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bluecanvasshoe · 26 days ago

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I Still Miss Someone

Chapter 4 of Everything Eats and is Eaten (Time is Fed)

platonic Red Dead Redemption x teen!reader

Summary: Acquaintances and feelings from times passed pop up again.

Warnings/content: angst, descriptions of grief, alcohol poisoning mentions, descriptions of alcoholism and underage drinking (don't drink underage!! i do not condone this!!!!!), big reader backstory drop, talk of death and self-deprecating thoughts

Word count: 2.1k

Title from the song 'I Still Miss Someone' by Johnny Cash

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a/n: backstory drop!!! wow!!! i had a lot of trouble writings this one, so apologies if it's not great; i’m sick and stressed out from school. i promise we'll have more interactions with people in the next chapter! also........ farewell Guy :¨(

ps… late merry christmas and happy holidays! ❤️

want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment!!

“John?”

You asked with a tone of incredulity, grinning nonetheless.

“Goddamn. Look at you! You’ve gotten taller!” He laughed in that raspy voice of his, pulling you into a hug, and patting your back.

“Why’re you here?” You asked, leaning away a bit with a smile. You were much more on his level, able to face him without craning your neck.

“Well, Abigail, Jack and I have been uh, movin’ around. We ended up here.”

“Abigail and Jack? They’re here? Where are-”

“Well, not- not right now.”

“...What?”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head a bit.

“Yeah, uh, Abigail and Jack aren’t here right now. I kept causing trouble with the law, so she took Jack and left. She won’t come back until I’ve sorted myself out.”

“Abigail… left you.”

“No, at least, not for long. I’m looking at a place down near Blackwater-”

“Blackwater!?”

Your chatter had drawn some attention, his coworkers turning their heads and looking up from their tasks. Your vision almost seemed clearer after seeing John; if that made any sense at all.

“Our bounties have been lifted, probably, and the property is far enough away. It’ll be fine, kid. …Anyways, what are you doin’ here?”

You grinned, “I think I found Charles.”

“Charles Smith?” John repeated, his eyes wide.

You nodded, crossing your arms. “In Saint Denis.”

He let out a breath, his hands on his hips. “I always wondered where he went. How’d you know?”

Your confidence faltered, and you grimaced lightly.

“Well, I’m gonna be honest, uh, I found a passage in the newspaper. It just… it included a bit about someone who sounded like Charles.” You replied sheepishly, the faults in your plan suddenly seeming very clear.

John cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “So, you aren’t sure?”

“Not- not really. But I’m still gonna head on out there, just to… make sure I ain't passin’ up a good opportunity.”

He nodded slowly, the smile returning to his face as he patted your shoulder. “Good luck then, kid. I really wish I could go with you, but… I’m working towards getting Abigail and Jack back here at the moment. After the gang and Arthur, things have been… difficult. I’m trying to keep out of trouble, get myself back on my feet. Look, I’ll join you in your search as soon as I can. The place I’m looking at in Blackwater, it’s called Beacher’s Hope.”

You nodded along, the reminder of the gang and Arthur’s subsequent passing sending a pang of hurt to your heart. You understood why John wasn’t coming; the lead you had wasn’t solid and you were taking a huge risk. Yet despite that, it hurt nonetheless. However, you were smart; you understood why going alone would probably be a bit safer.

See, you could take said risk. You’re younger, childless, and with much less to lose compared to John. Making dangerous, riskier decisions is easier when you don’t have much fiscal or sentimental value to yourself or your name; losing money or getting yourself into stupid situations is easier to get out of when you have more potential and life than someone older.

“I understand, I-” “I got you a new bedroll!”

Guy shouted, walking back to you with a crooked grin. His teeth were yellowed, lips cracked.

He walked up with a rolled-up piece of fabric. John raised an eyebrow, smiling in amusement as he looked from you to the eccentric old man. “...thank you kindly.” you nodded, taking it from him.

