Chapter Text
Cloud’s tried lacing his alcohol with a little bit of mako since he’s been back—just a drop here and there—to see if it can affect him when everything else about the Planet just outright refuses to let him die. He figured that if Vincent was allowed to wear gold-plated clown shoes to cope, then he’s allowed to dick around with his drink a couple of times. Besides, if anything’s strong enough to get him thoroughly fucked up it’d be mako.
Mako outside of Shinra is more accessible than what Shinra would have people think, after all. Druggies are easy to spot, and as Cid would say, where there’s a druggie, there’s a dealer. Even though it’s not quite as distilled as the ones Shinra procures, it will do. His body can probably take it. But he’s still careful to limit the doses he actually puts in.
Cloud is only doing this just—cause—alright? He’s just being reckless and a whole lot of curious with nothing to lose right now. He doesn’t actually want to get addicted to it.
So he downs his drink and it burns as it goes down. It burns as it settles, too. There’s an undercurrent of pain, a sign that his body is trying it’s best to churn out the drink from his systems, but despite the tingling, it works. Ten minutes in, his vision blurs. His head spins. His nerve dulls. He lies back and sinks into his bed.
Cloud is finally floating.
He’s finally flying. Buoyed in the sky. Like three little bodies in a green tank at the Nibelheim reactor.
Three little, impossible, silver-haired bodies.
The feeling never lasts. Four hours later, Cloud wakes up clear-head and whole, dealing with the fact that not only is he Zack and Aerith’s living legacy of a world that’s never going to be, but now he’s Tifa’s as well. Tifa and Denzel and Barret and—and the rest of his AVALANCHE family.
“Fuck,” Cloud says, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the motel blinds.
Throwing an arm over his face, Cloud takes a moment and breathes. In and out, four seconds each.
He’s lucky he’s scarred. That way he has proof; he could tell what’s real and what’s not.
Two more seconds of wallowing, Cloud decides. Two more seconds, then he doesn’t want to disrespect Tifa’s esteem in him by dragging himself down like this—not after all she’s done to build him back up. The Tifa now is safe at home. Back with her father. Without his death haunting her conscience. Zack has probably just joined SOLDIER, young and eager, desperate to prove himself. And Aerith… Aerith must be with Elmyra. Tending flowers in Midgar, completely unaware of how miraculous she is, coaxing life out of the dead earth.
Cloud will try his best to keep it that way. Fuck Shinra and Hojo and Sephiroth and whatever else the Planet throws at him.
Fuck them all.
He picks up his sword. He throws his drink away.
He rides back to Nibelheim.
Cloud wakes up in the past with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the Fusion sword stabbed on the ground. He spends the first week in confusion, then in anger—denial—bargaining—crying— so much (hopefully manly) crying—stages of grief. Then, he goes straight back to anger and spends another solid week screaming and raging at the Planet.
After that, he gets back to work.
The Planet was kind enough for once and lands him near Costa del Sol, the pinnacle of beach tourism. There, Cloud bounces between a seasonal contract as a bartender and the one-off monster clean-up while he builds up his funds. People are generous tippers if he gives them a good show with their drinks. They’re even more so when Miss Cloud is the one who's working.
Once his contract finishes, he starts taking harder jobs which kept his skills as sharp as his bitterness, fighting monsters for small settlements too poor to afford Shinra’s services. Soon, he saves up enough for a motorcycle, a couple of elemental Materia, an All Materia, and a life out on the road. By the time he arrives at the Western Continent, a plan begins to form:
- Destroy the reactor.
- Pick up Vincent.
- Kill Hojo
- ???
- Profit.
Of course, said plan throws itself out the window the moment Cloud kicks the dusty door of the reactor down and finds the remnants of Sephiroth’s will submerged in a tank of mako.
“No,” he remembers saying, backing out the door. “No, no, no, nope . I am not cleaning any more of your messes, Sephiroth. Make me.”
Then he pulls a move as natural to him as Omnislash—he pulls a Cloud Strife and yanks himself out of there. He runs, kills a whole bunch of the wildlife, does something ridiculously stupid, almost dies, regrets running away, half-regrets doing said something ridiculously stupid, kicks himself over being a dolt and finally listens to his pushy conscience—the usual. Now, he’s back at the reactor, ready to face the reality of his life.
What is a Cloud but the Planet’s favourite spray solution used to clean up the messes Jenova (cough Sephiroth) leave behind? A trusted brand, apparently. Imported straight from another time and space for the Planet’s convenience.
Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo are the most significant differences between this world and his. They’re made years earlier than the remnants in his time, left abandoned and classified as ‘malformed replications of Project S’ in their second year of development.
So they’re two years old, Cloud gathers from all the unnecessary jargon. Instead of being remnants of Sephiroth’s will from the lifestream, they're clones, they're made in a lab, and they’re made by Hojo.
Cloud can’t think of anything worse.
“So we’re just a pack of failures, huh?” Cloud mutters, skimming over their files. He flips through the pages as he leans on the door of their tanks. “Fuck Hojo, am I right?”
The remnants are, predictably, silent. All soft and small—so goddamned delicate this close-up close. Not even Marlene was this young back then. He could fit both of their feet in his hands. Their elbows are crinkled. Their button noses are so tiny, Cloud resists the urge to boop them through the glass. Gaia, their combined power of Cute™ triumphs any previous mind control Cloud has ever undergone. So young and already so lethal. They really are Sephiroth’s clones.
It’s hard to hold on to his anger when they’re this small and vulnerable; it’s much easier to just hold them in his arms. There’s a high chance they have spent their whole lives in that tank. Have they opened their eyes? Have they ever seen the sky? Don’t worry, Cloud silently reassures them. Cloud will show them once they wake up.
“I’ll take your silence as agreement,” Cloud says, burning said file with a Fire Materia. “Need to clean up first, then we can mosey out of here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. ”
Another raucously silent reply from the remnants. Cloud spread one hand over the glass. He counts three seconds and goes.
“Fuck Hojo,” Cloud mutters, cutting through heavy cables left and right.
“Fuck Hojo,” Cloud says, thrashing the tanks and chucking them down twenty flights of stairs.
“Fuck Hojo,” Cloud shouts, over the pounding in his head as he burns Jenova’s body into ash.
“Fu—udge Hojo,” Cloud amends, after shooting looks at the three comatose toddlers in his arms, upon realising that he’s inadequately prepared to carry them on his motorcycle.
He missed Fenrir.
Behind him, the fires of the reactor light the sky of Mt. Nibel a bright orange.
Strapping three toddlers onto his chest into a semblance of a carrier takes the combined sacrifice of his shirt, his sword carrier, and half-of-one pant leg. Cloud’s not taking any chances with strapping one on his back. A projectile baby is bound to attract more attention than a half-naked man on a motorcycle hauling a gigantic sword. Thus, their ride home is slower than he’d like, but it’s necessary for the toddlers. By the time Cloud parks back at his motel, Cloud bets that Shinra has already deployed a helicopter full of Turks to check out the explosion.
There’s a reason Cloud chose this off-beaten motel with half broken furniture and stained walls over the ones with working hot showers. The general populace within a ten mile radius are older—more resistant to change and its current Shinra-shaped figurehead.
Cloud ignores the looks thrown his way, and strides to the receptionist. “Know anywhere I can buy a carrier?”
He doesn’t mention the shirt, the pants, the sword, or the toddlers on his chest having the same hair as the famed General of Shinra, but neither does Mr. Kahn and that makes him the Cloud’s favourite person in all of Gaia right now.
“The Merriweathers sell everything from clothes to carriers, two door down. I can move you to a bigger room, far away from the other guests, but it’s an extra sixty gil a night for the kids.” Mr. Kahn doesn’t let anything leak into his expression. He does, however, say, “A word of advice, Mr. Strife?”
Cloud tilts his head in acknowledgement.
“Mrs. Merriweather’s the curious type.” His eyes flick to the busybody peeking through the front window, appreciating Cloud’s back for just a second too long. “Best keep your business before noon if you don’t want her to spread any gossip to the locals. That’s when her daughter works. She’s a quiet one.”
Another reason Cloud chose this place. Mr. Kahn, like his son, is the epitome of indiscretion.
Cloud forks a little extra in gratitude.
Always the leader, Kadaj is the first to wake, heralding his arrival with a half-an-hour long cry. Long after they’re freshly showered and dried, Kadaj wakes up whining and wailing. Cloud tries hugging him as best as he can, an awkward imitation of the kind of cuddles Barret would give Marlene, before offering him a bright yellow stuffed chocobo as an emotional ceasefire.
“Look, Kadaj!” Cloud says, too exhausted to be embarrassed. “Wark, wark wark!”
He tips the chocobo toy side to side, mimicking the dance he saw in Chocobo Bill's farm.
