Alternate universe. Writing this was incredibly painful, but the idea just would not let me go. It hits pretty close to home for me, and will possibly for some of you, so if a war tragedy with character death doesn't sound up your alley, you might want to give this one a pass.

Disclaimer: dood, fanfiction. Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and the characters and universes therein are the property of Disney and Square Enix. I receive no remuneration for this work; it is a parody and as such utilizes the Fair Use clause of the Copyright Act.

The air is hot, stifling, filled with thick, dark patches of smoke from used-up incendiaries and heavy with the stench of war and death. Leon makes his way quickly through the trench towards the east, keeping an eye out for any enemy soldiers left alive after the strike. They were very thorough; he doesn't have much to report back with.

Twenty yards ahead, he spots a live one propped up against the trench wall, legs sprawled out before him and an arm over his stomach, the other hanging limply at his side. The enemy's helmet is off, and though his dull blond hair is stained with blood and dust, something about him seems strangely familiar to Leon. He slows his pace at about fifteen yards, and then he stops completely at ten, his stomach sinking like a rock in his gut.

It's been nine years, but he'd know that face anywhere.

Cloud Strife.

He tears his own helmet off and rushes towards the man, sliding to his knees in the mud at his side and swinging his rifle sling down over his shoulder so the muzzle is safely on the ground.

"Hang on, Cloud. I'll get you to help," Leon swears, looking him over quickly. There's a makeshift tourniquet stemming off a shrapnel wound on his right thigh and he's bleeding out from a gaping hole in his right side, so Leon moves over to his left side and reaches under his armpit to support his back before trying to pick him up.

"Squall, fuck, don't be stupid," Cloud gasps out, struggling weakly against his attempt. "No way I'm gonna make it out of this hellhole." He chokes on the breath he takes to recover from speaking, and a line of blood trickles thickly out of the corner of his dry, cracked lips.

Leon shakes his head fervently, refusing to let go. He can't just leave his childhood friend here to die. "I have to try," he insists.

"No. Please," Cloud breathes urgently, clutching at the back of his neck with one trembling, icy-cold hand. The touch and the desperation in his eyes finally stay Leon's movement, and as he reluctantly settles him back against the earthen wall, Cloud sighs in relief and lowers his gaze. "Just...don't leave me," he begs. "Stay, until..."

Leon's heart breaks at his soft-spoken plea and the resignation in his voice. There's nothing he can do now to help him, and both of them know it. But at least Cloud won't be alone when it happens.

He sits more fully on the ground and pulls his friend carefully into his arms, trying to comfort him in any small way he can. Cloud doesn't resist him this time, even though the movement makes him grimace and clutch at his wounded side to keep pressure on it. After a moment, his suffering seems to fade slowly into numbness, for which Leon is grateful, and he begins to relax, head dropping back on Leon's upper arm to allow his glassy blue gaze to roam over his face.

"It's good to see you again," he murmurs, his hand finally leaving Leon's nape to tug at his bangs. "Hair's gotten long..."

Leon smiles weakly and squeezes his shoulder. "You haven't changed at all..."

"Hope that's a good thing..." Cloud draws a short, deeper breath, air rattling painfully through his pierced lungs, and he tries to smile back at him. It doesn't work so well. "We could have still been friends, right? Under different circumstances?"

"We are still friends, Cloud," Leon whispers firmly, his throat tight and burning. "That didn't change just because you had to move away. It won't change just because you're on their side."

Cloud hums softly, a little bit of peace coming over his strained features with Leon's emphatic reassurance. His chest isn't moving as much now with each labored breath, and his reactions all seem to be slowing down. It won't be long now. With that realization, the ache in Leon's throat spreads like brushfire throughout his entire chest, and he starts to feel sick to his stomach.

"Talk to me," Cloud requests, closing his eyes and resting his head against Leon's shoulder. "Tell me about home."

Leon stares off into the distance, down the length of the endless, smoky trench littered with broken weapons and broken bodies—someone's son, someone's brother, someone's father, someone's husband, someone's lover, someone's friend. He tightens his arms around Cloud, holding him as close as physically possible, and when he can find his voice again, he does what he can to provide a distraction for both of them.

He tells him that Sora, Roxas, Kairi and Riku are off at the university, and the last letter Sora sent him said they were all doing well. He tells him that Cid's still the same crotchety old cuss he's always been, still working at the junkyard, and he thinks he can feel Cloud's wry smile against his blood-stained fatigues. He tells him about Tifa finally marrying her long-time boyfriend Rude, and smiles faintly when Cloud hums and mumbles sleepily that it's about damned time. He tells him about them adopting two kids from the orphanage, a teenager named Denzel and a little girl named Marlene, and that Tifa now owns the Seventh Heaven. Rude is the bouncer, of course. Cloud chuckles gingerly, once.

He tells him that he never forgot about him, not even for one day.

Cloud breathes out softly, and he doesn't respond. Not this time. Not ever again.

Leon closes his eyes and presses his cheek hard against Cloud's forehead, and he can't make himself fight off the hot, salty tears that slide slowly down his face and then trickle down over Cloud's, doing their best to clean away the dirt and sweat and blood and sin that cling to them both. After several quiet moments of nothing but his own ragged breathing and the muted sound of the fog settling heavier in the air all around them, he curves his hand around the side of Cloud's neck gently, and slides it down to curl his fingers around the chain holding his dog tags. One quick jerk has the chain loose and in his hand, and he tightens his fist around the rubber-edged metal tags and holds it against his own chest.

He doesn't move again for a long time.

"Men cry not for themselves, but for their comrades." —Crisis Core