You turned back to John, giving him a lackluster smile. Your mood was quite dampened; both from the fact that John could not join you and the reminder of Arthur.

“I suppose I’ll see you around, Jim,” You slurred the new name, catching yourself before you said ‘John’. “I’ll write to you about updates.”

“‘Course, kid. I’ll cya. It was great seein’ you again.” The older man pulled you into a brotherly sort of hug, patting your back once or twice before letting you go.

With a lonesome kind of reluctance, you pivoted on your heel and walked back to your horse waiting patiently for you.

“Would you need a ride home, Guy?” you offered the man, voice faltering when you turned to see he was walking back to the house. With narrowed eyes followed by a sigh, you shrugged your shoulders and returned to your trek towards the hitching posts.

A few workers looked up briefly before continuing their work, sheep bleating and crows cawing in the distance.

You strapped the new bedroll to your horse’s saddle, giving him a pat on the rump before hosting yourself onto him.

—

The trees that surrounded you seemed, yet again, endless. It was suffocating in the dark, and repetitive in the light.

The gang, for some reason, plagued your mind. As much as you tried to ignore the nagging, it kept returning. You wanted nothing more than to go back to the gang, even if it was hard back then as a young teenager.

You wished you screamed a little harder, kicked with more force, hadn’t discarded your gun in fear. Maybe the lawmen wouldn’t have caught you.

Or, maybe, if you didn’t even get found by the gang, things would be better. No, scratch that, things would definitely be better. Maybe you could’ve been taken in by a nice family instead of a group of outlaws.

But things would never really be different, would they?

See, your mother died during childbirth, and your father passed soon after; the details of which had never been disclosed to you.

Thus, you were taken in by your grandparents. You hardly remembered the time leading up to their deaths, but the memories you did have were clearer than most. Your grandmother hardly remembered you in the days leading up to her passing; to her, you weren’t her granddaughter. Your grandfather was taken by consumption, or Tuberculosis, as the doctors called it.

When they were gone, your uncle and his wife were the only two left in the family. You were stricken by grief, a child of nine who had spaced out far too much and carried a deep distrust in many due to a conclusion she’d drawn long ago. Said conclusion being that she was a bad omen, something made obvious by the fact that she’d taken a life even before her first breath.

It took a year to finally become comfortable with your aunt and uncle, but it didn’t take long for their relationship to become rocky soon after. Florence never envisioned herself as a mother, the responsibilities of being one to a child who demanded so much aid dragging on her mind. It wasn’t her fault and it wasn’t yours, but it couldn’t be helped.

Your uncle, Ernest, could hardly stand her nagging, as he called it. He changed, becoming irritable and annoyed by her upset.

They argued a lot. Over you, over finances, over small things that turned into screaming matches.

They divorced, and you never heard from Florence again. Ernest turned to alcohol, hiding his feelings at the bottom of a bottle.

One snowy morning, you woke up in an empty, quiet house. After an hour of mucking around, the town’s sheriff knocked on your door. He delivered the news of your uncle Ernest’s demise: alcohol poisoning in the wee hours of the morning.

You were alone, and you didn’t want to be sent to the orphan trains or, god forbid: an orphanage. So, you took to a life of crime. That brought you to the gang.

And now, you’re here.

Alone again.

When Arthur died, the only news you’d heard of it was in the papers.

In the front of your mind, you’d say you understood Arthur’s death, that he wasn’t around anymore. However, these messages of understanding were laced with a parasitic sense of denial.

Then, you became irate; just like Ernest.

You’d sneak whiskey from your foster parent’s alcohol cupboards, trying to stomach bourbon and forget your woes. However, they soon noticed the stench of alcohol in your small room and the dwindling supply on the shelves, landing you a harsh punishment and new rules. On top of that, you were reminded of the death of your uncle by Anne and David, your panic and fear being enough to dump the budding habit surprisingly early.

Without booze, you’d beat yourself down in your room, sobbing night after night until you didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Tears refused to fall from your eyes, and the most you’d get out were pathetic sobs into your thin pillow.

