Hojo did not look like himself anymore. Vincent didn’t breathe when he entered the room with him. It was handy, he had to admit, being able to stop breathing whenever he cared to. It was automatic to continue, but he didn’t need it anymore. Whatever he was, oxygen was not important.
He plucked the glasses off the bloated corpse in the coffin and slid them into the breast pocket of his jacket. Soon the body wouldn’t even be recognizable anymore—Just another skeleton in the already macabre room. He would need something of him to focus his memories and rage on. ‘Externalization,’ Veld would call it. ‘Weak,’ his father would say. He stared down at the body a moment more before turning and walking away. The two-headed creature who staggered around the basement approached, but Vincent walked past quickly rather than engaging. Ying and Yang would have been happy to fight, but they never really went away.
He returned to his son’s bedroom, knowing he would still be awake. He never left his side until bedtime, but Sephiroth never went to bed exactly when he was supposed to. Not since he’d learned that Vincent wouldn’t punish him for staying up. He opened the door quietly, glancing to the fire in the fireplace before sliding his eyes down to the boy laying on the floor with his legs crossed behind him. He had a pencil in hand and was surrounded by papers. His silver hair glinted red in the firelight.
“I wish you’d stop going down there,” Sephiroth said, looking up from the page he was working on, obsessively writing the letter ‘d’ over and over. “It makes you strange. You’re not even breathing right now.”
“What are you doing?” Vincent asked rather than commenting, after a quick inhale to give himself air to speak.
Sephiroth hummed, looking to the repetitious page of letters. “They are not good enough yet.”
“You’re five,” Vincent replied, sitting near him stiffly and eyeing the page. Sephiroth’s letters started out in perfectly straight lines, but his writing had devolved as he went, as though the urge for perfection was slowly tearing him apart. “No one expects you to be perfect.”
“I do.” Sephiroth replied, lifting luminous eyes to him.
“Why is that?” Vincent asked, with some effort. Sephiroth was quite right—visiting Hojo’s corpse did make him strange. It was taking all he had to speak with the boy.
“I remember,” Sephiroth said quietly after a moment, still staring at Vincent out of his unnervingly inhuman eyes, “What happens when I am not perfect.”
“I would never hurt you.” Vincent objected softly.
“But you could leave,” the boy replied, shaking his head. “I can’t keep you here. And I know you want to run. I know I’m a burden. So I have to be better.”
“Sephiroth,” Vincent said softly. “I’m not going to leave you. We’ve been together over a year already. I wouldn’t leave even if you never learned to write.”
“Liar,” Sephiroth whispered, his voice startlingly venomous. “The demon tells me what you think while you sleep. My mother ruined your life, and now I am keeping you trapped here.”
Vincent’s eyes widened. He searched for the feeling of the demons in the back of his head. He was instantly answered by the laughter of Chaos. He snarled in anger at the demon, only to stop instantly when the noise resulted in a whimper from the child. Sephiroth scrambled away from him, scattering papers. He fumbled under his jacket and pulled out one of the daggers Vincent had been training him to use a little at a time. He held it between them, shaking in fear.
“I’m sorry,” Vincent said softly. “I’m not angry at you. Just at him for frightening you.”
Sephiroth’s eyes were bright with fear. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and deeply as he stared at Vincent. There was true terror in his gaze—the same paralyzing fear Vincent had seen there the first time they laid eyes on each other.
“I like the knife,” Vincent said softly and seriously. “I’m glad to see you defending yourself. It’s a vast improvement. You never would have before.”
Sephiroth slowly lowered the knife, staring at him. He was still shaking. Vincent slowly unlocked his gauntlet, removing it and setting it aside. He extended his hands to the child, keeping his gaze averted from his own mutilated hand.
Sephiroth hesitated, then walked over slowly with his head bowed. He flipped the dagger neatly and pressed it hilt-first into Vincent’s good hand. Vincent frowned, setting the blade aside and carefully shifting to draw the child into a stiff hug.
“I’m not going to leave you, Sephiroth,” Vincent promised, his voice raspy. “What happened between your mother and I is no fault of yours. Chaos is nothing more than a cruel liar.”
“I’m sorry I keep mixing up my ‘d’s and ‘b’s,” Sephiroth whispered into his shoulder, his hands lifting very, very slowly to grip Vincent’s cloak. “I’ll get better. I promise.”
“I know you will,” Vincent whispered. “Come. Let’s start a fire downstairs. I will help you if I can.”
“I don’t understand you,” Sephiroth whispered. “Why would you want to help me. You already know how to do everything. You know everything, and I’m so stupid—”
“We talked about this,” Vincent whispered. “Of all the people who were full of lies, he is the first. You are far from stupid, Sephiroth.”
There was a moment of silence, then the child shifted back from his grip, looking down at the now-crumpled pieces of paper on the floor. He looked ashamed, and Vincent couldn’t help but stroke his messy silken hair once.
“I’ll make tea.” he offered.
“Thank you, father.” Sephiroth whispered, his hands clenching in his own shirt before loosening again.
“Don’t listen to Chaos,” Vincent advised softly. “He is bitter, angry, and old. He is trapped inside me, and takes the rage at his captivity out on whatever he can reach. If you ever see me change, you must promise you will run and get out of harm’s way.”
“I promise,” Sephiroth said. He hesitated, then lifted his eyes to Vincent. “Can I help you make the tea?”
“Yes,” Vincent agreed, standing stiffly and offering the child his good hand. “And with a snack, if you like.”
“Can I chop things?” Sephiroth asked, taking his hand carefully in his small fingers.
“You and blades.” Vincent murmured fondly. “Alright. You can chop if you let me put your hair back.”
“Thank you father,” the boy looked up at him slowly. “For everything.”
“You need never thank me for looking after you,” Vincent whispered, squeezing Sephiroth’s hand carefully. “You are the best thing in my life. Possibly the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Sorry for pulling a knife on you,” Sephiroth squeezed his hand back, almost uncertainly.
“It was good to see,” Vincent whispered. “It means you want to continue to exist.”
“Yeah,” Sephiroth shifted, walking a little closer to Vincent. “I do.”
You asked for more Daddy Vincent, and we have delivered! Art by the amazing TOMOWOWO!!!! Thanks for all the love, followers! <3
