “I’ve been here … Almost a year, I think? Before that I only remember ...”.
Struggling to breathe through his own blood, staring at a nighttime sky, Zack's cries echoing in his ears--
He dunked the rag back into the bowl of water. He needed to replace it with fresh water, but his body felt like it was made of stone. The consequences of his actions in the past were here now, in front of him. There was a part, the small, oh-too-human piece of him that screamed to run away … as if that had served him well in the past.
“I thought of a lot of things to say,” Angeal admitted, staring down at nothing in particular. He should have been looking at Genesis. He should have had the strength to admit any and all of this to his face, rather than ducking down like a coward. Instead a small, empty smile quirked at the corner of one lip, and a near-silent, mirthless chuckle slipped through, “I don't know that you'd want to hear them, though.”
He let a beat of silence pass between them, before finally forcing his body to move, despite the resistance. Angeal grunted with the effort, feeling the particularly raw patch of his worst wound stretch angrily. He grabbed the bowl of dirty water and turned to walk out of the room -- pausing for a moment, as he stood a few feet from Genesis’s chair, the painfully empty smirk still present on his face.
“Besides, I’m not looking to get a bottle thrown in my face right now.”
It was a lie. There were so many things he wanted to say. His heart practically broke with each beat, the longer they went unsaid.
I’m so sorry. I’m glad you’re here. You have no idea how happy I am to see you. And you have no idea how terrified I am, either.
Just say something, Angeal pleaded with himself, Anything. Any of them.
He nearly opened his mouth, just to let something be said. But, the will wasn’t there. Instead, Angeal ducked his head and pushed himself out of the room and back out into the kitchen, releasing a haggard breath the more distance he put between himself and his two dear friends. He knew he would be facing this battle someday, but he always figured he’d find it under better circumstances. Not with Sephiroth having just defied death and Angeal surprise knocking down the door to see Genesis for the first time in years after his death.
Angeal dumped the bowl of dirty, bloodied water in the sink and began to run the tap for a new batch of warm water, ringing the grime out of his wash rag. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his oldest and dearest friend in a tight hug and apologize until the sun went down. To tell him he regretted it. That he’d do anything to take it back. Ruining the bond between himself and his friends was more painful to face than he’d thought. It would almost feel better for Genesis to scream at him and kick him out.
Angeal hung his head, slowly washing out the bowl, deciding to give himself a couple of moments to collect himself and his thoughts, before he’d have to look back in Genesis’s eyes once more.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