The process took almost a year, but things began to look up.

One day, you were sitting against a tree with a sketchbook in hand. Nothing came to mind and you lacked inspiration, so you turned your head towards the sprawling fields and oak trees.

Amidst your staring, a deer wandered into your line of sight.

He stood, staring at you.

He was young from what you could remember from Charles and Arthur’s hunting lessons, but surprisingly not skittish.

You felt a sense of odd comfort wash over you, one of familiarity and yearning. It took a few seconds, but he soon wandered off.

This inner peace didn’t come from a deer looking at you a second too long, though. If anything, it was hard to explain; but the deer was relevant.

Arthur would take you out hunting, teaching about deer and other common game. They were scared, easy to frighten, and would run at the snap of a twig because you were looking for food, meat, a meal. You were a threat because you were their killer. Even since birth, death followed you.

For some people, grief was something they never had to experience, but an experience they looked upon with pity and sympathy. In your case, it dragged on your mind nearly every day since childhood, coming and going in various forms.

But in recent years, things have been different.

Your stupid foster brothers laughed with you and watched you do things with awe. Anne and David encouraged growth and learning within you, and you began to be impressed by things you learned, no matter how small.

You were given a chance to become more.

They proved you weren’t a bad omen, because good things really did happen. You were able to be seen as a big sister, a role model. In your foster parents, you were seen as a soul saved from the clutches of despair.

In yourself, you saw that things truly did get better. That you were capable of healing, of moving on. That you weren’t just a bad omen; that you weren’t one at all. Because if you were, why did the old farmer smile at you at the market? Why did the woman from town thank you profusely after you offered her a free product, and since then greet you happily every day? Why did your brothers hear your voice and come bounding down the stairs to talk? Why didn’t the deer run off immediately after seeing you?

Since then, the thought that maybe you weren’t unlucky or the cause of death helped you overcome the majority of your grief.

However, memories still haunted you and a feeling of yearning still gripped your heart.

You’d wake up in the morning, alone in a room. You wouldn’t sit around a campfire and joke with Sean. Lenny wasn’t around to read to you; you had to read to yourself nowadays. Ms. Grimshaw doesn’t tell you what to do anymore, and Karen wasn’t around to complain with you. Now, you go to town, alone nearly all the time. You’d see other people your age hanging out and wonder ‘What’s wrong with me’ because you miss outlaws more than you yearn for a normal life.

You stopped asking yourself that question.

Because instead of that, you wondered what went wrong.

You still do.

–

You miss the gang.

The trees around you closed in on your mind, evergreen appearing black in the evening light. They isolate you from the outside, from the noise of the world. It was just you.

And maybe you aren’t an omen of death, but if you’re being honest, you once again feel stupid. A dumb plan to find someone who is probably dead, leaving your foster family, abandoning a better chance at life, and now finding yourself alone. And this time, no one’s here to listen.

You forgot how desolate the wilderness is. It’s calming by a lake, but right now, you can't help but get lost in your thoughts. Trees cast daunting shadows overhead and at the moment, a person to talk with would be nice. You miss hunting lessons and bad stew and stories told by people thrice your age.

You miss your bed and the fields.

You’re cold and hungry; you miss fire stoves.

You miss your family.

You still miss Arthur.

Taglist:

@gallantys, @justsomereaderwholikesanime, @shackspossum

#platonic rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #platonic x reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 john marston #john marston #red dead redemption #john marston x reader #angst #teen reader #blue's RDR2 fics #no beta we die like men #no beta we die like arthur morgan #no romance #rdr2 epilogue

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sephirthoughts · 6 months ago

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Father: Verb

Epilogue (2 of probably 4)

Summary: 11 year-old WMD Sephiroth is assigned a new handler/bodyguard, named Vincent Valentine.

