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year 5, quarter 3
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Ignore the fact that him finding Cloud makes no sense
Things had been rough.
Well, that was an understatement. Sephiroth survived his brush with death by a margin too slim for Angeal’s liking. That, coupled with a very sudden and very awkward reunion with Genesis left Angeal riddled with many more emotional holes than the physical ones he’d stumbled in with from the fight in Provo. It came to light, after Sephiroth was conscious once more, that he didn’t even know who his attacker was -- something that latched deep into the pit of Angeal’s stomach and refused to leave. Icy, heavy, and nauseating.
He’d seen the pure rage that burned within the blonde Soldier’s eyes. That animalistic need to destroy someone, because of something they’d done. If it had been a Wutaian, perhaps Angeal would have been less bothered by the news. However, to the majority of the world, Sephiroth had been a hero. The blonde man didn’t really appear to be young enough to have had a slight performed against him by Sephiroth…
Then again, as Angeal was learning, time was a fickle thing in this world.
Sephiroth had no reason to lie about not knowing his attacker. Recalling the blonde’s state of injury at the end of their battle, practically a smear in the rubble, Angeal had doubts about his survival. Sephiroth had barely survived, and he’d been rushed to immediate treatment with powerful magic. Still, maybe there was some information out there, somewhere. Someone in town surely had to know the blonde man who’d tried to murder Sephiroth.
Ever the mother hen, though, it was difficult for Hewley to leave his friends. When he could sense that he was smothering them, though, he’d force himself out for a walk. He was still in the middle of mending his uniform, so a pair of cargo pants and a plain shirt underneath a hooded sweater had to suffice. The hood was useful, anyway, on the off-chance anyone recognized him in any of his outings. Without the Buster sword on his back or a pair of wings annoyingly showing themselves off, it was unlikely. He was much less inconspicuous than Sephiroth or Genesis, at least.
He took a day to survey the damage they’d caused. Seeing the confirmed number of casualties twisted his gut. Most of the damage had been done prior to his arrival, but any unnecessary loss of life was always difficult to process. Angeal lurked around, watched as the city officials worked on clearing the rubble. He could see the exact patch where everything had ended, and briefly wondered what had happened to his dear friend’s mad assassin.
Until he heard some murmurings.
”Can’t believe someone came and dragged that blonde guy outta the rubble.” “Heard he was still breathing. Somehow.” “Well, hope he stopped at some point, look at our damn city--” “--Don’t say such a thing! How awful!”
That spurred the former First Class Soldier into action. He rushed back to the apartment and grabbed his weapon, mind racing at the possibilities. The man who’d very nearly slaughtered his friend was still alive. Someone had saved him. Did he have allies, just as powerful, with the same goals in mind? Was he a loner that got picked up by a good samaritan? Angeal grit his teeth, rushing back out into the alleys of Provo. If he drew attention to himself -- so be it. He could flee if need be.
But his weapon would, at least, act as a beacon for the killer blonde if he was already back on his feet.
Assuming the man was lying low, Angeal took to searching the quieter, back alleys of the city. He’d spent a fair amount of time bumming around Provo during his first few months in the strange new world, and had become fairly accustomed to how it operated, which sections belonged to which type of people, and where off the beaten path was safe. He was no Turk, but it was easy enough to listen to the whispers of people.
People concerned about a mostly-dead man being brought into their neighborhood.
It took time. He’d started his walkabout in the morning, and now the sun was well overhead, climbing toward late afternoon. Angeal had ditched the hood, and frankly wanted to ditch the sweatshirt with it. He peeked over hedges and around corners, easy enough to do nonchalantly with his height, until he caught sight of a particularly interesting building. There appeared to be a courtyard in the back, dotted with a few benches, nice plants and foliage; serene. On one of the benches was a huddled figure, covered in a thin sheet, bandages peeking out from the areas it didn’t cover well enough.
The figure was turning a bat in his hands, observing it with a small, undisturbed smile. When the man leaned his head back, Angeal’s eyes spotted something too familiar -- wild, blonde hair.
