between now and then

by ffvii

Summary:

A year after the end of the Geostigma Crisis, Genesis Rhapsodos escapes from Shinra confinement and the Turks are deployed to stop him from reaching Midgar. They fail. They die.

And then, twenty years earlier, they wake up.

Armed with their knowledge of the future, Tseng, Reno, Rude, and Elena decide to use their second chance to change things for the better. There’s just one problem.

Armed with nothing but arrogance, determination, and the inexplicable feeling that he’s forgotten something important, fourteen-year-old Rufus Shinra sneaks into the basement of Shinra Tower.

Things have already changed.

 

(2025: NOT ABANDONED! Victim of ao3 author’s curse. Heavily delayed, but not abandoned.)

Chapter 1

It was only when the corners of his vision began to darken that Tseng realized he was going to die and that was, quite frankly, unacceptable. There wasn’t anyone with the necessary background to take his place as Head of the Department of Administrative Research. Admittedly, there wasn’t much of left of Tseng’s department—or any department, really, what with the Shinra Empire fighting not to collapse in on itself. Still, that was no excuse to leave it unattended. He was going to be near impossible to replace and that was just considering his role as department head. Rufus had cleaned house after he took over as President, and with all the poor publicity following Sephiroth and Geostigma, many of those empty positions had never been refilled and many more had found themselves abandoned. Tseng had been handling the workload of no less than eleven people for years; his death would be a terrible inconvenience. Rufus would—oh, oh no. Rufus .

Rufus was going to be so terribly alone—and worse, unprotected. That, Tseng decided with his final rattling breath, hurt more than dying did.

Reno, meanwhile, wasn’t sure anything hurt more than dying did, and he’d certainly felt a lot of hurt in his life. As far as he was concerned, there was barely a world left outside the pain in his gut and the terrible ringing in his head. Man, this sucked. He’d always rationally known death was on the table given his line of work, but he was still a little surprised it had managed to sneak up on him like this. He really thought things might start to look up soon, especially with Geostigma sorted and done with. He really should have known better; he’d never been that lucky. Somewhere in the world outside the pain of dying, Reno thought he could hear Rude saying something to him. He was vaguely aware of his partner carrying him and he wanted to shout at Rude that he was done, to just put him down, and focus on getting himself out. When he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out was blood.

The last thing Reno thought was that he’d stained Rude’s suit. He really was just a fuck-up, wasn’t he?

Rude knew Reno was gone the moment it happened, but he didn’t stop running. It was almost as though, if he didn’t stop to look, then Reno couldn’t really be dead. And he couldn’t be, not after everything they’d gone through together. As frustrating as Rude found the other man at times, he really wasn’t sure who he’d be without Reno at his side. That was a terrifying thought; one he’d address later, when they were both safe and sound back in Midgar—when they were all safe and sound back in Midgar. Tseng and Elena were yet to respond, but they’d be fine too. They had been last time the Turks had been separated with the Remnants, and everyone had been certain they were gone that time. It would all be fine. They would all be fine. He tried to focus on that instead of how limp Reno had gone in his arms.

In retrospect, Rude realized, he should have focused on his own injuries and not just Reno’s. He made it back to the helicopter, but he didn’t make it any further than that.

It was not the first time Elena felt she wasn’t good enough to be a Turk, but she was beginning to fear it might be the last. Tseng hadn’t gotten up; he hadn’t responded at all when she’d shouted his name, and she wasn’t sure what to do. She’d held Genesis Rhapsodos off for longer than she thought she could alone, but she knew she couldn’t keep up the fight and extract Tseng safely all at the same time. Why couldn’t Genesis have taken her out instead? Tseng would’ve known what to do if their positions were switched. Her opponent had slowed down the fight and was now mostly just watching her mounting panic with an expression akin to amusement. They should never have gone after him, just the four of them. Tseng had been against it to begin with, and after the Remnants, they should have listened.

Did they deserve this? Despite everything, Elena didn’t think they did.

