Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The group were so numbed by Aerith’s murder that they barely reacted when Vincent elected to come with them instead of waiting by the plane like usual as soon as they touched down in the Northern Continent. The only person to question it was Barret, who hated Shinra the most outside of the young ninja.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, turning to stare down at Vincent. “What’s changed?”

Vincent glanced shortly at Cloud before admitting, “My other proficiency besides firearms is using materia. I wouldn’t pretend to be a suitable replacement, but you’ve - you have a gap to fill.”

The look on Tifa’s face made him regret putting it that bluntly, but there was no dancing around it: their most proficient magic user and support was gone and with part of the team struggling to function at all in their grief, Vincent knew the danger signs well enough to know they were in dire need of extra hands before someone got reckless and there was no flower girl there to heal them.

Barret immediately clocked Tifa’s reaction and softened up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Guess you did clear us path out of the temple…” he said. “Long as you keep your claws to yourself, I don’t got a problem with it. Right, Cloud?”

But Cloud looked over with a completely neutral expression, as though the whole conversation had barely even reigstered with him. “Hm? Sure, fine.”

Then he turned and walked off into the snow, barely appearing to even register Tifa standing trembling and pushing down tears right next to them. Barret’s jaw dropped while everyone else watched on in disbelief.

Cid quickly secured the plane and took out a spear, jogging after them. “You know what? I’ll come along too. No point waiting alone in the snow, right?”

Yuffie huffed, rubbing her arms in the chill. “So much for a balanced ratio around here,” she said, wiping a runny nose on the back of her hand. “We’re getting way too many old men around here.”

“Old?” Cid cried, his voice full of forced bluster. “I’m in my thirties, you know! And Vincent here’s younger’n me, right?”

Vincent didn’t respond. More reminders of Aerith’s missing presence were not helping Tifa, Barret or Red at all - and his age was a can of worms he had no intention of opening anytime soon.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Yuffie went on obliviously, “All you two do in your downtime is take naps!”

“Let’s go,” Vincent interrupted, turning with a flourish of his cape. More than just getting out of this pointless conversation, he wanted to get them moving before they froze.

As they walked he paid half his attention to tinkering with his materia setup - it had been a long while since he’d fought in a team and he didn’t need to bother with prioritising healing as much when it was him alone - and half keeping an eye on the others.

This was the most subdued he’d ever seen the lot of them. And why should he expect anything else? She’d really been the light of the group without trying, and now she was gone…

But Cloud was a different story. He walked out ahead, strides purposeful and confident. It would be easy to assume he had already bounced back, or was just trying to be a strong leader for the rest of them, but Vincent knew better.

He’d seen the way Cloud and Aerith looked at each other, what it meant. He’d hoped going against his decision to keep his distance to help Cloud catch up with her back in the Forgotten City would mean sparing Cloud the pain he knew all too well.

It hadn’t. Vincent had failed again.

But Cloud had taken it in a way he’d never seen anyone react before, not in all his years of seeing people die by Shinra’s hand.

He could see in their faces that Barret and Tifa feared he’d become completely cold and uncaring - he’d heard them whispering about how he’d acted back in the Temple more than once.

Vincent strongly suspected it wasn’t that.

Losing Aerith had broken Cloud in a way they hadn’t even scratched the surface of.

It might have been the snow or the way that no one was talking around him to provide a distraction, but Vincent’s mind kept floating back to Nibelheim. His last winter there as a human being.

The days after he lost her - the hours.

How he didn’t really remember them. It was just a blank, just a void where he knew he must have heard she was gone for good. He didn’t know why he didn’t remember; he’d assumed his mind had just completely broken down for a lot of that time.

Vincent’s chest ached in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He shouldn’t be here with these people. He shouldn’t be doing this, watching this.

He could find Sephiroth on his own and then get back to his manor, where he belonged.

Right when he was starting to hate feeling anything again and had half a mind to take back his offer and leave the group to handle it themselves, someone suddenly came up beside him.

A gloved hand grasped his shoulder, squeezed, then let go. For a second Cid fell into step with him, muttering softly so the others couldn’t hear, “Good call to come along there,” he said. “We both know they’re not in a fit state to be left alone right now - not a one of them.”

Vincent blinked, not expecting to be thanked. His natural instinct to be silent warred with a need to offer condolences to Cid, too - he knew the pilot had been fond of Aerith even if he hadn’t known her as the others had.

But as usual words escaped him and Cid just nodded before going to catch up to Cloud.

That was the real good call. Of all people Cloud shouldn’t be left alone right now.

Vincent just couldn’t bear to be the one to try and find out what was going on in that head of his.

Some mirrors were better off avoided.

They made it to Icicle Inn without too many problems, even if it did take Vincent longer to shake off the cobwebs off his combat skills than he would have liked.

The place was small, nestled in between mountains to give it protection from the bitter chills right outside.

And it was remote - even for a capable group like theirs it had been a challenge to get to. Shinra had scoped this place out, once, for consideration for their reactor project. In the end it hadn’t taken them long to give up on it. Too many logistical challenges. Too little population to justify the trouble taken to set up shop here. After they’d plundered the Northern Crater of the treasure that lay there (or so they thought), they’d left well enough alone.

The perfect place for anyone avoiding Shinra to run to.

There was no way he was still alive. Vincent was as sure of that as he was of anything.

That didn’t stop the man’s face flashing through his mind when he shut his eyes. Letters of the cold, of the challenges he was happy to take on if it meant protecting a new life…

He’d known who Aerith was the second he saw her. Unlike Cid, he’d kept his mouth firmly shut about his own encounter with Ifalna.

He saw her now, too. The same age Aerith was when she died - maybe a little younger. Those distinct green irises picked out by the blinding oncoming light in his mind’s eye -

Tifa suddenly leant into his line of vision. “Is that all right with you? It’s a small town but everyone’s got different priorities - after we restock we’re going to regroup at the inn later, OK?” she told him.

Vincent blinked. He hadn’t even noticed they’d been talking but inclined his head in a nod, anyway.

“You wanna take on any bounty hunter work while the sun’s still up, you go for it,” Barret said, sizing him up. “You can probably outdo any beast that’s out there.”

Vincent stared coolly right back at him, the rest of the party awkwardly exchanging glances.

“Make sure you get back for early tomorrow morning at the latest,” Cloud cut in, giving Barret a warning look. The others glanced at him, surprised he’d spoken. “You get lost, we’re not waiting for you.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Cait said, “Here. They’re cheap, but they’re good.”

The cat tossed him some sort of handheld device. Vincent turned it over in his hands, bemused by what he was supposed to do with it - then he spotted the letters P-H-S carved into the grey plastic.

This was a PHS? When he’d been working with the Turks, they were all large stations or connected to landlines. But now they were portable enough to fit in his palm? What was he even supposed to talk into with something this tiny?

He’d already made a fool of himself fumbling with the keycard reader, so he simply nodded again rather than airing his thoughts in the hopes that would do.

No such luck. “Need showing how to use it?” Cait piped up. Vincent quickly pocketed the device, shaking his head.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “Uh, why would he need help? Anyone his age knows how to use a PHS, for cryin’ out loud.”

