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tseng fucking dying — closed

Reno is dead. He has to keep repeating that in his head, out loud. He is dead. Dead. Tseng ought to know. He has been staring up at Reno's body for hours now, curled up on the floor beside the sofa he laid him down upon. That was the last time that he could bring himself to touch him. His skin is so cold. It does not matter. He needs to move the body, he needs to bury him. Just get up and do it, now. Reno is dead. It is just an illusion that makes him look like he is sleeping, like he has a thousand times before in this very spot, and really, it was a terrible idea to bring him here, but what was the better idea? He had one. Didn't he? Anyway, it does not matter, because he is dead. This is just a body. Nothing of Reno is left inside of it. Reno is dead.

Tseng manages to stand up. He does not know where he is going, not until he finds himself in one of the upper story labs. The usual crew is gone for the night. Or are they? He could be surrounded by people right now and likely not notice. Whatever the case, no one stops him when he approaches a refrigeration case and shatters the glass with his fist. Which is a silly thing, he could have used anything else to bypass that keycode lock. It was probably a bad idea to hurt himself. Or a good idea, because it feels a little better to be the one bleeding tonight, even if it is not the blood he wants to spill.

There is a concentrate, Tristamectatine-x2. It is supposed to be diluted before you load it into those little tranq canisters. He knows that. Instead, he returns to the couch and the body and his spot on the floor and drips as many of those vials into the canisters as he can fit, pure and unadulterated. His fingers hover over the needle. One little prick of this and his muscles will probably seize before he can pull it out again. He would be helpless but to lay on the floor as the rest of it filtered quickly through his system, until his heart arrested and the lifestream took him. It is tempting. But not yet.

At least this is helping, a little. His mind is coming back to him. Getting back into the groove of thinking, recounting all of the information he's gathered in the few short days he's spent here. He is keeping tabs on everyone who passed by that cliff, yes, but there is something peculiar about Sephiroth—

Tseng puts the canister down, far out of his reach. He almost touched the needle again. That would be unfortunate.

Anyway. Sephiroth. And Zack Fair, whose image he cannot dwell on for long, because it makes his fingers reach for the needle again and he is having trouble stopping them. When he watches Sephiroth with anyone else, it is a terse interaction, it ends in blood or it ends in anger. (And if only he had been— No. He will pay for that soon enough. No need to torment himself now.) But with Fair, the atmosphere seems different. He is disinclined to believe that Sephiroth likes anyone, but he certainly seems to keep coming back. And that is his ticket.

Tseng does not remember loading up the rifle, the canisters, the car. He does not remember driving. He comes to when he sees Zack leaned up against the rail on the old Junon helipad. Sephiroth may come to join him. He might not. It does not matter if he wastes his time and effort working his way into the top level of the hangar behind it, if he spends days or weeks crouched below the window, his rifle aimed at the heart of one of the few people in this life he ever cared about. Nothing matters except that he is waiting, for as long as it will take.

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Sephiroth did indeed eventually join Zack near the railing. While he had no idea Tseng has hunted him down to this moment and place, he realized that the Turks would most likely come after him. Rufus said as much, and though the ex-SOLDIER brushed it off as nothing (because in the end they were not worth his time, Reno simply made a very unfortunate mistake), he was very aware of the possibility.

They'd all come for him, and he's sure he'll dispatch them all easily enough. He barely felt they were up to his level in the past and now? He dares any to cross him. Otherwise they were like the rest of humanity, insects barely noticeable other than being some sort of annoyance.

And for all his talks of being like a god, he lacks psychic foresight or anything that'd truly alert him to the gun pointed in their general direction. So for Tseng watching them? Sephiroth seems ... well, not fully relaxed but also not tense either. Not like the looming shadow he can be at times, more of a player in moment that Zack has somehow lured him towards. So he can be clearly seen speaking with the black haired man. About what? Well, to Tseng it most likely doesn't matter.

Not even a little. While Tseng is sure that the conversation they are having is absolutely riveting, in this moment, he cares for nothing. Not Sephiroth, not Zack, not even himself. The only thing driving him is seeing this mission through to the end.

So Tseng watches. Waits for that perfect moment. The key is to let your mark get comfortable in his surroundings. Lured into a false sense of security. And then...

You take a deep breath.

You put your finger on the trigger.

You breathe out.

Like death, you succumb gradually.

The first tranq hits Sephiroth just above the heart. Through his sights, he sees Zack whipping around, his sword in his hand in a flash to defend against the attack. It is exactly what Tseng thought that he would do. This is why he had to reassign those orders to kill him in the first place. He was the one best suited for the job. Another round hits Zack just as he turns to face his invisible enemy, and Tseng watches his face contort in anger and confusion.

It would be heart-breaking, if only he could bring himself to care.

He unleashes two more rounds, one for each of them. They are SOLDIER; it will not stop them for long, even as strong as he has mixed the vile concoctions within. Eventually, though, their feet are dragging. That is when it is time to leave his post.

Zack falls first. Tseng hears a sound of shocked surprise as he steps past him. He hears movement behind him, like Zack is trying to reach for him. It does not matter. He will not take his eyes off of Sephiroth.

The first shot that hits comes as a complete surprise, he expected more of a direct attack first and not something like this. Cowards. All far too afraid to fight him that they use underhanded methods. He's pulling out the dart from his chest when Zack is also struck. Flashes of anger cross his expression, but the second shot comes to quickly.

And then Zack falls and there's not much else he can do. The pains of having a physical body again means he's also at the mercy of it. This isn't like when he took over the various clones. He can't just leave to find a new host to exact his revenge.

He fights it hard, but even for as powerful as he is, eventually his body gives in and he too collapses. It takes every ounce of strength to attempt rise back up because he is going to kill the person who did this he's going to kill -- Ah, Tseng. He should have known.