Genesis Rhapsodos did not agree. So far as he was concerned, Shinra and anyone who stood for it deserved to be purged from the planet. The company might be neutered, but so long as it stood for anything, he would be there to stand in its way. Shinra was responsible for the state of the planet. Shinra was responsible for every evil, awful thing in Genesis’s life. He was alone, and all he had left was his determination to tear apart the evil that had made him that way. The Turk he had left fought valiantly, but years of captivity had not changed the simple facts: Genesis is a SOLDIER First Class and she is an tired, injured Turk.

Was, he corrected, as he stepped over her body—one step closer to Midgar. No one else came forward to try and stop him, but then, everyone he thought capable of stopping him was gone now. Shinra would burn at his feet, and then, maybe, he would finally be able to rest.

 

That wasn’t quite what happened.

Underneath his feet, the planet seemed to shift on its axis, and then just like that his reality ceased.

When Genesis Rhapsodos slaughtered the Turks, the year had been 0011.

When Aerith wakes from her afternoon nap—startling the Shinra researcher who had been coming in to deliver her lunch by bursting into tears—the year is 1991.

She is six years old. She isn't supposed to be. It makes sense that she is six; she had been when she fell asleep, and she will continue to be until her birthday months off in February.

She isn’t supposed to be six.

Aerith isn't sure what, or how, but she knows she's done something wrong—and more importantly, she knows that when her mother finds out, she's going to be in so much trouble.

Notes:

Any art included with this story was done by my incredible partner. Consider checking out more of their art on twitter. They draw a ton of Final Fantasy/Turk stuff they're incredible. Honestly, I'm probably going to continue to credit them with every chapter because my personality is wife guy, sorry.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Quick warning: Not going to tw child abuse just because it's going to end up cropping up a lot just by virtue of how horrible all the parents in this are. However, in the Rufus segment of this chapter, there is animal abuse towards a dog, so read carefully!

Tseng does not burst into tears when he first wakes, though it’s a nearer thing than he’d like to admit. Years of training as a Turk keep him still, his eyes still shut and breathing even, as he tries his best to assess his situation without alerting anyone who might be watching that he’s no longer unconscious.

The first thing he realizes, and the immediate cause for panic, is that he isn’t in any pain. He cards through his memories for an explanation, but none come to him. He remembers being injured, severely so, and then…nothing. With an injury that severe, he should still be feeling it, but he feels completely fine. He doesn’t even feel the sluggishness that comes with pain medication, which leaves the explanation that he’s been unconscious for far longer than he should have been. A coma, perhaps? An unacceptable reality. The last time he had been injured severely enough to land him out of commission for months, Rufus had been kidnapped. Twice. Twice!

The second thing he realizes, and the thing that finally makes him open his eyes, is that he can hear snoring overhead. The sound is painfully familiar and makes him feel nostalgic and frustrated all at once. His heart sinks.

He hadn’t just been severely injured, Tseng realizes, he’d been killed. He's dead.

When he was alive, Tseng had never given much thought to what it might be like after death in the lifestream. Death was inevitable, something he couldn't hope to control or manipulate, and though he was loathe to admit it that frightened him. That said, if he had thought of what the lifestream might be like in any meaningful way, he doesn’t think he ever would have pictured the dormitory he’d lived in during his Turk training. He’d been miserable here, so he supposes it’s fitting. It must be his punishment for his crimes in life. A bit anticlimactic, but effective; he could appreciate that.

The bed is just as uncomfortable as he remembers it being, and when he slides out, he’s surprised by just how solid it feels. It's different from the holographic realities Shinra had been developing before the meteor—those had looked real enough, but there had always been a strange, dreamlike element that separated them from reality. Here though, the dormitory feels real as anything else, and by all accounts is exactly as it had been years ago—right down to Legend’s loud, obnoxious snoring from the top bunk.

That isn’t really Legend though, is it? Last Tseng had checked, Legend had been alive and well. They’d argued over the phone just last month, with Legend dragging his feet and coming up with endless excuses as to why he couldn’t return to Midgar quite yet. The phone call had left Tseng so frustrated he’d put off trying to lure his fellow Turks out of exile and back to their tragically understaffed workplace. He had Reno, Rude, and Elena—that was enough for now, he’d told himself.