For a minute, Cloud thinks it works; Kadaj quietens down, wiping at one teary eye. He grabs at the toy, buries his face into the chocobo’s cheeks, and squeezes it tight, testing its hugging ability. He plops his face so convincingly in the chocobo’s fur, he’s basically breathing in yellow. Cloud would worry, but the sight of his chubby cheeks is just so damned adorable, it zaps all the good judgement out of his mind.
An exhausted part of him cracks at the sight.
“Feeling better?” Cloud asks, voice low and soothing.
He combs Kadaj’s hair back, swallowing in a laugh. Kadaj’s hair feels impossibly silky under his fingers. His shampoo smells like something Cloud could sleep soundly in.
Then, Kadaj whips his head up so fast, he almost smacks himself into Cloud’s chest. He lets out a small whine and begins churning out his frustrations by beating the poor, innocent chocobo with a fist, again and again, right in its big, wide, blue eyes.
Watching Kadaj wail into the chocobo toy feels like looking at a miniature mirror and Cloud feels indignant on the half of the chocobo. Chocobo toys and chocobo-looking people should start a union for better living conditions. Sephiroth will be the first signature.
Cloud shakes himself out of his thoughts. “I’m losing my head—Kadaj,” he scolds. “Be gentle with your toys.” He tries removing the toy from his grip only for Kadaj to babble in sharp protest and clutch the toy tighter to his chest.
“Blaba,” Kadaj says, biting the chocobo’s head, and kneading it like a big lump of playing clay. “Blaba. Bla…ba!” Kadaj says again, as if going any slower would make it clearer for Cloud.
“You’re hungry?”
“Blaba,” Kadaj mumbles, before flopping his face into the chocobo toy again. “Blaba.”
Is Kadaj upset again? The parenting books said mood changes were common. Toddlers commonly act out to establish boundaries. Kadaj has only been awake for less than an hour, and he’s gone through enough mood changes to leave Cloud feeling like he’s survived another apocalypse. Gaia, no wonder Kadaj almost destroyed the world as a hormonal teenager.
“Kadaj…”
Kadaj doesn’t reply. He just presses his cheek into the doll forlornly.
Cloud sighs. “I don’t know what you want,” he grumbles. “You were so happy before.” He shuffles Kadaj so he can carry him around his waist. “Will it make you feel better if you eat? Well, we’re eating anyway, so you don’t really get a choice.”
A small whine is all Cloud is met with. Cloud stands, eyeing up the mini-stove, when the other plushies catch his attention.
Cloud had bought one each; a yellow chocobo for Kadaj, a blue chocobo for Yazoo, and a green chocobo for Loz. There was no deliberate thought to colour or assignment. There were only three choices—and the choice was what mattered, because these three are as different to each other as Cloud is to Sephiroth.
Suddenly, an idea clicks in his head. A wry smile almost breaks out on his face. Cloud lets out a humph, and shakes his head. “Typical…”
He gets Kadaj’s dinner going first, steaming vegetables and grilled fish with not a single bone in sight. Once he’s made sure Loz and Yazoo are still asleep, he sets Kadaj down on his high-chair. He smuggles the blue and green chocobo, slowly peels Kadaj’s out of his tight grip, and plops them on the table in front of Kadaj.
Kadaj perks up. “Blaba!” he says, waving his arms happily.
“Right,” Cloud says, moving the chocobo’s head left and right. “Blaba.”
Or as Cloud likes to call it in non-toddler terminology—a reunion.
Parenting books can only help so much when Mako is involved. In his time, Reeve had been the first to officially commission a research documenting the effects of Mako pollution on a child’s development, an unfortunate fact that is common in smaller cities outside of Midgar. He remembers binge-reading a stack while babysitting Marlene—sweet, precocious Marlene—and while the books were helpful, they were wildly inaccurate. Where most five year olds would still be building up their reading, writing, and speaking repertoire, Marlene was able to fully read, write and run a bar successfully at the age of four.
Does that possibly say more about Marlene’s living condition than her development? Maybe so. But it’s hard to deny that children who are even remotely exposed to Mako tend to develop wildly off the charts when Cloud’s surrounded by people like Marlene, Sephiroth, Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo.
If Cloud recalls correctly—discounting the whole—minuscule—First Class SOLDIER Cloud erasing his Infantry Trooper-self because he was so ashamed and guilt-ridden debacle—he was comatose for a solid year while Zack was busy keeping him alive. He definitely wasn’t hooked up to an IV and he didn’t die from choking, so Cloud figures it’s a fair assumption that he didn’t need to drink or eat throughout his coma.