Unfortunately as the drugs take over his system he can't even force the words to surface of just how badly and painfully he's going to murder the blasted Turk. As soon as he regains control there will be nothing left of Tseng for anyone to find.

The first thing he needs to do is pluck the darts out of Zack's slumped shoulders. Not because Tseng does not want him to die; it is an automatic thing he does because he knows that Reno would be furious with him if he let it happen. By the time it occurs to him that oh yes, Reno is dead, he's already done it.

But Sephiroth... Tseng stands over him, bores into him with that lightless galaxy of a gaze.

"You are going to make this right."

It feels good to smile again, even if his is twisted and raw. Laughter bubbles out of him like vitriol.

"You take my flesh, so I will I take yours, until the scales are balanced again. I know that you will hate me for it—and good. That is the last of the reparations that I am demanding of you." That smile cuts across his face like a knife wound. "You should be grateful for this most auspicious opportunity."

He crosses his arms behind his back, posture-perfect, and approaches Sephiroth's boot, giving it a few good kicks to see how much the drug has hit him now. Who knows, with Hojo's abominations? The plan here is to trend generously with the dosage. If he accidentally kills Sephiroth in the process, well, no one will be terribly torn up about it. It would be a shame, to miss out on the very long time he hopes to spend in the company of Shinra's fallen hero, but it is the better alternative.

Right then. Time to start dragging Sephiroth to the car.

Edited (Lmao I keep forgetting icons r a thing ) 2020-06-06 06:12 (UTC)

Oh how he wants to respond back. To rip that smile clear off Tseng's face. But no words manifest no matter hard he pushes against the weight of the drugs. The pure rage flowing through his veins is enough to keep him alert to hear the remakes, but everything is fading ...

Darkness threatens to drag him under while he attempts to claw his way back into control. To force his body to move through sheer willpower like how he survived in the lifestream. But this isn't the lifestream and the drugs overpower his senses driving him down deeper into blackness. He feels himself slip away despite his best efforts -- not into death, but sleep. One forced upon him and will ultimately bring no comfort.

But his thoughts before he enters this realm of being. They are dark and filled with every bit of absolute disgust he normally carried towards humanity. Even Cloud never managed to earn this level of ire. And Sephiroth's hate towards him gives him reason to exist. No, this is a far different kind of hate. Cloud is a nemesis. A rival. An equal.

Tseng? Is going to regret every moment he dared to go down this path.

Tseng can feel Sephiroth stewing in his hatred. He will not blame him for that. What he knows of this incarnation of the former general—whom he was quite impressed with, once upon a time—is that he has regressed as surely as the other Firsts that came up with him. Perhaps his body is not falling all to pieces like theirs were, but he has succumbed to a state that is singularly-minded, almost bestial. And while that does not bode well for the remaining Turks once Sephiroth is free from Tseng's domain, it hardly matters. This is the job.

He does not remember the car ride. For all he knows, he and Sephiroth may as well have manifested in the back alley behind a restaurant on W64th. Nothing hits him until he drags Sephiroth in through the back, revealing those dining room settings out front to be a complete facade. This place is no diner and never has been; when he flicks on the lights, there are meat hooks and steel tables covered in wax paper and crusted blood. Shelves upon shelves of glittering, lethal devices. A cart with a trailing plug and a spread of knives fanned across the top. It is sobering, because he and Reno built this place together, to keep this work out of sight for their third. And now he is dead.

His hand passes over a massive battery amp on his way past it. There is still a cable clamped to one of the contacts, and he almost wants to touch the bare metal claw on the other end to his skin, as if that would recall anything meaningful. Nice as it would be, there is a far better use for it now.

Tseng is so gentle when he lays Sephiroth out upon the table. His hands do not linger where they do not belong, and he makes careful accomodations for his neck and shoulders. He leaves, and then returns with an IV stand, smiling as he thumbs a needle into Sephiroth's veins.

"You are going to feel everything," he whispers. Sephiroth is sleeping now, but he will not be for long. And after that? Well.

Tseng can hardly contain his excitement.

It is hours upon hours upon hours. Tseng has never had the occasion to sweat in this room before; usually, one of them will go too far, or Reno will get bored and demand that Tseng shoot their guest before he does, but this time, it is different. Tseng works over him like a sculpture, as if he means to reveal something beautiful with the carving point of his blades. Sephiroth's presence, his pain, mean very little. Tseng uses them to test the temperature of the drugs in his system, filling and refilling that IV bag every time his charge responds to a brutal shock with far too much range of motion, snapping shut the line whenever Sephiroth drifts too severely beneath those whirring, grating devices that he drills into him. It is laborious work, but in the end, he is so very, very proud of what he has accomplished.

And then, the finishing touch. Tseng has reserved his sharpest blade for precisely this. His grin glows like a furnace, a promise to consume and leave only ash.

"And now, I bestow upon you the greatest honor you shall ever know," Tseng tells him as he takes Sephiroth's face into his hands. The one small mercy in this is that he has to be quick to draw the lines correctly, to match their weight and curve. The blade flashes, cutting two bloody swoops across the ridge of Sephiroth's cheekbones, one on either side. He brushes the blood his wounds weep away with a gloved thumb, inspecting his work with no small amount of pleasure. "Everyone will know that you are the wretched incarnation that killed him. I hope you wear them proudly."

The last of his sizzling, spent Materia is expended on searing those marks into scars. And then Tseng is tired, more tired than he's ever felt before. There is nothing left within him, his mission perfectly accomplished. The only thing to do is draw the needle out of Sephiroth's skin and await the furious return of his faculties.

But Tseng remains close by. And every time that Sephiroth takes a stronger breath, every time he spies a twitching finger or a curling toe, that light in his eyes gleams a little brighter. He is anticipating something magnificent.