Vincent suddenly remembered Cait mentioning coming across his file on the Shinra database. There’d be dates on that file, which meant Cait probably knew far more than Vincent would be comfortable with him sharing with the others. The former Turk glanced down at the cat in warning, but Cait just smiled back at him and said nothing.

Thankfully that was the end of it - the rest were too eager to get indoors to pursue the conversation any further.

Vincent kept back, letting the rest of the group filter off so he could be alone to take in his surroundings. He assessed their exit points just in case Shinra turned up (old habit he’d never managed to shake), but really he was trying to get a read on the houses. There was no obvious signs of modifications anywhere - nothing that looked like one of the world’s greatest scientists had stayed there…

A long, long time ago he’d been expecting to make it here - planned for it, even. He’d just never have dreamed that this would be how it would happen: standing in the snow in the wake of another young woman being murdered by a monster Shinra had made.

He supposed he should find a horrible poetry in that.

But he couldn’t. It was just waste, like always. Stupid, senseless waste.

This time a shiver spasm shocked him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t accomplishing anything standing here - no doubt little remained of Professor Gast anyway.

Right now he should focus on his most pressing concern - getting back in decent fighting shape.

Materia usage and their myriad combinations had undoubtedly developed since he last fought and while his main desire was to hunker down somewhere he could rest and study up further, he knew it’d be irresponsible to do that without at least securing some ammunition first.

The rest of the group was off doing odd jobs to earn money for supplies, so it wouldn’t hurt to contribute in that area, too. On top of that he was willing to bet fiends in the wilds had changed a lot since he’d last been doing field work, especially with all the mako to mutate them.

He restrained the urge to sigh. There was so much to catch up with and he didn’t have the energy or enthusiasm to deal with any of it.

But he knew it had to be done if he didn’t want to end up just relying on his transformations in battle all the time. That would definitely sap his energy to the point of uselessness to the rest of the group…

With that thought in mind, he made a beeline for the nearest weapon shop to use what little he had left to stock up on ammo.

His plan immediately hit a wrinkle when he told them the bullets he wanted only for the young salesman to squint at him and say, “Uh, pretty sure they don’t make those anymore. Sorry, man.”

Vincent blinked. “What?”

The young vendor scratched his neck nervously and looked over his shoulder to yell to his father, “Hey, pops! They don’t make that type of ammo anymore, right?”

The older man looked up from the inventory he was writing up. He looked at Vincent with confusion, coming over to the counter. “No… no, they don’t. Can I ask what weapon you’re using, son?”

With some reluctance Vincent handed over his pistol, watching the older man’s face light up as he examined it. “Well, I’ll be… haven’t seen a model like this for some time. Didn’t these used to be standard issue for Shinra before they updated to the new models?”

They did, but Vincent said nothing in response. The shop owner exmained it a moment longer, pointing out the modifications Vincent had made to his son with enthusiasm and precision. At least Vincent had stumbled on someone who knew their stuff.

“Gift from your father, was it?” the weapons owner asked, thankfully not perturbed when Vincent still didn’t answer. “It’s a damn fine modification job, but it’s basically an antique at this point. You’d be better off replacing it.”

A sense of deja vu overcame him, his old partner’s voice flashing through his head: ‘You’re still using this antiquated bolt action rifle? Now you’re with us, we’ll get you something better.’

Vincent’s shoulders dropped, unsure of what to say. It was such an obvious thing to have happen yet he still felt blindsided by it. Worse, he knew his current weapon like the back of his hand - old or not he knew he could rely on it, how to get the best of it.

The man noticed his hesitation. “Tell you what,” he said, setting it down on the counter. “There’s probably a collector out there who’d be happy to pay for this, mods and all. If you’re happy to pick something out of a similar calibre and size, I’ll let you trade this in as payment. And I’ll throw in the bullets to go with it. Sound fair?”

Vincent started to agree when another voice cut in.

“Gee,” the captain said. “I hope you’re not swindlin’ my friend here.”

Vincent flinched. He was a hard person to sneak up on but he’d been so engrossed in the conversation that somehow Cid had managed it. He gave the man a hard stay out of it look but the captain just ignored it.

“I’m no expert on firearms,” he continued. “But you and I both know that these first issue pistols are rarer than a corsair’s compass these days. You better not be trying to suggest he switch it out for that basic bit of metal?” He gestured at the newer pistol the salesman’s son had picked off the rack. The two of them exchanged glances, the older’s ears flushing red.

“This is standard issue for Shinra now,” the younger man cut in, pushing his father back from the counter. “It’s the equivalent of that old thing he’s got! It’s newer, and superior.”

“Except Vince here modded the shit out of his - even I can see that. On top of the rarity, it’s already superior handling to what you’ve got. No way is that a fair deal.”

“Cid,” Vincent said, knowing full well it was too late to get him to stop but knowing he had to try anyway. And since when did they know each other well enough for the pilot to just start using nicknames? “You-”

“You’re being ripped off,” Cid told him harshly. “The only weapon worth anywhere near as much as your old treasure here is that one.”

And he pointed at the pistol at the far end of the rack - a three-barrelled sophisticated make labelled the Cerberus, clearly the most valuable one by a wide margin.

“Hand that one over, though, and I don’t mention you’d do that to a trusting tourist to anyone else. Deal?”

The old man looked reluctantly between them and his goods before gesturing to his son to bring the three-barrelled pistol over along with a box of bullets. “Fine. But I’d rather not see you here again.”

Vincent nodded mechanically, just grateful to have a weapon without them having come to blows. He detached his materia from his old weapon and loaded up the new (it even had a decent amount of slots), the immensely pleased look on Cid’s face only winding him up more.

As they left the shop Cid lit up a cigarette, blew out a big cloud of smoke - then laughed. “Hah! The look on their face! Teamwork, right, new guy?”

Vincent was silent. The second they were a few feet away he rounded on his heel in the snow and hissed, “What were you thinking?”

Cid looked taken aback. “Huh?”

“You picked a fight for no good reason.”

Cid frowned. “Uh, there was a reason. Weren’t you payin’ attention? Those guys were ripping you off!”

“All I needed was a weapon. They could have refused to sell to me because of the stunt you pulled.”

“So what? I coulda taken you in the Bronco to another weapons seller, one who wouldn’t try to rip you off.”

Vincent folded his armss and glared at him, surprised when his death glare alone wasn’t enough to scare the pilot. “So there are times when it isn’t worth picking a fight. This is one of them.”

“’Cuse me?” Cid scoffed. “I upgrade your weapon to that beauty and you’re bustin’ my chops about it?”

Vincent glared back at him, saying nothing. He could see already Cid wasn’t the type to see sense - if he didn’t understand why picking fights everywhere they went was a bad idea, there was no helping him. In his long isolation he’d forgotten how annoying it could be to deal with these types of people; the ones who had never considered that just shutting up for once was the right answer.

“Somethin’ else I don’t get,” the captain said, confirming Vincent’s suspicions by refusing to drop it. “Firearms are obviously your thing, right? With you moddin’ the shit out of that old one an’ all. But you somehow didn’t realise your old model is practically a collector’s item?”

The former Turk cranked up the intensity of his glare even more, deciding if he had to use force to make Cid drop it, he would. The captain mimicked him by folding his arms and glaring right back, before rolling his eyes and giving up. “Fine, you win! Do whatever you want.” And he shrugged his shoulders and waved as he walked off, blowing out a big plume of smoke as he went.