Even so… in the days where Loz and Yazoo sleeps, Cloud finds himself readjusting their blanket every few hours. He feels restless, hovering over them while the worst of their fevers to pass over. Kadaj, thankfully, refuses to let Cloud wallow in his worries. He refuses to let Cloud think himself into a spiral, sleep himself into a spiral, or even, breathe himself into a spiral without a weight clinging onto Cloud’s neck. Bless his soul.
(His screaming, crying, giggling, tantrum-throwing, aggressively cuddly soul.)
On top of being insatiable with Cloud’s attention, Kadaj is picking up more syllables by the day, always answering Cloud with babbles and looking grumpy when Cloud doesn’t respond in a way he deems satisfactory. He bats at Cloud whenever he finds something new amusing. His chocobo never leaves his hand and he growls whenever Cloud tries to separate them during bath time.
There’s going to be a dent in his shoulders the size of a toddler’s hand. He swears one ear is constantly regenerating itself. He hasn’t slept more than three hours in the past three days. His shirt has more stains now than when he went monster slaying, and his bags are deeper than the Corel mines at this point.
One morning, Kadaj decides to graciously announce that he’s capable of standing. He doesn’t do this by warning Cloud politely with a courteous babble and a tamed waddle into Cloud’s shaky but proud arms.
(If only.)
He does this by waiting until Cloud is exhausted enough to fall asleep. Then, only then, does the tiny gremlin make his move.
“Clah!” Kadaj calls out. “Clah! Clah!”
Cloud jolts awake. He finds Kadaj standing on shaky legs on top of the fridge, clutching his chocobo toy up high in victory, and proceeds to promptly have a heart attack.
Chocobo dick on a stick— Kadaj is finally going to accomplish what Sephiroth never could!
“Kadaj!” Cloud scrambles from his seat. “Get down from there! Right this instant!”
Arms wide, flapping like a pair of black-feathered wings, Kadaj says, “Clah!”
Time slows as Kadaj springs his tiny legs into action.
Cloud dives for the flying child without thinking.
One happy, fed, flightless, tired toddler later, Cloud slumps onto the floor as Kadaj takes his afternoon nap.
“Fu—iery Gold Saucer pits,” Cloud mutters to himself. “You would have really liked this one, Yuffie. He’s a troublemaker and a natural climber.”
Yuffie would be the kind of aunt to teach his kids about sharp projectiles, sneaky footwork, and send them home with candy when they’re far too young too. She’d foster in them a love of Materia. So much so, they’d bug him for bracers as soon as they’re old enough. Yuffie would be delighted if that happened. Cloud could already imagine it. It doesn’t hurt as much when he’s tired.
Hold on, Cloud thinks. Was Kadaj supposed to be able to walk this quickly? Physically, he may be two years old, but he has only woken up from a coma a couple of days ago—a coma which Cloud suspects has started since the triplets were conceived in a tube. Should they even be speaking at all?
Gaia, Hojo’s going to get what’s coming to him when Cloud gets his hands on him. He’s not going to make it so easy for him either. He’s going to let Vincent flay Hojo, inch by inch, roll him in a vat of salt and make sure he’s still conscious enough to be fed to a Malboro—
—Cloud nods himself awake. “Shit—va. Shiva! ” he backtracks, rubbing his face. “I said Shiva… No swearing here…”
He didn’t realise he dozed off. Rubbing his eyes awake, Cloud stretches and leans back against the wall. He should really get up and start working on dinner, but the trio is asleep, and Cloud hasn’t had this much peace and quiet in so long—he would be more wary of the quiet if he couldn’t feel Kadaj’s head on his thigh.
While Mr. Kahn was kind enough to provide them a room away from most of the patrons, the room only had one bed. Sometime during his nap, Kadaj had shuffled out from under his brothers and decided to join Cloud on the ground. He hugs the chocobo close and snuggles closer when he feels Cloud move. Cloud automatically runs his hand over Kadaj’s hair.
Having people depend on him has always terrified Cloud. But this—this warmth in his chest. This sense of purpose and resolve… If he could give the trio a better life than growing up in a lab… It makes the terror all worth it.
“You,” Cloud tells him fondly, “are more than a handful.”
Kadaj sniffles into his chocobo, as if in protest. He doesn’t wake. Thank goodness. Cloud needs the rest.
This is, of course, the moment Loz and Yazoo start crying their lungs out.
It quickly becomes clear that Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo retain some of their older dynamics even in their tiny forms. Kadaj likes to take the lead, showing off his walking and babbling ability as if he's saying, 'Look! I did it first so that it's easier for you! Now, stand and play with me!' He likes to prod and pester his brothers until they do what he wants, whether it's giving him attention or playing with their other toys. Cloud is a little glad that he's not the only one Kadaj can boss around now. A little tyrant, that one is.