LISTEN I LIED OK. THERE ARE MORE THAN TWO PARTS TO THIS EPILOGUE I CAN'T HELP IT. a lot of people need to have their loose ends tied up and who am i to deny them? after this, there's a heavy one (mom needed her own entire chapter), and the fun one (for everyone else) will be last. i think. who knows, at this rate.

gratuitous sephiroth because he's beautiful

“You guys come from Nibelheim?” asked a shirtless, very suntanned teenaged boy, who had just carried in a crate of vegetables. “No? Oh, man, did you hear what happened over there? Earthquake opened up natural gas vents, blew Shinra Manor sky high. The Mt. Nibel reactor melted down, too. Town’s ok, but the reactor’s fucked. Lot of people out of jobs, now. They’ve been showing up here, all week.”

“Is that so?” replied the customer he was addressing; a tall, slender, extraordinarily handsome youth, with black hair and crimson eyes. “How unfortunate.”

“Know what I heard?” the first teenaged boy’s equally shirtless and suntanned brother piped up, as he carried in another vegetable crate. “I heard a bunch of those monsters they were making there broke loose, and that’s what did it. They say Shinra’s covering it all up, by claiming it was earthquakes and gas leaks and shit. But my best friend’s girlfriend is in the fourth infantry and she told him—”

“Alright you two, shut your yaps and get back to work,” a trim, middle-aged woman in an apron and sundress scolded, shooing away her gossiping sons, who rolled their eyes and stalked off, with their crates of vegetables. She beamed at the customer they’d been chatting to, as she unfolded a paper bag and filled it with the wrapped sandwiches he’d ordered. “That all for ya, honey?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the youth nodded. “Oh—and a chocolate chip cookie. Thank you, ma’am.”

The little blonde boy at his side reached for the oversized cookie, but the youth took it and put it into the bag, with the sandwiches.

“No more sweets till after lunch,” he admonished. “You can’t grow up tall and strong like me, on an all-cookie diet. Now give me your hand and don’t run off.”

The woman behind the counter smiled warmly, to see the older boy (brother she assumed, though they didn’t look much alike) taking such attentive care of the younger, and the little one minding him so well, holding his hand and doing as he was told, without fussing or making a scene.

Just then, the sound of a crash and two young, male voices arguing came from the back of the shop. She sighed, shaking her head. If only her two idiot sons were so well-behaved and thoughtful as those two. They must have a much better father.

Oblivious to the unfavorable comparison they’d created for the other two young men, the black-haired youth and the tiny blonde boy walked down the bustling street, hand-in-hand, till they reached one of the many nearly-identical stucco buildings, with terra cotta roof tiles, that were as common as sand, in this beach-resort town.

This particular one was a small house, that was rented to tourists by the week, and had the advantage of being almost directly on the beach and also close to the town center, where all the shops and dining were located.

“Ms. Strife, we’re back!” the older boy called out, as the two entered. “Take off your shoes, Cloud, we don’t want to track sand all over the place.”

“Boys, thank the goddess,” a young blonde woman said, from the kitchen table. She’d been sipping iced tea and flipping through a copy of Midgar Magazine, but as the two approached, she collapsed in her chair and flung her arm theatrically over her face, like a tragic heroine. “You’re just in time to snatch me from the jaws of starvation! Quick, quick, my roast-beef sandwich! Before I waste away to nothing but bones!”

“Mama’s being dramatic,” the little blonde boy informed the older one, pursing his lips. “Don’t give her any, till she says please and thank you. That’s the rules.”

“Ah, my cruel son,” his mother intoned, reaching over to capture him in her arms and tickle his ribs, while he giggled and kicked. “No use trying to escape, Cloudy boy! This is your punishment for betraying your poor, starving mother! Oh, thanks for picking up lunch, Seph. If you don’t mind getting your pa, I’d appreciate it. He hasn’t come out of his room, yet, and I don’t dare disturb him.”

“It’s alright. He hates the sun and he doesn’t eat, anyway,” Seph answered cheerfully, taking a seat at the table. “He’ll probably sleep till sunset.”