Until it wasn’t.

He sighs, running his hands through his hair, only slightly surprised to find it shorter than it should be. They should never have gone after Genesis. He knew better than that, he even would have known better when he really was a lost little fourteen-year-old living out of this dormitory. He had been foolish and reckless, and he’d paid the price for it.

Genesis had, to Tseng’s knowledge, been a slumbering prisoner of Shinra’s Deepground for years. The public had already turned against Shinra following the disaster that was Sephiroth and the subsequent Geostigma Crisis. They simply could not weather another major scandal before they regained at least some footing—and the public learning Genesis had escaped Shinra’s containment, that he was even alive? It would have been Sephiroth all over again; Shinra would lose all hope of ever recovering even a fraction of its former power. All of Rufus’s ambitions of undoing the work of his father and grandfather and transforming Shinra into protectors of the planet would have been doomed. So, Tseng had told himself that maybe, after years of confinement, Genesis would be sloppy.

He wonders if Reno, Rude, and Elena survived. He wonders if Rufus knows he didn’t yet.

“Stupid,” he says to himself, or at least, he tries to. In the lifestream, it appears his voice hasn’t quite dropped yet, and the word comes out more as a squeak than anything else.

The lifestream’s replica of Legend’s snoring catches, and he groans. “Man, go back to bed.”

Tseng freezes. That isn’t really Legend, so that does technically mean the lifestream itself just told him to get back into bed. Silently, he makes his way back to the bottom bunk, and lays back down.

“Did you…actually just listen to me?”

Tseng stares up at the bottom of Legend’s bunk. Did the lifestream expect him to try and go back to sleep? “Didn’t you want me to?”

Legend swings his head down to stare at Tseng. “You never listen to me. You’re not going to lecture me about sleeping in? How much more productive I could be if I wake up at the crack of dawn like you?”

Tseng stares back at the lifestream. He wishes it had taken a different form. Legend’s sleeping habits had always frustrated him, especially as a teenager when they’d shared a living space. He really could have gotten more done if he hadn’t insisted on staying in bed until late morning. Warily, Tseng asks, “is that what I’m supposed to do?”

Legend looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “I- man, no, it’s annoying when you do that. Why aren’t you doing that?”

Tseng wishes there was some sort of ruleset for how to behave in one’s post-death punishment. He loves the structure rules provide—even if he intends on breaking them—because it means he has a clear idea of what is expected of him. Right now, he hasn’t the faintest clue what will make the lifestream happy, and it doesn’t seem it’s going to come out and tell him. It’s clearly determined to be about as useless as the real Legend had always been.

“I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing,” Tseng admits through gritted teeth.

Legend sighs, pulling himself back up onto his bed. “What you’re supposed to do? Damn, Gun, that shit’s too heavy for me anytime of the day, but you want to think about it at fuck all in the morning? Go find someone else to talk to about it.”

Oh, was that what he was supposed to do? “I’m able to leave the dormitory without consequence?”

“Dude, are you sick or something?” Legend asks. “Whatever. Yeah. Leave if you want.”

“You wanted me to go back to bed,” Tseng says, slowly.

From above him, Legend groans loudly, and smacks the frame so hard it rattles. “I don’t care what you do Gun! Go to bed, get out of bed, have a crisis in bed, just do it quietly and let me go back to sleep!”

The lifestream, clearly, has dedicated itself passionately to replicating Legend’s behavior. Frankly, Tseng is impressed. He slides back out of bed, again finding himself startled by the solidness of the world around him, before moving cautiously over to the door. He glances back around, half expecting the lifestream’s Legend replica to stop him. “Despite everything, it really was nice to be able to see Legend again.”

“The fuck did you just c-” Legend begins, but Tseng shuts the door behind him before he can hear anymore.