Loz likes to follow, mostly because it's the easiest way for him to feel included. He's sensitive, affectionate, and one hell of a chomper. Loz usually lets Kadaj and Yazoo do anything to him as long as he has something to chew on. Already, Cloud has sacrificed two pairs of utility gloves, a belt, and one unintentional boot, since normal baby toys end up breaking within the first ten minutes. Loz gets curious when he’s chewy.
It’s also thanks to Loz that Cloud has gotten into the habit of kissing the triplets, since he has sort of forgotten that children needed physical contact like… you know… kisses and stuff…
(Lord, Barrett would have smacked him all the way to Kalm for that.)
Loz is the clingiest one between the three. He wouldn’t let go of Cloud’s hair unless Cloud gave him a smooch, and now it’s become a form of currency, not that Cloud can really resist. His cheeks are so soft and Loz bubbles so happily after. Sometimes, when Cloud is asking him for something particularly trying—like letting Cloud have some time in the bathroom—he’d ask for a whole snuggle and that gets even Kadaj and Yazoo jealous, waddling over until Cloud is buried under a pile of toddlers.
But Cloud doesn’t mind. Even Kadaj stays awfully silent after a good smooch and a thorough cuddling. God, imagine if Sephiroth was like this. A literal meteor’s worth of problem could be solved with a hug and a kiss.
Suddenly, his time at Nibelheim reactor comes to mind. He’s back as an Infantry Trooper, his chest pierced by Masamune. By Sephiroth, who sneers under his nose as he lifts Cloud off the ground. Then, Cloud imagines the agony intensifying as he impales himself further. He pushes forward until his feet plonk on the ground. Not to gain the leverage needed to toss Sephiroth over the ledge, no… but to face-plant himself into the gap of tight, warm skin and black straps under Sephiroth’s coat. He’d be choking on a mouthful of skin. Plastered so close that he could even motorboat—
A hysterical giggle breaks out of him, even though the urge to scream into a pillow rises by the second.
Next time he fights Sephiroth, he swears, he’s just going to yank his chest-straps all the way to Kalm and maniacally laugh as he let those straps have their happy-slappy revenge.
And finally, there's Yazoo, who enjoys sleeping more than he enjoys breathing.
Yazoo has a little more rebellion in him when it comes to Kadaj’s tyrannical rule. He is either ignoring Kadaj’s babbles, or throwing himself into a tantrum-nap whenever Kadaj is trying to boss him around. This is, of course, different from his hungry naps, his happy naps, his sulky naps and his bored naps. Cloud mistakenly thought, since Yazoo sleeps like a dead weight, that he could take his eye off of them for a second while he stops Loz from chewing his other boot—it’s really unhygienic—put that boot down, Loz! The next time he looks over, Kadaj is drawing sullenly with his crayon— alone— and Yazoo is nowhere to be found.
Cloud is pretty sure he blacked out for a moment. When he tries to remember the space of time between then and finding Yazoo in the shoe closet, he’s smacked with a bout of blackness and panic.
Ugh, why couldn’t Hojo give him three hands instead a boatload of trauma? At least with three hands he’ll be able to carry all of them at once. It would have made his life so much simpler. Stupid Hojo and his stupid lack of three arms.
Between the three of them, someone could have drowned him in the lifestream, and he wouldn’t have noticed. His life has condensed down to naps, bath times, meal-times, and picture storybooks.
During story-time, Kadaj points at the bigger rabbit in the book. “Clah,” he says. He looks at Cloud for approval.
“Me?” Cloud says. “No, that’s a rabbit.”
Kadaj taps the book. “Clah,” he says firmly. He turns to Yazoo. “Clah?”
“Clah,” Yazoo agrees, rubbing one sleepy eye.
On Yazoo’s other side, Loz nods as he’s chewing on one of Cloud’s gloves. “Klarfgh,” he says.
Great. Now, he looks like a party pooper if he keeps denying it. Cloud squints at them, before saying, “…Clah.”
Kadaj shrieks happily, clapping his hands. Cloud wonders, briefly, if he had accidentally agreed to one of Kadaj’s reunion plans or something.
So… Clah the rabbit, along with his friend, Sylvain the silver fox, hop-hop-wiggle-wiggled home with his new friend.
‘Oh my,’ said his mother. ‘Clah! You brought home a fox!’
