This doesn’t align with game timelines at all but just roll with it for me yeah?
Barrett taking Cloud under his wing when he first comes to Midgar and developing a soft spot for him. Cloud helps out where he can, looks after Marlene when it’s needed and what not.
Somehow he meets Zack and the SOLDIER becomes absolutely smitten. He’s always visiting and catching Cloud whenever he’s alone to hang out and whatnot. At some point Zack ends up catching Barrett and the older man can’t help but get all protective over Cloud, especially since the guy in front of him is Shinra.
Cue endless amounts of shovel talks and glaring from Barrett and a distrustful little Marlene that thinks her older brother is gonna get taken away from her.
VERS. 1 | VERS. 2 of the Prompt: Hi, I just wanted to ask if you would be willing to dabble in a prompt about Cloud having a wing? Like maybe something where it first manifests in a really bad situation of some kind and he's just horrified and scared about it, and runs away from everyone because he's terrified of what they they think. They then him and end up reassuring and comforting him? Just- angst to family feels? There is a distinct lack of Cloud wingfics haha 😅 so I was just hoping you'd be interested. ~ @hiroasu-akika
This was inspired by the original prompt fill I made for this post! A different interpretation that doesn’t quite as neatly fit the prompt, but I figured you might like it XD. It takes place during the Shinra infiltration mission with Barret and Tifa. I hope you enjoy! <3
CAN BE FOUND HERE ON AO3
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Barret doesn’t know whose sick idea it was to build a 59 story building, but if he ever meets them, he’s gonna shove his gun so far up their ass they’ll be spitting bullets for years.
The stairs seem endless as Barret climbs them, exhausted and shaking from the strain. Tifa and Cloud are having the time of their lives, dancing up the steps as if it’s a game and not a damn workout. Tifa’s already at the top, with Cloud only a few stories behind her, and Barret’s just struggling not to collapse with every step he takes. Just ten more stories, he tells himself, only ten more to go.
Then there’s a clang, an echo of a gunshot ringing in a sickening chorus down the rows of metal, and Tifa screams. Barret increases his speed, pounding up the steps and readying his gun arm, but it’s already too late. A blur shoots past him, a sickening twist of blonde and black that he knows all too well, and he desperately breaks away to dive for it. His fingers brush only briefly on rough cotton, stomach dropping to his feet as Cloud plummets past without so much as a pause.
“Cloud!” Tifa screams again, high and anguished, and Barret doesn’t need to look up to know she’s hanging over the railing just as he is, eyes wide and tears streaming.
For a moment they're both frozen, watching with horror as he falls, and then there’s a thunder of steps as Tifa begins to rush down. Barret doesn’t move, though. Overwhelmed and ashamed and wishing to Gaia that something will happen - anything - to stop Cloud from landing.
No amount of prayers could prepare him for what happens next.
A crack splits the air, Cloud’s form twitching and writhing before a streak of black cuts snaps from his body in a spray of feathers. Tifa gasps, coming to another clanging halt, and Barret stares wide eyed at the wing Cloud’s just sprouted, long and dark and gruesome in the dim lighting. For the first time since he fell, Cloud yells, legs kicking and arms cartwheeling in a startled panic. His wing catches on the crisscross of wires with a sickening crack, harsh movements quickly landing him on another, and the burst of air from his lungs can be heard from 40 stories up as his stomach meets the unforgiving metal, descent brutally halted.
The silence that descends is shocked, both Tifa and Barret once more frozen in place. Then Barret shakes his head, blinking in the hopes of clearing the fucking hallucination of a wing from his mind.
“What the everlovin’ shit just happened?”
“Oh Gaia! Barret, we need to get down to him!” Tifa’s footsteps resume, but all Barret can do is shake his head again. He looks away and looks back but- nope. The wing is still there.
“Do you see that?!”
“Yes! I see it, Barret. Now really isn’t the time. He could be dead. He could be-” Tifa bounds past him as if she hadn’t been eight stories above him not thirty seconds ago, and the grip she forms around Barret’s wrist is enough to make him wince. She doesn’t even hesitate as she reaches for him, and Barret finds himself yanked along with her in order to keep from tearing her arm from it’s socket.
“Fuck, that was forty levels. There’s no way.”
“He has to be. He’s- he’s a SOLDIER. They’re stronger, right? They- oh, Gaia. How did this happen?”
The guilt almost swallows Barret whole. He’d had Cloud. Had grasped him and felt him in his fingers, but he hadn’t been good enough. One of his team could be dead. Cloud isn’t his team, though. Cloud is-
“The hell did he do? Get shot?”
“He didn’t do anything, Barret! This isn’t his fault.”
No, it’s Barret’s. He pushes back the guilt and focuses on keeping calm. Tifa isn’t doing so well right now, and Barret can’t afford to let his feelings get the better of him when the only two other members of his team are down for the count.
“Was there a guard at the top?” he asks, breathless and stumbling for a second as the numbness in his legs catches up to him. Tifa nods sharply, still rocketing down the stairs as if a fire’s at their heels. She glances over the railing to check on Cloud, and Barret reluctantly allows his gaze to follow hers.
His stomach lurches at what he sees. The dark wing is bent at an odd angle, caught on one of the higher wires, while Cloud himself lays folded face down over another. He isn’t moving, which is already a bad sign, but he’s also bleeding. It’s a dark patch on the shoulder that Barret hadn’t been able to notice from higher up, and what makes it apparent now is the spread of blood slowly dripping down his neck. It gathers stark and bright red in his blonde hair, and Barret can hear Tifa’s breaths grow shaky as she catches sight of the same thing.
She picks up the pace, and Barret follows readily. “Was it just one bullet?”