Vincent watched him silently for a moment before turning on heel, going back to the bulletin board to grab whatever bounties the others hadn’t yet seized. He didn’t even bother reading them before yanking down the flyers and marching off into the barren cold plains outside the little town.

Shapeshifting always took a lot out of him, but right now he felt annoyed enough that he could have happily ripped up half a forest. But even then his anger didn’t last long before doubts began to creep in.

What on earth was the matter with him? If his old gun really had become sort of valuable knick-knack decades down the line, Cid was surely right that he was getting ripped off just trading it in for today’s standard-issue pistol.

But he couldn’t shake his anger at Cid for doing it, for refusing to mind his own damn business. He had the suspicion that much like Cait, the group were probably all busybodies on some level. They had to be, to be so willing to go up against Shinra.

Vincent had been stomping through the wilds at the pace of his thoughts when he stopped short, spotting his quarry only a few feet away. The bloodrush he usually felt rising right before a transformation hit him, hard, and he grit his teeth against the accompanying sharp head pains it always brought.

Images flashed through his mind - tearing the fiends limb from limb, devouring them…

The fiend noticed him nearby, turning and baring fangs. They hadn’t realised the danger yet.

They would soon.

He stood stock still, just watching the creature approach.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Come get me, he thought wildly, sensing the demons in his head panicking as he held back from letting them out. We’ll see who’s faster.

It dived at him.

Vincent dodged to the side - then drew the Cerberus and fired.

Only a few hours later Vincent had cleared all of the bounties, a bunch of monster parts held in his clawed hand as proof of his kills. He’d been in such a flow state with his hunt that he hadn’t even noticed time passing - the sun was already going down and he needed to head back to claim his prizes.

He looked down at the gun in his hands, noticing he still had a decent amount of ammo left. There was no denying it - it was the finest weapon he’d ever owned, managing to stand up to his heavily modded pistol even before he’d made any adjustments to it. It was a long way away from his old bolt action rifle, which had had the tendency to jam at any given opportunity. It was also pleasantly light and easy to handle, which was a very good thing with how achy and unused his muscles felt.

As he headed back into town he found himself trying to think of a way to tell Cid the new weapon was impressive without explicitly or implicitly saying ‘you were right’.

His opinion of the weapon was immaterial, though; he was sure that the captain picking a fight the way he had was completely the wrong thing to do; definitely something Vincent had no desire to encourage if he was going to be travelling with this group for awhile.

He’d failed to think of anything to say by the time he got back to town and headed over to pick up the bounty rewards, by which point he’d abandoned the entire idea. Cid was obviously planning to hang on with the group longer, but Vincent knew full well he was just a tagalong until he got his outstanding business with Sephiroth resolved. What did any of this matter, anyway?

It wasn’t until he had set down his monster parts and looked expectantly at the bounty-giver for payment that he noticed it.

How they wrinkled their nose, stared back at him.

How they kept trying to prompt him to speak even when there was no need for it.

Decades of being alone had deadened him to it, made him forget: he wasn’t good with people. He wasn’t built for this, even before it was obvious to anyone who looked that he was a monster they should avoid.

As he went about upgrading his materia and taking the rest of his reward money back to the inn (why was it so hard to find where they were staying in a village this provincial?), he’d all but made up his mind: keep small talk with the others to a minimum. Focus on Sephiroth and doing what he’d left the manor to do, nothing else. It was obvious they were an odd bunch, probably sentimental to boot. He needed to nip any ideas he’d be anything but a tagalong in the bud - Cid hadn’t seen him transform, so he hadn’t gotten the picture yet.

As soon as he got the chance he’d rectify that.

With this new determination he doubled his pace - then immediately stopped when he nearly tripped over Cait Sith.

“There you are, lad,” he said. “The others sent me to look out for you.”

The cat didn’t look worried, but Vincent didn’t exactly expect the group to be looking out for him. He tipped his head to the side, posing a silent question.

“Ah, better you come see for yourself,” Cait said. “It’s one of the houses - the locals are keeping it like a kind of curiosity for what few tourists they get, but…”

A curiosity for tourists. Vincent’s throat went dry. Surely it couldn’t possibly be that - but then, what else would it be?

He noticed Cait hadn’t moved; he’d stayed waiting for Vincent. Watching.

The ex-Turk nodded quickly, gesturing for him to lead the way. Together they trudged through the snow, Cait making a point to walk by his side instead of out in front.

“You’re one of the few almost dressed appropriately for this weather, you know,” he said. “I’m lucky, of course - I don’t feel it at all.”

Vincent looked down at him sharply and the cartoonish cat smile on his face faded. “Is it worth it?” he asked simply.

“Is… what worth it?”

“Once they catch you playing double agent, Shinra won’t spare you.”

The little robot’s face fell. Vincent felt a pang of guilt - it seemed he was upsetting everyone today, as per usual - but he knew there was no good in dancing around it. Whoever was piloting Cait was taking their own life in their hands - the company wasn’t going to fail to figure it out forever; they were sure to smell a rat as soon as they noticed the group had welcomed him back despite the betrayal around the Keystone.

But Cait’s face turned surprisingly contemplative. Instead of answering, he looked up at Vincent and just… smiled.

Vincent didn’t have time to interrogate what that meant before Cait turned away and said, “Ah. Here we are.” He moved around in front of the ex-Turk before he could climb the steps. “I have tae warn ye, Vincent… this may come as a wee bit of a shock.”

Vincent’s heart sank. It all but confirmed what the house was, but more to the point - Cait somehow knew what it might mean to him. Had that detail been in his file, too?

He opened his mouth to ask - and maybe thank Cait for his discretion so far about the more specific details of his background, no matter the reason - but the cat had already turned and climbed the stairs, announcing to the others inside that he’d found Vincent.

The ex-Turk hesitated a moment longer before following. He steeled himself to see the professor’s life repurposed as something cheap and tacky, like he’d heard the Shinra HQ tour was from the others.

Instead the inside was… plain. Dull, even. A simple house with simple fixtures; exactly as he’d expect of the Professor.

The only giveaway he’d ever lived here was the bank of machines taking up the entirety of one wall of the house. He followed the line of wires up the stone and saw an opening in the roof pouring in green light through a mounted lens.

In the other corner of the room was a crib, dusty and neglected.

And pink. It was the only spot of colour left in the house.

The others were gathered around the console, a shell-shocked air around the whole group.

“You already know this was the Professor Gast’s house, right?” Cait asked quietly. Vincent inclined his head - the cat already knew so he saw no reason to confirm it outright. Then the cat raised his voice and added, “Bunch of video files we found on his computer - these machines were his, used to detect anomalies in the Planet. The cries of the WEAPONs, even back then…”

“The cries of the Planet,” Barret said somberly. “But they caught hers, too.” He put his sunglasses on over his eyes and said nothing more.

“Aerith’s,” Cid clarified for him. “She was… born here. That man was her father.”

Tifa turned away, shoulders heaving with sobs. Yuffie put a hand on her back, for once not saying anything at all.

So Aerith was Professor Gast’s child. Vincent had put together as much, but knowing it for sure…

He cleared his throat, trying to sound indifferent as usual when he asked, “What happened to him?”

