「 where is that old friend gone? 」

[neverwinged]

characters: The ghost of Zack Fair, open to anyone.
location: Wandering about in the slums.
time: Early evening.
rating: Going with PG for generally unpleasant imagery.
open/closed: Very much open!
summary: One of the spectres that appeared in the city seems to be searching for something. Or someone. Poor guy. That sword sure looks heavy.

Comments

[neverwinged]

The ghost recognized that voice as well. And he didn't- no, not now. He stops in his tracks, the grip on the sword's hilt as tight as he can manage. Which isn't much, but he has to try. He has to try his best, use all his strength. He can't, not yet.

Not yet.

Blood from his arms trails down the blade of the broadsword as he shifts, turning around with slow, shaking steps to face that voice. The voice that was always a comfort to him, a guiding light when everything was dark, answers to all his questions. But not now, no, he can't be here now. He wasn't finished yet. He didn't know ... they weren't safe yet, he hadn't found them.

It's not far, but the ghost lifts the sword up just in time, putting enough space between him and the man hurrying towards him (had this been he real ghost, he'd be making a snarky comment about tearing such a lovely garment, your highness). But he's shaking so badly. The sword's so heavy, and he's so weak. But he can't go yet-!

"No ..."

His voice is a whisper that echoes in the streets. It's not long after that the sword hits the ground once more, unable to lift the heavy blade for much longer.

"I can't ... not yet ..."

[custoshonour]

Angeal stops himself just in time, staring at the sword being held in front of him like that. The Buster. Impossible. But he was seeing it there, with his own eyes. The Buster Sword. The blood sliding down it, Zack's blood, is enough to keep him stopped for a moment, eyes widening in slow, disbelieving horror. There's too much blood. Angeal's own hands shake even as his student's do, face slowly losing all colour as he takes in the tattered SOLDIER uniform, the bullet holes, the- the-

"No..."

The whisper startles him back into action and he approaches slowly, cautiously, each rasping breath that Zack takes like a knife in his heart. How had this happened? How had he let this happen? One thing was for sure. Angeal was never going to forgive himself for this, never. Never. If Zack didn't manage to...

"I can't... not yet..."

And it's with that that Angeal takes off his mantle, intent on covering his student with it, and holds out his arms to pull Zack into them as he'd done not too long ago. As he did back when they were alive on Gaia, as he'd always be there to do, goddamn him; and his own voice is just above a whisper husky with emotion that he's just barely reining in,

"Shh. I've got you, pup-"

His words catch in his throat and make him choke the way his guilt couldn't, and his hands freeze on nothing but what feels like cold air. Zack is-- Zack was-- he can't touch him?

"Zack?" he manages hesitantly.

[neverwinged]

The ghost can feel the warmth that the mantle provides as it briefly passes over his skin. And it's tempting, it's so tempting to just drop everything and hold it around his shoulders. But he can't. He can't, he's not finished here yet. There's still so much he has to finish, he hasn't found--

"Don't ..."

It's so cold. The sword is so heavy, he can't breathe, there's so much blood everywhere. But he simply can't go just yet.

That has to be the only reason his mentor is here. Isn't it? To take him away?

"I can't ... please, not yet ..."

That's all the ghost manages before collapsing to his knees in a coughing fit, blood sputtering from his mouth to the ground below. It disappears before reaching the pavement. And he can't get back up. It's not fair, he can't ... he has to get up, he has to find them and ... he's strong enough, he has to be. He has to ...

[custoshonour]

He's going crazy. Angeal has to be going crazy because there's no way otherwise that any of this is real, except in his head, and for all that voices and madness remind him of the worst part of his life, he'd give anything to be crazy than for any of this to be real. Zack can't be... not his Zack. And when his fingers pass through the cold nothingness of his student's hair as he tries to brush it back shakily, touching blood that isn't there because as soon as he touches it, it's gone, he knows.

This isn't real. This is... he'd seen something like this earlier, hadn't he? Sephiroth in the distance, going past him, silent until Angeal wasn't sure what he was seeing was real or not.

But it feels, it feels too real, and it's killing him, the whispered pleas Zack is making even if he can't understand what they mean, and he whispers his student's name back brokenly as he gently pushes any resistance the other is making and wraps his arms around him as best as he can.