‘I did, ma,’ said Clah. ‘He’s my friend!’
‘But he’s a fox!’
‘He might be a fox, but he’s nice!’ protested Clah. ‘Please, ma. He’s my bestest friend in the whole world and we need…’
Cloud pauses, his throat drying.
“We…” he tries reading again. “… we need… your help.”
Thinning his lips, he peers at the trio. They blink sleepily back at him.
Theoretically, he always knew that he’d be heading towards Nibelheim. He couldn’t stay at a dingy motel room forever. Stability will be good for the kids, and he needs to pick up Vincent to shake him out of his concerning coffin-based habits. His ma, however… his ma had never been in his plans, no matter how badly he wants to hear her voice again.
Shame swells inside him at the thought, bloating his bones until his spine is on the verge of collapsing. Claudia Strife was his whole world in Nibelheim and he’s done nothing but fail her time and time again.
First, He forgot about her. Forgot about his whole childhood and the one person who loved him through it all. His memories are, even now, still a weak buzz of impressions and blurred colours. He cannot, for the life of him, recall what his cadet days were like in Shinra.
Second, he lied about his Shinra MP uniform the last time he was home. His last ever memory of her, and Cloud is lying to her like an ungrateful lying liar pants.
And worst of all, he was too weak to save her. He should have been strong enough to save her. He should have found a way to push Sephiroth away from her. He should have died trying. He failed her so badly. How could he ever go back?
A tug on his hand. Kadaj is waving at the book, a slow whine rising from his chest.
“Alright, alright,” Cloud says, brushing through Kadaj’s hair. “I’m reading.”
So, after a careful blessing from his mother, Tommy the rabbit (alias Clah) and his fox friend travel through Gaia in search of his fox-friend’s mother. Along the way, they find themselves in battle. Quite a lot, Cloud realises, there's a Flapbeat, a Skeeskee, a Heg, a Zuu—to the point where he’s not sure if this is really an appropriate story for his two year olds anymore—until finally, they find the fox’s mother encased in a mako crystal. The fox cries with regret at the sight. When he curls at the base of the crystal, his tears miraculously melts his mother awake.
‘Mother!’ his fox friend cried, throwing himself into his mother’s arms.
‘My son,’ she said. ‘Oh, my son. How I’ve longed for this day.”
‘I’m sorry, mother. I should have never left you behind. Could you ever forgive me for leaving?’
‘Oh, my darling fox,” she said. ‘There is nothing to forgive. All I ever wanted was for you to be safe and happy. I love you and I always will—'
“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” Cloud says. “Aerith, is that you? Is this your doing? Are you trying to say something right now?"
Three seconds of absolute silence. Then, Yazoo sniffles.
Cloud sighs, slinking out of the bed. He arranges the blanket around his terrible trio, tucking in tight around their shoulders. He hesitates a moment, before brushing a finger against their cheeks. Their adorable pudgy cheeks.
They have gained some weight since they have been with Cloud.
Pride puffs his chest out.
Well, his ma did say she wanted grandkids.
Now that he’s decided to go back to Nibelheim and leech off his ma for some help, he can finally put his pride aside and admit that his pockets are running dry. Previously, Cloud had saved up enough to keep him on the road for three more months at the minimum. This was before the triplets came and sucked out all his money like a vacuum cleaner. On top of that, the last job he's taken was a week before he found the triplets.
Monster slaying paid as much as his Infantry wages did, but it’s easy to save up when you’re sleeping outside and eating what’s hunted. Cloud wouldn’t even bother finding a motel unless it was raining. Tifa and Barret would have complained non-stop about the lack of showers. Isn’t rain, technically, a free shower, though?
He’s going to stop himself there. Barret would have batted him around the head and Cloud wouldn’t have stopped him. Honestly, he deserves it. He was starting to think like Vincent.
So, he says goodbye to his bike and he haggles for a van which—Cloud is pretty sure he got ripped off. But he’s running on twenty minutes worth of sleep and he has three kids who've just finished a three-way screaming match with each other strapped onto his body (two on his front, one on his back). The seller probably took one look at his face and decided to risk scamming him, despite the Fusion sword in his hand. That takes some ruthless moxie. Cloud kind of respects that.
He’s supporting a local business slowly losing their livelihood to Shinra’s monopolising, he tells himself. He’s got to make a living, Cloud Strife. Do not raise your sword hand, Cloud Strife.
“How much more for three booster seats?” Cloud asks.