The rest of the group thankfully looked only mildly surprised as his inquiry. As before, it was Cait who answered.

“Hojo happened. He found them here - and putting the tape together with company records, well… it’s likely Professor Gast was killed in this very room.”

Vincent’s fist clenched, his jaw aching as he ground his teeth. Here. Hojo had had him gunned down right here. Just like he’d done to Vincent - except Gast hadn’t deserved it. He’d tried to get away. He’d tried to do the right thing.

And he’d died for it.

He felt eyes on him, looked up - Cid was giving him a curious look. Vincent tried to wipe the anger from his face, but there was only so much he could do. His connection to Gast was known only to him and Cait, but Hojo… doubtless the other scientist had a reputation for his enthusiasm for human experimentation by now and with the way Vincent looked, he might as well have Hojo’s signature branded into his gauntlet.

But luckily the pilot didn’t get a chance to poke his nose where it didn’t belong as Cloud distracted everyone by telling Barret to take a seat at the console and saying, “Is there anything we can use to make a copy here? We shouldn’t just leave this data lying around for Shinra to find.”

Barret located a floppy disk for the old terminal, but he looked doubtful. “And then what’re we gonna do with this?”

Cloud’s gaze drifted towards the others, thoughtful. The look of tragedy that had been in the other’s eyes at the unfairness of it all - losing her father, being victimised by Shinra right from birth - was nowhere present in his. He looked energised, excited by the find even.

Almost like he was planning to tell Aerith about it later.

A cold chill struck Vincent.

No. No, Cloud couldn’t be so far lost that he hadn’t really registered that they’d lost her… right?

His red eyes unexpectedly locked with Tifa’s watery ones. He saw the exact same frightening thought playing out on her face, too - and her surprise at seeing it in his, too.

For just one moment, they saw one another.

Vincent glanced away, discomfited. No, he couldn’t entertain that was happening to Cloud - he knew full well what it was like to suffer a loss that devastating, but even at his most abject he’d never retreated into total denial about what was happening.

Cloud surely wasn’t the type to do that… right?

The moment passed when Cloud suddenly turned towards him. “You’ve got a lot of records in the manor, right? We could hide it there for now, next time we’re near Nibelheim.”

“In the manor?” Barret groused. “You’re just going to hand this over to gather dust? None of this matters to him.”

Vincent flinched before he could stop himself; the second time he’d let himself slip in front of Barret. This time Barret noticed his reaction with confusion instead of compassion.

“Look, I didn’t… I mean, you don’t…?” He rubbed the back of his neck, distracted when Cloud took the floppy and tucked it into his trouser pocket.

“Look, I’ll keep hold of it for now,” Cloud said. “C’mon. Let’s head to the inn - we need food and rest when it’s this cold.”

That night was mostly taken up with the group quietly tending to their needs - with everyone’s boisterous personalities dialled way down they were all far more co-operative about taking turns for bathing or using the washing machine.

Vincent participated in the former but was unsure what to do about the latter. He’d gotten some spare clothes from the local stores more suited to the winter - black trousers not unlike his own, boots, a high-necked jumper that was the only one without a chintzy holiday print that would cover his neck and arms nicely - but his old clothes presented a problem.

The shirt and trousers were fine - they were plain black, simple enough to wash. But the cloak was too heavy to clean conventionally - and he wasn’t sure if there was damage he couldn’t see from collected dust over his long, on and off hibernation in the manor basement.

It was foolish, maybe, but he was immediately uncomfortable with the idea of being without his cloak even if his new clothes did the job of covering up his deformities.

He dithered long enough before the inn’s washing machine that Cait came up by his side. “Vincent! I almost didnae recognise you in different duds.”

The cat looked from the cloak clenched in his fists to the washing machine, catching on. “You’re probably nae gonna be able to wash that normally,” Cait said, confirming his fears. “Material’s too heavy. It’ll weight a ton when it’s damp. Buckles might rust, too.”

Vincent lowered it to his side, silently giving up on the idea of doing anything but dunking it in a stream somewhere. But Cait surprised him by reaching up and trying to take it from his hands. Vincent flinched away, but Cait just looked up at him patiently.

“They have a dry cleaning service,” he explained. “The others are getting some clothes together they want cleaning and repairing.”

Vincent hesitated a moment longer, but Cait was strangely patient with him. “They’ll take care of it,” he said. “Promise.”

“Maybe he’s just attached to the scent on it?” a new, younger voice suggested.

He looked around to see Red padding up to them, settling on his haunches and nosing towards the cloak. “Like carrying the manor with you, right?” he asked, tail lazily swinging back and forwards.

Vincent tipped his head to one side. The manor? There was a scent of the manor on him? Had he just become blind to it after being stuck so long in its depths?

“Oh, it’s not a bad thing,” Red reassured him quickly. “It’s just like, uh… a library? Books, dust. Cold stone.”

Vincent blinked. Somehow he’d expected Red to say something worse - a smell of decay, or of antiseptic and chemicals - but when he thought about it, what Red was saying made more sense.

The manor had only been around twenty years old when Shinra rented it out and refurbished it, but the basement lab had never shaken off the smell of old books and the cold stone it had been carved out of. Vincent remembered the scent clinging to his suits no matter what he did, but at some point he’d just stopped noticing it.

He handed over his cloak to Cait Sith without another word. Then recalling how expensive these services could be, he belatedly remembered the money he’d made bounty hunting and took out the remains of his coin pouch, handing that straight over to Cait, too.

“Wait, I don’t need all this-” Cait started to say, but Vincent had already wandered off. He’d been kind enough not to share the rest of his background with the others, but there was still a risk the cat would try and befriend him if he lingered around too long.

He heard Red give a low whistle before he shut the utility room door behind him. “Guess we know who it was who snatched up all the bounties around here!”

The inn was a little too small to avoid everyone completely, but he found a quiet spot near a window to start studying his materia setups. The others conversed and studied topographic maps around him, but they were happy to leave him be.

Or they were, up until Cait tried to hand over the money Vincent had secured to Cloud. As per usual the cat was being quiet about it, but Barret noticed, snatching up the pouch and sizing up the contents before rounding on Vincent.

“So you’re more resourceful than you look,” he said, “But you can’t buy our trust.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. He knew the man hated ex-Shinra, but he got along with so-called ex-SOLDIER Cloud well enough. This excessive outburst could only be fuelled by one thing-grief. That, or he was the one member who recognised Vincent for the monster he was instead of trying to ignore it.

So Vincent simply said, “I don’t expect you to trust me. I’d take you for a fool if you did.” Cait’s ears drooped, but Vincent didn’t let up. “Throw the money away if you value pride over pragmatism that much. Just remember who else you’re hurting when you do it.”

He’d expected the man might blow his top completely, but Barret surprised him by simmering down as suddenly as he’d flared up. He rolled his eyes and shoved the money into Cloud’s chest with a muttered, “Whatever. I need something to eat.”

Cloud took a look himself, raising an eyebrow at the amount there. He caught Vincent’s steady gaze and nodded his thanks. Vincent inclined his head in return. He didn’t exactly care for the approval of the group’s leader, but it was good to know Cloud valued some things more than his pride.

It seemed some of the others might have felt the same, because a night he’d expected he’d be left mostly alone was instead filled with a dozen tiny interactions.

