A/N: Dearest readers, thank you all so much for being here. I love every one of you, and always look forward to hearing what you have to say about my stories. A WARNING for this chapter. Things are dark again. There is violence, blood, murder, torture, and trauma, some of it aimed towards children. Please remember to look after yourselves first and foremost!
I'm very pleased with how this chapter turned out. I hope you all are as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII or any related materials. Please support the official releases!

Chapter 8

The child had silver hair and wore blue scrubs. He was sitting on a simple bed, a book open in his lap. He was tracing his fingers over the lively illustrations inside. His touch slid over the drawing of bushes and blue sky and still pools with an affectionate but unfamiliar air. His inhuman green eyes held a pensive quality, wide and calm.

Sephiroth had never looked more innocent or more open.

The sound of a lock sliding lifted his attention, and he quickly closed the book, holding it to his chest and hopping to his feet, tossing his hair over one shoulder with a quick motion to make himself more presentable.

"Professor!" The child greeted as the door opened, rising to his feet. "I've been reading—" He trailed off abruptly into silence.

Professor Hojo stepped inside the room, an unkind smile on his lips. Sephiroth's body language shifted in an instant. He ducked his chin submissively and went still, the enthusiasm he'd displayed dying instantly.

"Professor Hojo," he greeted in a murmur. "Is Gast otherwise occupied?"

"Gast?" Hojo gave an ugly chuckle after the name, his eyes narrowing behind thick glasses. "Gast is gone, boy."

"Gone?" Sephiroth whispered, his fingers curling into fists. "When will he be back?"

"Who knows?" Hojo asked. "He's taken the other pet projects and run off with them. It's just you and me now, boy."

"He..." Sephiroth whispered, fingers tightening around the book. "He went with the ancient?"

"That's right," Hojo said, with an almost praising note in his voice. "Put that stupid book away. We have a great deal of work to do."

Sephiroth set the book down slowly with hands that shook and followed the dark-haired man out of the room with timid footsteps.

—

"What is this?" Cloud whispered, watching the child leave the room.

There was no response. Only a shift. Cloud watched the room fade—watched the child's book shine for a moment, then burn away.

—

"You know what you were designed to be?" Hojo asked the boy.

"A Soldier," Sephiroth replied. He looked older. An inch or two higher, and with less of that frail, broken hope on his face. He still looked afraid, though. His cheeks were rounded with youth and his eyes were wide and soft.

"What aspects must a soldier possess?" The scientist pushed a series of buttons at a work station which opened a glass door with a hiss, leading into a stark room with glass walls.

"Decisiveness," Sephiroth replied without hesitation. "Ferocity. Dedication."

"But most importantly," Hojo said, "he must be able to fight. Go inside."

The child eyed him, but did as he was told. When the door hissed closed behind him, Sephiroth jumped a little, turning in a circle to look around the enclosed space.

"Subject age, seven," Hojo said into a microphone. "Fighting skills test one. Opponent, Nibel Wolf."

"What am I to do?" Sephiroth asked from inside, turning wide eyes to Hojo.

"Survive it, boy," Hojo said, waving a hand. "You have trained every day of your life, have you not? Think of this as a first test of what skills you have gained thus far."

Sephiroth looked like he wanted to object. He wrapped his arms around himself as though in comfort, turning around the empty room again, looking for the danger.

When a hole opened up in the floor and a Nibelwolf was lifted through it, the child slid into a fighting stance. He was trembling at the sight of the monster so much bigger than he was. Hojo did not give him a count down before releasing the creature from its bonds. Between one moment and the next, the beast was upon him.

—

"Sephiroth!" Cloud screamed, moving forward to press against the glass door, shoving at the smooth surface with no success. It would not budge.

To his left, he could hear Hojo muttering to himself, taking notes as Sephiroth ran from the monster. The child was struggling to land a single strike against the beast of a wolf.

Then the creature grabbed hold of Sephiroth's torso, teeth sinking into unprotected flesh. It shook him as though he were no more than a hunted rabbit. The child couldn't even scream.

The world went fuzzy and dissolved, leaving Cloud standing in darkness, gasping for breath, with the image of the bloody child being shaken like a rag doll burned into his mind.

—

"Do you understand the assignment?" Hojo asked sharply, glaring down at the pale child.