“Uh-huh. But he’s definitely not a vampire,” she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, as she set her wriggling son back on his feet.

“Vampires eat blood. People blood,” Cloud asserted, with a grimace. “Mr. Valentine can’t be a vampire.”

“Cloud is correct, my father doesn’t drink blood,” Seph confirmed, as he poured glasses of milk for himself and Cloud. “But he used to sleep in a coffin.”

“Disappointing,” Claudia lamented, through a bite of her sandwich. “I bet he doesn’t even turn into bats or explode in direct sunlight, either.”

Seph arched a black eyebrow. “Would you prefer he was a blood-drinking monster?”

“If he’d turn me into one, too. It’d be kinda cool to be a vampire.”

“Mama! Be good!” Cloud scolded, mortified by his mother’s laissez faire attitude toward joining the ranks of the undead.

“Tch, what’s the fun in that? Besides, if I was good all the time, you wouldn’t exist, my darlin’ little bossy-boots.”

Seph nearly choked on his sip of milk, and covered his mouth with a napkin, coughing and sputtering.

“What’s being good got to do with having a kid?” Cloud wanted to know.

“Nothing, baby, mama’s just being silly,” his mother replied breezily, ruffling his golden hair. “Alright, boys, I hope you dirtied up some laundry for me to wash, or I won’t have anything to do to earn my keep around here, before the boss wakes up.”

“You did laundry yesterday, Ms. Strife,” Seph pointed out. “We’re wearing the only clothes we’ve dirtied up.”

“What about your linens? Those must need a wash, right?”

Both boys shook their heads.

She slumped defeatedly. “Can’t one of you be a team player and wet the bed? Are you trying to make me obsolete?”

“My father doesn’t really expect you to be working, all the time. He mostly hired you so that I wouldn’t be lonely.”

“I know that, but…I’m just so grateful to him, for getting us outta that shithole town—”

“Mama!”

“Oops—I mean, that dirthole town. Anyway, I can’t ever repay your pa for giving us this opportunity. So I at least want to do everything I can to be useful.”

“You’re already doing more than enough, Ms. Strife,” Vincent’s deep voice said, from the archway, where he had appeared unnoticed by the group.

“Father!” Seph smiled, hopping up to throw his arms around him, as if they hadn’t seen one another in a week.

“Ah, well—ha ha. I just wish I could do more for y’all,” Claudia said awkwardly. “Seph looks after Cloudy all day, and aside from cooking dinners, I hardly have any housework to do. I feel like a regular bandit, taking what you’re paying me.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Strife, I have more money than my father and I will ever know what to do with,” Seph assured her. “If we can use it for something that helps you and Cloud, and makes us happy at the same time, why not do it?”

Claudia raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you mean your pa has money?”

“No, it all belongs to my son,” Vincent said serenely. “Since I have been legally declared dead and have no wish to be declared living again, Seph is the sole heir and legal possessor of the family assets.”

“That’s right,” Seph put in cheerfully. “Plus, I emptied Hojo’s account before Shinra froze it, so I have all of my fake father’s money, too.”

Vincent nodded approvingly and patted Seph on the shoulder.

“I’m guessing there’s more to that than I want to know about,” Claudia remarked. “I was just wondering, why us? I mean, Cloudy ain’t even close to your age and I’m a high-school dropout who’s never been outta Nibelheim. There’s gotta be better companions for a couple rich, educated gentlemen.”

“Ms. Strife, do you believe in omens?” Seph asked. “Or portentous dreams?”

“Uh. I’m as religious as the next person, I guess. You’re not saying you had a dream about us, are you?”

“I am saying just that,” Seph nodded earnestly. “That day we first met, in the bakery, I had the strongest feeling that there was some fate between us. Then that night, I had a dream. A messenger from the goddess came to me, and showed me…a lot of confusing things, about the future. But amidst all the chaos, the thing that stood out most clearly was little Cloud, here. He is deeply important to the Planet, and it’s my goddess-given duty to act as his guardian angel. To protect him and help him, any way I can.”