Before this moment, Sephiroth barely remembered what true pain felt like. All the times spent in SOLDIER and even growing up compared little to the wrath Tseng brought down upon him. Despite it all, he almost laughs through the torturous cuts and actions from the Turk. And they all call him the monster? He wonders if the others know how far Tseng is willing to go for revenge. Not even Cloud who has suffered far more at the hands of Sephiroth would do this.

He endures the pain by focusing on just how much he hates Tseng in this very moment. How much he wants to kill him, to make him feel everything that he's currently casting down upon him right now. But Sephiroth isn't the type for physical torture ... much anyway. He may have repeatedly stabbed Cloud, but that's as far as he'd go. No, he prefers the more intimate approach of going after someone emotionally.

But Tseng isn't deserving of that. Not in the slightest. And other than the rest of the Turks, Sephiroth isn't even sure what he'd possibly hold dear. If he is even capable of cherishing anything.

As he feels control over his body strengthen with the drugs filtering through his system, his eyes widen with fury. Almost as if they were on fire fueled by his inner rage.

"You will ... regret ... everything." The words come out unsteady as he tries to compile them into a sentence. Into some sort of focus.

As soon as he can. As soon as he has enough control he leaps from the table. His eyes lock onto Tseng almost instantly and as if called by another plain of existence the masamune appears in his hand the moment he lunges at the turk. He's going to slice him open. Across the gut, let his insides spill to the floor. No simple and clean death like he granted Reno. No. He's going to practically cut Tseng in half.

At first, there is no pain, and Tseng is so displeased. In this line of work, one develops a fascination with death, with his own and that of others, and he thought it would be different.

But Sephiroth does not let him down. Tseng's faith that he would not has barely enough time to waver before he hears a splash of something falling against the concrete and realizes that it is every vital piece of him, spilling like wine across his boots. The breath he takes is staggered, sharp and full of awe. It is beautiful.

His eyes are dimming, but his smile has never been brighter.

"Regret...?" he asks. When he falls to his knees it feels like he is floating, a feather on the wind, weightless now that he is free from these visceral burdens. All those times he would have liked to carve them out himself. But this?

This is the most poetic end.

Everywhere he looks, his vision is tinged with red—and how fitting, for that is all he wants to see now. There is more of it, spilling from his lips, drooling through his fingers, and all Tseng can do is hum softly at the decadent pleasure of it all.

Everything is going black. He uses that last second of his sight to turn his eyes upon Sephiroth, hoping that the darkness that embraces him will be as vividly green as his gaze. "Thank you," he says, and falls for good.

He almost hates to have given Tseng any sort of satisfaction, but Sephiroth is satisfied with killing him nonetheless. The thanks given is slightly surprising, clearly there is something unhinged about this man.

Even more unhinged than Sephiroth himself.

Stepping over the body, he takes a moment to lean against the table and try to mentally gather himself. The focus that beat down the pain and adrenaline that held him together wavered against the toll taken on his body. He needed to leave before anyone else found him.

Zack.

And Cloud actually were the two names that popped into his head. Though Zack is mostly likely closer and the safer choice as much as he doubts that Cloud would take the opportunity to try and end him.

At least he can still fly. He searches for presences holding jenova cells within him, until he pinpoints a certain one. Zack. Yes. Time seems to have slipped away probably due to everything that happened and the lingering effects of the drugs. Descending, he practically collapses onto him once he is close.

As much as he wanted a body back before, he certainly regrets dealing with all the limitations now.

Zack has seen Tseng be scary before. Kinda comes with the job. All the Turks are at least a little bit that, but nothing, nothing that he'd ever seen could have prepared him for that.

He recognizes, on some level, that he was merely in the way. That does nothing for how much it burns, for all the lofty fantasies he'd held inside about what it would be like to reunite with his old friend. And then, that. Just pain and boots and darkness. And the feeling that, when he woke up alone, he'd failed to save someone once again.

That's why he doesn't care. Every building, every street, he's rushing through them. Calling out Sephiroth's name. There has to be some small chance in hell that he can hear him, that he can call out to him too. And even if he can't, he needs Sephiroth to hear how relentless he is. How he refuses to give up. He is not going to give up.

At some point, he just feels something. It brings his attention up to the skies, and before he can squint to resolve what it is, it's crashing down upon him. But he knows. In his heart, he knows who it is before he even glimpses the blood-soaked silver hair curling over his arm.

"Sephiroth, damnit," he says, gasping, moving his arms beneath him to better hold him up. He's shaking so hard that all he can do for a moment is clutch Sephiroth to his chest and bury his face against his hair. "I was— I thought—"

Now is not the time to cry. Tears are falling, yes, but he can't get choked up about it.

"We're gonna fix this. I've got you."

"It's already fixed," he responds leaning heavily on Zack. Well, not that this is fixed, but he took care of Tseng.

Briefly he wonders if Zack will disapprove, not that he should care, but for some reason the thought lingers for a moment. He tries to pull himself together and stand on his own, but it's so hard. His head feels the heaviest, and he almost wishes Tseng were still alive so that he could kill him again. And again.

The anger suddenly flaring through his mind is enough to give him the resolve to straighten up and look at Zack directly. For some reason despite being so close he feels so very distant. Probably due to a combination of the drugs, pain, and blood loss.

"We need to leave," he manages to say after a few labored breaths. He doesn't know if the other Turks know of Tseng's actions or if they'll be after him shortly. Either way they need to get away from being out in the open.

"St—"

Zack doesn't know what to think of how frantic it makes him to feel Sephiroth pull away. As if the barest inch between them will be all the space someone else needs to drag him off too. His hands reach out instinctively, but—it's okay, it's fine, Sephiroth doesn't go far, and that's enough to calm the thundering of his heart.

He nods resolutely.