“Y-yeah,” she pants, finally appearing a bit winded from all of the running, “it was just the one guard. At the top of the stairs, I mean. He got a shot in before I could take him out…” She trails off at the memory, brow furrowing with guilt, and Barret lays a steady hand on her shoulder.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I was ahead of him, though. I should have seen, but it caught me by surprise.”
“You made a mistake. It happens. Next time, you’ll know to be more careful.”
Her lips twitch, jaw clenching, and she trips over the next step. She regains her momentum before he can catch her and doesn’t say a word, but her thoughts are clear as day. What if there won’t be a next time?
“Don’t write him off yet. The bastard’s strong.” Usually, he’d have to force a compliment about Cloud through grit teeth. This time around, Barret’s just hoping that it’s true.
They stumble down another few stories in silence, breaths turning to sharp wheezes as they take back every inch of progress they’d made. Barret doesn’t voice his concerns about making it back up to the top, but they’re a lingering fog of worry at the back of his mind. Another to add to his steadily growing collection.
At least they won’t have to run too far down once they’ve got the merc. Barret tries not to think too hard about why that is - that Cloud had fallen almost the entire length of 59 stories before landing stomach first on a thin line of metal. If his wing hadn’t broken his fall, Barret isn’t too sure he wouldn’t be dying of internal bleeding. As it is, there’s still a possibility, but at least it’s decidedly less so.
Barret can’t believe he’s even thinking about people having wings so casually, but it isn’t as if he can deny what’s right in front of his eyes. The further down they get, the more real the thing appears. Barret couldn’t possibly mistake it for anything other than a wing at this point.
Why hadn’t Cloud said anything? Why hadn’t TIfa?
Had they even known?
Barret scowls, huffing as they stagger down the last few steps, and they both come to a weak, heaving stop at the railing beside Cloud’s still form. He’s clearly unconscious, though the loose strands of his hair hang limply to cover their view of his face. Barret can make out a faint frown, but that’s the only sign of life he can glean from the merc.
A wave of fresh guilt hits him at seeing the kid so limp and lifeless. He looks like a ragdoll that’s been cast aside - bent and broken. Barret feels nauseous even looking at Cloud, let alone his wing. The broken bone is painfully obvious now that they’re so close. A jagged edge of white peeking out from a split in the skin, surrounded by smashed and blood matted feathers.
“Cloud,” Tifa breathes, voice cracking on the edge of tears, and Barret can’t help having to push down his own, “We have to get him down. We- Barret.”
“We will. We gotta be careful, though, aight?”
“He looks....” She takes in a shuddering breath, shoulders rising as she clenches her fists. Barret lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, waiting until she looks up at him with wet, furious eyes until he speaks.
“I know.”
She exhales loudly, closing her eyes to regain her composure, and Barret distances himself a bit as she does. He takes the time to study Cloud while she works through it, grateful that the merc is somewhat close to them instead of further across the wire. Getting him down should be easy, but it’s the moving him downstairs part that Barret’s hesitant about. His wing will be an added weight that they really don’t need right now, and Barret doesn’t have the faintest clue if it’s safe to jostle any of his injuries.
“Can you get him down from there?” Tifa eventually asks, strong and steady despite the shake in her shoulders. “I can carry him if you...take his wing.”
Barret nods and steps onto the bottom rung of the railing. He isn’t tall enough to wrap his arm fully around Cloud’s torso, but he’s able to get a decent grip on the back of his shirt. He grabs a fistful, bracing himself against the top rung with his gun arm. A light tug has Cloud’s shirt peeling back from his wound, the thick matting of blood already working to seal his shirt to the skin, and he hisses.
“What- what is it? Is he alive?” Tifa’s anxious and worried beside him, vibrating in place, and all Barret can do is shake his head.
“I don’t know yet. But, uh...this ain’t gon’ be pretty.”
“What-”
Barret pulls. Cloud gasps and jolts as the shirt is ripped away from him, wing shifting as he rises, and something like a choked wail escapes his lips. He thrashes in a panic, and Barret curses violently.
“Shit!”
“He’s alive!”
“No shit! He needs to calm down or he’s gonna-” Barret’s cut off as Cloud gasps, twisting out of his grip and falling back onto the wire. He scrambles at it, feet kicking and wing flapping, and another strangled groan is pulled from him as the broken bone shifts. The pain doesn’t stop him from lashing out, though, and the next thing Barret knows, a boot with the full force of a SOLDIER’s strength is ramming into his good arm.
“Motherfucker!” Barret rears back and steadies himself, ignoring the string of pain to lean back down and grab Cloud’s shirt again. The merc writhes in his grip, and Barret’s endlessly grateful for Tifa’s stabilizing hold as he’s nearly pulled over the edge with him. He heaves and ignores Cloud’s pained yell as his wing slides along the wire. The rush of guilt is nearly overwhelming, but Barret refuses to let go now that he’s almost got the kid on their side.
Thankfully, Cloud goes limp again somewhere around the third rung. He’s heavier now, but at least he isn’t fighting Barret every step of the way, aggravating his wounds in new and spectacular fashions like the competitive bastard Barret knows he is. Barret manages to heave him over the rest of the railing without trouble, passing him off to Tifa and reaching out to steady the wing before she pulls it from its perch. The last thing they need is Cloud’s wing falling and hitting the walls.
“Shit, hang on.” Tifa holds Cloud in place, hardly straining beneath his weight, and Barret leans out further than he probably should to get a better grip on Cloud’s wing. It’s lighter than he’d expected, and the feathers are so startlingly soft beneath his fingers that he almost freezes in shock. He inhales sharply and forcibly regathers his wits, turning to nod at Tifa. “Okay, but lower him slowly.”
