Chapter Text
“Barret! Move!” Cloud’s sharp call cuts through the air a moment before his sword does. He slices through the grashstrike’s thick armor easily, letting Barret finish it off as he winds up to attack another one coming up on his left.
Cloud, Tifa, and Barret had stumbled upon a nest of the things on the very outermost edges of the Sector 7 slums, housed in a decrepit old warehouse that was now barely standing at all. Tifa had suggested taking care of it before their next mission, in part to help the residents of the slums but also to occupy themselves while Jessie finished preparing the explosives for their next mission. Cloud and Barret had agreed easily, always itching for a fight—the one thing they could agree on.
“I had it under control, merc!” Barret shouts. He shoots his way through another one before pausing to level a dramatic glare at Cloud.
“Why don't you tell me about it when you’re not about to get eaten,” Cloud says dryly.
“Oh, you disrespectful little—”
“Guys! How about we do this after we’re done?!” Tifa shouts.
Cloud’s whatever is drowned out by a sudden chittering shriek. They've drawn the queen out now, and she's big. Bigger than any they've seen so far, with nasty-looking claws and all sorts of weird fin-like frills. The thing shrieks again and charges. “I've got this! You two finish the others off!” Cloud shouts, leaping forward to meet the queen.
He expects it to go down easily, but the thing apparently has more armor than the drones, thick plate-like scales covering nearly every inch of its back. The sword does minimal damage, leaving only superficial cuts in the scales. Cloud ducks a swinging claw and lunges again, swiping his sword up the underside of the grashstrike. It howls and slams its claws into the dusty earth, just inches from where Cloud was a moment ago. He rolls away from it and leaps up, slicing at it again as he goes.
Cloud takes a pause to glance at Tifa and Barret; a few more grashstrikes have emerged but the pair work efficiently to take them down.
He goes in to strike the queen again when he hears Tifa cry out. Whirling to face her, Cloud sees that one of the drones has a claw firmly clamped around her forearm, blood already starting to trickle out. Barret gets there first, blasting the damn thing away from Tifa and then into the ground for good measure. He watches a moment longer, making sure they're okay—Tifa’s eyes suddenly widen as she looks behind Cloud.
“Cloud! Behind you!”
Distracted, Cloud dodges on instinct just a moment too late. The queen wraps her tail end around him in a bruising hold, pincers snapping around his torso and sword arm, the pressure and pain making him drop it. “Shit—!”
“Cloud!” Tifa cries out again, just as he sees what she's seeing. The queen’s stinger swings around and buries itself into Cloud’s side at the same time Barret levels his gun at the queen and fires all he has at it.
Cloud’s head immediately feels heavy, a dull thrumming sensation pulsing behind his eyes. He registers the queen dropping him as Tifa unleashes a ferocious attack, but finds himself more focused on watching the greying edges of his vision that have started to swim.
The next thing he can feel is gritty earth beneath his cheek and a distinct sensation of vertigo. “Cloud! Cloud!” His eyes flicker open—he closed them?—and he sees Barret and Tifa way above him, staring down as he fights to keep his eyes open.
“I—” Cloud starts before his eyes widen and he lurches upright instinctively. Barret swings an arm out to move Tifa back just as Cloud leans over and throws up right where her feet would have been. “...Fuck,” he rasps. “Where is it?”
“Dead and gone,” Barret says. It sounds like he's underwater. “Tifa, you got any antidotes on you?”
“No, shit—and I don't have my Cleanse on me, either.” Tifa crouches down next to Cloud, putting a hand on his cheek. His eyes flutter open and closed as he tries to get his bearings, leaning into Tifa’s touch unconsciously. “Cloud, can you hear me?”
“Mmhn...” he mumbles. “...Sounds weird...” Above him, through a lens of blurriness, he sees Barret exchange a look with Tifa.
“You catch that?” he asks. Tifa shakes her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. Maybe Cloud wasn't as clear as he had thought. “Right. Let's get him home.” Barret turns fully to Cloud. “The hell were you thinking, fighting that thing by yourself?” Cloud mutters something incoherent as Barret slowly lifts him up, one broad arm under his neck and his gun arm under his knees. Cloud can do nothing but stare up at the plate above, wondering when it got so dark.
-
The walk back to the slums seems endless. Cloud’s world is reduced to the smell of leather and sweat as he stares up at Barret uncomprehendingly, unable to tell if the swaying in his vision is from the poison or the rhythm of Barret’s steps. “Where’re we...?” he slurs into his chest. The shadows have begun to grow, the plate’s lights above beginning their sunset dimming.
“Almost home,” Barret replies. Cloud can feel the rumble of his voice in his head.
