Chapter Text
Zack staggered, holding onto the unconscious Cloud like he was his lifeline.
He couldn't really tell how much time had passed since they had left the laboratory. Hours, days, weeks... it all blurred together until none of it felt real anymore. Every time he tried to reach for a memory, something sharp split through his skull.
It hurt. It hurt so damn much.
Sometimes he forgot where he was. Sometimes he forgot why his legs were still moving. Sometimes he looked down and expected Cloud to open his eyes, maybe groan, maybe ask where they were going. But Cloud never did. He only hung against him, limp and too quiet, his body still warm enough to prove he was alive and still far too close to being nothing at all.
Zack adjusted his grip on him and swallowed back the nausea crawling up his throat.
Midgar. He had to make it to Midgar.
Cloud’s future was in his hands. Kunsel was still out there somewhere. Sephiroth too, somehow, stupidly, painfully still there in the back of his mind, even after everything. Like some part of Zack still refused to believe that there was nothing left to save.
And Aerith.
That hurt differently. Who would tell her? Was she still waiting? Was she looking at the sky sometimes, wondering if he was under the same one?
A cold drop landed on his nose. Zack blinked and looked up at the grey sky hanging over them. For a second, he just stared at it, tired enough to almost expect an answer. Maybe Angeal was somewhere beyond it, watching him stumble through the dirt with the last thing he had left.
Then Zack looked down at Cloud again. His blond hair was dirty, his face pale and far too still. He looked younger like this. Not like a soldier. Not like someone Shinra should have ever touched. Just a kid. Just Cloud.
“Hey, Spike... can you hear me?” Zack’s voice came out weaker than he wanted. “When we make it to Midgar, there are people I need to introduce you to, you know...”
He smiled down at him, even though his lips trembled.
“I think you would like them.”
The slums came back to him in pieces. The kids. The church. The flowers. Aerith’s hands around the stems. The way she had looked at him like he was not a weapon, not SOLDIER, not Shinra’s dog. Just Zack.
His throat tightened.
“She would like you too,” he whispered. “I think she would.”
For one stupid moment, he imagined it. Cloud sitting awkwardly in the church, not knowing what to do with his hands. Aerith laughing softly at him. Zack leaning back against one of the broken pews, pretending any of this had ever been normal.
A normal day. A stupid, normal day.
It almost made him laugh. It almost made him cry.
“We’re almost there, Cloud. Just hang on a little longer, okay?”
Cloud did not answer.
Zack forced himself forward. One foot. Then the other. Again. Again. Don’t stop. If he stopped, he wasn’t sure he would ever move again.
Then heavy boots echoed across the wasteland.
Zack froze.
His body knew before his mind did.
They had been so close. Close enough that he had almost let himself believe it. Close enough to see Midgar through the rain, like a cruel little promise.
That was the worst part. Hope. Just enough to make losing it hurt.
Resentment, anger, betrayal... all of it rose in him at once. All the ugliness he had kept buried under jokes and pained smiles pressed up his throat until he could barely breathe. After everything Shinra had taken, they still wanted more. His body. Cloud’s life. Aerith’s waiting. Angeal’s sword. All of it.
A cold voice cut through the empty space.
“Surrender, Fair. You know you don’t stand a chance.”
Zack smirked, but there was nothing funny in it.
Shinra soldiers stood before him with their weapons raised. Too many of them. People he probably knew. People he had trained with, talked to, maybe even looked up to once. Men who might have eaten with him in the cafeteria or called him SOLDIER like it meant something noble.
Maybe some of them had asked him for advice. Maybe some of them had watched him spar. Maybe some of them had wanted to become just like him. Now they were aiming at him.
Zack’s stomach twisted.
His eyes caught on one soldier near the front. Young. Too young. His hands were shaking around his rifle. Zack wondered if he was scared. He wondered if he knew who Zack was. He wondered if that made it better or worse.
Cloud was still motionless in his arms.
With a quiet exhale, Zack lowered him to the ground as gently as he could. His fingers brushed Cloud’s blond hair back from his face.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
Cloud did not move.
“The boy and you are as good as dead anyway, Fair.”
Something cold passed through him. They had already decided Cloud was nothing. Just another body. Another file. Another loose end.
Zack laughed softly and shook his head.
They really think I’d give up so easily?
“You think I’d go down without a fight?” he shot back, gripping the Buster Sword tighter.
It felt heavier than before.
Angeal would have called him an idiot. Too sure of himself. Too stubborn for his own good. Sephiroth might have smiled at his antics, maybe called him reckless in that calm voice of his.
Was he an idiot? For believing that good could still win? For believing that if he kept moving, everything would somehow be alright? For believing dreams and honor could mean anything in a world like this?
His grip tightened until his knuckles ached.
No.
If they meant nothing, then everything Angeal had given him meant nothing. Zack could not accept that.
He launched himself into the soldiers.
He cut through men he once would have called colleagues. Maybe friends. There was no room for hesitation anymore. Each swing of the blade carved a desperate path through rain and gunfire, but no matter how many fell, more kept coming. Always more. Shinra always had more bodies to throw away.
A bullet grazed his side. Another tore through his shoulder. Zack stumbled, caught himself and kept moving. His body was screaming. His vision blurred. His movements dragged. Blood soaked into his uniform and dripped into the dirt beneath his boots.
But still, he pushed forward.
If one of us makes it... Cloud has to make it. Cloud has to live.
Because if Cloud lived, maybe Zack had not lost everything. Because if Cloud lived, maybe someone would remember.
A rifle clicked somewhere behind him.
Zack turned too late.
The shot rang out.
Pain tore through his chest so suddenly that, for one second, he didn’t understand what had happened. He gasped, staggering as the world tilted beneath him. Then more bullets followed. One after another.