This was all news to Cloud, who was staring at the older boy, with eyes as wide and round and saucers. He’d even stopped eating his chocolate chip cookie.

“It’s so strange you’d say that about a dream,” Claudia said, with a glance at her son. “Because…well, you wanna tell ‘em about it, baby?”

Cloud frowned and drew into himself, shaking his head.

“Is something the matter?” Seph asked, looking back and forth between them.

“Cloudy had a dream that night, too. He came running into my room, screaming about the town was burning down, and we had to get out of the house. Scared the tar out of me.”

As she said this, a look of pain flickered across Seph’s face, so briefly that no one observed.

“I ran to the window to look, but everything was quiet, just like normal. I told him it was just a nightmare, but he kept saying it wasn’t a dream. He insisted that the town was gonna burn and the boy with the silver hair was gonna fly down and save us from the fire, cause…uh. Cause you’re an angel. With wings and everything.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Cloud muttered sullenly, without looking up. “I wasn’t even sleeping.”

“I thought nothing of it, but then the very next day, there was that huge explosion at the manor,” his mother went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Broke windows all over town and shook our whole house. Then all those helicopters started flying over and a lot of big trucks came roaring through. People running by said the manor went up like it was full of dynamite. Cloudy was trying to drag me out of the house, to go over there, but it was too dangerous, and the soldiers wouldn’t let anyone anywhere near it, anyway. It was plain eerie the way it happened right after his dream, and all. I mean, the town didn’t catch fire, but it was damn close. They say rubble got thrown all the way to the old Lawson cabin, in the outskirts.”

Seph nodded gravely. “I’m glad no one from the town was harmed. It seems the goddess truly was protecting you.”

“You and your father, as well. Unless you think it was just dumb luck that you weren’t there, when it happened.”

“I don’t believe in luck. But, in any case, that’s my reason for having you two with us. I want to protect Cloud and take care of him, no matter what it takes. If that means helping you establish yourselves in a better place, with more opportunities than Nibelheim, then that’s what I mean to do. But we can talk about all of that another day. If you don’t object, I was planning to take Cloud to look for shells and beach glass.”

“Sure,” Claudia smiled. “I mean, as long as the boss doesn’t mind.”

“Father?” Seph prompted, when it became clear Vincent wasn’t aware he was being deferred to.

Vincent looked startled. “Hm? I’m the boss? When did we decide that?”

“You’re my father and Ms. Strife works for you. You’re literally the boss, in that respect.”

“I see,” Vincent said, slumping gloomily. “Then my first act as the boss is to tell everyone to do whatever you like. But don’t keep Cloud out too late. And if you get the slightest whiff of trouble, you call me. Do not engage. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Seph said dutifully. “Come on, Cloud. Let’s go change into our swimsuits.”

“Leave your dirty clothes on the floor, this time!” Claudia called after them. “I need something to do!”

“My son is…very spiritual, Ms. Strife,” Vincent said, once the boys had gone. “I hope his ideas don’t trouble you. If so, I’ll ask him not to say such things, in your son’s presence.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind at all. The goddess speaks to everyone in different ways,” she said, as she began to clear the few lunch things from the table. “So, when were you planning on telling me the truth, about who you two are, and why you’re on the run from Shinra?”

A little while later, Cloud and Seph were headed to the beach, hand-in-hand, with plastic buckets hung over their arms. Cloud was wearing bright blue swim trunks, with a yellow starfish pattern, and Seph was in black surf shorts and a white v-neck t-shirt.

He’d pulled his shoulder-length hair back into a low ponytail, and with his outsized height and visible muscle tone, he looked much older than fourteen. Cloud, however, was small even for a boy his age, and so they made something of an odd pair, as they strolled along at the surf line, stopping, ever so often, to pick up shells and colorful bits of sand-tumbled glass.

“Why’s your hair and your eyes different now?” Cloud asked, as they crouched to paw about in the wet sand.