She gives a nod of assent, and what follows is an excruciatingly slow, careful drag of feathers through Barret’s fingers. Tifa draws Cloud back from the railing with deliberate care, cradling him in her arms as if he’s the most precious thing she’s ever held, and Barret ignores whatever the fuck is going on there in favor of keeping Cloud’s wing steady throughout. After a time, the broken bone slides toward him, and he spreads his fingers to form a strong grip on either side of it, maneuvering the remaining part of the wing until he’s able to step down from the railing and hold it spread sideways from Cloud’s back.
“We’ll need to splint that,” Tifa observes, biting her lip and eyeing the wing nervously.
Barret sighs. He doesn’t know a single damn thing about fixing bird wings, least of all ones that happen to be on humans. “If he made it appear, maybe he can make it disappear.”
The look Tifa gives him says that’s not likely to happen, and Barret resigns himself to recalling every little bit of animal anatomy he’s learned over the years. His knowledge is sparse, and by the way Tifa’s frowning, he’d guess hers is as well.
They move down the stairs as slowly as they’d dragged Cloud from the wires, Tifa whispering small reassurances into his ear as they walk. Barret tries to spend the journey focused on other things, but no matter how much he wants to avoid looking at Cloud, he can’t help but notice how pale the merc is. Lips almost blue and stomach bruised from where his shirt rides up, a pool of blood coating his hair and shoulders, dripping down his neck even as they carry him in an upright position. He looks like death warmed over, and the fact that he has a wing isn’t helping.
Barret’s trying not to think about it.
But not thinking about the wing means thinking about how he failed Cloud. How he allowed his weakness to slow him down. How he wasn’t there to defend him and Tifa at the top of the stairs.
How he’d failed to catch him.
He looks so young like this, for once devoid of snarky remarks and the crease of a frown. Hair falling to gently frame his face, lips relaxed. He looks like a kid.
A kid who might be dead.
Gaia, Barret thinks he’s going to be sick.
“We need to take care of his bullet first,” Tifa breaks the silence as they descend the last few steps, “it looks like a through and through, so we won’t have to take it out, but he’s still lost a lot of blood.”
“You can take care of the bullet on your own,” Barret grunts, turning as she does until they're in the center of the room. The area at the base of the stairs is spacious, but they avoid the large shuttered doors at the far end, instead picking a spot nearer to the round metal pipes and smattering of orange caution signs. The place looks relatively unused, which is a relief, but he knows that any number of emergencies could drive employees to the stairs. They can’t linger long here, but he has no idea where else they could possibly go. “I’ll try to fix up his...wing.”
It shouldn’t still feel unnatural to say the word - to think it - but the thing is...it’s unnatural. Sprouted fully formed out of someone’s back after a fifty story drop. Who does that?
Cloud, apparently. Perhaps it’s a SOLDIER thing. Just another reason for Barret to hate their guts; another reason for him to hate Cloud.
He determinedly pushes back the voice in his head that says he doesn’t anymore. That he’s actually grown quite fond of the kid.
“You lower him first and I’ll follow,” Barret guides Tifa, falling to his knees and settling the wing in his lap as she lays Cloud across the floor. It won’t be comfortable, but it’s the best place they’ve got at the moment, and at least they have a flat surface of some kind to operate on.
Tifa’s quick to unpack her supplies, silent in a fervent worry as she works, and Barret focuses on Cloud’s wing. He has a feeling this isn’t going to end so well for them, especially once he starts pushing things back into place, so he begins with cleaning the injury and clipping off the feathers around it. Cloud whines in his sleep as they prod at his wounds, peaceful expression quickly marred by a pained frown. His lips twitch, sweat forming on his brow, and Barret runs a soothing hand over his forehead before he can even think about it. It’s an automatic response to the pain, and he can hear Tifa whispering calming words right alongside him, but something tightens in Barret’s chest as he cards a hand through Cloud’s hair. Something heated and protective that has him wishing desperately that he could pull the other man into a hug.
Barret doesn’t take the time to examine the feelings too closely, distracted by the glint of white as he moves to do the hardest part. Beside him, Tifa holds down Cloud’s shoulders, and Barret doesn’t even count to three before he realigns Cloud’s wing. A scream echoes off the walls of the stairwell, and Tifa has to press the entire length of her body to him as he struggles, mako eyes flaring open in sheer agony. He looks dazed and confused for a second, breaths short with panic, and something in Barret’s chest tightens at seeing the kid so distraught.
“Cloud! Cloud it’s just us. We promise you’re safe. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Tifa attempts to soothe him, hands flying across his body to contain any movement too strenuous. It’s a job for more than one person, Barret knows. Handcuffs or ties, at the very least. He’s impressed with how well she’s doing, but it won’t be enough if Cloud utilizes his full strength and actually tries to throw her off.
“It’s Barret and Tifa,” Barret clarifies, clear and concise in a way that he hopes gets through the fog of panic, “we’re helpin’ you, do you hear? You fell.”
Cloud subsides at that, blinking rapidly, and Tifa’s quick to take advantage. “We’re in the Shinra headquarters. Barret, you, and me were climbing the stairs when you got shot. Do you remember?”
He goes deathly still for a moment, lashes fluttering. Then he swallows and clears his throat, gaze flickering between Tifa and Barret a few too many times to be reassuring. “...Tifa?” he finally tries, and the slur in his voice has Barret’s heart sinking.
“Yeah!” Tifa only sounds relieved. “Yes, it’s me. Oh, thank Gaia you’re okay. We were- we were so worried.”
Cloud blinks again. “Barret?”
“Well, he wouldn’t ever admit it.”
Barret snorts. “You were pretty out of it, merc. What do you remember?”