"We're goin'," he says, but probably not in the way that Sephiroth means it. The way Zack thinks this should happen is by crouching a little against his chest, grabbing his arm, so that when he rises, Sephiroth is slung over his back. Gently, and with care. He wouldn't be the first wounded comrade that Zack has removed from the battlefield.

Sephiroth can fight, that's fine. But Zack won't drop him. Not until they're all the way to where they are going.

Sephiroth would normally fight being carried in such a way, but for now he relents. He'll reserve being annoyed at Zack for this later. He's far too tired, worn down from the hours of torment Tseng put him through.

Zack ...

He tries to force the thought, the voice into the other man's head. Not quite the same feeling as when he attempted to control Zack's mind. But like a brush against his mind, a strong one crashing into any mental walls.

You were looking for me. Weren't you?

It was an odd thought. He supposes that's why he felt drawn to seek him out these few times. This time was more out of self preservation. Tseng, even in death, wouldn't get the honor of him dying.

Sending his thoughts mentally was somehow easier than attempting to speak. His body felt so heavy like lead threatening to sink into darkness. The only reason he held onto any sort of consciousness was by being just so full of anger that this all happened to begin with. That he was caught off guard. That he let that happen.

At first, the brush upon his mind is alarming. He's not used to it, all this hocus-pocusy shit that tends to happen around Sephiroth. It still wears at his nerves a little, and right now, his nerves are frayed beyond comprehension.

But he's learning. And trying. So he steels himself against the pit of nausea and panic that opens in his gut instinctively at the intrusion, lets himself be glad that it's Sephiroth's voice, that he's still here and holding on. And he keeps walking.

"Course I was. I didn't—"

There are no mental barriers here, just Zack resonating with doubt and grief and fear and sadness. Frustration at himself, anger at his former comrade.

"I wouldn't just leave you. I told you I'm not givin' up on you."

He wants to say something about how Zack is being foolish. How he needs to let go of these ideas. Sephiroth is not in need of redemption no matter what Zack believes. At the same time there's something about his general perseverance that keeps drawing him back.

Zack might pick up on a general feeling of annoyance from Sephiroth but otherwise he falls silent for the rest of the way. Too busy falling in and out of consciousness and wishing Tseng were still alive just so he could go out and kill him again.

And if only he were still directly connected to the lifestream here. He'd go seek out his spirit, and fight off the rest of the planet if he had to just to torment him there.

None of those thoughts Zack needs to know. Which is also why he stays quiet. He does find it slightly ironic that no matter where he is, or who its about, his hate helps him hold on in any dire moment.

All things considered, Zack isn't doing great out here. Finding somewhere to stay with no gil and no job is a tall order. But he does have a friend putting him up on a couch for those few nights he can't find his way into someone else's bed, and Zack's guessing that's the best place to take him. It's a partied-out cheapskate flat in the grosser section of Sector 8, but when Zack bursts through the door, there's a futon to lay Sephiroth down on and a feeling of security and isolation when he locks the door behind him.

"Stay with me, okay?" he murmurs, squatting down beside the sofa. He knows Sephiroth is annoyed, can feel it like a fly buzzing in his ear except it's soundless and in his head. That's still not going to discourage him from slowly working a few shots of Curaga over his wounds, brows furrowed in concentration.

God, he's gonna start sobbing.

"What the fuck," he says, peering at Sephiroth's chest and then looking away just as fast, disgusted by what he sees of Tseng's handiwork. "Why?"

"Revenge," he says slowly as the curing spells work to take much of the edge off. "Though it seems Tseng takes it a little further than most."

Even he with all his cruelty doesn't care enough to make it that personal. Mentally, sure. Emotionally, yes. But even he doesn't doesn't go about it for hours. It seems so overly excessive. Maybe it was subtle karma for when the remnants tortured him, but Sephiroth wasn't exactly controlling them.

"He's dead anyway," Sephiroth waves a hand dismissively his eyes closing for a brief moment before opening them again to glance over at Zack. "Though I almost wish he were not for the pains I'd like to inflict in return."

Yeah, Sephiroth can also go down this obsessive revenge route. That's why he was able to survive in the lifestream in the first place and not simply fade away. He's certain Zack won't like that kind of talk, but he also does not particularly care.

Zack feels the whole world spinning. All that's running through his head is Sephiroth's words, just like before, but faster faster faster, like a tilt-a-whirl gone off its bearings.

Hesdeadhesdeadhesdeadhesdeadhesdead—

That laugh and that smile. Those quick dark eyes and beautifully arched brows. The only one who'd stood beside him when Sephiroth opted out, again and again and again, leaving a kid with a sword to deal with tragedies far more profound than he had any capacity to understand.

He feels so angry and betrayed and heart-broken. This. This is it. This is what he journeyed all the way home for. This is the life that was waiting for him all along, a golden light at the end of the tunnel that lead him through hell, all resolved into this.

"Stop." Zack's voice is thick, raw, broken. The pair of them. They're like children playing with matches, with no concept of the value of the things that they burn. He busies himself, working magic into the wounds Sephiroth has suffered, pausing upon his face. These ones are already healed. And his gut twists when he realizes why. His shaking fingers brush aside Sephiroth's hair, even though he cannot stand to look at what has become of his face.

Sephiroth actually flinches at the fingers so close to his face, not out of fear or pain or anything even remotely in relation. Even with small, little actions, Zack somehow manages to slip through all those walls surrounding him. Like pieces were being slowly chipped away, threatening to somehow shatter him. He's kept himself going by pure hate alone, and those were the strings that currently held him together. Kept his walls in place.

Zack is a clear threat to that.

But he's still trying to help him. It's foolish. It's naive. Reckless.

Yet a very Zack move. Never giving up or letting go. No matter how dark the storm. And Maybe, just maybe there is a little truth to Zack's words. That there's still a tiny spark there buried deep under it all. Some small speck of the person he used to be that he couldn't quite free himself from despite even losing some of his memories. A bitter remember of the past? He's above humanity now. Beyond all of it.