“-all me…” Bomb finishes, before stubbornly shoving his face into his pillow. Against his will, he’s properly awake and he’s probably going to stay that way. Honestly, it was bad enough that he was here at all; it is so unfair he got stuck with such a weird kid as a roommate. And, of course, right after a late-night training when Bomb really could have used the extra few hours of sleep, Gun decides to go and get even weirder. The planet really has something against him, doesn't it?

After ten—alright, fine, maybe fifteen—minutes of trying to fight his mind into going back to sleep, Bomb sighs and sits up. Gun is acting a little too weird to let it slide, he decides. He'll just go find Veld, let him know his golden boy woke up and decided to have a midlife crisis at fourteen, then he'll go back to bed before anyone can stop him. Or, no, first he'll kill Gun for making him wake up so damn early in the first place. Then he'll go back to bed.

Maybe, somewhere in between, he'll have time to ask Gun how the hell he knew Bomb was thinking of choosing "Legend" for his Turk name.

 

***

 

Before the Turks, Reno had been an absolute nobody. Just some scruffy, pathetic little orphan who could easily be swapped out with any of the other dozens of scruffy, pathetic little orphans creeping around Wall Market. When the Turks finally picked him up, that’s basically what happened. Nobody had cared enough about him to be all that bothered that he’d vanished and the places he used to occupy were quickly filled by some other nobody kid. It was like he’d never mattered at all, and before the Turks, he really hadn’t. The job had sucked sometimes, but at least there he was worth something.

When he wakes up, back aching from sleeping on hard concrete, to find himself back on the streets he doesn’t know what to do at first.

For a horrible moment, he wonders if it had all just been a dream. After all, when the assholes from Shinra come to pick kids off the streets, they always take the ones who are smart enough to score well on the dumb quizzes they hand out or the ones who are already strong enough or good enough at fighting that they might actually stand a chance in SOLDIER. They don’t come to take kids like Reno. The kids that are too small, too loud, cause too much trouble—those are the kids who end up dead in a ditch.

But, no, that can’t be it. Reno won’t accept it. The memories of his old life are crystal clear; nothing like a dream. He remembers, when he really had been a nobody without any idea of how to become a somebody, the stories that had given him hope. There was this Wutaian man, always nicer to the street kids than he really had to be, who would tell them stories about rebirth when he came round to hand out food every few days. This life sucks, sure, but at least there was always a chance their next life would be better.

Sometimes, though, the old man would tell them about souls going back instead. A second chance to make a difference in your life. It was probably something meant to inspire hope, but instead, it just gave Reno nightmares about waking up one day to have to relive years of tired, hungry, and cold just to get back to the tired, hungry, and cold place he’d been in then.

Fuck. He’s in a nightmare, isn’t he?

Reno spends the first half-hour of his morning studying his own face in the mirror on the side of a stall until the vendor finally manages to shoo him away. He’s always been small for his age—he didn’t end up growing at anything close to a proper rate until he was with the Turks and getting fed regularly—so it’s kind of hard to tell how old he is. He’s definitely not the adult he remembers being, but he’s around the age where he’s starting to get too old to be all that good at begging. Adults with money take pity on cute little kids, but they start to see you as more of a nuisance as you start losing the baby face. Right now, Reno is right on the cusp of it being a toss-up. He’d say he’s eleven, maybe twelve. It could be worse, he’d still get something from begging as he is, but give it a few years and there’s going to have a real problem.

Or at least, there would be if he stayed on the streets. And that isn’t what’s going to happen. It isn’t what’s already happened. Before he’d even trained to do fuck-all, he managed to pickpocket a fully trained Tseng, and instead of being punished, he ended up getting a warm bed, three meals a day, and a purpose. He also got five years of Tseng being an absolute bitch before he finally got over himself and forgave Reno for the embarrassment. High and mighty as Tseng wants to present himself, he’s just as human as anyone else, and the pettiest person Reno has ever met.

He was a little bit bigger the first time that happened though and he’s already getting hungry. He decides there and then that he’s not going to wait around for an overconfident teenage Turk to make himself an easy target.

He has a much better idea. Or, well, maybe it’s not a better idea—it’s probably a bad idea, actually— but it’s definitely going to be fun.