"I can't...please, not yet..." the words suddenly make sense. The last he'd seen his student like this, before he'd died, Angeal watching over him with a heart that broke even as it swelled with pride. He was still fighting. And the coughing fit that follows, well. For something that doesn't exist, it does a pretty good job of causing a pained tremor to wrack Angeal's own body as he sinks to the ground with Zack, his eyes following the blood as it vanishes and blurring as he tries wiping it from his student's mouth anyway.

"Zack," he whispers again, soothing, trying to sound reassuring even though his voice is the one wavering, "Let go."

[neverwinged]

The ghost can feel every touch from his mentor. The hand that brushes his hair back though it doesn't move, the arms that hold him protectively as they fall to the ground. The blood doesn't disappear as his teacher's hand wipes his mouth, but the touch he feels, and it's such a comforting motion that it's too tempting for the ghost to simply give in, to let go as his mentor tells him to. He's been fighting for so long, he's so tired ...

"No--"

He's not finished here yet. He hasn't found them yet, he hasn't made sure that they're safe. There's still so many enemies around them, what if they find them first? He can't let that happen. He can't let go yet-

The ghost coughs once more, blood spilling from his lips before he has a chance to cover it with his hand. The crimson splatter vanishes before it has a chance to stain the other's pretty dress.

He's so weak. The ghost tries to push himself back up, but it's as if his legs no longer listen to him. All he can do is clutch the sword's hilt in his trembling hand, and with the other reach up to grasp his teacher's shoulder. His gloves are as torn and stained with blood as the rest of him, but no marks are left anyplace that isn't him.

And that's when the ghost gives in to the tears that were being held back so fiercely.

"Angeal ... I'm scared ... help me up, Angeal ..."

[custoshonour]

"No--"

Another bloody cough and Angeal's breath comes harsher with the effort to hold back his own emotions, because phantom or not, this is Zack. Something of Zack, an echo, it doesn't matter if it's from the past or from Angeal's worst nightmares. And he'll die before he lets anything of Zack down-- again, a traitorous voice hisses in the back of his mind-- before he stops being the support that his student needs.

Arms still secure around him, Angeal slides one down to grip the hilt of the Buster around not-Zack's fingers, steadying their trembling, almost as if it was years and another lifetime ago when he'd first taught his student how to hold a broadsword correctly. That memory, the cold sensation of Zack's hand on his shoulder, hearing his name whispered like that, these things are almost enough to pierce the dam of the tears standing in his eyes and he blinks hard, throat too closed up to answer the pleading voice stabbing his heart with each word.

"Nothing to be scared of," he murmurs roughly after a moment spent warring with his vocal cords, his other hand making slow petting movements against Zack's back, and looks down to see something no teacher, no mentor, no guardian should ever, ever have to see. His own vision swims until the tear-and-bloodstained face below is a blur, and he lets the tears make silent trails on his cheeks. "Everything's..." a shuddering sigh,"Everything's all right, Zack. You did it."

And the smile that tugs at his lips is a sad, shaky thing, but he smiles anyway, keeping his gaze focused into pained, wet blue eyes, and whispers carefully, fervently, "I am so proud of you."

[neverwinged]

...

Proud?

The ghost looks so confused at that, trembling hands holding tighter to the sword and the man's shoulder. Proud? There's all this blood flowing, there's still so much he hasn't done. So much that he has to do, and now he can't. He can't even stand up. He can't lift the sword. He can't stop the tears from streaming down his face as quickly as the blood from his wounds is. He can't do anything.

Proud?

That's not the right word to use. Not at all. Doesn't his teacher know that?

"How can you be?"

The ghost stares up at his mentor with such confusion, the hand on the man's shoulder falling to his lap in disbelief. Though his other hand around the sword hilt manages to stop trembling, the rest of him doesn't. Blood covers his eyes so he can't see, blood spills past his lips so he can't breathe. Not that he needs to. A ghost is already dead. But the sight of this, the man's student shaking, bleeding, whimpering in pain and too weak to go on, it's certainly enough. It's been the ghost's plan, all along.

"How can you be proud? ... I failed, Angeal. I'm not strong enough. I couldn't save you, Angeal. Why are you proud of me?"

The real Zack would've given anything to hear that from his mentor.

[custoshonour]

It isn't real. He must remember that, must hold onto that, that the phantom-student lying in his arms is not Zack. But with the fresh blood- so much of it- spilling out, it's all Angeal can do to remember anything other than what he's seeing right now.

"How can you be?"

A sudden, fierce desire to close his eyes seizes him, to close his eyes and block out this terrible sight that will be haunting his thoughts for a long time to come. But he forces them to stay open, to keep on looking, this is not happening; and he doesn't understand at first what his student's question means.