“That- I remember...” he trails off, seemingly caught up in his thoughts, and Barret can pinpoint the exact moment he recalls the wing. His expression morphs into one of pure horror, body going taut and breaths coming out short and strained with terror. Barret’s stomach drops at the sight, and within seconds he’s struggling to keep Cloud’s wing steady as the merc all but tries to tear himself violently apart from the limb, eyes wide and glued to the thing as if it’s the devil incarnate.
“Cloud, it’s okay,” Tifa tries again, but he just shakes his head, once more tugging at Barret’s hold. As if breaking free of Barret will free him of the limb; as if this is all some sick dream that he can pull himself out of.
Barret wishes it was.
“It’s not. It’s not okay. It’s- get it off.”
Barret scowls. “If you know how to make it disappear, then please go ahead, but it ain’t exactly a detachable piece.”
Cloud lets out a noise of protest, wild eyed and trembling, and the utter break in his usual composure is painful to see. Barret glances at Tifa, hoping to glean some sort of advice from the woman who knows him best, but she’s just as distressed as Barret is right now, fretting over Cloud with shaking hands.
“Then cut it off!” Barret’s blood runs cold, mouth going dry with shock. “Cut it off! Just-”
“Absolutely not.” Barret doesn’t yell, but he might as well have for the way Cloud reels back. “Nobody’s cuttin’ off anybody's limbs. The hell are you on?! We ain’t fuckin’ torturin’ you cause you’ve grown a wing all of a sudden.” Though it sure is a hell of a strange circumstance, and Barret wouldn't mind a few damn answers at some point.
Cloud falls silent. His throat works soundlessly, limbs frozen, and Tifa takes the opportunity to press his shoulders back onto the hard floor. Barret loosens his grip on Cloud’s wing a bit in apology, petting over the ruffled feathers in the hopes of smoothing away some pain.
There’s a quiet sort of panic in Cloud’s eyes, now. The kind that has only the slightest of tells, Cloud’s lips thinning and his fingers twitching. His breath barely even catches as Tifa wraps his bare shoulder in bandages, eyes tracking her every movement with a fevered hypervigilance. When Barret so much as thinks of shifting, Cloud’s eyes snap to him quick as lightning, but they still don’t fall on his wing.
“So, I take it this is a new development.”
Tifa huffs, casting a reproachful look at Barret for his bluntness, but Cloud doesn’t react except to lick his lips. His fingers twitch again, knees jumping, and his gaze skirts the edges of his wing before he locks eyes with Barret.
“Yeah…” he finally croaks, swallowing a few times afterward to clear his voice, “I- I don’t want it.”
Barret’s lips twitch into a bitter smile. “Join the club. I know a thing or two about limbs you don’t agree with. Thought I was a monster for a long time, cause of my arm.”
“But it’s...it’s not the same. I am a monster. You...you’ve just…”
“Just got one arm?” Barret fills in, snorting when Cloud blushes. The merc turns away, flinching at a particularly harsh pull to his bandages, and Tifa’s whispered apology is the only sound to fill the silence for a time. Then Cloud ventures a tentative glance over at Barret again, and he takes that as his queue to continue. “I lost it in a bad way," he explains gently, "and what I replaced it with...well. It ain’t exactly all sunshine and daisies, is it? I say I use it for good, but I still hurt people.”
Cloud chances a glance at his gun arm. A complicated expression passes across his face, mako eyes running along the hunk of metal with the intensity of a man attempting to decipher the wills of the universe. Then he peers over at his own wing, expression instantly twisting to one of pure disgust. The limbs flutters lightly in Barret’s hand - a weak attempt at pulling it away again - but Barret stubbornly remains where he is. He doesn't stop running his fingers through the feathers, even as Cloud burns a hole in them with a poisonous glare. It’s a strange feeling, for once not being tempted to rise to the merc’s bait. Barret can’t say he hates it, though he has a hunch it isn’t going to last long.
“I know it ain’t the same,” Barret says before Cloud can rile himself up again, “but I also know that my arm doesn’t make me a monster, just as this doesn’t make you one.”
Cloud turns away, hell bent on not listening to a word Barret says like the little shit he is. Barret sighs and remains quiet, but there might be the hint of a scowl when Tifa speaks next, instantly garnering the full weight of Cloud's attention.
“I had a hard time, after everything that happened to us," she begins, pausing to gauge their interest with a shy glance. She bites her lip and focuses her attention on Cloud's shoulder, turning her head away from his ardent stare. His interest is practically palpable, and Barret can see her blush clear as day on the pale rise of her cheekbones. "I...changed," she murmurs, "I got angrier and more violent and I learned how to fight, and there was this fire in me that never stopped burning, no matter how much I hit or kicked or punched. I know- I know it’s different. But I understand where you’re coming from...when it comes to growing things you don't want - that you can't control. You’re not a monster, Cloud.”
“But the wing, it’s-”
“I know.” There’s something there that neither of them is telling him, but Barret’s just relieved Cloud seems to be listening to someone. If they had more time, perhaps they could actually get somewhere significant with the kid, but it would be rash to linger here much longer. More dangerous than Barret could possibly risk.
It’s a tentative peace they’ve found in the midst of their high stakes mission, and nobody can deny that quite a few shocks have hit all of their systems in the past hour, but he knows they need to get moving soon if they want to reach Aerith in time. Knows that Cloud is going to have to live with the wing for a bit longer until they can find a solution or an answer or something. They can’t help him right now, beyond offering rushed platitudes and stale comfort. The inability to do anything stings. Another inadequacy to add to his pile of failures. Letting Cloud get hurt and allowing him to fall. His fumbled, pointless attempt at comfort and care. Everything.
"Thank you, Barret."
Barret blinks. "What?"