—

"You're alive," Cloud whispered to the small version of his lover, reaching out to touch him. "You survived it…"

His hand passed straight through the boy's shoulder. The young Sephiroth's gaze didn't waver from Hojo.

—

"I'm to behave as if I am unharmed," Sephiroth murmured, his voice trembling. "And convince the applicant that I am in no danger. If she recognizes that I am afraid or hurt, I will be punished."

"Correct," Hojo said with a sneer. "Go on, then. Meet your new 'Nanny.' You must stay in the room with her for half an hour. Your time starts now."

Sephiroth stepped into the room without protest. The young woman inside had perfectly styled hair, pinned up in curls that fell just-so around her shoulders. She smiled sweetly at Sephiroth, and worry lighted instantly on her face at the look of him. Sephiroth tried to put back his shoulders—to walk with more confidence rather than cringing away from the person.

"Hi," she said sweetly. "Are you Sephiroth?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied.

"My name is Sharon," she said softly, rising from where she sat at the table to walk over and crouch before him. "Can I have a hug?"

Her hands rested on Sephiroth's back, and the child cried out in pain. His hand clenched in her shirt as she gasped, pulling away her hands swiftly.

"I'm sorry," Sephiroth started, "i just—"

"Oh Gods," she whispered, turning him bodily and lifting the back of his shirt. The bruising was dark and purple—the puckered scars from the Nibelwolf attack still fresh and healing. "What happened to you?"

"It was nothing," Sephiroth said quickly, pulling free of her touch and backing away from her. "Just an accident. It was nothing."

"But you're hurt!" The woman said. "Does your father know about this? You shouldn't be up and about!"

She stood, moving towards the door. Sephiroth moved to stop her, but the door opened before either of them could reach their targets. The gunshot was deafening. Sephiroth dropped to his knees, his hands over his ears and his eyes clenched shut.

When he opened them again, the sweet woman was on the floor, her mouth open in a look of surprise. Her perfectly curled hair tumbled around her on the floor in disarray.

"A very poor performance," Hojo said from the doorway. "No dinner for you tonight."

"You killed her," Sephiroth whispered, his hands falling away from his ears, limply, staring at the corpse on the floor. "She just wanted to help."

"Unless you learn to convince others that you are untouchable," Hojo slid the gun back into its holster under his lab coat, "then many more will die because of you."

—

"This is," Cloud whispered, watching the child tremble, wide-eyed and traumatized on the floor, "This is wrong. This is all wrong."

The images didn't listen. They didn't fade. They didn't change. Sephiroth sat on his knees, staring at the dead body, until Hojo dragged him out by force. As the room faded, Cloud covered his eyes, even if only for a moment.

"It can't have all been like this." He objected, shaking his head sharply.

The images around him sped up in response to his words, the past whirling by as though searching for some reprieve. Battles and blood, tests and injections, the boy floating in mako tubes, covered in leads and wires, and that same image of him sitting alone in an empty room that Cloud had seen before when a force of nature was urging his dagger towards Sephiroth's neck. He felt dizzy at the memory, disconnected from his body, but filled with anguish at the very thought of what he had nearly done. He didn't open his eyes again until the screaming started.

—

"You see?" Hojo pulled his gloves off, dropping them in a trash can. "That is why we use the restraints. Because if we did not, you would have just impaled your own heart. It is only a little test of your bone structure. No need to be so dramatic."

Sephiroth gasped on the table, his eyes glassy and wide. He was older than he'd been when faced with the 'nanny'—more a teenager than a child. His clavicle was sliced open. Cloud knew the mark. He'd seen Sephiroth draw it on himself. Hojo pulled out what looked like a miniature drill and leaned over the exposed bone.

"This will sting." The scientist commented mildly.

Sephiroth's scream cut through the air, louder even than the singing of the drill as it bored down into his collar bone. Cloud watched his hands flex and clench where they were bound to the table, and his head twitch, restrained by what looked more like a vice than a medical tool. Hojo sighed, sitting back, pressing a button on his drill that ejected the piece of bone it had drilled out into a sample tray.

"Is that necessary?" The scientist asked as Sephiroth's scream tapered off into hollow gasps of air. "You'll wake the whole building. And it's only the first sample of twelve."

Sephiroth groaned, his lips pulling back to bare his teeth in a grimace.