 

***

 

For the first time in eighteen years, Rude has breakfast with his mother.

She’s healthy. She smiles at him from the other end of the table and talks about her day at work the previous night as if nothing at all is out of the ordinary. Rude, to his credit, manages to nod along and smile back, though he feels like he’s in a daze. She’s healthy. She’s alive. And they’re having breakfast together.

The calendar on the kitchen counter tells him today is June 2, 1991. This, he decides, must all be a dream. He pictures himself bleeding out on the ground, Reno already dead under him and—

He looks back at his mother, still smiling, still healthy still alive. He can’t tell her. It would break her heart.

“You’re so quiet this morning,” she laughs. “I’d ask if you slept well, but you were already out like a log when I got home last night.”

He never wants to wake up. He really should wake up. “I um. Yeah.”

She laughs again. It’s the greatest sound Rude has ever heard. He almost forgot what her laughter sounded like. “Are you feeling alright, darling?”

He nods. He doesn’t feel like he’s bleeding out at all. “I’m great, mom. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“School?” she asks, empathetically. Rude could have laughed. He can’t remember the last time school had actually been a concern for him.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s tough.”

“You’re almost done now,” she tells him. “Just a few weeks to go. You’re smart, baby, you have nothing to worry about.”

Rude just nods again. “Thanks.”

In the morning light of the kitchen, even visibly worried as she is, Rude thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She’s healthy. “Enjoy your day off today, okay? I don’t want you burning yourself out.”

“I will,” he replies. “Enjoy my day off, not burn myself out, I mean. Yeah. Don’t worry mom.” He struggles for a moment to remember what he did for fun before becoming a Turk. “I’ll…play videogames.”

That seems to satisfy her, at least a little bit. “Sounds like fun!”

He wonders if he’ll even still be in this lovely dream once breakfast is finished. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“I do have to head back to work again. There’s one project I really have to finish before tomorrow, but I’ll do my very, very best to be back in time for lunch,” she says. Even after over a decade apart, Rude knows what her tone means. She wants to be, but she won’t be.

“It’s alright,” he says, hoping to cheer her up. “If you’re not, I can tell you about it at dinner.” Unless she’s working then too, which she very well could be, so he adds, “or breakfast, tomorrow morning.”

Despite Rude’s best efforts, when his mother smiles, it’s a bit sad. She calls him by a name he hasn’t heard in years. “Such a sweet boy. I’m lucky to be your mother.”

“I’m lucky to be your son.” He wishes he had his sunglasses because he’s certain he’s tearing up.

His mother is the kindest woman he’s ever met, and so she doesn’t comment on it. He knows she’s noticed, and knows she’s worried, because she keeps giving him sideways looks when she thinks he’s distracted. He can barely taste the toast he shovels into his mouth.

For most of his life, it had just been him and his mother. His father had died when Rude was just a baby, and they hadn’t had any family left worth mentioning. His mother ended up dedicating everything she had to her work with Shinra. She’d always been the most brilliant person Rude had ever known. She’d been worked to death, in the end; she’d deserved so much better.

Rude has missed her terribly.

He’d always wanted his fellow Turks to meet his mother. He knew they’d find her as brilliant as he did. He wishes Reno were here. He imagines Reno, cold and lifeless, his blood leaking through the fabric of Rude’s suit—

He looks up at his mother. She’s healthy. She’s alive.

“Have a good day at work today,” he tells her, when she begins hurrying to wash up. He wants to tell her not to go, but even in his dreams, he’s never been able to stop her.

“And you have a good day at home,” she responds. “I love you.”

There’s a lump in his throat. “I love you too, mom.”

For the first time in eighteen years, Rude watches his mother rush out the door.

 

***

 

Elena wakes up in her childhood bedroom.

The apartment she’d grown up in had been destroyed when her fellow Turks had dropped the Sector 7 plate. Tseng had made sure her father had been evacuated, but her former home and all the memories and belongings inside it had been lost under the rubble.

