Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners (Square, Square Enix, etc). The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: Depictions of violence and death as well as swearing. Same old, same old for FFVII.

Carrying Fate

Prologue

I never expected to be anything other than what I was.

What I mean by that is, I was born as myself, lived as myself, and died as myself. And then, I figured what would await me was an afterlife as myself.

The last day of my life had been a typical school day before a stranger barged into the classroom.

I went to a large university, so it wasn't surprising that I had never seen him before. Still, he looked like any other person I would pass in the hallways. Floppy brown hair and brown eyes, wearing glasses similar in style to mine. Instead of a book tucked under his arm, though, he held an assault rifle.

The professor seemed to recognize him, calling him by name and urging him to put down the gun, but it seemed the boy had a vendetta against her, because he raised the gun and with an ear-splitting bang, our teacher collapsed onto her desk, leaking blood from a wound in her head.

It took a second for us, her students, to register what was going on, and then all was pandemonium.

I remember running, pressed in amidst a squeeze of other bodies. One brave kid charged at the attacker, but that just caused him to panic and fire willy-nilly at the crowd.

The person in front of me fell over, and suddenly I was staring straight into the shooter's eyes. They were wide and scared, like a wild animal. Mine were probably the same. The next second, I felt the most unbearable pressure, and then pain, in my stomach.

I've never been good with pain, and this wasn't any different. I couldn't think, couldn't stop myself from collapsing to the floor, holding my stomach, wondering if I'd survive, or if I'd die before I could get medical attention. Then, I felt shoes stomping over my figure, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I heard more gunshots, and then I passed out. Whether that was from the pain, loss of blood, or the trampling my body went through, I have no idea. All I know is, in those few moments before unconsciousness, my last thoughts were of my friends. God, they're going to be so sad…if they live.

I never did find out how that day ended. I assumed it went like most of those times do, though. A few more shootings, and then the person suicides before they can be brought in, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.

I was just one of the many that died that day.

.

I never expected to wake up to anything less than the golden gates. Or a pit of fire and brimstone, though I had tried my best to live a good life, so I hoped that wouldn't be the case.

Instead, I woke up to nothingness. I couldn't feel anything. Couldn't see anything. Sometimes I could hear, though. Muffled noises from all around.

I don't know how long I sat there like that. Enough to think over the trauma of dying, and reconcile myself with it. If this peaceful nothingness was what waited after death, then maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Sure, I had hoped I might meet some people who had gone before me, but…perhaps the afterlife was individual. If so, it was lonely, though the voices I could hear made me wonder if I was being prepared for the real afterlife. If this was just limbo. I couldn't help but move around a bit, eager to finally join the others, anything so I wouldn't be alone.

Suddenly there was an unbearable pressure all around me. Like I was being squeezed through a tube. It was painful, horrifying, and terrifying all at the same time. I had no idea what was happening, except that, maybe, this was how people entered the afterlife? All I could discern was that eventually it ended, and I could see.

You don't know how wonderful it is to see unless you've gone without for a while. Most people only experience this after a night of sightlessness, but I had lacked sight for so long, I had started to give up on it. So…this sudden knowledge that there was light, there was life, was enough to make me cry.

Well, life after death, anyway.

Still, it was far too bright for someone whose eyes had grown adjusted to the dark. I immediately closed them, but voices still filtered into my ears.

I blacked out soon after I heard one woman speak in loving tones. Heaven's so cold, I thought, shivering. But the people are warm.

.

My first year passed in a haze of monotony. I didn't feel all there, and it took a month before I could register anything beyond light and movement. I could hear, however, but comprehension was another thing. It sounded like it could be English, but my brain couldn't put two and two together to get four. Though I knew enough to know this wasn't heaven after all. For one, I could feel pain. For two, wouldn't I be able to see if it were?

By the time a few months had passed, I could see color. By the time a year had, I could make out a blonde woman who was clucking over me as if she were my mother, and an older male with red hair standing by. I suppose it was a good thing I was so out of it, or I would have panicked more. As it was, I tolerated their ministrations with poor grace. I would have put up more of a fuss, but they were so much bigger than me. It was a bit intimidating, being around giants.

I'm ashamed to say it took until my first birthday for me to figure out what was going on. I had dismissed the rattle and stuffed wolf as a mockery on their part, had even ignored the teething. It's interesting, how we can be so determined to see things a certain way, that we become blind to the evidence. But sitting there, staring at a small cupcake with a single candle embedded in it, I couldn't deny the truth anymore.

The reason those people were so big? They weren't big; I was just small. The reason I had trouble seeing, moving, or thinking? I was a baby, so of course I was having problems.

I was a baby. I can't emphasize that enough. I had died a junior at university, newly twenty-one, and was reborn as a baby. A male baby.

The discovery wasn't as terrible as it might have been for other females. I wasn't trans, but I had never really liked being a woman. Not because of any sexual orientation, but because it had never really felt right being labeled as one and being treated the way I had based off that label. My psyche had always been more masculine than feminine. So being reborn male? Not bad at all, especially since I wouldn't have to deal with periods, but rather voice-cracking and morning wood.

Oh. That would be awkward. I hadn't possessed a libido in my past life, and I could only hope that would cross over too. With my luck, though, that wouldn't happen, and I would have to deal with teenage hormones. Joy.

As to my parents… Unlike most of the stories I'd read describing similar situations, there had never been any love lost between my former parents and me. So there wasn't any of that agony of "Oh these people aren't my real parents." But, I had gone most of my life relying on my father for affection before he gave up on me, so suddenly becoming confronted with a mother figure…well; I didn't know how to handle it.

