To Death, Chapter 3: At Death
Title: To Death
Author: Dreaming of Everything dreams_of_all
Series: Final Fantasy VII
Characters/Pairings: Cid/Vincent
Rating/Warnings: A safe M for over-all darkness, language and not much else. Slash.
Summary: Cid is getting older, and Vincent isn't. Fourpart CidVin deathfic.
oOoOoOo
I remember all the different kinds of years.
Angry, or brokenhearted, or afraid.
--from “Arriving Again and Again Without Noticing” by Linda Gregg
oOoOoOo
It was very clear out the day that Cid Highwind died. The sky seemed to be very far away, very distant, and the air was thin and chill; there were gusts of wind, close to the ground, but the slight wisps of clouds in the sky were motionless.
He died mid-morning, with Vincent at his side. A full lifetime’s worth of friends waited outside; they had said what they needed to say earlier. Most of them could guess at what this was doing to Vincent.
“Don’t forget,” Cid had said to Vincent earlier.
“I love you,” Vincent whispered, voice stricken.
“Yeah, I know. Me, too.”
He fell silent, after that, not enough life left in him to speak.
Half an hour later, his heart had stopped.
oOoOoOo
Vincent had left the hospital room very quietly, carefully shutting the door after him. The little thud it made as it was set back into its frame was startlingly loud in the quiet of the room.
He left without a word. A few people made to go after him, but Cloud shook his head, a silent warning. Tifa left through another door to get the doctor.
oOoOoOo
Vincent went home-it had taken years before he had begun thinking of the place as that. It had been a lifetime before then since he had had one, before he had been a Turk. He had been very different, back then. Almost unrecognizable. Cid had sworn him out three times for thanking him for letting him stay, and five times for not thinking of it as home, and once for ‘acting too much like a goddamned guest.’ It had taken him three years before he had realized that he had hurt Cid, with those assumptions and his attitude.
So Vincent went home, and the house was empty. Cid’s presence was already starting to fade, even though he had only been in the hospital for the last two weeks. He wouldn't return. The house sounded hollow.
oOoOoOo
He curled up on the bed they had shared, and buried his head in the covers. He knows he looks ridiculous, his threatening, inhuman body splayed out like this, tattered cloak mingling with black hair against the blue sheets, his clawed arm laid palm-up for the sake of the fabric, a thoughtless habit after years living with the thing.
The room smells like Cid still: cigarettes and engine oil, yes, but also whatever it is that makes him Cid. He’s always had a good sense of smell, but now it’s inhumanly excellent. For once, he can’t bring himself to hate it, for what it stands for. It’s oddly comforting, the smell, and doesn’t that say something about how twisted he is?
Vincent doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this. If he wants to-
-because he doesn’t. He knows that. He wants nothing better than to die. He knows he won’t. He wants to sleep away eternity, until even his body begins to disintegrate, to wear down.
But for now, he scrunches himself into a tighter ball, face deceptively calm, eyes closed; if there had been anyone watching, they would have guessed that he was asleep.
Memories flit through his mind, from the beginning (when they had met, when he had been torn out of his not-quite-sleep) to now. To the end. Some part of him regrets ever waking up, putting himself through this again. Most of him wouldn’t have traded the past years for anything, even a human death. Even Lucrecia.
oOoOoOo
Don’t forget, Cid had said. Vincent knew what he meant.
The funeral party had come and left. They had been respectful of the unspoken facts of the matter. This was no ordinary funeral: Cid was the first to die since Aeris, the first to die of the ones who had survived the war. They were heroes, but they were mortal, and now they were going to die like anyone else, except for Vincent. Nobody but Cid had heard the full truth of Vincent’s past, but they all knew enough to guess, and had some idea of what this was doing to him, so they were respectful even beyond the shock.
Even Yuffie was quieter than normal, but that may have been partly grief. Cid had been the grumpy, foul-mouthed uncle she had never had, her father figure for the duration of their attempts to save the world, no matter how violently both of them would deny it, and what they had all been through together had tied them all more tightly together than any of them really knew.
Aeris had been first, but they had all been expecting to die, then. What they were facing was impossible. The impossible had happened, and only one had died, and that was devastating, but they were still going to die, bar Vincent, and this was reminding them of it more forcefully than even their aging bodies had. You live with yourself, but it had been years since they had lived with the constant threat of death.
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget to live. Don’t forget that that’s the one thing Cid had asked of him. Don’t forget that the world doesn’t revolve around you, Vin, you selfish bastard.
Don’t forget.
Vincent wouldn’t forget. He just wasn’t sure that he would listen to Cid, this last time. Whether he wanted to, or whether he was even capable of it.
For Cid’s sake, he would have to. Nothing else was an option.