"No wonder you keep getting those poor girls killed," Hojo sighed. "You can't even hide your pain from me. No matter. If you cannot hold your silence, I will find another solution."

—

"Oh no," Cloud whispered as Hojo lifted the scalpel again and braced a hand against Sephiroth's throat. "No, Seph…"

—

Tendons strained under Hojo's touch heavy, and the bound teenager bucked against the restraints, trying helplessly to free himself, his face a mask of despair and fear.

"Professor!" He choked as Hojo put more pressure on his neck.

"Now don't be dramatic," Hojo scolded, gesturing with his blade. "Too much jerking around and you'll shift a vein into the danger area."

"Professor, please!"

Hojo didn't listen. He pressed down harder until Sephiroth's panicked voice choked off with a strained gasp for air. Then he started cutting. The slit opened up across Sephiroth's trachea, and the scientist muttered to himself as he stuck a finger inside, keeping the wound open even as the skin tried to heal. The moment he lifted pressure, Sephiroth was screaming again, louder than ever, strained and breathless and terrified.

And then Hojo made another swift cut, and the room went silent, leaving Sephiroth gasping for air that he could not get. Hojo snickered to himself, shifting back, leaving his scalpel where it was, embedded in Sephiroth's neck.

"There," Hojo said mildly. "Much quieter. Of course, now I'll have to re-open the incision over your clavicle… Pity. It won't be nearly as neat a second time with your healing factor trying to 'help.' At least I know that much of your design was not a failure."

Sephiroth bled in ugly spurts, his mouth gaping open, his eyes wide and glassy. The wound inched closed—too slow. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream. Hojo watched with a detached look, glancing back to the monitor that kept track of Sephiroth's vitals. It was spiking, every one of Sephiroth's systems on the verge of shutdown.

"How annoying," Hojo muttered. "You see what you've made me do?"

The scientist wandered away from Sephiroth's form, even as he seized and choked on the operating table. Awful gurgling sounds rose from him, a bloody foam rising from his lips, soaking through his hair, pouring off the table.

—

Cloud watched his lover's eyes roll back. Watched the man's lips tremble and part helplessly as he drowned in his own blood. Watched the hands that had been fighting his bonds go limp and still.

Cloud slid to his knees, unable to interfere. He knew what it was to die. He knew what Sephiroth was feeling. Dizziness swept through him, blurring the sight of the flatline on the monitor behind Sephiroth—the shrilling beeps of the machine as the young man died with the scientist's scalpel still sticking macabely out of his throat.

There was no one there to call for him or comfort him. No one to promise to save him like there had been for Cloud. No hope. No comfort.

And then Hojo wandered back with a familiar box, muttering "yes yes, I'm coming," under his breath to the shrieking machines as he went.

—

The phoenix down worked its magic well. Sephiroth jolted, choking blood. He gasped and coughed and spit, almost aspirating the liquid again with his head restrained as it was. The flesh of his neck healed around the scalpel, leaving it protruding obscenely from otherwise whole skin.

Cloud saw Sephiroth's mouth part and his muscles contract as he tried to scream. His voice didn't catch. The mark had done its terrible work, destroying the man's ability to make a sound. His vocal chords had been sliced through.

"Now," Hojo laughed to the choking, gasping man "Try not to die again until I can finish with you."

—

"You told me that didn't happen to you." Cloud whispered, something almost like accusation in his voice, the bitterness escaping where all his sorrow and pain and sickness could not. Sephiroth could not reply.

Cloud couldn't avert his eyes. Couldn't look away. Not even when Sephiroth's voice started to return and Hojo simply reached up to jostle the scalpel he'd left in the young man's throat artlessly, leaving Sephiroth to spasm in pain and silence as he finished his gory task, removing circles of bone one at a time, all with an eerie smile on his face.

"No one helped?" Cloud whispered, his own voice coming out choked and thick with sorrow. "No one came?"

But he knew the answer to that. He'd seen it flying by with the progress of years. Hojo had taught Sephiroth in the vilest way that people who came to help were victims waiting to happen. Every one of the women he'd been introduced to had wanted to help him. Every one of them had been murdered in front of his face. If someone had come to help Sephiroth, he never would have accepted the risk.

"How did you live?" He asked quietly.