The Soldier stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, watching from the quiet street. The blonde set the strange bat down (what the hell was sticking out of it?), and relaxed. The man was clearly in no state to fight, by the looks of him. But, would he allow Angeal to come into his space and pester him about what the hell he did in Provo’s city center? Unlikely. Though the black-haired Soldier’s only goal had been to save his dear friend from a near-certain death, he’d very nearly killed the blonde in the process of it.
Well. There was only one way to get answers, and they weren’t going to come to him standing still in the road like a fool.
Angeal put boots back to the pavement and closed the distance between himself and the courtyard. It was likely the blonde man hadn’t noticed him until he crossed the threshold, at the very least, and Hewley stopped with more than enough distance between them. He wasn’t there to fight a man held together by only tape and hope.
“I’ll be damned,” Angeal spoke quietly, pulling his hands from his pockets as he stood his ground at the entrance of the courtyard, “You really did survive.”
Your attempt to kill Sephiroth and throw your own life away with it.
The Soldier’s gaze flickered from the blonde to the bat-crammed-with-nails, and back. He raised his hands, palms facing the man, “I’m just here to talk.”
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.
The longer Angeal stared at the bowl in his fingers, the sound of running water filling his ears, the less the words he needed to find seemed to come to him. It felt like any and every attempt to come up with something to say was met with resistance; quickly washed away and down the drain. His movements to clean the bowl were more robotic than well thought out, his heart and his mind fighting for what to do next. The room behind him contained his two closest friends, two of the souls he loved most in this world -- and yet, he couldn’t seem to do them the justice of apologizing. Opening up to them. Telling them how much they meant to him, and how relieved he was to see them again.
Hewley could blame the circumstances all he wanted, but the truth was; he wasn’t ready. He never would be.
A loud crash jerked Angeal from his thoughts as he scrambled not to drop the bowl in the sink from the surprise. The silence following the noise was filled with a sad, familiar, hysterical laugh -- coated in its own misery. Angeal didn’t have to be in the room to picture Genesis in that moment. He quickly filled the bowl and grabbed his freshly cleaned rag, boots marching back to Sephiroth’s room as if pulled there directly by his friend’s shared misery.
There were a lot of things in the world Angeal had been able to ignore over the years, but pain wasn’t one of them. A thousand images flew by in his mind in an instant, all the years, all the times he’d seen pain in Genesis’s eyes. Genesis felt emotion harder than any other human being Angeal had ever known. Something as beautiful as it was dangerous. From true elation and peace at seeing Loveless performed to perfection, to rage and sorrow at the truth of their existence in this world.
Angeal glanced at the damage as he re-entered the room, seeing the hole in the drywall caused by the chair Genesis had likely hurled at it. Fixable. The black-haired Soldier moved further into the room, carefully placing the bowl of warm water and the rag on the bedside table. He gave the unconscious Sephiroth a brief, apologetic glance; continuing to clean his wounds would have to wait a moment or two.
Instead, he took the few steps needed to close the distance between the bed and the dresser. Despite his body’s many protests, wounds angry as they stretched and seared, Angeal bent down and took a seat next to Genesis, the dresser barely moving as he put his weight against it.
Just like when they were kids. Genesis would be upset about something, but not always ready to talk about it. Opposite of Angeal, who tended to wear his heart on his sleeve and spill his feelings when prompted, if he wasn’t feeling like a burden. Usually, Angeal would be patient and wait -- nothing but a comforting presence for when Genesis felt like opening up, if he did at all. Sometimes they sat in silence and life continued on. Other times, they vented and talked.
Everything always turned out okay, back in those days.
Angeal was the one to break the silence, his voice unsteady and unsure -- so unlike him in nature, “I … didn’t think I’d finally find you under these circumstances.” So much blood and grime, their other dear friend barely holding onto his life, with no time to talk and process what was happening, that they were together again.
“There’s a lot I need to say … that I need to apologize for,” Angeal muttered, his head hanging as the words left his lips. He needed to look Genesis in the eye, but he couldn’t do it. Not yet.
Instead, Angeal gestured back to the limp form of Sephiroth on the bed, “After we’re sure he’s going to be okay."