Seph smiled at him. “Did you like them better, before?”

Cloud nodded.

“I’m sorry I changed them, then. But people are looking for me, and they’d recognize my silver hair and mako eyes, right away. I have to disguise myself when we’re in public, for now.”

“What’s mako eyes?”

“I have been regularly treated with mako infusions, since I was a baby.” Seph dispelled the crimson illusion on his eyes, and Cloud leaned close, to inspect them. “My eyes are naturally light blue. That green in the center is from the mako.”

“Why aren’t the black parts round, like other people’s?”

“I was just born that way,” Seph said, with a rueful smile.

He preferred not to explain to the child that, despite his purification by Chaos, the effects of Jenova’s cells on his body couldn’t be reversed. The damage had already been done, as it were, and so the related traits were permanent. Among these, were his slit pupils and silver hair.

“Do they look scary?” he asked Cloud. “Like monster eyes?”

Cloud shook his golden head. “They look like cat eyes. Cats are nice.”

“When we settle down somewhere less temporary, would you like to get a cat?”

“Yeah! Lots of cats!” Cloud said excitedly, then his face fell. “But what if your pa won’t let us?”

“Don’t worry, I happen to know that my father likes cats. Even if he didn’t, he’d let me have as many as I wanted. He has a lot of paternal guilt, and I’m afraid it manifests in over-indulging me.”

“What’s paternal guilt?”

“It’s when a father feels bad for not being a better father, or for his child having had an unhappy life. None of what happened to us was his fault, of course, but he still blames himself.”

“Is that why he’s sad all the time?”

“Yes, partly. He has suffered a lot. But I’m doing my best to take good care of him and make him happy.”

“But you’re not supposed to take care of him. Grown-ups are supposed to take care of kids,” Cloud asserted.

“Don’t you take care of your mother, too?”

“Mm. Yeah, I guess so.”

They dug around for a while in silence, but for the roar of the ocean and the plunk of shells and glass into their buckets. When there was nothing more to be scavenged, they moved on, in search of another spot.

“What people are looking for you?” Cloud asked.

“Shinra. They are not nice people. But it’s nothing you or your mother need to worry about. There’s no one in the world who can hurt you, if you’re with me and my father.”

Cloud made a dubious face. “Not even soldiers?”

“Not even soldiers.”

“What if they have guns?”

Seph’s eyes flashed with bloodthirsty intent. “If anyone dared to use a firearm in a manner that threatened you, they wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.”

Cloud’s eyes went round and his mouth fell open. “You would kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Have you…killed anyone before?”

“Yes, I have,” Seph answered, matter-of-factly. “Does that frighten you?”

Cloud thought about this for a moment. “Well, why did you kill them? Were they bad?”

“Not all of them. I have killed and hurt people, who didn’t deserve it. I was very little, not much older than you are, now. When I couldn’t control my emotions, bad things happened, and people died. I didn’t know right from wrong, back then, because no one taught me. But I do now. Those bad things won’t happen again. Never. I’m going to protect people, not hurt them. I’m going to save everyone, this time.”

Cloud picked up a broken sand dollar and fiddled with it. “Did you didn’t save everyone before?”

There was an oddly mature pointedness to the question, that made the hairs prickle up on the back of Seph’s neck. “Cloud, do you ever…remember things that haven’t happened yet?”

The boy started to shake his head, then paused and turned it into a hesitant nod. “Mama says it’s dreams, but it’s not when I’m sleeping. And sometimes the things I remembered happen.”

“What kind of things do you remember?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Cloud, you can tell me anything. I promise, I will always believe you.”

“W—well, ok. I dreamed about…you, before I knew you. And then we saw you at the bakery. Mama already told you about the dream where you flew down to save us from the fire. But after that, I dreamed about you again. You didn’t look like you look, but I know it was you. You were big and tall, and you had a long jacket and long hair, all the way down to your butt. And you were burning everything and standing in the fire and…and I had to kill you.” Cloud burst out sobbing and threw his little arms around Seph’s waist, burying his face in his t-shirt. “I don’t want to kill you! I won’t do it! I won’t!”