Immediately, she begins to tear up as she traces a disbelieving finger along the edge of the turquoise quilt she’d slept with since she was a baby. Emma had insisted she not bring anything too personal when she’d started boarding at Shinra Military Academy, so she’d left it here, and she’d never known exactly when the right time to go fetch it would be. Her indecisiveness meant it was lost along with everything else when the plate fell. Reno had found a burnt corner scrap of it for her, and she’d slept with it under her pillow until…

Until the day she died.

Elena’s heart plumets, and suddenly being in her childhood bedroom seems a bit less like a miracle as reality caught back up with her. Outside her bedroom, the apartment smelled like cooking bacon, and Elena could hear her older sister singing to herself. This can’t be real. Her home had been destroyed a long time ago, and Emma had left Midgar with the other Turks. This can’t be real.

She gets out of bed, and immediately steps on her school uniform. Watery eyes turn to real tears. Her father had always lectured her about leaving it on the floor. It was always so wrinkled. She picks it up, folds it, and places it gently on her bed.

Her hands are so small.

When she looks into her mirror, decorated with stickers of chocobos and pictures of herself and her sister, the Elena who she’d been before the Turks is staring back at her. She can’t be older than ten, her hair pulled into the messy pigtails she’d deemed too unprofessional to sport as an adult, and her face still round with baby fat. This can’t be real.

She leaves her room without looking at anything else. She’s afraid if she does, she won’t be able to bare leaving.

“You’re up early,” Emma greets her when Elena makes it to the kitchen. She’s much younger than she was last time Elena had seen her—fifteen, sixteen at most—and she looks much less tired. “I was about to get you up for school, I just wanted to finish breakfast first. Dad had to go to work earlier than usual, but he says good morning and he loves you.”

“Thank you.” Elena thinks she might cry again. It had been years since she’d last seen her sister, and even longer since they’d coexisted in a way that could even loosely be defined as “peacefully.” The last years Elena had with her sister had been filled with arguments, jealousy, and then an unbearable amount of distance.

Emma looks away from the stove. “Leny, is something wrong?”

Elena shakes her head, pigtails bobbing as she does. She’d sort of missed that. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Your eyes are all red, silly,” Emma says. “What happened?”

“I just…” Elena tries to think of something to say, but this is all so impossible, and she… “I just missed you so much!” Her arms are around her sister before she can stop herself, and she’s crying into Emma’s side. “I’m so sorry! I missed you so, so much!”

“What? Elena, I just saw you last night?” Emma turns off the stove and wraps her arms around Elena. “Did you have a bad dream?”

This is real. Elena doesn’t know why, or how, but she knows the sister holding her against her is real and she’s alive and she’s a child. “Yes. A really, really bad dream. I’m so sorry Emma. I promise I’m going to be a better sister.”

“You’re already a good sister,” Emma tells her. “Relax Leny, everything is okay. Whatever it was, it was just a dream. If you want, we can talk about it later, but now I’m going to burn breakfast.”

“I’m so sorry,” Elena repeats, detaching herself from her older sister, and taking a few steps back. “I’m…I’m so sorry.” She tries to calm down and remember her training, but Emma is right here and their father he must be here too…she’ll have both of them, they’ll all be together. “I’m going to go sit down.”

Emma gives her a worried look, before managing a smile. “Alright Leny, eggs and bacon in just a few minutes, okay?”

Elena sniffles, wipes her eyes, and nods. Maybe this is a miracle. It feels a little bit like a miracle right now. She’s heard of things like this happening before in stories—people being given a sort of “do-over” in life—but those were stories.

Elena doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt more hopeful in her life.

 

***

Tseng has never felt more hopeless in his life.

Shinra Tower stands tall and proud, entirely unaware that in just over a decade it would be a crumbling shadow of its former glory, just like the company it housed. Having watched its decline, Tseng had almost forgotten how eternal Shinra had once seemed. How quickly everyone had gone from centering their lives around it, to vilifying it as the cause of all their problems.