Cloud flushes down to his bright blonde roots, tomato red and furious. "I ain't sayin' it again!" he hisses, and Barret barks out a laugh.
"Shit, kid. You really are a pain in my damn ass."
"Aren't we all?" Tifa laughs.
"Nah, everybody else on the team is a damn angel compared to him."
There's a beat of silence, Tifa's smile dimming as her eyes widen, and Barret finds Cloud's sudden reticence strange until he realizes what he'd just said.
Team. He'd said team.
But Cloud is on the team, isn't he? Barret doesn’t know when exactly he started to consider Cloud a part of it, but it’s an impossible idea to shake now that it’s taken root. He wants the arrogant little shit around, Gaia forbid. He wants him in the family. Despite every misgiving Barret's had about the merc's past and his attitude and his occupation - despite everything that's told him Cloud can't be trusted - he still wants to make him a part of the team. But the Cloud Barret's gotten to know is different from the front he puts up. Vulnerable and kind and loving. Willing to risk everything for Tifa and Aerith alike. Hell, he'd been willing to risk his life for Jessie and Biggs and Wedge, too. For Barret.
He'd almost died today.
Barret's heart clenches, and he almost blurts out his thoughts right then and there to his quiet team members - almost lets the whole world know exactly what he's thinking. But it isn't that simple, he knows. Things like this can't just be said in the middle of a mission, high on stress and painful revelations. It needs to be done with the whole team around. When they're all comfortable and relaxed; when they're all a family.
After the mission, Barret decides, I’ll offer him a serious place here with us.
Even if Cloud doesn’t want to be in Avalanche, that doesn’t mean he can’t still be a part of the team. Hell, Tifa’s practically an outside member already. It wouldn’t be so unusual, and Cloud would probably appreciate the steady income.
After the mission, we’ll give him a home.
But for now, Barret takes what he can get. He sets Cloud’s wing in a splint and talks about his arm. Shares stories with Tifa as Cloud drifts in and out of consciousness and runs a soothing hand through Cloud’s hair when the heat gets to be too much, temperature burning him up from the inside.
Even the smallest of kindnesses seems to make Cloud melt, once his barriers are finally torn down. And every touch has him humming, every word listened to with a keen interest that he tries so desperately to mask.
Cloud needs a family, Barret realizes. He wants one more than anything. And Barret aches to tell him that he has one. That Avalanche would live and kill and die for him - every single member. That Tifa loves him and Barret...Barret’s fond of him.
But Barret waits. He has to. Because if he says anything now, the entire mission could be ruined, and a 59 story drop with the surprise emergence of a wing is enough for any group to handle on the best of days.
After the mission, he reminds himself one last time, tomorrow.
Unfortunately for all of them, tomorrow is a long time coming.
Hello! This is kind of out there but I was wondering if you could do a post apocolypse au? With tons of Barret but not very shippy. With lots of found family though! Thanks
“I know you didn't list Barret as one of the character you write, but you also said that the list was only a sort of guideline and not actually hard rules. If that's the case could you maybe do a prompt for some Dad!Barret and Marlene fluff? Thank you 💞💕” - Anon
Filling two prompts at once here, so I hope this fits the bill for both! Also I got really into this prompt so I’m honestly probably going to continue it? If so, it’ll on ao3, but here’s what I’ve written so far. Sort of the start of the fic/a prologue. A five + 1 type premise, beginning with Tifa XD
-UPDATE! The fic is now finished - PART 2 - PART 3 - ALL PARTS ON AO3
-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!
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His daughter makes him a crown of dead flowers.
Barricaded inside of some long abandoned home, the only pieces of nature still visible are the wilted remains of a bouquet once gathered neatly in a vase. They’re faded, of course. Neglected and passed over for more urgent necessities; victims to the cruel fate of the merciless virus. Just as humans had been.
Just like every other living thing on the planet.
Yet Marlene doesn’t seem to mind. As soon as they’re both settled in for the night she takes the flowers up, small fingers clutching ever so delicately at the crumbling stems, and weaves him a crown. Kicking her feet on an old dusty couch and humming away, she even appears almost happy and content, though he knows she’s not.
He knows she’s afraid. Sees it every day in her frightened tears and hears it every night in the tiny, terrified whimpers of her nightmares.
These things - these small, innocuous pieces of joy she seems to find at the strangest of moments, are the only pieces of innocence she has left. Her only protection from the monsters inside of her head.
Barret can’t rob her of that; he never could. Even if the flowers she plays with are dead and the couch she sits on once belonged to someone else. So when she looks up at him with wide brown eyes and that big, loving smile, presenting his crown like the glittering tiara she imagines it is, he can’t do anything else but kneel to accept it.
Can’t do anything else but return the smile and play pretend, heart aching with the loss of something he knows she’ll never get back.
Sometimes, he thinks of what his life would be like without her. Thinks of the kids out on the streets and the parents he’s met along the roads. Shell shocked, blank faced victims, waiting for the infected to end it all, and he knows he’s lucky. Lucky to have her at all in this destructive world, and the loss of her innocence isn’t so horrifying in the face of her simply being here with him. Safe and cared for and alive.
Because Marlene is the only thing he has left in the world - she’s the only one who matters - and he knows he’d do just about anything to keep her safe.
More importantly, though. More than anything else. He’d do anything to keep her happy.
So he plays pretend.
He wears the crown made from dead people’s things and cooks in their kitchen. Ignores the plundered and violated remains of their home to search through his own bag for some food, and hopes that his little girl doesn’t go looking upstairs to see the empty baby’s nursery.
Dinner is small again. It’s been beans and carrots for the past week, and it’ll be beans and carrots again today. Considering their circumstances, it isn’t exactly surprising. Watching over Marlene means making certain sacrifices, and raiding the bigger places for better supplies is simply too difficult with a child in tow.