His body jerked with each impact, but after a while the pain became something dull and far away. Heat. Pressure. Numbness. Like his body had finally stopped trying to warn him. Like even his body knew it was too late.
His knees buckled. The Buster Sword slipped lower in his hand. Rain hit his face.
This was the end.
Not after Midgar. Not after seeing Aerith again. Not after telling Kunsel he was alive. Not after helping Cloud stand on his own two feet. Now. Here. In the mud.
Maybe it had always been meant to end like this. Maybe his path had always stopped on this battlefield, under this grey sky, with Midgar close enough to see and still too far to reach. There was a reason for everything, wasn’t there?
There had to be.
Because if there wasn’t, then this was just cruelty.
Rain fell harder, soaking his already bloodstained body. As if the sky was crying for him. As if the world felt any of it.
Zack tried to breathe. It came out wet. Wrong.
“I’m sorry, Spike...” he whispered. “I couldn’t save us.”
His eyes shifted toward Cloud. Still there. Still breathing.
Please. Please make it.
The soldiers turned and left him behind. No final word. No respect. Not even enough mercy to watch him die. One of them looked back once. Only once. Then he kept walking.
Zack almost laughed. So that was what a life was worth.
Just Zack Fair, abandoned in the pouring rain.
His body lay sprawled in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him, his strength slipping away with every second.
Memories came in broken pieces. Angeal’s back turned to him. Genesis’ voice, distant and strange. Sephiroth standing in flames. Kunsel’s messages, unanswered. Aerith’s smile. Cloud looking at him like he could do anything.
All of it hurt more than the bullets. Because it was unfinished.
He had not said enough. He had not saved enough. He had not been enough.
His fingers loosened, and the Buster Sword fell from his grasp with a dull thud. The sound felt final.
Then Cloud stirred.
His bleary eyes opened slowly, unfocused and confused. For a moment, he didn’t understand. Maybe his mind refused to. Maybe it was still trying to protect him. His gaze moved over the rain, the empty wasteland, the blood, the sword.
Then Zack.
Realization came slowly. Cruelly.
“Z-Zack...?” he rasped.
Zack wanted to tell him not to look. He wanted to laugh and say it was fine. Just a scratch. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He wanted to tell Cloud to go back to sleep, that he would take care of everything. Like always.
But his mouth barely moved.
Cloud forced himself forward, crawling through the mud. His hands slipped. His limbs shook. He looked like he might collapse again at any second. Still, he came closer.
Zack met his gaze with a faint smile.
His body was broken. His mind was slipping. But there was no fear in his eyes anymore. Only acceptance. And sorrow.
Because Cloud was awake now. Because Cloud had to see this. Because Zack had saved him and still hurt him in the worst way possible.
He looked up at the sky. The grey seemed lighter now. Almost peaceful. Was Angeal watching? Was he proud of him? Had Zack become a hero? Or had he just been a boy carrying someone else’s dream until it crushed him?
His vision swam, and for a moment, he saw her.
Aerith.
Standing in the church, surrounded by flowers, smiling like she had always been waiting.
Zack’s heart twisted.
I’m sorry. I really tried to come back.
A weak chuckle escaped him before he looked back at Cloud.
Cloud stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Not scared of the soldiers. Not scared of death. Scared of losing him.
That broke something in Zack no bullet had touched.
“Listen to me, Cloud...”
Cloud shook his head, barely.
“Zack...”
“If you want to be a hero...” Zack breathed, fighting for every word, “you need to have dreams... and honor.”
His hand reached for the Buster Sword. It felt heavier than ever now. Not because of the steel, but because of everything it carried. Angeal’s honor. His own dreams. Everything he had failed to become. Everything Cloud still could.
He placed it beside Cloud.
For a second, Zack’s hand stayed on the blade. He did not want to let go. Letting go meant admitting he was done.
“For the both of us...” Zack whispered. “You have to live.”
Cloud stared at him, shaking.
“You’ll be my living legacy.”
Cloud’s face crumbled. He did not understand. He understood too much.
Zack had always been there. Loud, bright, impossible to ignore. Zack wasn’t supposed to be still. Zack wasn’t supposed to be quiet. Zack was not supposed to leave.
The rain felt far away now. Cloud’s voice too. Everything was slipping.
Zack looked at the sky one last time.
“Hey...” A small, tired smile touched his lips. “Would you say I became a hero?”
Cloud’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
Zack waited for an answer he would never hear.
Then his body gave in. His eyes fluttered shut.
And then, nothing.
The rain fell harder, washing away the blood, but it could never wash away what had been lost.
Cloud froze.
For a while, he did not move at all. Then, slowly, like the world had stopped around him, he reached for Zack. His trembling fingers touched his arm first. Like Zack might wake up. Like he might complain that Cloud was being dramatic. Like he might open one eye and grin at him.
But Zack did not move.
Cloud’s fingers curled tighter.
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. Not Zack. Not him.
Desperation filled his dizzy mind, and he threw himself onto his dead friend, clinging to him like holding tighter could bring him back.
“Zack...”
Nothing.
His voice shook harder.
“Zack... wake up.”
The rain answered.
Cloud pressed his forehead against Zack’s chest.
There was no heartbeat.
Something inside him tore open.
“Zack...! Zack!”
His voice broke, raw and ugly with grief. The wasteland, silent only moments before, now echoed with his cries.
Cloud held onto Zack, his tears mixing with the rain. He did not know what to do with the sword. He did not know what to do with the silence. He did not know how to exist in a world where Zack Fair was no longer breathing.
All he knew was the body in his arms. The blood on his hands. The name tearing itself out of his throat.
And there, in that desolate place, Zack Fair, the man who had dreamed of becoming a hero, was gone.