Yuffie plopping down next to him to give him unsolicited advice on his materia arrangement (happy to keep rattling on even when he gave minimal or no answers).

Tifa going out of her way to make sure he got vegetables in his portion of stew (with a none too subtle suggestion that he was looking a bit too thin for her liking - yet another reason he needed his cloak back to shroud himself in).

Cid asking how his new weapon handled, all the cheer like they’d never argued about it earlier (“Good,” Vincent had mumbled and was relieved he dropped it there).

Cait and Red settling near him at different times of night while they spoke to other people and did other things.

The only people who kept away were Cloud and Barret - Cloud because he was too absorbed in the maps and appeared to be completely in his own world anyway, and Barret didn’t do much more than express curiosity about this new firearm Cid kept bragging about managing to have gotten for him.

Vincent had no idea what to make of it. The money wasn’t some gesture of goodwill, it was just the sensible thing to do. They’d all have won those bounties themselves in time, anyway, what difference did it make if he did it and saved them the bother?

It was hard to ignore that the absence of Aerith was everywhere he looked. Besides the obvious ache that was most prominent in Tifa and Barret, there was a light missing without her. The group’s peculiar adoption of him from one simple gesture likely would have happened much sooner with her around, since she’d never directed any fear or disgust towards him despite his monstrosities.

Besides their grief and inability to talk to Cloud about what the hell was happening with him, there seemed to be an unspoken accord to try to adopt her kindness in her absence.

Much as he wanted them to leave him alone completely, Vincent couldn’t bring himself to ruin anything else today. Whatever they needed to do to cope, he’d bear with it… at least for

now.

He realised way too late into the night that despite having more than one room, none of them could bring themselves to sleep separate from one another. Even Cid seemed to feel it - he put up with being told to put his cigarette out or take it outside if he wanted to stay, and stubbed it out without any further argument.

Time passed.

They gradually began to fall asleep, exhaustion overcoming grief and pain.

Vincent waited. His mind wandered to that floppy disk they’d made. It was very likely the Professor’s last words were on it.

He couldn’t remember the last words he’d exchanged with the Professor. Had he even remembered to mail that last letter?

More of them fell asleep. Still Vincent waited.

He waited long enough to be sure, then a little longer after that.

Finally he got up and slipped out of the room into one of the others they’d booked for the night, sliding off his boots and curling up in the empty bed. Alone again, Vincent let himself relax just a little. He was so used to sleeping in the confined space of his coffin (and then the Tiny Bronco) that he still didn’t know how to get comfortable now he had all this space to himself.

In the end he rolled onto his back and gently clasped his hands on top of his stomach. To anyone else it wouldn’t be a natural way to fall asleep, but for him it was as close to all he’d known for the last years and years as he could get…

As he dozed off he couldn’t help but think he could still pick up the scent of the manor - books, dust, cold stone - on him. His hair. Maybe even on his skin.

Maybe it would never leave him…

A sudden start jerked him back awake, chin sliding off his knuckles where he’d been resting.

He blinked, eyes darting around in an attempt to make sense of his surroundings.

Rows of narrow chairs. Wide windows. A steady rattling noise.

A train. He was on the train.

He checked himself, found his threadbare winter coat and old bolt action rifle still with him.

His foolishness hadn’t gotten him robbed at least.

He looked to his left, out the window and at the city rushing by. His stop. Had he missed his stop? The developing settlement of Midgar was so big and practice had tired him out so much; he should have known better than to doze off on the train of all places-

There was a movement beside him and he looked to his right, surprised to see a woman sitting next to him.

She hadn’t been there when he boarded; he knew he’d have remembered that gorgeous amber brown hair and striking eyes. Had he been sleeping long with her next to him? He was looking such a mess, too - throwing himself into training so hard had resulted in more injuries than usual and he hadn’t had the time to clean himself up before catching his train.

She was looking back at him - watching him even.

“You haven’t missed it,” she said, tone casual like she was just picking up some conversation they’d been having earlier. She looked like she was trying very hard not to look like she was laughing at him, too. The stranger gestured to the ticket he’d left sitting on the tiny foldout table in front of him. “I checked. Sorry to be nosy, but you looked like you shouldn’t be disturbed.”

He flushed. “I-I don’t usually - training was just -” “I know.”

He tipped his head to the side, confused - then he spotted the distinctive lanyard poking out of her bag. “You’re with Shinra, too,” he realised aloud.

She frowned. “Hey, don’t you-”

The train jerked, started slowing down suddenly and Vincent looked around, realising they were pulling into his stop. Almost time to go.

He looked back, finding the woman still watching him, though she was sitting quietly like she was waiting for him to speak this time.

Vincent scooped his rifle up to go, but didn’t stand. He cleared his throat. “Did, um - did you wait with me just to make sure I didn’t miss my stop…?”

And she stood to let him pass, Vincent quickly scooting out past her and hoisting his rifle on his shoulder. The train hadn’t quite stopped yet, but still he lingered.

“You didn’t - you didn’t miss your stop because of me, did you?” he asked her.

“No,” she said, settling back into her seat with a laugh. “Now get going - otherwise keeping an eye out for you would’ve been a total waste. And - wait, here-”

He’d forgotten the ticket he needed to get through the barrier and she leant over quickly give it to him.

When he reached out to take it, their hands brushed. Their eyes locked.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Valentine, a small voice in his head warned him. He cast his red eyes down out of habit, knowing that she’d done him a good turn for no reason - and he was never one to take help without repayment.

“I apologize for the trouble - I owe you one,” he told her, raising the ticket in his hand. They both braced themselves as the train ground to a sudden stop. He heard the doors slide open, backed off down the aisle as he said, “I promise I’ll pay you back, somehow.”

“But - you don’t-” She bit her lip, falling back into her seat for good this time and giving a wry smile as she waved to him.

Vincent didn’t walk off immediately, though. He watched as she scooted over to take his spot by the window, flicking that long, long hair back over her shoulder.

It was only as the whistle sounded that he realised he’d forgotten to even ask her name.

The memory distorted as a new impulse seized him - to get back on the train, to make the moment last long enough to live in - but when he took a step forward the train was suddenly gone and he had accidentally stepped out into empty air, sure to fall onto the tracks any second -

A hand seized hold of his left wrist, pulled him back from the edge.

He turned to look but it was suddenly dark all around, impossible to make out who was at the other end of that tight grip.

“Thank you,” he said, “I didn’t-”

Another train blasted through the tunnel, bathing his saviour in light. A shorter man, dark hair in a ponytail, dark glasses.

“Hojo,” he said. A stone settled in the pit of his stomach. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t.”

His grip loosened, letting Vincent pull free, but somehow the ex-Turk understood the truth. No matter how it looked there was no escaping this dark tunnel. Hojo controlled the world down here.

Vincent turned from him, hyperventilating, desperate. He stared into the abyss of the dark tunnel where the train had gone.

“You always do,” Hojo repeated. A hand pressed against his back. Even through his suit jacket - when had he gone from civilian clothes to his Turk uniform? - he knew that hand wore a latex surgical glove.

Then it curled. The nails became knives, sinking straight into his skin. Vincent gasped, not just from the pain but from knowing how Hojo’s touch would leave its mark.

“Go ahead,” Hojo whispered. “You can get free. If that’s what you really want.”