A brief pause hung in the air as the guilt tugged his heart further and further down into the depths, "Unless there's something I can say right now."
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.
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.
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.
Rosa insisted that she didn’t need to be thanked, and slipped from the room.
The temperature of the room itself seemed to dim without her. Angeal closed his eyes for a moment, moving his arm to relax again on the couch, shuddering as a chill made its way through his previously numb skin. The exhaustion and fatigue made it difficult to get his thoughts in order, but his heart swelled with a previously forgotten thankfulness. Rosa had likely saved his life. If he hadn’t crashed outside of the orphanage, would anyone have found him? Would he have simply drowned in the rain? Or would he have risen and walked until he simply dropped dead once more?
You deserve all my thanks and more, the Soldier thought to his savior, releasing a deep sigh, You have no idea … No idea that I wanted to die.
And that was the truth of it. Ever since the memory of his birth, his curse, had returned, Angeal wanted to die. His mind spun over and over again, remembering the horrors that the experiment he was born into were capable of. The wings on his back were only a small part of what made him a monster. He could force his cells into other living beings and change them, control them. He was created to be some sort of perfect monster, not … not just the simple boy he’d been raised as. His entire life, everything, had been a lie.
When Rosa and the children had found him, someone had mentioned the word angel. A word Zack had used to describe him, as well.
He was no angel. The real angel was the one who brought him inside, and saved his life.
The sounds of footsteps grabbed Angeal’s attention, forcing him out of his cyclical thoughts. Rosa reappeared in the room, tending to the kettle that one of the children had prepared when they first came in from the rain. She was no longer soaked to the bone in wet clothes, having pinned her wet hair mostly up and out of the way. A bit of the tension melted away from his shoulders. Good, at least she was taking care of herself, and she wouldn’t get sick.
Rosa began to prepare some tea, and in the meantime, moved here and there straightening out messes and cleaning up. It couldn’t have been easy, looking after so many children. Just how many were there? Angeal peered over the room and saw that the building itself was rather drab and in need of some attention. Perhaps, he could repay Rosa for her kindness by helping out around the place for a little while. There was no way to fully repay a debt of life, but if he could ease her burdens just a bit … Maybe that would be alright.
Angeal forced himself into a sitting position as Rosa approached with the cup of tea in her hands. It didn’t hurt to do so, more than a minor ache here or there. His wings still took up an awkward amount of space, and the Soldier did his best to fold them flat against his back. Inwardly, he sighed. There was a way to make them go away, but that was something he couldn’t muster up the energy for at the moment. They felt … unnatural. Strange.
“Tea … sounds lovely, right now,” Angeal admitted with a heavy sigh, thanking Rosa quietly as he took the warm cup into his hands. It smelled fragrant and spicy at the same time, and even the scent alone seemed to bring up his body temperature a few degrees. He took a cautious sip, testing the temperature against his lips. Oh. He took another sip. Oh, that warmth was … the best thing he’d felt in a long time. It warmed not only his throat and his skin, but his aching heart.
It reminded him of cold nights at home, as a child, sipping warm apple cider.
Rosa’s warm eyes were on him again before she spoke, digging once more into her endless supply of kindness. She’d already done so much for him, and yet she was offering to do more. Angeal wanted to protest, to say that she’d done enough for him, because in reality she had. She’d done more than she’d ever know.
But, the Soldier had nowhere to go. It was storming outside, and he was exhausted and penniless.
“I’m in no position to ask you for anything more than you’ve already given me,” Angeal admitted, looking down into what was left of his mug of tea. A glowing eye peeked back at him from the reflection. He sighed, his shoulders heavy, “But … I haven’t slept in days. If it’s not too much of a bother, I’d really like to let my clothes dry and sleep, just for a little bit.”
It felt like such a selfish ask. Angeal hated asking for anything. Having grown up as poor as he did, he worked hard for everything … Nothing was ever taken for granted. Nothing was ever taken without being repaid.
“I can’t offer you any money,” the Soldier sighed, hanging his head, “I’ll find a way to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me. I swear 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.
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.
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.