“How is he?” Tifa asks from somewhere to Cloud’s side. He goes to reply for himself but finds his tongue barely wants to move anymore. The swimming vision has slowly progressed into a swirl of shapes and colors, hampering his vision too. He doesn't hear what Barret says, entranced by the way the man’s face fluidly changes shape before his eyes. Cloud reaches up to touch it, wondering what it feels like.
“What—?!” Barret jerks his head back, startled by the sudden touch. Cloud drops his hand, silent.
“Cloud, how are you doing?” Tifa tries. Cloud lolls his head her way, gazing at her with glassy, unfocused eyes. He says what he thinks is fine, but it apparently doesn't come out that way judging by Barret’s snort.
“I think SOLDIER-boy here’s high as a kite right now,” he remarks. Cloud turns his head back to Barret listlessly.
“B’rret...?” Cloud slurs and clutches his stomach. “Think I'm gonna—”
Barret sputters, nearly dropping Cloud in his haste to get him on the ground. It wouldn't have mattered much anyways, though—he's thrown up all he has and can only dry heave and gasp into the dirt as Tifa puts a hand on his back. Cloud clumsily shoulders her hand away and Tifa withdraws it, looking concerned.
“Shouldn't he be, I don't know... Healing?” Tifa asks.
“Thought that would have been the case, what with the enhancements,” Barret says as he gathers Cloud back into his hold. “He got dosed pretty good though, I can tell you that much. We’ll figure it out once we’re home.”
-
It's dark by the time the group makes it to Seventh Heaven. Cloud has long since fallen asleep (passed out?), his eyes fluttering under his eyelids even as Barrett activates the hidden lift to go downstairs. He lowers Cloud onto one of the couches, frowning at the lack of response. “Tifa,” he says. “Have you ever seen those things this close to the slums before?”
“You mean the monsters? Well... not that I can remember.”
Barret grunts in reply. “There’s probably no specific antivenom for ‘em around here. Go get a Cleanse materia, and the first aid kit. We can do this ourselves.
“Right,” Tifa says, heading back to the lift.
Barret looks down at Cloud, taking in his sweaty, pale skin. The dark circles usually under his eyes have gotten worse, too. “You're worrying Tifa an awful lot,” he mutters, half hoping his voice would be the thing to wake him up. It doesn't, but Cloud’s brow creases in his sleep and he turns his head listlessly.
Tifa returns a few minutes later, piling up everything on the small coffee table in front of the couch.
“Thanks, Tifa,” Barret says. He gets to work unzipping the first aid kit and pulling out supplies—alcohol pads, bandages, and a needle and thread, “Just in case he needs stitches.” Meanwhile, Tifa sets about unclipping Cloud’s suspenders and rolling up the hem of his turtleneck enough to expose the wound. She hisses when she sees it; the puncture is deep, the skin around it red and inflamed. Dried blood and pus is smeared around it, making the whole scene even worse to look at.
“Barret...” Tifa trails off.
“I know. Looks like it might need a stitch or two after all. Here,” He says, pushing the needle and thread towards Tifa. “Get this ready while I clean it. God knows I can't thread a needle for shit.”
Barret tears a few packets of the alcohol wipes open and without further pause begins to wipe down around the wound. Cloud shifts in his sleep but otherwise doesn't respond—that is, until it comes time to clean over the wound itself. As soon as Barret swipes the pad over the wound, Cloud gasps and shoots upright, Barret’s wrist in a death grip and Cloud’s other hand coming up to strike at his throat. It’s Tifa that intercepts the hand, Cloud's fist caught mere inches from Barret’s adam’s apple.
“The hell are you doin’?!” Barret shouts, reeling back. Cloud only stares at him, breathing hard. By the unchanging look on his face, it's as if he didn't even hear what he had said. Then, Cloud’s eyes begin to wander, first behind Barret, then to the side, as if he's tracking something.
Barret whips his head around to see what he's looking at, only to find a whole load of nothing. “Cut that shit out. You're giving me the creeps.”
“Cloud,” Tifa says timidly. He slides his glassy eyes over to her, working his jaw as if to say something. “Cloud, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
Cloud mumbles something unintelligible, not breaking his gaze away from Tifa. She shifts nervously, pinned by mako-luminous eyes. “...You're bleeding,” he finally slurs, blinking rapidly.
“What? Cloud, I’m not—I’m fine.”
“No, no, Tifa, you're...” Cloud trails off, finally breaking eye contact. He turns his head away, face falling. “Dead. You're dead.”
Tifa glances at Barret helplessly. His face is twisted with pity as he looks at Cloud.
“Hallucinating, no doubt in my mind. Hey, SOLDIER-boy!” he says sharply, drawing Cloud’s attention away from Tifa. “Lay back down, you'll hurt your brain trying to think. Not that you're ever successful, anyways,” he mutters.