Impossibly difficult.
But it may soon be necessary, if things keep going the way they are. The thought that he might have to expose Marlene to the atrocities of their new world doesn’t sit well with him, but he might have to start doing so if he wants to keep them both alive and fed. Especially if he wants any tools of a high enough quality to maintain his arm.
Right now it works, but the thing is too slow to be useful for anything except shooting, and he relegates it to hanging limp and useless beside him on most days. Though even when his arm had been working at it’s finest, it was never useful for cooking.
Mechanized gun arms tend to be like that.
“Daddy?”
He hums, pots and pans banging, relieved when the stove starts without problem. “Yes, honey?”
“Where do you think the people who lived here moved away to?”
That warrants a glance backwards, and Barret turns to see Marlene still on the couch. She’s got a large photo album opened up on her lap now, flipping through it with a childlike curiosity. Her feet are still kicking off the edge of her seat, and after a beat of silence she looks up at him questioningly.
He pushes back the urge to snatch the book away from her - to protect her from the darkness only he can see hiding between the pages.
Alive or dead, those are happy photos. Moments of a better life and a better time, and Marlene’s touch can only make them brighter. So he leaves her to it and returns to his cooking.
“They could be anywhere,” he still tells her, hoping to give her whatever small shred of hope he can, “maybe they’re hiding somewhere safer.”
“Like a Camp?”
“Maybe.” The nearest Camp isn’t for miles, but he knows the army and fast formed neighborhood watches had been evacuating people to safe sites. A lot of those had been transformed into Camps or eventually transferred to other Camps. For anybody living near the city, it isn’t exactly a stretch to imagine.
More of a stretch than Barret can muster, though.
“What if they Clustered?” Marlene asks after a moment of thought.
Barret isn’t at all expecting the words, and he barely manages to bite back an unsavory comment upon hearing them. What Marlene refers to as Clusters, most call Mobs, and he’d rather jump off a damn cliff than ever even look at one again. He doesn’t want to scare her, though. So instead he clears his throat and focuses on making their plates to distract himself, lips tightening.
“Then at least they’d be safe,” he offers mildly.
“Well then why aren’t we in one? If it’s safe, I mean.”
“Because it’s only safe for certain people, baby.” When she opens her mouth he cuts her off, raising the plates in an apology. “You just have to trust me, okay? Let’s talk about something else.”
At her huff of reluctant acceptance he moves back to the couch, sitting close and pulling away the photo album.
He closes it and tosses it aside immediately, but in the half second his gaze finds the photos, he notices they’re all of a happy old couple. Thin and frail and paler than porcelain from a distinct lack of sun.
Dead, he realizes.
There’s no way they would have made it.
“Daddy? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, baby, I’m fine. Let’s eat, huh? We gotta finish up soon if we want you in bed on time.”
Marlene pouts at that, suitably distracted, and they both dig into their food with gusto.
Speculating about strangers will get in him nowhere, he knows. Especially when it comes to the dead ones.
There’ll be time for mourning later.
Much, much later.
So he sits and he eats and talks about ponies and princesses, the crown still adorning his head, and he doesn’t think about anything except his daughter.
Doesn’t think about a thing except how he’s going to keep her alive.
They finish their meal in record time. Soon enough, Barret is tucking a fussy Marlene into bed. She’s curled up in her cot near the living room heater, bundled beneath some extra blankets he found in the linen closet, and she’s out like a light as soon as her head hits the pillow.
Barret sits and keeps watch while she sleeps. Through the slivers of space between boards, he watches dusk pass peacefully by. The infected begin to meander away once his and Marlene’s disturbance becomes old news to them, and a silence befalls their cozy sanctuary as the sky gradually darkens.
Then shit goes horribly, explosively sideways.
It happens in the middle of the night: a deafening boom that rocks the world and instantly has Barret on high alert. The air around them erupts in a blaze of fire and screams, upper level catching like dry tinder before he can so much as blink.
Barret jumps to his feet with a yell, turning to grab Marlene as the ceiling crumbles around them. She’s glossy eyed and confused, but he doesn’t have the time to explain it to her. Doesn’t have the time to do a thing as beams pop around them, tires screeching in the near distance. Then the sound of shattering windows rends the silence of the night, a sadistic chorus of hoots and hollers following right at its heels.
The approaching thunder of footsteps is what pushes Barret into motion. Quickly, with the rise of voices goading him to move faster than he ever has before, Barret pulls their bags onto one shoulder, hefting his little girl over the other, and races to the crooked backdoor. He kicks it down amidst a cascade of red hot cinders, ducking underneath the doorway without hesitation, and looks up to see dewy grass stretching out cold and exposed before them.
Another explosion sounds out from the house, the footsteps beginning to get closer as the war cries rise, and he has no time to waste anymore - no time for second thoughts.
Barret takes Marlene and he runs.
------
After that night, their situation only gets worse. The Mob isn’t tracking Barret down, but it’s clear they’ve set up shop in the surrounding buildings and aren’t planning to move anytime soon.
As a result, Barret gives the city a wide berth. Skirting past the outermost houses and heading into the open fields, he eventually leads them into the surrounding forests. He’s hoping for some modicum of safety within the boughs, but greenery is scarce and the leaves are falling. Winter’s chill becomes more prominent with every passing night to exacerbate the issue, and it drives home their need for four walls and a roof like nothing else ever could.
Yet for now, it’s better than nothing. Better than being left so vulnerable again, defenseless in another family’s home.
The added protection of the trees brings other problems, however. They’re isolated from civilization and traders out here, with no friendly faces to be seen for miles, and the subsequent dip in their supplies is severe.