Vincent didn’t move. His voice died in his throat - he couldn’t have made a sound if he’d wanted to.

“You don’t want to,” Hojo said. “You never do. And you’ve bored me.”

Instead of giving Vincent the choice he tore his hand free, yanking out a large chunk of flesh from his body and Vincent choked noiselessly, raising his arms to either push Hojo away or stop himself from falling into that dark tunnel -

“Vincent!” a voice cried. “Vincent, lad, wake up! Wake up!”

He flinched, eyes opening to the dark and legs tangled in the duvet as he jerked and tried to get free. Cait was sitting with him, fangs biting his lip as Vincent gasped and rolled onto his side, pawing at his back to check there was no bloody wound there.

Nothing. Nothing but his own spine sticking out from his skin.

“It’s a dream,” Cait was saying as Vincent bowed his head to hide his face, trying to catch his breath. “It’s just a dream.”

“Why’re - why’re you here…”

“Saw you disappeared from the room. Just wanted to check you were doing all right - glad you didn’t go out, though. The wind’s a bit strong for someone my size!”

Vincent shook his head. “Don’t need to do that. S’none of your business.” Cait just hummed. “In the meantime, you mind letting me go?”

Vincent looked up - then saw his clawed hand was curled around the front of Cait’s cloak, just like it had been when he lifted him up back in the manor.

He let go immediately. “Sorry.”

“S’all right. You sure you don’t want to come back and be with the others?”

And have a whole crowd of people spectate his nightmares instead? Vincent wrinkled his nose, shaking his head.

“Well, all right. I’ll just take the other bed over there then, if it’s all the same to you?”

So much for his solitude. But he knew he couldn’t complain when everyone had chipped in paying for these rooms. “Do - do as you please.”

The bed opposite hardly shifted under Cait’s slight weight. Vincent meanwhile tried to detangle his long legs from the mess of the duvet, curling in on himself to try and avoid it happening again.

He settled on his side, knowing he probably wasn’t going to bother trying to sleep again. Even if Cait had robotic spares, it wouldn’t do to accidentally tear one of their teammates apart in a nightmare panic.

Originally Vincent had planned to simply do what he’d done before - lie awake while he waited for Cait to drop off to sleep, then dress and sneak off somewhere. It was remote and forbidding out here after all; maybe there’d be more bounties to secure by now.

Maybe his cloak would be clean and ready for pickup.

But as the minutes passed, he realised it wouldn’t be easy to tell when Cait was ‘sleeping’ - the robot didn’t so much sleep as temporarily shut down, which didn’t typically involve a lot of noise.

There was nothing for it but to test it out. Think of something to say that wouldn’t start a full conversation but would help him test if whoever was steering Cait was asleep at the wheel or not.

“Cait?” he said softly.

“Aye, Vincent?”

Damn it. So he was still awake.

“…Sorry. For throwing you back in the manor.”

“Water under the bridge,” he said cheerily. He didn’t sound tired at all, Vincent noted - knowing what Shinra were like Vincent couldn’t help but wonder if whoever was piloting him was some kind of coffee drinking, up all hours junkie. The middle management types certainly weren’t well-adjusted even back in his day…

He was interrupted from his musing by hearing a rustle on Cait’s bed. Vincent glanced over, his night vision good enough that he could see Cait had turned to face him. He tried not to curse - evidently his breaking the silence was unusual enough that Cait had taken it that he wanted to talk.

“Besides. You were just trying tae protect what was in your home, am I right?”

Vincent didn’t respond to that. He had no idea what to say, except that this group’s skill in combat was matched only by their sentimentality. The manor wasn’t his ‘home’, it was his responsibility. Still, he supposed he couldn’t blame him for thinking that after seeing the den he’d made for himself in the basement.

Cait didn’t take offense at his continued silence or try to needle him into talking more, which was something. Though Vincent suspected whoever was piloting him was wide awake and was going to remain so for some time, which meant sneaking away was out of the option. He was just going to have to lie here, wide awake in the dark, until morning came.

It was tough keeping alert, though. Since he’d been - changed, for lack of a better word, he found he was frequently sleepy and being out in the daylight again wasn’t helping. Transforming only made it worse.

To keep himself from drifting off, Vincent found himself doing what he usually did: overthinking. He couldn’t help but wonder why Cait had come to find him. He didn’t know enough about the company’s staff to figure out who his controller was likely to be, but he could start building a profile based on observation. Old Turk habits died hard and given the information Cait likely had on him it was only wise to get some insurance of his own.

It might also help to know how likely Cait might be to be able to stay under the company’s radar and survive this. Another heartbreak was the last thing the others needed right now…

Vincent caught himself in the middle of that thought. He needed to stop thinking like he was going to be with the group on any kind of long-term basis. As long as Cait played it smart, he’d probably be still undercover long after Vincent had already left to return to his manor.

The important thing here was Cait clearly didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust Cait.

Likely none of them did - and that was for the best, like he’d told Barret. He’d just have to walk the line long enough to get him to Sephiroth, then get out before they all lost patience with his monstrous nature.

A strange noise made him tense up.

He froze, listening to make sure he’d heard it - everything was silent, but then it came again:

a soft, rumbling sound. For a second he couldn’t place it, but then it hit him all at once.

Cait Sith was purring.

Like a soft little engine, gentle rumbles emitted from the tiny robot cat. Vincent was so taken aback he just lay there for a second, holding himself tense as he listened.

Well, if he didn’t know it already from the moogle mount and the tiny crown, he knew it for sure now: whoever had programmed Cait was an eccentric.

He debated speaking again to point this out, but that would give the game away that he was still awake.

Then it hit him: Cait knew.

A robot didn’t breathe, so it wasn’t obvious when he was sleeping, but Vincent was still human, even if he was different. He’d been still, quiet and tense for a good while now and Cait had undoubtedly noticed.

Maybe this odd purring was a sneaky attempt to get him to fall asleep, to stop him wandering off alone.

Vincent tried to hold himself tense as he listened to that gentle sound, but he realised to his chagrin that it was working - his already heavy head was becoming increasingly drowsy. All he wanted was to just listen to that gentle rumbling, drift off to it…

No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He dug the points of his clawed hand into his other arm, hard enough that a soft hiss of pain escaped between clenched teeth.

The purring stopped.

Damn. Now he’d done it.

“Vincent?” Cait asked. “Ye still awake?”

Vincent said nothing.

“Ye are, aren’t you?” he pressed. But he still didn’t sound mad. Vincent’s claw tightened. He was probably drawing blood now. Easy to do it with his arm the way it was.

There was another period of silence and he sensed in it that Cait was thinking hard about something.

“Just wanted to say,“ he said at length. ”I’m glad ye decided to come along.“

His death grip on his arm loosened, just a little. He almost turned to look back at Cait before catching himself. No, there was no way he was being genuine. It only made sense he’d be glad Vincent had joined them - since Cait knew the most about his past he probably thought he had leverage and could control Vincent how he pleased. The ex-Turk hadn’t anticipated the little cat of all people becoming his biggest problem, but he knew he’d have to tread carefully.

He said nothing to that and after a moment’s silence, Cait went right back to purring softly.