“Barret,” Tifa scolds. When Cloud doesn't move, she lays a gentle hand on his shoulder and presses him back into the couch. Within moments, Cloud’s eyes flutter closed again and his breathing evens out, asleep.
Tifa lets out a breath. “Remind me to never get stung by a grashstrike.”
Barret huffs, shaking his head. “This shit’s no joke. Needle,” he says, holding out a hand. Tifa obliges and Barret sets to work stitching the wound shut. “It's not long, but it's deep,” he comments. He pulls the last stitch through and ties it off, holding the string taut so Tifa can cut away the excess. “Your turn,” he says to Tifa. Taking the Cleanse materia in her left hand and holding her right over the wound, Tifa closes her eyes and concentrates on casting Poisona.
A soft green glow emits from the materia and the palm of her hand, connecting to Cloud’s skin in little strands of light. In his sleep, Cloud’s face scrunches into a grimace at the sensation. “I know,” Tifa whispers. “It'll be over in a moment.”
As the last of the light fades, Tifa draws her hand away. “He should be okay for now. We'll just... keep an eye on him, I guess.” she says.
“Tifa,” Barret says, frowning in thought. She looks at him questioningly. “The way he was hallucinating—I haven't seen that before. Least, not with getting stung by a big-ass bug.”
Tifa's face creases with concern. “You think we should be worried? Now that you mention it...”
“I'm not sayin’ we should freak out just yet,” Barret puts his hands up placatingly. “Just something for us to watch for.”
Tifa nods, blowing out a breath. “I'll take first shift?” she says.
“Be my guest. I'll go check up on everyone else in the meantime.” Barret says, walking back towards the lift.
“Right,” Tifa says. Her eyes are drawn back to Cloud and she can see that he's looking less ill already—his complexion has evened out, and though he twitches minutely in his sleep, his breathing is steady and even. Unable to resist, Tifa gently combs her fingers through his hair, smoothing out the snarls in it. She sighs, settling in on the couch, preparing for what could be a long night ahead.
-
Cloud is dead. He's certain of it. There's a horrid, lancing pain in the center of his chest, and before he knows it there's blood bubbling up out of his mouth. Gagging, Cloud claps one hand over his mouth and the other over the wound, blood flowing freely between his fingers anyways. A man stands before him, sneering. Cloud thinks maybe he's speaking, but his hearing’s gone fuzzy and it's getting harder to keep right from left. He glances to the side and through the haze his vision is becoming, he sees Tifa. Broken, bleeding just like him, unmoving. “Tifa...!” he calls out. It sounds more like choking than words, but Cloud repeats himself anyways.
A boot comes out of nowhere, striking him in the center of his chest. Cloud’s head knocks against the ground and he sputters, choking up more blood. Through a green-tinted haze, he sees serpentine eyes and the glint of metal coming down too fast—
“Cloud.”
The voice sounds like it's right next to him. Cloud startles and sits up, eyes flicking around in the dark. A wash of static covers the entirety of his vision, disorienting him even more. “Cloud,” the voice says again, more insistent. Turning his head, Cloud scans the room he's in as best as he can and comes to the realization that his body is numb. I'm still dead, he thinks with mounting dread. A trembling hand rests at his chest and he still feels the stinging soreness from Sephiroth’s blade. There's blood smeared on his fingers and he knows he's not alive, how could he be after that?
“What are you waiting for?” the voice beckons again, and how could he not have recognized it? That voice has terrorized him for as long as he can remember (what can he remember?) and it's right in the same room as him, a waking nightmare. There's a shadow standing by the lift to go upstairs, and Cloud finally realizes he's under Seventh Heaven, alone with Sephiroth. “Come with me,” he says. Cloud blinks and he's gone. Dazed, he shuffles off the couch and finds his feet. He feels like he shouldn't be alone, a distant memory of Tifa and Barret sitting with him (but how could they have? Tifa is dead). Though he supposes maybe he's not alone after all, Sephiroth is—was—here. Cloud staggers to the lift and fumbles with the controls until he gets it to move.
Up on the main floor now, Cloud finds a trail of feathers, dusty black in color, leading out of the bar. Single-minded in his task, he begins to follow them, only to be pulled from his thoughts by a garbled voice. At the bar sits a small figure, sipping something with a straw. Confused, Cloud holds his silence and turns back to the task at hand. The figure appears to pout, if his eyes serve him right (do they?) but it doesn't matter. Not with Sephiroth on the loose. Cloud pushes through the main doors and steps onto the street, met with the night’s darkness and Sephiroth waiting for him, sword drawn.