I hate how I wrote this BUT WE'RE FINALLY OUTTA HERE
Sephiroth’s eyes opened, slowly, his gaze clearly unfocused. Angeal stared for a moment as conflicting emotions swelled and battled within him; relief, terror, anxiety. However, his friend’s weak chuckle pulled Hewley from his own daze, as he slowly shook his head. Sephiroth was bleeding, he’d suffered untold damage from taking the direct impact of the blonde’s merciless spell, and yet he’d been worried about Angeal’s safety?
“No more talking,” Angeal grumbled softly, ignoring the trembling in his fingertips. There was nothing in the world he hated more than seeing those dear to him hurt, or suffering. But, the rage he felt, it would have to serve as nothing but enough of an adrenaline rush for the only standing Soldier to get them to safety.
Years of training and instinct finally kicked through the haze, the pain. Blue eyes quickly scanned Sephiroth’s body once, twice, knowing well that their time was limited before people started poking their nose into the now-quiet battlefield. Though there were many wounds, one large, obvious one stuck out. Angeal hurriedly untucked his own shirt and tore a long, thick strip off the bottom of it, folding it over enough times to create a decently sized towel. He wanted to take his time, try and clean the wound in Sephiroth’s abdomen, see just how bad it was.
But time was something they no longer had.
Angeal pulled one of the belts from his waist and quickly strapped it around Sephiroth’s. He tucked the dense, folded cloth between Sephiroth’s wound and the belt before strapping it tightly to secure it in place. Even if it stemmed the flow of blood slightly, it would help. It was time to find help, as quickly as possible. As for where -- well, he’d figure that out once they were out of sight.
Masamune lay at Sephiroth’s side; fallen, streaked with blood and dust and grime. Angeal grabbed the hilt, hurriedly pulling the long blade over his shoulder to adhere to the same magnet that held the Buster Sword in place. The two metals clinked together softly, despite their size and nature, crossed over his back.
Angeal tucked his arms underneath Sephiroth’s body, under his neck and behind his knees. Ignoring the roaring pains and aches from his own body, the stretch and tear of wounds, Hewley rose to his feet with one of his dearest friends held strongly in his arms. His white wings flexed once as Angeal steadied his breathing, pushing off the ground with all of his might to take to the sky.
He didn’t have time to look back. To see the corpse of the suicidal blonde that had grievously injured Sephiroth. To see the few ashen, shocked faces of the innocent. To see the destruction that had been wrought.
No, he only had time to fly upward and onward, his mind racing, searching for help … subconsciously calling for the only other person he knew could help them, despite having no idea where he was.
Genesis.
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.
Okay now that he's feeling better he can start being cute
No matter how many times he attempted to sway her way, it seemed, the young woman continued to circle back to helping him. She simply refused to let him suffer and die out on the street. Angeal’s eyes stayed on her for a few moments, tracing the rivulets of water that dripped from her hair down her face, his own expression dismayed. Again, she continued to worry about him, rather than herself. That he needed to get dry as well, that he needed rest. Nothing he said seemed to dissuade her.
A part of him wanted to ask; do you not see what I am? Do you not care that there is a monster on your couch, near your children?
Rosa removed her wet, heavy cloak from her shoulders. It was hardly a help, obviously, as the downpour had soaked through every layer. She pulled her hair close, wringing it out on the floor. Had he the heart in the moment, Angeal would have been amused. Her hair was ridiculously long, and though not silver, it reminded him of Sephiroth, looking like a soaked dog in the rain.
The brief joy of such a memory was gone in an instant, however, as the cold seeped into Angeal’s very bones. The warmth of the nearby hearth was alright, but the longer he was still, the more the chill settled into his clothing. The only distraction Angeal had was Rosa moving, grabbing the stave she’d set nearby. Confused, but with little energy to fight it, the Soldier did as he was instructed.
He closed his eyes. Relaxing was near impossible, his muscles locked up from cold and pain, but he tried to focus on relaxing them.