By the end of their first week camping out in the forests, Barret finds himself staring at his and Marlene’s very last can of beans, and knows without a doubt that they’ve finally hit the breaking point.
They’re going to have to go looting again if they want some food.
And it is that thought that finds Barret and Marlene outside the remains of an empty, half hidden store just a few too many paces off the main road. With not a single infected in sight, it looks like the perfect mark.
Marlene huffs into the chill beside him, breath fogging. “What if there are monsters inside?”
“Daddy will take care of them! Don’t you worry a bit about that.”
Marlene shuffles her feet and ducks her head. She has a death grip on his fingers, body closed off and fearful, and he already regrets making the decision to come out here. All around them, the silence of the abandoned store echoes with a warning.
“I’m scared,” she whispers at the ground, and Barret squeezes her hand lightly in reassurance.
“It’ll be real quick, baby, I promise,” he says, voice strong even as he eyes the flickering store lights with trepidation, “we’ve just gotta run in and out. Grab all the food we can carry and haul ass, huh?”
“But I can’t carry lots,” Marlene replies mournfully.
“That’s no problem! I’ll do most of the carrying. Your job is just to stay on my shoulder and make me feel better.”
“Like a cheerleader?”
“Exactly like a cheerleader. You’re my hype crew!”
Her giggle lights up the dark parking lot, and he kneels to give her a gentle hug. When her small hands come up to wrap around his neck he gets an arm under her, lifting her up with exaggerated force until she’s clutching at his fingers and giggling wildy.
Shifting her to his shoulder is almost easy after that. She’s distracted and pleased, beginning to hum her little happy song again as she kicks her legs in the air, and Barret hates himself for having to make it go away.
“Now you gotta hold on real tight, remember? Cause I need both hands free for this.” He looks up to see her nod and frown seriously, heart aching at the maturity in her expression.
“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll be quiet, too.”
“Good. Just like we practiced.”
“Mhm!”
Then it’s go time.
They move towards the store slowly and enter with care. Barret’s desperate but he’s not going to act the fool. There could be any number of threats inside, and he isn’t going to risk his daughter because he acted rashly - made too much noise or stepped too loudly. Isn’t going to give the infected the satisfaction of seeing him fall.
Marlene is careful, too. She’s got a death grip on his shoulder and his hair the entire time he walks. Yet the pain is nothing compared to knowing she’s safe, so he stays silent as they creep past the threshold.
As soon as he steps foot in the building he sees the checkout. It’s right beside the door, as he’d known it would be, but it’s holding way more registers and lanes than he’d planned on seeing. Immediately, Barret takes a longer look at the aisles spreading out a fair distance in front of them, and realizes with dread that this store is a lot bigger than he’d given it credit for.
The CVS sign in the far corner blares accusingly from its place above another, smaller checkout.
Medicine is his first thought - his only thought - for a long time after seeing it. And of course it is. Medicine is indescribably valuable during catastrophes such as this. It’s priceless.
And he’s staring at a whole roomful of it.
This store hasn’t been looted, he realizes blankly, and that’s when the second thought hits. Harsh and brutal as if he’s been hit by a truck.
Threat, his mind blares, and he’s instantly tensing as he readies for a battle or a confrontation - anything.
This is no longer a simple search for remaining loot. Any Mob or Camp worth a damn would be on this shit in seconds if they knew it was here, and they wouldn’t shy away from using any means necessary to obtain the supplies.
Hell, if a Syndicate finds this place they might as well give up on life right now.
His heart skips a beat, hand coming up for just a brief moment to squeeze tightly at his little girl’s leg, and she hugs him from above. She doesn’t say anything, though. Merely patting the top of his head in an attempt at comfort.
Smart girl, he thinks, moving to grab one of the shopping carts lying about. It’s completely intact, and even the mere presence of a fully functioning shopping cart at the entrance of the store lets him know nobody has set foot in this place since shit hit the fan.
They’re loud but they’re handy, and Barret plans on filling the entire thing to brimming. With this whole basket full they’ll be able to eat well for weeks.
An insistent hand tugs at his hair. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, honey.” He begins to wheel the cart around, but Marlene’s next words stop him dead.
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” He demands, but he’s already tensing, gun charged up and free hand coming to steady his little girl.
He whirls around to face the back rooms just as she yells out a “that!”, and as if on cue a crash rings out, several voices rising in the sounds of a fight. Barret barely has the time to raise his gun and take a step back before the doors are bursting open, a long haired woman flying through to skid painfully across the white tiles.
Marlene gasps. “Daddy, it’s a girl!”
“Marlene baby, don’t-”
Then the doors burst open a second time with a reverberating thud. It’s loud enough to wake any infected in the nearby vicinity, and though Barret doesn’t hear any cries rise up from the surrounding forest, he knows it’s only a matter of time before some creature comes looking.
“Hey!” He snaps at the people coming through the doors. They’re all white men, though two are big and burly while the other is slighter, only coming up to their shoulders.
All three look pissed as hell.
“Who the hell is that?” One of them hisses, gesturing with a bloodied wooden bat in Barret’s direction, and Barret wastes no time in directing his gun straight at the man’s ugly mug.
“I’m your worst damn nightmare unless you back the fuck down, boy!” He growls menacingly, and though his chest tightens at Marlene’s fearful whimper, he doesn’t let the stony facade fade.
The smaller man scoffs. “You and what army? The seven year old on your shoulder? I hate to break it to you big guy, but that we could take you both down within seconds.” The cocky shit brandishes a pistol as he speaks, finger pressed so tightly to the trigger Barret’s half afraid he’ll fire wide without meaning to.