“I’ve only got one—my daughter’s old one,” the shopkeeper says. “I can probably grab two more from the neighbours. Give me an hour and it’ll be two thousand gil each.”
Cloud almost growls. Another steep price. Two thousand gil, my ass, he thinks. So basically daylight robbery.
“Alright,” he grudgingly mutters, handing the gil over. He notices the curious looks the shopkeeper’s throwing onto his triplet and couldn’t resist barking, “Something the matter?”
“You go around dyeing your kid’s hair colour when they’re that young?” the shopkeeper asks, eyes sly and narrowed.
Pausing, Cloud tracks his surroundings with his eyes. No Shinra posters, an outdated cash register, and gossip rags on the waiting table. Chances are, the colour of Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo’s eyes wouldn’t have noticed his escape either. This man might have no love lost for Shinra, sure, but he’s probably not above selling some gossip to the tabloids.
If he recalls correctly, Hojo is still running Sephiroth’s fan club, so if word gets back that there’s a potential baby mama with three triplets running around… that’s one sure way to get Tseng knocking on your door.
Cloud does not want that at all.
“Their ma’s a Shinra nut,” Cloud explains.
“Huh,” the shopkeeper says.
“Left for a job and when I came back—she already got her hand on some dye and contacts.” Cloud sighs. “Shouldn’t be surprised, really. It started off with little things when we started dating, like the wig, the chest straps, the leather, and the studded bracelets—you know how big city girls get when it comes to SOLDIERs and stuff.”
The shopkeeper is a portly man in his fifties, if Cloud had to guess. “Ah,” he says, because surprisingly, he does know how big girls get when it comes to SOLDIER and stuff. “My wife’s a big city girl herself,” he offers.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” The shopkeeper shakes his head. “They’re a brazen bunch, I tell you. I didn’t mind the whips, the crops, the chains, the clamps, the handcuffs, and even the candlewax—”
Cloud has the sudden feeling that he’s unpacked something he clearly wasn’t ready for on accident.
“—and if I hadn’t drawn the line of that silver wig early on, you’d bet Ifrit she would’ve made me wear it when we’re—ah—” the shopkeeper shoots a look at his kids, “—uhm.”
Three blinking green eyes look back at him.
“Playing leapfrog?” Cloud offers wryly.
“Aha!” The shopkeeper barks out a laugh. “That!”
The shopkeeper leans forward, considering him with a look that’s almost friendly. Right on cue, as if sensing a weakness he can exploit, Kadaj’s eyes grow wider and quivery—more wondrous and sparkly. He sniffles once, twice, like he’s saying goodbye to a beloved friend, and buries his face into the chocobo’s cheeks one last time.
“Goobaja,” he mumbles woefully. He holds out his chocobo in an offering.
The hard lines around the shopkeeper’s eye softens, and that’s when Cloud knows Kadaj has reeled in his next sucker.
“Ah, no, kid…” the shopkeeper says.
“Goobaja,” Kadaj says again.
Cloud guesses it’s another kind of order in their secret language. Yazoo holds his chocobo by the leg, a big yawn taking over his face. Loz seems to struggle the most, holding his buddy like he’d never let go. Eventually though, the bonds of brotherhood overruled and he holds out his slobbery toy in reluctance.
“Kids…” the shopkeeper wilts. "You're breaking my heart here... I'm not going to take your buddies away from you. Tell you what, I'm sure if I tell the neighbours about how sweet the lot of you are, they won't mind lowering the prices of those booster seats."
Because it's the neighbours who need convincing. Sure.
"Appreciate it, sir," Cloud says, nudging the chocobos back into their holds. "You're a life-saver."
"Beba," Kadaj echoes, before burying his head into Cloud's collar bones.
The shopkeeper chuckles. "Don't worry about it. Us small town folk got to stick together, after all."
Cloud hates Nibelheim and its non-Tifa or Ma inhabitants with every fibre of his being. He would rather die than admit any kind of kinship with his Nibelheim-dwellers (and he has) but he's not going to look a gift dragon in the mouth. Not after all the hard work the kids have put in.
Clearing his throat, Cloud says, while dying inside, again, "Couldn't have said so better myself.”
The shopkeeper reduces the six thousand gil to a generous amount of five thousand and four hundred gil. Still unbelievably pricey, but Cloud’s not going to fight it. The next shop selling booster seats is probably a town over.
He thanks the man and leaves before the conversation could bring up more sex-dungeon talk described in child-friendly euphemisms. He swings by more shops for camping necessities and blankets for the kids, before going back to the motel and stuffing all their things in the back. Before long, they're out on the road, wheels cruising all the way to Nibelheim.