Knowing he had no option but to wait it out until morning, Vincent gave in to the urge to let himself doze off a little. He needed rest more than ever now and he couldn’t risk being exhausted when dawn came.

In spite of himself he found the purring comforting enough that he hoped, somewhere deep down, that he wouldn’t just slip straight into another nightmare…

The next thing he knew, Cait was rubbing his shoulder and gently saying, “Rise and shine, lad. It’s morning!”

Vincent mumbled something incoherent before he caught himself, half-remembering where he was when he opened his eyes to a room that was decidedly not his little crypt in the manor. He raised himself up enough to feel the cold creep under the covers, spotting snow and early morning light out the window.

He was in the North - the Icicle Inn.

He looked down at Cait, blinking blearily. He must’ve fallen more heavily asleep than he’d intended to - and actually managed to sleep through the night.

“The others awake already?” he asked, his voice sounding even rougher than usual. Cait cocked an ear towards the door.

“Think Tifa’s up and about,” he said. “Not sure about the rest just yet.”

Vincent frowned. He doubted she’d slept all that much; he’d have to bump her up his internal list of people to keep an eye on along with Cloud. But he wouldn’t let on to Cait - instead he just nodded and shuffled out of bed.

He’d get ready for the day around everyone else; with his peculiar healing factor he didn’t need much maintenance besides sleep nowadays. The others were probably going to put some kind of breakfast together to brave the cold, but Vincent could probably just take the bare minimum and get by on that. The thought of having to sit with the others suppressed most of his appetite, anyway - making conversation with other people was exhausting even when he wasn’t trying to avoid basically any questions about his past.

Besides, the more important thing was getting his cloak back.

There was a cough next to him and he looked down to notice Cait still standing there. “You, uh,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sleep well?”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. He nodded curtly, saying nothing else at the suspicious way Cait’s eyes lit up.

If there was one skill peculiar to all Turks, it was sensing the prescence of others of their kind in the vicinity. He realised barely five minutes after stepping foot outside that there were eyes in the town - and they were sure to realise Cloud and the others were here, if they hadn’t already.

He nearly collided straight into Barret in his rush back into the inn.

“Watch it, man,” he said, shoving Vincent back by the shoulder. “Where you off to in such a hurry?”

“The Turks are here,” Vincent told him. “We need to leave.”

Barret regarded him suspiciously. “Hold up, how’d you know that?”

“I just know,” Vincent snapped back at him, intending to barge past him to find Cloud - though thankfully he’d just emerged into the lobby. “Cloud-”

“I heard. We’re heading out anyway, so if you can find us a safer way out that avoids running into them…?”

“He’s gonna catch up with his old buddies, more like,” Barret grumbled. “Lemme guess, back when you were a Turk you got along better with the bald one than the redhead?”

“Guys. We don’t have time for this,” Tifa said, having appeared from somewhere. She’d done her best to look the same as always, but Vincent immediately noticed her red, bloodshot eyes and the shadows under them. “I’ll get the others together. In the meantime - you found us a way out before, I trust you can do it again?”

He belatedly realised she was directing that last bit at him and nodded, heading back outside.

But it seemed he needn’t have worried. A quick check around confirmed his initial suspicion: for whatever reason, the Turks had pulled back to somewhere out of sight. There was a good chance they were still watching and spying from afar, but for now it seemed they too preferred not to fight.

There was one obvious reason for that - Shinra had ordered them to follow Cloud and company to the North. Whether they wanted Sephiroth too or something else entirely, though, Vincent couldn’t say.

He’d thought after the company had supposedly stumbled on JENOVA buried away in the mountain, they would have extracted every last bit of the location for their own purposes. Surely there couldn’t be something else there, something they’d missed.

But if there was one thing Vincent knew about JENOVA, it was that she was a nightmare that never ended. No matter how often he thought he’d seen the bottom of what she could bring in the past, she’d always proven him wrong.

The Crater was the most terrible, incredible thing Vincent had ever seen. A huge scar in the face of the Planet overflowed with fountains of the lifestream and newly formed materia at the bottom - and sure enough, Shinra were following not far behind.

To even get to the bottom, they’d had to face not only some of the strongest monsters on the Planet, but echoes of JENOVA herself.

Muscle memory came back as Vincent faced the calamity; all those times he’d tried and failed against her before. And even now, in his stronger form with the support of the others, Vincent knew they were only fighting her to a standstill, not to her ultimate end.

She always came back. She always became more of a nightmare than before. She was a far more fearsome creature than him, but that much he could relate to.

In the heat of the fight he got separated from the others, holding down the urge to transform as he suspected the true fight was yet to come. Even then it was hard to focus - especially when the sunken skull eyes of JENOVA swung around to look straight into his own.

He kept firing, but his skin crawled with the prickling feeling: she was looking at him, into him. She could see all the other demons he carried inside him, but then - something shifted.

She looked even deeper, to a place even he didn’t know existed.

Vincent fired faster, confused and deeply discomfited. There couldn’t be more to his monstrosity, Hojo had made sure he’d been put through all of it in the manor.

His vision began to blur red. Something wanted to break free, something that felt… different than usual.

But it didn’t.

At that moment he felt laughter in his mind - JENOVA’s, warping into a different voice.

His voice.

The calamity reared up, the voice echoing in Vincent’s head: “So? Will you be the last? Or will you stop me?”

He went to fire, clicked an empty chamber. Needed to reload, to back up, get some space.

JENOVA descended.

A sudden joined strike from the others shattered the illusion of JENOVA into pieces. As she crumbled away, Vincent locked eyes with the others standing across from him.

“What’re you doing?” Barret snapped at him. “What’ve you got that gun for if you’re going to get that close?”

Vincent was about to say he didn’t know what he meant when the AVALANCHE leader gestured for him to look down. The ex-Turk complied - then froze as he saw one of JENOVA’s tendrils was frozen just inches from skewering his midsection before it, too, melted away.

He raised his head, about to brush it off since he knew even if they didn’t that while not ideal, he’d have been able to shake it off. But there was a look on a lot of their faces that he didn’t like.

And worse, he’d seen that look before. He just couldn’t think where.

He lowered his weapon, turning away as he reloaded. They didn’t have time to waste on this.

Not when he could sense something was stirring down in the core of the crater.

None of them said anything to him as they continued walking. But after a few minutes, Yuffie sidled up to him. He looked curiously down at her, expecting another rambling diatribe about whatever was on her mind - but instead she raised her hand and punched him hard in the arm.

He flinched, frowning, but she’d already walked off - falling into step with Tifa.

The young ninja slid her hand around the older woman’s wrist, not quite taking her hand - but close enough.

Vincent looked away from the gesture, chest aching. The ninja was brave, but she was young - this might have been the first death she’d ever witnessed with her own eyes.

Of course she was afraid. And he’d done nothing since waking up but make things worse, for everyone around him.

Vincent retreated further into himself as they descended, speaking with no one. His plan to keep to himself was going to be a difficult one when he was surrounded by a team of people relying on each other for survival at all times.

He was a trouble to them without even trying to be.

The fight against JENOVA paled in comparison to the dual nightmare waiting for them at the bottom of the impact site.

Sephiroth, encased in crystal. Even behind a barrier and from a distance, Vincent saw it immediately - he took so strongly after Lucrecia. She was everywhere in his face - the bangs, the nose, the mouth, all of it. But his hair was an unnatural silver.