Subtly, he tightens his hold of Marlene, about to speak again when the woman on the ground coughs and rises to her hands and knees.
“No!” She protests loudly, to both Barret and the smaller man’s surprise. Her voice is scratchy yet strong with heated conviction, eyes burning a brilliant red as they come up to glare accusingly at the other. “She’s only a little girl, don’t-”
“Any fool stupid enough to carry around a brat during the apocalypse deserves to have her ripped from his fingers.” It’s one of the larger man that speaks this time around, and Barret has to grit his teeth through the rush of anger that sears through his veins, seconds away from putting thirty fucking bullets through the man’s worthless smirking face.
“What the hell did you just say?!” He demands.
“I said we’re going to kill you and your little brat, and then after that we’re going to kill this stupid whore for thinking she could steal from us!”
“No!” Barret’s heart almost stops at Marlene’s shout. The way every eye in the room is drawn to her. The way the gun points straight at her head - “You can’t hurt her! She’s ours, now. Tell them, Daddy!”
Barret turns to break the gunman’s line of sight, but surprisingly it’s the woman who speaks again, shaking her head wildly as she struggles to get to her feet. “Please! Please don’t get involved. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”
Stunned, all Barret can do for a moment is stand frozen, staring down at her. Her face is bruised and swollen, lip split and bleeding where she’s biting it aggressively to fight back the pain, and her arm curls around her ribs in a way that indicates they’re at least bruised, if not broken. Yet still she tries to rise up in their defense - in his daughter’s defense - despite her injured and unarmed state.
“Daddy-”
“I know, honey.” He can’t risk Marlene but he can’t just stand idly by as someone else gets hurt.
Before he knows it and before anybody can do a thing to react, he’s stepping forward and placing himself firmly between the woman and the three twitchy men. They all buck back like frightened horses at his rapid approach, making harsh, surprised noises that instantly tell Barret what he needs to know.
So he grins and bars his teeth, massive gun swinging around to aim at each of them for a second. Lingering until every last one is skittering uncomfortably, shifty eyed and sweating.
“I ain’t gon’ let you touch this girl and I am sure as hell not gonna let you so much as look or think about my daughter again! Now scram!” Bullets ring through the air, battering the concrete by the group’s heads and making them scream with terror, scattering like ants. Even the gunman forgets his own weapon and fragile bravado to turn tail and flee right behind his friends.
Then, as quickly as they’d appeared, the men are gone; glass doors sliding closed behind them as they stumble and stagger their way through the entire length of the parking lot and disappear into the trees.
Barret doubts they’ll last long with the infected in their current states, so he doesn’t bother chasing them. Instead, heart racing and mouth dry, he falls to his knees beside the woman. Though he pays her no heed as he sweeps his daughter from his shoulders and tucks her close to his chest.
“Are you alright?” He gasps into her hair. “Are you okay? Did they-did they-”
Marlene giggles, squirming against his hold until he’s forced to let her go. She twists her dirty pink shoes against the floor and holds her hands behind her back, smiling up at him so widely her eyes crease with the force of it. “I’m fine, Daddy!”
He sighs and checks her over with his eyes. Nobody had attacked them, of course, but he just can’t shake the fear that she could have died. One stray bullet or unfortunate ricochet. If the men had been any braver or the woman any more willing to use her proximity against them. If…
“You promise?”
“I promise!”
He gives her another quick hug, because she’s his daughter and she’s alive and he can, and then pulls away again to take a look at the woman behind them.
She’s dead to the world, eyes closed and completely limp. So still that if it wasn’t for her breathing, Barret would be hard pressed to think she was dead.
“Is she our friend now?” Marlene asks, going to her tip-toes to peer around his large bulk curiously.
Barret snorts. “What did I tell you about strangers?”
“To never talk to them or trust them and to always stay away from them!” Marlene recites proudly.
“That’s right! That’s very good, Marlene. If you meet a stranger you come straight to me, okay?”
He pats her on the head, but that doesn’t stop her from huffing with agitation and clenching her hands into fists, glaring up at him stubbornly. “But you are here. And she helped us!”
“I know-” Barret begins, but Marlene cuts him off.
“We can’t leave her behind, Daddy. She’s hurt and it’s our duty to help people. You always say that.”
“No, it’s my duty to always help people. It’s your duty to stay out of danger so Daddy doesn’t worry about you.”
She doesn’t respond this time around, bringing out the full force of her puppy dog eyes as she pouts, and Barret shakes his head, circling the woman’s battered form. Her breathing is heavy and steady, so at least she doesn’t seem to have a lung problem, and when he runs his fingers along her ribs he’s relieved to note that they’re only bruised and not broken. Painful but manageable. She should be up and about soon.
If they take her back.
Barret sighs, glancing over to Marlene’s wide, pleading eyes. “Who the hell am I kidding?” he grumbles to himself, moving the woman to a more secure position.
“So we’re keeping her?” Marlene asks, solemnity instantly turning to excitement at whatever she’s gleaned from his actions.
“Only until she’s better.”
“Okay!” Marlene squeals. She holds her arms up expectantly until Barret leans down and scoops her onto his shoulder. “We can bring her back with us!”
“After we get the food, sweetheart. You know we need the supplies.”
“‘Kay. Supplies first, then her, then home!”
“Yeah...home.”
And that’s how it begins. With one person - one chance encounter - and in a second their family has grown.
Tifa Lockhart, she later tells them her name is, while still laid up in the cot they’d prepared for her beneath the swaying boughs of the tallest tree.
She won’t stay for long, is all Barret can think in response, watching his chipper daughter chatter happily into her ear. She’ll leave before the night is out, and we’ll never see her again.
And only later - five more people and two years later - will he realize that he was gloriously, beautifully wrong.