A few moments passed, and Angeal could see the hint of some green light even through his closed eyes. Whatever was happening, only for a few moments, must have been quite bright. The light was quickly forgotten, though, as the Soldier released a small gasp of surprise. His body suddenly felt warm, a tingling sensation across his skin. The next breath he took was less painful than the one before it. His back stopped its howling complaints. Even his wings relaxed, feathers righting themselves. Angeal opened his eyes, his mouth slipping open just a bit in absolute shock.
There Rosa sat, concentration leaving her fair face as she slid the stave across her lap, before looking at him with those gentle, calm green eyes. He could do nothing but stare in surprise as she reached toward him, moving his wet hair from his face with careful fingers and a barely-there touch.
Just as quickly as it happened, Rosa pulled away, her own eyes wide. Angeal could do nothing but watch and listen as she told him, once more to simply relax while she changed and made them some tea. He didn’t catch the hint of embarrassment she shed speaking about drying his clothes, however. The Soldier barely managed to get any words through his lips before the young woman departed.
He scrambled to get one arm up on the couch, in order to lean up enough to see her retreating figure. Though he didn’t hurt much anymore, there was still some residual fatigue and ache that made it hard to twist and turn as quickly as he’d wanted. That, and his wings awkwardly bashed into the side of the couch.
“Rosa, wait--,” Angeal finally spoke, finding his voice through the mire of his emotions and thoughts, “I … I never told you…”.
He looked down for a moment. How long had he just … wished to die? To be forgotten? And now he …
“I’m Angeal,” the Soldier murmured, reclaiming his name, the one thread of life that he had seemed unable to cut while he’d been wallowing in his misery, “... Thank you. For helping me.”
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.
I have no idea if yall still wanna do this or not, so have a post anyway
Anyone would be heartbroken over the seriousness of Victoria’s question, simply by the look on her innocent face. Though Angeal had wiped away the tears that had managed to drip past her eyelashes, her reddening cheeks were tear stained, her eyes wide and lip trembling. The Soldier was ready to answer her question and put the little girl at ease, but the once-Queen had jumped in before he needed to.
Angeal couldn’t help the relieved smile that slipped onto his face as the young woman explained that magic was still very alive and well in their world. Honestly, why Victoria had suddenly worried that magic had vanished from Torensten in the first place was … strange. But, she was little. She didn’t understand that the play was about something made up. He’d have a chuckle to himself later, that the little girl didn’t consider that there was magic all around them, all the time here in the city.
Or, so he’d been told. It’s not like he was an expert on magic.
The young woman stepped back and introduced herself. Angeal smiled and nodded, standing up as well, but not before picking up Victoria and placing her expertly in his hold. She seemed relieved about knowing they weren’t suddenly magicless and had returned to being the shy little one she was, tucking her head against his shoulder.
“I’m Angeal,” the once-Soldier introduced himself, placing a hand on Victoria’s back to keep her steady in his hold before chuckling, “When I’m not Mister Angie.”
Jessie’s warmness seemed to draw Victoria in and out of her shell, like a bug to a light. The little girl lifted her head and barely mumbled, “‘m Tori,”, before retreating back to resting her head on Angeal’s shoulder. Probably emotionally exhausted from worrying herself over the world at large. Angeal glanced another look at the other man; the entire reason he was even speaking to Jessie in the first place. That odd sensation still lingered, but the man was cold, distant, aloof. It was clear he was ready to vacate the scene. Biting his curiosity back, the Soldier prepared to say his farewells-- “Ugh, Tori, you weren’t supposed to run off!”
Another boy stepped into the picture, stubbornly holding a toddler -- Andrei, and tiny Jean. Behind him trotted Luca, with three big bags of popcorn about to spill out of his arms. Angeal sighed in exasperation, quickly gathering Jean up with his free arm, “Andrei, help Luca with your food!”
“He said he could carry it all.” “It’s spilling out his arms, Andrei.” “Fine!”
Angeal glanced back to Jessie, apologetically, “I’m sorry -- we should get out of your hair. It was nice meeting--.”
Andrei suddenly popped up between them, shoving a handful of popcorn into his hungry mouth. “Woah, it’s the Queen lady! It was really cool when you died.”
Hewley couldn’t have mentally facepalmed himself any harder if he tried. Considering his arms were full of children.
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.