He's almost hit with a sense of sentimentality. Being on the road is familiar. It's simple—him, Fenrir, his Fusion sword nothing else but the ground under their feet. He hasn't polished his Fusion sword in a while, he realises longingly. He hasn't heard the satisfying click of his blades slotting into place. He's had to hide his baby in fear of his other babies hurting themselves on accident, and his hand itches to pamper his Fusion sword with a good fight.
The Fusion sword was kept under the bed all the while they were in the motel room. Cloud stuffed extra clothes to pad around it, so that the triplets wouldn’t hurt themselves by accidentally stumbling upon it.
Soon, he sighs, laying a blanket out on a peaceful patch of grass.
Once Cloud makes sure that the kids are old enough to be left alone for a while, checks up on his friends, stop Genesis and Angeal from degrading, stop them for ditching Sephiroth, stop Sephiroth from going insane, and generally gets his life together—then it’s over for Hojo, that fucker.
Kadaj and Loz take to the blanket by tripping and starting an impromptu wrestling match as soon as they land. How they can be so energetic right before bed-time Cloud doesn’t know. Cloud lies back on his back and settles a sleeping Yazoo on his chest.
He should stop the wrestling match, Loz is probably going to start crying if he loses, but they look like they’re having so much fun.
“I promised you lot I’d show you the sky, didn’t I?” Cloud says. “Well, there it is.”
Yazoo blinks slowly. He peers up, as if to consider what Cloud is actually saying, before brushing it off as ‘things Clah says which I don’t have to listen to’ and snuggles his face back into Cloud’s chest.
“Hey, come on, now,” Cloud says, nudging him awake. “Bed time’s close anyway. No naps before then.”
Yawning, Yazoo shuffles onto his back obediently, grabbing himself a clear view of the sky. He reaches out one chubby fists and closes it. He brings his hands down for inspection only to seem confused to find nothing in them.
“Ah,” Cloud says, swallowing down a laugh. “Those are stars, Yazoo. I don’t think you can grab them.”
Yazoo huffs, before reaching out again and again. Cloud hears a sharp thud, then a whine before Loz’s teary face comes into view.
Looks like someone wants a compensation cuddle. “Come here,” Cloud tells him, as Loz crawls over. He tucks Loz under his arms and kisses his head. Loz’s sniffles calm down. “You too, Kadaj,” Cloud orders. “I can see you grumbling over there.”
The huddled grump eventually scampers into the spot Cloud prepared for him—on the other side of his chest from Loz. Cloud ruffles his hair a bit, since he couldn’t resist himself, and wounds his arm around Kadaj to point at the stars.
“See that?” Cloud asks.
He traces a shape with his finger. The trio’s heads bob with the motion.
“That’s Shiva, the patron goddess of Nibelheim,” Cloud says. “Where I’m from and where my ma's from. That's where we’re headed tomorrow—Loz, stop chewing on Yazoo’s hair, please—erm, anyway, people used to say that Shiva would save people poisoned by creatures by swallowing the poison and it turned her skin blue. People also said that the stars were lost souls swept up by the Nibelheim snowstorms; she'd take pity on those who died out in the cold, turning them into Diamond Dust—which she sprinkled onto the sky."
Cloud paused, catching sight of the Ice Materia equipped on his bracer. It's a habit now; equipping Ice Materia in his armour whenever he travels to Nibelheim or the North Crater for protection. Heat to his fingertips as he channels a small amount of MP. Small flakes of snow sparkles over the trio.
Loz goes googly eyed in awe. Yazoo’s arms darts all over the place, giggling as snow melts in his fist. A white dot lands on Kadaj’s nose. Kadaj reels back in shock, flailing his arms in surprise.
“Ga!” Kadaj says, scrunching his nose.
Cloud bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s pretty cold isn’t it?” he asks, tweaking Kadaj’s nose in apology.
Kadaj bats at his nose grumpily.
Cloud has a feeling that if Kadaj’s vocabulary wasn’t so restricted to ‘oo’ and ‘a’ syllables, he’d be in for a shock right now.
And so Cloud runs through every god in mind, telling tales which weave a happy medium between the wonder of Nanaki’s stories and the detail of Cid’s ramblings. Heads start to nod off by the time he gets to Ifrit, and he hears snoring right before Cloud gets to the good part of Bahamut-Zero. But Cloud keeps going, keeping his voice calm, smooth and melodic.
For Nanaki and Cid, a love of stars will be their legacy. That, Cloud will make sure of.