How could I, when both my mother and stepmother had shown just how little they cared about anybody but themselves? And the others, mothers of friends, had drawn an invisible line between them and myself. I was somebody else's problem. Not theirs. Over time, I had just grown to accept that. But this woman, she seemed to have an endless well of patience, endless smiles, endless hugs, and I could feel the love shining off her in waves. In short, she was the kind of mother I had always dreamed of.

And my father…he was the same. Just as loving, just as kind. It took me longer to warm up to him, but eventually I would beam with just as much happiness at seeing him as I did my mother, waving my arms to be picked up with a happy gurgle. And he always did, spinning me around in the air like a helicopter. Flying like that, made me both happy and sad at the same time. They were so caring, so affectionate. But they also forced me to realize just how deficient my old family was, and I was reluctant to accept that. Still, I couldn't help but bask in this newfound warmth.

.

Things improved quickly after that. Not only could I see better, but I now knew what was going on, so that took away a lot of my anxiety. But without that worry to keep me occupied… Well, it was boring. I had already learned to crawl and walk before I even turned a year old, so at least I had a wider range of movement, but what I could do was still very limited. Thankfully, this body couldn't handle much exercise without the impulse to nap, so I didn't have too many times where I just stood there, bored out of my mind. My parents spared a lot of time and attention for me, so that helped too.

Eventually, I realized a few things.

One. These people did speak English, so wherever I was, it was still an English-speaking country. However, they had an accent I couldn't place, and often peppered their dialogue with odd-sounding words I'd never heard before.

Two. My name was Cloud. Why my mother named me this, I had no idea. Either she was a diehard Final Fantasy fan, or she was still a bit high on painkillers when she chose it. Or maybe she was one of those people that named their children after nouns, like Brook or Jay. Or she just liked the name. Who knows?

Three. My mother's name was Skye while my father's was John. So, another reason for my odd name could be she wanted ours to go together, like bookends. My brother in my past life had had a similar name to mine for that very reason. It was too bad my father's didn't match as well.

I have to say, I had hopes about this new life. It seemed like it would be a vast improvement over my old one. I had loving parents, wouldn't have to deal with female puberty, and I had a leg up over others in terms of knowledge. Unless everybody in this world had memories of their past life. I would have to figure that out. Maybe I would meet a few people who I had known before.

I soon figured out that I was an anomaly. My parents never mentioned anything of a past life; though I held out hope that it was just a taboo subject. But they never treated me as anything more than a toddler. Granted, a curious and impatient one, but most toddlers were like that.

It was nice, living like that. Except for the whole diaper thing. That was humiliating, and there had been multiple times I had held back on that because of embarrassment and not liking the feeling of sitting in my waste. Eventually, I had to give in, but I usually started crying not long after to get my parents' attention.

I couldn't wait for when they would decide to "potty-train" me.

Thankfully, by the time I started getting more awareness, I had moved past milk and into solid food. I had hazy memories of having a nipple shoved in my face before, but they were vague enough I could usually just ignore them, and the unease I felt toward my mother afterward.

In terms of speaking and moving, regular baby milestones, I had already started walking a long time ago, but my parents were worried because I was almost two, yet hadn't even spoken my first word yet.

That had been out of fear, fear of these giant monsters that could crush me without a moment's notice. But, now that I was gaining more awareness, was processing more beyond emotions and unintelligible syllables, I could try speaking.

It took a while, to get my mouth used to making intelligible sounds again. I had almost forgotten how to speak, but I eventually got it just enough to say "Mama" and "Dada."

Their expressions, mirror images of joy and relief, made all that effort worthwhile.

.

My parents weren't social butterflies, but they did have friends. Sometimes, my father would invite over a couple of his buddies, who worked at the same place he did, which was a reactor of sorts. They all made sure to stay well away from me, though, and my past knowledge was enough for me to realize that they must have been working around something dangerous. Uranium, perhaps?

My mother had a couple friends, but she was closest to this one woman named Rachel. It was Rachel she introduced me to first. It was Rachel who she asked to watch over me while she went out shopping for necessities. And it was Rachel who actually gazed at me with genuine warmth in her eyes, unlike the other ladies who cooed over me while Mother was watching, and then quickly turned away when she wasn't, more intent on gossiping or socializing between themselves.

Rachel also had a daughter a year younger than I was, so I was often paired with little Tifa, a fuzzy-headed baby who liked to drool on her teething ring while our mothers chatted. By now, I had decided that both of them must be extreme Final Fantasy fans, as this was a bit too much to be a coincidence.

It was only at age two, after I heard my father complain about "Shinra's lack of safety procedures," and mention of "Nibelheim" over and over again, that I put it together. It didn't help that, soon after, I was finally old enough to be taken outside, where I saw a very familiar well and mansion. Nor did it when someone hailed my mother as "Mrs. Strife." My parents and their friends called each other by first name, so I had never actually heard our family name before.

I had been reborn in the Final Fantasy VII universe.

Not only that, but I had reborn as Cloud Strife.

I would have been better off staying dead.

Title is still pending. I might change it later, but for now, it works.

I decided to start a new story, this one an actual self-insert rather than an OC-insert, as I've grown more comfortable with myself as a person and less paranoid about writing myself.

So, this story was made when I was thinking about how people bash on characters for not doing enough. Like, "If only Cloud hadn't been such a failure, this wouldn't have happened." But honestly, I think Cloud did a pretty bang-up job, considering what he had to work with, and what he was working against. I also know I would never want to stand in his shoes-er, boots. So of course, I decided to make that happen.

There are similar stories out there, a favorite of mine being Weight of the World by Tsume Yuki, which I recommend reading. But I've actually had this story idea in the works for a while, long before I even came across them. It was only just now that I decided to actually write for it.