Unreasonable as it was, Tseng couldn’t help but think that if he had been better at his job—if he’s been extraordinary instead of just excellent—maybe things would still be like this. Rufus hadn’t deserved to carry the weight of his predecessors’ mistakes, to be the President of rubble, he had deserved all of this.

His fists clench at his sides. He must look like an absolute mess. He’s a little glad that, before he’d become Director of the Turks, only rarely did anyone in the bustling hallways of the tower spare him a second glance—and those who did, well, they would have sneered at him no matter how disarrayed he looked. Not that it matters. They’re not real, and he is dead.

Still, he takes a deep breath to steady himself, and carries on. He’s not here to get lost in a strange mix of despair and nostalgia, he’s going to do as the lifestream suggested and find someone more appropriate than Legend to talk to about his current situation. As confused and uncertain as he is, he doesn’t really think about where to go next. He already knows. There is only one person he would have trusted enough to talk to about anything “heavy” at this age.

He knows he really ought to compose himself, but the idea of seeing Veld again is almost too much to handle.

It’s been years now since they last saw each other, and months before the end of the Geostigma Crisis since they last even spoke. Even then, it hadn’t been anything substantial, just a check in from Veld confirming he and Elfe were still alive and in Junon.

He wonders if Veld was proud of him. He wonders if it would be appropriate to ask. Tseng hates wondering. He needs to be certain of things. It’s been a very long time since he’s been certain of all that much, and now, he doesn’t think he is certain of anything at all.

Tseng is sorely tempted to take the elevator up to the floor occupied by the Turks. He’d thought of it as a sort of home—the closest thing to a home he’d ever had, really—and it had been a very long time since he’d seen it intact; longer still since he’d seen it bustling with activity. Even before the meteor, it had just been himself, Reno, Rude, and Elena up there for far too long. It probably isn’t a good idea. At fourteen, he was barely a proper recruit to the Turks and as such was not allowed up to the floor without an escort. He suspects he’s expected to follow the same rules now as he would have then.

He takes the elevator down. It takes almost all his willpower to push the button.

On the entrance floor, there is a small waiting room filled with buzzers. Tseng made his way over to the one labelled “Head of Department of Administrative Research,” presses it, and waits. It is almost as strange to act as a subordinate as it is to be back in Shinra Tower in the first place. He’d been treated as Veld’s second-in-command from the moment he properly inducted into the Turks at fifteen, even before he’d officially been given the promotion.

He has always struggled with patience, but usually, he’s better at hiding it. He fidgets in one of the uncomfortable waiting chairs for a few minutes, before he forces himself up to pace around the room. He begins to worry that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this wasn’t what the lifestream wanted, and then finally, the door clicks open.

It isn’t Veld.

 

***

 

Rufus Shinra learns quickly that people are temporary.

He is seven years old and innocent when he first learns about loss. His father’s latest secretary—a woman he doesn’t even know the name of—meets him at the stairs leading down from his bedroom. She puts her arm around his shoulders, and before he can tell her she isn’t allowed to touch him, she tells him something horrible has happened.

Rufus Shinra, a little boy who has always had everything, is told he no longer has a mother.

It doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t know the woman or that she’s an employee who really shouldn’t be touching him after that. He leans into her arms and cries and demands that someone fix this right now. She tells him she’s sorry, and that she wishes she could, and lets him cry in her arms for what seems like an eternity. Eventually, she says she has to leave, but promises his father would be by soon to collect him. He promised he would be, she assures him.

Rufus sits on the bottom step waiting. He hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he hasn’t stopped crying. He learns his father’s promises mean nothing. When a different employee—not a secretary this time, a man in a black suit—comes to fetch him, it’s already midafternoon. He won’t look Rufus in the eyes.

After his mother dies, the only thing consistent is loneliness. Nannies and tutors come and go almost faster than Rufus can learn their names. His father, despite living and working out of the very same building Rufus almost never leaves, goes days without seeing him. Sometimes Rufus tries to seek him out, but the latest in the endless chain of near identical young, blonde secretaries always turns him away. They are never as pretty as his mother, nor as kind as the woman who told Rufus of her death. Rufus learns his father has a type. He stops noticing when the women change.