And that is why he flinches because every time Zack gets near him, it feels like he's being drawn in. Like a light trying to reach in and grab a hold of that spark and yank it to the surface.

"You are probably not safe with me here," he says plainly. Evenly. "The others will come eventually."

And if Zack gets in the way, they might kill him. And then Cloud would get involved also come after him. Oddly enough the latter is not what bothers him.

"I'll talk to them," Zack says. He stops himself short before he adds that they're his friends, that he trusts them. He's not so sure anymore. Tseng— Of all people, he'd come to believe that Tseng would never hurt him. And he hadn't, not in any particularly profound way. The darts had barely left a mark upon his skin, the dosage they delivered had been easy to recover from. The hurt he caused was all inside. Maybe he hadn't accounted for that.

But for the first time now, he's scared. The markings on Sephiroth's face are Reno's, they scream of Reno, and if Zack closes his eyes, he can imagine Reno with a blade and a frenzied look in his eyes and the picture just comes too easily for him not to immediately doubt it. Tseng is dangerous, a killing bullet in the dark, but Reno is like a wildfire. He will scorch the earth to get what he wants.

And if what he wants is Sephiroth, and Zack denies him that...

"Here." Zack digs into his pocket and pulls loose a potion. He's so gentle lifting Sephiroth's head, tilting it just so that it goes down easy. "It's... not much, but it'll help with some of the pain. I wish I could take it all away." His laugh is joyless, more soft breath and misery than anything else. "I'm sorry. You're stuck with me and I'm no good at this kinda stuff."

"If you recall, I specifically came to you," the words fall out without any thought. Is he trying to comfort Zack? In reality he drug his former (?) friend deeper into this feud than he cares to admit. Which is honestly mostly that he cares at all.

The potion helps, he feels the soothing waves of it hitting his insides as the pain lifts a little. But at the same time he feels rather numb to it all, like realization of exactly what happened finally came crashing down.

His thoughts drift back to when he first discovered the truth. That day is forever etched into his memories like a dark and charred scar. One of the only times he ever felt truly helpless. An experiment conducted on him before his birth, a product of something he had no control over.

The second time is when he was on that table, at the mercy of someone who felt so wronged by a single death a that he took such a great pleasuring in causing suffering. In that Sephiroth could almost relate. He wanted the world to burn for the actions of a few. He still does, in a way. Tseng managed to stir those feelings of why he hated humanity so much. Everything they took from him. Everything they did. All the hours Tseng ripped control away from Sephiroth's own body was a reminder to that past.

The third time is now, in this very moment. Zack is going to get himself killed because he's going to be directly in the middle. Sephiroth isn't sure how he feels about that. But he feels something. Again he's lost control, again he --

He reaches up and gently, lightly touches Zack on side of his head, close to his face.

"If you get yourself killed, Cloud will blame me and I do not believe you want that," he finally says in what could possibly be taken as a partial joke. But there's also some truth to it. The blond practically threatened him before for even so much as mentioning his name.

"You let me worry about Cloud," Zack tells him. It's hard not to smile when this feels so wrongly normal, as if they're thick in the middle of the Wutai jungle, stealing a moment's respite until the fighting begins anew. Nothing about this is anything like that, and the amount of friends lost along the way between then and here—Sephiroth included—makes the sentiment excruciating, but Zack tries to let it roll off of him.

After all, Sephiroth is reaching out to him. All this time, he's been searching for a sign, a little glimmer of absolutely fucking anything to tell him that he's not wrong, not wasting his time, not crazy for thinking that if he just persists for long enough, he can get through to his old friend somehow. And this is the most literal interpretation of that, Sephiroth's fingers stretching toward him, so Zack leans into it, though his gaze remains exactly where it begun.

"I'm... gonna go see what I can scrounge up for bandages," he says, and it's obvious that it tears him up to even think of leaving. He's not there yet, still knelt on the ground beside this rickety old shitty futon as if in prayer. A part of him is screaming that if he turns his back now, something terrible will happen all over again. "You don't move, y'hear me?"

He considers telling Zack how Cloud all but threatened him for them even speaking, but it's probably better off to not say anything at all. ... Not that threats were enough to keep Sephiroth from doing whatever he wishes. He scoffs at the idea otherwise, it is more that Zack will most likely be yelled at. And well --

Maybe it'll take Cloud to convince him that he cannot be saved. Sephiroth doesn't want to be saved. He doesn't ...

With a sigh he moves his hand back down to rest at his own side.

"Go. It is not as though I can go anywhere. Tseng was alone, if the other Turks are to come, it will be much later." He adds that last part as though he read Zack's mind over his worry. Not that he can particularly read minds for all that he can get inside Cloud's head. But anyway he's not anywhere near Zack's mind and it was more of an observation than anything else.

It still hurts to even hear that name, but Zack nods and accepts the message anyway. Or, at least he does a little. He has his doubts, maybe not in what Sephiroth is telling him, but perhaps what he remembers. There's a cold fear in his heart that he cannot quite shake, and he knows exactly how indisposed that tonic shot into both their bodies left him, so it's not a stretch to think...

Anyway, that's nothing Sephiroth has to deal with. He will. Now more than ever, he's going to have to be strong and solid and unbending when it comes to these cruel games all his friends have fallen into. This shit can't stand any longer.

"Right back," he promises Sephiroth, wandering across the flat. There's a first aid kit somewhere in the grungy bathroom, and he finds it covered in dust, the bandages within yellowed with age. It'll work for now. Then into the kitchen, because he can't wait any longer, there are questions burning on his mind and he's fucking suffocating beneath the weight of them.

By the time he returns to Sephiroth's side, his eyes have a red, miserable glow, but he looks as determined as ever.