The scene blurred out, and Cloud tried not to watch the way Sephiroth's toes curled in agony as the vision of the torture faded from his sight.

—

Sephiroth was getting too old to use the babysitter ruse anymore. Hojo had switched to bringing in prospective tutors. Sephiroth was taller than the woman he was sharing the room with. He kept his eyes averted, his arms crossed, and his face empty. He counted the seconds in his mind.

Hojo opened the door after half an hour, and Sephiroth slid his gaze over to him without letting a flicker of fear through. He wouldn't show pain.

"She is not worth my time," Sephiroth said darkly, not so much as looking at the woman sitting at the table.

"What an unpleasant young man!" The woman huffed, standing abruptly. "I think you had best find someone else to help you with your homeschooling, Professor!"

As she stormed out, Sephiroth wanted to scream in triumph. Years of trying, and he'd finally done it. He'd finally saved one of them. It took everything he had not to slide down the wall in relief. He clenched his fists to hide their shaking from Hojo.

"Proud of yourself, boy?" The man in the doorway hissed. "You're finally proficient enough to do what you should have years ago."

Sephiroth turned his eyes to Hojo and stared blankly. It had been easier than he'd thought to blank the woman out—to treat her as though she wasn't even there. He'd seen Hojo do it enough times. He stared at the scientist the same way he'd stared at the 'tutor.' As though he were lower than dirt.

"Come," Hojo snapped peevishly. "We have more tests to run."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Sephiroth asked in a low rumble, refusing to break free of the character that had provided him the first protection he'd felt since Gast left him behind.

"What?" Hojo said, his eyes widening in fury behind his glasses.

"Do you think I fear your tests and your pain?" Sephiroth asked, pushing off the wall. "In the end, we both know which of us is the god, Hojo. And it is not you."

The scientist turned red with rage, and Sephiroth let a cruel smirk run across his lips. It was his first victory against the man. He didn't care how much he suffered for it later. He was going to relish it for now.

—

Cloud wanted to cheer and to scream at once. This was the man he knew. This asshole of a man, snide and condescending. And this was how he'd come into that—By trying to protect the lives of those around him. Cloud didn't know what to feel. He was empty of emotion, watching as Sephiroth followed Hojo out of the room of his own will, casting a triumphant look behind himself at the empty space, as though relishing the victory he'd just experienced. The victory that consisted only of watching a furious woman storm away.

He stepped forward as the image of Hojo tying Sephiroth down played, sitting on the side of the operating table despite the fact that he was well aware that Sephiroth couldn't see him and he couldn't touch. He stayed by the man's side as Hojo opened up his arm, pinning the flesh open and prodding around with electrical stimuli inside, more to inflict pain than for any purpose. Sephiroth's screaming filled the room

"I'm sorry I was so late," he whispered turning away from the torture to look at Sephiroth's face.

The memory of Sephiroth was holding his mouth tightly closed. His expression was blank. He was not screaming, though the sounds of agony filling the room disagreed with the visual. The memory of Sephiroth looked more bored than hurting, and the cold distance in his eyes cut straight through Cloud.

Cloud lifted his head, his eyes widening. He looked around the room, sick with realization.

"Is this," he whispered. "Is this his…"

Sephiroth's voice rose around him, howling in pain as Hojo muttered to himself and prodded more deeply.

"Is he remembering this?" Cloud screamed, rising from the bedside. "Is that how you're-"

His eyes caught on a shadow of a figure, crouched in the corner of the room, and he turned away from the gory scene, going to the shadow. The moment he reached out to it, color snapped into the image. Sephiroth's head was thrown back in pain, his teeth bared against the scream in his throat. His eyes were rolled back, glassy, unseeing.

"Seph!" Cloud called, reaching up to catch him in a tight hug. "Seph, you're okay!"

The general gasped, twitched, and dropped to his knees. Behind Cloud, Hojo gave a bark of laughter, and Cloud heard the thump of Sephiroth's body jerking helplessly against its bonds. The Sephiroth in front of him buried his face in Cloud's midriff, screaming anew. Cloud wrapped his arms behind Sephiroth's head, curling over him protectively.

"I've seen enough!" He called to whoever was listening. "I've seen enough!"

"One last thing." The voice of the Goddess replied as the room faded around them and Sephiroth's screams died away, leaving him trembling and gasping for air against Cloud's stomach, lost in his own memories.