When he is eleven years old, he gets a dog for his birthday.

She comes from the basement of Shinra Tower, the only place Rufus is never allowed to visit. Her body is covered in healed scars, and she is very, very afraid of humans. His father insists she isn’t a pet, she’s a tool for his protection.

Rufus loves her more than he loves anything.

He tries to keep that a secret; it doesn’t work.

When Rufus is twelve, he speaks out against his father in front of television cameras. It’s a small, trivial matter, but Rufus feels like he’s walking on air until they’re behind closed doors. His father screams at him until his face turns red. President Shinra’s fists ball up at his sides, and for a horrible moment Rufus truly thinks his father is going to hit him.

He doesn’t.

President Shinra kicks Darkstar across the room and into a wall. She lets out a surprised yelp, and if the people in the basement hadn’t made her afraid and obedient, she could have taken off his leg; she probably still would have, if Rufus has ordered her to. Darkstar is a good girl. President Shinra calls her a stupid mutt, a mistake; Rufus is too disobedient, too soft, to deserve nice things.

He walks over and kicks Darkstar in the head. She doesn't know what to do and neither does Rufus. He thinks his father is going to kill her.

When he tries to move between them, his father sneers, but makes no moves to hit him for it. Rufus cries and apologizes until he can barely speak at all between his clogged nose and scratchy throat. He has never been more relieved than when his father finally leaves. He sits down on the floor with his dog and wraps his arms around her and cries into her neck. They stay like that for a long time.

He doesn't mind the distance between himself and his father after that.

People are temporary. People are cruel. People will hurt him and leave him and use him. He doesn’t need them. He has his dog—he knows he can always rely on her—and that’s more than enough.

A week and a half later, Rufus decides to kill his father.

He isn’t going to do it yet; he’s a child, but he isn’t stupid. If his father dies now, then other adults will circle like vultures and tear the Shinra heir apart. His father won’t die yet, he’ll die when Rufus is ready for it, but he will die.

His father knocked one of Darkstar’s teeth out. It doesn’t grow back. When he is thirteen, the people from the basement take her and put a sharpened piece of metal in its place; there are marks from chains on her legs when they return her. Rufus is going to kill his father and destroy every last bit of the perfect image he had always worked so hard to project to the world. And he’ll do it all by himself.

When Rufus is fourteen years old, he feels the world shift. He doesn't know how else to describe it. It is a dizzying feeling, and if he hadn't already been sitting down, he probably would have fallen over. He blinks, and suddenly everything is different.

He learns he doesn't want people to be temporary or tools or circling vultures. He learns he's lonely and he doesn't want to be. He isn’t sure what brought it on, and he wants to scream and cry for it to stop.

Honestly, it's a bit much; he decides to chalk it up to having stayed up until dawn at his desk. Subsequently, he decides this is a sign from the planet itself that he should turn off his computer and at least try to go to sleep. He's been having a hard time getting to sleep since he decided he was going to kill his father; sitting at his computer until he drops from exhaustion is par for the course at this point.

When he finally lays down, Darkstar jumps up on his bed with him to lay her paws across his chest as if to keep him from getting back up. She’s been more concerned about his sleeping habits than anyone else, and usually Rufus would find it funny, but now it just leaves his chest feeling hollow. Why doesn’t anyone actually care?

Darkstar licks his cheek. She cares. She’s a good girl.

Before sleep finally takes him, Rufus decides he probably just wants another dog.

Notes:

Thank you so much for the support I got on the previous chapter, I really appreciate it! The art was once again created by my amazing partner.

 

02/03/23 - this fic IS NOT abandoned. I originally had chapters prewritten and had the entire thing plotted out, but lost all my work after my laptop died and the files weren't able to be recovered from iCloud. I had already had to rewrite chapter 3 because of an unrelated technical issue, so that was just a slap in the face. This will still be updated, but losing everything I had worked so hard on made me lose a lot of motivation and was just generally really upsetting. I'm really sorry :(.