What would his eyes be? Warm brown, like hers? Or a marker of all the experimentation he’d undergone before he’d even taken his first breath?

And a man standing looking at him. He wore dark hair pinned back in a ponytail, a labcoat and stood with his hands folded behind his back as he observed. A smile split his face from ear to ear.

Hojo.

The same dread from his dream seized hold of Vincent and he had to steel himself not to stop dead on the spot. He clenched his fists, checking quickly that no one around him noticed his reaction.

And they didn’t. Practically all of them were radiating hatred as they looked at Hojo, even the usually affable Red had his teeth bared as a low growl rumbled in his chest.

He’d hurt some or all of them, too.

Of course he had.

Just another sin for Vincent to add to his generous collection.

It was then that the Professor turned, a peculiar delight lighting up his eyes as he spotted the group advancing on Sephiroth’s crystal prison. His grey gaze took in their number, a slight frown crossing his features as he no doubt noted the absence of the last living Ancient.

Then his gaze moved up, noticing the newly joined ex-Turk and pilot.

Another frown as his gaze lingered for a second on Vincent.

For the first time in three decades, Vincent locked eyes with the man who’d shot him, experimented on him and left him for dead.

Hojo stared back for a moment, not answering as one of the group demanded answers about what was happening. His mouth even twitched, the amused smile so familiar Vincent had to dig his clawed fingers even harder into his palm to reassure himself -

He wasn’t back in the labs, on the operating table.

He was stronger now. More of a killer than he’d ever been.

More of a monster than even Hojo could have hoped.

He started to open his mouth, no idea what he’d even say -

And Hojo looked away. The smile faded as he turned to face the rest of the group, his manner casual like he hadn’t seen Vincent at all.

Like he wasn’t even there.

An odd feeling came over Vincent, the one he usually got when he was about to transform. But it didn’t happen - he just stayed suspended in the present moment, white noise in his ears and his reactions dulled to the world around him.

What was wrong with him? He needed to transform, to rip out that man’s throat, but something was holding him back, holding him still.

He was still as other Shinra higher ups closed in and as Cloud began to act strange, as Hojo taunted and teased the ex-SOLDIER and exulted in the joy of seeing ‘the Reunion’ theory proven true, the scientist so different now than he’d been all those years ago in how openly inhuman he was - no, now Hojo was just being his true self without shame, without shame or remorse…

Vincent was still as Cloud kept insisting he was there in Nibelheim, he remembered it, he saw it, he had to be a SOLDIER and Tifa began to break down right next to him under the weight of their shared past.

He was still as Cloud climbed up to where Sephiroth was entombed, taking his sword and charging at Sephiroth’s crystal prison, screaming at the top of his lungs -

Vincent gasped, finally snapped out of his stupor at the realisation that Cloud was going to kill her son before he’d even had a chance to tell him -

The sword cut straight through Sephiroth’s middle, surely slicing him cleanly in half.

But then something strange began to happen - a black magic rippled across the surface of Cloud’s sword and was leached out of the metal and into Sephiroth, the first SOLDIER’s eyes opening (green, they were unnaturally green, not brown) and his lips raising in a smile as the crystals around him began to disintegrate -

“Shit,” Barret swore. “Cloud just gave him the black materia!”

The whole area was shaking now, Tifa almost collapsing to the floor as she screamed desperately for Cloud to come back, to come with them -

Barret hoisted her over her shoulder, casting on last regretful look at Cloud before he cried, “C’mon!”

And then it happened.

Crystals crashing from around Sephiroth into the ground below opened up a tear in the thin earth at the bottom of the crater, the vibrant green of the Lifestream crashing in waves around all gathered there.

Cloud was looking in horror at his hands, at the power of the black materia leaving the sword and transferring to Sephiroth. He grabbed hold, trying to yank it back only to be thrown back and fall straight down towards the swell of the Lifestream. Vincent had a sudden strange bad feeling seize him just as Tifa tried to tell Barret to turn around, the AVALANCHE leader looking back just in time to -

A WEAPON suddenly burst from the Planet’s depths, maw opening wide and swallowing Cloud whole.

It crashed back down into the water right before the stunned surrounding onlookers, the party all yanking one another out of harm’s way as a huge wave rose up and crashed down around them.

Everything happened in a blur.

Both they and Shinra were escaping the collapsing crater together, the Turks coming out of hiding to make sure the President got to safety. Vincent kept catching glances of Hojo in the fray and maybe he was being too slow because Cid kept yanking on his arm and swearing, then he pointed them all towards a grey airship stationed in and amongst all the other warships at the top of the crater.

“We’re taking her back,” he said, “An’ we’re gettin’ out of here!”

From there everything was automatic instinct - keep an eye on the whole party, shoot anyone who tried to get too close. The rest of the Shinra higher ups were heading for another ship and Vincent earned himself another scolding from Cid when he lingered just long enough to check the Turks had made it. Stupid habit; couldn’t seem to let it go.

They fought their way onboard the ship and demanded the crew take off before they’d even got the thing secured, but with the crater shaking violently beneath them no one put up an argument. Any soldiers were rounded up and disarmed, giving them the simple choice of comply or die.

Some of them chose the latter for themselves - evidently Shinra hadn’t gotten any better at training people not to put “honour” before reason. It made no difference to Vincent, anyway; less potential knives in the back later wasn’t something to complain about. A sight like this was sadly one he was used to.

The ones who complied were either smart enough to focus on survival, or far too young to be here. Nothing changed at Shinra in that regard either, it seemed.

With Cid barking orders the ship was up and running in no time, performing a truly impressive take off with little room to manoeuvre right before the entire crater exploded in a spray of lifestream, the waves erupting high enough they hit the windows of the airship.

Tifa was immediately at the bridge, Barret by her side. The two of them scanned the never-ending sea of green beneath them, but there was no sign of the WEAPON. Vincent had a strange feeling the creature had already disappeared into the depths, but he couldn’t say why. He hated those sorts of feelings - they were always bad and always right.

The rest of them were left standing near the wheel, trying to process everything that had happened as Cid turned the ship to make for a safe distance away.

“This can’t be happening,” Yuffie said, restraining a gag as the ship suddenly lurched. “He can’t - he can’t still be down there-”

“Those two don’t need another loss on their hands,” Cait said softly. “But Cloud’s…”

“The other WEAPON brought Tifa back,” Red cut in. “They’ll do the same for Cloud. They’re not our enemy.”

“I know, I know. There’s always a chance - I’m not gonnae give up. But how can they keep going like this?”

“Speakin’ of,” Cid said, drawing their attention - and strangely looking straight at Vincent. “You good? Seemed like you froze up back there.”

The others looked over at Vincent, all of them surprised - except Cait. Vincent shook his head, about to open his mouth to retort that he was fine and had no idea what Cid was on about when there was a sharp cry of, “Stowaway! Captain - stowaway!”

Vincent raised an eyebrow, about to point out how suspicious it was they were so quick accept Cid as their new captain when he saw who it was that the crew were dragging out of the shadows.

It was a man, shorter than him.

He wore dark hair pinned back in a ponytail and a labcoat and he happily stood with his arms pinned behind his back as he observed them all.

A grin split his face from ear to ear.

Hojo.