Seph picked him up and cradled him tightly in his arms, rocking and soothing him, pressing kisses to his golden head. When the boy was calm again, he set him down on his feet, and crouched to be on his eye level. “I know what you saw was terrible, but it will never happen, I promise.”

“You believe me?” Cloud sniffled, wiping his pink-rimmed eyes.

“Of course I believe you. I saw the same thing.”

Cloud’s eyes went wide yet again. “You did?”

“I did. I think what we both saw was a memory of a different future, from before I changed everything. That was the future where I didn’t save everyone.”

“But it’s not gonna happen now?”

“No. The things we saw were real. Terribly real. But they’re not, anymore. I’ve broken the shackles of fate, from all of us. Now, we’re free to make our own destiny.”

Cloud gave a bewildered frown. “You talk weird.”

“I know,” Seph smiled.

“Your pa talks weird, too. Like he’s from a book.”

“Well, he’s an old man. He can’t help it. I’m just weird. Is that alright?”

“Mmm…yeah, it’s ok,” Cloud decided. “You sound smart, like a grown-up. But you don’t act all grumpy and bossy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Only, don’t get into the habit of assuming all grown-ups are smart. A lot of them are extremely stupid. Especially the grumpy and bossy ones.”

Cloud laughed delightedly at this, as Seph took his hand, and the two walked on, to seek out another spot for gathering shells.

“Do you think my mama and your pa will get married?”

“To each other? I certainly hope not. Then we’d be brothers.”

“You don’t want to be brothers?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Cloud said quietly, lowering his head to look at the sand he was kicking.

Seph squeezed his hand. “Don’t be sad. It’s not because I don’t like you. I don’t want us to be brothers, because I want to marry you, one day.”

Cloud gave a start and jerked it away, his round cheeks turning bright pink. “You want to marry me??”

“Yes. Not for a long time, though. When we’re grown up.”

“B—but I’m a boy! Boys can’t marry boys!”

“I think it’s good we got you out of Nibelheim, sooner rather than later,” Seph remarked, making a distasteful face. “Those kind of backward ideas seem to be epidemic in small towns, like that.”

“What’s a backwards idea?”

“A backward idea is one that relies on ignorance, prejudice, or blind adherence to tradition, to make a moral judgement, about something with no inherent morality attached.”

“Uh…”

“For example, the idea that two men or two women can’t be married. People like to say it’s wrong, but what is actuallywrong about it? Is it bad for a woman to love another woman and want to be her wife? Is it bad for a man to want to build a life and a family with another man? If it’s not wrong for a man and woman to do those things, why is it wrong for two men or two women?”

Cloud thought for a moment, then his face lit up, like he’d had an epiphany. “It’s not! It’s the same!”

Seph gave an approving nod. “Exactly. When you hear moralizing statements like that, never just accept them. Interrogate the idea and form your own opinion.”

“What’s interrogate?”

“It means to honestly ask yourself what you really think. If you can’t decide, ask someone you trust. Seek out other perspectives and information. Never take a right or wrong statement at face value.”

“Ok. If I can’t decide, I’ll ask you.”

Seph blinked. “Wait, me? You mean…you trust me?”

“Uh-huh!” Cloud beamed. “You’re my guardian angel. Even if you don’t have wings.”

He had to swallow against the aching tightness in his throat, at the pure, guileless sweetness of this innocent child. A child he remembered as a young man, looking upon him with the bitterest animosity, as he drove a sword through his gut—after Sephiroth had done the same to him. But…that wasn’t truly them. They would never become the mortal enemies, who drew one another’s blood in madness and hatred. Destiny was defeated. Their fate was their own to write.

“Cloud, can I tell you a secret?” Sephiroth said, leaning down to speak softly in the boy’s ear. “I do have wings.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY we all deserved a beach episode i think

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