"Do you mind?" he asks, lifting his phone. Even looking at Sephiroth through the viewfinder puts him close to tears again. "I-I need to..."

Zack stop looking at him like a wounded puppy. Also what is he doing? He gives him an odd look, questioning without verbally speaking. He doesn't move, however. For whatever reason seems like he's about to do something he already feels guilty over. And he hasn't even done anything yet.

Is that a ... well, Sephiroth is not sure what that is. Or what Zack is doing. Or why.

"Zack?"

Though he only says his name the question is more along the lines of 'what the fuck are you doing?'

At least it takes his mind off his own personal current situation. Mostly out of confusion.

Does it really matter? Zack wraps up business quick as can be and replaces the (flip phone, Jesus) in his pocket. The bandages are the important part here. Figuring out what the fuck is going on, trying to make everyone realize what a dirty, bloody, no winners game they're playing can come later.

He gets on his knees beside the futon again, so careful when he reaches for Sephiroth again. The ointment he procured looks like it might have expired circa seventeen years ago, but it's what they got in a dash.

"I'm gonna try my best to make sure this doesn't hurt," he says, chewing his lip as he tries to focus all his energy into this whole gentle thing. Not exactly a SOLDIER forté.

"I do not break so easily, Zack. You should worry more about yourself," he responds with words that come out almost as a sigh. Before everything happened he could deal with those like Angeal or Genesis possibly fussing over him. But that was so long ago when everything was different.

When he was different.

Why does Zack care so much? Even after all these attempts at pushing him away. Somehow in the process Sephiroth finds himself slipping through unfamiliar cracks. It's so hard to hold onto who he thinks he is.

"I was going to kill you that night." At the bar. But he didn't. The scene from that moment still hovers over his head like an imposing shadow. Two paths lay before him and at the last moment he had changed his mind.

But why? He tells himself many reasons but he can't quite take grasp of one which fully makes sense. Is he losing himself? Had he lost himself before? He remembers that fateful day in the past when he practically struck Zack down. You're not the Sephiroth I once knew.

Because he found himself then. Right? Right?

His head hurt almost as much from the twisting conflict of thoughts as it did from exhaustion and whatever drugs Tseng pumped through his system. He can't do anything but shove all those emotions away, bury them. Try not to think or dwell. He should seek out Cloud at some point and see if that helps sort out his own mind.

For now though he'll allow Zack to hover over him. He's too worn out for anything else and Zack looks like a puppy that's been flung down multiple flights of stairs. Up and leaving would make that worse. And once again Sephiroth leaves himself wondering why he cares.

Zack barely dignifies Sephiroth's protests with a response. A little snort, eyes cast up at the ceiling like he's heard it all before. And he has. After all, he was the one who cleaned up after Angeal and Genesis, the one who Sephiroth'd foisted the hard choices upon. He didn't have anything to say back then about taking care of himself.

He sure does now. Which makes Zack think that no matter what anyone says, even Sephiroth himself, he's doing the right thing here. All of them deserve a path to redemption, no matter what has transpired. He was willing to offer it to Genesis after he'd uprooted Zack's life as he knew it, and now Sephiroth—

Well, it's the same thing in a different skin, isn't it?

"You so sure about that?" he asks, smoothing the ointment over Sephiroth's cheek. He can summon a smile quick as he can summon a Cure, but it doesn't do anything for the touch of sadness in his eyes. "I know how you kill." His fingers linger a little longer than it takes to administer the salve. It could be that he's just thinking, which he is. Back to that night at the bar, when Sephiroth had brandished his blade and that voice inside of Zack's mind told him to be strong, to stay his hand.

"I don't think you've ever wanted to kill me," he murmurs, speaking off the top of his mind, more so than usual, like he's using Sephiroth to work this all out.

Zack hovering so close to his face makes it far more difficult to look at anything but him than Sephiroth cares to admit. He's stuck practically staring into a gaze laced with pain and sadness. The eyes of someone who's gone through more tribulations than any normal person can endure, who's lost so much yet still brandishes a smile in an instant.

Sephiroth also won't admit he remembers those moments back then. Barely, but they're there. Moments where Zack still pushed forward despite his inner pain. Everyone asked so much of him then -- himself included. When he could not bring himself to go after Angeal and Genesis, he shoved the mission on Zack. All because he could not face his own loss. Instead he hid from it and made it someone else's problem. He never should have done that, though the realization comes far too late. --

Though part of his mind also argues that he does not have the capacity to care anymore. He lost what little that made him human so many years ago and he did not want to go back. That person he used to be is a lie. Just a lie created by Shinra. He knows his true purpose, though with all the conflict swirling around inside he can't even begin to formulate what that is.

Zack's statement brings him back to present -- though he wants to protest and say that yes he wanted to kill him. He was ready to plunge a steel blade straight through his heart. The words are lost before he can formulate them, drifting out only as a silent breath against his lips. He sighs heavily.

"No. I don't think I ever did."

That's exactly what Zack expects him to say. Even before Nibelheim, Sephiroth was stubborn, unyielding. It had taken so much to get through to him, which was why it had been so important to Zack to remind Sephiroth of the one time he did.

And look where that got them. Everything is a mess now, and a lot of it is his fault. He can own that. He put Sephiroth in this perilous position of being human enough to let his guard down.

Sephiroth says something else, though, and it hits Zack in a way that makes his eyes go glassy, makes the breath in his lungs burn. He's already cried plenty today, but this is a different cocktail of emotions entirely. It calls a misty smile to his face.

With his own little sigh—more of a huff—he turns and takes a seat upon the ground. He angles his back against the metal edge of the futon, but dips his head back so he can still see his companion here. Which means he's nestling his head against Sephiroth's side, but he's too injured to remember all the good reasons to stab him now, so it'll all work out.

"I trust you," he says, speaking with irreproachable conviction. (As always.) There's a softness to it, too, painfully genuine. "N'I'm glad you trusted me enough to look for me."