—

The corpses on the floor were very poor company. Sephiroth prodded the arm of one of Hojo's now-dead recruits. They were never any fun anymore.

There was something off about him. A malevolence curled around him like smoke, clinging to his slender muscled form like a second lover. Sephiroth let out a slow breath, tilting his head back, and smiled wickedly. There was blood on his face, on his hands, on his blade. It felt good. Like being cleansed. A quiet laugh escaped him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Hojo asked over the intercom.

"Just thinking, Professor," Sephiroth replied in a low purr, "Of all the fun I am going to have when you finally let me go and play at war."

"And to think you used to be such a bleeding heart," Hojo muttered, more to himself than anyone, aiming the words to hurt.

Sephiroth smiled sharply, and the smoke curled densely around him. He didn't seem to notice it twining through his hair and playing with his face, as though it were dropping kisses across his skin.

"You never let me be the one to kill them before," he murmured. "Now tell me. How long must I 'play nice' before I dispose of these playthings of Hollander's that you have told me so very much about."

—

"But that's not what happened," Cloud insisted as the memory faded, his fingers carding through Sephiroth's hair protectively as the man moaned against him as though in pain, even at that memory which should not have harmed him. "They were his friends."

"There is a sickness inside him," the voice warned, "that thrives in destruction and death. Eventually, it will rise again. Be cautious, my avatar. Know what it is that you court."

Something released, and the images of the labs faded, leaving only darkness. Sephiroth let out a sigh of relief against Cloud, his fingers clenching in Cloud's shirt.

"I'm sorry," Cloud whispered, stroking Sephiroth's hair. "If I'd realized what she was doing, I wouldn't have let it go on. Are you okay?"

"I want to wake up," Sephiroth whispered against his shirt. "I want to leave this nightmare. I don't want you to know any of this. I don't want anyone to know."

"I know," Cloud slid to his knees until he could wrap his arms around Sephiroth on the same level. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked for this. I shouldn't have let her. You've already shared so much with me…"

"Don't talk," Sephiroth murmured into his neck.

Cloud fell silent, holding on tightly to his lover and rubbing his back slowly and steadily under his hair, listening to Sephiroth's breathing slowly evened out, settling after a long while.

"Wake up," Sephiroth, pulled back slowly from Cloud's shoulder, his eyes bloodshot but still dry, and in the dream they still looked like they had when he was a child—just as innocent and painful. "Wake up, Cloud."

—

They woke up together on the sofa, tangled around each other. Cloud had tears drying on his face, and had left damp marks on Sephiroth's chest where he'd cried against him during the night. He lifted his head to speak, but cut the words off when Sephiroth shifted, carefully removing Cloud's hands from himself and standing.

"I'm sorry." Cloud whispered, his voice rough with sleep.

He felt nauseous and empty. It was too much. He'd seen too much. He couldn't process it. Especially not while looking at the cold, distant look on Sephiroth's face and the still-vibrant red marks strewn across his torso.

"I didn't think she actually would," Cloud whispered, fighting back tears. "Please don't be mad at me, Sephiroth."

"I am not mad," Sephiroth murmured, his eyes lowering to the ground. "I need some time. To think. Will you be safe?"

"I will be," Cloud agreed instantly. "Take your time. I'm so-"

"Don't apologize," Sephiroth shook his head slowly. He looked tired. Defeated. Worn. Cloud stood slowly, reaching out towards him. Sephiroth stepped away from the touch, but brushed his fingers against Cloud's. A rejection, but a gentle one.

"Eat some if you can." The man said softly before he left the room on quiet feet.

Cloud listened to the door shut behind him, and sat down slowly on the sofa, trying to comprehend what had just happened between them. It wasn't for another fifteen minutes that he realized it was the first time in a long while that he had truly been alone.

He swallowed, his fingers twisting together anxiously. He didn't remember how to do this. The house felt empty and threatening without Sephiroth in it. He curled up slowly on the sofa, staring down at the carpet. His mind couldn't escape the image of the scalpel protruding from Sephiroth's throat. Eventually he had to move, standing and pacing around the room in agitation.

"It was an accident," he whispered to himself. "I did want to know, but I didn't mean to go behind his back. He'll forgive me for this, right?"