Angeal shakes his head, "Zack? What...?" and then his low voice trails off into numbed, mute horror as even more blood- Gaia, where was it coming from?- seeps out of Zack's eyes, his mouth, no, no. Angeal bites back the words into a pained noise in the back of his throat, along with why. Why was he being shown this, asked these questions? Were his past sins finally rushing up to meet him, to give him what he so justly deserves for failing everyone he's ever loved?

--the thought stuns him for a moment, and Angeal stares with damp, blank eyes at Zack, his hand still aimlessly moving over the other's not-there back.

He does deserve this.

His gaze travels down and along the blade of the Buster, and then back up to where thir hands are clasped at the hilt. Well, if this is his punishment, he'll suffer it like the SOLDIER he is. But first.

"You... little idiot," Angeal manages, affectionate and scolding, gently jostling the ghost. "Of course you saved me.You saved me from the dark inside of me. You saved me even before I knew I needed saving, Zack." His voice catches in his throat and he clears it free of the emotion choking him. "How can I not be proud of you?"

Then Angeal goes quiet, letting his eyes close, just for a moment, thinking on how stupid he was to have never said this to the real Zack. And hoping that he wouldn't lose the chance when it came.

[neverwinged]

Very strange, the ghost figures. Very strange, to be proud of someone who wasn't a very good person at all. At least, that's what the ghost had understood, from the memories that he had.

Now, it was time for a different tactic.

Suddenly, as if struck by yet another unseen enemy's bullet, the ghost's body jumps, a pained cry tearing itself from cracked lips. The blood doesn't seem to stop pouring from his many wounds at all, only increasing in flow as his free hand grasps at his chest where a heart would be if he had one. And he's trembling, shivering almost violently in his mentor's arms as his body's wracked with sobs.

"It hurts, Angeal ..."

His head lifts for a moment, staring up at his teacher through the blood that trailed from his hair to drip off his chin. He coughs again, blood sputtering, and a whimper passes his lips after as he leans further into his mentor's embrace, shielding his gaze from the other.

"Make it stop, Angeal ... it hurts so much ... make it stop ... everything, hurts ..."

[custoshonour]

His eyes wrench open when he hears the shrill cry and aghast, Angeal watches as his ghost-student spasms violently in his arms as though something had struck him, still bleeding, still crying, still hurting, still--

"Zack!"

Seeing that hand try to clutch at a tattered chest torments Angeal's own heart in a helpless, blind way that he hasn't ever felt before. Helpless in the face of the phantom pain plaguing his student. Gently rocking back and forth, he closes his eyes against the plaintive eyes staring at him through trickling blood-- he'll never be able to forget that look-- and when he feels the cold not-thereness shift nearer to his body, seeking comfort that he can't provide, Angeal bows his head and presses his face against what would have been soft, spiky black hair had it been real.

He doesn't know what to do, how to put this echo to peace, how to take away the hurt. He doesn't know.

"Tell me... how to make it stop," he murmurs haltingly, voice ragged. "I'll do it."

[neverwinged]

"I don't know ..."

Technically, the ghost knew. Either he had to be brought back to the city center, where his form originated from, or he had to disappear right here. But the ghost is just a little too scared, afraid to leave just yet. Everything hurts too much. Surely disappearing will only hurt worse than simply existing when he shouldn't. It makes sense, doesn't it?

He cries out again, in too much pain. Weakly he lets go of his torn vest to grasp at his mentor's, transparent fingers slipping through the material. Tears mix with the stream of blood that pours steadily down his face.

"I don't know how ...

But it hurts so much ...

Make it stop, Angeal ... please ..."

[custoshonour]

I don't know how to.

Angeal doesn't say aloud the words that are choking him, however. That would mean giving up, and he's not about to give up on his student, phantom or no. He simply stays silent for some time, forcing himself to marshal he wits that had begun to drift at the onset of this terrible meeting, moving gently in a useless but steady attempt to soothe the apparition he holds. There has to be something, anything he can do. Think, Hewley. If the ghost himself didn't know... if he thought he still had to fulfill something...

The next agonized cry cuts through his thoughts like a blade and Angeal involuntarily draws back to look down at Zack, feeling the chill of the other's fingers where his heart is no less than the despair in it. With a shoulder, he wipes away the moisture stinging at his eyes, still thinking hard.