But for now, he would remember.
Author: Dreaming of Everything dreams_of_all
Series: Final Fantasy VII
Characters/Pairings: Cid/Vincent
Rating/Warnings: A safe M for over-all darkness, language and not much else. Slash.
Summary: Cid is getting older, and Vincent isn't. Fourpart CidVin deathfic.
oOoOoOo
I remember all the different kinds of years.
Angry, or brokenhearted, or afraid.
--from “Arriving Again and Again Without Noticing” by Linda Gregg
oOoOoOo
It was very clear out the day that Cid Highwind died. The sky seemed to be very far away, very distant, and the air was thin and chill; there were gusts of wind, close to the ground, but the slight wisps of clouds in the sky were motionless.
He died mid-morning, with Vincent at his side. A full lifetime’s worth of friends waited outside; they had said what they needed to say earlier. Most of them could guess at what this was doing to Vincent.
“Don’t forget,” Cid had said to Vincent earlier.
“I love you,” Vincent whispered, voice stricken.
“Yeah, I know. Me, too.”
He fell silent, after that, not enough life left in him to speak.
Half an hour later, his heart had stopped.
oOoOoOo
Vincent had left the hospital room very quietly, carefully shutting the door after him. The little thud it made as it was set back into its frame was startlingly loud in the quiet of the room.
He left without a word. A few people made to go after him, but Cloud shook his head, a silent warning. Tifa left through another door to get the doctor.
oOoOoOo
Vincent went home-it had taken years before he had begun thinking of the place as that. It had been a lifetime before then since he had had one, before he had been a Turk. He had been very different, back then. Almost unrecognizable. Cid had sworn him out three times for thanking him for letting him stay, and five times for not thinking of it as home, and once for ‘acting too much like a goddamned guest.’ It had taken him three years before he had realized that he had hurt Cid, with those assumptions and his attitude.
So Vincent went home, and the house was empty. Cid’s presence was already starting to fade, even though he had only been in the hospital for the last two weeks. He wouldn't return. The house sounded hollow.
oOoOoOo
He curled up on the bed they had shared, and buried his head in the covers. He knows he looks ridiculous, his threatening, inhuman body splayed out like this, tattered cloak mingling with black hair against the blue sheets, his clawed arm laid palm-up for the sake of the fabric, a thoughtless habit after years living with the thing.
The room smells like Cid still: cigarettes and engine oil, yes, but also whatever it is that makes him Cid. He’s always had a good sense of smell, but now it’s inhumanly excellent. For once, he can’t bring himself to hate it, for what it stands for. It’s oddly comforting, the smell, and doesn’t that say something about how twisted he is?
Vincent doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this. If he wants to-
-because he doesn’t. He knows that. He wants nothing better than to die. He knows he won’t. He wants to sleep away eternity, until even his body begins to disintegrate, to wear down.
But for now, he scrunches himself into a tighter ball, face deceptively calm, eyes closed; if there had been anyone watching, they would have guessed that he was asleep.
Memories flit through his mind, from the beginning (when they had met, when he had been torn out of his not-quite-sleep) to now. To the end. Some part of him regrets ever waking up, putting himself through this again. Most of him wouldn’t have traded the past years for anything, even a human death. Even Lucrecia.
oOoOoOo
Don’t forget, Cid had said. Vincent knew what he meant.
The funeral party had come and left. They had been respectful of the unspoken facts of the matter. This was no ordinary funeral: Cid was the first to die since Aeris, the first to die of the ones who had survived the war. They were heroes, but they were mortal, and now they were going to die like anyone else, except for Vincent. Nobody but Cid had heard the full truth of Vincent’s past, but they all knew enough to guess, and had some idea of what this was doing to him, so they were respectful even beyond the shock.
Even Yuffie was quieter than normal, but that may have been partly grief. Cid had been the grumpy, foul-mouthed uncle she had never had, her father figure for the duration of their attempts to save the world, no matter how violently both of them would deny it, and what they had all been through together had tied them all more tightly together than any of them really knew.
Aeris had been first, but they had all been expecting to die, then. What they were facing was impossible. The impossible had happened, and only one had died, and that was devastating, but they were still going to die, bar Vincent, and this was reminding them of it more forcefully than even their aging bodies had. You live with yourself, but it had been years since they had lived with the constant threat of death.
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget to live. Don’t forget that that’s the one thing Cid had asked of him. Don’t forget that the world doesn’t revolve around you, Vin, you selfish bastard.
Don’t forget.
Vincent wouldn’t forget. He just wasn’t sure that he would listen to Cid, this last time. Whether he wanted to, or whether he was even capable of it.
For Cid’s sake, he would have to. Nothing else was an option.
But for now, he would remember.