Perhaps if he ignored all of Zack's attempts -- resisted against being drawn in so deeply then maybe, just maybe, he'd have noticed Tseng earlier. But it's only a maybe. The turks are relentless enough to hunt him down either way. Sure Sephiroth might not have been distracted in any other instance, but who's to say what would happen? Another time another place a different set of circumstances could still end with the same result.

Only without this domino effect of events he wouldn't have Zack to fall back on.

In a weird way, though he does partially blame him ... not for what happened, but for tugging so hard at any strand of humanity he could get a hold of ... he mostly blames himself. He allowed all of this to take place. He let himself be drawn in and now he could not find a way out. It was as though he fell into a cave, only instead of darkness he's surrounded by a blinding light. He doesn't know which way to go anymore.

I trust you. The words cause something along the lines of a laugh to escape. Though it's more of a huff and amused noise combined. He shakes his head at the naivety of it all. The second part -- well, he can't say that's true either, but he also makes no move to deny it.

Eyes dart over to meet that strong blue gaze.

"You say this knowing I attempted to destroy the planet once? Well, perhaps not the world itself but all of humanity," though it wasn't spoken harshly it was totally meant in a why are you trusting me I'm evil sort of way.

"I mean I trust you not to kill me," Zack says, and it shouldn't be the sort of thing that makes him laugh, but it is. Not a real laugh, it's something hollow, more breath than sound. It's the barest minimum, but it's enough to keep his eyes burning with those unshed tears of shock and joy and grief and hope.

"I don't know what all you did or why you did it." A hand raises to scratch through his hair. He's spent a lot of long, too-quiet nights thinking back on that week, the flames, the way Sephiroth turned and just wasn't Sephiroth anymore the next time Zack saw him. But...

Is it really different, in the end? Zack had to have cut down just as many people as Sephiroth did that night in Nibelheim, maybe more. And he feels wretchedly awful, sick as a dog every time he considers it, but he knows why. He knows why Angeal did what he did, why Genesis was the way he was.

It's just Sephiroth has never made sense. But he knows in his heart there has to be a reason.

"But you bent time and space to come save me," he says, flashing a bold grin over his shoulder. Yeah, he knows they came to a consensus on this. Don't matter. "An' that's somethin'."

Sephiroth's reasons were complicated. A glass full of anger, hate, betrayal all mixed together in some sort of dangerous cocktail of emotions he covered over with a sense of self-centered enlightenment. It didn't matter that how so many lied to him because he is far superior to all of them. He is a god who rose up to see his true potential and he --

Did not remember reaching out to snag Zack's hand. But it is only for the briefest of moments perhaps to jolt the other man out of the ridiculous line of thought he keeps repeating.

He can't really say why the timeline is changed, though his idea, Zack's, and then Cloud's don't quite line up yet somehow all fit together. Maybe it is a combination of reasons. Zack might be included in those. Might not. He won't know until time catches up or he learns more. If only he were in the lifestream, perhaps he could push through all the knowledge contained and find an answer.

"Nothing is going to sway you from thinking such nonsense, is it?" He asks though he clearly knows the answer. Zack is a force filled with determination and conviction. Changing his mind is little to impossible.

Zack knows this. Sephiroth knows this.

And Sephiroth tried to push him away. Even before his ... fall he kept him at arms length for the longest of times. Yet he barged on through and laying here now, Sephiroth comes to the realization that nothing will ever change the person Zack is.

And in a way, though he won't say it, he's very glad.

Zack's hand is seized, and maybe Sephiroth means it to be a jolt, a shock to his senses, but it doesn't feel like that at all. That is—it is a shock, but not the adrenaline-rushing, fight or flight kind, more like his heart starts thumping against his chest and his face feels a little hot and his fingers start to curl, just a tiny fraction of a bit, around Sephiroth's before it's just as quickly revoked.

For a second, he can almost believe he just imagined it. But his hand is still lifted from where Sephiroth left it, his fingers still wrapped around the empty impression of Sephiroth's hand. His lips purse, deep in thought all over again. Or shallowly, because it's excruciatingly clear what it is that he's thinking.

"Not when..." he says, a little lower, a little smoother, "you keep givin' me the impression that it might be true." He's careful turning to look at Sephiroth, as if that might dispell the notion, but no. He can try all he likes, but there's something in his eyes, even now when they're so distinct from that steely, strict gaze that came before it. He might be looking a little too closely to find it, leaning in until the edge of the futon frame puts an ache in his chest, but Zack doesn't seem aware of it. "That's on you, big guy."

Somehow Sephiroth keeps leaving open the very door he means to shut. The one which would lock him away from all the conflicting emotions racing through his head. It's like a heavy weight against chest. An uncomfortable, daunting pressure pushing down against him.

To shift the feeling, he physically moves -- sitting up ignoring all the pain from his injuries. He looks down at Zack with a shake of his head, but he can't quite pull away from his gaze.

"You're imagining things," he says to Zack though it is partially directed at himself. If he keeps saying it, surely he can rebuild those walls he's spent so long surrounding himself with.

Ones that already seem to he on the verge of crumbling down. He won't let that happen. He won't --

His guard dropped for the briefest of moments and now he's laying here, injured and questioning everything. But even that is not exactly true. That night he started questioning himself. This just exacerbated everything.

"You only see what you want to see."

This is exactly what's not going to happen. There's no way that Sephiroth is going to overexert himself, not on Zack's watch. The Sephiroth he knew wouldn't have let him.

He doesn't ask, doesn't yell, just surges forward, one hand open and stable against Sephiroth's back, the other pressing into his shoulder to lay him right back down. Zack has to lean over him to do it, one knee bent and balanced precariously upon the edge of the futon, as he forces Sephiroth lower and lower with care.