Something was holding Zack back, tying him to this place, but what? With difficulty, Angeal manages to change his voice to some semblance of the voice he used when teaching, although a lot more hoarse. His 'mentor-voice'. He uses one hand to carefully cup Zack's face so that their gazes locked, forget the pain it caused to do that.

"You'll have to work with me, then, kid. Follow directions. Understood?"

[neverwinged]

He's brought the man to tears.

That it itself seems to be a victory for the ghost. It doesn't show on his face, still reeling with the pain and agony that travels through him. Simply the image of this man's student in such pain, seeing him bloodied and crying out, listening to his voice break and plead for it all to just stop, the ghost knows. The ghost knows just by that one behaviour how much the real student must mean to him, how important a human can be to another.

If he had any other conscious thought, he'd be jealous.

As things were, all the ghost knew were how to torment the humans aboveground in the best- or worst- way possible. He knew just how to get under their skin, and how to play the part perfectly.

It takes a moment or two, but the ghost manages to weakly nod in response, refusing to let go just yet as something as simple as breathing makes him whimper from the pain. But he will. His mentor has directions for him, instructions, rules to follow. He's a good student. He'll do whatever is asked of him.

[custoshonour]

Waiting for an answer, Angeal continues thinking, wracking his brain because whatever was connecting this ghost to this place had to be here. With the two of them. He'd heard stories as a child, about ghosts haunting a place, unable to leave because something was twining them back to the land of the living. It was possible that it was only out of an obligation, and then again, it was possible that it wasn't. An object. An obligation. His wet eyes land on the Buster. What if they were one and the same?

Well, it was worth a try. Well-deserved punishment or no, this sight was... was unbearable. Not real...

Angeal returns the feeble nod Zack gives him with a slow, approving one of his own, thumb running soothingly over a translucent cheekbone. "Good. But before anything else..." he swallows and lets go of the hilt of the sword, lets go of where his fingers were curled around his student's own, and holds out his hand.

"You'll have to return the Buster to me." And how he manages to keep his voice firm when he says something he's never wanted to, never planned to because he gave that Sword to Zack for good, will always remain a mystery to him.

[neverwinged]

... the sword?

The ghost's eyes widen at that, all that fear and cold rushing up to him in one violent slap to the face. That sword, the only piece of his mentor that he had left throughout his whole journey. To give it back meant disappearing forever, it meant he'd never complete his journey and reach his destination.

But, if that's what his mentor asks.

He feels as though it's only right. He was given this sword to carry on his mentor's dreams, his honour. And he'd failed that. It was only fitting to return the sword he'd been given before vanishing forever.

It would be much easier if he could lift the sword. The ghost tries, he tries with all his strength to bring the sword up, but he can't manage that either. It hurts so much, to pull up on the blade's hilt only to have it barely budge an inch. And the blade itself is rusting in his grip, decaying along with him as the blood from his arm trickled down the hilt.

"... I'm such a pathetic student, aren't I, Angeal? I failed at everything. I'm ... so sorry, Angeal ..."

[custoshonour]

The look of hurt shock replacing all other expression on that face is enough to make Angeal hate himself in an intimate, piercing way that he hasn’t this entire time with his ghost student bleeding and in pain without his mentor being able to ease any of that. But he controls himself from letting the guilt show on his face and closes his eyes just in time before the sight causes his hard-won composure to crumple.

He knows what he’s asking, knows how stinging and hateful a request it is, but if it worked… if it put this spirit to peace, well. Angeal could stand the pain he was feeling, would go through it over and over if it just… worked. He opens his eyes.

…Zack couldn’t lift the Buster. Angeal watches - just watches, the only thing he’s been able to do - and feels a sharp pang seeing his student trying so hard to follow what his mentor asks of him, and yet the Sword hardly moves. It’s with a tired sort of pain that Angeal realizes he will have to take the Buster from him. Tired more than anything else, because how much more hurt was his punishment going to mete out onto his conscience? How much room did he have left inside to loathe his own helplessness?

Numbly, he runs his fingers through the not-there black hair, listening with a quiet, aching despair to what Zack says next. Oh, puppy. I was the one who failed. His voice now automatically firm, if not husky, he says, “Don’t fail me now, then.”

The words lash him fiercely against the metaphorical stake, but he continues doggedly. He has to, for Zack. And then this nightmare will be over.

You were the best student I could have asked for.

“Do at least this much for me.”

Over for the ghost, at any rate. Angeal has no doubt this vision will be visiting his dreams for a long time to come. He reaches back to hold onto the hilt lower on down.

“Let go of the Buster.”

Forgive me.