"I see the guy who just killed one of my best friends," he says, and it's dark, the way he says it, the quiet eye in his howling hurricane of emotions. But it's also soft, unaccusing. "I see Nibelheim on fire. I see all the pain and hurt you caused for me and all my friends."

He sighs, once he gets Sephiroth down. Something switches in his eyes, just a quick flicker within that mako-blue glare.

"But I see how complicated things got too. And—you can try to hide it, but—" Zack's back to blinking owlishly at him, back to smiling, leaned in so close now (Sephiroth's laying on his hand, he didn't think this one through, whatever, he's stuck for a sec here). "I see you tryin'. Maybe not on purpose, but. I see it."

Sephiroth goes back down, but he isn't happy about it. He hoped moving would shift his thoughts and mind, shift the bubbling pressure -- and he's just now realizes how aware he's become of his own heart beating hard and fast. It's funny he's spent so long without a physical body of his own that he almost forgot what that felt like.

With Zack hovering so close the warmth of his breath tailed over his skin encasing him like a blanket. In a way he felt trapped, locked into that blue-gaze of the man who should in all respects hate him for everything he's done.

Yet he doesn't. And he can see it in those eyes that almost seem like boring straight through him down to what remains of his soul -- if he even has one.

"Everything is complicated," he finally finds the words to speak. "It's been that way since the moment we ran into each other in this place."

Reaching up, he lightly touches the side of Zack's face before pulling him down just a hair closer.

"I don't know what that means. I'm not even sure I know who I am anymore. But despite all that has happened, I am glad for this place to have given me the chance to speak with you again after so long."

With these careful, graceful fingers sliding over his cheek, it's so easy for Zack to believe that this is the man he'd been searching for back in that reactor, the one he'd called out to, tried to reason with. It's not him; there's still a darkness around his eyes, something uncanny in his gaze. This Sephiroth will never be the one he once knew, but...

He doesn't have to be the one he came to know after that, either. If Zack's just here enough, if he's just persistent and says all the right things, then it can be like this, like him clasping his hands over Sephiroth's knuckles and matching the uncertainty in his eyes with a confident grin of his own. And then maybe one day, it'll just be like this all the time, slow and quiet and not so fucking bad at all.

"I'll help you figure it out," he says, glowing like a sunbeam. You try getting told by Sephiroth, literally the coolest guy to ever walk the planet (and then summarily try to destroy it), that he's glad you're around. "Long as you got me, you're not alone in this."

No, he'll never be that person again. Even if he somehow regained every ounce of humanity he seemingly lost, the person he was before will still remain nothing but a distant memory. But that's all right. Sephiroth does not want to go back to that time -- when he was naive to the truth. Nothing but a tool for Shinra.

No. Never again.

But the person he became ... the one laced with bitter anger and hate, also feels almost like a memory. One he tries so hard to desperately hold on to. This is who he is now ... this is who he wants to be, but no matter how tight the grasp it just slips away and he supposes that is why he feels so very, very lost.

Zack is almost like an anchor keeping him grounded in the present and in this moment -- forgetting all the pain, blood, and death from before it almost would be nice if they could just stay like this. Just a quiet, peaceful moment where nothing else really matters.

Pulling in the other man closer so that they are barely a breath apart, he blinks slowly trying to take this entire moment in for what it is.

"One day you'll have to tell me your secret," his voice is slightly softer than before -- no harsh edges like the previous times. "No matter your hardships, your spirit never darkens. Never grows bitter. I've never met another person who manages the way you do."

People change. They've both been through hell and back; Zack can't even imagine what it must have been like, devouring the truth, night after night, turning pages until everything Sephiroth ever knew burned to ash just like the town he razed upon his awakening. Something sort of like the day he learned what the price of power really was, he guesses, the terrifying trade you made for pretty, glowy eyes and sick jumps and swinging a sword like nobody's business.

The past will haunt them for the rest of their lives. But sharing that together, somehow it makes this fleeting moment in time a place of true serenity. They could move on together, he thinks, they could rise above all the pain that was done to them, by them, they can look at each other and find a reason to smile again.

"Think I'd rather show you," he says, gently tracing the line of Sephiroth's jaw, fixing the angle of his chin with a softly persistent tug. His head tilts, so that bright little grin of his fits in closer. "F'that's all right with you."

Sephiroth descended to hell and thought he conquered it only to feel like a pawn in some sort of overarching game. Maybe he did rise to godhood but no matter what his goals were always just out of reach. Always a fingertip away, yet never fully falling into his grasp.

But now Zack is what's in front of him and he is within arms reach. They were so close it would be so easy to get lost in the moment. To forget everything else for this one precious moment of time. Shove all the pain, hate, anger away for the here and now.

There's a twitch on the corner of his lips, a rare sight even before his fall. Thinking about everything in hindsight, he could almost laugh. Such a ridiculous yet painful series of events that lead them to this point.

Feeling Zack's breath against his lips the warmth in his chest grows even stronger. He doesn't know what this all means. He also doesn't care. With his thumb he lightly caresses the other man's cheek, slowly ... gently.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Zack's brows knit. If he was anyone else, he likely would have the wherewithal to keep this inside, keep it guarded. But he's only ever been himself. Even in the face of all of this grief and blood and pain, he can only ever be this one thing.

So he says, "Because I don't want to lose you again," and sounds so hurt, so raw. There's no swallowing it down; his emotions have only ever been portrayed in perfect clarity.

But still, as ever, he's smiling.

He leans into Sephiroth's hand, matching the soft strokes on his face to the gentle path of his fingers across Sephiroth's jaw. It's so easy to believe everything's okay like this. If he blurs his eyes enough, it almost looks like he's the same person from so long ago. Which he doesn't do, because this new incarnation of him, whatever he chooses to become, Zack has decided to accept it, accept him, a promise that he seals with a softly-pressed kiss.

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